#and when you crash and burn let yourself

[into-the-milgramverse]

Fuuta crash out when

(don't mind the tags, i'm talking to fuuta)

[tonycries]

Isn't That Sweet? (I Guess So) - G.S.

Synopsis. Oh no! Why do your pantíes keep disappearing? Well, maybe your hot roommate knows the answer…

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, pànty-stealer! roommate! Gojo, annoyances-to-lovers, he’s REALLY down bad, vírgin! Gojo, oraI (fem receiving), màle màsturbation, pining, face-sítting, jealousy (his side), fírst times, unprotected, creampíe, teary Gojo, pànty-gagging, HEINOUS things, pet names, aIcohol mentions, swearing.

Word count. 8.6k (whoopsies)

A/N. Hope y’all have a lovely week hehe <3

“Damn…” you sigh at the glaringly empty drawer, rubbing your eyes as if that would make a difference - maybe even magically materialize a fresh pair of panties in front of you. “It’s the second time this month.”

Or was it the third?

But, alas, standing around in your bedroom on a Sunday night does not give you the answers. Or any extra underwear.

Which is why you find yourself making a beeline for the bathroom - teeth gritted, stomach flipping at how very, very exposed you felt underneath the thin fabric of your shorts. Cursing everything from the building’s rundown old washing machine to Gojo’s stupid smile when he took away your laundry basket.

You could’ve sworn you saw your last pair perched right on top of your pile of old clothes, all flimsy and an obscene red that stood out amongst everything else. 

Seriously, how hard would it have been to lose that thing? Maybe you could bother him into buying a new washing machine for-

“Woah there-” Before you know it, you’re crashing face-first into a wall? Pillows? Gojo - unfairly shirtless. “Now, what’s got your panties in a twist, sweetheart?”

The lack thereof. 

Maybe because you can’t say that, maybe because of what looks - feels - like miles upon miles of milky, sculpted skin, you’re instead settling for an extremely eloquent, “Nothing I uh-” But whatever excuse catches in your chest as you raise your face - still smushed between two large pecs - up, up, up and-

Oh. 

It’s not like you’re seeing something new - far from it, actually, unfortunately for your poor heart.

And at first, you’d thought it was some strange habit - hell, maybe the guy just didn’t like t-shirts. But it was around the fourth or fifth time he’d forgone one that you realized Gojo Satoru was just a tease. A no-good, insufferably smug tease that just loved to catch you ogling him. 

But, well, at least the rent was cheap.

Though, you weren’t exactly complaining about the view either…

Because lo and behold stood the infamous campus sweetheart - you knew about fourteen people who’d kill to see this exact sight. Gojo’s cloudy hair tousled, tiny droplets of water twinkling like diamonds against the bathroom light. Bouncing off his rippling abs, his strong arms circling your waist to stop you from falling backwards. Holding you too fucking close against the white towel slung low on his hips. His skin damp, smelling so delicious-

“Gojo, did you use my body lotion?” 

“Awww–” he whines, finally releasing his grip on you. “You were supposed to admire me some more.”

You scoff, eyes darting over broad shoulders - partially to search for your laundry basket, partially because you really couldn’t handle looking right at a shirtless Gojo Satoru any longer. “As if. Get out if you’re done.”

“Damn, woman. Feisty.” Gojo lets out a deep chuckle - smooth and cocky - when you’re hastily shoving him away from the doorframe. “If you wanted to put your hands on me that bad then you jus’ hafta ask, y’know~”

It was way too late for this. 

“Hilarious.” you deadpan, though you let go of where you were gripping Gojo’s arm like it burned. Immediately stepping behind the bathroom door before he could make you lose whatever’s left of your sanity, “Next time you hog the bathroom m’gonna smash those ugly new sunglasses of yours.”

He’s pressing his foot between that gap in the door to stop you from closing it, “Oi, don’t think I don’t see that glint in your eyes, sweetheart.” Yeah, the glint in your eyes that told you if looks could kill then Gojo would be six feet under already. Which only makes him grin wider, “You’re telling me you really weren’t checkin’ out the most sought-after man on campus jus’ now?”

Huffing in frustration, you cross your arms, “I don’t see Geto Suguru anywhere.”

“...you take that back right now. I’m the pretty best friend.”

“Am not.”

“Am too.”

“Am not. Isn’t that why you’re still single?”

“Th-that’s not- fuckin’ Suguru? Really? Most people would kill for a look of this-” Gojo gestures at his bare torso, and once more you’re reminded that those absolutely awful protein shakes he makes every morning aren’t just for show. “-and you’re getting it daily.”

You reach out a hand, Gojo chest hot underneath your touch. He seizes up instantly, ears tinging red as you muse, “Yeah.” Only to push him fully out the doorway, “I just wish you’d shut up daily, too.”

With that, you’re shutting the door with a resounding slam! Feeling only slightly guilty until you hear Gojo’s squawks of protest from outside, “I really don’t know what’s got your panties in a twist.”

Right. Panties.

Something just a tad more important than recounting exactly how many abs Gojo Satoru had.

You let out a shuddering breath, clamoring to find that spare laundry basket you’d forgotten in here earlier today. Shuffling through through the soft clothes, hoping, praying to find-

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

Fuck. 

Somehow, you’re hiding away your body lotion that night.

---

“Now, listen here, sweetheart. I know you look fuckin’ gorgeous in everything but-”

“Satoru.”

“But that-” he whirls around, pointing a long finger accusingly at the boxers you’d improvised into sleep shorts. Spitting venomously, “-that I cannot allow.”

You’re rolling your eyes at your roommate’s theatrics, forking through your pancakes while he monologues to himself more than you. “Why does it even matter? It was just for yesterday.” you mutter. “I didn’t have any clean uh- panties for the night n’ this worked.”

Thankfully, since the fresh laundry this morning, you’d found two more of your panties - courtesy of a very smug Gojo handing off your clothes. Ah, it felt like the universe itself was smiling down on you.

