💤

Jeff

Out of all people, we must start with Jeff’s less than chopped ass. He knows he looks a bit special cough handsome I mean..

But he’s hot shit to you and that’s all that matters in his mind. It also means that when he gets those drunken insecurities, their immediately crushed when he hears your giggles and arms wrapped around his neck, telling him how cute he is, and that you’ll start a bath for him before bed.

Jeff pretends to hate it when you grab his cheeks roughly and pull him in to cover him in lipstick but you’ll notice it doesn’t come off for a while.

He’s all limbs and he’ll drape himself over you squeezing, while you reach your arms back, looking up at him all smiles, while he smirks at whatever you’re talking about.

In denial about hating your cuteness aggression, but Jeff lives for it. And he will lightly question you if you stop with something snarky. “What? Think im ugly now? Haven’t seen you all day, better come back and finish what you started.”

Tim

This big boy absolutely laughs at you heartily but indulges you very often. He’s glad you feel so highly emotional towards him because well, it’s the reassurance he needs from time to time.

He’s starved for your touch when he’s gone to long, so if you find him being all domestic in his loose flannel and sweats making you both coffee, he’ll set the cups down the minute he hears your giggles so that when you tackle into him, wrapping your arms around his waist with a squeeze, he’s laughing quietly saying, “Well good morning to you too darlin.”

Or when Tim gets this confused but frustrated look, you can’t help but want to pinch his cheeks and pour all your affection on him. If you have cats like I do, he will catch on that you coo at him the same way you do to them. But you can’t help it! He’s just so adorable, and handsome and everyone knows you can’t get enough of him. Sometimes you really just want him to stay home more often.

Habit | Evan

You both get cuteness aggression actually. Unfortunately he shows it less.. lovingly than you! Your all kisses and squeezes, and he just wants to take bites at you. And probably lick you too.

But he fully expects you to pounce him every chance you get. So if he’s sitting there cleaning his knife with that focus your suddenly on him, arms wrapping around his neck as you take both of you down onto the couch. And just pepper kisses all over him, he’ll see it as a challenge and it ends up in sloppy make outs that turn into something way more. “Think you’re winning this wife? We both know it’s always you who ends up under me.”

You’re not mad tho! He’s not either, Infact it was totally worth it.

Evan however, he gets cuteness aggression looking at you too, if you happen to pout at him, he’s smiling and kissing it away. Same with habit but it’s more dirty with him.

Evan tho, gets this whiny little puppy eyes when your annoyed, and it makes your mood do a whole flip to where your tackling him down and just kissing his face and squeezing his sides as you apologize for being so salty with him. “Promise you’re not still mad? Swear I won’t do it again.” He’ll say, sorta dazed, but if you pull away too soon he’ll tap the corner of his lips, “hey I think you missed a spot!”

Toby

Oh he’s down bad too. Another one who gets cuteness aggression but has to contain it because he doesn’t know his own strength.

Most of the time it’s both of you squealing over each other. You could be wrapped up on the couch noticing how cute he looks focusing on his game, and you’ll pull him down which totally messes him up, but he’s already forgotten about it as he meets your smile with a crooked one of his own, as you take turns smothering each other with kisses. “W-Was in the m-middle of somethin’ but, but for y-you cute st-stuff, it can wait.”

He wakes up early so when he looks over at you sleeping peacefully he’ll have to hold himself back. But the other way around? If he’s sleeping in and you’ve also deemed it’s time to wake up, your pouncing him as he groggily meets your kisses or at least try’s to, saying sleepy and dazed things like, “I love you..” “B-Baby, cmon..” “Best wake up c-call yet..”

Sometimes if he can’t act on his, he’ll say it out loud to you or both Tim and Brian who’s half listening.

Nina

Girl so does she, but lowkey she out matches you. And while you meet on the same level, she’ll tone hers back so she can bask in yours.

Because yes, she absolutely loves when you’re both hand in hand jumping up and down squealing about something, or when you both squeeze each other saying the same thing at mach speed.

Nothing beats when she’s not expecting it and suddenly she’s being tackled into a side ways hug as you tell her how pretty she is, and that she’s so adorable, while you try not to mess up both of your makeup, which is literally you trying to keep your lipstick off her foundation because you still have to go to the mall. “Aww!! I love you too babes so so much, careful of the foundation tho!”

She also appreciates it when she feels ugly, just crawled out of bed, hung over in messy pjs and ruined makeup. But her thoughts are broken when you greet her with her favorite breakfast telling her she’s so cute and that you missed her, even though technically you were just sleeping together.

Brian

Brian doesn’t get it often, but some times he wants to just kiss the angry furrow of your brows off your face, because yes he doesn’t like it when your mad at him, but you do look good doing it.

However, he just lets you paw at him, and smother him with all kinds of affection.

Did he just walk in the door, mask peeled back like a beanie with blood still on him? Yes, and that little sigh he does before trying to rub his hand through his hair, but he’s just smoothing over his mask like reflex, it’s just so UGHH. You can’t help it when you jump him, arms around his neck tugging him down as you tell him how much you missed him. It brings a smile to his face, and that light airy chuckle he does sometimes, “Oh sugar, I’ve missed you too. Ain’t right being away from my dolly for so long.”

Or other times he’ll come in from working on the truck, sleeves rolled up and you can’t decide between delicious or adorable as you hand him some sweet tea. And either way you go, he’s happy to indulge you. Because even if he doesn’t show it all the time, he secretly craves the attention.

It’s here..

“hm!?” you jolted at the touch, glancing back, and relaxed immediately to see that it was just your jason, “oh, you! you startled me.” you shook your head, seeing the amused smile quirk up on his face at your distress, “i can't find the orange gums that i like. were you saying something?”

“i said it's fucking unbelievable.” he said bitterly, when you turned around fully and leaned against the shelf behind you. he moved closer to trap you between his arms, “my card declined. was getting a pack of cigarettes and apparently the policy here is i gotta pay first. this guy doesn't accept crumbled bills. and my card fucking declined.”

your hands snaked up to rest against his chest, or rather the leather of his jacket, “you and bruce having a row again?” not that it'd matter. jason didn't even use the trustfund set up by bruce for himself. if anything, he only ever utilized that money to help out casualties. usually children caught in the crossfire of crime .

“that's what i thought. his communication skills are otherworldly afterall. but no,” jason sighed, “i texted dick, turns out he had tim doing this april fools prank. not funny.”

you frowned, agreeing with him obviously, as you nodded your head. you, too, would crashout and get really angry if someone thought it was okay to fuck with your personal stuff, “he's knocking it off though, right?”

“not before 12 o’clock.” he answered, “tim set a timer or whatever. i don't care. i wouldn't care if it was you who did it. “ he added, “i just don't like that-” he trailed off, dropping his forehead against your shoulder.

your hands immediately found home in his hair, soothingly running through the curls at the back of his head. “i know. i understand. you don't–” you murmured, "they're so childish when it comes to boundaries sometimes.”

he tilted his head and pressed his lips to the side of your neck before pulling away and standing to his full height again, towering over you by a couple inches.

your eyes widened as you looked past jason, checking for the third of the trio. roy harper. this friends with benefits thing was not a secret, you just didn't like the smug look roy got on his face whenever seeing you two get all sweet with physicality.

you liked kissing jason casually, just because. and he often did the same with you. you'd be deep in a gory tv show, wrapped up in your fluffiest self-crocheted blanket on the couch, and he'd walk by you, leaving a kiss on the top of your head. jason would get to your kitchen and heat himself up something to eat. he'd return to the living room, dropping beside you on the couch, watching you watch tv. and you'd open your mouth occasionally so that he could share his food with you. you had a habit of playfully biting on his fingers. he was very bite-able.

most days, you went out for runs right before dawn. you liked the cinematicness of it. how you could pretend to run from the cops or villains alike, even though there was no one outside. mostly it helped you regulate your anxiety. the adrenaline was addictive. and those runs always ended with you knocking on jason's apartment door. the door would open almost immediately. like he knew you were on your way.

him only in his boxers. taking you into his arms and into his bed. your legs wrapping around his hips, as he'd hastily close the door behind you. making sure it's locked safely. before taking you both into his bedroom.

most of these encounters ended with grinds of his hips into yours, dragging out sounds of excruciating pleasure from the both of you. sometimes with you on your back, as he'd stare down at your face with feverish want. you'd take his jaw into your hands and kiss him senseless. his cock greedily buried in your cunt, desperate to please you.

sometimes it was you on top of him, slow grinds of your hips down onto his cock eventually turning into the most erratic thing ever. jason always looked a little too wrecked then, he was pretty sure god was a woman and that woman was you. he'd take mouthfuls of your breasts, gasping at the flutter of your inner walls around his cock, and completely fucking gone for the moans and praises that left your mouth. he saw fucking stars whenever you grasped his throat.

sometimes, he'd pound into you relentlessly with your face smushed into the mattress, ass up, hands scrambling to hold for something, anything, as every thrust made your spine arch.

and then there was jason’s favorite. making out with your pussy. he'd drag orgasms after orgasms out of you until you were overstimulated and practically incoherent with your face buried in his pillow, telling him you can't again, and he'd tease you sweetly and dedicate his all into making you come again. he knew you loved it whenever he spat on you or spanked your cunt, so the smug bastard always withheld them til the end.

the days your brain was far too awake regardless of too little sleep, you loved having jason's cock in your mouth. sucking him off and letting him take control until you were all dumb and sleepy. the tip of his cock brushing your lips before he'd slip in, your pussy throbbing against the vibrator you'd be sitting on. your chin and chest coated with drool and precum, as jason would thrust into you lazily.

and then sometimes, jason would bring you to his bed, and you'd murmur in his ear that you didn't want sex this time. you just missed him, so you came here. he'd kiss your forehead and set you down against the pillows. he'd help you out of your running clothes down to your underwear, and let one of his shirts swallow you instead. settling in the bed with you, he'd hold you in his arms, into the clingiest of hugs ever. he'd once playfully said his friendship came with the benefits of spooning.

so, yes, roy harper knew about the situation. of course he did. he was jason’s roommate. he had to hear you practically every early morning for hours. well, more jason than you actually. but roy was convinced you two were oblivious idiots in love, reducing your world-class romance into just sex.

because roy saw you arrive at a group hang out once in jason's wonder woman tshirt. he'd seen how giddy jason had appeared over it. his hand immediately slipping into the back pocket of your jeans. he'd leaned down and murmured something in your ear. you'd rolled your eyes, one of the most formidable women suddenly so shy, as you'd buried your face against his arm. you were both smiling like hah! people in love!!

jason always held your hand whenever you guys were out together. no matter where. specially in crowds. whenever you or jason would catch roy's side eye, ya'll would defend the behavior saying holding hands couldn't be more intimate than sex, so it wasn't a big deal. if one would ask for roy harper's opinion on that, roy had only one thing to say : lies, nasty nasty lies!

jason had your coffee order memorized. he brought you flowers occasionally because it was disrespectful to not bring the woman he was with flowers; you deserved to feel appreciated and cherished. most nights he had dinner at your place before patrol because he liked your company.

he shared almost everything about himself with you because not being transparent with you about a mission once had made him sick to his stomach, he'd begged roy to shoot his guts out. roy had simply called you over. the moment you guys were together, jason started rambling and having a panic attack, and you cradled his head against your neck, shushing him and reassuring him with such gentleness that roy again knew, ha! these morons were in love!!

every time jason was forced to attend a wayne gala, you attended them with him as his date. you had a photo album in your totebag, filled with polaroids of jason. roy had asked about it once, you'd shrugged and said jason was your favorite person in the world and you liked capturing him. whenever jason read a book on his living room couch, you'd end up half on top of him. your arm across his stomach and head on his chest. jason never got annoyed by it, he seemed to crave it actually. you were his emotional support pillow practically, given the catastrophic topics he liked reading about. he'd hold the book with one hand, and hold you carefully with his other arm. you always looked really content just being in his arms. roy was genuinely sick of all these fuckery getting called 'just friends', because respectfully where was his hugs, and cuddles and wonder woman tshirt and flowers and gossip and polaroids. christ! you'd even crocheted a hello kitty stuffed toy that resembled red hood!!

roy had even once walked in on you telling jason about your insecurities, and him so so gently lifting you onto his lap. he spoke so softly, so lovingly, his eyes filled with so much empathy for you, as though you feeling down hurt him physically, it was fucking diabolical.

