Dilf Toji Fucks You Nice And Slow When Youre Done Putting Megumi Down For Bed. He Wants To Thank You

Dilf Toji fucks you nice and slow when you’re done putting Megumi down for bed. He wants to thank you for being so good to him and his son. As a single dad it gets hard so when you came into the picture offering your services it was hard to deny such a genuine offer. You’re so good to Megumi, gentle, kind and patient. Toji can’t help the growing bulge in his pants when he sees you being such a strong mother figure. He has to show you his gratitude. The best way he can do that is by having you in a mating press so he can fuck you nice and deep. 

“You like that?” his voice is a soft hum. 

You feel dizzy. His cock feels so deep. He’s stretching you out more than ever before. You call out his name in a soft whimper.

“Yeah? I’m right here doll don't worry I’m not going anywhere” he groans.

Toji’s obsessed with the way you look taking his cock. Your hole looks so perfect clenching, barely able to fit all of him. You look so full, Toji can’t help but imagine how full you would look with his cum drooling out of you. He has to see it. He’s determined to fuck you full of his cum. His cock plunges in and out of you creating a pattern. Your moans fall past your lips making a tune Toji never wants to forget. 

“That’s it, good girl, say my name” you sound so pretty to him. “Tell me who fucks you this good, say it , tell me no one can make you shake like this, no one can fill this pussy up the way i can”

He’s never felt himself lose control like this before. There’s something about you, something that leaves him desperate for more. He craves you, desires you every waking second. The way your lips part letting pleads and moans drip off your tongue has him losing his mind. He can’t get enough of you. He knows he should be quiet but the way your cunt feels squeezing him so tight he thinks he just might lose his mind. “That feel good baby? Yeah I know” he coos “I’m gonna fuck you so full” his pace is picking up speed. 

His mind is practically blank thinking of how he wants to fill you to the brim with his cum. No that’s not enough he needs to give you every last drop he has. 

“You need my cum don’t you” he’s desperate to hear you say it. He’s practically begging to hear you asking for his cum. Tell him how much you want his babies. He can make you a mommy. Don’t you want him to make you a mommy?

“Our baby is gonna be so beautiful” he whispers. He isn’t sure if you can hear him but he doesn’t mind as long as you’re still losing your mind calling out his name. 

“That’s right” he growls “Say my name while I fuck a baby into you”

His hand push your thighs further down so he can reach deeper. The way he drags his cock past you slick walls has you shaking. Your words come out slurred. 

“It’s too big” you whine as he goes deeper

“No no you can take it.” he bites he lips continuing his long deep strokes. He knows you can take it. Your eyes roll back when he begins grinding his hips into you. He knows he’s hit the spot he’s been searching for. 

“There she is” he chuckles. 

You can barely contain the moans now. Your body is shaking uncontrollably. 

“Please” you gasp “S-slow down, I’m gonna make a mess” you cry.

Toji loves the sound of that. He thrust pick up speed, fucking into you even harder. 

“That’s it, just like that, make a mess on my cock.”

He’s desperately chasing after his own orgasm. He wants to cum with you. His thrust are sloppy. He’s moaning your name pleading for you to cum for him. 

“Cum-fuck Now” he demands. 

You can’t help the juices the splatter against his abs as he fucks his load into you. The two of you are a moaning mess. You ramble incoherent words paired with his name. His eyes are glued on the sticky mess between the two of you. The squelching sounds of his cock fucking his cum back in fill the room. 

“What a pretty sight this is. I hope it’s a girl” he moans “She’ll have your eyes” 

You can barely give him a reply to focused on the way his cock is still plunging in and out. 

“It’s too much” you slur.

“No baby it’s not enough” he groans “I gotta make sure this tummy is full of my cum. One more just one more okay”

Toji has plans on fucking way more than just one more load into you. He has to fuck you full until he’s sure of it you’ll be the one carrying Megumi’s little sister.

꒰ྀི 𝐵𝐿𝒰𝐸 𝒟𝑅𝐸𝒜𝑀 ꒱ྀི

꒰ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 . . . ꒱ word count 29.4kay , prequel to 2w&l [ can be read as a stand alone ] , black hyper fem reader ! , brother's [ former? ] best friend eren , ony and eren r bestiez , reader'z 19 in dis , ony + eren are 23 , bisexual eren , bisexual ony , tattoo artist eren , auto designer ony , some miscommunication , reader has a panic attack , crybaby reader , switches povs a lot in dis ! ! be warned , flirting , ony says da n - word a few times , virginity loss , lotsa cum omgie , big dicks ony + eren , eren has a dick piercing , daddy kink , oral sex [ fem. receiving ] , masturbation , cum swallowing , praisepraisepraise , reader's not particularly chubby however she iz described wif a soff' tummy , all of da feelings rllie jump out in d end , endin's also kind of abrupt cuz i doooo wna expand more on da sexual dynamic of da relationship :] will do so later . [ also on aO3 ]

𝜗ϱ 𝓁𝓊𝓋 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 𝒻𝓇𝓂 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶 . . . phew ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ ∩꒱ྀིა finally ! are u happie she'z here ?? took mi like . . over a month 2 write dis . story title is inspired by dis song . Minors , Ageless Blogs Do Not Touch ! ! ! !

“ ‘teoooo!” 

black, thick heeled, mary jane loafers drum against the burnished, cherry oak panels of flooring. tiptaptiptaptiptap. a girl’s little hand reaches out for the curved doorframe, using it for leverage to stop her body from propelling forward, to keep her legs from continuing to pump and sprint past it, as she pokes her head into a bedroom. 

sheer, dandelion yellow curtains billow atop of a warm, spring breeze. the current is smooth and gentle; flies over the desk that sits diagonal from the window, drawing attention to an algebra two textbook that sits open atop of it whose thin pages seem to shyly bid her hello, and a binder right beside it. 

empty.

a wee, mean pout graces your lips, plush and glazed over with the sweet, artificial, watermelon flavoring of a lollipop to which’s stick you hold between small fingers, and to further showcase your ever-growing frustration, as if your groans and huffs weren’t enough, you stomp your foot prior to lifting your chin and belling out a firm, “ 'teo!” 

he’s not in his room, in the backyard, nor the kitchen. 

‘mateo’s a teenager now,’ you’ve heard your mother tell her friends last week over raspberry iced teas and fruit tarts after their book club meeting. you’d been a few feet away from where the six of them sat on the veranda, crouched within the shimmering, sun warmed palette of grass as you held out a slightly trembling finger right atop the tip of a blade of green where a particular, stubborn ladybug had landed to coax him to climb upon. ‘he goes to school, eats us out of house and home, does his chores, then holes up in the basement. i don’t like it, but — it isn’t the toddler days so, i guess i can’t be too mad.’

the basement.

once more, the tapping staccato of your mary jane’s echo throughout the otherwise quiet home as you race downstairs, make a sharp right at the end of the railing, then come face to face with a shut door.

‘open it and freddy kreuger’s goin’ to snatch you in, slit your stomach, and replace your guts with maggots and worms,’ casually, mateo had informed you of your awaited fate six months ago while standing upon the bottom stair, tuna melt in hand, and toasted breadcrumbs decorating his chapped lips. ‘stay out of the basement. you have your playroom and i have mine.’

the entire family had been well aware of your more than grave fear of the rubberfaced boogeyman after a sleepover with your friends to celebrate your tenth birthday two years ago. you’d snuck the dvd out of mateo’s media console cabinet after you were sure he and your parents had fell asleep, furthermore, all five of you girls woke them up with screams and sobs only about a half hour into the film. let this also be commended as the day where your first panic attack struck — it was that bad.

and while your parents use freddy as means of a reprimand to keep you from rising up on your tip toes to reach the highest shelf in the pantry and, quite literally, jam your sticky, little hands into the cookie jar, or maintain good grades . . . mateo uses it to keep you out of his space.

discounting the trembling of your fingers and throat knotting with a lump big enough to induce you to feel as though you’d choke and faint at that same moment, you reach for the gold handle of the doorknob. 

you’re a brave girl — the bravest of them all. 

“. . . ‘teo?” your voice is a meek whimper as the door is pushed til only a slither of space separates it from the threshold. 

the case of stairs leading down to the flat level of the basement are made of thick, solid wood. because of the boards being so inured, the sound of the soles of your shoes landing on them seem to be amplified as you cautiously begin to step down, one by one.

“mateo?” it’s only right that your fear starts to transcend and tiptoe a line of irritation. you feel as though you’re quite literally risking your life, dancing with the devil, all in efforts just to let your big brother know that your mother told him to separate his laundry by wash cycle specification. how stupid.

the closer you get to the bottom, the louder comes the sound of applause, cheers, and, oddly, the deep tenors of multiple voices. 

the corners of your lips are tugged downwards when you take in the scene in front of you. 

it isn’t dust covered boxes toppled to the brim with old photo albums, deceased loved ones clothes, old radio sets, and aged, money collecting antiques that decorate your basement — no, your father had the space renovated and constructed into something more akin to a lounge a week after you all moved into the home. 

the ac is cranked up to its max. a sharp waft of cool air flies over your plaid skirt and through the locs of your braids. on the sixty inch flat screen television is a video game’s loading screen — madden, and seated on the loveseat, back angled to face you, is a boy.

aslant from him, is your brother lounged across a large bean bag chair, playstation controller in hand, a can of cherry coke at his socked feet, and bag of chester hot fries upon his lap. he’s chewing on what looks like a handful of them, murmuring, “ ‘m gonna whoop your ass, jaeger. watch this.” while crumbs fly out of his mouth with enough force to compare to bullets. 

you cringe at the sight, prior to finally making yourself known.

“mateo.”

two heads snap towards you, and you happen to meet a green eyed stare first. 

if asked, you wouldn’t have been able to describe it back then — the immediate shock your heart seems to undergo as it bunny hops over its usual, steady beat then begins to pound against the corral of your ribs. a simple glance from him has your painted nails sinking into the meat of your palms until a bloom of red bordered them. similar to a spooked fawn, you stand there for a moment, knees trembling as the toes of your feet begin to idly turn inwards towards one another. 

the thing is, you’ve always been a bit of a shy girl, opting to stand behind your parents’ legs when being introduced to one of their friends or a long distanced family member. never have you been able to place your own order at a drive thru’s window or raise your hand in class, granted you almost always knowing the answers . . nonetheless, you don’t think this current feeling compares to those. it’s something deeper — more fierce. at a minimum, you were always able to mumble your name or shake a hand when being introduced, albeit, after mateo does such — ‘sorry, man. this my lil’ sis ( ❤︎ ). ( ❤︎ ), this eren, say hi,’ you’re only able to fester enough courage to lift a hand and flutter your shaking fingers. 

eren is your brother’s age, you can tell. he wears from what you could see, a plain black tee with a band’s name, nirvana, you read, printed on the front. his hair is tapered cleanly at the back, however, a bit long in the front, a few strands fall into his eyes that blink plainly at you before he gives a polite, closed mouth smile and holds up his hand. “hey, ‘s cool to meet you.” a thin strip of titanium runs horizontally across the top row of his flawless, white lines of teeth and you let your eyes drag across the four rubber bracelets he wears on his left wrist, two, tiny blemishes near his jawline, ‘til finally, you let them land on the fine dark hairs that line the top of his plump, upper lip. nadeshiko — you’d been taught the word a few weeks ago by one of your friends who was japanese. ‘it’s a really, really pretty shade of pink. kinda like bubblegum.’ 

nadeshiko pink was the color of them. they shined subtly, whether it be by chapstick or rather him quickly licking them prior to speaking, you don’t know. but they were pretty . . he was pretty.

“mm,” you fist the fabric of your skirt in a fist. an uncomfortable warmth begins at the peak of your nose before you feel it blossoming to both your cheeks. “m-mommy wants you, ‘teo.”

your brother lets his head fall back before giving a short groan and setting his controller down to then stand, “alright. hol’ on, bro. i’ll be back.”

you follow close behind him when he starts to trudge up the stairs, skipping two at a time. unable to help it, you spare a single last glance of eren before the sight of him is hidden behind the wall once more, albeit, alone in your room, you can’t help but pout upon the realization that he’d been reimmersed into the video game, not another regard of you given.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  ❤︎

you hadn’t known what the feeling was.

you just knew that you really, really, really liked being around eren. following the months after meeting him for the first time, eren pops up at your house at a more increasing extent. every friday, sometimes saturdays, a few thursdays, a rare tuesday. a glance of him lounging upon the living room couch, one, long leg sprawled along the cushioned arm, stare heavy and long as he gazed at the television was always just enough for you to feel that exact sensation of queasy warmth just as you did in the basement.

you’d watch him smile with your brother, watch the magnificent sea green of his eyes glimmer before they’d tightly shut in order for him to throw his head back and emit the most prettiest bellow of laughter from the pit of his stomach, and sometimes, shards of jagged, tined ice would skirt the edges of that queasy warmth come the realization that mateo got to see that same, striking grin everyday.

“alright, ma’. we headin’ to jj’s party — i’ll be home by eleven like you said.”

parties, parks, football games, basketball courts, you’d never seen your brother hang out with someone as much as he does eren. 

kindled summers peppered with warm nights and the comforting buzz of fireflies and cicadas phase into the chambré days of autumn, and soon, that becomes a frosty winter, heaving with dim, caliginous skies and porcelain mugs the shape of gingerbread houses with creamy, hot cocoa. indubitably, enters spring — with the fresh budding of flowers, warm rain, and new swelling of leaves upon branches. and the cycle begins anew.

you watch eren grow. you watch him grow out the thick, chocolate waves of his hair until it reaches his mid back, then, you also watch him cut it all off again. his style of clothing transforms, what was once band tees, faded jeans, and vans becomes air force ones, new balances, and jordans. more loose jeans and sweats, hoodies, and beanies. his retainer is retired to only night wears, he’d told your mother, and his acne smoothens over into flawless, warm tan skin after a trip to the dermatologist and a prescription. you watch eren become a man, and naturally, your feelings for him triple. 

it’s only fair that you feel a little bit blue, seated within the balcony box of an auditorium as your new principle calls out his and mateo’s names to walk the stage and grab their diplomas. the smiles the two of them wear are nothing short of bright and wide as they do. fighting to hide your pout, you stand behind the jittering, bustling bodies of your parents, aunt, and grandmother, after the ceremony’s over, watching them take what seemed like a million pictures and videos of the two boys on their day, until you’re ultimately nudged by your mother between them. “picture with your sister, mateo, c’mon! big smiles — you three are so cute. oh my god, michael, look at them!”

more than hyperaware of eren’s arm draped casually over the hill of your shoulder as he leans in with a smile, you struggle to keep from tensing up or trembling too much or as your arms go behind his and mateo’s backs. he’d smelt of fresh soap and cedarwood, that day — potent and electrifying. you scramble between feeling relived and bummed when the pictures are over and he’s giving mateo a goodbye hug. “i’ll see you later, man. probably tomorrow or somethin’,” he’s smiling after pulling away. “you know me.”

“oh, for sure,” mateo nods. “go find your moms. tell her i said hi.”

he gives you one last wave and you return it with a warm smile.

for years to come, that’d be the last memory you’d have of eren jaeger.

with mateo off to college and you a freshmen in high school, it’s difficult to find intel on where he’d gone. he had fled the city, that was for sure, nonetheless, no one knew where, not even mateo. “he always told me he wanted to be a tattoo artist . . you can’t do that in the suburbs,” clarified your brother on his rare visit home for thanksgiving. “eren’s never had social media either so,” he shrugged, face smoothed over with indifference. “hopefully he’s okay wherever he is.”

you suppose it’s true when they say high school is one of the fastest four years of your life. it’s all a blur. 

with you participating on the student council, school newspaper, and being vice captain of the cheer squad, your extracurricular activities bring not only a lot of attention, but more friends. heedless to say, by the end of your senior year, almost everyone knows your name. you’re crowned as ‘the sweetest’ and ‘most likely to be successful’ within the yearbook and accepted into the most prestigious university two states over from where your parents lived, bringing you here today.

it’s now your sophomore year of college. the first year had been something . . enervating, you’d say. you had hardly even left your dorm — opting to stay in and enroot yourself into the monstrous sludge that is college level assignments. freshmen fifteen had caught you by the throat, reason being pizza, instant ramen, and iced coffee had become your meal staples, nevertheless, while some of the calories had made your tummy softer, most of such had gone to your thighs, hip, and butt, spreading them wider and filling you up from where you’d lack come the years before. 

today, you’re nineteen. it’s only the second month of the semester and you’re already studying for two midterms. 

“okay, so, what about tomorrow?”

you shake your head from where you sit, butterfly style, in the cushioned seat of your desk chair, laptop open onto the window of an electronic textbook and upon your legs as you click a pink star by a sentence to remind future you to paraphrase and write down in your notebook. “mm-mm, gigi. tomorrow i plan to catch up on sleep.”

your roommate, giselle, is nothing short of a character. on first greetings, she’d been quiet and kind — allowing you to choose which side of the room you wanted first, inviting you out to the dining hall with her, bringing you back snacks from her trip to the market. over time, shimmers of her personality began to show. she’s kind of loud, energetic, stubborn, fun . . always down for a night out. it shocks you how she still maintains anything above a three point o’. 

she sits upon her bed, compact mirror in hand that she holds dangerously close to her eye where she adjusts a strip lash upon, “mm, what about sunday?”

“uh uh.”

“okay, next thursday?”

“cramming for a quiz.”

giselle lets her arms flap onto her lap as she fixes you with an exhausted stare, “friday, then.”

“can’t. visiting my parents next weekend.”

“oh my god.”

she throws her head back, “seriously, ( ❤︎ ). can we fucking hang out for once? i never see you outside of this room.”

you play with a ring on your finger, twisting it left and right while you hesitate, “i dunno, gi.” 

giselle stands, lengthening herself to of her beautiful, five foot nine glory, then begins to scoop her knee length, knotless braids up into a high ponytail while walking over to you, “tonight then. just me, you, and like two of my other friends. we’re gonna go to a bar, my big cousin works there, she can sneak us a shot or two — it’ll be fun. we’ll only be there ‘til like, ten thirty.”

quietly, you mull her words over. last time you went out’d been a few months back . . a house party. it was fun, lots of fun if you decide to be completely honest with yourself. your brain incurred a break from persistent studying and when back in lectures the few days after, your focus and diligence inflated. you suppose it’s time for a break, to indulge in life’s simple pleasures again. why not? 

“okay,” you melt where you sit, trying your best to give giselle an upset frown though your wide grin breaks it each time. 

“okay, okay!” she squeals and bounces on her toes while running back to her bed to grab her phone. “hurry! get ready, i’m gonna text them and let you know you’re finally comin’ outside again.”

you make sure to save your progress and power your mac off while rolling your eyes, “this better be fun.”

“it isssss! i swear, i promise, for real.”

it takes you almost two and a half hours to get ready. you haven’t shaved in almost a month, therefore, your shower routine gets bumped up to an even forty five minutes due to you needing to exfoliate your skin with a yummy, vanilla and cocoa butter scented sugar scrub and lather shaving cream across your body. you get dressed then do your make up and hair, and by the time you’re grabbing your purse, giselle advises you of the awaiting uber outside.

“won’t your cousin, like . . . get in trouble for what she’s doing?” warily, you ask the question while gazing at the shadows of passing streetlights and open signs coasting along the features of her face.

glossed lips purse as giselle shakes her head, “owner’s never there. she basically owns it herself, honestly.”

you decide to take her word for it. the bar is named ‘ the grove. ‘ it’s located on the more opulent and lavish side of the city, a fifteen minute drive out from your school. the gray bricked building sits on the corner of a main street, right beside a rooftop dining restaurant. tinted, glass double doors shield the interior of the establishment from passing onlookers and upon first entry, the first thing you notice is the lighting. warm and dim, it encrusts the bar with an ambience of intimacy. to the right of you is the bar wall, it reaches what could be the ceiling, if not for the balcony that hovers over it, full to the edges with bottles of alcohol. the bar counter stretches for about twenty feet. it curves in then out, forming a design of what looks like the infinity sign with bustling bartenders filling the two holes of space between. 

you’re nervous.

never having been to a place like this before, you struggle with the decision of opting to sit at the actual bar, the few round tables in front of the small platform of the stage, the curtained off sofas along the edges of the wall, or up on the balcony. providentially, after likely viewing how tight your spine tenses directly after you both stepped pass the threshold, giselle intertwines the fingers of her hand within your own to tug you over to the bar, near the middle where her other two friends sit. 

greetings and hugs are shared. you recognize the two of them — jasmine and lana. you often see them at social events around campus and a few parties. similar to giselle, the two of them are what you’d also call social butterflies, floating here then there, next to you one minute, then carrying a conversation with someone new the next. you take a seat upon a stool beside your friends, tugging down the bottom hem of your tiny, pink, velvet skirt before you do. “what’s gonna be your drink of choice today, hm?” lana rubs her shoulder against yours, giving you a smirk while tapping her nail against her own glass. “i’ve got a manhattan.”

timidly, you shrug, eyes scanning the laminated menu a few inches away from you. “uh . . pina colada?”

immediately, an accord of giggles are heard. your responding pout is precious, “can y’all not?”

“no, no — nana,” giselle waves a woman over to where you all sit. you take it that she’s her cousin, the two of them share a few features, although slight. giselle introduces you to her prior to stating, “four shots of casa, an amf, and pina colada, pretty please?”

“mm, all for you?” teasingly, nana lifts an eyebrow while reaching for four shot glasses under the counter. giselle’s previous bambi eyed expression levels out in order for a more smug to soon replace it, “well, duh, of course!” she’s snickering when you nudge her calf with a foot. “ugh, for all of us, nana. don’t be like that.”

“mhm. sure, sure.”

it takes about an hour for you to get it — for you to understand why so many enjoyed frequenting bars and dwelling within the establishments when their lives were either at their highest of highs or lowest of lows. with the components of two shots and a pina colada intertwining and embedding themselves within the vessels of your body, you loosen up and begin to enjoy yourself. it’s a nice place to be and get away without worrying about real life’s problems. the four of you girls busy yourselves with the latest campus gossip, about which professors were pissing you off the most and which you’d sleep with if boiled down to you needing some extra credit near the end of the semester— very juvenile, albeit . . . fun.

after one more shot is when your eyes begin to wander.

they stray from paying attention to lana as she rants about what caused the latest breakup between her and her girlfriend to the end of the bar on your right. an older woman, you suppose around mid thirties, busies herself on her phone while a glass of cognac sits next to a tan birkin bag on her left. you trail them across a group of buddies there, a couple here, lonely man there, until you land on a man.

he’s seated on the left, at the ‘ curve ‘ of the infinity where the bar rounds out.

your eyes squint with suspicion come the rising feeling of uncertainty, excitement, and . . unfortunately nausea as you stare quietly.

he sits with a friend, nodding along to whatever he’s saying while picking through a small basket of french fries. he’s . . beautiful, you find. a certain mystic charm that surrounds the air of where he sits — that freezes you in place, though sucks you in all the while. his hair is a bit long. he turns his head to gaze into his acquaintance’s eyes and say something, quickly, you steal a glimpse of the messily wrapped bun sitting at the nape of his neck. though the lighting of the bar is dim, you force yourself to keep watching . . to keep staring ‘cause . . . fuck . . why does he look so familiar?

“. . . ( ❤︎ )?”

vaguely, within the far pocket of your mind, you hear giselle calling your name.

the guy smiles — its a big one, reveals almost all thirty two of his teeth as it pushes smile lines and dimples into his cheeks. 

“. . eren?”

your feet is moving before you’re able to process it. you stumble on the first few steps, feet needing to slow down with your mind, before you’re flipping back the curls of your sew in and righting your posture. 

giselle groans, “oh my god, this girl is drunk. watch my purse — ( ❤︎ )!”

“eren?”

two heads turn when they hear his name. you’re only able to catch a blur bordered glance of his friend before your focused is directed towards him. god, you feel as though you’re twelve all over again. you’d thought that he couldn’t get any more attractive, nonetheless, he did. he wears a black, leather varsity jacket, badges of suede patched all over it with a clean, white tee underneath and thin, diamond chain dangling from the smooth column of his neck. eyes of cold teal study you for a moment — your eyes, your lips, your nose. he seems to scan each and every feature prior to the glacial irises of his own melt and a slow smile starts to spread across his lips. 

“nah, no fuckin’ way,” he mutters.

a nipping chill rakes the cord of your spine.

your eyes have to rise an entire foot higher come the action of him standing to his full height and soon pulling you in by the sides of your ribs to then wrap you in a tight hug. “( ❤︎ ), what the fuck, man?”

you giggle, unable to contain your excitement, “eren, oh my gosh.”

“what the f—“ he pulls away to hold you at arm’s length and take you in. a longer sweep of his eyes from the pristine lines of white that glosses the tips of your toes to the cushioned headband holding your bangs back on your head has something alien twinkling within the depths of sea green, and you, too engrossed in the sight, the scent, the feel of finally your eren, hardly notice the lingering stare upon your midsection before they trail up to your collarbones, lips, then eyes. licking his own, smile lessening to a smirk, eren lets you go to soon lean his back on the bar counter while folding his arms, “what you doin’ here, lil girl?”

you’re aware of giselle behind you when she touches your waist, “oh, ‘m here with m’friends from school. this is giselle.”

giving a polite smile, giselle leans in to shake eren’s hand, “hi, sorry. i thought she was walking up to some random ‘cause,” dearly, as if you both were two pups in a pin, she tips her head against yours and you lean into her embrace with a big grin, “someone here drunk a little bit too much,” after, she hums, “i didn’t know you guys knew each other.”

“oh, yeah,” eren’s eyes are fixed directly upon your own. “we go way back.”

you flush. you simply can’t help it — how can one human being appear so captivating? “mhm,” you nod, head tipping a bit further back and chin falling much quicker than usual to be classified as anything but a motion of insobriety, “i knew eren when he was in high school, gi’ . . . and i was a, hic —, a tiny, baby ( ❤︎ ).”

giselle smirks, finding you all too cute, “is that right?”

“mhm.”

she turns to eren, “so, i take it you guys wanna,” a finger is waved between you both. “catch up? talk a bit?”

eren drawls a low, “of course, of course,” while smiling. “ ‘m gonna get some water in her. ‘ve never seen her like this before.”

“ima be watching,” cutting her eyes, giselle gives eren a quick examine. “i’ll be back to get her soon.”

with her gone, you realize her grip on your waist had been what was stabilizing you from falling straight onto your face. gradually, you began to tip forward onto the rounds of your toes, however, eren is quick to catch and guide you to sit down onto the stool he’d been occupying, “okay, okay,” he murmurs, reaching for the glass of water beside the basket of fries. “you good? you feel okay?”

you sip from his straw, grateful for the cool liquid, “mhm,” you hum quietly. “gi says ‘m a lightweight.”

a low chuckle is heard on your left. you turn your head to discern the cause and notices it had split from the lips of eren’s friend. the tone of his skin is a gorgeous, warm toned dark brown. a red sox cap is positioned backwards on his head full of waves and low irises of toasted, somber auburn shines brightly within rings of pink. you discover that he’s pretty, too. your nerves ignite at the ends, as if sparked by a match. suddenly, you’re hyperaware of everything you do — how you sit, how you talk, how you breathe.

you press your soft palms against the fluff of cheeks, willing some composure while watching a plump droplet of water race down the surface of the chilled glass veiled in condensation, “sorry,” you can’t help but murmur. 

“nah, you good, ma.”

quickly cognizant of never having introduced the two of you, eren softly says, “shit, sorry. ( ❤︎ ), this is . . this is ony. ony, this ( ❤︎ ).”

timidly, you give a small, nonetheless warm smile and hold a hand out, “nice to meet you.”

ony takes it softly within his own, the sheer expanse of it completely dwarfing your little paw as he gives it two, slow rises of up and down. his eyes never part from yours as he mumbles a soft, “likewise. it’s a pleasure.”

when you pull away, you reach for the glass of water again — wrap your lips around the straw and gather enough of it inside your mouth to make your cheeks bulge, prior to swallowing.

“so, why you out here, hm?” eren leans the side of his body against the counter once more. “your parents know you out in a bar? there’s no way you’re twenty one yet, i know that for a fact.”

you give a weak shove to his bicep. call it a cheap shot, whatever. you aren’t surprised to find that just as the rest of him had grew, his muscles have bulked up, too. “don’t be a snitch, eren,” you sniffle and shake your head. “ ‘m . . ‘m nineteen. ‘m grown.”

his eyebrows lift, “oh, you grown?”

“i’m grown.”

pushing his tongue against the lush warmth of his cheek, eren smirks before slowly nodding, “okay. alright.” he grabs the basket of fries with two fingers hooked and slides them in a beeline til they were in front of you, “bet y’lil ass didn’t even eat today before you came here,” he mumbles underneath his breath. “eat. you can’t tell me no.”

you weren’t planning to. you take a few between your fingers and bite into them, “. . i’ve missed you,” the confession is grumped through a mean pout as you slowly chew. “you disappeared on me a-after graduation.”

stunned silent by your bluntness, eren only has enough brain power to stare at your pretty face for a spell that soon stretches into a quiet reply of, “ ‘ve missed you too . . i’m sorry about all that.”

“you hurt ‘teo’s feelings, too,” you swallow your fries, eyes focused on your finger that clasps into the open hole of the basket so that you can begin to twist it back and forth. “he acts like he doesn’t care, but i know he does. you were like, one of his only friends.”

you hear eren adjust himself. he turns to face the area behind you, lips parting for words to emit, until he ultimately clamped them closed, faces you again, and sighs, “i’m sorry . . really. i didn’t mean to . . ghost all of you like that. it was fucked up.”

“it was,” you nod in agreement. “wasn’t nice, eren.”

“mhm,” quietly, he admires you. “i know. was gonna pop over one day and surprise you guys, but,” he sucks some air in between his teeth and rubs at the diamond stud that pierces through the skin of his earlobe. “got scared, you know?”

“mm, yeah?” you tilt your head when you look up at him. 

and won’t you look at that . . .

eren decides this is the moment where he realizes you aren’t a shy, timid, spoiled little girl anymore. you wear lengthy, cat eyed wispies along your lash line and they seem to flutter as you blink softly at him. he tries not to glance at your tits that sit up nice and full within your long sleeved, square necked top, at your soft, bare thighs because your skirt just had to be so fucking short that you’d might as well have came out the house in a belt — because this is his former best friend’s baby sister.

he’s watched you grow up just as you did him. 

in the years knowing you before, he’s never looked at you as nothing more than mateo’s sister. he’d greet you sometimes when he would catch sight of you seated at the dining room table completing your homework assignments. on a rare day would he tease you and pluck the tail end of a braid, finish the rest of your favorite apple juice, all in efforts to be an inconvenience and make you whine. in a way, he supposes he began to look at you as a sister, too.

though, tonight, he forces himself to realize that you both are older now . . grown.

you’ve gotten those pretty tits played with before, maybe. by some insolent boy in grade eleven, in the back of his dad’s old pick up at a drive in movie theater. you’ve kissed and tasted and felt and yearned.

nonetheless of eren knowing this, he still can’t shake the feeling of wrongness that versos each of these thoughts. 

making himself look away, he licks his lips and grabs hold of the glass of water to take his own sip, “you don’t think i should?”

you smile — pretty ass smile. 

god, how puberty fucking blessed you. 