But oh if you thought the great Gojo Satoru was having a breakdown before then you weren’t prepared for when you lifted your gaze off the kitchen table. Only to meet his - eyes wide, a pretty pink blush coloring his cheeks, lips gawking and stuttering around what looked like a silent, “P-panties-”

You raise a brow, “What’s got you this worked up, Gojo?”

“Nothing.” he clears his throat, “Absolutely nothing at all. Panties? I love- er, wait no-”

“B-besides-” you bristle at the way his heavy gaze was now turning to flit between your face and down below. Dangerously. “They’re not even yours so I don’t know why it matters.”

This seems to snap him out of his little reverie, and he’s immediately standing up straighter, brows furrowing. He continues, in a much more serious tone than before, “They’re his?” 

You stab your breakfast with a bit too much vitriol than necessary, looking at Gojo with narrowed eyes, “If you mean the one my ex left behind then yes. Who else?”

Your ex wasn’t good for much - and Gojo seemed especially hostile towards him because of his distaste for your little living situation. But, hey, at least the guy was helping you out at this time. Albeit unknowingly. 

He’s raising his hands in mock-surrender, shuffling back into the kitchen to work on the rest of those “world famous” Gojo pancakes. “Nothing nothing.” he hums, and maybe it was how sleep-deprived you were - running on a few too many assignments due today and a few too little panties - but you think Gojo’s voice has a bit more bite to it than usual. Jaw clenching as he plows on, “Of course that fucker- in my- our apartment, too. Fuck-”

A spatula is suddenly mere inches from your face, Gojo brandishing it in front of you like a weapon as he declares, “We’re going panty-shopping after Yaga’s lecture today.”

“Gojo, I-”

“We-” he cuts you off, delicately placing another pancake on your plate - a little truce. So close now that it reminds you of last night - you could feel his minty breath on your face, count every long, sultry eyelash of his. “-are going panty-shopping after Yaga’s lecture n’ I’m paying. That’s final.”

And of course, in true Gojo fashion, you can barely get a word out before he’d immediately ducking out of the kitchen. You almost let your lips curl into a smile, hit with a sudden wave of endearment as you hear Gojo’s long legs padding urgently down the hallway to God-knows-where. Maybe he did know when to be-

Smack!

You jolt as you’re hit with a pair of boxers - fresh ones, thankfully, that you recognized from all the clothes you’d rummaged through last night - plopped unceremoniously onto your lap. Jaw dropping in disbelief when you look up to meet Gojo’s devilish grin. 

“Next time-” he winks, motioning at the fabric you were poking in concern now. “-wear mine.”

The talk of Yaga’s lecture hall that morning was of a pair of burned boxers found right outside your building, everyone speculating what the poor guy had done to have his presumed girlfriend make an example of it like that. 

For you, however, the only thing running through your mind was whether or not you could count properly.

Because surely you remembered it correctly when you counted two new underwear this morning - that gauzy black one and the deep red? Two. Definitely not the singular, sad piece of red fabric laying on your bed after breakfast today? Two. The only one you could find even after scouring through your whole bedroom. 

So where the fuck had that other one gone?

---

(8+ new messages)

Do not answer (roomie)🧿🧿: Hurry up ive been lurking inside that lingerie shop ya told me you liked n’ now the old ladies here look like they wanna eat me alive ＼(º □ º l|l)/

im boooored, gonna stand still n’ start blending in with these mannequins if you dont hurry up istg

Hurry

HURRY

HURRY THEY THINK IM SUSPICIOUS

PLEASE THEYRE GONNA ESCORT ME OUT

┬┴┬┴┤･ω･)ﾉ i literally SEE YOU outside 

BITCH STOP LAUGHING-

No sooner are you letting out a cackle at Gojo’s rapid-fire texts, you’re looking up to see the man himself being walked outside by two security guards. Squabbling heatedly in a way that had them heaving out long sighs - which, honestly, you felt a stab of relatable empathy for.

“-I swear I’m not a creep I’m jus’-” Gojo’s bickering dies on his tongue as he catches the sight of you walking closer to the commotion. Closer. Taking your sweet sweet time, eyes just barely glazing over him before- you’re walking away. “Hey!” he calls out, stopping you in your tracks. “Now, don’t you dare-” Before turning back to his wary escorts, “I’m with her.”

They exchange a look between each other, and no matter how much you’d like to pretend the scene had absolutely nothing to do with you - you’d rather Gojo doesn’t get banned from the mall altogether. 

“He’s right.” you drone out, one hand grabbing Gojo’s, the other forcing his head into an apologetic bow. Hissing to the side so that only he would hear, “Unfortunately.”

The two security guards now seem more amused than anything at your strange dynamic. One of them raises a brow, muttering, “Well…this one’s certainly a handful.” Turning around to head back to their stations, “Ya better keep a tight leash on your boyfriend.”

You sputter, eyes wide, “Oh- he’s not-”

But it’s too late - they’re both swiftly out of earshot, most likely more than happy to hand over the public nuisance off to you. And Gojo’s looking to you with a smug smirk, voice dropping about an octave deeper as he breathes against your ear, “So, gonna take your boyfriend to help out with lingerie shopping, sweetheart?”

Oh. God. 

This was going to be one long day.

“I’m only here because another one of mine disappeared, y’know.” you hiss, rifling through all the options before you. “Which really has me wondering why-”

“H-hey! How about this one?” Gojo interrupts, shoving a lacy set right in front of your face, his voice just a bit louder than what was appropriate. 

You sigh, catching the eyes of a few disapproving older women around you. “No this is-” But running a thumb over the fabric makes you bite back an insult. And for all how brash Gojo was, maybe his panty selection wasn’t awful. It was a flimsy little thing, gauzy and light blue - the type you’d typically wear on a night out. You meet his boyish grin, admitting, “...not bad.”

“See?” he laughs - eyes glinting with delight as he piles on a few more in your basket. “N’ if you’re impressed with that then you’re gonna be proposing to me when you realize it’s exactly your size-”

You quirk a brow, “How do you know my size, Gojo?”