“where'd roy go?” you asked, eyes meeting jason’s.

“uh, yeah,” he scratched the back of his neck, “the girl he's been seeing? she called. her ex boyfriend broke into her apartment---fucking prick, i know---and she beat him up with her hockey stick-”

“hot.” you perked up and jason leaned down to brush his mouth against yours for a moment.

“yeah, so, she's pretty freaked out now cuz the creep passed out and isn't moving. roy’s gone to make sure he isn't dead, or if he is-” jason ominously shrugged, and you laughed, wrapping your arms around his middle and tipping your head back to look at his infuriatingly attractive face. you knew roy would make the body disappear if the man was dead. he was rather down bad for this woman. she seemed to know how to make a man walk like a dog, you loved that for the both of them, “they make an interesting pair, don't they?” jason shook his head, baffled.

you poked your tongue out goofily, nodding your head, and then leaned up to steal a quick kiss, “tell you what, find me my gums and i’ll get your cigarettes. nothing quite romantic like rotting teeth and fucked up lungs. we make an even more interesting pair, yes, we do-”

you were cut off when jason’s mouth met yours messily. you had to grip the back of his jacket, because gravity stopped entirely and your knees buckled. kissing jason todd was your favorite thing ever, as you met him with equal fervor. his thigh slid between your legs and you made a soft sound of approval. he pulled away, and took a quick look at your flushed face, committing it to memory. his cheeks were flushed too and he was grinning.

you rolled your eyes and dragged his face back to yours with the back of his head as you practically devoured him. you two could be obscene. it seemed less like just kissing and more like him trying to fuck your mouth with his.

eventually you two had to pull away, gasping for breath. and yet, not kissing him felt more claustrophobic than anything, “what—was—that—for?” you said between breaths.

jason shrugged, stepping back as you steadied on your feet, “just wanted to kiss my girl.”

you beamed up pathetically at him, butterflies doing cartwheels in your stomach, “oh, i’m your girl now, am i?” you playfully asked.

“yes, ma’am, you are.” he said, with theatrical seriousness.

you reached up a hand to mess up his ruined hair even more. “hm,” you paused for the dramatics sake, "then you must build a shrine for me." you bossily declared.

"do i get to fuck you in front of it?" he asked, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"if you're good." you eyed him, "yes."

he nodded immediately, "oh, doll, i'll be so good."

NEXT/SEQUEL

it's so badly written. that's cuz i just rawdogged this under 3 hours?!? 4 at best?!? and it's 8 in the morning rn. my head hurts and im pretty sure i'm starting a fever. lmao. have fun. i hope it wasn't too ooc and repetitive. i tried proofreading twice but ive memory problems because of health issues, so :) and and forgive my attempt at smut, i'm an inexperienced fuck who's never written it before.

The attendants behind him had turned white as ghosts, bracing for the inevitable spray of blood. Sukuna’s jaw had set, a terrifying, low growl vibrating from his chest. But you hadn't trembled.

You hadn't scrambled to fix your posture. You had just looked at him with an expression of profound boredom.

If he wanted to kill you, he would kill you. Fawning over him wasn't going to change his nature, so you simply refused to waste the energy.

He hadn't killed you. Instead, he had left, the doors slamming shut with enough force to rattle the shoji screens.

And that was the exact moment the nightmare began. Because from that night onward, Sukuna became an insufferable, permanent fixture in your life.

"You are eating that wrong."

You stopped your chopsticks halfway to your mouth, letting out a long, slow exhale through your nose. It was midnight.

You had been looking forward to a quiet, solitary meal of cold rice and pickled plums, but Sukuna had simply materialized in the corner of your room ten minutes ago, dripping wet from a thunderstorm, and had proceeded to sit directly on the edge of your bedding.

"I am eating it the way I have eaten it for more than twenty years," you said, not looking at him. "If my technique offends you, the door is exactly where you left it."

Sukuna scoffed, leaning back on his palms. His massive, tattooed frame took up half the space in your small room, his lower arms crossed over his chest while his upper right hand casually reached over and swiped a plum straight from your bowl.

"You have a wretched attitude," he remarked, popping the fruit into his mouth and chewing lazily. "The women in the east hall weep with gratitude if I so much as glance toward their courtyard. You look at me like I am a stray dog that ruined your garden."

"Stray dogs are quieter," you muttered, finally looking up to glare at him. "And they don't steal my food."

Sukuna’s lower mouth twitched into a sharp, jagged grin. He loved it. The realization turned your stomach, a strange, dizzying mixture of irritation and heat.

He didn't come to your room because he wanted a concubine; he came because he was a creature driven entirely by conflict, and you were the only person in the entire empire who refused to give him the satisfaction of a fight. You gave him nothing. You gave him a wall of pure, unbothered apathy, and it was driving him entirely insane.

He leaned forward suddenly, crowding your space. The smell of the storm, ozone and rain, rushed over you. Before you could pull back, his large, calloused hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around your jaw.

It wasn't the brutal, bone-crushing grip he used on his enemies. It was controlled, a heavy, unyielding restraint that forced your face up toward his.

"You should fear me," he murmured, his upper eyes tracking the movement of your throat as you swallowed. His thumb thumbed the soft skin right beneath your lower lip, a deliberate, electric friction that made your toes curl inside your robes. "A single flick of my finger, and this pretty little throat splits wide open."

You met his gaze evenly, refusing to let the wild, frantic thudding of your heart show on your face. "Then do it. I'm tired of your bragging."

Sukuna froze. For a second, the silence in the room was deadly. Then, a loud, booming laugh tore from his throat, the sound rough and genuine as he released your jaw, shifting his weight until he was practically draped over your lap, his heavy head resting casually against your thigh.

"Insufferable," he muttered, closing all four of his eyes as if he owned the space. "Utterly insufferable."

You stared down at the King of Curses currently using your legs as a pillow, your hand hovering over his unruly pink hair, entirely tempted to shove him off. But you didn't. You just sighed, picking up your chopsticks again, ignoring the way his subconscious weight felt entirely too natural against you.

The shift happened. In Sukuna’s dictionary, words like love or devotion were meaningless concepts invented by the weak to justify their dependency. He would never admit to favoring you. If anyone asked, he would simply say you were a minor amusement, a dull distraction from his boredom.

But the rest of the estate wasn't blind.

The servants noticed that the rare silks brought from the western raids, the ones Sukuna usually threw into the treasury to rot—somehow kept finding their way into your wardrobe because he had casually grumbled that your current robes looked "like rags."

The guards noticed that if Sukuna left your courtyard irritated, he was significantly less likely to execute someone in the main hall.

And then there was the incident with the lord of the northern clans.

During a formal banquet, the lord had made a passing, disparaging remark about your status, calling you an "eccentric, useless mouth to feed" who didn't know her place.

You hadn't even heard the comment; you had been across the pavilion, systematically ignoring Sukuna’s attempts to make you try a cup of sake.

But Sukuna had heard it.

He hadn't made a scene. He had simply stood up, walked over to the lord’s table, and dismantled the man’s entire lineage within three seconds, leaving the pavilion drenched in red before sitting back down next to you, casually picking up his chopsticks as if nothing had happened.

"You're exhausting when you're angry," you had murmured, wiping a stray drop of blood from the sleeve of your robe with a click of your tongue.

Sukuna hadn't answered. He had just grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand toward him until you were forced to use your sleeve to wipe a smudge of gore from his cheek instead. He hadn't asked. He had just assumed your hands belonged on his skin.

Late one evening, weeks later, the heat of the summer had turned the air thick and oppressive. You were lying awake in your bed, staring at the ceiling, when the shoji screen slid open without a sound.

Sukuna stepped inside. He looked exhausted, the heavy marks of a curse battle still lingering in the tension of his shoulders. He didn't speak. He just shed his heavy outer robe, letting it hit the floor, before crawling directly onto your sleeping mat.

"Go away," you groaned, trying to roll over to the far edge. "It is too hot for this."

"Silence," he grunted, a large, heavy arm snaking around your waist from behind. He hauled you back against his chest with a single, effortless tug, his massive body completely enveloping yours.

His chest was blazing hot, a furnace of pure cursed energy, and his face buried itself directly into the crook of your neck.

"You cling too much," you muttered, though you didn't actually fight the hold. It was a useless endeavor anyway.

"What nonsense," Sukuna rumbled, his voice thick with sleep, his lower arms tightening around your hips, anchoring you so securely to him that you could feel the rhythmic, heavy thud of his heart against your spine. "You are small. You fit here. Stop complaining."

You lay there in the dark, his breath warm against your skin, his long, sharp fingernails absentmindedly tracing patterns into the fabric of your garment near your ribs.

He was completely unaware of how intimate the gesture was, how entirely possessive his body became the moment he was near you. He thought he was just resting. He thought he was just taking what was his.

You turned your head slightly, looking back at him. His eyes were closed, his expression unusually peaceful in the dim moonlight.

"You're an idiot, Ryomen Sukuna," you whispered softly.

A faint, arrogant smirk touched his lips, though he didn't open his eyes. His hand moved up, his fingers lacing through yours with a casual, unthinking pressure, locking your hands together against the bedding.

"And you are still breathing," he murmured into your skin, his grip tightening just a fraction more. "Be grateful I find your stupidity so entertaining."

You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into his terrifying, inescapable warmth, finally accepting that while the King of Curses would never say the words, his actions had already rewritten the entire world around you.