“no, no, i think you should,” you hum. “it’ll make us all happy — hey, why’d you come here, anyway?”

it appears as though your drunken, little mind races quicker than your mouth. you jump around on topics and slur your words, and as much as it is precious, eren figures he’d rather you be sober for any more heavy topics within your conversation. “work on tattoos. perfect my craft. build clientele. angelcrest was,” as if he could feel the weight of the town on his shoulders, eren flexes his shoulders and clears his throat. “stifling.”

again, you nod, “mhm, i get it. that’s why i had to leave — tattoos!” suddenly, you notice them. on his hands, fingers, knuckles, there’s a peek of ink coiling up the back of his neck. 

your eyes are round with fascination as you reach for his hand before flinching back. “can i . . — wait, permission,” you are suddenly reminded by your mother, ‘ don’t touch anyone without their consent first. ‘ you blush. of all days, of all times. “can i touch?”

eren grins. oh, you’re fucking adorable. “yeah, go ahead.”

silently, ony watches the two of you interact.

if he decides to be completely honest with himself . . it’s cute.

akin to a tiny, diffident lamb and an attentive, keen wolf — the two of you seem to dance around one another. hesitating with some of your words, pausing to let the other finish speaking first if one of you happened to accidentally talk over the other, trying to keep yourselves from making any sort of unnecessary physical contact. though eren has never mentioned you before prior to tonight, going off the conversation you two share and the obvious hug, ony realizes that the two of you share history. 

he hones in on how eren smiles at you, how he nudges the glass of water on over to get you to swallow a few more sips, makes you eat a bigger handful of fries.

truly, ony would believe the two of you were just strictly, old buds if not for how you unconsciously lean into the man. 

it’s somewhat comical due to the fact that eren isn’t being the slightest bit subtle neither. his eyes seem to tremble when they look into yours — it’s as though he’s fighting with himself to not give in and glance down at your plush, glossed up lips for the thousandth time or admire the graceful line of your neck, down to the smooth canvas of your bosom where a layer of dainty, gold chains lay upon. 

you both are train wrecks, nevertheless, ony can’t tear his sight elsewhere.

“shit, i know that university . . i live about twenty minutes away.”

you’re tilting your head again — in that same endearing manner you did before and ony watches the limbs of eren’s fingers grit, hitherto him shoving the fist into his coat’s pocket. “really?” your voice pitches an octave higher, coated with sweet wonder. “been thinkin’ about you all this time and you’ve only been twenty minutes away?”

eren shakes his head with a smirk, diverting his eyes to a crumpled, coffee shop’s receipt he tugs out from his jeans’ pocket and soon, a lone pen he finds laying beside the menu. “here.” swiftly, he jots down his number on the backside of the slip. “save it, hm? call me whenever you need me.”

always impeccable with her timing, giselle makes herself known after the receipt is folded and tucked safely into the waistband of your skirt. “okay,” you smile and turn towards ony. “it was so n-, hic—, nice to meet you . . ony. bye-bye guys.”

both men watch you stand to your feet and lean into giselle for balance. your friend wraps her arm around the dip of your waist, murmuring ‘i know, i know’s to your muddled giggles and faint babbling as you walk away. 

“. . . mm,” is all ony says with a slim leer, vigilant in how eren replaces your seat with a heavy sigh. a soft smile still graces the petals of his lips, in spite of the fact of you being long gone outside of the door and ony can’t help but ask, “y’all go way back, huh?”

facetiously, eren gives a long groan and ducks his head, “bro, don’t gimme that shit.”

ony chuckles, “nah, nah. she’s cute, jaeger. y’all used to be friends?”

with a slow shrug, eren dwells on that word, “. . not really — i don’t fuckin’ know. i used to be tight with her brother back when we was in high school, like when i was sixteen . . she was twelve. we didn’t really talk much, me and her, but we was cool.”

ony shoots back the rest of his whiskey, turning his focus to the bitter zing the alcohol leaves within the pillow of his mouth instead of letting the both of your interactions play out in his mind once more. the giggles, smiles, shy touches, and hums. sniffling, he casually utters, “i think lil ma has a crush.”

eren shakes his head. “shut the fuck up, o’.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  ❤︎

the worst day of your short lived, admittedly average life is on a thursday, two weeks after.

eren’s face might as well have been pressed and developed into film and looped on a projector within your brain — you can’t stop thinking about him. the sleepy eyed stare he subjected you to as you spoke, never tearing them away from your own not once, the graceful slope of his strong nose, hollow dimples, calloused hands, wide shoulders, it all makes your head go a bit fuzzy. the morning after had been a bit of a blur. subjected to needing giselle to give you the run down and clearer recaps of all that exactly happened, you end up cocooning yourself within the white polka dotted fleece of your favorite blanket while whining and begging her, “no, no. did i say that, really? please, gi, don’t tell me i said that.” as she went on to describe your behavior.

you suppose it’s rather clear that intoxicated you carries more, or rather less, of a filter on her in contrary to the sober.

nevertheless, you also think that you should thank her. sober you wouldn’t have approached eren at that bar, never in a million years. you’d have convinced yourself it wasn’t him, veritably, if soon realizing it was, you would have glued yourself to that stool you sat in, too anxiety ridden and meek to do anything but share an occasional, uncontrived peek in hopes that he’d notice you first.

sighing out, you adjust yourself within your bed, sinking deeper into the you-shaped indentation your body has molded the few hours before. your phone screen lays only inches away from your face, dimmed to its lowest possible setting. it’s currently three o’ eight am, you have to be up for class in approximately four hours. giselle’s soft snores normally are a comforting white noise, though tonight, you simply can’t get your mind to quiet down and focus on them.

an episode of bridgerton playing on your screen is soon swiped away so that you are able to open instagram.

liking a few stories here, commenting there, respond to a rare dm here . . . you find your thumb pressing down on that tiny magnifying glass and the blinking cursor seems to mock you as you hesitate.

fuck it.

eren’s phone number is soon typed into the search bar and without glancing twice at the username, you click upon the top result.

‘ jaeinkz ‘

a whopping total of nine hundred and twenty six thousand followers decorate the top of his page, adjacent to a label of two hundred and fifty five posts. 

“oh, wow,” can’t help but slip faintly from your lips as you push the satin fabric of your bonnet higher up your forehead, it’s as if you thought it had been obstructing your vision . . . making you perhaps see things that weren’t there, however, no, it’s true. eren’s profile picture is an image of his turned with a glistening, diamond bezel shining in the lobe of his ear and feathery strands of fawn escaping a beanie framing it. in his bio sits three tagged accounts ‘ @.mininkz @.mikakolors @.sashart ‘ with a booking email underneath. as you scroll, you find that his work is nothing short of exquisite. he seems to dabble in almost all styles — traditional, blackwork, geometric, and hand poke . . what sticks out to you the most, and what he seemed to love doing if going by how many have been posted along his page, had been watercolor.

you appreciate the diversity of his posts.

skin tones range from a nearly translucent pale to the deepest brown, and still, regardless of them all, marvelously, vibrant shades of ruby, orange, amber, cerulean, and lime leap out.

‘ incredible ‘ ‘ best artist out rs bro ‘ ‘ u killed dis shit E ‘ ‘ every time i think u can’t get any better u prove me wrong ‘

you find yourself smiling at the comments — why? you’re not too sure of the answer. maybe it’s because you’re simply proud. you were always sure that eren would have gone on to accomplish his dreams, frankly, you just weren’t positive that you’d ever be able to visually see it, albeit . . . here you are. it’s remarkable to witness.

it’s when you go to click on the post of a specific side rib piece when abruptly, the university’s inbuilt fire alarm bellows out. it makes your entire body lurch as giselle gasps herself awake.

“what the fuck?”

the continuous shriek of the siren bores uncomfortably into the drums of your ears and it’s when you’re slowly standing to gauge what was going on, comes the sound of doors opening and sleepy, discombobulated mumbling. it’s only right that the incessant, scarlet flashing of a firetruck’s emergency signal fulgurating in past your curtains follows suit.

“please exit the dorm! we need all students to exit the dorms as quick and calmly as possible!”

your fight or flight pummels into high gear as your RA begins to pound down the closed doors of your hall. you feel your heart commence to a familiar race with each second that passes. minutes are akin to hours while you and giselle hurry to pile and mound your suitcases and duffel bags with as much stuff as you’re able. with each bag you zip and each button you close, your lungs continuously compress and contract. they seem to fill with little to no air, no matter how deep of a breath you take. 

“just breathe, babe, yeah? i bet it’s something stupid. s-someone pressing their hair or something.”

you loathe it — it being the usual facade of your self control and composure slipping away with each gasping, shuddering breath you force yourself to take. air never seems to load your lungs, and you recognize that you’re gulping, an action you partake in with the intention of keeping away the agonizing feeling of your throat closing up each time this feeling happens.

“gotta call,” you’re mumbling as your hand knots within the fabric of giselle’s nightshirt as she leads you down the flight of stairs within the fire escape. “parents. my parents. my parents.” strangely enough, focusing more on your own words than the chaos of which surrounds you is enough to keep you from giving into your instincts of wanting to simply give up and lie down.

“see — look it,” giselle’s rubbing your shoulders when you both are standing on the curving curb outside. it’s cold tonight — a frigid forty degrees. all you’d wore to sleep was a tiny pair of white, cotton shorts and barely managed to slip into a hoodie before you left the room. you tremble. “jus’ breathe. in through your nose — hold it. mhm, good. now out, slow. see?’

it takes you a while to gather your previous poise and ease. with roaring blazes of crimson and blood orange dancing across the rooftop of your dormitory building, hysterical screams, and broken sobs lining the flumes of your ears, it’s not a question as to why. 

you suppose that it all gets a little bit blurry after that. time seems both bounded and limitless. students are quickly given the decision of choosing between leaving to stay with family who lived close by or be gathered inside of the library for the rest of the day to sleep . . . you’re tired. 

you’re so tired.

and somewhere near that inky, somber place enclosed by the bounds of your mind, you know that you shouldn’t do what you’re about to do . . . be that as it may, you cease yourself from traveling too far within that dangerous abyss of dubiousness as you click on a contact, place your phone to your ear, and wait. it rings . . and it rings . . and it rings until the line clicks as the person answers with a languid murmur of, “hello?”

swiftly clobbered with the feeling of ignominy, you swallow over the knot still encased within the channel of your throat prior to sniffling and uttering a quiet, “eren . . h-hi, ’s . . it’s ( ❤︎ ).”

susurration is heard. you assume he’s laying down within his bed, much like half of the world’s population is at this time, however, when he speaks once more, his voice is a bit more clear, as if he’d sat up to better hear you, “mm, yeah? hi, mama. wha’s goin’ on?”

your head swivels upon your shoulders in order for you to observe your surroundings — a few students sit on the curb with their bags, phones to their ears while they explained to their families or friends what was happening, some record the flames that now melt and char the windows of the dorm, the firemen working to put it out with long hoses, the reverberating sound of a helicopter’s blades spinning overhead and steady line of police cars pulling in through the iron gates.

unwittingly, the corners of your lips keel over as you slap a hoodie covered paw to your eyes to try and keep your tears at bay. it all overwhelms you in the worst of ways. you’re sure you’re being a crybaby, too sensitive, a wuss, nonetheless, you’re unable to help it, “i don’t k-know what to do, m-my dorms on fire, my parents live two hours out a-and i don’t have a car. ‘teo’s on the . . the other side of the country, i h-had no one else to call.” the speed of which your words fly out are akin to a mile a minute. eren’s only able to discern the words of dorm and fire and he finds himself moving before he knows it.

“ima be there.”

you hadn’t expected eren to actually come to your university and pick you up — not for a moment. 

you catch eye of a pristine, space grey bmw m4 cruising around the curved entryway as you sit upon the trunk of giselle’s kia, parked in the lot about ten feet away from the dorms and promptly . . . you know. pieces of gravel and tiny pebbles pop and crackle under the weight of four, blacked out rim tires as they slow to a halt beside her car and gently, you swipe your finger under your nose, watching the driver’s door swing open.

when he steps out, reminiscent of that night at the bar, your heart begins to pound. 

“awe, mama.”

he wears a pair of black sweats, thick black socks, and nike slides. the jacket he dons is a zip up. it’s clear he must have hurried on over due to the fact that he does not wear a shirt underneath it. it’s zipped to cover about three fourths of his torso and briskly, you let your eyes dance across the tight groove of his pecs and the dip of his collarbones as he rounds the front of the car. upon you standing onto your feet, his arms are opening wide to coax and envelop you into his embrace.

“mm, ‘m so sorry,” he mumbles, comfortingly beginning a leaden rock on your feet from side to side. “ ‘m sorry.”

his hugs are nice . . . they’re so nice.

he wraps his arms around the back of your neck and grabs hold of his own elbows with the opposite hands so that he can completely engulf you within his hold. it’s as though he’s trying to obscure you from the rest of the world and its horrors, savagery, and acerbity. the muscles of your body render as you melt into him. you stand about eight inches shorter than eren. your face is buried into his heart as you squeeze your arms tightly around his stature, noting that this is exactly what you need . . what you’ve been needing. 

“you’re okay, yeah?” he makes you look up at him — lets you go, tilts your head up by the chin. “y’all both okay?” his eyes quickly glance towards giselle and waits until the both of you nod.

“said it was the cause of a candle,” she explains, leaning an elbow on the trunk. “got knocked over, caught on a curtain — rest is history. nobody died, don’t worry.”

eren huffs a breath, rubbing a hand over his head that’s sheathed by his jacket’s hood. “my god. scared the fuck outta me man.”

“you didn’t,” you swallow and inhale a thin, shuddering breath. “you didn’t h-have to come pick me up, eren.”

he’s moving — stepping around you, grabbing your pink, hard cased, hello kitty printed suitcases and rolling them to his trunk. “was gonna ask to stay with me, yeah?” his voice still holds the tenors of sleep . . it makes his baritone much richer and gruff as opposed to usual.

“only for the night, eren. i-if that’d be okay—“

blithely, he’s lifting a shoulder them dropping it while hoisting the door of his trunk open and sliding one suitcase in at a time. “fuck that. when is the dorm being rebuilt?”

giselle hastily answers, “fire only reached the top three floors. heard the dean say it’s gonna take them at least a month or two.”

the trunk is closed with a slam, after which he’s giving you a small smirk while taking your duffel, “you’re stayin’ with me until it’s done then. easy commute, comfy bed . . i cook sometimes.”

room for discussion is withdrawn. his eyes teeter the stroke of sapphire underneath the golden rays of the rising sun and he fixes them on the deep chocolates of your own, letting you read the firm resolve that swims inside. he’s already made up his mind. “giselle, you . .” he juts a thumb out towards his car, letting her fill in the rest of his sentence, and giselle gives a small smile while shaking her head.

“thanks for the offer. my mom lives like forty minutes away, ‘m jus gonna stay with her ’til all this blows over.”

he lets the two of you say your goodbyes while settling your backpack and duffles in the backseat. “mm, be good, yeah?” your friend squeezes you tight with a kiss to the crown of your head. “go get some rest and call me when you wake up.”

when you’re settled within the passenger seat of eren’s car, you aren’t surprised to find that the interior is just as immaculately clean as the ex. blended scents of mint and black ice seem to be ingrained between the leather seating — it swathes and comforts you in the best way possible. “you okay?” he’s asking quietly, strong hand pushing the gear shift into drive as his other wraps around the bottom of the wheel. he’d already asked the question before, albeit . . he wants to be sure. 

sluggishly, your head goes to lean against the window. you appear so small to eren in that moment — swallowed by your hoodie, arms wrapped around yourself, and body curled. your mumble is meek as you retort, “ ‘m okay.”

aside from the low volume of brent faiyaz’s voice floating in through high definition speakers to enshroud the ambience, the drive is quiet. your eyes close, letting the push and pull of the car moving lull you into that narcotic state of consciousness and not. you find that eren comforts you. you don’t have to worry about much. your mind falls to a mute when he’s around — rushing thoughts of where you were going to go, you possibly needing to take a leave of absence, the never ending factors of stress are all temporarily forgotten.

it’s as though he takes over the reigns. he doesn’t allow you to carry your own bags, no, ‘he’s got it.’ asks you twice if you’d like something to eat from the bakery provided within his apartment’s lobby as he walks you through past security and a doorkeeper. he’s making sure you stay close beside him after you’re both exiting the elevator shaft on the tenth floor and striding across cranberry, gold trimmed carpet to a door whose gilded, etched plate above the doorbell reads the number 1018.

come the door opening and first impressions of eren’s home, you find that it’s clean . . similar to his car, it’s almost unnaturally so. 

you follow his motions once he kicks off his slides inside the foyer, neatly placing your little, pink, fur trimmed crocs beside a pair of ‘mocha’ jordan ones. the juxtaposition of the two of them next to one another feels strangely satisfying, as if that’s where they’re made to be. 

round with wonder, your eyes scan every inch of his place when you’re able to walk further inside soon after.

his living room is first you see when exiting the corridor. it’s massive — sits in front of his open spaced kitchen, completed with a long, wide ‘L’ shaped sofa the tone of cool, olive green. delicate beams of amber pour in through three, large, arch shaped windows. they draw attention to a fish tank, grand and roomy,  sitting atop of a full bookcase — swimming with curious guppies, neon tetras, and cherry garbs. you gravitate towards it, gasping and tenderly placing your finger upon the glass where a wading angelfish sways at a standstill. quietly, you coo, “. . you have little fishies.”

eren scoffs a small chuckle behind you as he places your bags beside the settee, “i do.”

though being of different breeds, all of them seem to exist in calm harmony. a tetra shoots itself in a firm, straight line to dive for a thatchet of moss to pick at and a guppy smoothly glides out of its way to make room.

“mm, yeah, these are my babies,” eren lowers his face a few inches away from yours to gaze fondly at them, too. “ ‘m too busy for a cat or dog right now. these were my next choice,” he points to a particularly bored looking cherry garb. “that’s jerry,” then that excited tertra. “rick. the angelfish you’re touchin’ is morty. summer and beth are over there . . . then you got, teddy . . bob . . and there goes gene.”

it takes a moment for you to familiarize yourself with the names. “wait,” a slow smile starts to spread across your lips come the realization. “seriously, eren?”

his eyes glint with boyish glee as he straightens back upright, “lemme show you to the room.”

his apartment has one, wide, lengthy corridor that breaks off into two more come the end of it. on the left are three doors, one slimmer than the other two leaving you to assume that it may be a closet. on the right are only two. he turns down that way and heads straight for the door ahead which he opens, stretching his arm and adjusting his body to allow you first entry. “you let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

it’s far bigger than you’d expected — completed with a king sized bed and sixty inch flat screen. the curtains above the arched window are left partially agape and pushing through it is a glistening beam, pouring warmth right onto the center of the mattress. it’s as though it beckons you to curl within it; oh, how you yearn to. you wrap your arms around your body once more, a comforting habit used to soothe and give you the confidence needed in order to turn back towards eren and meekly murmur, “. . i appreciate this. i’m sorry, again.”

“nah, nah. no,” as if instinctively, eren finds his fingers reaching for the curve of your waist, however before he can touch you, his thoughts catch up with his actions, and quickly, he shoves his hand inside of his jacket’s pocket. “no need to apologize. i don’t mind you bein’ here . . . okay?” he bends at the waist and lowers his head to catch your downward gaze and waits until you give a timid nod prior to him smiling. “i seriously don’t. so, don’t think you’re intrudin’ on me or anythin’. no more sorries.”

“. . no more sorries.”

what a sweet thing you are. eren constricts the doorknob within a sweating fist. “you gotta get some sleep.”

right.

he’s right. your exhaustion weighs down your eyelids — makes you stare at him with hazy debility waxed over normally wide, attentive irises. “mkay.” you turn on your heels and make your way for the bed, having to give a bit of a hop with one knee on top to fully pull yourself onto it. “gnight, eren.”

you’re precious. 

“gnight, mama.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  ❤︎

minutes drag into hours — idle and lax.

with the golden disc of the sun hanging high within the blue skies, eren works. he sits inside of his room, at his desk, sketching designs, answering emails, things to keep his mind busy instead of worrying about you.

how frightened you had been. you shook in his arms when he’d hugged you — frail and weak. a girl like you shouldn’t be put into situations like that . . situations between life or death, it had clearly been too much for your dainty, pearl coated heart to take on. you’ve only just entered his life again, eren doesn’t think he’s ready to let you slip away any time soon.

when the sun starts its slow descend is when he pushes himself away from his desk to shower and begin the process of deciding what to eat for dinner. he’s lazy today, he will be honest. he wonders what you like . . .

when you were a little girl, you seemed to have an insane obsession with mexican food, more notably, burritos. warmed tortillas nearly swollen and bursting with barbacoa, pollo asado, rice, spicy salsa, sour cream, cheese, and avocado. he takes the chance of ordering one for you with a grilled chicken salad for himself. 

it’s while he’s snatching a bottle of water from his fridge when the doorbell buzzes. 

“. . fuckin’ ony.”

there’s no one else he knows that is able to bypass security, the doorman, and input the code needed for his apartment floor. no one else has the audacity, and upon him opening the door, not a soul stands on the other side, apart from onyankopon. “you missed me?” a bright, handsome smile is expanded across two, thick, double hued lips as he walks inside and kicks off his new balances.

“i didn’t,” eren closes and locks the door behind him, heading straight for the couch. quiet footsteps follow after ony tears off his coat and hangs it within the linen closet. “i really fuckin’ didn’t.”

“yeah, yeah. shut that shit up,” he plops down beside eren on a cushion, naturally letting his legs fall far apart to work himself into a comfortable position. “giants game is on. you cook?”

shaking his head, eren nibbles on the soft skin of his bottom lip, “ordered food.”

ony spares a look beside the door of which he entered from, catching eye of the crocs, radiant and pink — jibbitz of hearts, stars, bows, and hello kitty characters popped into almost every hole — sitting beside his shoes. they’re a blaring mar, starkly standing out against eren’s black, brown, and olive decor. “. . . who you got over here?”

“hm?—“

delicate footsteps are heard padding ony’s way. his head swivels on his shoulders . . and there you stand. 

you rub an eye with a fist, lips parted around a wide yawn, bonnet askew, hoodie practically sliding off of your shoulder. “oh,” sparkling eyes of fawn catch ony’s then you’re quickly pulling it back into place. “sorry.” they snap to eren’s and both men watch you take a hesitant step back, as if you were unsure you were allowed to come any closer. 

“no, no—“

“—you good, you good.”

without thinking, the two of them separate to leave the middle cushion open. “c’mere,” eren finds himself a bit glad to see you up. you’ve slept for nearly twelve hours, he’s missed your face. “you remember ony, yeah?”

you do.

your steps are light as you round the couch. 

ony . . .

he appears to be even more pretty than that night at the bar. similar to eren, he wears a pair of sweats, though his are grey. his legs are long, and still, underneath thick fleece, the firm muscle of his thighs bulge. “hi, ony,” you give a soft smile and take a slow seat between the two, folding your hands between the warm, plush skin of your own. 

“hey, ma’,” he licks his lips. “i heard about the fire at your school. that was your dorm?”

no longer inebriated, today, you can hear the faint traces of a southern accent peppering the deep modes of his voice. it drags out his tone, makes a few words string loosely together. goosebumps pebble the surface of your skin at the sound, “uh huh . . yeah, it was mine.” 

“damn, ‘m sorry,” similar to eren, ony seems big on eye contact. pools of warm brown gaze sympathetically into your own and it makes your tummy feel as though goo has replaced all of your organs. “you managed to grab all your stuff though, right?”

“mm, m-most of it,” you scratch at your knee, suddenly nervous. “left some stuff . . little things, i think i’ll be okay.”

eren’s speaking up beside you, “you call your family?”

“mhm,” you give a nod. “took them a second to remember you. they’re happy that you’re lettin’ me stay — told me to tell you that they’re hoping to see you again.”

he’s smiling, dimples deepening, “yeah?”

at the sight, you can’t help but smile, too. “mhm.”

you suppose that the conversation dies after that. you pull your legs up to your chest, wrap your arms around your knees, and tune into the television. truthfully, you know nothing about football — what you see happening are squads of men running back and forth along ice frosted grass, tackling one another over a little, spheroid ball. ony calls out an ‘interception,’ eren shoots out a firm ‘fumble’ and all you really hear is the sound of tv static. 

unconsciously, when one of them yells out a game play, you take the moment of deep voices overlapping one another to inhale a deep breath. 

they both smell nice . . utterly divine. eren teeters a line of cool bergamot and pine while ony smells warm . . similar to coconut and mahogany. the both of them are huge, too — statures looming over your own, even while you all sit. you’re aware that the tiny, juvenile crush you had on eren when you were a child is once again unfurling itself. similar to a wilted tulip, it blooms with the warmth of his smile, strengthens with the simple graze of his finger across yours, dazzles at the mere sight of him . . nonetheless, always a girl who’s wanted more, who’s learned to grab a handful when offered an open chance, you’re aware that a new seed has been planted when you spare timid glances at ony.

modestly, you assume that this all may be physical with them both — strictly surface level. you’re enamored with their features, you’re sure plenty would agree, because as much as you think you know eren, you don’t. he’s older now, he’s changed, he’s morphed, and he’s matured. 

you reckon that you have to take your time to learn about him again, about them both, come you gauging a more than friendly graze of ony’s arm slipping around eren’s waist once he stood and steps past you both to open the door at the sound of a knock. 

“hungry, mama?”

overhead, motion detected lighting fades in within the kitchen after eren grabs two, large plain paper bags from the hands of a cheery blonde, closes the door, and walks over to it. your nose twitches at the familiar scent of marinated meat, “. . . burritos?” 

your excitement is palpable. you quickly pad over, ony following, to watch him open the bag upon the island, prior to pulling out a foil wrapped cylinder, more or less the size of his bicep. “thank you so much.” 

you haven’t ate in over a day, your stomach gives an aggravated growl at the trivial realization. it’s endearing, watching how wide you have to open your little mouth to take a bite of it. “c’mere, you’re gonna dislocate your jaw,” ony hums, carefully taking the burrito from your hands to then turn and grab a knife from the block beside the sink. cute eagerness is hidden beneath a poorly made veil of self control as you watch him cut a diagonal line within the center of it, splitting the burrito into two. “hm.” he gives you one.

“thank you.” 

you’re biting into it quite easier now, sinking your teeth into tender meats and a warm, flour tortilla. “tastes good?” eren stands on the other side of the counter and spares a glance up at you through wispy strands of umber that falls into his eyes while drizzling a zest filled dressing over his salad. “want some of ours?”

you’re hesitant, glancing between it and ony’s quesadillas. 

“why you shy for?” the latter asks quietly, head tilting to follow your eyes when you look away. “hm.”

he holds it out and — candidly, you just can’t help it — you lean it to take a small bite . . humming a soft, “hmmm.” at the savory taste of carne asada. a fork of eren’s salad is next, you have to tilt yourself forward, palms flat on the island to take it and in doing so, a piece of fresh, crisp lettuce clings to your chin. casually, eren swipes it away, eyes fondly twinkling, “messy thing.” 

“both are yummy,” you comment before holding your burrito up to eren’s lips. “hm . . bite.”

“dietin’, mama. ‘s why i got a salad.”

you can’t help but pout at the rejection for your burrito. how bad it must feel. naturally, you turn it to ony. “bite.”

he does so with no hesitation and a huge smile of awe covers your face as you gasp, watching him take a more than generous chomp. “oh wow,” you’re giggling, taking in how slow he chews. 

eren scoffs, rolling his eyes, “fuckin’ greedy ass. you regret that now, hm?”

“shut the fuck up, jaeger,” he turns his attention to you. “shit’s torch. thank you, ma’.”

“mhm,” you take a seat upon a stool, languidly swinging your legs one at a time, letting a bout of silence hang over you all until ony utters a small revelation, “you’ve never told us your major.”

“ ‘s communications.”

both men drag out loud, exaggerated ‘ oh! ‘s, clearly impressed. silly. a sheet of warmth flourishes across your cheeks, beginning first at the rounded tip of your nose. “stop it,” you whine, simpering at their puerility. 

“what are you doin’ after?” eren murmurs around a mouthful of greens. “do you know?”

you give a feeble shrug, toying with the foil that surrounds your burrito, “somethin’ in marketing and advertising, most likely. or social media managing. i really like both.”

“for real?”

you give one, firm nod, “mhm.”

“does this mean you’re like,” eren tilts his head. “ig famous or some shit?”

his question makes you laugh. “no, no, ‘m not . . i mean, i have a decent amount — not as much as you.” you regret the words almost as soon as they tumble from the plump hills of your lips. eren had never given you his instagram — that, you all know. 

ony smiles, chewing slowly while sharing a knowing glance with him. eren discerns what shines within his irises, can practically hear him — ‘what i say.’ “so, now you know we got ourselves a superstar on our hands.”

rolling his eyes, eren swivels on his heels to walk towards the pantry, evidently trying to dodge the topic, “here we go with this shit. i’m not, ( ❤︎ ), don’t listen to the bullshit—“

“—nah, nah. she’s seen it. she knows. eren’s a fuckin’ diva.”

“you get on my fuckin’ nerves.”

you twist your stool from left to right, interest piqued. “oh yeah?”

ony gives you a casual wink, jutting his thumb eren’s way while shaking his head and muttering, “i jus like fuckin’ wit’ him.”

two wine glasses and a mug are sat upon the middle of the island, “we don’t need you drunk tonight,” eren utters, swiftly grabbing a bottle of lemonade from the fridge. he opens it then tips it against the mug, pouring til the liquid reaches the rim. “plus . .” he gives a bland shrug, eyebrows quirking. “you’re underaged.”

“you’re no fun.”

“mm, yeah, i know.”

while he works on unscrewing a tough cork off of a bottle of wine, you take another bite of your burrito, curiously eyeing the lines of ink tatted along ony’s hand. it’s a face . . . you aren’t sure of whose. it isn’t realistic, no, it resembles a michelangelo sculpture — completed with an expression seized over with melancholy, eyes void of irises and pupils, meticulously coiled hair, and a firm, lineal nose. “. . can i touch?” you reach for it, hesitatingly, noting ony’s slight surprise. 

“for sure.”

tenderly, you stroke your thumb along the face’s cheek, enamored by the realism of it all. it’d appeared that he had a true sculpture embedded within the skin of his hand. “whose face is this?” you softly inquire. “ ‘s a greek god, yeah?”

“mhm,” he curls his fingers into a fist and you watch the tendons and bones underneath his skin flex as it moves, seemingly changing expressions. “eros.”

“did eren do it?”

once more, ony nods, “shit’s clean, mm?”

you’re amazed, smiling while trying to make his fingers curl and relax to get the face to move once more, “i love it — so pretty.”

quietly, while working the cork off, eren admires the two of you. how quickly you are to open up to ony, more importantly, get ony to open up to you is . . oddly interesting. he’s known ony for nearly five years, having met him almost immediately after moving into the city. it had taken months for eren to get the guy to speak a full, two sentences to him, and yet, here you are . . . sweet, kind, soft spoken you. 

he’s sure you aren’t aware of the sheer amount of power you hold within your hands come later into the night. 

you fill the two of them in on your life, beginning the stories after eren and your big brother had graduated. you tell them about your high school days, how you participated in clubs, made the cheer squad, attended homecomings, and prom. you show them pictures of you with your friends, in your uniform, face a bit more cherubic and soft as opposed to now.

the more both him and ony learn, the more questions they have. yeah, they’re aware that you graduated valedictorian of your class, but who’s that guy that took you to prom? just a friend? oh. are you both still in contact? okay, nice. when did you meet giselle? you’re a bit of a shy girl, she approached you first, yeah? they knew it. you really like burritos, why? . . hm, okay. that’s a first. a big fan of sweets, too? caramels, chocolates, gummies, all that? wow.

following, there are the questions that they . . . merely keep to themselves — ones they’re sure you’d be too timid and bemused to answer. such as, why in the fucking world are you so pretty? how did you get to become so pretty — what made you so pretty? they have to know. why do you make eren’s heart feel as though it was three beats away from shooting out of his chest? why are you so easy to talk to? why does ony see you being in his life for years to come when he’s really only known you for a measly four hours?

when his phone begins to buzz, it catches the attention of all three of you.