And this makes his body stiffen, large shoulders squaring up, throat bobbing as he answers,“Uh? Experience?”

Oh, right. You’re rolling your eyes, fighting off a weird little stab of irritation. This probably isn’t the first time he’s come here with a girl, anyway. 

And yet, despite however much of an alleged “catch” Gojo was, he’d - perhaps mercifully - never brought anyone over. You don’t know why, but you didn’t really want to question it.

“A-anyway.” Gojo’s airy voice cuts through your thoughts. And he’s plucking up a few more sets of lingerie for you to sort through, “Can’t let these one, two, three- six lovely lil’ things go to waste now, can we?” At your look of confusion, he chuckles, guiding the two of you to the counter now. “Suguru’s holding a party at his place tonight, how would you like to do the honors of being my cute plus one?”

“I’d rather go with Yaga.”

Though, you really can’t say no - not when Gojo’s flashing you that black card as he pays for everything in an instant. Not when all he can prattle about on the way home  is how gorgeous you’d look together at Geto’s party - how you’ll have to beat everyone off of him with a stick (to which you reply that you’d no sooner do that than beat him with a stick.)

Not when he sits outside your bedroom door as you get ready later that night. Insisting on keeping you company even as you slip out of your towel. Looking over your shoulder to make sure he wasn’t peeking in before eagerly turning to grab at one of your new set of silky white panties- only, they weren’t there.

Strange. 

“Hey, Gojo…” you call out, looking underneath your blankets for where you might’ve thrown them about after trying them on. Under your bed, in your drawers, anywhere. “-didn’t we buy six sets?”

“Huh? Dunno, I didn’t count. Just wear the blue one.” he whines, ushering you to hurry up from outside. Face burning because shit, this was you and you were inside - still wrapped up in only that sinful little towel. Oh, would the painful death really be worth it if he happened to accidentally look around? “S’pretty and y’know what else?”

Your voice was muffled as you hastily put on your clothes, “What?”

“It matches my eyes.”

Really strange.

---

Thankfully for Gojo, you didn’t go with Yaga to the party - nor did you find your lost pair of panties, sadly, but that wasn’t too much of a concern for him. 

And here he was - one hurried Uber ride and about several billion death threats from you later. Wishing that you’d actually just acted on one of them because fuck at least then he wouldn’t have to be watching from across the room as some bastard from the university basketball team tried to chat you up.

Gojo can’t even hear the way the girls surrounding him were giggling about something or the other, alcohol making his tongue a little heavier, eyes a bit glassier. 

Nothing like the way that other man was drinking in that polite smile on your face. Tilting your head to face forwards and- God, why won’t you just look at him instead?

Would that guy still look at you that way if he knew you were wearing lingerie matching his eyes right now?

“Not gonna entertain your fans?” Geto’s voice rings through his whirlwind thoughts, eyeing down the forgotten crowd in amusement.

“When have I ever?” Gojo runs a hand through his hair in frustration. 

He lets out a knowing laugh, “Yeah, you little vir-” Turning into a coughing fit when Gojo elbows his best friend straight in his stomach. “Anyways.” Geto gestures with his drink in your direction, as if Gojo hadn’t seen - as if it wasn’t the only thing on his mind right now. “Well, your lil’ roomie there seems to be popular, too, huh? Star player of the basketball team n’ all. 

He clicks his tongue, slumping further against the thumping wall. “So? I’m taller, and more handsome.”

“Are you sure ‘bout that?”

“Y-yeah?” he sputters. 

“Well then why aren’t you over there with her?” Geto hums, lips curling. “Looks t’me like even she doesn’t like him that much so why’re you being a pussy over here? Always sneaking around stealing her-” 

“Shut up-” And Gojo knows he’s riling him up, he knows that Geto wants to see a little drama - maybe finally shut up his pining over the one girl he’s wanted for the past year - and couldn’t have. It’s a trap. But Gojo can’t stop his head from snapping between you and his best friend’s sly smirk. Slurring indignantly, “Of course I’m fuckin’ handsome, n’ taller. I’d make a better boyfriend too and-” He trails off at the sight of that loser leaning in - but more importantly that tiny furrow in your brows, your hands on his chest softly keeping him at bay. “-and m’gonna go over there n’ prove it.”

“Ah, that loser’s gonna thank me later.”

And, hell, Gojo could barely even walk. Barely even think straight as he’s parting the stuffy living room, ignoring whatever whispers and titters were following him. 

“I said no-”

“Hey, sweetheart.” you jump when someone - Gojo - creeps up from behind you. Large build hanging off your own when he nuzzles his face into your neck. And you could feel his toothy grin on your skin, “Missed me?”

Your face burns, “I uh-” Angling your face as dignifiedly as possible to face your roommate, “Gojo, are you drunk?”

“Drunk on you, yes.”

“What the-”

The man in front of you pipes up - shuffling uncomfortably on his feet. “Didn’t realize you were taken. My bad.” Looking like he’d rather be anywhere but under the scrutiny of Gojo Satoru. His big arms tightening around your middle - when did they even get there? “I’ll just uh- get out of your way, man.”

“Mhm, by the way,” Gojo puffs up his chest a bit, clearly towering over the other man - ha, take that Suguru. “Nice loss against Kyoto last week, real knee-jerker.” 

You smack Gojo’s chest at his rudeness, to which he only smiles wider. Watching the other man being swiftly handled away by another apologetic member of the basketball team.

“Gojo.”

And before you can react, Gojo’s dragging his pretty plump lips along where that light blue band of your bra was just peeking out, murmuring lowly, “Love it when you scold me like that.” Still refusing to let go of you despite the jealous looks thrown your way, “Let’s go home, my girl.”

Oh, the look on your face was priceless. 

He just wished he could fish out his phone and record, or maybe even tell Geto to take a picture - help him make it his wallpaper. And he did - over fifteen times, in fact, as the two of you helped drag him away from the thrumming party. Geto doesn’t listen, of course, and you neither do you - grumbling out a slew of profanities underneath your breath that makes the Uber driver look at the two of you weird.