............................................................................

Hunched below the large oak tree in your garden, you were suckling on prey out of view. Gulping down fluid, you shot up the second he grunted. “What the fuck.” A stalemate settled over you two, and you wet your lips, collecting the residue. “I thought you were busy today.” Even at this distance, he could see the glint of your pointed fangs.

Still dressed in a bloodied hoodie, he gaped at you while you wiped your mouth clumsily, absolutely aghast. “You’re a fucking vampire?” You huffed, squinting at him like he was the odd one for asking. “What? No. Why would I be a vampire?” He threw up his arms. “Because you’re literally eating some organ bullshit in front of me?” The accusation made you deadpan, and you turned to face him fully, said prey in hand.

An apple.

A drained, deflated, slightly browned apple. He faltered, palms still hovering in the air. “The hell is that?” You sank your canines into the fruit's flesh, and his confusion grew when it shrivelled further. The insides had been turned to a grainy pulp- then you cast it aside. “I wanted a snack.” Crickets were loud in the background as he narrowed his eyes; your porch light was the only source of illumination.

“Okay?”

“Jeff, just say what you want-”

“If you’re not a vampire, then why the fuck do you have fangs?”

“I’m a fruit bat.”

You glanced away from him, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Kinda’.” You mumbled, and his arms dropped, eyebrow raised. “A fruit bat.” His bewildered tone hung between you for a moment before you shrugged, meeting his gaze. “Yeah.” He pursed his lips, opening and closing his mouth multiple times, blinking at you.

Okay. That was definitely fucking new. Like, a fruit bat? A fruit bat. In what world was that an acceptable answer? He knew human-eating monsters existed, but really? The worst part was that he could tell you weren’t messing with him. He could read you like a book, and currently, his lover was being utterly, unrefutably truthful. He pinched his nose bridge, gesturing at you dramatically after.

“So you just- what? Pounce on pineapples and attack grapes?” You rolled your eyes, beginning to walk towards the back door with him in tow. “I eat like a normal person, stupid. I just like to drink the juice.” You were referring to your ability to consume nectar. You could retain the nutrients by simply draining the fruits- it was more fun that way.

He shucked off his boots on the mat, padding into the kitchen behind you. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Jeff said, exasperated. “I don’t know- I just- like. It’s not something you just bring up.” You countered, and he puffed in response. “I literally stab people daily, and my boss doesn’t have a fuckin’ face.” Crossing your arms, you reclined against the sink.

“Okay, I should’ve told you, but I didn’t know when to talk about it-”

“You’re a bat. I don’t think timing really matters.”

“A fruit bat!”

“Same shit.”

A pause, then he gave you a once-over, sticking his tongue into his inner cheek. “… Were you born like that?” You sighed. “Yes.” If you thought the concept of your existence had finally settled in his mind, you were wrong- because he stared at you as if you’d told him the moon was made of cardboard.  

“How the fuck did that happen?” You hopped up onto the surface, perched on the kitchen sink ledge. “My mom was a fruit bat. It’s genetic.” He lifted his arm, drawing circles in the air in your direction when he spoke. “You- okay. Mm.” He clasped his hands together and pressed them to his mouth. “Be honest. Have you ever considered biting me?” The question had you sputtering. “No! Never. I wouldn’t hurt you- we don’t feed on blood.”

Much to your dismay, that’s not what he meant.

Your concern swiftly faded into irritation as the light in his pupils brightened. “I swear to god.” He, naturally, proceeded anyway. “Do you think you could, though? ‘Cause I can work with the fang shit-” The second the words left his lips, you exhaled loudly, throwing your head back in annoyance. “I’m not biting you because you wanna’ be a pervert!”

“Why not?” He argued, pleading. “You cannot be serious.” You gawked at him, and he groaned, crowding your space, his hands on either side of you. He pitched closer. “It’ll be hot. I can handle pain, babe.” Jeff’s masochism streak truly had no bounds.

Excitement was plastered across his face, and you grabbed his cheeks, irked. “Why are you like this?” He snickered, leaning into your touch. “You can mark me up- promise I’ll be a good for ya’.” He raised his brows suggestively, a snort forcing its way out of you despite your stance. “C’mon- c’mon, c’mon. You know you wannaaa’.” He dragged the vowels, persuading you the way he knew best- by making you laugh.

His antics, unfortunately, worked every time, and you giggled. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you finally dropped your guard.

“Fine.”

“You could hold my knife and everything. Make me really fucking feel it—”

“Jeffery.”

➽──────────────❥

Pickle Problems ▶︎ • ၊၊||၊|။|||| ↻

Toby never thought he’d be the one clutching his shirt while being defended, yet here he was.

You had gone out on a late-night snack run, stopping at a twenty-four-hour eatery. It was still a gas station, but it had a full, hot-to-go section where you could order from. He saw it while walking with you and decided it’d be nice to switch it up since you usually just went to the local corner store.

“We feeling spicy chips or normal tonight, Tobes?” You grinned, holding up two bags. The sodium lights hummed faintly overhead, and he bit his lip, debating. “Mm… spicy. I’m gonna’ be brave.” You nodded, the snack swinging at your hip while you walked to the register. The menu glowed from behind the counter, hung up near the ceiling. You called over your shoulder to him.

“Can you pick out a drink for me? I’ll order for both of us.” Your request was acknowledged by a short “’Kay!” And he stepped down the aisle, circling to the open fridge section at the back wall. He scanned the selection, wiggling his fingers over the miscellaneous bottles before grabbing a couple. He heard you talking with the cashier as he slipped the drinks into his comically large pockets. Men and their jeans, you’d said to him once. He thought about it every time he swiped something.

Shuffling to catch up with you when you finished paying for the items, the two of you made your way outside. You settled on a scuffed bench to the side of the shop, and he snagged a container from the plastic bag, opening the box. “I got you a burger- no pickles or tomatoes.” You said, eyes warm. “Oh my god, y-you know me.” He gasped teasingly, bringing the sandwich up to take a bite- when a single slice of pickle fell out.

It landed with a sad splat, and you both stared at it for a solid ten seconds. Smacking his lips together, he went to laugh, only to be interrupted. “No fucking way.” You clicked your tongue. “I literally told him not to put pickles on your shit.” Heavy irritation was written on your features. He blinked at you, chuckling. “It’s fine, I can just pick t-them off-”

You rose to your feet, bag in hand. “It’s not fine. We’re going back inside.” With that, he scrambled to match your pace, hovering his hand out, unsure. The automatic doors slid open, and you marched up to the counter, an overly polite smile gracing your lips.

“Hi, we just ordered- I asked for no pickles on my man’s burger, but we found some. Could we get it remade, please?” Sugar coated your tone, but Toby knew better. That was your “Do not piss me off” voice. A cadence he had been the victim of many times.

The cashier barely glanced up, with far too much attitude in his mannerisms. His name tag read ‘Jace.’ “I made what you asked for. We don’t do refunds.” Your eye twitched, and your boyfriend swallowed. Your anger may not be targeted at him, yet his heartbeat quickened all the same.

“I’m not asking for a refund, sir. I’m asking if we could get it remade- and I’m very sure, I requested no pickles.”

“I did my job. What else do you want?”

“I want my order remade because it’s not what I paid for.”

“Listen. I don’t know what your problem is. I made your fu-”

However, upon finally meeting your gaze, the man froze. While Toby was nonthreatening to you, you often forgot how he was perceived by most people.

His eyes were sunken in, bruises littering almost every inch of his skin, with scars peeking out from old bandages. There was a certain malice that lingered in his movements, this abnormal sharpness that followed every twitch.

Muted, but just noticeable enough- his shoulders would jerk, his teeth grinding every few seconds. Like he was only a fraction away from splintering. The boy’s eyes burned into his own.

The hairs on his neck stood on end, and Toby murmured, focusing back on you. “Can you ask for extra ketchup?” His words were eerily monotone, his fingers clinging to your sleeve when you nodded at Jace. “No pickles, extra ketchup, if you would be so kind.” You smiled, coy and expectant. As if you could see it in the way he breathed out.

There was something deeply wrong with this couple.

His view flicked down- less than a second, but he saw it. The distinct specks of red that dotted the cuffs of your lover's sleeve. If you were this comfortable with the guy, you had to be just like him. If not worse.

Jace was stupid, but not that stupid.

He straightened up instantly, simpering with a weak grin. “R-right. Yeah, sure.” He spun on his heel, darting to the back swiftly, leaving you and Toby alone. He turned to you, pouting. “I hope he adds a lot, I wanna’ s-suh- smush all the sauce together.” You hummed, then tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “That’s ‘cause you’re weird and like your burgers soggy, Tobes.” He stuck out his tongue at you. “Yeah, and y-you kiss me after, s-so.”

Smacking his shoulder as the cashier returned with your food, you giggled. “Stop.” The worker stayed quietly across from you until you noticed his presence, and the order was handed over without fuss.

The night air was cool, the breeze caressing your cheeks while you enjoyed your takeout. Toby sniggered from your right, chewing. “I think we scared the cashier.” You shrugged before wiping the crumbs from the corner of your mouth. “Well, he should’ve been nicer if he didn’t want problems.” Your logic made him snort. “You’re s-so evil, muffin.”

“And you’re my accomplice. What does that say about you, Mr?”

“I never said it was a bad thing! I think you’re p-pretty when you’re mad.”

“You have a thing.”

You were right, he did have a thing. Perhaps it was toxic, but observing you get in someone's face- cocky with him standing behind you, had Toby more hot under the collar than he was willing to admit.

You didn’t need to know that, though.

➽──────────────❥

Too Chewable ▶︎ • ၊၊||၊|။|||| ↻

Happy as Jack may be, there were times when he couldn’t understand you if he tried.

He’d come over after being away for more than two weeks, a mission up north. They needed his strength, his prowess and grit to turn the tide in their battle. He had torn through the defences easily and ripped into their bodies without mercy. A ruthless soldier.

When Jack fought, his blood trail heeded a warning, telling anyone unlucky enough to witness his carnage to move with caution. Feared even amongst the proxies.

Razor-sharp claws that could slice into almost everything, with a maw strong enough to pierce bone. He was terrifying, a monster by right— unless he was here, of course.

“Let’s wrestle.”

The question froze him mid-act, making him turn to you with a confused expression. He’d just stepped out of the shower, still towelling his hair, when you spoke. Propping yourself on your elbows, you were sprawled on your stomach. “It’ll be fun!” The sheets hadn’t even been untucked yet, and your foot thumped against the pillows, body angled towards the edge of the bed.

He arched a brow. “You want to… spar?” Tossing the towel onto a chair, he padded to you while you sat up. “Yeah, and you can teach me how to suplex people with the strength of a thousand men.” Flexing your arm, you nodded at your lover eagerly. Then you rose, standing in front of him. He cocked his head, peering down, unsure. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, my dove.”