“. . shit, i gotta go,” ony mumbles, holding it within his hand as he reads a text from the screen. he only has to say one word, or rather, the name ‘connie’ for eren to nod. 

you slump into the corner of where you sit curled upon the couch, disappointment oozing from your pores akin to water through the sides of a moorish jar. connie . . . a unisex name. could it be his girlfriend? the thought is fleeting. you watch him and eren stand, he moves in a bit of a haste — it has to be a significant other, surely. tenderly, you pout, watching him slip his feet into his shoes and shrug into his coat. “alright, ima hit you later,” you hear him tepidly relate to eren. before he leaves, he leans upon his left foot to take a more full look at you over the brunet’s shoulder. “you be good, alright?” he gives you a knowing nod, waiting until you return it. “mhm. you promise?”

within your arms is a throw pillow — you squeeze it tightly, firmly, willing those flapping, interminable butterflies swarming inside of your tummy away before giving a soft nod and biting down on a smile, “i promise, ony.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  ❤︎

living with eren comes to be more cozy and pleasant than you’d initially thought.

you hadn’t expected him to be so welcoming, nevertheless, he is. each morning, around seven to eight am, you’re surprised to find him up, dressed, and ready to get the day started. he makes you breakfast everyday, too — meals range from cute pancakes in misshapen forms of stars, mickey mouse's head contour, and your favorite sanrio character, to a simple açaí bowl, toppled with granola, fresh fruits, and sweet honey. on days when you have no classes, you make sure to wake up an hour earlier and sit at the island to simply watch. 

there are also mornings where you’d exit the bedroom, disoriented and still blurry eyed to find ony standing right beside him — mixing batter in a large, sunken bowl, helping grill lean strips of steak within a sizzling skillet, and those are the days you find yourself much quiet than usual. and you’re sure eren notices. when the sun shines in through his large windows, finding only the two of you, you’re asking shy, curious questions about his occupation, his mom, his other friends ( you’ve managed to learn all of their names — mikasa, armin, sasha, and connie ). 

you suppose that the reason as to such is because you would rather much observe the two men when all three of you are together. 

eren’s . . . different with ony as opposed to how he is, or should you say was, with mateo. and incipiently, you’d thought of yourself as being too nosy, drawing up conclusions and speculations that weren’t even there, especially doing so without enough concrete substantiation. of course he’d be different with a friend as opposed to when he was sixteen in high school and now, a grown man. 

he and ony do not play video games as much as he and mateo did. they don’t go to parties, arcades, and hide your homework from you the way he and your brother used to, all in efforts to make you whine.

no, the two of them work out with one another. they watch games on the couch with one another, cook, eat, and on occasion, smoke with one another. and you’re positive that many other people with close friends do the same, nonetheless, it’s more in how the two of them do it. they don’t sit on opposite sides of the settee when smoking or watching a game, no, they are always close — close enough to have their thighs touch, their knees brush against each other’s as they leisurely sway in and out and the two of them swoop lower and lower within their bounden highs. while they cook together, ony’s hand is on eren’s slim waist, moving him out of the way to grab a small bottle of garlic seasoning instead of him simply asking eren to slide over or get it himself. when they smile at one another, something deeper wades within the four pools of jade and stone brown, you’re certain of it.

come week eight of you staying with eren, you aren’t sure how to feel.

you’re confused, emotions tied and bundled up into one, great, big ball of horrible mush. you like eren — that, is something that you are assured of and, admittedly, you hate that you do. you loathe that seven years of pining has only seemed to collectively intensify your feelings with each passing day. you’re a blushing mess after one glance from him is given, too shy to say more than a few sentences at a time. withal . . . onyankopon makes you feel something incapable of words.

granted, you’re more trusting due to him being eren’s closest friend of over five years, regardless, if the two of you were to meet on your own separate terms, you’re sure he’d plague your dreams the same way he does now.

tonight, you lay awake, staring at the smooth blades of a rotating ceiling fan above you, willing away the thoughts of them both. you have a quiz tomorrow, you’ve studied for it all week, and you’re supposed to be going out with giselle and lana again the day after. your itinerary for the next few days is booked with small tasks in between, such as a nail appointment, tutoring sessions, and more studying. you are a busy girl, albeit, you can’t sleep. whether due to your rushing thoughts or the faint, eerie sounds slipping in through underneath the crack of your closed door, you don’t know. 

tilting your head downwards, you stare at the doorknob for a moment — awaiting the moment it begins to leisurely twist to give you all the more reason to scream and barricade yourself in the bathroom, though, it never comes. the sounds draw out longer and the more frequent they grow, the more your curiosity blossoms, unfortunately. 

your hand slips underneath a pillow so that you’re able to grab hold of your phone and inspect the time — twelve o’ two. 

you suppose you might as well go and pursue the source of such — what if it’s eren? hurt or in pain? an intruder? naturally, you hope for the former. you’ve never even killed an ant on your own, you doubt you’d be able to take on a human being. 

you leave only a sliver of space ajar when you first open the door, peeking a single eye out into the gloomy hall. evidently, the sounds are more reverberant. you tremble like a lone leaf in the fall, trying your best to gauge the distance between yours and eren’s room with your eyes . . his door is only about four steps away. since you’ve been staying with him, he leaves it half opened, and from the inside of it, light pours into the corridor against a single wall. 

the tv is on.

the source of lighting is a good enough beacon of encouragement to have you give a quick squeal and scurry on over to the threshold, fist already raised in preparedness to knock upon his door . . yet, you stop.

or, in better words, you freeze.

you come to discover that the sounds are being emitted through the mouths of two people — of his and onyankopon’s.

you can’t see much — eren’s king sized bed’s headboard is positioned against the wall that faces the door some feet away from it. nonetheless, you can make out onyankopon. he lays atop of eren, barren from his usual crewnecks, jeans, and air forces. blue light glistens upon the dark brown of his skin — sinewy muscle rippling within the stoutness of it as one tatted arm flexes, rising up then down between their bodies. 

the both of them are mostly quiet — whispers and mumbles incomprehensible. it’s the volume of their baritones what you’d heard . . both of them terribly deep. they echo off of the four walls, rumble throughout eren’s apartment, drip down masonry and plaster, slow and thick. 

eren’s tone veers along the edge of a whine, when he utters, “fuck, ‘yan . . s-shit.”

your heart pounds within your chest come the realization of your suspicions being proven true. 

“c’mon, pa’, gimmie that nut,” ony mumbles, working his fist more swiftly, direly. “fuckin’ pretty ass.”

a horrible feeling overcomes the expanse of your chest. it’s one you’ve never experienced — comes across as though your heart was literally twisting and coiling to become one, small knot which climbs up into the wire of your throat to then sit there and inflate. briskly, you turn on the heels of your feet, tip toeing as quick as you can back to your room to then close and lock the door. 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  ❤︎

you wake up late.

of course you do.

after spending most of the night letting the lewd image of onyankopon and eren engross your mind, you manage to finally get some sleep around five am after a painful sobbing session. how stupid you are. the signs were all there. you can’t help but feel angry at yourself, reasons as to why still unclear. you wish you’d have just stayed in bed, ignored the sounds, forced yourself to go to sleep. in doing that, your eyes wouldn’t be almost swollen shut and head wouldn’t be pounding as though someone had been beating it with a hammer an hour straight. you’re aware that you would still be in the blind, you know, but . . at least your heart wouldn’t hurt as much.

hurrying out of the room, you’re making a straightaway to the front door. your uber is only two minutes away and you recognize that you are already missing the first five of your lecture. huffing quietly. you’re already mentally preparing yourself for the energy you’re going to need to plead your case to your professor in efforts to get a small extension—

  “—( ❤︎ )?”

don’t stop. don’t look.

“. . mm, yeah?”

your eyes are locked upon the door. you’re only about eight steps away, it isn’t much.

“hey, hey, hold on.”

onyankopon’s legs are longer than yours. he’s able to intercept your path without much of a hassle, standing right in front of the entry to the foyer. thoughtlessly, you take a step back when he makes himself known, sparing a glance up into his eyes. he’s smiling, though it goes a bit fraught at the edges when he views your appearance.

“. . what’s wrong?” he gently asks.

it isn’t the lack of blush, faux lashes, and glitter adorning your face that has him concerned, it’s the heavy bags underneath your eyes, the coating of puffiness that surrounds them. usually, you’re dressed in darling two piece sets, a cute skirt and top, hair pulled up into sweet pigtails or even pinned back with bows . . . today, you’re donning all black — leggings, hoodie, and ugg boots . . . box braids pulled back into a simple, low pony. something’s wrong. both he and eren can see.

“nothing.”

to make matters worse for you, eren wants to take a look for himself and it leaves the two of them in front of you, obstructing you from leaving. “what happened?” he asks. “not hungry today, mama?”

your nails dig into the fleshy part of your palm. you hear the pitch of his voice — more quiet, whimpering . . you hear ony’s — tender, sodden in raw infatuation. “no,” you shake your head. your next inhale is shaky and your eyes begin to prick with a familiar sting. “i g-gotta go. ‘m late. sorry.” quickly, you scuttle around them to hustle through the foyer, unlock the door, and part. 

for a moment, eren’s confused. the corners of his lips tug downwards as the door slams and he quickly replays the discussion over within his head, fighting to figure out where the obvious issue lied.

it doesn’t take much for ony to decipher why you’re acting so different today. understanding irons out the bewilderment that graces his face and while inhaling a slow breath, he starts his path back over to the kitchen, saying only one thing, “i think she saw us last night.”

eren’s quiet for a moment. 

nah . . . impossible.

. . . did you? 

rubbing a hand across his jaw, he pauses, letting the words marinate, “. . nah,” he murmurs. “nah. that’s crazy—“

“—she did.”

“no.”

“i’m telling you, bro,” onyankopon’s eyes are firm. “she did.”

before you went to bed last night, you and eren were fine. you ate dinner together, introduced him to one of your favorite shows — hello kitty and friends, he thinks it was called, you ate ice cream, then you both parted ways around ten to call it a night. 

he doesn’t think he was loud when leaving his room an hour later to let ony inside, doesn’t think neither of them made too much noise when that happened again — something that’s occurred only once before . . months before you found your way back inside of eren’s life for a second time.

then again, they did leave the door open.

“. . shit,” eren breathes out the word through a low groan, falling into a stool at the island beside him. “she didn’t seem mad, though. no?”

onyankopon shakes his head, “not mad . . more . . sad, i think.”

sad. that is true. your face did appear swollen and veneered over with gloom before you left. the two explanations as to why you’d be upset are evident — the first is simply you being bigoted. both he and onyankopon know that you aren’t that at all, not in any shape or form, so that’s ruled out immediately. eren’s only seen you cry once before today — when you were younger and found out your friends had gone to the movies and mall without you. you’re a sensitive girl; you cry when your feelings have been hurt and disregarded.

ony decides to let eren figure out the obvious second reasoning on his own. “i gotta head out,” he says, tipping his head back with a glass canted at his lips to swill down the rest of his orange juice. “. . ima catch you later.”

“for sure.”

both men hesitate. when ony stands, he’s hit with the sudden urge to lean in and press a delicate kiss against the warm pads of eren’s lips . . similar to the way he did less than seven hours ago, when they were both alone, sated and sweaty. however, at the last second, he withdraws — sucking in a deep inhale before nodding. “. . ‘m out.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  ❤︎

funnily enough, you vex onyankopon’s thoughts for the rest of the day.

as an automotive designer, his head is almost always bustling with new ideas, deadlines, requisitions, and contracts. while he works — inspecting the lot where near almost fifteen cars are parked and being worked on throughout, clipboard in hand to document progress, connie’s headway in wrapping a mclaren 765lt within a pearlescent pink cast vinyl sparks the first of many thoughts of you.

your sweet face laden with dejection and woe was enough to hurt his heart — it sits within the core of his brain, flashing over and over again. in a way, onyankopon supposes that he feels . . guilty. he sees the way you gaze at eren when you think no one else is paying attention, how you giggle and blush and nearly purr when he mumbles an impulsive ‘good job, mama’ or ‘ ‘m proud of you.’ you’re absolutely smitten.

he guesses he should feel a bit jealous, too . . or maybe, possessive. 

his and eren’s relationship has no other word to describe it aside from ‘complicated.’ to the world, more specifically their other friends, they’re simply thick as thieves. no one really knows how bad ony longs to hear his voice after an especially long, taxing day. how content he feels when eren is simply in eyeline. how much his love for eren truly grows.

withal, he doesn’t feel the slightest bit upset that you may adore eren as much as he does. he’s easy to cherish. 

he feels a tender pity for you, at most. doubtlessly, he knows that you’re confused, sullen, heartbroken, and he finds it impossible to carry on his day, knowing you’re probably wishing you hadn’t got out of bed this morning. 

— hey. u out of class yet?

ony sends out the text while sitting in his car, reclined back comfortably in his seat, still parked in front of his lot. he’s honestly astounded when you reply back.

— got ten more minutes. why? — bout to come scoop u. drop lo.

it takes you nearly five minutes to go ahead and do so. you’re probably overthinking yourself into another batch of tears. ony sighs at the simple thought, “this lil girl, man.”

you’re a bit of a brat. he sees that now.

upon you first catching eye of his obsidian black lexus es 350 before he hops out of it, you remain seated atop of the bench you lounge on, arms folded, face unreadable. onyankopon has to step onto the curb and meet your eye while motioning to the passenger seat’s open door. you stay firm, “. . did eren send you? i could’ve jus’ took an uber again, i don’t mind—“

“—nah,” ony takes hold of one of the shoulder straps to your backpack to carry it. “he didn’t. c’mon.”

your stubbornness proves to be futile. after you climb in, he makes sure you buckle into your seatbelt prior to placing your backpack in the seat behind you. and as was foreseeable, you’re quiet while ony drives. you’re almost always quiet around him and he’ll be honest, it makes him feel a certain way when eren ends up telling him about a funny thing you said, how you’re possibly one of the most interesting people he’s ever known, and realizing you obviously don’t feel comfortable being that same way around him. 

onyankopon gets it though. he’s not much of a talker neither, and he’s aware of how frustrating it is to have someone continuously try to poke and prod to get you to. he’ll simply just have to wait for you, no matter how long it takes.

“. . ice cream?”

pulling into a parking space right in front of ‘ candy’s ice cream parlor ‘ surprises you and, more or less, onyankopon allowing you to get triple scoops does too. you embellish your favorite flavors with drizzles of chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and brownie bites, and with a smile, take a big spoonful. “ ’s yummy.”

only having bought a vanilla milkshake for himself, ony relaxes against the cushion of the side of the booth he sits in, modestly watching you take another spoonful and slip it between the glossed pillows of your lips. “you sure you don’t want nothin’ else?” 

shaking your head, you bore a nice hole within the mound of sweet cream, making sure to get a chunk of brownie right along side it, “thank you for this,” you hum. “i appreciate it, ony.” you really do. cliche, you know, heartbroken girl burying herself in ice cream and cheesy rom-coms, nonetheless, both has always been enough to soothe you after a particularly rancid day.

giving a slight shrug, onyankopon angles the straw at his lips to take a sip, “felt like you needed it,” the tone of his voice mellows when he continues, “y’seemed a lil’ . . upset earlier.”

he takes heed in how quickly you look away from him — your body shifts and your jaw tenses. “mm, yeah. it was over something . . something s-stupid.”

ony had wanted you to tell him on your own, but, when the open chance comes . . introduces itself so glaringly, well, he just can’t help it. artificial curiosity douses the bass of his voice as he asks, “ ‘cause of school?”

“. . . no, not really.”

“what? family?”

“nuh uh.”

silence overcomes the table. you refuse to elaborate. your eyes remain fixed on your ice cream as your ears tune into the glitzy pop song chiming through the parlor’s inbuilt ceiling speakers. you can’t tell him. you don’t want to engage in the topic for not a second longer. seconds quickly tick into a minute and when you pardon a glance up to look at ony, you find him already gazing back at you, relaxed smirk decorating the soft fullness of his lips. 

you watch him inhale a breath, irises casted downwards as he shifts and adjusts the carhartt beanie upon his head, “. . ima be honest, ma’, alright?” he licks his lips and you watch his eyes pull back up to meet yours before they grow heavy. the expression on his face is nothing short of enticing . . almost coy. coupled with his now more lazy posture — legs, as always, spread wide, one knee rocking leisurely from left to right . . you kind of hate how if affects you, how he affects you. “i think you’re beautiful.”

the curveball is thrown. subtly, your lips part in fair of your awe. 

and he shrugs, as if what he’d told you had been a simple fun fact. “i think you’re smart as shit. you’re kind. you’re sweet. i’d fuckin’ kill to get to know you more, on some real shit. i see you in my life for a long time and i know you confused,” his finger taps idly upon the table as he pauses for a moment. “. . i know you have questions . . about some shit . . — shit that i genuinely can’t explain.” perspicacity — it glimmers within the ponds of his eyes and within a fraction of a second, you know that he knows. “eren cares about you, a lot. more than i think either of you know.” and with that, he stands, signaling you to do the same. “lemme get you’on home.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  ❤︎

eren discovers that you are ignoring him.

after onyankopon dropped you back off at his place, much to his surprise, you said your thanks, went into your room, and haven’t came back out. it drives him insane, you drive him insane. he finds himself pacing come the next morning, having realized you haven’t ate in over fourteen hours. “fuck,” he sighs, standing within the open door of his refrigerator. he sees the carton of strawberry yogurt cups seated on the bottom shelf, pink stanley tumbler,  squeezy pouches of fruit juice, assorted within those are onyankopon’s favorite pineapple sodas, alkaline water, and organic snack bars.

with each passing day, the more the two of you intertwine yourselves within his life. akin to thread, you both weave and weave your way around him and his heart, pulling tight, refusing to let go. 

“she’s fuckin’ mad at me,” he mutters. ony sits upon the couch — having slept over again, he’s dressed in only a pair of sweat shorts and socks. and it’s a hard thing for eren . . realizing that two of the most beautiful people he knows are horribly aware of the fact that they are beautiful. ony wastes no time constantly tearing off a shirt and you practically adore prancing around in your little dresses and skirts. the both of you stress him out.

“she not.”

“she fuckin’ is, man.”

smacking his lips, onyankopon stands, “she cool, eren. really . . jus’ give her some time, pa—“

neither men hear your footsteps until you’re nearing the kitchen. briskly, mouths are shut and attention is given.

you feel their eyes peering, scanning, watching you drop the duffel bag you carry near the entrance of the foyer so that you can place your hand upon a wall for balance and slip one foot inside of a calf length, fur covered boot. 

“. . . ( ❤︎ )—“

“—where are you going?”

they watch your foot fall and you stand there for a moment, back facing them. irritation pricks at the base of your neck with a million needles it seems. you fight to gather in your composure, fight to keep from not being too much of a bitch because, still, you’re aware that you’re in eren’s home. manners have been instilled within you since you could hold your own head upon your shoulders.

both eren and ony hear the peep of your gentle voice as you give a huff before turning around and forging a small smile, “out.”

ony inspects your outfit — it’s a knitted, pink, two piece set. the skirt is scarily short and the top is sleeveless and high necked with a cream colored bow threaded right atop the mounds of your full breasts. you tempt him, you really do. he’s tempted to bolt lock the door, tempted to go out and gauge out every person’s eyes who gives you a sheer glance. 

before he can ask, ‘where?’ eren’s beating him to it. no longer does desolation grace the handsome features of his face — his arms are folded, eyes intense and focused directly upon yours. it’s clear the two of them allocate similar thoughts.

you lift an arm then let it fall with a slap against the smooth, bare skin of your thighs. it’s a clear motion conveying ‘why do you care?’ “jus’ . . out. ‘m going to giselle’s to finish gettin’ ready. i’ll be back tomorrow—“

“—tomorrow?”

the tinkling chimes of your ringtone break through the conversation and, in all honesty, save you from being grilled. quickly, your other shoe is on and you’re turning back towards the door, “she’s already here, i’m leaving. bye.”

when it slams closed, onyankopon’s attention is focused directly back onto eren, awaiting the next move. he’s fully prepared to follow you out, to pull you back, right into his arms and never let go, only if eren shares those same thoughts, craves to do those same things. instead, he simply close his eyes and give a slight head shake, “. . . i need my fuckin’ bong.” you’re going to drive him up a fucking wall. 

he walks into his bedroom, practically snatches it from the cabinet of his nightstand, and packs the bowl until it almost overfills. “so, we jus’ gon let her—“

seated upon the settee with a true crime documentary paused on the television screen, the only sound heard echoing throughout the condo is the quick bubbling of smoke flowing through the bong’s water chamber as eren pulls a cloud of the drug into his lungs through his mouth. “—‘m not about to think abt that shit, ‘yan,” he intercepts, voice wavering on strained as he holds the smoke within his chest for a second longer. “i don’t care.”

he cares. he cares a whole fucking lot. what the fuck could you possibly have planned that you’re not going to make it home until tomorrow? why the fuck does he even care? he doesn’t know, can’t figure it out. “i don’t care.”

scoffing a “yeah, okay,” onyankopon rips the bong from his grasp to place his lips within the mouthpiece and inhale a long drag. “you repeated yourself.”

“. . .” furrowing his brows, eren lets his head fall against the back of the sofa. “what?”

“you said ‘i don’t care’ twice,” ony does the same. thick, silvered smoke pours from his mouth and coils into the air above their faces, dispersing into a haze of fumes. “lets me know that you care.”

“fuck you.”

“mmm.”

eren tries to get you out of his mind. he does — desperately. he smokes, he naps, wakes up, refreshes your instagram in hopes that you’d go on to habitually post your daily outfit checks, or perhaps a picture of one of your favorite snacks or meals, something to let him know that you were okay, albeit, nothing. he feels like he’s eighteen all over again with a first crush, longing, itching, wanting. what throws him off, and admittedly ony, too, is that around ten o clock, one more refresh of your page and suddenly the two of them are met with the symbol of a lock, and your followers and following list are greyed out and unable to be clicked upon.

ony stands up from the stool inside of the kitchen he was seated upon within his disbelief, “she put herself on private,” he utters, eyebrows fusing in close until a tiny divot rests between the space of them. “she fuckin’ removed us and privated her account, man.”

“this fuckin’ . .” eren’s next inhale is deep. he rubs at his jaw, beginning to pace. you’re clearly wanting to play, wanting to hide. you were aware that they were going to be watching and it’s clear now that they should have been one step ahead and knew that you would. akin to a joust of chess, eren finds the both of them now stuck, unable to move. his mind begins to conjure the things you could possibly be doing — flashes of your pretty smile, your sweet giggles, soft hands caressing the plane of someone’s skin, it flies in and damn near bludgeons his lungs out of his chest. “where the fuck could she be?” he’s muttering. you’re not much of a social girl. that’s more of giselle’s proficiency . . .

“fuckin’ giselle.”

it isn’t hard to find her instagram. she posts a shit ton more than you and the last clip of her story had been of her hand, clearly yours ( you’re the only girl they know who has cute bows and heart charms glued to your acrylics ), and two other girls’ holding pink tinted shot glasses with a caption of ‘ don’t think club bliss ready 4 us tbh. ‘ “club bliss,” onyankopon licks his lips, letting the name plummet within the depths of his mind to familiarize himself with it. “. . shit’s downtown, like thirty five minutes away. my nigga JC owns it.”

shrugging, eren’s already making his way down the hall to his bedroom, “c’mon. bout to shower and get dressed. not about to play with this girl no more.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  ❤︎

you make sure you don’t drink too much tonight. you refuse to experience the daunting repercussions of another hangover. two shots and half a glass of a lemon drop are just enough for your usual introversion and self scrutiny to thaw. “just bend,” jasmine had managed to acquire the four of you a section of your own within the nightclub. you hadn’t known that she and giselle invited more people outside of you guys’ immediate group, nonetheless, about twelve of you in total adorn the divans of your section. “and do it. shake your ass.”

you surmise that this is what you need. the music is loud enough to fill the expanse of your brain from corner to corner, the club is dark enough for you to not worry about who’s looking, you don’t want to think about them. not for a second longer.

though it does still pain you to realize — they are not yours. in all probability, they never will be, and you force yourself to admit that it’s okay. you’ll be okay. 

throwing your plush butt in cadenced circles into the welcoming canvas of giselle’s crotch while she squealed and recorded it all on her phone was a step into the right direction, you think. 

and in all honesty, you don’t know when you realize the rhythmic, encouraging pats on your butt have transitioned into a firm grip around your waist — don’t know when those same hands slid up to your soft tummy to push you up and have your back connect to a rigid, firm chest. “mm,” you’re mewling and tilting your head rearward when the person bends to tuck their face within the graceful slope of your neck. “wha . .” 

“you showin’ out, ma.”

you smell his cologne, and the top you wear is completely backless — it allows you to feel the algid gold of his chain grazing the bare skin of your spine. “. . ony?” you have to turn and face him . . figure out whether it was really true.

he stands before you, dressed in a light blue crewneck over a plain white tee and grey, distressed, patchwork jeans. the colored beams of the club glint along the handsome features of his face — painting him green, red, yellow, then blue. underneath them all, you note how heavy his eyes are, the faint smell of weed that undertones the warm notes of his body wash and cologne. immediately, you’re pushing him away, uttering one word, “no.”

he doesn’t seem surprised by your response, not in the slightest. he’s reaching for you, tugging you back into him firmly, then veering you both on your feet in order to have your back hit the mirrored wall that separates your section from another. the broadness of his stature easily hinders the view of you from any keen, prying eyes. you don’t know if you appreciate it or not. “ony, move, what are you—” you’re already whining and pushing at his chest with feeble, little paws. “m-move, i don’t . . don’t wanna do this. lemme have fun.”

he gazes at you through the leaden lids of his eyes, dragging them across the plumpness of your glazed lips then back up into your own, catching notice of the surface of them. they’re misty — iced over. you’re tipsy . . definitely fucking tipsy. “how many times we gotta tell you to stop drinkin’,” he murmurs, stolidly grabbing your face within one of his hands — thumb on your cheek, four fingers on the other. “you’re nineteen. don’t get fucked up.”

you shove his hand away, pushing at it with the both of yours. “ ‘m grown, how m-many times do i have to tell the both of you that . . . stalker. f-fuckin’ stalker.”

how did they find you? you debated on blocking the both of their accounts from yours after removing them, however, doubled back in fear of you going too far. at this very moment, you regret it. you should have gone with your first mind. 

onyankopon has the gall to chuckle — to smile and gaze at you as if you were just a silly, little thing . . one who was just speaking to speak, has no real idea of what was going on or what she was saying. unable to help it, your lips lour into a firm pout and you hold eye contact when reaching a curled fist back then letting it slam against his pectoral. “move,” you hiss, brows linked. “if you don’t move, i swear—“

“—whatchu’ gon’ do?” swiftly, his hand curls around the column of your neck. 

your mouth clenches shut as you stand there, nevertheless, refusing to back down. the milieu surrounding you both appears to fall silent while your eyes remain rooted upon one another’s. the impassivity of his own is blatant. his eyebrows lift and he leans his face closer down to yours, “say it,” he softly demands. his fingers flex around your throat and on instinct, your head tilts further up so that you’re able to pull in an easier breath. “whatchu you gon’ do, mama?”

eren is never too far away from ony . . . you should have known that he’d reveal himself come enough time passing. your vision of the rest of the club is obstructed by yet another tall, stout figure. you no longer can see a thing, only them. 

“ugh!” you huff and push onyankopon’s hand from your neck, fighting to elbow your way through them, withal, unsurprised when one of the two holds you right where you are.

“you drunk?” eren’s tipping your chin up and while at the same instant you ask, “so what?” onyankopon’s muttering a calm, “she’s tipsy.”

so, you’re tipsy and shaking ass — eren inhales a deep breath and, surprisingly, steps aside after a few seconds, opening a gape wide enough to allow you to pass through. your skepticism is evident, nonetheless, you push your way out and immediately grab hold of an oblivious, dancing giselle’s hand to tug her in the direction of the dance floor. he watches you until your body vanishes within a sea of others. “let her go,” he’s mumbling to onyankopon, falling down onto the sofa and making himself comfortable. “let’er do whatever the fuck she wants. she’s comin’ back home tonight, though,” tipping a shot back, he then shrugs while gulping it down. “cryin’ or not.”

onyankopon can’t help it though.

with each glimpse of you on the dance floor he catches, he’s lured in — enticed by the glossy pout of your lips before they stretch into a captivating smile, the sway of your curled, butt length, knotless braids, pinned back with twinkling clips studded with gems, your ass . . . fat, perky, and round — seemingly fighting to spill out of another signature, tiny skirt as you rolled it within a crotch . . . a crotch not covered by another skirt or dress your friends wear, but instead jeans . .

suddenly concentrating, his head slowly leans in forward and he only has to see the fine dusting of hair along a face of the person holding onto your waist before he’s walking over. 

“fuck no,” he’s scoffing and with enough ease to rival snatching candy from a gluttonous child, he’s pulling you into his chest, calmly staring, waiting for the man to make a move, albeit, when all he gets is two hands being pulled up to shoulders as a form of yield, his focus is placed directly on you.

you’re still humming and swaying to the lyrics of veeze’s song, gomd, regards only focused on yourself. you fit comfortably within his arms, plush and warm. when he squeezes his arms around you, your body softens up, as if it was on purely instinct. “ony,” you’re groaning when he leans down to kiss the pane of your shoulder — once more, his scent and stature being the dead giveaway. “no, no,” he’s uttering into your ear, tightening his hold on you once more when you attempt to squirm away. “can let you get away with a lot of shit, ( ❤︎ ), but dancin’ on another nigga’s a no go.”

you’re turning to face him when arrives the confession, “yeah?” you can’t help it. he feels good, looks even better with a plate of gold molded around the bottom row of his teeth. your hands reach for his arms, then you tug them upwards so that they remain on the sweet curve of your hips, silently telling him to keep them there. “ ‘m single though, no?”

onyankopon appreciates the difference between you sober and not. he supposes he gets a closer insight on what’s going on in your little brain through her. you don’t hesitate on your words and shy away in that precious manner he’s gotten used to. “. . . you can call it that.” your hips start to rock, a rhythmic sway from left to right and he follows, pushing your chest closer into his own.

“we’re all single, right?” 

when he gazes into your eyes, he sees it . . . you know the truth, you’re awaiting the moment to catch if he lies. licking his lips, onyankopon hesitates, “. . somewhat.”

your head tilts, “wha’does that mean?”

“means shit is complicated.”