And yet, Gojo’s biggest issue right now was trying to climb up these fucking stairs - not when they were trying to run away from him. 

“I swear to God, Gojo-” you huff, chest heaving under the weight of walking - well, more like dragging - your roommate up to your apartment. Knees wobbly - maybe at the intensity of his cologne, maybe at the way his biceps were flexing on your shoulders, probably at how fucking useless he was. Damn lightweight. “You better cover my rent for the next year for this.”

“Of course I will~” his hot breath tickles your ear, “Anything for m’girl. I’ll take care of us forever, don't you worry your pretty lil’ head.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t deny the way your heart clenches - just a little bit. And if you’re slamming open Gojo’s bedroom door with a little more force than necessary, well, at least he’s a bit too impaired to nag at you about it.

He bounces lightly when you throw him on his plush mattress, giggling softly, “You should just join me, y’know. Have a little sleepover.”

“Drop dead.” you monotone, not even daring to look back at him while you shuffle through Gojo’s shirts. Throwing one over your shoulder at him, “N’ wear this, I just know you’ll complain about messing up your favorite button-up tomorrow morning.”

“Aww, you always take care of me so well, my girl~”

That familiar little nickname makes a shiver run down your spine, and it’s all you can do to concentrate on shuffling through Gojo’s drawers in search of his shorts. Absent-mindedly reaching for the lowest drawer and-

“Wait!” 

You jump, whirling around to catch Gojo sitting up ram-rod straight on the bed, eyes wide, hand reaching out as if to stop you. Swallowing thickly, you ask. “Gojo?”

And he jolts - like the very sound of your voice is sending electricity zapping through his veins. Abruptly scrambling off the bed before resting two hands on your shoulders, gently guiding you away from the drawer. “My shorts are uh- in my wardrobe, heh. Sorry about that.”

Furrowing your brows at the sudden twist, you squirm in his grasp to look at the drawer again. Failing - when Gojo keeps his grip steadfast, “Why’re you acting so-” 

“How about we order take out? My treat?”

And that night, tucking yourself into bed, you should be falling asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. You should be caring less about that strange little outburst of Gojo’s inside his room. You should have realized sooner - those light blue panties you’d worn tonight were gone. No longer in your hamper of old clothes.

And there was only one thing to do. 

---

Gojo thinks he shouldn’t - fuck he knows he shouldn’t. He doesn’t even want to- well, that last bit was a lie.

Gojo Satoru first met you about a year ago, when you’d come knocking at his door asking about his ad for a roommate. It was more because he was bored inside this big apartment by himself than anything, really, but here you were all gorgeous and sweet, flashing him a smile that was burned into his mind for the rest of the week, at the very minimum. How could he ever say no?

And when you’d taken to walking around the apartment in those slutty lil’ shorts as a way to get back at his perpetual shirtless-ness? Thin panties just peeping out of the low hem? 

God, it was everything he could do to not run to the bathroom with each little glimpse. He was fucked, so very embarrassingly fucked. 

He just never thought it would get to this point - the first time had been an accident, honestly. When your laundry had gotten mixed up with his. Surely he didn’t remember having such a cute pair of pink panties in his closet? And surely it didn’t mean anything if he just-so-happened to stash them away, right?

At least, that’s what Gojo told himself the first time. And the second. And the third. And shit, it was a bit of an addiction now, and within a year of rooming with you, he’d accumulated a drawer stuffed guiltily with exactly what he shouldn’t be having. 

Gojo Satoru - insufferable campus sweetheart, the dreamy first place on everyone’s To-Fuck list - had been hoarding away your pretty panties. Like the pathetic virgin he pretends he isn’t. 

And so here he was - that dirty little drawer flung open, pants pulled down just enough, one hand flat on the flat surface to steady himself, while the other fisted desperately around his swollen cock - and one of your panties. 

“F-fuck, sweetheart.” he’s hissing, body shuddering in lewd little tremors at that torturous drag of fabric down his length. Squeezing at his thick base, moving fast - filthy up, up, up to thumb along the end of his sopping slit. “Feels s’good- too fucking good hngh-”

Such a pretty, wet gasp escapes him when your soaked, absolutely ruined underwear catches on his veins, tangling around his sensitive shaft. And he’s biting his lip, trying not to make a noise when he threads through the mess down below. 

“Oh fuck, yer killin’ me even when you’re ngh- not here.” he breathes unsteadily, weaving the sticky fabric around his long fingers. Tight - just how he knew you would. “S’like you know what you do t’me with these.”

They were your blue ones, this time - the ones from just last night. The ones you were wearing not even a full day ago. And Gojo has them wrapped daintily around his rock-hard cock, stark against the blushing red at his fat head. Already so drenched in precum as he fucks his fist. 

“Y’looked so p-pretty with these, sweetheart.” he groans over the wet fwip! fwip! fwip! Eyes rolling to the back of his head with each long, feverish stroke. “So pretty being mine. Ngh- so pretty in my- fuck.” 

Slam!

He’s hitting his palm facedown on the wood, knees buckling, eyes scrunching shut with pleasure. 

And that ruined, utterly depraved part of Gojo wonders whether next time he should steal your bras too? Have the full set of you proudly wearing his color like some secret little slut for him. 

He’s letting out a ragged little laugh, oh how cute you’d look all confused. Nipples hard through your flimsy excuse of a t-shirt while you looked around for them. While you asked him for help. 

Oh, just the thought of that has Gojo’s red, furious cock beading glossy drops of precum at his tip. Leaking a sinful, slippery sheen down his wrist. “Ah.” he lets out a guttural groan when his angry dick twitches in his hand, falling onto his elbow on the drawer. Not having the strength - or the sanity - to keep himself up anymore. “Look what you’ve-” Gojo’s eyes catch sight of a flash of red inside, sounding so wrecked. “Look what you’ve done.”

And those obscene red panties are snatched up by his free hand in a second, not even a second wasted before Gojo’s bringing them up to his face. 

Fuck. 