Your difference in stature was undeniable, and he couldn’t fathom ever being rough with you. Seasoned killers could barely hold their own against him on a good day, so staring at you now had him hesitant to say the least.

Dressed in your pyjamas, you looked so comfortable, warm with your gentle eyes. The idea of throwing you around for the sake of violence made him frown.

Alas, you were determined, taking his large hand in yours and pressing it to your chest, fingers intwined. “We can do it on the bed, it’s not like we’re actually fighting-” You pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I trust you.” The excitement in your gaze was weakening his will by the second, his lips twitching up before he could stop himself. Damn his inability to deny you.

“… Alright.”

With that, the two of you climbed atop the covers, his frame settling over you. This was supposed to be effortless, but Jack wasn’t exactly versed in domestic warfare. He didn’t know where to start or how to handle the wrestling without harming you. Simply hovering above you, stiff as you muffled a laugh. “Tell me if I’m holding you too hard.” He murmured, and you grinned. “Jack, you’re literally not moving.”

“Love.”

“Yes. I promise I will tell you if you get too rowdy- but you won’t, ‘cause you’re way too careful for that.”

Sighing, he shook his head at your teasing. Leaving light pecks on your cheek, then pulling back. “Mm, try getting out from under me.” You glanced down, noting the gap between your bodies. He was lying in the middle of your thighs; all you had to do was flip him over. It couldn’t be that difficult, right?

Hooking a leg onto his hip, you used the momentum of turning to knock him down- only for your lover to stay stone still. Attempting again, you latched onto him fully, putting all your weight into the rotation.

Jack hadn’t budged an inch.

You huffed. “Why are you so heavy?” Rocking back and forth (or aiming to) as he chuckled quietly. “Attacking me, then insulting my weight, how rude of you.” You gave it one last push, his spine finally meeting the linen with a soft thump. He was splayed on his back, his arms limp at his sides, when you pouted.

His hair was still damp from the bath, chest bare with sweats hanging low on his hips- allowing Jack’s thick happy-trail to peek over the band. The picture-perfect example of a boyfriend. But you couldn’t afford any distractions.

Your gaze darted to his stupidly smug face, unbothered and aggravatingly relaxed. “You’re not even trying.” He ran his tongue against his teeth lazily, canines reflective in the low light. “I did try. You won.” ‘Intimidating’ your ass- he was more like an overgrown house cat than anything else. Your torso was pressed flush to his, and you rested your chin on your palm, poking him in the cheek with your free hand. “Put. In. Effort.” Every word emphasized by a jab.

He exhaled through his nose. “Fine.” The reply was short, and you snorted at his blunt tone. However, before you could prod him further, your shoulders were snug to the mattress.

He’d swapped your positions so fast that you didn’t register it had happened until you were beneath him once more.

Grip firm on your wrists, they were pinned by your head while he caged you. His jaw unlatched wide, revealing jagged incisors. It gave you the exact view his victims had. A beast holding them down, their strength pitiful in comparison, no matter how much they struggled. His head descended, and his nose brushed the sensitive skin of your throat, a basey clicking noise reverberating from his ribs—

Then he left a feather-light kiss against your neck, drawing back with a slight smile.

“There. We’ve fought. Are you satisfied now?” You lunged up in a flash, sinking a bite into his shoulder. You wiggled your feet, chewing on him softly as he was rendered speechless. He could feel your dull teeth compressing his flesh, and he blinked, both amused and stupefied.

The moment he released his hold on you, your arms looped around his neck, continuing to gnaw on him. He faltered.

“My dove?”

“Mhm?”

His palm supported your head when you detached, easing you onto the pillows. “What are you doing-” Yet he was cut off, your mouth securing to his bicep. You took advantage of his confusion and flipped him over. Your barrage was relentless, covering his upper half in marks- your lover simply taking it, boneless.

Your legs were swinging, little hums filling the room while he observed you. You would nip his throat, then bite near his collar. Groping his chest with one hand and feeling up his arm with the other. It wasn’t even sexual; you seemed content just using him as a chew toy. He sometimes wonders how he got here.

Ten minutes passed, and you reclined, satiated. “If I was you, I’d be way worse. Like-” Your fingers squished the fat of his pec, mindlessly squeezing. “You have so much relastate, Jack.” Your amazed expression forced a breathy laugh out of him.

“Thank you, little lamb.”

“You're welcome. Also, if I was a giant cannibal, I’d never eat you. Maybe, I’d like- nibble, but not fully, you know?—”

Jack thinks he’s going to spend the rest of eternity loving you.

➽──────────────❥

XOXO - Gossip Girl ▶︎ • ၊၊||၊|။|||| ↻

Most people would say that Brian was a killjoy.

You were not most people.

Flipping to the next page, you scanned the words. Immersed in your book when he bursts through the bedroom door.

His chest was heaving, coat swiftly thrown to the side, before he faced you with wild eyes. “Dolly, you will never fuckin’ believe what happened today.” He said, slumping down onto the floor, leaning against the mattress.

You scooted to the ledge and crossed your arms in front of you, lying on your stomach. If Brian was shaken up, you knew you were in for the ride of your life. “I thought you were just doing recon?” His head lolled back, glancing at you. “We did, but then we came back and guess who the hell was waitin’ for us?” You squinted at him, quizzical.

“Who?”

“You remember that motel girl I told you Tim was seeing?”

“You’re fucking lying.”

His words had your jaw hanging open, and you rose onto your elbows, now alert. “She tracked ‘im down- was sitting in her car when we pulled in.” You gawked. “How’d she even find you guys? Isn’t the house super far out?” Combing a hand through his hair, he shrugged, aghast. “Lord knows. Shit, if she wasn’t pissed, though.” You nudged closer. “What’d Tim say?”

Tim, from what you’d heard, had a long history of scandalous romantic affairs. He never stayed with one person for long, and if he did, it didn’t end well. Him and your lover were brothers in arms, with Brian carrying the more domestic passions, it seemed.

He’d had his fair share of lacklustre relations, but they were all one-night stands, clean cut. Not to mention the fact that he was with you now, blissfully claiming the title of your boyfriend.

He sighed, sticking his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “What didn’t he say. They were yellin’ at each other for over thirty minutes-” He tossed an arm onto the bed, body turning towards you. “Apparently, she thought they were exclusive. Saw him out with another missus, and lost her mind.” You gaped as he shot you a look.

“She said he told her he’d call her the night she saw ‘em together, too. Was screaming her damn head off on the porch- they got so loud, Rogers woke up and came outside.” You felt terrible on her behalf, but you’d be a fraud if you said you weren’t on the edge of your seat. “He’s so messy, oh my god.” You snickered, fully invested.

“Yer’ tellin’ me. She was sayin’ that Tim was a good-for-nothin’ liar, had him all sorts of wound up.” He grunted, and you tilted your head to the side. “I mean, is she wrong? Like, if the man I was talking to promised to call, and I saw him with someone hanging off his arm, I’d be so irritated.” The scoff that left Brian made you snort.

“That’s what I fuckin’ said! But that bastard don’t listen-” Flinging up his hand, “And that ain’t even the craziest part, baby.” He narrowed his eyes, jabbing a finger into the mattress. “Motel girl knows Clockwork.” You raised a brow, wracking your brain.

“Wait, who’s Clockwork?”

“Rogers ex.”

You gasped with all the space your lungs had to offer, mouth wide in astonishment. “Brian.” He clicked his tongue and gestured into the air. “We had to drag her out- she wouldn’t leave until Tim forced her into the car. She was callin’ him shit I didn’t know existed.” Slapping a palm over your lips, you muttered harshly. “Not him being yelled at in front of his own home. I’d literally die.”

“After she left, Tobias told me that the girl’s insane. When he was still with his ex, she’d show up to shout at ‘em both ‘cause she had problems with Clockwork- didn’t even flinch when she saw him.”

“Tim actually has the worst taste in hook-ups. He needs to reevaluate or something because this is not it, girl.”

“Sweetheart, don’t even get me started.”

You giggled at his building exasperation, and he groaned, pinching his nose bridge. “This ain’t the end either. He’s goin’ to see her tomorrow. Y’know, sometimes, I wish I could see into that damn head of his ‘cause I- mm.” You angled yourself, leaning forward before kissing his temple. “Talk to me, lover.” Brian hummed at the affection, shoulders easing. He nuzzled into your cheek while his lashes fluttered closed.

“You’d think after havin’ his ass chewed out, he’d make better choices, but no.” Continuing, he pointed into space, circling nothing as he talked. “S’all ‘Brian, you don’t get it! I got somethin’ real here!’ And ‘I have it handled, stop looking at me like that!’ Like-” He shot up, whipping towards you head on, bothered to hell's end.

“The only thing real here is the fine I’m gonna’ hafta’ pay when she bashes my windows in because she thinks it’s his truck. I mean, would it kill him to find someone who likes to paint once an’ awhile?— A nice lady who doesn’t threaten my well-being ‘cause he ain’t wanna’ turn on his fuckin’ phone. Maybe somebody who knits instead of trying to take us both out, since he wants to do fuck all- all the goddamn time.”

His tone was heated, and he wrapped up the tangent with an aggravated “Ugh.” Lip curled up in frustration. “I’m sick of it, dolly. I am.” He crumbled back down, huffing. “The world is so evil to you, Bri Bri. You’re so strong.” You cradled his neck, pecking along his cheekbone. “Hopefully, he settles soon, and you’ll be free from this torment.” Your teasing had the edges of his mouth tugging up.

“If his next missus ain’t whip some sense into ‘im, I’ll do it myself.”

“You’re gonna’ fight him on behalf of the maneaters?”

“Sure am.”

With the crooked grin on his face, perhaps you’d buy him a T-shirt that said ‘Number one ally’ on it.

➽──────────────❥

Barking Opposition ▶︎ • ၊၊||၊|။|||| ↻

Tim had hit the lowest point in his life by far.

You were mad at him.

He hopes he dies.

He doesn’t know how it happened or when it happened, but it happened. And now, he’s condemned to couch duty for the foreseeable future.

Your prized possession, your absolute, all-time favourite comfort sweater, had been ruined. An irredeemable amount of blood had gotten on it, and no matter how hard he tried, the dark patch refused to come out. He’d sat on the sweatshirt by accident post-mission, dropping onto the sofa in his dirtied jeans. The crime was realized too late, and you caught him in the act, mid-panic. That was two days ago.

He agreed that it was his fault. You had warned him multiple times about being careful, reminding him to move with caution when he came home after a job. Alas, he was used to the living conditions of the mansion, where everything was already caked with grime, and nobody batted an eye at bloodstains. Except that was the manor, and this was your home.

After The Incident took place, you’d rightfully given him the cold shoulder. All his apologies were met with an icy glare, then you’d spin away from him dramatically, leaving him in your shadow to sulk. To make matters worse, the dog you’d begged him for had taken his spot on the bed.