“between who?”

his head tilts back as he bellows out an attractive laugh, unable to reign it back in when it falls out. you acting as though you are oblivious is amusing. “( ❤︎ ),” he dips his head into your neck again, keeping it there. you feel the tepid gusts of his breath blowing over that specific area of it, the one that tickles and makes your core heat all the while, when he murmurs, “mama, why you makin’ this so difficult, mm?”

you shove him away.

ony thinks you’re going to pout, huff, scream, however, when he sees the brewing of dew that begins to brim your eyes, his own soften. you’re turning before he can say another word, slipping through the crowd with little ‘pardon me’s and ‘sorry’s so that you can enter the section once more, grab your bag from lana’s hand after saying a quick goodbye and telling her that you’ll text, before you’re making your way towards the exit.

both eren and ony are hot on your heels. “hold on, hold on, hold on.”

the air outside is crisp. when a gust of it flies over your heated body as you push through the doors, it dries your eyes, and sobers you quickly. outside of the building, the world is much quieter. it soothes your racing brain, and you’re ignoring the two of them, steps firm and quick as you open your phone, click on uber and start the process of requesting a ride. “can you chill?” eren’s voice rocks upon the thin line of frustration and despair as he stops himself in front of you, stepping from side to side as do you to keep you from taking another. “jus’ . . stop for a minute, alright?”

“eren, just let me leave,” you blub out through a defeated whine. “can i go?”

a muscle within his jaw ticks, “not until we have a conversation, no.”

“what is there to talk about?”

a pulsing silence follows your words. tension is thick — it extends and swells until the pressure of it broadens into eren’s chest and has him quietly saying, “one conversation then we’ll let you leave,” he mumbles. “conversation out of the fucking public, yeah?”

your arms fold and you look away from the both of them as you mull it over. you’re cold, goosebumps send the hairs of your skin standing upright, has one of your ankles crossing over the other in a poor attempt to warm your legs, and your uber is said to be over twenty minutes away. “okay,” you grumble. “. . ‘m cold.”

“i wonder why,” onyankopon hums, leading you all to the direction of his car that’s parked on the corner. he opens the door to the backseat, allowing you to climb in first before he slips into the driver’s and eren in the passenger. truthfully, you’re nervous. you feel as though you have so much to say, and still, so little. so much to profess, yet it all lies at the back of your throat, viscous and curdled. 

when seated upon the couch within eren’s home, you watch him and ony go about kicking off their shoes and turning on a few lights. eren adjusts the thermometer to heat the apartment up for a moment during which, onyankopon grabs one of your favorite, soft baked, strawberry granola bars from inside of the pantry — a mere snack for you to nibble and sober up on. “hm,” he hands it to you over the back of the couch you currently lay cuddled up on underneath a chunky knitted throw blanket. “want water, too?”

shaking your head, you begin to unwrap it with nimble fingers, “. . thank you.”

the words sit at the pit of your stomach and sweet strawberry and fresh grain sticks uncomfortably to the roof of your mouth, making you stroke your tongue against the roof of it . . back and forth, back and forth. “i s-saw . . both . . you two . . c-couple nights ago,” they are blatted out before you can even attempt to trawl them back in. oddly, you feel ashamed when you find your admission no longer enclosed within the vault of your brain, however, floating within the space the three of you find yourselves in. “wasn’t spyin’ or anything, thought it was an intruder, uhm . .” those yucky feelings are returning. the ones that make you feel as though you were pathetic, revolting, stupid. “i didn’t want . . i don’t — . . i h-hope you both aren’t upset, i jus’ . . i know i should’ve jus’ stayed in bed and i shouldn’t have felt, mm, be so bothered—“

“ma, chill,” eren’s muttering, prior to you finding yourself being maneuvered, pulled in close so that your body is practically molded into the side of his. a soft kiss is sown against the crown of your head as you sniffle and wall your face away with your small hands, refusing to look at them. “we’re not upset with you. fuck no.”

mewling, you shake your head, thumbing with a ring on his finger. your own tremble with the intensity of too many emotions boiling inside of you, “you are, jus’ say it—“

their voices are unified when they say, “we’re not.”

your eyes flit up after a while, slow and warily. you seem to calculate their emotions, not making a move to say another word until one of them does. “there’s no need for apologies,” ony plainly says. “not from you, at least. you good, ight? we’re sorry . . you had to fuckin’ find out like that.”

shaking your head, it’s clear you feel as though their apology is unwarranted, “no. don’t have’ta say sorry to me. i s-should’ve known you guys were in a relationship—“

eren’s slowly widening smile and onyankopon’s scoff of a chuckle is enough reaction for you to pause and await clarification. were they laughing because they didn’t take you as someone so dumb and shallow that it took you so long to realize? . . . god, with each passing second you seem to feel worse and worse. 

you’re curling away — slowly working yourself back onto the opposite cushion, however, eren’s arm is pulling you back against him, “me and o’ are . .” he hesitates, clenching his jaw, fighting to place what the two of them do into comprehensible terms. 

“we fuck sometimes.”

again you sniffle, waiting for one of them to provide more context, “. . platonically?”

they stumble once more, until eren answers, “. . not really.”

“. . . so feelings are involved?—“

“—this is why i said this shit is complicated, ma,” onyankopon cuts in. “he’s mine, i’m his.” the two of them are sure that feelings got involved within their friendship close to a year and a half ago now. what used to be amicable, nonsexual hang outs progressed into something more. it’d built over the course of fifteen months until nearly three ago, when it all reached a zenith, onyankopon’s cock ended up buried inside of the grooved, pulsating channel of eren’s throat after a drunken night at a kickback thrown by mikasa.

you don’t pretend to understand. “mmm.” you realize there’s no point. they’re together, and though your feelings may feel as though they’ve been pummeled and bashed into piteous  threads of nothing, you know that this will only be a fleeting emotion. you’re fully prepared to cry until your heart’s content and work on bouncing back to your old self within a few weeks’ time, already rolling over which rom com and ice cream flavor you think will make you feel somewhat better tonight in your head when abruptly, you feel the comforting stroke of eren’s thumb stroking over the bare skin of your hip. “uhm,” suddenly, he seems apprehensive — glistening emeralds of jade snap back and forth between yours, quiet words stuck within his throat. “can i — . . i have to do somethin’ . .” he mumbles. “alright?”

“okay, yeah,” you softly reply. “what is it?” you’re prepared to stand and move out of his way, thinking he wants you to grab the remote or something.

despite that, he shakes his head and keeps you still, “jus’ close your eyes.”

after a few moments, you timidly comply. there’s the sound of shifts, prior to the sensation of something being dangerously close to your own face that only has your body tensing with fear as time ticks on and realizing it has no plans to move . . seconds feel more akin to minutes as you await whatever he has planned, “. . . eren wha—“

you’ve been kissed before.

once . . . the night of your prom by your date. it’d been a sloppy thing — he’d blurted out that he’d been crushing on you since the beginning of junior year . . . saw you in your cheer uniform at the football team’s first homecoming game and wanted to make you his since. it had been an experience you continue to describe with one word, dreadful. tongue got involved far too quickly than you’d expected, his nails dug too tight into the cushion of your waist and it made you wince and pull away before the kiss progressed passed a mere six seconds. all in all . . . traumatizing.

initially, eren kisses you softly. if you could manage to put it into detail and explain it to someone without your brain short circuiting halfway through, it’s almost as though he tests the waters . . . gives you sometime to pull away, to push him away if it hadn’t been what you expected or wanted. 

what he doesn’t know is that you’ve wanted this since the night you saw him for the first time again, since you caught eye of him seated at the bar, since he pulled you into his arms, wrapped his arms around you tight, invited you into his home, revealed himself to be just as sweet, gentlemanly, thoughtful, and kind as before. since you’ve begun to relearn one another — seen him for the first time with a familiar retainer on come the both of you bumping into one another at two am, yearning for a glass of cold water. since accompanying him to a session at his tattoo shop, watching him hone in and lose himself within his exquisite craft . . . yeah, he doesn’t know any of this.

his surprise is palpable when you give in, melting like sweet vapor within the sun, and taking hold of the shoulders of his shirt to pull him closer. 

eren feels the trembling breaths you exhale. what were once shy caresses soon inch into desperate grips as you fist the fabric of his tee within your hands and tug him even closer. its as though you can’t get enough. his lips are soft . . smooth. he smells faintly of weed, however, tastes as sweet as toffee. you all but whine when he pulls away, just barely deciphering his hand weakly ringed around the pillar of your neck. 

god, you’re the picture of pure debauchery.

eren hadn’t kissed you for longer than twelve seconds, he’s sure, and yet, your lipgloss is completely smudged, lips no longer glistening with the cosmetic, but of his saliva. quickly, your eyes flash with emotions . . nevertheless of you trying to hold them in, your irises have always been expressive — constantly conveying how you feel before your mouth does. he sees how long it takes for your actions to catch up with your brain, then you’re somewhat frowning, as if you were confused on the reason of why he’d stopped, then you are shying away again upon taking heed of your current predicament.

“uhm.” quietly, you release a breath.

unable to help it, eren smirks, “that was okay, right?” he mutters, eyes flicking between your own and your lips. 

was more than okay. “uh huh.”

you rub them together, finding your eyes drifting. they slide from eren’s to the thick, double hued plushness of onyankopon’s — both men notice. “. . don’t do that,” ony chuckles, eyes closed as he rubs at the bridge of his nose with two of his knuckles. “chill, aight?”

it’s only fair that you deserve a taste of him, too. maybe you’re being greedy . . .

“you both aren’t gonna let me leave, are you?” delicately, you ask the question, falling back against the comfortable cushions of the sofa. in reality, the idea of leaving and heading back to lana’s is now buried within the furthest margin of your mind. you watch the two of them share a look before onyankopon shrugs, “. . we’re not gonna keep you here if you don’t wanna be . . we’d prefer it,” he begins to smile. “if you stayed though.”

you hum a soft, “mhmmm,” with a giggle, pushing your cold, little toes underneath eren’s thigh. “. . so, what are we gonna do now?”

the three of you are quiet for a moment, letting the question steep within the matter of your brains. there’s plenty of things you all are able to do. sleep, is one. watch a movie, bake some cookies, dive more into detail about the ever-growing feelings the three of you share for one another that seem to weave tighter and tighter into a jumbled mess with each passing day — lots of things. “watch a movie in my room,” eren offers while leaning his head against ony’s arm that lays outstretched along the back of the couch. “if you want, mama, ’s up to you.”

immediately, you nod. you simply just want to be around them, everything else is trivial. “can we watch somethin’ scary?”

“somethin’ scary?” you’re all beginning to stand. onyankopon reaches his arms back to give a nice stretch and you allow yourself to take only one peek at the slip of skin and dusting of hair that traces down his belly button and disappears within his jeans. “y’sure you can handle somethin’ scary, pretty girl?”

“mhm!” you’re nodding and smiling over your bottom lip that your top row of teeth nibbles into. “ ‘m a big girl, ony.”

“mm, yeah?” he’s tossing his arm over your shoulder, leading you down the hall. “lets see about that then.”

the movie eren chooses is thirteen ghosts. he explained to you that it’s a bit old, figures it’s something that you should be able to handle. before you all climb into his bed, you hesitate, unsure of where to lay — whether beside eren or ony. “hm,” they discern the dilemma all over your face and rub at the opened space between them. 

the movie begins and you examine how the three of you all sit up — legs outstretched, postures aligned with the help of eren’s firm pillows. you’re not sure of exactly who lays down first, nonetheless, the other two follow and about halfway into the film, you’re curled up with your back towards eren, front facing onyankopon. you’ve been trying to focus for the past forty five minutes, fighting to understand the plot, names of characters, and what’s going on, however, your brain is engrossed in all things ony and eren, eren and ony. 

you feel as though you’re breathing too loud, moving too much, obviously not paying attention — you can already hear giselle demanding you to get out of your head, to relax, and stop thinking. 

it’s hard not to, though. 

ony lays upon his back . . an arm folded behind his head, the other draped across his stomach. he took off his crewneck — leaves him dressed in a plain white tee, jeans, and his socks. your eyes fix upon the large mitten of his hand . . his trimmed fingernails, the web of veins that decorate the back of it neath another beautiful tattoo of a moth. 

you can’t help it . . the tips of your acrylics start at his elbow before they’re trailing, crawling higher and higher — languid and idle. he doesn’t move or push you away when you coyly pause with your hand above his own. he lets you touch him, trace his tattoo with your fingers, press the pad of one against the tendon in his wrist. “sorry,” you soon murmur.

he looks down at you, “hm? . . what for?”

your eyes remained fixed upon your own fingers, letting them hook beneath his. “. . didn’t ask for permission . . to touch.”

you’re really something fucking else.

“you good,” he softly replies. “don’t trip.”

ony watches your head move — you pull it up to look at him and your eyes shift, down to his lips again. he doesn’t know if you’re doing it on purpose, or if you are. what he does know is that he needs you to stop . . needs you to turn yourself back forward and watch the movie, quietly trace his tattoos, close your eyes and sleep . . . anything to give him a peace of mind. nevertheless, you don’t do either. you huff a bratty, little sigh out through your nose and squeeze at one of his fingers with all of yours.

“ony.”

it’s sudden when he moves, when he lifts up on an elbow and presses you flat on your back so that there’s some inches of space separating you both again, “don’t start nothin’ you not gon’ be able to finish . . alright?” softly, he demands an answer from you, awaiting a head nod, a shake, something. the only thing he gets is just another glance of your eyes carting down to his lips, watching them shape around his words, the slat of gold still encasing the base of his teeth. it’s as if you were dazed — brain full of fluff, his words enter one ear and quickly exit out of the other.

chuckling quietly out of disbelief, onyankopon looks over at eren, “she think i’m playing, huh?”

the other man follows suit, lifting up on an elbow to look down at you with a soft smile, “. . . you want ‘yan to kiss you, mama?”

you squirm, mumbling a small, “yeah.”

“okay,” he calmly croons. “jus’ one kiss?”

“only one.”

you’re so sweet . . so pretty. onyankopon decides to indulge you — just this once. you feel his heavy hand on your thigh, wrapped around it, before he suddenly yanks you to tug you down a little bit lower. there we go. he captures your face between that comfortable cusp of his index finger and thumb, the thenar web, admiring you for a moment through weighty eyelids. you really want this . . . he’s bemused. you want him. truth be told, onyankopon had some doubts about the two of you. he thought you had your eyes sought out for eren, solely eren. 

however, when he kisses you . . he feels how much you’ve been wanting this, too. your arms envelop around the back of his neck to draw him nearer. you let him lead, lips smoothly trailing after his own, and then you try to mimic what your prom date had done to you to coax your mouth to open, only . . more delicately. instead of using teeth, you shyly skim the tip of your tongue against the parted seam of onyankopon’s lips, blossoming when he lets you in . . and the first glide of his tongue amongst yours has a sound escaping from the pit of your chest — something stifled and small. a weak whimper.

it only seems to light a fuel within ony — when your mouth opens wider, his does, too. it’s consuming, the way that he kisses, in a strangely good way. he pulls away after some time and allows you to inhale a shallow breath before your lips are being tapped with soft, repeated pecks, then he’s returning back for more . . for a fiercer taste, a longer one.

then, unexpectedly, he’s gone. his touch, his lips, the taste of him . . it all vanishes within a single moment.

you’re left slightly panting, blinking your eyes up at the high ceiling above you, letting yourself relish in the still tingling sensation that lingers upon the gentle pads of your lips. “we all good now?” ony forces himself to keep his hands where they should be, to himself. 

no, you want to say. no, you’re not all good.

the light cotton of your underwear feels warmer than usual . . sticky. when you spread your knees apart an inch, the tepid air of the room flies in between your thighs and feels nippy. 

quietly, eren scans you . . . sliding his eyes down from your heaving breasts, your plush tummy, to your thighs that now are spread the tiniest bit open. his fingers twitch in your direction, though he stops himself, “you feel okay?”

surprisingly, your answer is honest. you whine out a small, “no,” and they both watch your hands grasp the bottom hem of your skirt. you tug it down, and yet your thighs rub against one another, laggard and incessant. you smell them, you feel them, you’re between them and still, nothing is enough. what was once just wet and uncomfortable starts to plain out ache . . it’s painful, honestly. “hurts,” you mumble. your fingers slide up your thighs — with it, they bring your skirt. 

“no, no, nah,” eren’s chuckling, stopping you midway. “you don’t want this, baby.”

you don’t . . . you’re not ready for the both of them, yet. he doesn’t think you’ll ever be.

surprisingly, you’re whining, “yes, i do,” then grabbing his wrist, tugging it between your thighs. “ ‘m a big girl, eren . . really.”

you have your knees enveloped around his hand. your eyes are wide, glistening, and full of so much trust. you are a big girl, now . . eren has to remember that. you aren’t just mateo’s baby sister anymore — all this time, he thinks that’s what’s been hindering himself from proceeding with you any further. you are everything he wants, everything he’ll ever need. and still, he coasts his attention over to onyankopon, awaiting his decision. you both are. if he decides to wait . . then that’s what you’ll all do — wait.

“you sure?” ony’s voice is deep, quiet.

“mhm.”

and so, you’ll continue.

for the sake of fulfilling his own selfish desires, eren leans down and captures your lips for another breathtaking kiss. predictably, your taste careens the line of sweet and tart . . similar to a lush fruit torte. you hook him in the damndest of ways — the way you taste, the way you breathe, the way you simply exist . . . 

you tremble underneath the first sweep of someone’s hand across your breast. the top you wear is ribbed and cropped — thin straps are pieces of pink ribbon that you had to manually tie yourself to fit your frame more comfortably. because of it being so tight and showing a large expanse of your back, you had to go without a bra and pasties. your nipples harden into tiny peaks of steel, bold and plain, pushing against the material. fondly, onyankopon’s thumb glides across one. he pushes down, pinches, rolls it between his fingers. and you hiccup the sweetest, little sounds, perking your back up with a curve in your spine, “we can take this off?” gently, he asks the question, watching you rapidly nod your head, already lifting your arms.

your voice is soft, whiny, “mhm. yes, please.”

he’s smiling. “alright, ma’.”

your braids are long, you have to sit up in efforts to keep your shirt from snagging on them when he hoists it above your head. afterwards, it’s tossed somewhere, already long forgotten. 

suddenly, you’re nervous again . . laying back down, arms instinctively molding into a fold to shield yourself away from two pairs of eyes — brooding and ardent. “why’re you shy now?” eren’s asking, handsome grin splitting his lips to reveal his teeth. 

you nibble on your lip, feeling a stretch of warmth blossom across your nose, “. . c-cause you both make m’nervous.”

“we make you nervous?” onyankopon finds the admission cute. 

“yeah,” you sigh, deciding to let your arms carefully fall. there’s no point in hiding, you think, and what they’re met with is a pair of plumb, round tits . . dotted here and there with precious beauty marks along an expanse of pretty, brown skin. 

“don’t be,” eren murmurs, reaching out to cup one within the crater of his hand. “want us to make you feel good, right?”

his tongue suddenly scouring across the soft puffiness of your areola to beckon the sensitive bud of your nipple into his mouth wrings a unique gasp out of you — a sound you’ve never heard yourself make before. it’s something weak . . wringed and broken. he pulls off with a wet pucker and a blasé ‘hmm,’ taking a moment to gaze at your chest for a moment as if he were trying to gauge if he liked what he did or not. “felt good?”

you hiccup a quiet, honest, “y-yeah.”

onyankopon steals another kiss when eren tips his head down for one more taste. he swallows every gasp, whimper — clutches at the doughy skin of your hip to keep you from squirming too much. “pretty ass,” he murmurs. “how long you been wantin’ this? be honest.”

you cover your face with an arm, “s-since — ah, eren . .” you mewl and slide your hand through the soft locks of his hair, tugging at his nape when he pulls off of your tit again with a loud pop. “s-since t-that day . . in the kitchen . . . when you came over and h-helped cook breakfast for the first time.”

the two of them had been shirtless that morning — dressed only in sweats after a lengthy gym session and taking a shower. the scene was somewhat domestic, you think, something out of a film. both of them moving about the kitchen, opening and closing the fridge and cabinets as you sat at the island and tried to keep your admiration of their beautiful, sculpted torsos to a minimum by burying yourself within your phone. 

“that long, mm?”

“c-couldn’t help it,” you hook your fingers within the neckline of ony’s shirt, tracing a finger across the gold, cuban link he wears. “you both are so pretty . . . ’s not fair.”

how anyone could be around the two of them and not catch feelings is a mystery in and of itself. it was easy to fall for eren, and succumbing to the ones you felt for onyankopon was, too — just as effortlessly as breathing. your lips are pouted when you grab at his hand, dragging it down your tummy, “wan’ you both . . right here.” both watch how beautifully you melt when onyankopon’s fingers find the precious bud of your clit embellished by the sodden cotton of your underwear. 

“shit,” eren drags out the word slow, viewing how easily your thighs part open to give them an open image of what lies in between them — your shit’s fat. it’s clothed behind a pink thong, traced with white lace and a darling, threaded rose sits within the middle of the top hemming. the chubby lips of your pussy swallows the material, tiny hole spasms around it, dampening the color of bubblegum into a lewd rouge. 

inquisitively, one of eren’s fingers nudges at the hollow delve. he feels your walls clench before a ripple of wetness is breaking through the fibers and leaking down to the cleave of your ass. ony breathes out a gentle curse, beginning a slow tempo while tracing neat, little circles on your clit, “right here, mama?” his arm rests above your head, and with that same hand, he strokes his thumb comfortingly along your temple. your hips shift, rocking up into their touches, pulling away from them, you can’t seem to make up your mind. 

your voice is rising in pitch, “y-yes . . please.”

“whatchu want then?” he’s asking. “we’ll give it to you, you know that right?”

will they? they’re disappointed when you turn your face away and toss your wrist across your mouth, clearly refusing to say. it’s cute though, eren supposes. it’s cute that you’re timid enough to not voice what it’s clear you want, nonetheless, comfortable with their fingers rubbing on your pussy. “can we take these off?” he stows a kiss upon another sweet mole, peeks out from right above the top of your underwear trimming, and waits until you nod before the four of his fingers on both hands are hooking into the sides of them and your pathetic excuse for a skirt, and he’s pulling them down. 

it’s a mess . . . you’re a mess.

webs of slick cling onto the seat of your panties, breaking off into feeble strings when he tugs the material of them down far enough. when snapped away, they gather with the rest of the silken sap that glosses your lips. it’s only right that you reach a hand down to take a feel of and assess the damage, and you don’t seem all that surprised to hear the faint squishing sound of your fingers slipping and sliding between them. you whimper, “ ‘m sorry . .” you’re frowning, genuinely upset. “ ‘m makin’ a mess.”

you’re something else — genuinely. 

“don’t apologize . . do not fuckin’ apologize, alright?” eren’s whispering, eyes transfixed on the oeuvre that is your pussy. “you ever touch yourself, baby?”

you mewl, “only a few times.”

“yeah?” he breathes, pushing one of your legs up higher in order for the light of the television to illuminate your core. “show us . . show us how you make yourself feel good.”

you’re starting to whine again, “eren.” you’re embarrassed — always one intimidated of toys, you’ve relied simply on your fingers for the last year or so since becoming acquainted with your body. it’s rare when you actually even push one inside. your nails click against each other when you slide two of them, ring and middle, up to your clit and begin to stroke slow, sloppy circles atop it. “l-like that,” delicately, you sigh, letting your muscles melt, thighs fall further apart. 

onyankopon parts them even wider, needing to see the exact moment when your little hole clenches up again and releases another wave of slick, adding onto the small puddle that’s seeping through the soft, black fleece of eren’s comforter underneath the cheeks of your ass. his dick strains against the cool metal of his zipper, he can hear nothing but your dear sniffles and moans through the rushing blood of his ears . . . aside from eren, he’s never desired a person as much as he does you. always a man known as cool, calm, and collected, he’s stunned himself when realizing that, regarding the both of you, he’s willing to just about walk to the ends of the world and then some if it’d make you happy. 

he’s never known someone to be so easily cherished before you entered his life. to be truthful, his feelings for you scare him . . you scare him.

“sometimes, i jus’ . .” you never finish your sentence, opting to instead let them see for themselves. your fingers move — slip down so that the pads of them are flushed right up against the opening of your cunt, then you start to faintly push them back and forth. and granted, the action is mere, the sounds your pussy produces are fucking filthy. it’s obvious that you like it — the pressure, that is. you never let them slip inside, only squidge them against that hungry, little pit.

eren crowds in closer, “shit, she’s clenching again.”

another tide of slick from your cunt, another rush of blood to the tips of their cocks. “needy ass pussy.” onyankopon’s suddenly pushing your legs up further . . until your knees knock against your shoulders. you squeak in the same moment he tells eren, “slide a finger in, pa’.”

eyes wide, you’re watching, dazed, as eren’s soft lips pleat before a cool dollop of his spit is dripping from them and onto your pussy. the sight is nothing short of obscene, all the more so when the first knuckle of his middle finger is gliding inside you with enough ease to rival butter and you’re already trembling, mewling for more. he flits it inside until he hits the base, murmuring out to ony, “ ’s fuckin’ tight.”

“yeah?” suddenly, he’s roused to know, “. . anybody else ever been in there? y’a virgin, baby?”

your eyes are closed, acrylics digging into the flexed skin of his wrists as you nod your head and whimper a tender, “mhm.” hips buck when, empirically, eren curls his digit, avid to find one, specific spot. “wan’ you to take it . . you and ‘ren.”

another flow of blood and their balls tense. ony’s sure his tip is probably purple now. “wait, you sure?” reality breaks through his lust dazed brain and hits him with a swarm of questions. are you sure?, is the brunt of them. are you absolutely positive? but when your eyes open and he takes in the sheer amount of faith and certainty that swims within them, suddenly he’s aware that you’ve probably thought about this before, likely, over and over again. 

“m s-s-sure . . oh my god,” your back’s curving upwards when eren starts to stroke his finger inside of you, firm and steady. 

“you trust us that much?” he hums softly, stamping a sweet line of kisses up the plush chub of your tummy, within the valley of your tits, to your neck. “trust us enough to break your lil pussy in? shape it only for our cocks — that much, baby?”

the muscle of your thighs tauten as your pussy squelches around the single digit. you feel dirty . . . nevertheless, in the best of ways. “f-fuck me,” you’re admitting quietly, tipping your head back when the even edges of his teeth are sinking into the flesh of your neck, scented of apple and creamy iris. “fuck me, please?”

you’re so needy . . . “not yet,” onyankopon lowers down to peck a slow kiss upon your lips. “nah, i need a taste first.”

eren’s finger is gone and you watch them maneuver — smoothly . . effortlessly. once again, showcasing that the bond the two of them share travels far deeper than surface level. onyankopon stands, and before eren turns to replace his spot, he does the same and sharply tugs you towards him by the backs of your thighs until your ass nears the edge of the bed. 

your heart thuds at the sight of him . . . of his hair, luminous and long, swaying over his strong shoulders, the dark glint that wallows within the deep emeralds of his eyes, reading him knowing something that you don’t, his pretty smile, the slightly longer, sharper canines. and then, precipitately, deep, warm tanned skin is soon replaced by a smooth, velvety dark brown. emeralds are now smoky quartz. locks of faint ringlets are three sixty waves. 

you watch, lips parted in awe as onyankopon reaches behind his neck with both hands for the hem of his shirt to then swiftly tug over his head. he’s soon kneeling with a soft breath being exhaled from his nose, adjusting his chain while smirking and fixing his eyes upon yours, “don’t move too much, aight?” he mumbles, curtly pulling you even further until your ass hangs off of the bed, suspended in the air by only his hands. “ion like runners.”

“w-waitwait, wait . . ony.”

you wanted to mentally prepare yourself . . gather some shame. albeit, he simply ignores you. the warm pad of his tongue is wide; it parts the thick skin of your lips without his fingers needing to. your eyes flip back into your skull, legs preparing to close around his head until you hear a small ‘aht . . nuh uh, princess. open ‘em’ and shortly after, eren’s hands are finding the backs of your knees to keep them bent and spread wide. 

onyankopon suckles at your clit, lets his saliva loll out from his tongue, dips the tip of it inside of your hole until nearly half of it is buried inside of you — in short, he’s a fucking messy eater.

he makes you tremble no less than three minutes in. you’ve never experienced a sensation like it . . . mind staggering lust that is. no one’s ever made you feel as though you were two seconds away from being lit on fire if their touch were to ever leave you. 

you’re sobbing out a whiny, “o-ony,” when the thick pillows of his lips pinch the aching puff of your clit, rolling it between them before he lets it snap back into place with a loud smooch. down his tongue glissades, prior to it returning up, curling and scouring every inch of you without him needing to move his head an inch. 

“of course you taste this fuckin’ good,” he mumbles, eyes gliding to meet yours. he wants you to watch him, wants you to notice how good he makes you feel — kill any other thoughts of you being with another human being on this earth aside from him and his boy’s for as long as time exists. you’re theirs now. forever and always. 

his attention on you is diverted when one of his hands is gone from underneath your hips so that he can slowly watch himself ease a finger, deep and snug, inside of your little pussy. you hiccup, head tilting, back arching, hips fighting to buck. he hums, “pull it in — that’s right, yeah . . ‘m givin’ you one more — stop fuckin’ movin’.” he slips his ring finger in beside his middle, watching how wet they reappear when exiting your body.

“ion think we gon’ need lube, baby,” he utters for eren. fuck no, you’re dripping wet. 

sniffling, your toes, glossy with a cute, fresh, baby pink french tip, curl when his finger does the same. and you’re thinking that this is tolerable — his pace is slow enough for you to breathe in deep enough breaths to calm your racing heart . . . that’s until it increases speed, and with that, he also does something with his wrist — he rotates it, twisting his fingers with every pull out of your cunt, which in turn, leads them to begin to caress a raw, throbbing knurl of nerves inside of you that has tears scathing the surface of your eyes. 

“f-fuck, fuck, wait—“ quickly, your hands are shooting down to grab onto his, then both men are moving. eren snatches your wrists, gathering them within one of his own hands, and onyankopon swats a thick, reprimanding smack against one of the orbs of your ass. the sweet sob out you give is exceptional to hear.

“stay still.”

you take it that he’s found your g spot, because with every thrust inside, your pussy oozes . . no longer a thin, translucent slick, but sticky, gooey cream. you tremble, slumping your head back against eren’s thigh, feeling drool pool upon the surface of your tongue. he’s smirking when he looks down at you, dipping his thumb inside of your mouth, admiring how cutely you wrap your lips around it. have you already gone dumb? 

his eyes gaze deep into yours.

no, not yet . . . close, very fucking close, but not yet. be that as it may, they glimmer with awareness, he’s sure you still know your own name. 

“want you to cum, okay?” he utters, slipping his thumb free from your mouth to find the hardened nub of your nipple and tug. “whenever you feel it, want you to tell us.”

onyankopon’s tongue has found your clit again. your eyebrows furrow, nose cutely wrinkles with the onslaught of too much pleasure, “okay,” you snivel. “oh my . . god, why does this feel so good?” you sound broken — frustrated, almost. wrists wriggle within his hand, eren doesn’t think you do it on purpose, nonetheless, he knows that if he lets them go, they’ll revert right back into pushing ony away. 

letting his spit fall onto your pussy once more, the man between your legs licks his lips, halting the thrusts of his fingers to instead suddenly press them in deep and snap them, up and down.

it’s abrupt, the sweet squeaks you give — they’re immediate, “ ‘mcumming’mcumming . .” your shuddering legs latch closed around his hand. “daddy, ‘m cumming.”

forcefully, onyankopon shoves your legs back up and out of his way, “push it out,” he hums, “all of it . . every last fuckin’ drop.”

your pussy spasms, gurgling around his digits and drooling out honeyed cream. eren lets your wrists go and naturally, you’re grabbing onto him, pulling him down closer so that you’re able to bury your face within the slope of his neck in efforts to quiet your sounds. “c-can’t take — a-ah, daddy no,” you’re sobbing when his fingers enter the mix, finding your clit to trace messy halos onto. 