“Look what you’ve done. Look how ngh- filthy you’ve made me.” he whines, muffled. Hips fucking up in quick, uncontrollable little thrusts into his closed fist. Voice a pitch higher as he spits out embarrassing little accusations, “How pathetic. Gettin’ fuck- gettin’ off to this? Me of all hah- people like this? Can’t imagine how f-fucking mad you’d be.”  

Would you figure out it was him? Would you look in his drawer again? Teach him a lesson or two about being such a pathetic little pervert for his roommate. 

Maybe - just maybe - if Gojo plays his cards right, gets on his knees and begs for mercy, then you’d let him keep his little treasure. 

He throws his head back in a humorless little laugh when his aching hand slows down to languid, unforgivable tugs. He had time, anyway, your classes ended late today. Torturous - exactly the way he imagines you’d drive him mad. “Heh- wish this was you.”

You’d be so much meaner, pressing down on that little divot at his tip, flicking teasingly like you were trying to fuck out something delicious. You’d be running your nails down his achy veins, running your soft palms around his painful balls. 

You’d whisper, “This all you got, Toru?”

“Oh fuck!” Gojo moans, raspy little sounds of what sounds like your name filtering through the crevices of his fingers, your panties. “Fuck fuck fuck- gonna cum.” he whines. Heavy balls smacking back into his thighs with each thrust into your imaginary hand. How he wished you were here. He’s managing to wrench his eyes open to spy down at his sloppy cock - needing to see how your cute lil’ panties would look painted all white for him. How he wished you- “Gonna-”

Oh. Fuck. 

You. 

“Aw, why stop now, Gojo?”

You’re leaning against Gojo’s open bedroom door, flashing him such a sultry little smirk. Your voice almost a purr when you echo, “I said…” Before taking two long steps to where he stood frozen, “Why stop now?”

Gojo lets the damp fabric held up to his face drop in guilt - yet the other stays firmly wrapped around that hand cock of his still in hand. 

“S-sweetheart what are you- why-” And perhaps for the first time in the twenty-something years that Gojo Satoru has terrorized this planet, he’s speechless. Worry-bitten lips sagging open stupidly, “I- this is-”

You cut him off, “So you’re the panty thief.” So close now that Gojo’s dick was throbbing at each heave of your chest, the way you were squeezing your thighs together. Eyes sliding down his body to rest at the mangled mess of your all-new panties around his painfully hard cock. “I knew it.”

“I can explain-”

“All those times pretending to help me?” you bat your lashes in a way that makes him gulp. Words dripping with the same tease he’d imagined in daydreams just like this. “When you were the pervert stealing my panties? Are you even ashamed?”

Gojo flushes an innocent pink, excuses tumbling out of those pretty lips immediately. But they sound like lies even to him.

“This- ngh-” he’s rolling his hips forward when you slide a smaller finger down his arm, between his pecs, almost the way down to those tufts of white. “Fuuuck- y-you’re not mad? Are ya the devil herself cuz you’re gonna- ngh- kill me this way.”

Humming, “Class was canceled, but of course - don’t hah- stop on my account, Gojo.”

“Toru.” he’s gasping out, a low moan wrenching out of him when he’s bowing his body into his fist again. Squeezing - almost warningly - at his hilt. “C-call me Toru. Please.”

And fuck he could’ve cum right then and there at that devilish little smile you give him, biting down on your lower lip - inches from his that it felt like you were biting down on his. Maybe you were, shit Gojo didn’t even know right now. 

“Toru.”

That’s all it takes for Gojo’s lips to be crashing onto yours. Biting back a little whimper at the messy clash of teeth, of spit, because one taste of your candied lips and he was already so addicted. 

“Mmpf-” Gojo gasps, chasing hotly after your lips. Eyes half-lidded to watch the snapping of those delicate strings of saliva, “You’re- you’re so-” And he’s way too impatient to get out his words, licking heatedly at the slit of your mouth. Over and over and over-  “As bad as me- ngh-”

“Are ya sure about that?” you grin, cunt clenching at your roommate’s pained grunt when you pull away. “Because look-”

And the both of you are stuck on the way Gojo’s moving again, hips fucking up in jagged, mindless little grinds. Like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Like he didn’t even feel the way his leaky tip was smearing along the front of your sinfully short skirt. 

“Can’t help it.” he whines, kissing down your neck. Hips urging forwards to slip up the thigh-length fabric, and when you don’t pull away, Gojo drags your skirt up, up, up with his pulsing length, “You don’t know what you do to me- fuck.”

His jaw falls slack, ogling at the sight of your pretty pussy on full display for him. Already so glossy with your sweet sweet juices, needy between your restless thighs. Bare. 

And this might be the first time he’s seen a cunt in real life but Gojo already knows - he already feels - that she’s gonna be the death of him. 

Sharp teeth nip at your bottom lip, tugging. “What the fuck-” Gojo breathes - more to himself than anything. “What the fuck what the-” Bringing down his free hand to run the pads of his long fingers along your puffy folds, as if to confirm whether this was real. “-fuck! Going out like this? You’re even dirtier than me, huh?.” 

“What can I do?” Sliding your arms around his broad shoulders, palms running along the heated skin. Back arching to grind down on his hand, “Someone stole all my panties.”

Your words fall on deaf ears, because Gojo doesn’t hesitate for even a second before he’s bringing his dripping wet fingers up to his lips. Smoldering eyes looking right into yours when he pops them in his mouth. Sucking them dry. 

“Oh fuck, sweetheart.”

In a split second, you’re being splayed out on Gojo’s king-sized bed like such a slut. Bouncing at the sheer force of the throw. And it happens so fast that you almost think you’re seeing things - but, no, the way you’re bouncing against the silky sheets was real. Your skirt bunching up at your waist was real. 

Gojo’s hazy gaze getting stuck right at the spot between your legs was real. 

“Shiiiit.” he murmurs, low and gravelly, like he’s moving through molasses. Stalking towards your trembling figure as if hypnotized, “Oh, she looks even prettier this way.”