Every goddamn morning, it would prance out from the bedroom. Jolly, smug as it cuddled up to your side. You’d pet its head, telling it how handsome it was- how well behaved and polite. The puppy was basking in your love while Tim got nothing. Not. Even. Scraps.

Tim hated that dog more than he hated the operator.

That dog couldn’t protect you from otherworldly dangers. It couldn’t defend your name righteously as a good man should. It didn’t help you with laundry and the kitchen sink pipes when they’d act up. It couldn’t even talk- and yet, it was the one curling up on your chest when dusk fell. The thing was practically rubbing it in his face at this point.

He remembers what the stray did, as if it were yesterday (it was). He was minding his own business when it came sniffing around the corner. Strutting to his seat, it had turned its nose up, skipping away as if it only came to show off. The tag on its new collar read- “Best Boy,” and he had never felt more betrayed. Best? Best? You had to be joking.

He’d fought borderline wars to make it home in time for dinner, and that good-for-nothing dog had taken his position in your life overnight.

Tim was fuming.

He hadn’t gotten a single kiss from you in over forty-eight hours. Forty-fucking-eight. He was dying of thirst watching an ill-fitted replacement drown. You weren’t responding to any of his messages either, simply leaving him on read or giving his text a thumbs up if he told you something you deemed important. You were probably spooning the puppy right now, having it tucked into you. Being terribly sweet on that stupid, undeserving, wretched, godforsaken motherfucking—

“Masky, are y-you good?”

Toby’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts, and he whipped to the side. The boy had settled next to him on the porch bench, equally as scuffed from the prior assignment. His cigarette was snapped in half from how hard he’d squished it during his inner monologue. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Though his words were nowhere near convincing, making the younger proxy arch a brow. “… Are you sure? You’ve been s-staring at the truck like it killed your family, man. John W-Wick style.” He sighed in response, closing his eyes for a moment before he snagged out another cig, lighting the smoke tiredly. “I fucked up, Rogers.” He spoke with so much grief, Toby leaned back.

“What’d you do?”

“I- lord. Favourite sweater. I stained the son of a bitch, and now I’m sleepin’ on the couch.”

“Oh yikes.”

Huffing, he reclined, taking a long drag. “Haven’t been loved on since. I might as well have ended up in a ditch tonight.” He exhaled heavily, and Toby nodded in understanding, sympathetic. “I remember when I stained my baby’s f-favourite pillow. I was in the dog house for weeks.” That had Tim scowling. “The fucking dog- should’ve never gotten a pet-” Facing the boy once more, he gestured at him with the cigarette.

“It’s sleepin’ in my spot, Rogers. Can you believe that? After all I’ve done. I get thrown away like fucking chopped liver- for a dog.” Toby shook his head, shrugging defeatedly. “Yeah, I’ve b-been there. Happens to t-the best of us, Masky.” Tim buried his face in his palms and groaned. “The hell am I supposed to do, huh? I can’t even get a damn kiss after all this bullshit.”

Toby slumped against the bench, trying his best to come up with a solution. Masky had always given him advice when he was learning the ropes of being a good partner, so it was only fair that he put in effort now.

It felt like his brain was steaming from the strain, but after a few minutes, he sat up. Light bulb sparking above his head. “Have you tried using a boombox?” Tim looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “What in god’s name are you talkin’ about, Tobias?”

“When I f-fuh-fucked up, I stood outside with a boombox for l-like an hour- and it worked!” He explained, raising his hands. “Listen, if they love you enough, the boombox always does w-what it’s supposed to. Trust m-me.” Tim narrowed his eyes, inhaling the smoke before puffing in disbelief.

“I’m a grown ass man. It’s not doin’ shit, and I ain’t got the time to stand outside for an hour.”

“Okaay- well, don’t b-blame me when you’re still s-sleeping on the couch tonight instead of being held, Masky.”

He went to scold the boy for his tone, only to be interrupted by Toby standing suddenly, phone pressed to his ear. Tim could hear the sappy nonsense spill through the speaker, and the other killer grinned, mouthing at him. “Gotta’ go, angel wants me home.” The porch was occupied by him alone after that, the silence giving him room to think.

He wasn’t showing up with a dumb boombox. He couldn’t. It probably wouldn’t work anyway. There was no way it would actually make you any less mad, and he wasn’t risking the chance of your mood worsening. Absolutely not, he was not buying an oversized stereo to blast cheesy music outside. That was idiotic; he was far too old to be pulling off stunts like that. He wasn’t doing it. He will not do it—

The boombox rattled in Tim’s backseat as he drove, and he prayed that he wouldn’t have to kill Toby Rogers tomorrow morning.

➽──────────────❥

Purple With Jealousy ▶︎ • ၊၊||၊|။|||| ↻

Habit was seething.

This was Evan’s fault.

Gengar. A Pokémon. A fucking cartoon character. He had a shirt with the little shit printed on the front. Nothing spectacular, just a faded tee he had in his closet- yet you seemed to like it. You said it suited him, the creature sharing his grin or something like that. He never thought anything of it, never cared about it.

Until now.

Recently, he’d come home to find you hugging a life-sized plush of the character. It was round and stupid-looking, but so were the rest of your stuffed animals, so he brushed it off. You told him you’d bought it because it reminded you of him, and he had scoffed. Okay, he found it a tiny bit endearing that you got a dumb purple pillow to hug when you missed him. But that wasn’t the point.

The present issue was that the whole “only using it when he wasn’t available” thing seemed to have slipped your mind. You had begun bringing it to bed with you, saying you didn’t want it to get cold. Which made zero fucking sense, but sure. It was fine-

And then it fucking wasn’t because you were currently facing away from him, cuddling with that ugly bitch.

You had let go of his arm in your sleep, rolling over to latch onto the toy instead. Habit, of course, noticed immediately. He didn’t need rest the way you did, and the second your warmth left him, his eyes shot open. The only reason he was there was to hold you- or else you’d get sulky. With that logic, why were you even an inch away from him, let alone embracing something else?

His teeth were grinding harder by the millisecond, and he scowled, glaring at the back of your head. You were snuggling into its chest, humming quietly. Grabbing onto it like it was your boyfriend, when your real boyfriend was less than a centimetre behind you.

Its stupid, featurally challenged smile had him livid. It was so fucking ugly. Genuinely an eye sore to see. Its fat fucking head wasn’t even, and its stubby limbs stuck out at odd angles. It looked nothing like him. It couldn’t keep you safe or soothe your worries. It didn’t take care of you the way he did, and it definitely couldn’t fuck you the way you liked.

It didn’t even have a fucking dick.

So why. The actual fuck. Were you nuzzling the hideous ball-shaped teddy as if you loved it?

You held the son of a bitch with so much fondness that it made him irate. His eye was twitching, and he had half the mind to yank it out of your arms. This wouldn’t have even happened if Evan’s stupid ass hadn’t bought the shirt. Yet much to Habit’s dismay, Evan was a fucking nerd who liked merch, and now he was losing his carefully nurtured rabbit to a cotton stuffed purple whore.

If he could sink his hands back into the depths of Evan’s soul to choke him, he would.

A vein was popping out of his neck, and he turned onto his side, staring at the toy with visceral hatred. “I’m going to find your creator, and rip his spine out of his fuckin’ throat, you hear me?” He muttered under his breath, full of malice.

He slipped an arm around your middle, tugging you back into him, and you squirmed, still attached to the parasite. This had to count as cheating. He huffed, reaching over to wiggle the fabric from your grasp. Your fingers eventually loosened, and the plush rolled off the mattress, landing on the ground with a muted thump. Jesus- fucking finally.

Habit exhaled when you shuffled, turning to face him, then rubbing your cheek into his chest. You inhaled deeply, a soft smile gracing your lips as you nuzzled deeper. He felt your thigh nudge between his legs, and you were fully cocooned in his embrace soon after. Contentedly babbling about whatever you were dreaming of.

Clearly, you were much more comfortable this way. “Gengar” was an unnecessary addition to the household, and he would be taking care of it in the morning.

While your lover didn’t need sleep, the lull of your heartbeat was calming. Repetitive, like white noise amongst the crickets outside- his lids were drooping before he realized. It wouldn’t hurt his vessel to rest a little extra, so he yawned and buried his nose in your hair to call it a night.

Though as the next day rolled around, his anger returned tenfold.

Everything was great, dandy, even. He’d planned to throw it out when he awoke, but he had business that he’d forgotten to wrap up. He could just toss the thing when he got home; it wasn’t a big deal. However, upon stepping foot into the house, the sight that greeted him had him holding back a yell.

Gengar was sitting at the fucking dinner table. You were eating with it. Talking to it. You had propped it up with a dumb bib and everything. Its rotund ass was in his seat. With his plate. Having a grand time with his bunny. Habit marched up the chair with a sneer, grabbing the plush’s head harshly.

You gasped, a pout already forming while you scrambled to rise onto your feet. “Bitty! What are you doing?” He grunted, replying roughly.

“I’m burning the bitch.”

“What? Why?”

“Bonbon, do not piss me off—”

➽──────────────❥

Bogeyman Down ▶︎ • ၊၊||၊|။|||| ↻

Laughing Jack was currently doing everything but laughing.

Oh, he’d really done it now- you were livid. Absolutely ticked to the moon. He’d done the one thing you’d asked him not to. The singular requirement you’d talked about prior. Do not mess up your life because he was in his head again.

And Jack had meddled to high heaven.

As stubborn as he was, he, unfortunately, could admit that this was his fault. Kind of. Maybe. Definitely. Whatever. In his opinion, the man with you looked suspicious. He was all over you. Laughing as you walked, nearly falling into you while you joked around. It had Jack feeling beyond betrayed, and he perhaps acted a bit irrationally.

He waited for you to part ways, then he snapped. Following the guy home before slipping into his dreams, tormenting him to the brink of psychological breakage. When he awoke that morning, he couldn’t even speak. Wouldn’t respond to any stimulus. His roommate was in shambles and beyond worried, so they called in professionals.

Which is when Jack found out that the guy was not a friend.

He was your cousin.

Your thoughtful, very close, and well-respected cousin. You’d informed him earlier that month that “Jay” was coming to visit, talking about it briefly while you two were under the covers. Though regrettably, he’d been quite distracted.

You had a habit of feeling him up for fun. You’d grope him through his shirt, grab his ass roughly mid-conversation, and knead at his thighs if you were bored. That night was one of those nights. It’s not that he wasn’t paying attention; it was just hard to stay focused when you were practically stroking him over his boxers. “It’s keeping my hand warm!” You’d said- and then you proceeded to pump him until his eyes crossed.

So gods forbid he was a little off course when analyzing your cousin.

Still, that didn't matter because you were very angry with him currently. You knew what’d happened from the second the man's roommate called you, turning to him with a glare that chilled him to the bone. You had left swiftly to visit Jay after, and now he was sulking alone past one in the morning. Curse that boy.