“jus’ take it,” he’s mumbling, kissing along the mounds of your tits. “there you go, fuck.”

when ony’s fingers are removed, so are eren’s. you whimper and pant, thinking you’re in the clear before a palm is falling down onto your cunt with a thick smack. 

from then on, you’re handled sweetly . . given a tender clit kiss, pushed back further up atop of the bed. you watch eren undress — socks first, then he unfastens his belt, the button of his jeans, and kicks them off. shirt torn away, your eyes flit between admiring the swirls of ink traced along the sleeves of his arms, the chasmic gorges mapping out the abs of his torso, or the bulge of his cock, pushing up against the grey fabric of his briefs. 

he’s big . . . intimidatingly so. 

he combs a hand through his hair, sparing a look at the mess of wet between your thighs and then, with his face is unchanging, he walks over to the nightstand, opens a drawer, grabs something, then flawlessly tosses it into the hands of onyankopon. “jus’ in case.”

your heart is pumping when his briefs are removed, you try not to gasp too loud when finally in eyesight of one of the main centers of your sometimes lewd daydreams and envisages. “. . oh  . . goodness,” you whisper. you gather it’s about eight and a half inches and, shockingly, a shade darker than him — akin to a toasted brown with a fuchsia colored tip, fat and leaky. his balls are firm . . chubby, dusted only with a few fine hairs to match his happy trail. it’s a beautiful thing, honestly. cut, long as much as it is thick, and veiny. what had made your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets had been the sight of barbells — small and silver, three of them, running vertically down his frenulum.

when he’s hovering over you, your face caged in by the thick muscle of his forearms, you’re still staring at it, fingers itching to feel. eren can tell. he’s chuckling, using a tendon underneath his stomach to make his dick jump and beckon you, “the piercings, huh?” he mumbles. “you can touch ‘em, mama, i don’t mind.”

“okay . . u-uhm, yeah,” you reach down and gingerly wrap your fist around him. he doesn’t react much aside from his tummy tensing, albeit, when your thumb strokes the three, little piercings, he sucks in some air between his teeth. “they don’t hurt?” you inquire quietly, eyes focused on a frothy bead of precum forming from the small hole atop his tip.

“no, jus’,” he bucks into your hand and gives another pretty smile. “fuckin’ sensitive.”

“oh,” you return it with a giggle. “. . . ’s pretty. i want one now.”

eren hums, “yeah? wanna match wi’me?”

“mhmm.”

you’re cute. you are really fucking cute.

he seizes your lips for another kiss, and with his legs, he slowly separates your own more further apart. the action reminds you of what’s about to happen. you reach for his shoulders, wrapping your hands around them tight. between the both of your lips, you whimper, “ ‘m scared.”

eren pulls away, face softened with gentle adoration, “you’re comfortable, yeah? y’still wanna do this?”

your responding nod is immediate. you do, you really do. 

“okay,” he kisses you again. “gonna go slow,” and with that, you feel the firm pillar of his cock beginning to rock between your lips, nice and easy. the tensed underside nudges at your clit with each move of his hips toward yours — you loosen with a soft moan. “think i can make you cum from jus’ this.”

you’re sure that you can. your clit is sensitive — still swollen and tingling with the assault of fingers and clever tongues. eren waits until he feels you gushing again, lubricating his cock with your desire and care. he waits until he hears the squelching, your sighs, your whimpers . . then he reaches down to take hold of the tip of his cock and carefully start to slide in. your body tenses.

“relax, mama,” ony’s crooning, keenly watching it all from near the opened window a few feet away where he sparks a thick blunt. 

“ ’s gonna hurt more if you flinch.”

you try. your eyes are tightly shut as you exhale a breath, “okay, o . . kay.”

eren finds the rigid nub of your clit, beginning to rub it in tight, stable circles. “like when i rub your clit, hm?” he whispers against your lips. “nice and quick.”

you mewl underneath his touch, nodding. you do. how quick the two of them have managed to learn your body is terrifying. you feel him push in another inch and with it, you focus more on his fingers, his voice, his lips. he smells yummy, you realize, and underneath the initial discomfort, you’re aware that there does seem to be a hidden pocket of pleasure, buried deep within it. when his balls are flushed against the knitted button of your ass, a quiet groan falls from your lips. you feel full — packed to the brim. in truth, it’s indescribable. 

eren dips his fingers into your mouth with one word mumbled, ‘open.’

you do so, allowing his middle and ring finger to slip against the pad of your tongue, collect some of your saliva upon them, then he’s gliding his hand back down, smearing it at his base. “gonna move now, okay?”

“uh huh.”

his first thrusts are slow . . shallow. he rocks in only about six inches, easing the taut, flexing muscles of your walls. “there you go,” he’s sighing, closing his eyes. when he decides to focus on how good it feels, he realizes that . . jesus fucking christ, your pussy is deadly divine. 

you sigh again, relax some more, open yourself further. “. . oh, fuck.”

you feel how much eren restrains himself, muscles within his arms and back tightening with the effort. it feels just as you thought — world staggeringly good. your fingers slide within his hair, arm tightens around his back. “deeper,” you whimper. “please.” you want him to give you all of him — every single inch. 

his voice is quiet, stifled, “you sure?”

you lift your hips, “yes, eren . . gimmie it.”

alright.

he gathers the slipping comforter within his fingers, lifting his head to look down into your eyes. his pupils are blown out, matching your own, and yet still, he makes sure you keep them focused on his when he suddenly presses in, then eases back out. you choke on your next mewl, eyes half lidded though remaining fixed upon his. it’s now a challenge, he supposes. who breaks it first. a slight, little smile starts to lift the corners of his lips when he does it again . . . and again, until he’s fucking you — nice and steady, firm and deep. you surrender without much of a fight given, throwing your head back, eyes shut, “f-fuck, eren.”

“ ‘m givin you what you wanted,” he softly huffs, grabbing one of your knees and bending it towards. “wanted me deeper, right?”

oh my god, it’s lewd, you find. the sound of smacking skin, his dick fucking your cream in and out of you, the moans and groans and sobs and cries. so, this is how it feels. eren’s cock is fat . . it manages to find crevices and crannies inside of you that you hadn’t even been sure existed. small hands find his hips and you sink your nails into them, mouth fallen agape.

“f-fuck,” eren grits out through his teeth. “my god, you’re takin’ it, baby — every . . fuckin’ inch. mm, feels good?”

you’re nodding your head, tits bouncing, legs agape, “feels s-so . . u-ungh!” 

words and reason knock against the barriers of your brain which drives more and more empty with each pummel of his cock within your fat, little pussy. you don’t want to think, don’t want to move — you want this until you physically can’t have it anymore. “daddy,” you whimper the name delicately, skating the opened gaps of your fingers through his hair once more to tug. “daddy, oh god.”

“yeah,” eren breathes, attentive to your words, your body, the soaked babbling of your pussy. “mm, i know — ‘m right here, mama. daddy’s right here.”

unanticipatedly, he pulls out. you both pant, watching as he grips his cock firmly at the base. he squeezes it . . once, twice, dips himself back in, then pulls right back out. “shit,” he moans. “pussy’s too good . . gonna make me cum.” it’s somewhere passed too good. he forces himself to get a grip. he doesn’t want to end this too early, fuck no.

and to somehow make matters worse, or rather, almost send eren into cardiac arrest, you lick your lips with a little smile before saying, “ ‘m on the shot . . you can cum in me, i’ll take it.”

it’s funny, he thinks. how you have the gall to appear shocked when he snaps himself right back in less than half a second after the statement spills from your mouth. yeah. you’ll take it. you’re going to fucking take it — one, two, three, maybe six loads, who knows how much he has inside of him tonight, but your little cunt’s going to take each one, he’ll make sure of it.

your pretty sounds are stolen from your mouth with each pounding thrust. no longer does eren lay atop of you, he’s grabbed you by the knees, bending them until they find your earlobes and with the weight of his body, he forces them to maintain the position while he braces for stability with his hands on the mattress above your head. 

his cock reaches deep, you find. plump, mushroom tip knocks incessantly at the grooved barrier of your cervix and here’s where the tears come . . warm, slow, and dribbling, falling down to your temples as you hold onto your own thighs, weeping for him to, “d-don’t stop, please, daddy, don’t stop.”

“mm, ’s all yours now, baby,” he groans. “ ’s all your dick . . for as long . . as y-you fuckin’ want it.”

you feel gooeyness dribbling down between the fat cheeks of your ass — sticky and warm. sparing a look over the folded rolls of your tummy, you find that eren’s dick is streaked with white. there’s a wreath of it thronged at his base, viscid and thick, leaking down his balls . . and it’s all produced from you. “u-unh, unh, g-god, fuck, ngh . .” your breaths are strained, your muscles burn, nevertheless, you don’t think you’ve never felt so good in your entire life. 

when eren sees you begin to drool, a sphere of pride swells within his chest. there it is. what he’s been wanting. you’re now fucked dumb . . plain out stupid. no longer do comprehensible spill from your swollen, plush lips . . only frail babbles and spit ridden slurs. “good girl,” he grumbles, smearing his thumb within the mess of your cheek. “good fuckin’ girl . . mhm, cream on it . . cream on your fuckin’ dick, go ahead.”

when that same slicked thumb starts to stroke your clit, your entire body tenses with the onslaught of your second orgasm of the night. meekly, almost fearfully, you sniff, “. . o-oh god, ‘m gonna cum, ‘rennie.”

eren’s eyes are brutish, firm when he demands, “do it,” through a low huff. “fuck did i jus’ say huh? . . . ’s yours, ruin it.”

you make him proud when you tearfully obey.

and god, it’s a mess.

you don’t squirt, no, it’s more of . . a stream — a warm cascade of liquid, texture akin to buttermilk as it flows over his dick and down your butt. eren feels how tight your pussy grips him as she works on letting it all run out, ripple by ripple, he feels how hard you grasp onto him, and goodness, he’s smitten by you. he’s absolutely besotted that he simply can’t help kissing you, mewling into your mouth when his own heated coil within the base of his stomach snaps as his balls flex and, with that, he gifts you a fat load of his seed — hot and runny. “oh, fuck,” he moans into the heated cavern of your opened mouth. his thighs shudder as he buries himself as deep as he can, “ooh shit . . g-good girl.”

the both of you are heaving by the time the aftershocks come and he’s careful in settling your legs back down, unfurling you from the surely uncomfortable position. you feel unworldly, mind far from your body, as you let your fingers intertwine within the spaces of eren’s as he pulls it up to his mouth to kiss each of your knuckles, one by one, prior to carefully pulling out.

his cum rushes to follow, leaking out of your now flexing pussy.

“shit.”

you hear onyankopon chuckling as he replaces where eren had been, right between your legs — completely barren from clothes as well, aside from his chain. his thumb finds the slit of skin above your clit and he pulls it upwards to make your cunt stretch and push out another glob of eren’s cum. “fuck . . that pussy’s gapin’ — was pent up, baby. i can tell.”

eyes closed, still laying beside you and fighting to catch his breath, eren laughs softly, “yo’, fuck you ‘yan.” it’s been a long time coming, he thinks. months of pining, runarounds, and hidden feelings. the high he’s riding is unable to be described by words. 

“poor mama,” onyankopon lowly drags, leaning down to peck your lips. you’re so gone, so far gone, you can only whine and reach for him. “i know, i know.”

he kisses your cheeks, your temple, your chin, forehead, soft and slow, awaiting the moment for when you sweetly hum and whisper his name, “onya.”

his voice is just as low when he asks, “you wanna rest up, baby? we can try us later—“

“no.” your voice is small though unyielding. you want him, too. “gimmie.”

alright. he will, then.

your pussy is sloppy when he smacks the tip of his cock against it — glossed over with white that smears along the surface of your thighs, too. strangely enough, onyankopon is in dire need for another taste. he can’t help swiping two of his fingers through your lips, collecting the mixture of you and eren’s love upon the pads of them before laying them on his tongue. he tastes your sweetness underneath the fresh tanginess of eren. oddly . . it balances out. 

“mmm,” he hums. 

his cock is two toned — a beautiful dark brown that fades into rosewood near halfway. similar to eren, he’s around eight and a half inches . . give or take, nine. just as his, too, it’s even all around — equal girth and length, heavy even while on brick. only difference was . . you notice the ony’s cock curves a bit . . . a bit to the left. you’re intrigued, watching him spit upon his tip, smear it in with his thumb, then breach his way inside.

it’s similar to the first time all over again. you tense . . . hard. 

both of them have to coo and pepper you with sweet kisses to get you to ease up again. “shit,” ony mutters, eyebrows furrowed as he works in the last three inches. “still tight . . how you still fuckin’ tight?”

your answer is lost somewhere within your moans. you were scared of his curve, you’ll admit, however, you find that . . it works. when ony manages to push all of himself in, he discovers that he needs to keep himself still for a moment . . all in fear of not wanting to bust a premature nut come the sensation of your flexing walls. “shit.”

you watch him lick his lips and give you a dazed sort of smile, eyes half lidded, and grill glinting underneath the silvered rays of moonlight pouring in through the opened curtains, “you feel good as a motherfucka’, mama, ‘m not gon’ lie.”

once more, your cunt constricts, “fuck me then.”

he does. 

to your surprise, he starts off slow . . rolling his hips in then out, rhythmically, almost as if there were a song only he can hear playing. you shudder with each thrust forward, eyes cycling back, hands reaching for his forearms. you watch his smirk broaden when his tempo speeds up, morphing your faint, little whimpers into hard gasps and long moans. “mmmmhm,” he mutters, taking the soles of your feet and using them to open your legs as wide as they were able. “yeah . . give me that shit.”

with a faster pace comes harder plunges. a splatter of wetness squelches out from your pussy with each drive in. “you gon’ take it?” he huffs, sliding his hands across down your calves, to your thighs. “you not gon’ run?”

“noo, ‘m not, i p-prom . . pinkie p-promise,” you keen. you’d never. you want to be good for him, too, just as you were with eren. you want to be their good girl. 

and that’s all onyankopon wants to hear.

he pulls out, and with that, falls on his back, and tugs you on top of him. “sit on it.”

reading your apprehensiveness all over your pretty face, he gives you a blinding white and gold smile, “don’t be scared, i gotchu.” your legs are trembling when you slowly swing one over his hip. dark browns focus on the bounce of your tits as you lean forward, reach behind yourself for his dick, rub it up and down your slit a few times, then carefully ease your way on down. “mmph.” you sniffle, placing your hands on the solid, tatted skin of his pectorals. he feels even bigger this way, you suppose, fat and lengthy. you force yourself to keep going, withal, to keep pushing down until his full, stout balls are pressed against the softness of your ass. 

ony moans a soft, “jus’ like that.” his hands don’t go for your hips, no, they slide up until he takes hold of the sides of your torso, more upon your ribs. “i gotchu, don’t even worry, baby girl.”

you weren’t aware that onyankopon would, quite literally, have you. he doesn’t allow you to move an inch, plainly starts to bounce you up and down atop of his cock, lifting your body as though you were the weight of a five pound dumbbell. you squeak, and you squeal, and you cry, holding on by pressing down upon his abs, letting him flat-out break in your dainty, little cunt. 

you’re aware of the picture you must paint. sweet chub of your cheeks polished with garlands of tears, fat of your ass jiggling each time it meets the hard muscle of his thighs, your tits rebounding with each pound . . . you’re something out of a porn catalogue, surely. 

and ony’s very encouraging. he hums and he groans and he hisses, calling you ‘their good girl,’ tells you that your pussy is the best he’ll ever get, demands through low murmurs that you ‘get that dick.’ you find that you crave to do it yourself — bounce, that is. your legs move, feet flattening upon the bed . . and he notices. “w-wanna,” you sniffle, voice broken as you swipe the back of your wrist across your soaked cheek. “wanna m-make you cum, daddy.”

onyankopon has to close his eyes at the simple sentence — what you don’t know is that you almost caught him then and there. he’s two seconds away from shooting triplets inside of you, he’s sure. birth control be damned. 

and you do it. you stabilize yourself with one hand on his shoulder, the other on the cheek of your ass, spreading it all in efforts because you’re curious . . you want to feel how much your pussy has to stretch to accommodate all that he gives. “s-s-sooo big,” you moan, eyes flipped white as a trickle of drool sways from the pudginess of your bottom lip, dripping down to his chest. “s-so big, papa.”

“fuck,” ony’s groaning, lip bitten over with his teeth as he looks between your bodies to find that tiny, fat cunt creaming again, leaking down his balls. “why you . . givin’ it to m-me like this, princess?”

you suddenly slam down and swirl your hips in delicious, petite circles, acquiring some much needed friction from his trimmed pubes against your clit. “ ‘c-cause . . — wan’ y-your cum,” you admit with a pout. you’re needy for it. you’ve gotten a taste and you doubt you’ll ever be the same again. 

never the one to be outdone, ony starts to raise his hips, meeting you halfway. “yeah?” he licks his lips. “you want this nut? . . you gon’ catch it?”

when he speeds up, you’re aware that he’s taken over the reigns again. your head tips back and, once again, you hold on while nodding. “uh huh,” you squeak. “hng . . unh, unggg.” god, you are absolutely filthy. ony knows that you two are plain out disgusting, but, he can’t find it within himself to actually give a fuck.

he has you — the girl of his dreams — brain dead, cockdrunk, drooling, and needy for his cum. “yeahhh,” he drags lowly, eyebrows furrowing, watching your pretty nails disappear between your thighs where you go to rub your clit, “yeah, you w-want this fuckin’ nut . . ima give it to you.” you’re working for it . . clenching and creaming, and rolling your hips. he thinks he’d be a fool to not grant your wishes.

grabbing onto your hips, he bounces you once, twice, thrice, four times before the two of you are reaching your highs in unison. your gasp is hard. you lose your balance, legs trembling too hard that somehow, you end up falling and flat upon his chest, clawing your nails into his shoulders while his fingers grasp onto your ass, forcing you to rock your hips back and forth. “r-ride it out, mama,” he hisses, “ride that shit out, fuck.” the longer, the better.

you unflex your toes when it starts to, sadly, ebb away near a minute later. how disappointing. onyankopon’s arms are wrapped around you. he holds you tight, as though he never wants to let go. your head feels fuzzy — the world is a blur when you feel yourself being picked up and moved. “mm, shit, baby,” he groans. you have his legs weak and, what was once dark, illuminates into brilliance as he carries you inside of eren’s bathroom. you hear water running and you feel ony carefully slipping himself from inside of you before you’re being transferred into someone else’s arms and lowered into a vast jacuzzi bathtub, full of warm water whose surface is clouded with foaming, glimmering bubbles. 

“mm,” you sniffle and focus your sight on ony who stands in front of the mirror, slowly removing the gold cap from his mouth. 

“careful, mama.”

eren’s behind you. carefully, he ties your braids into a big, topple of a bun, making sure they don’t get too wet, just before sinking inside the tub, too. tugging you into his chest, he isn’t at all surprised to feel your muscles liquify as you melt and tip your head back into his shoulder. you’re tired now, of course you are. “wan’ it again,” you admit through a mewl with a dazed smile after ony’s in the tub, too. “an’ again . . an’ again.”

they both chuckle. “nah, baby, you gotta rest for a little bit.”

you agree. one hundred percent. your cunt aches, thighs burn with the exertion of being folded up and all the bouncing, to add, your throat is sore, nevertheless, you suppose all is a small price to pay in order to feel as good as you did when they’re buried deep inside of you, “. . an’ then i can get it again?”

they’ll give it to you as much as you want. they’ll give you the world if it’s just enough to put another beautiful smile on your face.

  ❤︎ — all rights reserved ! © pwncez !

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caged little birdie (m) — naoya

being naoya's wife comes with a rigid set of rules you can never escape from: always three steps behind him, never look him in the eye when he's talking to you, and the worst one of all—your pleasure kept under his lock and key

warnings: DARK CONTENT, misogyny, chastity belt, forced chastity, naoya is a sexy walking red flag, tease and denial, dubcon, [o]rgasm control, 🐱 inspection, the zen'in's archaic marriage views, mentions of pregnancy, unprotected sex, ruined [o]rgasms, breeding, naoya deserves a punch tbh

"Is it too tight, wife?"

His odious voice purred in your ear, drawing shivers of distaste rippling down your spine.

Slim fingers tugged on the belt around your hips teasingly, driving the metal ridge to grind on your aching clit. A hitched exhale escaped past your clenched teeth, and behind you, his predatory grin grew wider.

"Or, shall I tighten it even more?"

You refused to answer him, keeping your eyes steadfastly hedged onto a spot beyond his shoulder.

"Wife?" Naoya taunted, his broad chest puffing with latent power and disapproval for your little protest. "I am speaking to you."

Your abject misfortune was to be blamed when your life was exchanged for your hand in marriage to Naoya Zen'in.

As one of the oldest clans in the jujutsu world, your family had grown power hungry; drunk on the idea of land, wealth and luck when they sold off their only daughter to Naobito's heir.

Those archaic bastards' code of conduct was simple: women were meant to be seen and not heard. Bred and not respected. Controlled and watched.

Your father had even suggested to blacken your teeth, but fortunately for you (the only sliver of fortune you could think about), the young master Zen'in was not a fan of such a dated practice.

Instead, his choice of control was far more insidious than your most perverted thoughts could conjure.

Jinichi's wife—Imora—was the first one who had introduced you to the thin, metallic belt every Zen'in men gave their wives.

She wore hers with pride and a tinge of red in the apples of her cheeks.

It helps keep me focus on master Jinichi, she mused, smoothing down her kimono skirt. Anything that keeps my thoughts from pleasing him is not something I would want to entertain.

Horror inscribed your features, but with your previous world gone up in flames, this was your reality now—there was nothing you could do to fight back against this unwilling chapter in your life.

This was the burden you had to carry to make sure your family name was well-preserved. Even at the expense of your dignity and sanity.

"Wife—"

Growing ill with his grating voice, you nodded. "It fits perfectly, husband."

The poisonous note in your voice didn't serve to dissuade him. In fact, it got him harder—looking for more ways to tease and rile you up.

"You know, my brother told me ever since he belted his wife, she's been all over him like a bitch in heat," he drawled, skittering his fingers over your bare waist. You flexed your fingers, fighting to keep them from closing into fists. Patiently waiting for this torture to be over.

The heat of his broad chest nearly turned you dizzy, the expanse of skin pressing to the softness of your own bare back. It was still early in the morning and Naoya had not yet changed into his standard dark blue kimono and white shirt—just in his hakama pants and arrogant disposition.

"I wonder," his lips were now at the juncture of your neck, puffs of hot breath drawing gooseflesh down your spine. "How this pretty little caged birdie will react if I did this?"

Before you could ask him what he was planning to do, you heard the belt unlock.

The coolness of the room air was second to your syrupy gasp—frightening you with how freeing and open you felt now that there wasn't a ridge of metal in between your legs.

Clanging to the floor, Naoya barely paid attention to the noise the chastity belt made—eager to part your folds and drink in the sight of your swollen clit.

"How long has it been, wife?"

The warm press of his palm cradled your womb. "Since you last came," he added, after sensing your stunned silence.

"Two weeks ago" you mumbled, hiding your face behind your hair. Doing everything you could to not be noticed by him. "Before we got married," you added as an afterthought.

"Hmm."

His chest vibrated with the force of his stuffy hum, and you flinched when he grazed two fingers across your mound.

Taking what was his without any regard for your comfort, Naoya spread your folds apart, using the tip of his ring finger to gently prod and tap on your clit.

The ache that simple touch set off in your body was unnerving—more so compared to the whimper you expelled when he started to circle and rub the swollen nub.

Pleasure, searing hot and bursting at the seams, exploded across your body like a lightning strike. Every inch of your skin felt like you were on fire; how sensitive and receptive you were to his touches nearly drove you to your knees to dissolve in reckless sobs.

You unwittingly clamped one hand around his wrist, not to push him away or encourage him, but to anchor around the dizzying curlicues he set off in your cotton-headed thoughts.

"Fuck," Naoya's curse brushed the hypersensitive skin of your shoulder with blatant arousal. "You're dripping for me."

Casting one look to in between your trembling thighs, you nearly cried out at the sight of your traitorous pussy leaving strings of slick and rings of cream around his long fingers.

Fuck, fuck. Cursing your body's blatant betrayal, you tried to gain control of the situation again, forcing your scattered thoughts to focus on loathing the man behind you.

But, it was all wasted effort.

One could never bite the hand that fed them, and you weren't able to hate Naoya, not when he was bringing you blistering pleasure just from his fingers alone.

Your saccharine cry of pleasure bounced across the room, no doubt filtering past the thin shoji doors where the poor servants could overhear.

Naoya was quick to clamp his free hand around your mouth; other hand busy taking his time to build up your climax with those infuriating digits.

He patted the thin hair coating your pubes, pulled your hood back lightly to tap tap tap his index on your engorged clit. All the while he sucked sloppy kisses on your neck, lost in the scent of vanilla drifting from your skin and hair.

Your eyes were rolling into the back of your skull, the whites glimmering in the weak morning rays. Naoya felt a bloom of heat crest past his masculine urge to decimate your self-control, fully rearing up to claim you.

But, he was pushing it too soon.

He had to make sure to be the one in control; the one steering this marriage.

With a heavy heart and even heavier balls, he popped his fingers out of your heat, wiping the slick off on your thigh.

You had slumped back against his chest, and a tiny spark of satisfaction ignited right in his core from your little lapse of stoicism. It seemed you needed him as much as he did, in this instance.

Through the fog of your mind, you felt the metal biting into your skin; heard the tiny click as Naoya locked you back again.

There was nothing that could prepare you for how much you ached after that; every part of you was throbbing—the spot in between your legs, your thrumming pulse. You were nothing more than sensation, wrecked apart by your husband's simple touch.

Devastated eyes charted the path of your chastity belt's key disappearing into his pocket, and Naoya grunted.

"I'll see you tomorrow at the same time for the same inspection, wife."

Your heart sank. How long could you take this torture?

Glancing down at the thin strip of metal allowing just the tip of your clit to peek through, you had to fight back a sob.

It seems like there was no answer to your startling predicament.

Naoya had not expected you to corner him right after dinner.

Your heated cheeks and twisting fingers spoke volumes of your anxiety, and he let you stew in those thoughts, completely charmed by how you were struggling to string together a coherent sentence.

"Imora..." you trailed off, unable to look him in the eye. "Imora-chan told me that she suspects she's pregnant. Master Jinichi—your brother—did the same thing y-you're doing. To me. And I... I want to be like her."

Naoya's heart twisted right in his chest. His disbelief was tamed down by a cruel sneer, attempting to free past his spiked excitement.

"I do not understand what you mean, wife."

The area you both were in was fairly filled with people, and he sensed every ear of the estate on his conversation with his lovely wife.

After all, the servants needed to report back to the clan elders on his progress in giving them an heir, and what better way to get the news than from the horse's mouth instead?

You casted a furtive glance around, and gestured for him to follow you.

Rule #1: Always stay three steps behind your husband.

You casually broke it in exchange for piquing his curiosity.

Naoya decided it was best to follow you, and trailed right behind, his sourness at being swept by no match for the smug excitement churning in his gut.

You led him straight to the sake cellars, right underneath the heart of the estate. The well-ventilated room was often checked by the maids, but now with a huge dinner winding down, the servants were all above ground pandering to his family's every need.

He was effectively alone right here with you.

In answer to his earlier inquiry, you stepped forward, undoing the loop of your obi. Naoya observed, expression barely rippling, when you disrobed right in front of him.

His eyes were immediately drawn to how swollen your clit looked trapped in between the metal teeth of the belt. It was accompanied by your pained expression, that one single longing look you shot him going straight to his cock.

"I want to..." you uttered in a hoarse voice, shame brimming in your lower lash line.

Naoya hated how much he enjoyed this—the blip of your demeanour as a cold, calculating Princess giving way to the whore right underneath.

Going exactly as the Zen'in rule had planned.

"Please take off this belt and... and fuck me until I'm pregnant, Naoya-sama."

In a flash, you were pressed right to the cold, brick wall. His jammed the key into the lock, twisting it, and the belt fell right onto the dusty ground, stirring up dust on both your getas.

Naoya's cock was a welcome respite in your neglected heat, your walls fitting around him like a glove; mushroom tip driving straight into your golden spot.

He fucked you like you were a cheap concubine and not his wife—snapping his hips up into your slick pussy with dense force; slipping a hand in between both your bodies to spank and rub your pussy.

The tightening in his abdomen was second to the clenching of your sweet cunt right on his cock; choking him out.

Naoya's lips crashed right onto yours, tongue pinning yours down. Swallowing up every sweet cry you were giving him and branding them with his own course moans of dizzying pleasure.

He didn't stop to check on you, white hot ribbons filling you up and spilling down onto the ground—some of it spattering onto your belt.

Your cry of dismay, of a disappointed Naoya-sama! melted into disbelief when he placed you back onto the ground.

Silly girl, he mused, a smile etched on his lips. He slipped the belt back on while you were recovering from the force of your ruined orgasm, large palm sweeping down your trembling belly and hips with more warmth than he wished to give you.

"Ssh," he consoled you, leaving small pecks on your thighs while he clicked the lock back in place, controlling your pleasure in his grasp once more.

Tears marred your cheeks, and you couldn't help a bitter, shuddering sob.

Naoya felt the slightest stirring of pity for you—his kisses soft yet unapologetic on the nape of your neck.

"You should've known." Was it you, or was his voice tainted with regret? "You should've known what my family does, sweetheart. Why we have so many heirs. It's part of your expectation to fulfil."

You surprised him by having enough of your wits to be able to ask a single question: "Does this mean I am to never experience pleasure from my own husband again?"

Naoya looked you up and down; taking in your flushed cheeks, tight nipples and twitching hips.

"Not exactly," he was honest with you for the first time in this marriage. "When you become pregnant with my child, then I will reward you. But, for now—"

He grabbed you by the waist, pulling you right into his arms to tilt your sweet and honest face up to meet his own cunning smirk.

"For now, you have no choice, darling."

punches him with my lips i hate this sexy misogynistic bastard

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

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love line

s. on a very drunk night, satoru exposes your crush on the famous mma fighter, and friend of yours, toji zenin

w.c. 12.3k

w. fem! reader, mma!toji! x reader , fluff!, smut!

a/n: this might not be proofread well but I hope yall enjoy. im very in love with this man!