You shuffle in embarrassment, pressing your thighs together, “Toru-”

But he doesn’t hear you, instantly scrambling onto the bed. “No- no no no no no-” Just wrenching your legs apart with his hands. “No, you don’t get to hide th-this from me, you don’ know how long I’ve waited for this. How much I’ve imagined-”

You’re gasping when he runs the tip of his index between your sopping wet slit, coating his fingers in your juices once more. Teasing. “N’ so wet. This all f’me? God, can’t even- ngh-”

“So eager.” you mumble, fingers threading through Gojo’s soft locks to pull him in so close. To drag him towards where you needed him the most. “Why don’t you jus’ shut up- N’ put that big mouth of yours into use somewhere else?”

His eyes widen, words a whisper, “C-can I?” He doesn’t wait for your response before flipping the two of you so easily. Having you toppling precariously on his lap now, “Can I really? Never done this before.”

Never?

It’s not before he lets out a shy huff, that you realize that you said that out loud. “So what? S’that bad?” Two large hands groping and kneading your ass to keep you in place, “Ya didn’t actually ngh- believe all those stories on campus, did ya?”

Squirming at the feeling of his massive girth rubbing up against your swollen folds, “D-doesn’t matter.” You grit out, “You can…”

And no sooner are you seeing Gojo’s megawatt smile, you’re already feeling it between your thighs. Being wrestled up like some glorified ragdoll, dragging your sloppy cunt all the way up to straddle Gojo’s pretty face. 

“So, this is what she ngh- looks like.” he whines, hot breath lapping at your quivering pussy. “Shit, she’s so wet I could almost-” You’re gasping when the man below you simply sticks his awaiting tongue out, admiring your pussy while letting your syrupy sweet slick drip! drip! drip! down his throat. “This all f’me?” 

The only thing you can give him right now is a needy little whine - which makes Gojo kiss the fat of your ass with a sharp smack! Biting his lip at the way it jiggles against his hand, “Tell me, where did my feisty girl go?”

That lewd little nickname has you scoffing in pathetic frustration, your grip searing on his scalp when you force his obscene mouth closer. “Y-you seriously need to-” Pulling, “-shut up, Toru.”

And oh, you’d played right into Gojo’s devilish hands. This was exactly what he wanted - to have his face stuffed between your limp legs, ready mouth meshing messily with the folds of your dripping cunt. “There she is.” he moans, the tip of his tongue slurping up the sloppy dredges of your slick. Carding between your pussy lips, “Oh- fuck there she is. Yeah use me like that- use me.”

He’s running his mouth a mile a minute and you wonder how. Because Gojo was lapping at your cunt so feverishly, everywhere - from your inner thighs, to your folds, to just around the circles of your sloppy entrance like he wanted to taste it all. And couldn’t decide where to go first. 

“T-Toru.” you let out a honey sweet mewl of his name when the tip of his nose is rubbing against your clit. “There. Right there-”

Eyes rolling to the back of his head when he easily locates your sensitive nub. Wrapping those ruby lips around your clit to give an experimental suck. 

Shit, he could almost pass out from how heavenly you look on top guiding him. Your entire body jolting with each roll of his hot tongue, giving him such a pretty view of your tits up your silky shirt. Just dragging your sloppy cunt all into his mouth when he toys with your pulsing clit. 

“Oh fuck!” your hips are darting away with each zap of electricity sent down your spine. 

Which, for Gojo - who’s only ever dared to dream up this moment on those lonely nights - isn’t enough. 

“Know m’new to this, sweetheart, but stop bein’ nice n’ fuckin-” He’s pulling on the crease of your waist, dragging you to rest your entire weight on his face - his mouth. “-sit.” You’re keening when Gojo forces you to collapse on his soft tongue, bullying past your puffy folds and into that sloppy ring of muscle. Jus’ barely dipping past the resistance, “I said use me so fuckin’ use me. Don’ care if I can’t breathe - if I fucking suffocate- ngh- m’gonna die if you don’t just sit.”

“Fine.” You cry out when the curve of his tongue is molding into your gummy walls, pushing recklessly past. Not even fucking easing you into it before he’s fucking you on his tongue. Calculated, mean little thrusts in search of all your sweet spots. “No half-assing then, m’kay?”

Though, you had the feeling that he would do anything but. 

“Good, now keep still.” he’s scolding, one hand starting up again in those slow, satisfied tugs on his length. “Please keep still.” And the other dancing between your legs to push a finger inside your snug cunt. “Mmm it’s a tight fit, can feel ya clenching around me. Ngh- always wondered how it’d feel- where that would be.”

Blinking away the haze in your eyes, you look down at where Gojo was already locked on you, “Th-that?”

“That.” he breathes into your cunt, voice reverent as he speeds up. “S’your pussy gonna tell me where your good spot is? Gonna help me ngh- learn?”

And to your embarrassment - and Gojo’s smug satisfaction, it only takes a few more hurried strokes of his tongue before he’s nudging against your g-spot. Both the texture of his tongue and his long, cold fingers curling to assault the poor bundle of nerves. 

Your body bows deeper as if on auto-pilot, “Oh- fuck! You fucking- hngh”

He’s snickering at the way you��re so responsive, cock hard - and only swelling girthier in his fist with each adorable moan falling from your lips. 

“Oh yeah? There? Ya like this?” he moans, “Ya like shutting up the ngh- p-pervert that steals your panties with your cunt?” 

Getting faster. More attuned to his feral need. 

Lips smacking in tempo with those obscene squelches, you can’t tear your eyes away from the way his cheeks hollow. Fingers still so rapid, moving to make out and toy so messily with you clit - untimed, sloppy but fuck did you love it. 

“Y-yes.” you’re shoving his mouth guiltlessly deeper. Letting his long tongue explore every crevice and inch of you. Sloppier. So, so filthy. “Love it- fuck- you’re such a fast fucking learner.”

“I know.”

There was that cocky Gojo Satoru you were used to, lips curling into a strawberry pink smile around your clit - all glossy and sweet with a sheen of your slick. Making such a mess of the lower half of his face, his chin, shit, all the way down to his jaw. 