Alright, he was reaping what he sowed, but he missed you. You’d been mad for over two days, and he was dying. Literally dying, he swears he could feel himself withering by the hour. Yet the faith he had in your love remained; you were mad, yes, but you promised you weren’t breaking up with him. Therefore, he had to plan this out carefully. He was not about to put your relationship on the line due to recklessness.

The hospital halls were illuminated by cold overhead lights, humming dully as he slinked down the corridor. He’d made a bouquet for you, a bundle of your favourite flowers, with treats mixed into the stems. Tied together with a large red ribbon, a classic.

He saw the ajar ward door at the end of the walkway, and he padded forward, heart felt speech prepared. One step, another, then a shocked gasp made him falter. Twisting around, there was a nurse gawking at him two paces away. Her face was drained of colour, aghast at the view in front of her. Jack loomed over the scattered carts, lit by the faint glow of the private room behind him.

It cast shadows across his features, the glint of his edged teeth reflecting white. His form was towering, barely fitting beneath the ceiling. Skin pale, with makeup cracking along the curve of his painted lips.

A haunting sight that sent piercing fear through her nerves, making her grip her necklace shakily. She stared at him for a moment, their eyes holding tension while the awkwardness crept up his spine. “Hello…?” He greeted, trying to be cordial, and she staggered back. Muttering under her breath, “Babayaga.” He frowned at that.

Blinking a few times, he opened his mouth, closing it rigidly after debating his options. Usually, he’d simply get rid of any witnesses, but you were mad enough. If he acted out of line, your patience would definitely wane, and he couldn’t afford that.

Jack swallowed, shuffling blindly to the side, attempting to reach the door handle. Her eyes were still glued to his figure— light flooded into the dim hall.

You, in all your irritated glory, were stationed at the room's entrance, and he swivelled to you. “Gum drop-!” Though you didn’t let him finish, completely focused on the worker trembling in his shadow.

You held a palm up in his direction, effectively silencing him. “Hi. Sorry, my boyfriend’s really eccentric. He’s just visiting.” The tight smile you were giving the woman had him gulping dryly.

“Your- your boyfriend?”

“Yes. My boyfriend. He’s harmless, I promise. Just tall.”

“Right.”

She obviously did not trust the information one bit, but she nodded nonetheless. Returning your grin weakly, before swiftly speed walking her way around the corner, signing a cross over her chest.

You turned to him, eyes narrowed. “Jack.” Good god. Alright. “Yes?” He said with a nervous half laugh, and you scowled. Drawing a deep inhale, your tone left no room for nonsense. “You know what you did.” Jack hummed in acknowledgment, then you crossed your arms.

“This is the last time you piss me off.”

“Mhm.”

“You will not do it again, and if you start feeling off about somebody, you tell me about it. Because we are in a relationship, and that’s how it works. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my sweet.”

Your glower made him deflate more and more, shrinking into his fur cloak until his chin was tucked by the end. He’d fought immortal creatures for fun, been through unfathomable carnage, yet nothing compared to the disappointment of his spouse. You were scary when you were mad.

The staleness stretched on for another beat, then you sighed. “Stop overthinking and talk to me.” Moving closer, taking his hand in yours. “I love you so much, it’s not fair when you keep doubting me.” His palm cupped your cheek, and you stood chest to chest. “I trust you with my life, and I need you to trust me too, Jackie.” The earnestness in your gaze made his shoulders drop.

“I know- I know. I just-” He murmured, tugging you into him, the flowers pressed against your back. “I’m not… good at this. But I’m trying- I swear, I am.” He whispered into your hair, “I’ll be better.” And his vulnerability was clear as day.

You buried your face into his chest, clutching at the wrapping around his torso. “You’re not in a box anymore, and I’m not leaving you behind. No more bottling things up, okay?”

His bottom lip wobbled, and he squeezed you. “Okay.” Abandonment issues be damned, he’d rather spend another five hundred years imprisoned in a tupperware than lose you.

“What the fuck?”

The foreign voice made him shoot up, whipping his head to the source. Jay was leaning on the door frame, confusion plastered on his face. “He’s- He’s fucking!? That’s- I saw him!” He stuttered, and you held your hand up, attempting to de-escalate the situation.

“Wait- okay, it’s not what it looks like. Take a breath-”

“Take a breath?! He literally gutted me, I fucking felt it.”

“I lightly disembowelled you-”

“Jackson, not now.”

— ^ ^ —

"choso—" you start, already feeling guilty, already reaching for the hem of his sweater.

he catches your hands and pins them gently above your head. his fingers twine with yours, pressing your palms into the pillow.

"no, sweetheart." he says, his mouth brushing your ear. his voice drops, rough and reverent. "you don’t do the work. you never do the work. you just lay there, princess, and let me take care of you. let me please you. let me—" he grinds his hips down, and you feel how hard he is, straining against the fabric of his trousers, and you gasp. "—let me do everything."

he releases your hands only to finally pull his sweater over his head. you watch the muscles of his back shift in the warm light of your tablelamp, the old scars, the lean strength. when he turns back to you, he’s already unlacing his trousers, pushing them down, kicking them off.

he kneels between your thighs, his dark eyes raking over you. "open up," he murmurs, his hands sliding up your legs, pushing your shift higher. "be good for me, okay?"

you spread your legs, trembling. he’s already so hard, the pink tip flushed and wet, and he wraps his hand around himself, stroking once, twice, his eyes never leaving your face.

"you don’t even have to move," he says, leaning down, caging you in his warmth. "i’ll do all the work. i’ll get you ready. i’ll make you feel so good. all you have to do is look at me. can you do that for me, princess? can you let me love you?"

"yes," you breathe, your voice cracking. "yes, choso, please—"

he kisses you then, deep and filthy, his tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that makes your toes curl. his hand slips between your legs, his fingers finding you already wet, already aching. he doesn’t make you ask, nor does he make you work for it. he just pushes two fingers inside you, curling them, stretching you open while his thumb circles your clit.

"that’s it," he praises against your lips, feeling you clench around him. "that's my girl. just lay there and take it. let me get you ready for my cock."

you moan, your head falling back against the pillow. he’s relentless, his fingers pumping in and out, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. you try to rock your hips, try to chase the sensation, but he stills you with his free hand on your hip.

"no, angel." he says, his voice firm. "don’t move. let me. i want to feel you squeezing my fingers while you just lay there and let me fuck you open."

you whimper, your hands gripping the sheets because he won’t let you touch him. he’s leaning over you, watching your face, watching the pleasure overwhelm you, and his expression is something almost feral. like this—serving you, controlling your pleasure, doing all the labor—is exactly where he wants to be.

"look at you," he breathes, his fingers moving faster, harder. "so pretty. so perfect. you're doing so well, baby. letting me make you cum. can you do that for me? can you cum on my fingers like a good girl?"

"choso!" you sob, the pressure building, your body tensing.

"there she is," he croons, his thumb pressing down. "cum for me, make a mess of the sheets."

you break, your orgasm crashing over you, your walls clamping down on his fingers as you cry out. he rides you through it, his hand moving slower now, drawing out every wave until you’re shaking, boneless, your hair fanned out across the pillow.

before you can catch your breath, he’s moving. he hooks his arms under your knees, spreading you wide, his hands sliding up to grip your hips. he positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against your still-pulsing heat.

"now," he says, his voice rough with restraint. "i’m going to fuck you, and i’m going to make you cum again. and again. until you can’t think. until you can’t even remember your name."

"please," you gasp, your hands reaching for him again, wanting to touch, to hold.

he catches your wrists and presses them back into the mattress. "no," he says, his eyes dark. "be good, or i'll stop. understand?"

you nod, dizzy, your body still throbbing.

he pushes in with one long, smooth thrust, filling you completely. the stretch burns so perfectly you cry out, your back arching off the bed, but he holds you down, his grip tight on your hips.

"fuck," he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. "so warm. so tight. and you’re just— letting me use you— shit—"

he starts to move, a slow, deep rhythm that has you seeing stars. he’s doing all the work—his hips rolling, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls, his hands holding you exactly where he wants you. you try to move, try to meet his thrusts, but he growls and pins you harder.

"stay still," he orders, his voice strained. "let me do this for you. you had a hard day. you smiled at people who didn't deserve it. now you just get to lay here and take my cock. that’s all. that’s your only job."

"ch-choso!" you sob, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. it’s too much, the pleasure, the devotion, the way he’s using his body to serve you. "i love you— hic!— i love you so much—"

"i know," he breathes, his thrusts speeding up, becoming harder, more desperate. his skin slaps against yours, the bed creaking, but he never lets you move. he holds you open, holds you down, fucks into you with a single-minded focus that’s entirely about your pleasure. "and i love you more. god, i love you so much more."

his hand slides between you again, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles. you’re so sensitive from your first orgasm, every touch is electric, overwhelming. you can’t move, can’t do anything but lay there and take it, exactly like he wants, and the helplessness of it, the sheer luxury of being cared for so completely, sends you over the edge again.

you cum with a scream, your walls clamping down on him so hard he chokes, his rhythm faltering.

"that’s it," he gasps, fucking you through it, chasing his own release now. "atta girl. just— shit— i-im gonna—"

he thrusts deep one last time and stills, his cock pulsing inside you as he comes with a broken groan against your neck. you feel the heat of it, the way he spills into you, marking you, claiming you, all while you lay there trembling, his hands still gripping your hips, his weight pressing you into the mattress.

for a long moment, neither of you moves. he’s breathing hard, his chest heaving, sweat slicking his skin. slowly, carefully, he pulls out and collapses beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms. he’s still panting, his heart hammering against your ear.

"okay?" he whispers, his hand stroking your hair again, back to the gentle, domestic touches.

you nod, boneless, drifting. "more than okay," you murmur. "felt so good."

"that’s the point," he reminds you, pressing a kiss to your temple. "pretty girls like you shouldn’t have to do anything."

you smile against his chest, your eyes already closing. "then i guess i’m just going to have to let you do it again tomorrow."

It was as infuriating as it was comical. You had wormed your way into his life, refusing to budge until you broke through his guards. Like the cement walls around his heart were nothing but glass.

He didn’t understand you, and maybe that’s why he lingered. Maybe that was the reason he didn’t recoil in disgust, a cruel snarl forming on his lips when you’d curl up next to him the way you do now. Your palm lay flat atop his chest, cuddled close, with no space in between. There was no room for barriers when someone had seen you to the core.

Aftercare was a practiced skill. He learned that once you had confessed that his distance post-intimacy made you feel discarded. He hadn’t meant to pull away that night, it just got overwhelming. Yet the hurt in your eyes had him wishing he wasn’t so callous.

It was difficult at first. Hard to adjust to vulnerability. He’d never admit it, but it scared him sometimes. Loving someone was work, taking effort and care. Things that he’d grown to shove down and cast aside. Still, he tried. Swallowing his pride because if he did, you’d remain whole.