"I can't believe I lost that stock today!"

you're out having drinks with your friends at a fancy bar in shibuya when satoru gets shitfaced drunk. the matter is nothing new. he's the lightweight of the group and doesn't care about getting home most of the time because he knows either you or suguru will take charge and take him home.

you're taking frequent sips of your whiskey as you watch one of the country's most successful business owners mope over a small, so very minuscule, fraction of his wealth fly by. suguru is sitting next to you at the booth and exchanges a look of 'idiot' in reference to the white haired man's sad life story. sukuna is in front of you and no look needs to be exchanged because he simply acts on his thoughts and gives satoru a smack on the back of his head.

and toji's at the center of the booth, smooshed between shoko and satoru. he's looking at satoru in mild amusement, a small smirk on his face at the fool's stupidity as he too drinks from a glass of whiskey. he's wearing a low scooped black long sleeve that probably costs a thousand dollars and rightfully so, it makes him look so handsome. the price nothing compared to the pay he makes as a world champion mma fighter. 

you've known him for the better part of a year, a bit more actually. satoru met him near the end of your college career on a business whim with his father and has since made him a member of your friend group. you're not as close as you wish you could be, the immense nerves you have in fear of him even getting an inkling that you're attracted to him have always stopped you from initiating a more than necessary amount of text conversations or random phone calls. satoru could do that, you couldn't. god, you've even seen suguru have more dms with the raven haired fighter than you. even in the group chat all of you share, you can't bring yourself to connect with him aside from teaming up to tease satoru or sukuna. 

the last thing you ever conversed with him on your phone was a conversation you, surprisingly, started. he had told you about this one taco place and said you would love it based on your shared interest of food. when you told him you'd try it, he had told you, 'better send me a picture when you're there.' and you did. he had sent a laughing emoji when he asked if you liked the food and you said, 'I'd step on lime juice covered shards of glass to eat this again.'

that was the last thing you'd see in your messages between each other. 

he was close to four years older than all of you, except for sukuna, they were only a year apart. he had this endearing scar across his lip that curved so achingly whenever he smiled or grinned. he was built gorgeously, his back a sight to behold whenever you got to see him fight. and his eyes, fuck, the bright mix between grey and green always had you throwing a fit in your bed and wishing you could have him. 

nevertheless, you go back to paying attention to satoru. 

"you profit from so many other stocks satoru. that one stock is just a random occurrence."

"but the ladies won't want to go out with a guy who loses even one stock!" he looks up from where he's sprawled across the table, pouting at you.

"the fact that you're a millionaire at the age of 23 already gets enough ladies." you roll your eyes, unable to help the twitch of your lips at the sight of a little bit of drool seeping from the corner of his mouth

"it's not enough." he mutters

this time, you and sukuna share a deadpan face and you flick satoru's forehead, leaning only slightly across the table.

"yeah you're right. satoru gojo is such a loser for losing a stock, none of the girls are gonna want him now."

out of the corner of your eye, you see toji huff a little laugh at your antics, it makes your heart skip a beat a little that he finds you, even if its mostly satoru, funny.

"don't mock me!" satoru's cheeks are red as he scowls at you the best he can.

"she's not mocking." sukuna snorts, taking a swig of his beer.

"yea she is!" satoru points at you, "I never mock you about toji!"

everybody in the group stills except for satoru, who looks like he's still revved up about the subject.

much like cassie's reaction in euphoria when rue asked her how long she had been fucking nate, all you could do was nervously laugh.

"what–what are you talking about?"

you can feel your entire body starting to shake in fear. it was like you were in elementary again and some mean friend of yours was going to expose your crush on the popular boy of your grade. the fear was something you never thought you'd experience again.

"don't act stupidddd." satoru drags on, as if toji fucking zenin wasn't right next to him, "you're always talking about how bad you want toji and that ' I wish I could talk to him' bullcrap!" he says the last part in imitation of you with a high pitched voice.

suguru is staring at satoru in terror. sukuna is looking at you, in peril for you. shoko looks like she mentally checked out so she couldn't feel your embarrassment.

...and toji is staring at you, his eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, like he doesn't know what to say.

your phone is in your pocket. check. your purse is on your lap. check. satoru can pay for your tab when he comes to his senses. check.

all you can do is abruptly get up and start to dash away, ignoring the yell for you from suguru. you don't look back, pure peril and adrenaline taking over your body as you make it out of the bar as quickly as possible, thanking whatever god that you chose to wear the easiest pair of heels to walk today.

the metro, the metro, the metro.

you look around for a quick second, only taking a second to remember what way the metro was before you rush in its direction. you feel a buzz coming from your pocket when you do, and you can only figure its one of your friends, trying to get you to come back.

you ignore it and rush down the escalator to the metro, making a glance behind you and noting that nobody was behind you. thank god. however, it doesn't stop your pace and your heels click and clack you all the way to a seat on the train to your part of town. 

fuck.

your entire body feels like its on fire and melting. 

toji knows you like him.

fuck.

suguru 5 missed calls

shoko girl where did you go?

sukuna 1 missed call dude, since when do you run track

you have to stop yourself from bashing your head on the pole in front of you. shakily, you press on suguru's contact to call him. you would tell him you were going to home so he wouldn't need to worry. what's the worst that could happen by now anyway. 

"y/n? hello?"

"I'm on the train home." you breathe

"that fast?" he doesn't exclaim, he's not the type to show his surprise so blatantly like his counterpart but you can hear his concern at the fact.

"yeah." you murmur, stomach churning now that the adrenaline's worn off.

suguru sighs, "satoru is scared you're going to kill him now."

and you can hear his wails in the background. 'no she's going to come after me!' 'I need to up my security!' 'is that her on the phone?! y/n pleasseee forgive me!'

your nose scrunches in annoyance and you blurt, "I'm not going to kill you stupid idiot!"

"she says she's not going to kill you." suguru says to satoru and you can hear what you presuppose is suguru pushing the drunk fiend off of him before he continues talking to you, "about toji–"

you feel your stomach drop at the mention of the name, he's still there with them, fully aware of your feelings for him

"ah! don't wanna hear it!"

the beginning of a call to your name from suguru went ignored as you immediately pulled your phone back and pressed the little red button.

the sky had literally fallen for you and now you had to deal with the aftermath—which you weren’t doing right this second, due to what you just did to your friends, but you’d do it eventually. being an adult made sure you had to face it sometime soon. its just that toji zenin learning from satoru gojo that you had a massive crush on him had not ever been something you expected. hell you never expected him to find out in any sort of way, ever. god, he was never supposed to know.

well, your fun was over, you had to move on now. if you wanted your friend group to stay normal and go back to the way it was, the looming existence of your feelings for the world renowned fighter had to die. you could tough it through that, you could come back and say ‘i thought it over and don’t have feelings for you anymore toji so don’t worry about acting weird with me. we’re casual friends like we’ve always been.’

a particular rattle of the train had you planting your feet on the floor purposefully and waiting for it to fully stop before you got up. you were five minutes from your apartment now, the walk you started now would pass by in a flash and you’d get to wallow in your misery soon.

ordering takeout sounded nice and so did watching your favorite show, especially after a warm shower, it had been quite chilly tonight. 

you had no room to really think about your predisposition in regards to toji zenin the next day, having to attend work then go to a work party afterwards at some high end restaurant/bar located at the top floor of a skyscraper overlooking tokyo. at work, you had to host various meetings and delegate new responsibilities you planned out the day before to your peers. it was all very hectic since it was all a completely new project. you had barely looked at your phone and even if you did, there wouldn’t be much to fret over, your friends had busy lives too. and right after, you had to head straight home and get ready for the party later that evening. 

you were sporting a tight black dress with light red flowers embellished across it later that night while you drank champagne and conversed with your coworkers. it had been a decent night so far and you had photos taken of you along with your peers, they’d probably be posted on the company website or social media. 

there had been some interesting work tea to listen in on too, your rival company was involved in it too and you were smushed against your coworkers in a red leather lined booth with dim lighting to listen in on all of it. it was more than worthy of your time by the end of it, you deemed. you would have to tell shoko and sukuna about it whenever you got the chance next time. yes, sukuna liked tea, he was an ass who loved hearing about ass things happening. 

the craving for a new glass of champagne sent you to the bar the moment the story ended, so you sat up on one of the chairs lining it while you waited for the bartender to get to you. you could see your ceo already getting shit-faced from where you were and it was funny, she always did that and always managed to get embarrassed the next time everyone saw her in the office. 

“are you part of that office party?”

a large and handsome figure suddenly appeared before you, blocking the view of your boss. he was wearing a rather expensive looking black suit with a silky blue dress shirt under, all of which couldn’t hide the obvious hard and sturdy muscles under them due to the complimentary tailoring. when you took in his face, you had to hold back the urge to widen your eyes. he was excessively good looking, with sharp and devilish features sketched across his face, intertwining hand in hand with his semi-long brown wavy hair pushed back and away from his face, save for a singular pretty strand falling near his brow and down his cheek. and that scar near his eye, it seemed so familiar…

you had to blink yourself back into reality when you realized you were taking a bit too long to answer his question. 

“yes,” you finally responded, trying your best to remain neutral and politely smile at him

he leaned against the open spot of the bar table between your seat and the empty one behind him, one hand in his pocket as he smiled down at you, “you’re very beautiful.”

your spit got caught in your throat at the blatant admission, this time unable to hide the way your head reeled back a little and started sporting a rising heat on your cheeks in slight shock, “oh–i–thank you.”

his smile grew wider at your flustered state and he reached a hand out for you to shake, “aizen sosuke.”

so at to remain polite, you shook his hand and repeated your name back to him in return for his, but in reality your head was falling in on itself

him.

fuck.

that’s aizen sosuke, the other world renowned mma fighter that you were very aware of due to his competitive nature and rivalry with toji. as far as you were aware, toji absolutely hated him, and you were sure aizen did too. anytime the rivalry came up into the conversation you saw toji’s eyes darken and his posture straighten in seething hate for the man. if satoru felt like getting on his nerves, as he did with everyone, he always knew to mention the tall brunette to get a visceral reaction out of him. it was bad. wait–

they have a fight tomorrow.

oh god, this was all types of fucked up. you've been pining after toji this whole year and he just found out yesterday and now you're talking to his rival who's very obviously flirting with you.

...but he was aizen sosuke, aside from that, and he just called you beautiful.

“is there any particular celebration happening?” he tilted his head to the side a little in curiosity 

“no, not this time,” you breathed, trying to shake the nerves off, “my boss just likes to treat us frequently and…well herself.”

“is that the only occasion where you get treated as of late?”

suave

and you can’t help the small knowing smile starting to creep up your lips, “as of late, yes, although she mostly does it in drinks.”

“dinner isn’t often?” he leans a little closer, his lips quirking up a little

“no,” you shake your head, aware of the way your eyes are smiling back at him too.

“allow me to treat you then,” he says confidently, watching as the bartender slides you your champagne

“In exchange for…?” you quirk a brow up at him as you take a sip

“what are you willing to give?” he bites back with a canine smile, still looming over you and infringing himself a little into your space even.

“nothing.” you snark back smoothly, pressing a finger into the middle expanse of his chest. he’s really sturdy, you note before continuing, “dinner with me should be a prize enough.”

he laughs at your response handsomely, reeling away from your space in accordance with the finger of yours pushing him away, “i’ll pay for everything. hell, send me the receipt for your outfit if you feel like it. i’m sure some sort of gratitude will overcome you.”

“ravenous,” you tut your glass in his direction, “i’ll politely decline then mr sosuke.”

“you haven’t even allowed yourself to grace over the thought of spending a night in my sheets,” he’s leaned down to speak so sensually next to your ear, “if your line of work is a stress, i can make you forget all about it.”

“i’ve allowed myself to grace it,” you speak back lowly, matching his game, “and i can only see you adding onto my stress by the end of it.”

“you’re oddly confident about that,” he smiles deviously, turning his head so that you’re face to face with him, “i aim to please, if any.”

“to please?” you question in haughty disbelief, squinting your eyes playfully at him

“to please,” he’s still smiling, eyes fleeting to your lips for a second, “i could relay the details if you’d like.”

“that’s unecessary,” you laugh at his boldness, turning your head away from his, “but it’s not something i’m interested in. im only looking for stability right now.”

“how unfortunate for the both of us tonight then,” he retreats back into his space before reaching into his pocket and taking out his phone, then splaying it out in his hand for you to take, “at least leave me your number. i can be capable of stability for the right woman.”

you feel your phone buzzing erratically that night, when you’ve washed away the night’s events and lay comfortably in your bed with a glass of water cradled to you. upon first looking at your messages, you were greeted by a paparazzi picture of you, courtesy screenshot from gojo, and aizen speaking at the bar. it was one of you smiling and looking up and him while he was leaning down, face inches away from yours as he returned your toothy grin.

satoru img_736 ?????? is that aizen sosuke?! dude are you fucking him rn

sukuna  take one of his trophy belts when you come back home

shoko lol he looks hot in blue

suguru  satoru, aren’t you supposed to be on your flight back from dubai right now?

satoru first class has excellent cell service ha and y/n hasn’t answered aizen def has his hands busy rn

shoko it’s only been five minutes since you sent that picture plus she’s at her work party, i think. she probably just met him there

satoru who cares bud looks like he’s ready to pounce 

sukuna heard he likes bdsm shit

satoru send pics of his paddle lol y/n

suguru both of you are despicable

shoko let us know if he has good stamina

suguru the three of you

all those messages had been sent ten minutes ago and you gaped at your friends’ mischief

y/n  I AM NOT WARMING AIZEN SOSUKE’S BED RN!

satoru liar, he’s in your mouth rn isn’t he

y/n  literally shut up toru i’m in my bed. no aizen near

sukuna  sure you are you looked real horned up smiling at him in the pics

y/n LMAO  he was a little funny ok, i couldn’t help laughing

shoko oh he was funny hm

suguru  actually worried a little at that statement wdym he was a little funny

y/n im going to crucify all of you he tried getting me to warm his bed and was very smooth abt it, but i said no gave him my number though :p since he asked for it

satoru was that before or after he told you you have great boobs img_737 could not have been more obvious about it

the stupid texts from your friend had you laughing out loud and setting down your glass of water on your bedside table before you pressed on the microphone button and sent a loud, giggly voice message for emphasis of your previous point.

“I didn’t fuck aizen! and he didn’t need to tell me i have great boobs, i saw him staring at them the entire time.”

sukuna you are not living this down if we see hickeys on you tomorrow

satoru what he said ^^

and there came the realization, 

toji and aizen’s fight was tomorrow

and all of you always showed up to toji’s fights ever since you befriended him

hell, fuck, you hadn’t even remembered he was in this group chat too. fuck fuck fuck. was this good? was this bad? he hadn’t said anything and he never really took too long to answer sometimes. no, this was the night before a fight, he’s probably already knocked out right now considering the late hour. but still, what of when he woke up to the messages tomorrow? would this help ease the knowledge of your being into him? oh she’s already flirting with some guy she’s not into me as much as a i thought so i dont feel as awkward around her anymore. but what if he thought you were doing this purposefully to get a reaction out of him and that you were so obsessed with him, you did it for that sole reason. you didn’t even want to come to the fight anymore. could you get out of it somehow? no, stupid satoru knows you’re free tomorrow and that would add more drama to your ‘up and dash’ incident from the bar yesterday night. 

you turned around and flailed on your bed, screaming into your pillow in the process.

regrettably, you show up to toji’s fight the following afternoon, trying your best to suppress the notion that aside from having to be near toji later, that aizen was going to see you too, and that whole ordeal would be something different entirely for you to deal with.

you dressed pretty well, you always did, but you added a little more effort than the usual when picking your outfit for the day. it was ufc fight night worthy and showed a generous amount of skin, the pictures you would upload later that night to instagram would be amazing. 

sukuna snickered when he saw you, pulling you in for a quick friendly hug as he said, “wanted zenin to see that you really didn’t fuck sosuke?”

you gaped at him and held back a smile as you smacked him with your purse, “i will hurt you ‘kuna.”

“try me, idiot,” he bites back with a snarky smile before sinking into one of the cage-side seats toji always managed to get for you guys. you had already said hi to the rest of your friends before getting to him and all felt normal until that dumbass made his dumb comment about your crush on toji. satoru, had of course, without a doubt, inspected you for hickeys and love bites immediately upon your arrival and had given you a suspicious look, as if to say, ‘you got away with it this time.’ he was always ridiculous like that, trying to cling onto random drama, even if he gaslit himself, all for his own fun. 

“i really did not expect to meet him last night at the bar,” you sighed after you sat down, taking in the bustling crowds of people gathering in the arena with him

“fuckin hilarous,” he all but barks evilly in amusement at your predicament before taking a swig of his beer, “paparazzi is gonna have a field day thinking you’re aizen’s girl now that you’re here.”

“WAIT!” 

you immediately sit upright at the realization and turn your body towards sukuna, jaw hung open and eyes wide in panic.

“holy shit. what the fuck.” you start having an existensial crisis and sukuna, the great friend he is starts snickering at your dilemma, finding humor in your panicked expression

“go sit near his side of the arena,” he jeers, “there’s some open seats.”

you run your hands down your face, stressed, “i thought the worst i had to deal with would be aizen seeing me here.”

“still is,” sukuna is still smirking at you evilly, “everything is shit about your day today.”

and then the lights dim and sporadic blue lights start sparkling across the arena

“get ready to say hi to your boyfriends,” sukuna teases with a canine grin before leaning over to see who would do their walkout first.

and it’s toji first.

he’s so beautiful and rugged, wearing skin tight black shorts that highlight every muscle underneath them and his eyes are glowing so pretty against the fluroscents, even if he has a murderous look on them right now. his staff are behind him as he walks through the arena, and looking at them almost distracts you from the way toji holds you in a cutthroat stare the moment he spots you, and only you.

you can hear satoru’s sly voice saying from near you, “nice.”

too scared to look away from toji, you can only speak to your friends without turning to address them, “why is toji giving me a death stare?”

“cause you fucked aizen,” satoru’s teasing lilt jeers

“yeah,” shoko agrees

“i did not fuck aizen,” you bite through gritted teeth as toji walks into the fighting cage, eyes still on you.

“tell that to him,” sukuna snickers

“don’t think about it too much,” suguru tries to comfort

then the lights starts blaring furiously again and aizen’s presence is announced throughout the entire arena. and you were really right about that suit being unable to hide those muscles, because without any clothing over them…they were enormous and mouth-watering.

all of you watch as he, accompanied by his staff too, walks to the cage, handsome smirk planted on his face. 

“would you look at that,” satoru starts, “he doesn’t have your scratch marks all over his back.”

“ha ha,” you sarcastically mutter back when aizen enters the cage and he situates himself in his side, taking in his surroundings, like those sitting in the cage side seats.

like you.

you know he’s spotted you because of the way his eyebrows raise in surprise and the wolfish smile that starts forming on his face the moment you make eye contact. and you know toji’s noticed too because of the way he turns to you too and keeps looking between you and the fighter in front of him.

satoru whistles while sukuna howls, both leaning down to elbow you from either side much to your annoyance

“scratch the paparazzi thinking youre here for aizen being the worst thing capable of happening today,” satoru sighs haughtily, “if toji loses, you’re in for it.”

you spin your head to him, panicked, “what?! is he gonna stop being my friend?!”

satoru shrugs, nonchalant, “don’t know, just keep watching sweetheart.”

so you did and it was unnerving.

when the fight started and toji and aizen started squaring up against each other, you could see aizen start speaking to him. his mouth was moving a little and a smile crept up on it when he jeered his chin in your direction, all of which you saw toji answer back with what looked like single word short answers and a sneer on his face.

“wonder what they’re talking about,” suguru questioned softly

“i have a small idea,” satoru said under his breath before toji threw the first punch and the chaos ensued.

the fight consisted of a lot of hisses and ows coming from everyone, including you, in the arena. toji and aizen were really putting in the work to beat the crap out of each other. ten minutes had passed and toji was already bleeding from his mouth and aizen had blood falling down his nose. both of their bodies were beat too, red splotches blossoming all over them as a reaction to the various kicks and punches both of them sent to each other. 

however it looked like it was reaching its cusp when aizen got toji in a headlock and muttered something while looking at you. 

which must have given toji enough energy to quickly peel himself off and knock his face in a couple of times. and when aizen stood up straight after it to counter, he was bleeding profusely from his mouth and smiled so devilshly at you before wandering into toji’s space again. 

“hot,” shoko commented while gnawing on a toothpick

and that continued, the smiles at you from him, with his questionably hot bleeding mouth while he sported a beating from toji or gave it to him. but it started dying down when toji actually started knocking him in so close to his own victory. and there wasn’t much aizen could do until toji pinned him down and forced him into submission,

all while aizen stared at you and even had the gall to wink while his loss was announced

satoru whistled again, “the balls on this guy. surprised you aren’t soaked right now.”

people were starting to filter out when the winner and loser were officially announced and were beginning to get escorted back to their locker rooms.

“come on,” sukuna muttered as he drank the last of his beer and got up with the rest of you to go to toji’s room.

when all of you are rushed into toji’s locker room, you somehow wound up standing next to him, where he’s seated on a bench and wiping the blood off his face with a hand towel.

“congrats,” you mumble, along with the others

“what’d he say to you during the fight,” leered satoru, both of his hands in his pockets and his shades over his eyes again now that he doesn’t have to watch the fight.

“none of your business,” muttered toji after wiping his face again, “where’s my fucking water?”

“here sir, here,” one of his goonies said while weaving through the people in the room and nervously handing him a water bottle

“thanks,” he huffs with a small glare before opening the bottle and starting to chug from it

“who do you fight after this,” sukuna asks

toji shrugs and looks towards his manager, who then starts to explain the next sequence of events after this win. and it lasts for thirty minutes before everyone falls quiet and toji gets up abruptly

“alright, get out. ‘m gonna change,” he all but demands for everyone to leave ominously

and you listen to his words, letting the half closest to the door start to filter out before you make to move your feet and suddenly toji’s holding onto your arm.

“where do you think you’re going?” he huffs when the last person leaves the room and the door clicks shut

you feel like a deer caught in headlights and feel yourself start to grow nervous, “outside…to let you change?”

“you gonna fuck him?”

and you gaslight yourself into pretending you don’t know what he’s talking about, “who?”

he deadpans at you with bored and almost annoyed green eyes and you have to look away from him when you murmur, “no…i don’t know. listen, me having a thing for you isn’t that serious and if i entertain aizen it isn’t so you can finally notice me or something, i just–”

“when the fuck did i say i never noticed you before?”

your eyes widen and you didn’t know what to say

“what? you think it’s so easy for me to try and talk to your dumbass too?” he pulls you closer by the arm he’s already holding, scowl etched across his face

“what,” is the only thing you can get out in your nerves

toji glares at you, “when silver spoon said you wish you could talk to me, did it ever cross your smartass that i don’t know how to talk to you either?”

“no,” you let out meekly, struggling to make eye contact with him and feeling your heart rate go up by a million beats per minute

“so,” toji tugs on your arm again, “are you gonna fuck him?”

you look away to a locker near when you mumble, “do you not want me to?”

“no, i fucking don’t.”

“then i won’t.”

“great,” he lets go of you and now centers himself to stand in front of you, quirking a brow up when he asks, “you gonna let me take you out on a date?”

you have to fight the urge to fiddle with your hands as you look back up at him, “when?”

“tonight.”

“shouldn’t you rest after a fight!?” your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets, pupils darting to the blood staining his lips

“not if i don’t feel like it,” he shrugs, before gaining a threatening aura, “or do you wanna bite the bullet and get lunch right now? you won’t have time to get a pretty dress on.”

panicked at his suggestion, you mindlessly put your hands against his chest and plead, “no! tonight is fine, tonight is fine!”

“thought so,” he huffs back at you, corners of his mouth quirking up a little 

and put on a pretty dress you did, a red sultry one that teetered between innocence and sex. it had toji staring you down as you took the unfathombly large bouquet of flowers he brought for you from his arms and set it on your kitchen island.

“where are we going?” you turned to look at him while he drove you to whatever destination he had in mind for tonight, playing with the metal clasp of your handbag

toji had been leaned against the driver side door of his car, with one hand holding onto his chin while the other steered, he seemed oddly pensive.

“allen’s,” he gruffly swallowed before straightening up and putting both of his hands on the steering wheel. you weren’t surprised by the mention of the michelin star restaurant, he could afford it and had the status for it anyways

so you couldn’t help but speak, “are you nervous?”

his entire body tensed visibly and his eyes slightly widened, glancing at you for a half second before looking back at the road and relaxing, “what do you think smartass?”

a smile crept its way onto your face, “well i am too.”

“you gonna run away again?” he side eyed you with a slight gleam of mischief

your face flushed and your mouth gaped, turning to look at the road too now instead of at him, crossing your arms as you huffed, “what else was i supposed to do? not like you had anything to say either, had your mouth open like a fish when i got exposed…”

“least i didn’t run,” he huffed back

“well you didnt try to contact me after,” you sasssed, sensing his growing irritation

“you’re a real pain in my ass,” he glared at you, “you know that right?”

“and you’re not acting like the guy who just won a fight earlier today.”

toji had just parked outside the restaurant and splayed his hands across the steering wheel, trying to control his breathing from what you could tell. 

“i didn’t know what to say, okay negative nancy?” he finally turned to you, green eyes striking under the night sky and neon lights from the restaurant name shining through, “and then when i was going to call your pretty ass the next day, i saw the pictures of fuck face raw dogging you at the bar.”

“he didn’t fuck me,” you whined in complaint as you splayed yourself across the center console of his car and batted your scorned eyes at him, “how many times do i have to tell you guys?”

“well you were real close to,” he smirked at you before something serious fell across his features and his eyes darted to your handbag, “matter a fact, block his number right now.”

your head perked up at the demand and you blinked at him, “i dont have his number.”

toji squinted his eyes at you, “you said you gave him your number in the group chat.”

“yeah but he hasn’t called me or anything, so i never got his.”

the ravenette rolled his eyes, taking his keys out of the ignition and pointing at you with them, “when he does, you better fucking block him.”

“i will,” you nod obediently, watching as he starts to get out of the car

you move to take off your seat belt and he leans back into the vehicle with a warning look, “i’ll unbuckle it, don’t move.”

and he does, closing the door of his side before walking over to you and opening the door to kneel in and take off your seat belt, then giving you a helping hand to get out.

“thank you,” you murmur appreciatively as you watch your step before landing a quick kiss to his cheek. and if it affected him, you wouldn’t know, he said nothing and held onto your arm softly while he guided the both of you to the restaurant entrance.

“you look hot by the way,” he breathed out before opening the door and entering with you, giving you no chance to respond when the hostess immediately greeted the both of you and began to lead you to a table.

it was intimate, the table. it was small and dainty, relatively little space would be between you and the gruff fighter. and both of your seats were at the same corner of the table, making the distance shorter than it would have been sitting across from each other. 

toji instinctively pulled out your chair for you and muttered out a sound of acknowledgement when you thanked him as he sat down. 

“you gonna drink?” he quirked a brow at you, gesturing towards the menu of alcohol planted right in front of the both of you

“a little red wine sounds nice,” you try to say politely, “you?”

“nah,” he responds while raising a hand for a waiter to come by, “i need to drive you home. you like sweet or bitter wine?”

“sweet.”

and so he orders a wine for you to drink right off the bat, saying a thank you as the waiter walks away to get the bottle.

“does your mouth hurt?”

toji hums mindlessly, as if his head had been somewhere else before he perks up again and says, “come again sweetheart?”

the pet name had you a little fluststered in speaking again, feeling your body grow hot as you gestured to his mouth meekly, “your mouth, it was bleeding after the fight, does it still hurt?”

the corners of his mouth start to rise as he encroaches into your space, eyes lusty, “nothing a little kiss won’t make better.” 

your breath hitches and you feel like pushing him away to hide how easily he’s affected you, “you’re shameless.”

toji is inches away from your face now, and he tilts his head in fake hurt, “i took those punches from the lowlife trying to steal my girl away, doesn’t that mean i deserve a reward?”

you try to keep your face serious as you deadpan, willing your need to laugh away as best you can, “your girl?”

“my girl,” toji grins sleazily 

you’re about to bite back when the waiter comes back with the bottle of wine toji ordered for you and the menus for tonight’s dinner. toji takes the bottle from the waiter and insists on serving you your glass himself while you begin to look at the menu. choosing a meal was difficult with all the delicious options available, every description making your mouth water, you wanted everything. when you complained to toji about not knowing what to get because of all the options, he brushed you off while still reading his menu.

“get whatever you want, we can come again and again until you try everything.”

well that’s one way to make you horny

so you settled for these sauteed calamari rings with a savory sounding sauce while toji got a steak under the pretense that ‘i need to stock up on protein after fights.’

while the both of you eat, good conversation comes up and the previous tense awkwardness of the both of you goes away.

“i haven’t dated anyone since my sophomore year of college,” you say while taking a sip of wine to wash down a bite of calamari

toji quirks up a brow in disbelief at your statement while he takes a sip of his water, a scowl almost, as if he’s offended for you, “what about that emo lookin kid—“

you tilt your head in confusion, not being able to pinpoint who he’s talking about, “emo?”

toji rolls his eyes, snapping his fingers at himself, “that kid, can’t even remember his name, with the blue hair, you know–“

“grimmjow?!” you gape, eyebrows knit

“yea that fucker,” toji nods before he takes a bite of his steak

“I never even got to have a thing with grimmjow,” you deadpan, swiveling the glass of wine in your hand, “we kissed like once and then he told me he wasn’t ready for anything the next day.”

“silver spoon made it seem like you guys fucked.”

you sigh in agonizing pain that your white haired freak best friend loves to say you fuck frequently, “satoru says that because he feels my dry spell more than me. horny ass. he wishes i could get laid.”

“what,” toji snickers, “haven’t fucked in a year or something?”

this was going to be a pain

“three years,” you clarify, staring at him with bored eyes because you know you’re going to get a reaction because of this, “with my ex was the last time. and i lost it to him.”

toji eyebrows immediately raise and he looks at you like you’re insane, “you’re lying.”

“don’t you think id rather say i just got laid two weeks ago or something?” you quizically ask him

“well yeah,” he scoffs, “but i'd rather you not at that point.”

you knowingly squint your eyes at him, jabbing a fork of calamari, “why’s that?”

and you laugh when toji drops his napkin back onto his lap very done with you and blankly stares you down.

“how long have you liked me anyway,” you continue, hoping and praying on the small chance that toji pined for you as much you did for him so that you didn’t feel as pathetic

he stays quiet for a bit, as if he didn’t hear you, and you feel embarrassed that you’re about to repeat himself until he looks up from his meal and says, “ever since business boy posted a picture of you before i got the chance to meet all of you.”

hoping and praying did you well

you had to physically stop yourself from giggling like a schoolgirl by holding your hands in fists under the table, “and..why did you never make a move?”

“i thought you had a crush on sukuna for a good four months,” he shrugged and if you were seeing right, there was a pink hue dusting the tips of his ears, “after i figured out you didn’t, i pussied out because i didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

then his eyes fixated on you, “what about you huh?”

you felt yourself growing small in your seat, beginning to play with the ends of your dress, “well, when we met and you told lent me your jacket because my cardigan was thin…”

“both of us have been idiots this entire year huh,” toji joked, laughing at himself and you

“yeah,” you meekly agreed, taking a woeful gulp of wine until you came to a realization, “wait, is that why sukuna thought you didn’t like him for the first few months of knowing him?!”

“i have no idea what you’re talking about,” the fighter grunted, looking to the side as he drank another gulp of water

by the time your date with toji ended you were as happy as could be, having felt fulfilled that yes you were on a date with your long time crush, but that you were also very compatible and had amazing chemistry. you kissed briefly, outside the restaurant when your heel got caught on a pebble and he held you upright so as to stop you from falling. you pulled him in for it to thank him and he held onto your waist so fucking well, the fact that his hand was almost the same size as your back was dizzying. 

he had asked for another date the following afternoon for brunch with him and you couldn’t deny, wanting to spend more time with him. you were telling satoru this on the phone before he said…

“so when are you guys getting it on?”

if you could, you’d throw something at him through the phone right now.

“you are such a pervert!”