“M’close-” you choke out at the sight, “M’so fuckin’ close- gonna- gonna cum on your tongue, Toru.”

“Look at you ruining me.” his words hit you hard on your sensitive cunt, sending shockwaves up your arched spine. Obscene little smacks of his lips following your barely-lucid mewls.“Absolutely defiling me. Are ya proud of nghhh fuck- yourself?”

It’s all you can do to manage out a strained, “Yes! Yes yes yes yes- God, m’so close, Toru/ Gonna cum m’gonna-”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming at first, just that you’re riding Gojo’s unfairly pretty face in harsh grinds - just the way he liked it. Jaw grinding against your cunt, chin hitting you with each slutty jerk of your hips, letting you use him all you want to ride through your high. 

And his fingers are digging into your hips, stopping you from pulling away even when you were snow. Even when you’re sobbing in oversensitivity. So painfully good. 

“Ngh- T-Toru–” you’re slurring out, his name thick on your tongue. “M’not gonna cum on your dick if you k-keep hah- acting this way.”

Only then does a pussydrunk Gojo Satoru raise his bleary eyes back up at you. Giving you a strained little grunt of acceptance, before parting ways with your pussy with a lingering, wet kiss on your clit. Barely-audible as he whispers, “Gonna see ya soon.”

You don’t have the time to think about his newfound addiction. Because in all of three seconds, he’s plopping you back down so prettily on his lap. Purposefully feeding your sopping wet slit his weeping red tip. 

“Please.” Gojo’s usually-arrogant grin has fallen into such a pretty pout with one graze of his length sandwiched between your folds. “I did good, right? Please ngh- so I th-think if I made you cum then I get to hah- fuck you how I want.”

And it’s not that you didn’t appreciate it before - but looking at his thick tip pushing up against your cunt right now has you recognizing that shit, Gojo is massive. 

Fat head blushing a pretty reddish, leaking so messily down, down, down those glistening veins at his side and to the creamy ring at his base - from when he’d cum, just from eating you out, you realize with a jolt. His girth so intimidatingly thick, long enough that you know you won’t be walking for a week straight, at least. All throbbing and angry with every second he isn’t buried to the hilt inside your cunt. 

Gojo Satoru is massive. 

“Like what ya see?” he echoes your thoughts, a soaked thumb coming down to pry apart your glossy folds. Grinning at the way your hole was already so needy and clenching around nothing. “Think m’the ngh- perfect size for this pretty pussy?”

Through it all, you find it in yourself to muse, “Only one way to find out. Gonna let me be your first, Toru?”

And then he’s pushing in, shallow, high little gasps bursting from his lips with each inch being bullied into your plush cunt. 

“O-oh fuck-” Gojo can’t stop himself from taking a good look at the way your pussy lips are bulging around him. Jaw dropping at the way your greedy entrance is only sucking him up more and more - trying to bite off more than you can chew with the way he was in so deep but barely even halfway in yet. “S’too good- oh my god- fuck I think m’gonna die. Is it s’pposed to feel th-this good?”

You’re running a hand gingerly through Gojo’s mussed-up hair, smoothing down the sides sticking up where you’d been pulling on it. “S’alright, Toru.” you soothe, letting him grind up into you. Trying to fit more - all of it. “You’ve got it- you’ve hah-”

You let out a pathetic little whine when his tip kisses your cervix, legs flexing around his toned waist. 

“Oh- ohhh fuck-” he’s barely able to string together coherent sentences now. Eyes falling till their half-lidded, body moving before his mind when he pulls yours stuck to his. “S-soo good n’ I haven’t even- oh!” His voice goes a few octaves higher when Gojo finally starts moving. “How can- it feel this good, hng-”

And shit for being inexperienced, he was fucking up into you so mean. Just in short little thrusts up like he was trying to fuck you even deeper - trying to squeeze inside more of himself impossibly. 

“Some- ah- some more, Toru-” 

He listens, and the stretch - fuck. Gojo wasn’t even trying yet, but his girth was already massaging your gummy walls so dizzyingly good. 

“Y-you’re so- ngh-” you graze your lips across his in what can barely be called a kiss. Too messy. Too depraved. “-so deep.” Sliding a hand about midway down your stomach to press down, “Can feel you all the way in here.”

Your words are sticking to Gojo like a second skin, driving him so fucking mad. Hips smacking up into you deep until his heavy balls were slapping your ass, sculpted pelvis crashing into yours.

“Stop talking.“ he spits, “Stop talking stop talking stop- talking.” Each word is punctuated by a desperate, messy stroke. Pushing you further and further up Gojo’s body from the obscene impact. “Stop hah- talking or m’gonna cum.”

He wasn’t lying - you could already feel the twitch of Gojo’ length rubbing up against your hidden sweet spots. The furious throbbing of his veins stretching out your elastic walls. 

And yet you’re still wailing stubbornly, “B-but Toru it feels so good.” Partially truth, partially because when the fuck do you get to see him so utterly wrecked like this. Sanity dancing away from him with each syrupy moan leaving your mouth, “Your cock is too good- ngh- feels-”

“Shut up.”

Gojo can only take that much of your nonsense before he’s stuffing your mean mouth full with a flimsy piece of fabric from somewhere on the bed- no. A strangely familiar pair of panties. 

“Heh, s’much ohhh fuck- better.” he beams with pride when you’re gagging and tearing up so adorably around the light blue fabric. Ramming his cock up harder - stronger, as if daring you to make a little comment about it. “Should’ve ah fuck- known you wouldn’t make it easy f’me.”

As if to prove his point, he gives your ravaged clit a little smack! before teasing and rolling his thumb exactly the way you’d taught him to with his tongue.

And he’s scrambling to sit up, carrying your boneless body with him. 

The new angle has Gojo seeing stars, penetrating your gummy walls deeper, hitting that familiar g-spot he’s mapped out by now. “Here?” he manages to cackle, a big arm wrapping around your waist. “Right here? S’my cock hitting th-that ngh- good spot? Yer pussy is fuuuck so much easier to u-understand than I ah- thought.”