Because if he didn’t, it’d cost him everything.

“Jeff?” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he glanced up. “Yeah?” The covers were pushed down a tad, duvet slipping off your legs as you shuffled onto your stomach.

“Whatcha’ thinking about?”

“Nothing.”

You cocked your head to the side, a too aware smile pulling at your lips. “Well, do you wanna’ talk about nothing?” You were annoying. He rolled his eyes. “No.” However, you weren’t one to let him slip away without a fight.

Jeff had a habit of retreating into his own head when things got ‘too real.’ So it was up to you to lure him back out, guiding him home safely if he lost sight of the path. “Are you sure?” You asked quietly, and he huffed through his nose.

Right. Communication.

A pause, then he sighed, shutting his lids like it’d hide his fears.

“When you look at me, what do you see?”

His words stunned you. More honest than you were expecting, you faltered before humming. “I don’t know, I just see you.” He scoffed, lashes fluttering open. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

You readjusted, reaching up to brush your thumb along his cheek. Mapping the scars that stretched from ear to ear. His hair was in disarray, pale skin reflecting the moonlight. The flesh near his right eye was coarse, marred from the chemical burns and the violence of his past.

You rubbed the area gently and slumped into the pillow, cupping his jaw. “I don’t categorize you. You’re just… here. It’s complicated.” He mirrored your position, flipping over, both arms beneath the cushion. “Okay?” Expectant, his pupils roamed your features. “I mean, like- you’re my boyfriend, so when I look at you, that’s what I think about.” You said, hushed.

Dropping your hand, you blinked at him while he nodded slightly. “And that’s it?” The question came out more unsure than he had aimed for, but you understood nonetheless. “If you’re still wondering if I’m scared of you, I’m not. I’ve never been scared of you.” He grunted in response.

“That’s ‘cause you’re fuckin’ weird- and your answer doesn’t even make sense.”

“Okay, then what do you see when you look at me?”

Jeff froze at that.

Shit, maybe your answer did make sense. You were just sort of there, existing. Someone with far too much patience and not enough self preservation. Somebody he searched for everywhere, in every room, in every open space, his first instinct was to find you.

It didn’t matter if he knew logically that you wouldn’t be there, his brain just did it on autopilot. He’d scan the crowd for the back of your head, strain his ears when the wind would pick up for your voice- just in case.

You were his heart, the missing piece in a puzzle he’d given up on years ago. The person he’d want to hold if the world was ending tomorrow.

He shrugged, avoiding your gaze. “I don’t fucking know. An idiot?” His baritone was muffled by stuffing, and you huffed a laugh. “Wow, how romantic, Jeffrey.” The breeze rustled the leaves outside, branches tapping against your window from the current. He flopped onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Emotions were stupid as shit.

You took the chance to crawl over him, straddling his thighs. You were both nude, no layers separating your bodies. Your cunt sat at the base of his limp cock, yet it lacked any heat. Simply skin on skin, just having proximity to feel each other.

His hands drifted to your waist, resting on the curve of your hips. “Round two?” He arched a brow suggestively, and you giggled, smacking his chest. “Stop! I’m trying to bask.” Jeff clicked his tongue, squinting at you.

“Bask on my dick? Fuck- if you wanted to try something, you could’ve just asked.”

“Shut up. You asked me to look at you and think, now I’m looking at you and thinking.”

You brought up his wrist, flattening your palms together before entwining your fingers. “You’re never allowed to fall in love again. It’s me or nothing.” Your hands swayed a little in the air, and he snorted. “Fat chance. Falling in love isn’t real, sweets.” Your boyfriend was a really bad liar when it came down to it.

He’d say pessimistic things like that while staring at you as if he’d crumble in your absence. What a loser.

“Yeah? What’s all this then?” You grinned, tugging his hand up to your mouth, pressing a kiss to his scuffed knuckles. He clenched his jaw, mock scowl contorting his expression. “A shared hallucinating because we both need to be put in a padded cell.” You deadpanned, offended. “You, maybe- I am perfectly stable.”

Your statement was met with a disbelieving grumble, Jeff squeezing your hip. “I gut motherfuckers, and your ass is going around telling people I’m sensitive. You’re insane, babe.” You smacked your lips together, your eyes narrowed.

“You are sensitive.”

“No the fuck I’m not?”

“Jeffrey, you drank and then got mad that I wouldn’t ‘kiss you back’ because you kept missing my lips.”

“You said you wouldn’t fucking bring that up—“

— ^ ^ —

you, now a single mother... though, you've been raising your year old son on your own since he was born; the divorce was just waiting to happen.

and you, who knows exactly what yuta okkotsu is getting at when he just drops by your office, or asks how you're doing after almost every class, who gave you his personal number as if that didn't come with a million implications. he's a smart guy; but you're smarter.

grad student!yuta who texts you asking if he can drop by your office for some assistance with his TA work, because why would he ask anyone else when he can ask you?

and you, who is not in the office that day... and yuta knows that.

and you know it's a bad idea when you text him back, sending him a ping of your address and telling him– 'i'm not in the office today, but come by here at 6, yeah?'

grad student!yuta who is wracked with nerves when you open your front door, hair loose, wearing denim shorts and a lace cami and nursing a glass of red wine.

grad student!yuta who is so sure he's never been this hard in his life–

and you, who asks him, "did you want a glass?" gesturing with your wine glass vaguely.

"uh–"

"wait, you're old enough, right?"

"i'm 25."

fuck, this is just a terrible idea.

grad student!yuta who can't stop staring at you when you tie your hair up and your glasses are perched on the edge of your nose as you look over his notes. and he's not listening to a damn word you're saying.

and it's innocent when you grab his shoulder, leaning over the corner of the dining table to point out a paragraph he could edit. but he's not listening. his eyes are glued to the way your tits press together as you lean over, how the strap of your cami has just slightly dropped off your shoulder, how his dick hardens more when you hook one of your legs over the other, your bare foot brushing the inside of his calf under the table.

grad student!yuta whose breath catches in his throat, fist clenching atop his thigh while you talk, tired eyes so wide with feigned innocence.

"you okay, yuta?" your lips part just slightly, stained a little red from the wine and the ultimate object of yuta's desires right now.

grad student!yuta who has a surge of courage amidst the silence; falling victim to your pretty eyes and the way you bat your lashes so innocently as if you don't know exactly what you're doing inviting him into your home.

grad student!yuta whose large hands twitch in his lap as he pushes forward, capturing your wine-bitter lips in a chaste kiss. it lasts barely a second and his cheeks and ears are blooming with red when he pulls away.

"i-i'm so sorry– shit– i-i didn't mean–"

and you attempt and fail to fight off a smile, "you got a little crush on me, yuta?"

and yuta breathes hard, "...with all due respect, ma'am, i don't know of a single student in your class who doesn't."

and you hum, amused, ego a little (very) stroked, "mm... luck you then, hm?"

grad student!yuta who holds your hips down against the dining table with shaky hands; body rampant with nerves, arousal and adrenaline. your lips are driving him crazy; open-mouthed kisses against his jaw, tongue slipping in his mouth and swallowing every whimper and whine that leaves that pretty, unmarked throat.

grad student!yuta who feels hot all over, hands pinning your hips to the table to keep you from grinding your clothed cunt against the bulge in his jeans. because if you do, he's gonna cum.

grad student!yuta who can't help but whimper when you lean back, peeling your cami off your body, exposing your pretty lacy bra that you totally didn't dig out of the bottom of your closet just in case.

your lips are on his, fingers tugging at the hair on the back of his head. your free hand drops to his at your hip, tugging on his wrist and cupping it over your soft tit.

"scared to touch me?"

"no– fuck– i'm just–" his hand moves to the clasp at your back, desperate to taste the skin your bra is hiding.

grad student!yuta who has never had the pleasure of unclasping a bra, who has to peer over your shoulder while you suck and bite at his throat.

"fuck."

you smile against his skin, "need some help there?"

grad student!yuta who nearly creams his pants at the sight of your tits, so full and round and right there–

your thighs clamp around his hips, his mouth panting and salivating before he tastes the sweat on your skin, tongue draaagging up your breast and flicking over the hardness of your nipple.

they hadn't been sensitive before you had your son. but now–

"mm– fuck, yuta–"

you press your hips into his, rolling and grinding your cunt against his cock straaaining in his jeans. your panties are almost soaked through and every nudge and griiiind of your hips rolls your throbbing clit against the slick fabric.

grad student!yuta who can't think straight as you roll yourself against his cock, heat pooling in his stomach so painfully.

grad student!yuta who whimpers at every tug of your fingers in his hair, face hot and flushed as he licks, rolls and sucks on the prettiest tits he's ever seen in his life.

grad student!yuta who tries desperately to recall anything he's learned from porn to try and impress you, to make you want to do this again.

grad student!yuta who–

"f-fuck– ngh"

–just can't stop himself from cumming in his pants from humping against your shorts and squeezing your tits in his palms. hot ropes of sticky cum pool in his jeans and he feels utterly humiliated.

"haah– i-i'm so sorry."

sweat beads down his forehead, hair sticking to his skin as he looks up at you with those adorable, tired eyes. his hands cling to your hips, holding your clothed cunt flush against his pulsing cock.

you can see the slight wet patch in the fabric, the slight twitch of his poor cock in his boxers.

"s'okay, sweetheart," you pet his hair, hand resting against his throat.

his eyes are pressed closed, his senses overwhelmed as he attempts to shake off the tingling of his high.

"why don't i get you some water, hm?"

"b-but what about you?"

you press a peck to his cheek, "s'okay, i had fun."

"i–" his tongue darts out to wet his chapped lips, "i could–"

you tilt your head slightly to the side, stroking the clumped strands of sweaty hair off his forehead.

his voice is low and his breath shudders, "i wanna eat your pussy."

it's meant to be a question but the way he asks? it's like he's begging.

"...you wanna do that?"

yuta's brows furrow, a heavy breath forced out of his lungs as he simply beeeegs– "please."

and who are you to deny a starving man?

grad student!yuta who sinks to his knees like it's the most natural thing in the world. like he's meant to be between your warm thighs with his nose nudging at your clit through your shorts and inhaling–

"smell s'good," he whines, fingers curling into your shorts and panties and tugging them down in one, albeit awkward, motion.

grad student!yuta whose mouth waters at the sight of your glistening pussy, positively dying at the thought of tasting you, of having the sweetness and musk of your slick linger on his tongue for days; dying at the thought of making you cum.

grad student!yuta who makes out with your pussy like he did with your tits, revelling in the sweet noise of pleasure you let out as he presses the flat of his tongue over your hole.

grad student!yuta who lets you guide him exactly where you need him–

"f-fuck– right, there– yes–"

grad student!yuta who rolls your clit with the tip of his tongue, forcing you further onto your back as his hands dig into your thighs, prying them further apart so he can fuck his tongue into you.

grad student!yuta whose cock twitches in his pants, painfully hard and untouched yet completely overstimulated.

grad student!yuta who wants to please you so badly. he listens to every nudge and guide of your hand and hips. attention pricking at the sound of your moans catching in your throat and the feeling of your thighs tensing under his hands.