“i am not,” satoru defends, “okay maybe a little, ha. but in all honesty when are you two going to rip off the bandaid? it’s not like you’re strangers and you have to do that awkward period of oh im respecting your space crap. oh my god, does he know you’ve never gotten head?”

your cheeks flush hot, “no.”

“this is hilarious,” satoru jeers, “try to last longer than two seconds when he eats it.”

you sprawl across your bed and almost scream, “stop, because im going to be really embarrassed if that happens!”

“i think it’d be a miracle if it didn’t happen,” you can hear the millionaire open another candy wrapper before stuffing the sweet into his mouth, “so when are you sealing the deal?”

“when even is the appropriate time?” you gaze at your ceiling, feeling hot all over your body and embarrassed that you’re talking to your friend about having sex with one of your other friends

“personally, i think he would’ve done it by tonight already.”

“you think?”

“he looks at your boobs when you aren’t looking.”

“what?! why didnt you tell me this before?” you sit upright in your bed

“him wanting to fuck you is obvious, i just didn’t know if he liked you, so i kept it to myself.”

“unfair,” you huff, falling back into your comforter, staring at the ceiling in silence until you felt your phone beginning to vibrate

pending call - toji

“toru, ill catch up with you some other time, toji’s calling me,” you usher out and immediately accept the incoming call before the snow haired devil can say something cheesy.

“hi,” you breathe out

“hey,” toji’s gruff voice responds through the small speaker, “how are you feelin?”

“about the food or you?” you tease

“both.”

“wish i could’ve eaten some of that peach cobbler the couple next to us ordered,” you fluff up a pillow behind you, wondering if you should go forward with a thought before you think fuck it, and say, “wish i could’ve kissed you more.”

“i can get you both angel.”

“what are you doing?”

“just put some patches on my back, ‘s sore,” theres a moment of silence before he quips, “was thinking about you.”

“me too,” you sigh, hoping he can’t hear how dreamy you unintentionally sounded

“what about me?” you can hear the smirk in his voice

and you indulge him a little, just to fuck with him, “how big your hands are.”

“you like ‘em?”

“mhm, they looked nice with the bruises on them too.”

“ ‘s that why you kept holding onto them?”

“maybe,” you watch as you kick your feet up in the air, finding something to exert your energy 

“yours are soft,” he breathes, “i like it.”

“you know what else is soft?”

“what?” you can hear his energy shift

“my hair, i use really good conditioner and product.”

“fuckin tease.”

you turned around in your bed to hold your head in one of your hands, “what ever do you mean by that toji?”

“you always pull shit like this and you know it. you made me think i forgot your birthday last week.”

you laugh at his offense, noting that you did get a good scare out of him last week when you pretended he said your birthday wrong, “okay that was a one time thing though.”

“and then you told me the chinese restaurant i sent you to had shitty lomein.”

he had recommened the restaurant to you last month based on the premise that the lomein was good as hell and that you’d like it. you didn’t think he’d fall for it, but you told him it was crap just to fuck with him and he couldn’t function for a minute. 

“okay okay maybe i do pull shit like that every once in a while,” you digress

“every once in a while…” the scowl on toji’s face is quite loud when he responds

“every once in a while,” you punctuate with a sing songy voice

after your brunch date with toji the following day, he took you vase shopping because when he showed up at your place to pick you up he had another very large bouquet of flowers in his hands for you. and unfortunately, you couldn’t even fit all the flowers from the night before into the three vases you had. 

he took you to a high end home furniture store that you were pretty sure millionaires only shopped in, your theory being proven when a rug you passed by was the exact same one satoru kept in his apartment and shamelessly replaced when shoko got red wine on it. 

“woah,” you say when you get to the vase section, “this is way different than the ones at ikea.”

“see anything you like?” toji moves to stand next to you while you take in the vast number of beautiful vases in front of you

and at first you think you have nothing to say, unable to pick from all the beauties in splayed out for you, until your eyes spot a pretty almost seashell shaped vase, with defining ridges, colored gold, it was beautiful and you wouldn’t mind a number of those decorating your apartment. 

“i like this one,” you murmur as you walk up to it, noticing the slight iridescent shimmers on it

you can see toji raise his hand and make some sort of mannerism towards someone, you assume a worker, out of the corner of your eye after you say that. 

which led to the predicament of accompanying toji into your apartment numerous times as he carried the multiple boxes carrying the same vase into your apartment. you weren’t allowed to, he had demanded. he even eyed you threatningly when you made to pick up your own box to take with him. 

by the time he had brought in the last box you were very antsy, trying to find something to do in return for him like offer a water or food, or what fucking ever, just anything in exchange for his buying you multiple luxury vases and carrying them into your apartment. 

“i did that shit because i like you and i think you deserve it,” toji huffed, eyeing you pointedly while he accepted the glass of water you had offered him, “don’t get all weird.”

“okay…” you nervously looked to the side as you traced invisible lines across your kitchen island, “at least sit for a while before we have to unpack them and put the flowers in them. please?”

the tall and buff fighter let your small and nimble hands drag him to your couch by the arm and then guide him to sit on it, with you following after.

“I was watching grey’s anatomy before you came over,” you start, looking at him earnestly, “do you wanna watch some with me?”

toji set the glass of water on your coffee table then splayed his arm behind you on the couch and nodded, “go for it.”

“okay,” you smiled lightly then, much to his obvious surprise, crawled over him and reached for the remote next to him, tucked into the corner of the couch just a little, then went back to your original spot next to him.

your eyes were focused on opening netflix when he spoke, “is that the uh–the show with the doctors and crap?”

you pressed play when you set the remote off to the side and leaned more into his space, “yeah! it’s a little cheesy, but it’s fun to watch, at least before a certain season. after that it just goes downhill.”

“alright,” the ravenette said, leaning closer to your space too

“glow in the dark,” toji exhales a light laugh at the mention of glow in the dark condoms

“ever tried those?” you look up at him from where you’re tucked underneath his arm, hand splayed across his chest and abdomen area

“never knew they were a thing,” he smirks, “you?”

“i don’t even know what head’s like,” you roll your eyes, “as if i would’ve gotten to the exploration stage of fucking.”

you can see toji visibly stiffen at your comment

“what?”

“there’s no way in hell that fucker didn’t eat you out,” he’s sat up straighter now, eyes pining you under his gaze

“well there is a way in hell,” you move your hands as if to gesture ‘it is what it is’, “he didn’t like the taste.”

“what, he got a wonder dick or something?” he looked annoyed, “that do the job?”

“i did not ever orgasm, so no,” you laugh, finding it funny how pissed he’s getting on your part, “why are you so pissy for me zenin?”

he gives you one glance before looking forward at the tv to avoid your gaze, sighing a little, “it’s stupid, is all.”

“me not getting head?” you’re still staring at him even though he’s watching george and alex bicker on the tv

“yeah,” he nods

and satoru’s words play through your mind again, ‘personally, i think he would’ve done it by tonight already.’

but you shake the thought away before you start something stupid and reassume your cuddling position next to toji, watching as it gets revealed that the neurosurgeon lover has a wife already. the previous piece of information making toji uncharacteristically scrunch his nose and look as if he wants to spit at the screen. 

“what,” he looks at you, eyes waiting in earnest for the next episode, “that the end? start the next one.”

“are you sure,” you giggle at his sudden interest in the soap opera.

toji sinks into his spot on the couch, bringing you closer to him with a hand on the skin just above your knee, “yeah, play it.”

while you take the remote to start the new season, you laugh, then place it down before leaning up and placing a chaste kiss on the fighter’s lips, “you’re cute.”

he gives you a bored look, obvious in expressing that cute is not something he wants to be described as, but you can also feel the grip he has on you twitch for a second. 

“what?” you smile, “can i not call you cute?”

“can’t you find something better?” he says, trying not to roll his eyes

“not when you’re acting cute,” you sit up a little and grab his face to place a kiss on his forehead, then his nose, which scrunches up cutely at the action. you can see toji try to chase your lips just the slightest when he sees your mouth fall away from his nose and wander so close to his mouth. you use the observation to tease him, making it look as if the next destination was his lips until you go further down and land a peck on his chin. 

toji’s had enough of it, it seems, when he swoops a hand under your jaw and near your neck and guides you to his own mouth. he's soft about it, simply trying to taste your lips and memorize the feeling of your lips on his, until–you dont know who–one of you takes a sensual turn and makes it much more intense than need be. although unable to find the culprit of before, you can say that toji’s first in sliding his tongue into your mouth moments after. he does it slowly, flicking the muscle to tease at your own before retreating, as if waiting for yours to give the same response and you do, shyly dipping yours in to lick across his tongue. almost like he lured you in, he intertwines his muscle with yours upon the interaction and you can’t help the small high pitched moan that escapes you. 

on some sort of instinct, toji uses the hand on your knee to hook it under his grasp and guide you to his lap, planting you thigh to thigh on top of him. your hands, having forgotten what to do in these situations, awkwardly place themselves on his chest, shakily feeling the hardness of his chest underneath them. he grabs onto one of them, caressing the skin of it, while his other hand finds comfort in your waist. 

a second moan makes it way out of your throat and toji’s hips buckle up subconsciously, which makes you gasp into his searing kisses. the action has you noting that he’s hard underneath you and the exact size of him is a curiosity to you, the thought making you reach a hand down to hold him. 

he’s big, an ‘it’s going to hurt’ kind of big. 

“don’t…” he grunts out, letting go of the hand holding onto his chest and reaching down to take off the one holding his length, “touch unless you’re ready.”

“i’m ready,” you shift your hips atop of him and being forced to look at him when he pulls away from the kiss, lips pink and splotched and his pupils blown out.

“I can wait,” he says, trying to control his breathing, the expanse of his chest rising and falling so controlled even though the look in his eyes says otherwise, “don’t worry about me, if that’s it.”

“well I can’t,” you tug at one of the buttons of his shirt for emphasis, then guide one of his hands underneath your skin and near your inner thighs, “feel me.”

slowly and hesitantly, toji moves his hand onto your panties and runs a finger across the excessively damp wet spot of them.

“fuckin tease,” he groans at the touch, sliding his finger across again and again, earning mewl after mewl from you

“do you want me?” you shyly pant as you hold onto his free arm, fighting the need to put your head in his shoulders

“yeah, i fucking want you,” toji growls as he pushes you onto his chest by a hand on your back

he maintains eye contact with you when his hand pushes your panties out of the way and immediately slips a finger into your heat. the pressure of his gaze turns feral when your eyebrows knit and a loud moan leaves your lips.

for some reason, trying to excuse the loud reactions he’s about to get from you, you heave, worried, “i—i haven’t done this in a long time and–oh mmmm–i won’t be able to help myself.”

“think i care?” he huffs, concentrating on you when he slips a second finger inside and curls them both curiously to find your spot, which he does, smirking a little when your hold on him grows tighter and your hips wiggle at the pleasure, “scream all you want princess.”

he starts jutting in his fingers quickly in and out of you after the words leave his mouth, and the stretch is so good, so unlike your small hands that haven’t been able to do crap for years, that you start squealing and hug toji in by the back of his neck and shoulders.

“there you go, there you go baby,” he coos, smiling a little at the cute sounds you’re making and relishing in the squelch of your pussy while his fingers abuse it. 

“wait–wait–” you heave, beginning to push him away, even though the advance is useless due to his iron grip and try to explain an embarrassing admission so as to warn him, “i feel like im gonna–”

he gives you no chance to finish your sentence when he punches in a third finger and makes you nearly scream.

“what?” he breathes, lusty eyes boring into your own, “you gonna cum?”

“no–”you shake your head, trying your best to still relay your message even though you can feel your orgasm taking its final steps near, “well yeah–but–but–”

your stomach starts dropping and toji picks up his pace so brashly that you release almost instantaneously all over him. your legs twitch uncontrollably and you bury your face into his neck while squealing through the feeling.

“shit.” he utters, still fingering you through it, “fuck, fuck.”

“i squirt,” you almost cry, embarrassed and shaken up by your orgasm, unable to look at him, “i’m sorry, i tried to tell–”

“shut up,” toji spanks your pussy and doesn’t care when you yelp as he throws you with your back on the couch and starts to tug your panties off, “you’re gonna do it again.”

submitting to him, you shimmy out of your dress nervously while he hastily undoes the buttons of his dress shirt. the burly fighter drags you, so your legs dangle off the couch before he kneels down and places his hands underneath your thighs to spread you out for him

“look at me when i eat you,” toji pinches your clit to get your full attention on his face, “don’t close your eyes or look at the ceiling, none of that shit. got that?”

you nod your head impishly, hesitantly putting a hand on your stomach, itching to hold onto his face or his hair. 

his eyes drift to your sex and you can see a hint of irritation paint itself across his features when he mutters under his breath, “didn’t like the taste my ass.”

within milliseconds, toji saves no mercy and starts to eat you out like a man starved. his mouth is hot and wet, and you don’t know where the mess is coming from, his lips or yours. the man spits onto your pussy and so sloppily makes out with your sticky heat, interchanging between that and sucking so harsly against your clit. 

your legs are twitching so wildly and the only thing keeping you from scrambling away is toji’s hands that are now wrapped around your thighs to keep you pressed against him. 

you’re basically screaming now, in utter bliss from the heavenly feeling, unable to speak. 

his eyes keep looking up to bore into yours all while he aggressively kisses your pussy. it has your breath picking up rapidly and goosebumps rising all across your skin. his tongue laps across your lips so foreign yet so deliciously that you can’t help the increasing reach of your orgasm.

“I'm close!” you squeal after a particular suck of your clit, thinking that he needs to heed to the warning because you’re so sure you’re about to squirt on his face

all toji does in response is growl and let go of one of your thighs to start fingering you with two digits rapidly.

he stares you down while you struggle to keep the eye contact, your whole body beginning to twitch uncontrollably and your vision starting to see white until the invisible cord snaps and you feel an immense relief wash over you–and him.

the juices seeping from you seem to spur him on and he doesn’t move in any sort of way to avoid them, instead choosing to lap at them and drink it in all while making growls and groans of satisfaction. 

he’s still going at it when you come to, and you start shuffling away–well try to–from him, yelping, “it’s sensitive toji!”

he seemingly listens to you after a few seconds, running his tongue flat against your folds before he lifts his face from you. the entire lower half of his face is covered in your juices and his spit and he looks outright animalistic as he looks back at you. 

he gets up and stalks towards you until he’s on top of your body and dives down to kiss you aggressively, making you taste yourself in the process. it’s so erotic, it has your pussy fluttering all over again. 

“fuck,” he groans deeply into your mouth, “you don’t have any condoms right doll?”

you shake your head a little, but you wrap your arms around his shoulders and offer something else, “i’m on the pill…so i don’t really mind…”

you can feel his breath hitch and you’re quick to add, “but! if you’re not comfortable without one–”

“you fine with me blowing a load in you?” he mutters and seizes the chance to nip at your bottom lip

“i wanna feel it,” you admit, glad he’s still kissing you so he doesn’t see the flustered look on your face.

“dirty fucking angel,” he says heavily against your mouth before he gets up to undo his belt buckle and push both his pants and briefs in one motion.

he doesn’t even really spring up free like you expected him to. his dick is so hung that well, it hangs. the size looks bigger than what you predicted already when you touched it earlier. your ex, the only person you’ve had sex with, was the stark opposite of this, easy to fiddle with and well below average. the difference of having toji’s thick length right in front of you now had you clenching around nothing. 

“you like it?” toji smirks at you while he goes up to you again and moves you so that you’re completely laying across the couch before he climbs up on top of you between your legs.

“mhm,” you nod, looking down and hoping his tip can at least graze your folds while it bobs down near your inner thigh and that’s when you get an idea.

“can we–” you almost hesitate, “can we do a mating press?”

“was planning on it,” he says gruffly when he leans forward and pins your legs next to your head. 

you giggle at the words and he smiles down at you, a moment of innocence before the both of you look down and he’s using one hand to guide his tip into you.

the pop of his tip inside of you is overwhelming. you feel like you’re going to push him out in a single clench with how girthy he is. and you think the previous two, very wet, orgasms are what lets him slide into you, even though it stings. 

“shit’s fucking tight,” toji groans, both hands back to your legs while he and you watch him pull out nearly all the way and sink back in.

“ ‘s so big,” you huff, feeling like he’s outright in your stomach, “feel so full.”

“bet you do,” he sounds so serious when he says it, still entranced when he starts to pound in and out of you at an average pace that, although it’s not fast, still has you starting to feel tears brim near your waterline

the man above you starts groaning in sync with your moans and whines, shuddering a little everytime you clench and suck him in

“beautiful,” toji groans under his breath and you can feel his pace start to pick up a bit, “getting fucked on a huge cock, little princess slut. tiny fucking hole’s begging for help.”

the mean words mixed with his praise has you feeling epically embarrassed yet turned on all at the same time and all you can do is moan in response 

“you like getting called a slut?” he presses himself against you, almost chest to chest, smirking evilly while he raggedly breathes, “or princess? or you like me talking about splitting your pussy open?”

“all…of it,” you gasp through two punctual thrusts of his, he’s hit your cervix multiple times but the pleasure is so overwhelming, you’re starting to enjoy it

toji snickers a little, opening your legs a bit further to expose more of your torso, your tits being part of it and his intention, you realize when he goes down to pop one of your nipples into his mouth. he swirls the bud around his mouth and bites at it with his teeth while he starts to jackhammer into you, making sure each thrust is deep.

his balls start making a pap–pap sound everytime he thrusts back in, accompanying the wet squelch of toji dragging himself inside of you repeatedly.

it’s rough and hard, but more intimate than anything considering the few words being exchanged. the both of you are more concentrated on each other’s presence and reactions because after toji comes back up from your tits, he finds your lips and starts to makeout with you languidly. 

the grip on your thighs grows bruising when you mix tongue into the kissing, coaxing him to do the same too. 

“feel so fucking good,” he hisses when you clench around him uncontrollably, a sign of your incoming orgasm, “pussy’s close isn’t it”

you nod instead of speaking, concentrating on the delicious drag of his veins against your walls and the prodding of his tip at your g-spot

toji leans close to your ear, voice hard and lusty as he starts to mutter sweet and dirty nothings, “such a pretty girl, taking this cock so good.”

he then bites your ear softly, “you gonna milk my cock like a good girl? squeeze my load all out?”

shivering, you nod again and make a whimper in response 

“squirt all over me angel, i know you want to,” toji starts plummeting a bit harder into your sweet spot, finding it again, the action has you looking down at where you’re both connected unable to fathom how large he is and just how he’s making it all fit inside, “look at me.”

one of his hands is gently under your chin now, guiding you to look at him since your eyes had strayed from his own. he’s breathing heavy now and his irises are almost completely gone considering the blown out size of his pupils. 

“cum with me sweetheart,” the hand from your chin snakes its way down to your clit so as to start rubbing harsh circles for you, and you just know you’re about to make a bigger mess than before, “wrap that pretty pussy around me. milk the shit out of this dick. cum’s all yours baby.”

“ ‘s too much,” you whine, breathing ragged, “i don’t think–oh my god!”

you feel the pleasure wash over your entire body and come out all over toji’s lower abdomen accompannied by the profuse hard flutters of your pussy on his cock. you release a combination between a whine and a cry, feeling completely wrecked by the sensation.

toji follows you the moment your release gets all over him, his hips stiling and jerking into you roughly, this time giving hard kisses to your cervix instead of the fleeting small pecks from earlier. his cum feels immense, its warmth you can feel pooling inside you as toji sputters it into you.

“shit! fuck!” he groans, watching himself push it all into you before looking back up and taking you into a passionate kiss

“atta girl,” he utters after swiping his tongue across your teeth, one of his hands coming up to tentatively hold one of your breasts, “that feel good?”

tired, you weakly nod and sigh a weak, “mhm”

he lets go of the one hand holding your thigh up and moves both of your legs so that they wrap around his waist. he hasn’t pulled out yet.

“gonna buy you a new couch,” his lips twitch a little as he looks at the surrounding area near the both of you, “shit’s soaked.”

“toji!” you whine, embarrased, and pull him into you so you can hide your face.

toji doesn’t let you, instead pulling away so he can get a good look at you and grin, “you got spare sheets?”

“yeah?” you furrow your eyebrows, “but what does that have to do with the couch?”

“it doesnt. I’m fucking you on your bed later,” he shifts both of your bodies so that you can sit on top of him now just as he shifts the conversation back to what it was, “we’ll go shopping for the couch tomorrow. make it celebratory gift.”

“for the first time we fucked?”

“nah,” he lands a teasing kiss on your nose, “for your first time.”

you roll your eyes at him, “just because its been three years–”

“don’t care, doesn’t count if you never came with shrimp dick.”

a fit of giggles escapes you as you press yourself up against him for physical support, “yeah okay, it’s my first time gift.” 

then your eyes stray to his very wet clothes on the floor next to yours, “sorry i got your clothes dirty though. I don’t think i have anything for you to wear either.”

toji puts both of his thumbs at the corner of your mouth to make your pout disappear, he snickers at himself for it, “i’ll call my assistant to drop off some clothes here.” 

“how long will that take?”

“long as our shower,” toji huffs as he lifts the both of you up and starts walking to your restroom.

“and how long will that take?” you laugh, wiggling your eyebrows at him and clinging onto his shoulders.

“three more orgasms,” he comments, opening the door and leading the both of you to a very steamy shower. 

“you haven’t even made the call yet!”

“shut up.”

---

Title: Idolification.

Pairing: Yandere!Itadori Yuuji x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 5.0k.

TW: No Curse/College AU, Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Prolonged Stalking, (Unintentional) Emotional Manipulation, Oral Sex, Drunk Sex, Unprotected Sex, Age Gap (Reader's 27, Yuuji's 22), Intimidation, Brief Mommy Kink, Pepper Spray, and Obsessive Behavior. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

“I’m so, so, so, so sorry.”

“It was an accident, you don’t have to—” Yuuji was cut off by another splash of milk, quickly followed by another jet of water. Her makeshift treatment was harsh, the temperature alternating unpredictably between ice cold and scalding hot, but Yuuji took the abuse with a smile that was almost bright enough to distract you from the red, aggravated skin around his eyes. Almost. “It’s alright,” he managed, eventually, doing his best not to sound like he was being slowly drowned in your bathtub. “Believe it or not, that’s only the second worst thing I’ve gotten in my eyes.”

Knowing him, it was probably closer to the fourth or fifth, but that did little to ease your guilt. He’d been leaving as you were getting home from your second twelve-hour shift of the week, and from there, it’d been a comedy of errors. He spotted you coming down the hall, haggard and bleary-eyed, and saw the babysitter who’d spent more summers than not keeping him (and, by association, his older half-brother) out of trouble before their family fell off of the face of the planet, and reacted the way Yuuji reacted to most things – with open arms and a contagious smile. You’d looked at him, a far cry from the kid you’d spent so much time looking after, and seen a very strange, very grown man loitering outside of the door to your shoebox of an apartment before charging towards you with a manic expression and, well, you had always wanted an excuse to use the pepper spray you carried near-religiously. It was only a shame it had to be on someone as sweet as Yuuji.

Now, you were on your knees on the floor of your bathroom, your fingers tangled in Yuuji’s hair as your roommate gently waterboarded him with a cartoon of organic oat milk in one hand and your decade-old showerhead in the other. The front of his t-shirt was soaked through, his lung half-flooded at least, but he was still grinning like you’d greeted him with a blank check and a litter of puppies. “Honestly, it’s on me,” he insisted, his enthusiasm too potent not to be genuine. “Miss Shoko mentioned she was living with someone.”

At the mention of your roommate, Shoko Ieiri, your attention shifted to the woman in-question. You weren’t an idiot. After the shock died down, it hadn’t taken long for you to piece together why a young man would be rushing to get out of your apartment while your attractive (albeit, socially dead) roommate was home alone. When she met your prying eyes, you shot her a pointed glare. “Cradle rocker.”

She threatened to turn the showerhead on you, but relented as soon as you flinched away. “He’s in one of my classes,” she muttered, then pushed herself to her feet with a soft groan. “We’re out of milk,” she said, shaking the empty carton. “Let his eyes air-dry. I’ll be in my office – come get me if he starts crying again.”

“I’m a doctor too, y’know.”

“You’ll be a doctor in another year. Right now, you’re an intern.” She eyed Yuuji wearily. “An intern who physically assaults her patients, at that.”

Without any real way to retort, you stuck your tongue out – a gesture Shoko mimicked as she slipped out of the crime scene that was your bathroom. Despite Shoko’s advice, you fished a towel off the nearest rack and handed it to Yuuji, who accepted it with a grateful hum. “I really am sorry,” you repeated, burying your face in your hands. “It’s just, it’s been so long, and you look so different, and god, it’s been—”

“—ten years,” Yuuji filled in, probably tired of hearing you repeat the same two excuses. “I remember, ‘cuz you invited us to your graduation that year. I wanted to go, too, but Gramps got sick and…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck with an airy chuckle. “You know how it is.”

“Oh my god,” you gasped. “I loved your grandfather. How is he?”

Yuuji’s smile wavered for the first time. “He passed, actually. A few years ago.”

Fuck.

If the building was going to collapse and bury you in the rubble, that would’ve been the time.

“Sukuna’s doing good, though,” Yuuji went on, kind enough to pretend there hadn’t been a lapse. “He opened a restaurant a few months ago. It’s a hole-in-the-wall kind of place, but it’s been keeping him out of the ring.” His expression brightened. “And you’re a doctor! I mean, I knew you would be, but you’re a doctor!”

You felt your face heat up his brother’s name, your eyes falling to the tiled floor. “Almost a doctor. I just started my internship.” And they’d already managed to work you half to death. “You’re in med school, right? Shoko never teaches undergrad.”

“It’s my first semester,” he said with a slight laugh. “It’s harder than I thought it’d be, though. Miss Shoko offered to give me a few pointers, but, y’know—” He sighed, let his head lull back. “I’m starting to think I’m just not smart enough for stuff like this.”

“You shouldn’t say that kind of thing about yourself. You’ve always been—” You cut yourself off with a sudden gasp, clapping your hands together. “If you’re struggling, let me help you study! I have tomorrow off, and I promise, I’m not as strict as Shoko.”

Immediately, he straightened up, your towel still strung around his neck and his smile returned to its full brightness. It only dimmed slightly when he glanced down at his damp shirt. “…there won’t be as much pepper spray this time, right?”

His smile was as contagious as it’d been when he was still a kid, begging you to let him stay up yet another hour past his already-lenient bedtime. Despite his bloodshot eyes and your lingering, only slightly lessened guilt, you found yourself biting back a grin.  

“No pepper spray, this time. I promise.”

~

“Room for one more?”

She glanced over her shoulder as you struggled past the jammed sliding door, taking a moment to evaluate your stiff shoulders and strained smile over the thick frames of her glasses before nodding curtly. Your relief was immediate and all-encompassing. Honestly, you should’ve known better than to do anything but shake your head and flee the country when Yuuji invited you to hang out with a few of his friends, but he’d sworn up and down that it wasn’t a party and promised that you wouldn’t be out of place and pouted in a way you’d never been able to resist. You were starting to think that, no matter how old you got, you’d never learn to say ‘no’ to Yuuji.

The blaring music was only vaguely muffled by the glass, the blurry outlines of other guests playing behind thin curtains. There was a red solo cup in your hand, a lipstick stain on your cheek from a girl who’d passed out half an hour ago, but you were hyper-aware that you were too old to be at a college party with people at least half a decade younger than you, in the best cases. You braced yourself against the balcony railing with a soft groan, crossing your arms and hanging your head low enough to warrant a hum of sympathy from the woman next to you. She held up a box of cigarettes – the cheap kind you and Shoko used to split on the days you had to decide between food and rent – and you accepted her offer with the kind of gratitude you could only assume a starving lion would’ve shown to a limping gazelle.

“Maki,” she said, shaking one into your open palm and fishing a lighter out of her pocket. “You’re one of Itadori’s friends?”

“You could say that.” You let her light you up before taking a shaky drag, the bitter taste a welcome distraction. “I’ve been tutoring him for a few weeks. I think he just invited me as a way to say ‘thank you’.”

Her eyes flashed with recognition, the corner of his lips turning upward for the first time. “You’re the chick who used to babysit him. (Y/n), right?”

“He’s mentioned me?”

“He won’t shut up about you. Every other word out of his mouth is ‘(Y/n) this’ or ‘(Y//n) that’.” She tapped her cigarette against the edge of the railing, sending a few flakes of ash fluttering down to the street below. “Megumi gets it the worst, but we’ve all had to see the fucking pictures.”

“That… that sounds like him.” You forced out a half-hearted laugh, then wavered. “I’m sorry, pictures?”

Maki opened her mouth, but the balcony door was jerked open before she could respond. Yuji appeared in the open entryway, cheeks flushed and grin wide. He drawled your name in a single slur before moving on to more important topics. “We found a—We found a karaoke machine! ‘gumi thinks he can get it running!”

You sent Maki an apologetic look, but she only shrugged, a sliver of a grin. “Better get him tucked in.”

This time, when you smiled back, it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

~

It took a month for Yuuji to start ‘forgetting’ his textbooks when he came over for your little study sessions.

It took three for Yuuji to drop the pretense of studying at all – calling you out to some late-night diner or lethargic early-morning café or, better yet, showing up at your apartment door unannounced and empty-handed with only that unnerving smile and a half-baked excuse to spend time with you.

It took six for his hand to drift just a little lower than your shoulder while you watched some awful, b-rated horror movie on your well-beaten couch. You let him reach your waist before clearing your throat and shifting away, your smile pained.

“I… I think you should probably leave,” you half-mumbled, your voice shaking. “It’s getting late.”

“We haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.” Predictably, Yuuji was undeterred. His persistence used to be endearing, but now, it just felt unfair. “I don’t mind sleeping over, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s not like we’ve never spent the night together.”

A nervous laugh, his hand planted just a little too close to your thigh. “I wish you wouldn’t phrase it like—”

“I mean, I know I’m your type.” It was almost impressive, what he could say with such an innocent expression. His free hand found its way to your other side, pinning you between the arm of the couch and his broad chest. “I know you had a thing for Sukuna, and everyone says we’re practically identical. That means you should be into me too, right?”

“Yuuji,” Your eyes darted to your phone, left absent-mindedly on your coffee table. The urge was there, but it wasn’t like he would actually hurt you. He’d always been a sweet kid – a little overzealous, but that wasn’t a crime. This was just… a bad decision, one you had to stop him from making before he did something he’d regret. “Sukuna is my age, and—”

“I don’t care about that.” He cut in swiftly, definitively. His bright eyes had glazed over, catching the dim light of your T.V. as he leaned in further, as his face came to hover less than a full breath away from yours. “I’ve loved you since I was eight. Can Sukuna say that?”

“That’s not—”

“I know you used to fuck him.” His chest was touching yours, now, his breath hot against your skin. “I know you’d fuck him again, if he was here. I know—”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish. It was a weak blow, simultaneously hesitant and instinctual, but your open palm made contact with his cheek with a deafening crack, his head snapping to the side and putting that much more distance between his body and yours. He moved to cup his swelling cheek, and you took the opportunity to slip out from underneath him and stumble to your feet. “I think you should leave,” you repeated, the words spat hastily enough to blend together. “Please, Yuuji.”

For a second, he didn’t move, didn’t speak.

Then, he turned to face you, his smile wiped away and his expression so blank, you couldn’t remember how you’d ever looked at him and saw anything other than void.

He didn’t say anything, only pushing himself to his feet and shambling out of your living room. You kept your eyes on the ground until his footsteps faded out of earshot, until you heard the front door creak open and slam shut with enough force to shake the walls.

When you were sure he was gone, you collapsed onto your couch and laid motionless while an actress screamed in the background.

~

“Your golden boy’s asking about you, again.”

You groaned, buckling at the waist and burying your face in your arms. Shoko glanced up from the exams she was grading, but whatever sympathy she might’ve felt apparently didn’t warrant the effort it would’ve taken to reach across the table to comfort you. “Satoru’s been getting it, too,” she went on. “That’s how you know it’s bad. I can’t remember the last time someone managed to talk over that narcissist.”

“I’m sorry.” You couldn’t remember how many times you’d already apologized for Yuuji’s recent fixation. “He’s… probably just worried about his grades, or something.”

Her lips quirked into a frown. “What are you talking about?”

“I was helping him study,” you admitted, reluctantly. As much as Shoko had to hear about your unruly patients and patronizing coworkers, you’d been less open about how much time you were spending with a student fresh out of undergrad. “He’s never been that good with school. I used to have to help him with his homework in elementary school, too.”

This time, she decided your conversation was important enough to earn her full attention. “Itadori’s one of my best students.”

You felt your chest tighten. “But, the first time he came over, you were tutoring—”

She said your name, curt and blunt, and you went quiet. With a sigh, she shook her head, dropping her pen entirely. “When was the last time I offered to personally tutor a struggling student?”

You swallowed dryly. “Never.”

“And when was the last time I gave our full address out to literally anyone?”

“Never,” you said, again. After a second, you added, “Well, there was that one time with Iori…”

“Not the point. I know you don’t want to hear it, but the kid’s a creep. You might have to—”

She was cut off by your phone buzzing against the table. Your eyes scanned over the caller’s name scrawled across the dim screen before moving back to Shoko, her gaze now narrowed into a sharp glare. “Don’t.”

And, for a second, you didn’t. You convinced yourself that you wouldn’t. You told yourself that, after you bought Satoru around of drinks as an apology, you’d do… you’d do something about Yuuji, even if you weren’t sure what you could do, just yet.

Then, you let yourself picture the kid you used to watch for a few dollars an hour while his grandfather was sick and his brother was on the other side of town doing something dubiously legal at best, dead in a ditch at worst – all wide eyes and scuffed elbows and lopsided grins. You let yourself remember the way he’d ramble about his day after you picked him up from school, and how excited he was the first time you made it to one of his school’s sports days, and how he’d clung to you and sobbed the day before his family moved to the other side of the country. At the time, you’d been thankful to have one less responsibility, relieved that you’d never have to see Sukuna again. You’d been selfish, even for a kid.

The phone was in your hand in a moment, the call answered in another. You stood as you brought it to your ear, hoping that would be enough to block out Shoko’s mumbled cursing.

“Yuuji?”

~

The silence in your car was thick, nearly suffocating.

It’d been one of Yuuji’s friends calling from his phone – the dark-haired one with the monotone voice, barely audible over the blaring music of whichever nightclub they were standing outside of. He’d asked you to, in his own words, ‘come get your problem child’, and when you’d asked why Yuuji needed you specifically, he’d only handed the phone back to Yuuji and let you listen to a full minute of whining, your name the only coherent thing to make it off of Yuuji’s tongue. Shoko urged you not to go, and yet, twenty minutes later, Yuuji was slumped over in your passenger seat, his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed in an uncharacteristic frown.

He was less talkative than he’d been on the phone. The clingier stages of his inebriation had passed, leaving room for a disassociated sort of passiveness that meant, even if you’d been brave enough to try and start a conversation, his response wouldn’t be anything worth that kind of effort. By the time you reached his apartment complex, the knot sitting at the pit of your stomach was equal parts dread and second-hand embarrassment, but you tried to keep your tone light as you turned to him. “It’s time to get out, Yuuji.” And then, when he failed to move, “You’re on your own from here.”

He looked at you, eyes unfocused and hands folded almost childishly over his lap. You softened more than you should’ve at the sight. “…do you need help getting home?”

A second of thought, a quick nod. You shouldn’t. You knew that you really, really shouldn’t.

And yet, somehow, you found yourself in front of Yuuji’s door, fussing over the lock as Yuuji clung to your side, his face buried in the dip of your shoulder. He was cooperative enough; able to stand on his own with minimum swaying but not so lucid that it took more than a gentle suggestion to lead him to his bedroom, where he was more than happy to collapse onto his unmade bed. With a shaky exhale, you turned to leave, but something caught on your sleeve – Yuuji’s hand, when you could bring yourself to check.

“Stay,” he mumbled, his voice dampened by the sheets his face was buried in. “Please?”

You felt your throat go dry. “I can’t.”

You expected him to go shrill and whiny, but he proved to be a touch more mature than the ten-year-old you used to babysit. Rather flatly, he asked, “Why not?”

How were you supposed to answer that? Would it be good enough to say that you didn’t want to, that you couldn’t spend your night looking after a drunk kid you’d known a decade ago, that you’d already done more than you should’ve just by giving him a ride? Was it worth trying to talk to him at all when he could barely hold his head up? Would it do anything to soften the burn of the bile rising into your throat to point out that, the last time you’d been in the same room as him, he’d tried to—

No, it wasn’t and it wouldn’t and you had to leave. With your heart racing in your chest, you tried to jerk yourself out of his hold, but his vice-grip only grew tighter, his head rising up from the mattress just enough to let him stare at you with those big, bleary eyes. “Why not?”

“Yuuji, this isn’t—”

He was so, so much stronger than he had been, the last time you’d seen each other. One second, you were on your feet, at his bedside, and the next, you were on the floor of his bedroom, forced onto your hands and knees while Yuuji’s body pressed into yours from above. “I love you,” he said, his voice as steady as it’d ever been. “I love you, and I—Fuck—” He panted against the back of your neck, something uncomfortably stiff grinding against your ass. “It makes me so fucking hard when you say my name like that.”

A hand slipped under the hem of your top, his palm pressing into the small of your back. You moved to speak, then thought better of it, biting into your bottom lip as your anxious squirming turned to full-blown struggling. Yuuji only laughed, the noise airy and affectionate, winding an arm around your waist and pulling you that much closer to him – making it that much more impossible to get away. His free hand worked clumsily at your top; drawing it up and over your head. You fought against it at first, but froze the first time you felt something stretch a little too far, heard fabric tear. This couldn’t happen, but you absolutely couldn’t be stranded in Yuuji’s apartment with no clothes and no way out.

With his face buried in the back of your shoulder, he cupped your chest, catching your nipples between his forefinger and thumb and pinching with just enough force to draw a low, strained whimper from the back of your throat. “So cute…” He nuzzled deeper into your neck as his touch drifted. Your skirt was drawn downward – a long piece, something you’d thrown on without much thought – then discarded completely, his own shirt wrestled off in the same motion. You felt his fingertips slip under the hem of your panties, but he pulled away and straightened his back, instead. For a second, you let yourself believe that he’d come to his senses, that whatever sick idea he’d gotten into his head had finally worn off, but the arm wrapped around your waist only drew tighter, hauling you off of the floor and into his arms. You were dropped unceremoniously onto the edge of his bed, and Yuuji sunk onto his knees between your open legs.

“I know you’ve probably slept with other people – aside from my brother, I mean. It’d be nice to find out you haven’t, though.” His tone was distant and dreamy. He was still drunk, but not drunk enough for how he’d been acting earlier. Not drunk enough for what he was doing now. He traced the pad of his thumb over your clothed slit, keeping a hand curled around your ankle to keep you in place. “I used to hear you with Sukuna – in his car, and his room, on the couch after you two thought I’d fallen asleep …” He trailed off into an airy laugh. “He likes to show off – always has. If he wasn’t my brother, I think I’d kill him.”

He sighed, pressing a lingering kiss into the inside of your thigh before shifting his attention to your pussy; his tongue laving over the thin material covering your cunt. You were crying, now, openly and audibly – your choked sobs almost loud enough to block out Yuuji’s quiet groans and pleased grunts. However his obsession might’ve made him think he felt about you, your distress didn’t seem to affect his appetite. Your panties were pulled down your legs and slid into some unseen pocket. With the last barrier between you and him gone, he was free to trace his tongue over your slit, to latch onto your clit and suck in a way that made you want to bury your face in your hands and scream. You tried to – crossing your arms over your face, but any sound you tried to make was quickly strangled into a broken moans as his tongue fucked shallowly into your pussy. It was invasive, disgusting, but your body didn’t care. You felt cunt clench around him as his nose ground into your clit, his need for air irrelevant while he spread you open with his tongue. Your thighs clenched shut, attempting to block him out, but his only response was a reverberating groan – and hand on your thigh encouraging you to squeeze him that much tighter.

You couldn’t tell which you hated more; the unwanted stimulation or the fact that your body was reacting to it, heating up where you needed it to go cold. As he sunk further into you, ate you out like a beast starved, you clenched your eyes and willed yourself to go numb, to ignore the sloppy sound of your slick on Yuuji’s lips. It was useless, though, as futile as trying to ignore him in the first place. Your back arched off the bed, legs twitching where they hung limply over his shoulders, and—

 —and Yuuji pulled away with a sharp gasp. He was on top of you before you could process that he was moving, his mouth crashing into yours before you could think to avoid him. The kiss was brutal, rushed; all teeth and tongue and lips shoved against yours with enough force to bruise. The only hint of tenderness was the soft, satisfied noise he let out as his tongue raked across yours, the bright grin painted across his lips when he drew back from you. “It’s alright.” He brought a hand to your cheek, cupping your face and brushing away tears with his thumb. “I’ve slept with other people too, ‘cause I knew I’d need a little practice to catch up with you. Could never go all the way, though. I just thought about you, and…” He blushed, simpered, like he thought he could pass himself off as the shy, lip-biting schoolboy with your slick coating his chin. “I guess I just didn’t really want anyone else to touch me. Not when I knew I’d see you again.”

A horrified sob bubbled up from somewhere deep and primal in your chest. Yuuji didn’t seem to hear it, only sighing as he pressed a lingering kiss into your forehead. “You don’t have to do anything,” he muttered, his hands falling to your waist. “I want to take care of you, tonight.”

You watched in stunned, paralyzed horror as he pushed himself to his feet, as he hastily worked off his jeans, his boxers (the dark material already notably stained with proof of his arousal). You made one more feeble attempt to squirm out from underneath him, to get away before his attention turned back to you, but confused and betrayed and so, so exhausted, you didn’t stand much of a chance against Yuuji. All he had to do was glance your way, his expression as warm as it was soulless, to leave you helpless against him.

He was eager enough not to reposition you, not to draw this out with the pretense of romance. With one hand on your hip and the other planted near your head, he lined the head of his cock up with your entrance and forced himself into you, bottoming out in a single thrust.

It was agony – pure and unrelenting. Any semblance of gentleness, of restraint fell away as soon as Yuuji was inside of you, as soon as your hyper-sensitive cunt clamped down around his cock. He cursed under his breath before collapsing, his chest pressing into yours as he tried to bury himself that much deeper inside of you, to chase the feeling of your pussy milking him for all he was worth. As hard as you tried not to think about Sukuna, Yuuji hadn’t been lying when he said they were alike. He was just as insatiable as his brother had been any time you let him but his hands on you; just as rough in the way his hips ground into yours between sporadic thrusts. There’d been bruises, the next day. At least Sukuna had been the type to make sure he was gone by the time the damage set in. You doubted Yuuji would be so kind.

“I—I’m sorry,” he managed as he buckled into you. Panting against the dip of your shoulder, he took your hips in his hands and dragged your ass of the mattress, his brutal pace stuttering as he found a new angle to abuse. “Next time—I’ll be gentle next time, I just need to—”

His cock hit something soft and sensitive inside of you. Reflexively, your hands shot to his back, your nails finding skin and tearing. The moan Yuuji let out in response was nothing short of sinful; hitched and guttural, ragged and loud enough to block out the wet, slick sound of his cock pumping into your cunt. “M—” His hand wraps around your thigh, catching you under the knee and dragging it towards your chest, letting him fuck into you that much deeper, that much faster. His face never left the crook of your neck, as if he was afraid to give you space to breathe. “Mommy, ‘m sorry, I need to—”

His teeth sunk into your throat as something hot and thick flooded into your cunt, as your body went stiff and your vision burned white. While his climax was sudden, intense, the peak to a decade’s worth of patience, yours had to be dragged out of you despite your attempts to hold it back, to deny yourself pleasure in the vain hope that it’d somehow be able to convince Yuuji to stop what he’d already finished. It seemed to hold you there in that state of dark, distorted euphoria for minutes – Yuuji’s movements turning slow and languid as he nursed you through your orgasm.

Eventually, mercifully, he went still, going limp above you with his canines still planted in the curve of your neck. If there was any pain, any other unwanted burdens he could force onto you, you were too lost in your own despair to notice, too distant to feel anything other than the mildest tinge of dread as he pulled back, raising his head just far enough to stare down at you, adoration heavy in his eyes and his grin wide and love-struck.

A small, naïve part of you found the sight suffocatingly familiar, while the rest could almost convince itself that you were looking at a stranger.

---

II — JUST HUSH — starring: f. reader x SUKUNA RYOMEN, who is confused

Morning after the adventure with the dangerous stranger went just like you suspected - horribly, but that wasn't the worst that was waiting for you.

cw: angst, mafia!au, violence, few suggestive parts, insults, somewhat of an obsessive behaviors, reader discretion is advised

note: officialy, this fic became a series - I wasn't expecting it to be so loved by you, readers and I can't thank you enough for the support to this story. also, there is a suggestion in my ask!box that I took a lot of inspiration for this chapter, so whoever gave the idea, thank you <;3

series masterlist

Being soft was a trait that Sukuna never actively credited himself with. He never had any urge to do so, never needed to explore that side of him and in his profession, that would most likely lead to a certain death. Leading people of mafia required him to be harsh and rough, there was no time and place for any kindness and gentleness and honestly, if anybody asked him about it just yesterday, he would say with certainty that the softness in him died long time ago. Even with women, he was never exactly sensual – he’s rather the type to take what he needs, devour what he’s hungry for and leave. Aftercare wasn’t his strong suit, for some reason inside his mind taking care of someone made him weak. That was before you.

You met not even a day ago, you asked for his help and once you got his attention, he knew he was fucked. You were just so gorgeous, so innocent and the way your glossed with tears eyes looked into his, he felt the strangest warmth inside his chest – a need of protection? Something so foreign and absurd that wouldn’t usually cross his mind. But then, he had you in his house, he had you on top of him and he had you hungry. You were smart, surely you noticed the gun pinned to his belt, he wasn’t exactly discreet about it and yet, you chose to stay with him for the night. It had to be some kind of sinister plan of yours, Sukuna wondered.

Were you put in his way to sabotage him?

He had no idea, but once the day was bright and now close to evening, you were still sleeping in his bed, with your head resting atop of his chest and one of your legs thrown over his own. You were breathing slowly and peacefully, so blissfully unaware of how dangerous it is for you to be in the same house with him, not to mention lay tangled with him below the sheets. As he smoothed over your bare shoulder with his fingers, he was thinking about how the night went. The sex was great, the best he had in years. You were playing along with him, you wanted him as much as he wanted you and as you playfully fought for dominance with him, he could have sworn it was the sexiest thing he’s ever experienced. The way you tugged his hair, pushing him nose deep into your dripping core and keeping him there until he made you cum almost made him cum as well, just from the slight dominance you had on him. Even though he allowed this to happen. He could still recall the delicious sting of your nails scratching red marks onto his back and shoulders. Every time his name slipped over your tongue, his heart seemed to skip a beat.

Just like that, you’ve got him hooked, but even so, he should have kept his word. He should have made you get dressed, maybe, out of curtesy, allow you to take a shower so that his seed wouldn’t run down your legs and mess up the leather in his car. He should have driven you home as soon as he was finished with you, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not when you wrapped yourself around him, exhausted and already half-asleep, searching for the warmth of his body. Not when your weight on top of him felt like it was meant to lay there and especially not when your lips pressed few lazy kisses to the side of his neck before you dozed off.

You moved, rolling away from him and onto your back. You were waking up, he could tell by the sound of your quiet hums and the way your breath pattern changed from slow and calm to deep and more present. Sukuna flipped to his side, taking in the beauty of your features, now illuminated with the daylight. Your makeup kept up pretty well and even the smudged edges couldn’t take away your loveliness.

You hummed a little louder, groggily reaching up with your hands and arching your back like a cat in a long, sharp stretch. The covers slipped off your chest, exposing the pink of your nipples that now matched the many marks he had sucked onto your flesh just hours ago. Then your body relaxed, once again falling onto the mattress and a smile stretched your lips when Ryomen put his fingers against your skin. He brushed it ever so lightly along the shapes of your form, running along your collar bones, circling around the nipples and then, moving it down up and down your sternum.

“Good morning,” you purred against his lips when he reached to kiss you.

“More like good evening,” he replied, his voice quiet and calm as he moved his hand to the side of your body and pulled you flush against his chest. You hooked your leg onto his hip and wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your fingers into his hair.

“That late, huh?”

“That late.”

It was dangerous. The way you looked into his eyes, the relaxed stance your body, oblivious to the fact you were in the embrace of death personified – it was all too dangerous for Sukuna. It was too warm, too lovely, too innocent. He hated the vulnerability you subjected him to and the fact his head was filled with wishes to protect you? Fuck, it was bad. It wasn’t him, it wasn’t what he stood for in his life, it was against all of his morals. He had always been a man of few emotions, always cold and never letting anything or anyone get to him. He was calculating, feared by many and respected by few. He had risen through the ranks of the underworld by means that were often brutal and always efficient. Never, not once, he had let emotions to cloud his judgement or stand in the way of his goals. But then, you happened.

“The night…” You murmured softly, brushing the tip of your nose against his own. “I enjoyed it very much, ‘kuna—” And the nickname?!

“That’s enough,” he groaned, his tone coming in sharp and cold and it immediately brought you back to your senses. The wishful daze of bliss vanished in an instant, suddenly the tension came back to your shoulders. It was too much for Sukuna, he wanted to have a nice fuck that night and he already made a mistake by letting you stay in his bed when he was done with you. It was dangerous for you, it was dangerous for him and honestly, that lovey-dovey shit has never been his brand anyway. “Time for you to go.”

“What happened? You were so delicate just a moment ago—”

“Spare me the dumb romantic shit. I just wanted to fuck you, don’t get ahead of yourself and if you wish to keep that pretty head of yours then better get fucking going. I’ll have a driver take you back home.” He shut you down roughly and from that point, it all went quickly. You were gone in just few moments. You were gone, but the man felt no relief.

…

Few days passed by. Or was it weeks? Sukuna couldn’t tell as days began blurring their edges and all he could focus on was you. He couldn’t rid himself of the memory of you rushing in fear, just barely clothed as if he was about to hunt you down and shot you in the head if you didn’t leave his space. As if the one minute longer would cost you your life. Every time he closed his eyes or got into his bed he could see the picture of your face, the display of hurt and fright that stained the beautiful innocence in the moment he had told you to leave, discarding you as if you were a toy that he used and got bored of.

What was this feeling? He was asking himself every time he had watched you from afar. Was it guilt? He couldn’t tell, it felt foreign. For Ryomen it was an everyday thing to scare someone off, the blood of his enemies is what he’s ravishing in but you… You were far from being his enemy. And so he found himself more and more often observing you, each time being in the same place as you by accident. You made him fascinated, you made him fall into your trap. He found himself drawn to you, drawn to the light that you brought with you. He was missing you. Was that your plan all along? A revenge for how he had treated you that one night?

Your heart was pure, almost too pure for this world, Sukuna thought to himself every time he had a chance to see your everyday life. A waitress, serving tables in a small, local café, wearing the smile that he could tell was fake, and yet it charmed everyone and he couldn’t help but feel the odd sense of pride when he realized that the way your lips were curved the night you were together was utterly real. And then, he would see you on your days off, wearing cozy and comfy clothes, no makeup adorning your face as you were lost in the world of music in your headphones and whatever task you had in front of your face on the screen of your computer. You were too cute for your own good, with the little scrunch of your nose whenever you closed your tired eyes and the colorful stickers of cats and sunflowers that decorated the outside of your laptop. He’s seen you feeding some stray kittens with the salmon from your sandwich, petting their little heads as they were leaning into your touch and Sukuna would never imagine himself being jealous of the feline, but there he was, hidden behind the darkened windows in his car, wishing to be the one who’s head is in the warm and delicate embrace of your soft palm. Fleeting attraction, that’s what it had to be.

Sukuna had never thought of himself as a romantic, but there was something about you that did it for him. You were soft, gentle and vulnerable in a way that made him want to protect you, to shield you from the violent life he led. And yet, you were also strong, strong enough to face him, to challenge him and even make him laugh. It was a strange combination, and it made him feel things he had never felt before. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he was thinking of you more and more often. He had to be careful, though. He could tell that you were innocent, that you didn’t understand the world he lived in. If he let himself get to close, he might put you in danger and the thought of that, he couldn’t bear. He had a responsibility to keep you safe, even if it meant pushing you away. And for the first time in his life, he was scared. Scared that if he plays this whole thing wrong, he might lose you, even if he never truly had you. He was scared you’ll find out who he really was and scared of what that would do to you. He knew you noticed his gun, you had to notice it, but did you really had any idea what that meant?

For you, the time after meeting the stranger in the club was everything but easy. The hurt subsided quite rapidly, your heart wasn’t stupid enough to grow attached to a man you’d known for just few hours and deep down you knew that what you started by asking him for help had to end up somewhat similar to what happened. He wasn’t a prince from the fairy tale and you were no princess, it wasn’t a story of love, it was just sex and with that, you came to terms quite quickly. It was the fright that you couldn’t shake off your shoulders. Sukuna was a man that was keeping a gun attached to his belt, he had to be a gangster or something along these lines and considering the big, rounded and scared eyes of everyone in his proximity you’d only assume that his position in the world was at least threatening. It stayed in the back of your mind that he might have come for you, to hurt you or worse. He had shown you where he lives, after all, wasn’t that enough of a reason to erase someone from the world?

But nothing bad happened as your life went by, somehow it seemed as if it was even going smoother than it used to. The one very stubborn client, one that used to harass you every time he had a chance suddenly stopped showing in the café you work in; you even got a little raise from your boss, what despite being a bonus that you really needed, was also the most suspicious thing that happened to you lately. Your boss never gave raises. Life was good, until—

…

—you opened your eyes feeling pain. At first, you couldn’t tell what happened to you. Where were you? How did you get here? And why was everything so white?

Breathe in and out. Why did breathing hurt? And what was that beeping?

“You’re awake,” a voice made you turn your head to the side. And then, at the sight of a familiar face, it all flashed back.

It was at night, you were heading home from the meeting with your co-workers. An absurd celebration of something that you were quite certain didn’t even concerned you or your interns, but your boss required you all to be present anyways. It was tiring, to stay in the café after nearly ten hours shift, but thankfully during the event you were sitting and not actively working, so at least it was that much. Your legs hurt nonetheless, you felt fatigued after the entire week of intense shifts intertwines with classes, so when you were suddenly yanked by the wrist to the back, it wasn’t much of a surprise to you that you lost your balance.

“What do we have here, eh?” One of the men spoke and as you looked up, two faces were glaring at you with disgusting sense of superiority. “Oi, Naoya, is that the bitch you were talking about?”

“Bet it is,” the second man snorted. “She fits the description.”

Naoya? The name rang a bell so roughly and suddenly that your eyes widened in fear. It was the man you met in the club, the one that was all over you the second he met you. The one that you escaped only thanks to asking another stranger for help. But now, you couldn’t see him. Who stood above you was a man with long, silver hair and a face covered in linear scars. He was wearing a face of psychotic content, a grin so unsettling that it froze the blood inside your veins and just by the look of him you could tell he was dangerous. And then, the second one stood right next to him – his hair was pitch black and eyes probably green-ish, with little scar on the side of his lip that made itself apparent the moment you looked at him. He was insanely well-built, in a shirt that looked like one of those compression, sport-related attires.

“What do you want from me…?” You asked, your voice uncharacteristically quiet, as if the fear made your vocal cords clench. And you felt it, an unsettling feeling of upcoming death and it led to a chain of regret of every choice that you made that led you to this place and time. You should’ve taken a taxi. Or go a different route.

“Oh, we’re here to teach you a lesson,” the white-haired one responded as the other grinned like the devil himself. And then, they moved to the sides a little and right in the middle appeared the man that you do recognize. Naoya Zenin himself, with his face twisted in some kind of sick satisfaction as he grabbed your hair and yanked you up from the ground. Your back hit the concrete wall and his near proximity made you instantly tensed.

“I got you,” he grinned and there was violence intertwined into the expression his face bore. “I finally fucking got you.”

“Just leave me alone…” You demanded, your voice much weaker that you’d like it to be, much less constructive, not confident at all. You were frightened, to say the least, there was no way you could protect yourself from one man, but three? “Please.” As you begged, your own death flashed before your eyes. There was no way in hell you’re gonna survive this, that had to be it. The night was dark enough to cover the crime that was happening and even if there would be any bravery in you still left, nobody would help you. No one would be dumb enough to stand against the group that was about to abuse you.

“Oh, the little bitch is scared, huh?” Naoya laughed right into your face, his tongue leaving a wet trace along your throat and it filled you with enough disgust to wince. “Where’s your protector now, eh? Where’s your big daddy Sukuna?”

“What’s your problem?” The question slipped through your tongue in nothing more than a whisper. You couldn’t believe that you’re going to die because you asked a random man for help and that random man turned out to be a gang member or something. “I don’t have anything to do with him, I—”

“Of course, you don’t. I’m sure he fucked you and threw you out like a trash you are,” Zenin spit nothing but venom as his eyes were piercing holes into your skull. You could feel his hand sneaking underneath the fabric of your hoodie and your attempts on pushing him away did nothing to stop him from squeezing one of your breasts. “I bet you’re a good fuckthing tho.”

“Get your hands off of me,” you warned, your voice now rougher but still, too quiet to pose any threat. You wanted to nail his eyes out, to rip his heart out of his chest, but none of that you were able to do. Naoya laughed, once again, sounding like an asshole he was as he stepped back.

“Undress.” It was an order that he threw at you. Him, along with the other two, circled you as if predators would circle their prey and you felt small below the weight of their eyes.

“No.”

The moment you denied, the sharp pain sent you to the ground. He hit you, one of them, right in the face, with the top of his hand. The harsh contact of his knuckles and your cheekbone snatched you off your feet.

“You heard the order. Behave, slut.” The dark haired one was speaking calmly, but there was a certain coldness in his tone. The nonchalance that froze your insides.

“No…” You whispered, desperate to keep your dignity intact before you die. Immediately they showed you why hoping for it was foolish, as the series of kicks enveloped you in the cage of pain and suffering. You hid your head inside your eyes, a helpless try to protect it from the heavy boots that not once held back before making contact with your fragile frame. You remember the sound of their voices, the feeling of their fists connecting again and again with your body.

“So fucking stupid,” someone laughed at you and you were far from sure and way too scared to check it yourself, but you could have sworn that somebody spit at you. “Don’t you understand? Nobody will save you now, no one cares about a bitch like you. I’d say it last time. Undress.”

“N-no…”, you sniffled, hugging your head tightly as if bracing yourself for another salve of hurt. But it didn’t come, no hit was aimed at your curled on the ground body. Instead, you heard the pained whines from not too far away, you heard the sounds of a battle and was it the sound of bones being broken? You couldn’t tell, it felt surreal, was that it? Was that how you’re gonna die? Because surely no one in their right mind would step into action, risking being killed themselves for you.

“Hey, I’ll take you to the hospital,” that voice. You knew that. You heard it for such a short time in your life and yet you’d recognize it everywhere. The low, slightly husky tone that you remembered as one that was enough to turn you on just by the sound of it. Now it was accompanying the very gentle arms that scooped you off the floor. Then, you dared to open your eyes.

…

“Ryomen?” Your voice felt weak, your throat hoarse from the dryness but that didn’t stop you from speaking. The more information got into your brain, the easier it got to understand what was the place you woke up in.

A hospital. You woke up in the hospital bed, surrounded by monitors and machines. Your body bruised and battered, ached with each breath you tried to take. Your head was still foggy and your muscles stiff, you had a pounding headache that only got worse as the memories of the night before came flooding back to you. You were lucky. So incredibly lucky to be alive. And yet again, Sukuna saved you. Then you probably passed out.

“You’re awake,” he sounded soft. How odd. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m… why are you here?”

“I had to check if you’re alright. And also I’m gonna take you home, but needed to wait until you’re awake and doctors can give you the last checkup.” He explained it matter-of-factly and it only got you more confused than you were just a second ago.

“That… doesn’t exactly answer my question…?”

“It will do for now. I’ll bring the doctor.”

Sukuna left the room sooner than you had a chance to ask anything else. He felt as if the weight was taken off his shoulders the very second you opened your eyes and recognized him. The last hours were an agony, he stayed near your bed for the entire time and though there was nothing that was threatening your life anymore, he couldn’t help but feel so awfully guilty. The foreign feeling of it made him realize that he was fucked up good, you had poisoned him with emotions that he already forgot about, the useless display of something that he considered a weakness for the better of his life. As he was watching your fragile frame, though covered with white, clean sheets he felt the rage boiling inside his veins because he knew. He saw the damage on your body, the bruises that painted your soft skin in dark, purple-ish blotches, the patch of scratches on your side – in place where your naked hip met the ground. And your cheek… there still was a red spot on top of your cheekbone, the one Sukuna assumed was also a result of a hit and it angered him even more because if he has noticed it before, he would for sure kill those imitations of a men and not only leave them in a mush.

Sukuna felt a certain sense of responsibility due to what happened to you. It wasn’t your fault, per se, that when you were looking for help in that club when you first met him, you had the misfortune to pick a persona like him and frankly, if Sukuna would know back then that Naoya will come for you later to get his revenge, he would kill him right then and there. The more he thought about it, the more he was realizing that he would kill anyone if it was to keep you safe.

“Ready to go home?” Ryomen asked, assisting you in pulling your bruised arms through the sleeves of a hoodie he had brought you. A clean one, way too big on your frame but comfortable at that, lined with plush so that it won’t irritate your injured skin.

“I think so…?” Your reply was confused, it was unsure and still slightly underlined with fear. There was a reason to it, last time you saw the man that was now trying to help you, he threatened to rid you of your head. “Ryomen, I don’t understand—”

“Just hush,” he cut you, gently swooping you off the edge of the bed and you settled in the safety of his muscular arms, leaning your head against his shoulder, next to his neck. “I was told you still should rest so let me take you home. Alright? Alright.”

There was no point in arguing, you couldn’t do much whilst in his arms even if you tried and it was naïve, you thought, but there was a sense of protection tied tightly to the way he was keeping you close. You felt as if any danger couldn’t reach you when his hands were wrapped around you. He was dangerous, that much you knew, and yet there was a gentleness in a way he was holding you near his chest, near the place where his heart beats in a regular, calm rhythm. Fact is, you didn’t want to run away from him, though you should. And so, you leaned into him, nuzzling your head into the dip between his neck and shoulder and as you breathed in his scent, the musky note of his cologne and tobacco, you felt at ease.

taglist: @yihona-san06 , @tiredscavengerskeleton , @son4aras , @vixorell , @cecesharktales , @isleqt , @thickmacandcheese

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