"s'good, yuta– ngh"

grad student!yuta who is nearly frightened out of his skin by the sound of your phone vibrating on the table.

you peer over, scoff at the caller ID of your ex-husband and ignore it, fingers tensing in yuta's hair and forcing his mouth against your cunt.

your phone buzzes again... and again... and again before you finally answer.

"hello?" your teeth sink into your bottom lip.

"sato's got a fever–"

"well did you give him medicine?"

"no, i don't have any–"

you bite back a moan as yuta spreeeaads your folds apart to suck on your swollen clit.

"i always pack some in his bag– fuck."

"are you on a run right now?"

the air is forced out of your chest when yuta's tongue prods at your clenching hole–

"no– fuck me– can you do anything without having to call me– ngh"

"...are you having sex right now?!"

"no–"

yuta's fingers curl around your phone and tug it out of your grasp. his mouth is glistening with your juices, cheeks flushed pink and he has a pussywhipped look his eye.

"she'll call you back."

but christ, who knew such a meek and pervy guy who smokes weed next to the bathroom window was hiding not only an insane sleeper build, but a monster cock embellished with veins and a mushroomy tip that was bullying your cervix with every bounce.

“nnh— what did you do with them, cho?” you purr, dragging your thumb across choso’s bottom lip, your other hand planted firmly on his unfairly chiselled abs. his abs tense under your touch, his core fighting for movement but alas, he lost that privilege the moment you caught him fisting his cock with your latest pair of missing panties– and in your bed. said panties are wrapped tight around his wrists behind his head, lightly damp with his own pre and sweat and making his biceps bulge so deliciously.

oh how you want to sink your teeth into them…

“p-please–” he begs, drool collecting at the side of his mouth as you rolled your hips into his, a deep satisfied sigh pouring from your lips as the blunt head of his cock nudged against that spot inside you that made your tummy drop n’ your poor clit rubs against the coarse happy trail at the base of choso’s dick.

“c’mon, baby… don’t be shy on me now,” you tease, pressing your thumb against his bottom lip until he shyly parts his lips, eyes droopy with lust and need as you press the pad of your thumb to his tongue. 

“m’sorry—“ saliva drips down his chin as you press your thumb against his tongue, the wet muscle fighting against the pressure, lips loose around your thumb. 

“s’messy, cho,” you coo, your free hand scraping your nails up his chest, his body shivering with the mix of pain and the mindfucking pleasure of your pretty pussy wrapped snug around his aching cock.

he’s so rock hard it’s fucking painful— and you’re teasing him. and he’s letting you because he would rather let you fuck him until he was shooting blanks, than go back to jerking himself off with your panties choking the base of his reddened cock, or humping his mattress with his face pressed into the shirt you’d worn to the gym the day before, or having to excuse himself to rub one out over his sweats when you asked if your outfit looked cute for your night out with your girls. 

he’d let you do fucking anything to him right now.

your pretty manicured hand wraps around the base of his throat, finger and thumb squeeeezing the muscles on either side. 

your thighs tense as you lift yourself almost aalllll the way off his cock before dropping back down. you bounce and roll your hips, the wet bap! bap! of your ass meeting his thighs forcing choso’s hips to buck, wanting to fuck his mushroomy tip further into your cunt, as if he could bully past your already bruised cervix.

your teeth sink into your bottom lip, biting back a loud moan because he’s so stupidly big and has no earthly idea.

his fucked-out gaze draaaags down your pretty tits and the expanse of your soft tummy before settling on the translucent ring of cum that settles around the base of his cock, watching as your greedy pussylips swallow his length n’ your slick drips down his tight balls and pools against your pale bedsheets.

choso’s lips pull off your thumb, head thrown back and hitting your wall with a quiet thud because if he keeps watching, he’s gonna fucking cum, “ngh, f-fuck—“ 

“you like that, hm?” you sigh around a moan, feeling his cock twitch inside you. 

choso nods mindlessly, humming out an unintelligible noise as you slowly press yourself uuuup n’ dooown on his cock.

“c-can you go f-faster?” the question is a broken whine, his breaths hot and heavy as they fan across your throat. “please–”

choso feels the hand around his throat sneak higher, pressing tighter around his windpipe and forcing his eyes to roll back as you lift your plush hips off his cock just to plummet back down with a mean roll– but it’s still too slow for poor, sweet choso.

he whimpers again, the sound gurgled and forced from the pressure of your hand around his pretty throat.

choso’s eyes glaze with tears, “pleaseplease– i wanna cum–”

he can feel his balls tighten, feel the heat curl in his abdomen only to shy away when you lift your hips, just to fuck yourself with his tip, feeling the swollen tip catch and stretch your throbbing hole. 

“ngh, ngh– pleeeaaaase–”

you grin devilishly, pressing your lips to the corner of his eye to kiss away the salty globs. your grip on his throat loosens, but still holding possessively. the corded muscles of his biceps are taut behind his head; tensing and straining with the desperate need to grip you–

riiiiip–

you still your movements and choso’s eyes blow wide.

he ripped your fucking panties.

the remnants of the lacy black fabric hang loose around choso’s red wrists, deep lines indented into his pale skin from pulling and tugging against the delicate elastic. 

his pretty puppy eyes, filled with tears, glance up at you, “m’so sorry–”

you tilt your head to the side, a faux pout tugging at your bottom lip, “you wanna touch me that bad, cho?”

choso whimpers softly, eyes screwing shut, “y-yes.”

you run your hand through his hair, nails scraaaping against his scalp, “but you ruined my favourite panties.”

you feel choso’s cock twitch against your gummy walls, revelling in any type of affection you give him.

perv.

“i’ll make it up t’you,” choso mutters, hands landing very cautiously on your hips.

“oh, you will?” you lean in close, pretty lips brushing the shell of his ear, sending a mean shiver up his spine as your tits press flush against his broad chest.

choso moans against your shoulder, “yesyes– i promise.”

“how’re y’gonna do that, cho?”

you’re teasing him harder now, just fucking with him because he’s too pussydrunk to know what’s good for him.

“i-i’ll be s’good, i promise– i’ll make you feel sooo good, baby, please–” he’ll say anything to get you to bounce on his dick right now.

you grin against the hot skin of his neck, lips brushing down the thick muscle that tenses under your touch, “oh, yeah?”

“yeah– yesyes,” he whimpers, teeth sinking into his bottom lip and fingers curling into the meat of your ass as you nip and bite at the side of his neck.

you pull away, the hand sitting at the base of his throat curling to grab his jaw, fingers squeezing his cheeks and forcing his lips into a cute lil’ pout.

your eyes look him up… n’ down. 

“prove it, perv.”

You were Nina's perfect roommate--unsuspecting, sweet, supportive, and always on your knees in worship of a god neither Nina or Kate believed in. They deserved no salvation, especially not in your room full of icons of Saint Agatha, crosses, and angelic bedding that only the purest girl deserved.

Y/n, you adored Nina. You two were total opposites, but she was your closest friend. So, when she hops around your room, telling you she wanted you to meet her 'friend', you didn't think anything of it. Nothing could've gone wrong, right? You trusted her with your life.

Stepping out in a white nightgown, wooden orthodox cross hanging between the sternum erotically, the two women sit next to eachother in the living room. Touching, warm, quiet. You bow your head in respect, sitting down infront of both of them while Nina drawls loudly. "Hey Babe! This is Kate...she's quiet but, im sure she'll love ya."

The moment you locked eyes with Kate a shudder of something borderline demonic went down your spine. The dark haired woman had a look of concrete. There was something predatory about the two of them tonight, but hey, you were a woman of god; you weren't allowed to think bad of others without getting to know them!

So how did it end up like this? You, drinking for the first time, Nina's hands pushing the shot into your mouth? You, Y/N, a girl who goes to church every Friday and Sunday, letting saints watch you claw at floral sheets?

You didn't even realize it, but you were led into your own room, pushed on your knees and made to beg for something other than the fantasy both of them hate so much-Kate with her legs spread wide on the bed, and Nina standing behind your sunk body.

Nina's hand tangled in your hair. She pulled your head up just enough for you to make eye contact with her, before moving to pet you. "Say it. Tell Kate how much you need her."

You hiccup, a flush filling your cheeks. Nina traces a cross into your already mush scalp, and you couldn't help but stammer out so sweetly: "D-Daddy...need you...please."

You're pushed forward by Nina, Kate slowly unzipping her jeans so the strap she was wearing underneath springs out. You let out a whimper, confused and intimidated, but Nina rubs it against your lips. "Gonna take daddy's dick, yeah? Don't look so scared, you asked for it."

You look up at Nina with big bleary eyes, before parting your lips to take in the tip. Kate, so so meanly, pushes your head down completely with a gloved hand causing a gag to elict from your throat.

"That's it," Kate mutters, voice rough from misuse, "doin' great for me. Such a good girl."

Nina scoffs, pulling your head off of the strap and manhandling you so you're tummy down on the bed. You squeak, burying your face in your pillow. "Great? Bitch can't do nothing but think with her cunt." Nina hisses, pulling you out of the pillow and practically ripping cotton panties off. "It's embarrassing Y/N. Look at all these saints around you-what would Father Mikhail think of you?"

Tears fill your eyes as Nina spits in your mouth. She was being so mean, wasn't she your friend? Kate shushes you, pushing your legs up to your chest while Nina restrains your arms. A rough gloved thumb rubs against sensitive clit gently, and you immediately arch away from the touch.

Nina's dirty whispers almost make you forget that Kate's cock is rubbing against your sweet cunt. The moment she pushes in, you cry out: "No...wait i-it's too big please--" but Nina's fingers are shoved in your mouth, shortly replaced with her tongue once Kate actually thrusts.

Tears roll down your cheeks from pain and the shame of god watching you be so nasty, but then your eyes roll back, and Kate groans with a soft bite to your thigh. "Fuck...so pretty, such a sweet girl. I know it hurts, it's gonna feel good soon, angel. Gon' tell god how good you feel?"

You shake your head, body shaking and shivering under her. She pushes deep inside you, a weak whine leaving your mouth. "F-Father, p-please forgive me...too much, i can't.."

Kate just lets out a blissful sigh at your delirious state, burying her face into your neck. "I know, I know. It's too much, huh? It's gonna be okay, you're gonna be okay."

Why did you want to believe her? With your tongue deep inside Nina, your overstimulated cunt clenching around Kate, with markings of possession left by the two so deeply you would feel them for weeks, why did you beg the lord to let this go on for eons?

And at night, your eyes half closed with Nina's thumb rubbing your cheek, and Kate's lips against the top of your head, you dreamt about you kneeling.

Not for god anymore. For them.