Reeling back to bounce you on his thick cock. Crashing into it again. And again and again and-

Since you can’t snap back - or even beg for more - you only let out muffled little moans through the gag in your mouth. Thighs burning as you push back in pathetic little thrusts to somehow meet Gojo’s mindless cadence.

“Oh yeah?” he drags, leaning back to help you ride him properly. “Yeah yeah do i-it hah- like that. Do it juuuust like that.” A harsh thumb rolls into your clit, making you stutter and grind yourself down messily. “Fuck- Yeah ruin me- ngh- just like that.”

His words were jagged - uneven. Spitting out of his plump lips like he didn’t even know they were every time Gojo’s fat, leaky tip was gliding across your cervix, your g-spot. Leaving possessive little bruises to claim you from the inside out. 

“C-close.” you slur out, not even sure if he could hear over the dull slap of his balls on your ass, and the greedy squelches of your cunt. “More, Toru.”

Yet your sinful, sickly sweet noises have him freezing - if only for a split-second. Pussydrunk eyes going wide, jaw falling slack in such awe. 

But before you can fully appreciate this sight, he’s starting back his depraved thrusts again. Bouncing you harder - faster. Just dragging you along every ridge and bump of his swollen cock. Fingers just a needy blur toying with your poor clit. 

“M-more?” he whines into the crook of your neck, voice breaking at the end. “More. More?” He speaks up, like a mantra. Each word sending you spiraling down Gojo’s merciless cock, Panting, “Ever since you fuck- started rooming w’me, wanted this- wanted you to hah- be my first.” Holding you in such a vice-like grip as he splits you apart on his aching cock. Harder. “You’ve ruined me-” he spits against your lips, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks. “Don’ know how many times I’ve cum to your pretty panties. Ruined me- ruined me- fuck m’so close- ruined me.” Violent, even. 

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. 

And it’s only taking a few more unsteady jabs into your g-spot before a wave of euphoria is crashing over you. “Hngh-” you spasm in Gojo’s arms, his eyes going wide in wonder when your cunt squeezes him so fucking tight- only to-

“F-fuck!” he whines, connecting your lips to his. Kissing you even with your panties still stuffed into your mouth. And Gojo’s cumming and cumming so hard he doesn’t even think he’s breathing. Intertwining his tongue with yours to muffle his overstimulated moans, wrapping around your sweet slick-soaked panties in the middle. The contrast of his soft tongue with the lazy fabric of your panties only making you milk his poor cock harder. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck- fuck- Take it. Take it, my girl.”

You moan incoherently, going insane at the way he was filling you up with long, thick ropes of cum. Fucking deeper and deeper up into you to paint your plushy walls from the inside. 

“S’all I’ve- ngh wanted.” he murmurs throatily, such a fucking mess now. Face flushed, eyes glassy with tears, drool dripping down the corner of his mouth with the way he was sucking lewdly on your tongue. “You’re all I-I’ve ever wanted.”

Shit, he hasn’t cum this hard in his life.

Finally having had enough of shutting up your smart mouth, Gojo slows down to deep little grinds - still moving. Still trying to hold back his moans at that creamy ring around his hilt, at the globs of seed trickling out of your poor overfilled pussy. 

“Hah- Toru-” you whine when he pries away the fabric in your mouth. Shuddering with the swipe of his finger along your clit, “C-could almost ngh- forgive you…”

“The blue one.”

“What?” you’re staring at him in confusion, and Gojo’s fucked-out grin only spreads wider. 

“That was for the b-blue one.” you gasp when his balls suddenly squeeze so painfully underneath you. Cock jerking in interest, “Y’gonna have me make up for that whole drawer full of panties, sweetheart?”

A/N. VIRGIN GOJO BRAIN ROT GOES BRRRRRRRR

Plagiarism not authorized.

[gojosconsort]

hate how good you fuck // satoru gojo

𓂃୨ৎ satoru gojo, the hockey hotshot, and you, the pretty figure skating queen, have been rivals for years—his flirty taunts drive you crazy. but when your partner gets injured, guess who’s suddenly your only option on the ice?

𓂃୨ৎ pairing. afab!reader x ice hockey player!satoru gojo

𓂃୨ৎ warnings. mdni. enemies to lovers (kinda), fluff, oral (f receiving), fingering, changing room fucking, risk of being caught, size difference, teasing, praise, messy sex, mirror, creampie, mutiple rounds and positions

“watch where you’re going, princess,” satoru calls, his voice dripping with that infuriating smirk as you nearly collide with him outside the college ice rink, your skates slung over your shoulder. his white hair’s a mess under his cap, fully dressed in his hockey gear and blue eyes glinting like he knows he’s getting under your skin.

you’re the campus darling—figure skater, straight-a student, the girl everyone wants to be or be with—and satoru, star of the hockey team, never lets you forget it. “maybe if you didn’t hog the rink, i wouldn’t have to,” you snap, brushing past, ignoring his laugh, “damn, you’re hot when you’re mad.”

he’s been like this since freshman year, always at the rink when you practice, tossing compliments that feel like taunts: “looking good out there, princess,” or “bet you’d fall for me if you tried.” you hate how it flusters you, how he’s always there, stick in hand, watching your spins with those stupid, piercing eyes.

you’re not just some popular girl; you’re a national-level figure skater, and your partner, choso, is your ticket to the upcoming intercollegiate pairs competition. satoru’s just a distraction, a thorn in your side, and you tell yourself you despise him.

but today, everything changes. you’re mid-practice, choso lifting you for a twist, when he stumbles, knee buckling, and you both crash to the ice. pain shoots through your ankle, but choso’s worse, clutching his leg, coach rushing over.

“sprained, maybe torn ligament,” the medic says later, and your heart sinks—competition’s in six weeks, and choso’s out. you’re sitting on the bleachers, icing your ankle, when coach approaches, looking grim. “we need a replacement, and fast. you’re our best shot at nationals, but you need a partner.”

“who’s left?” you ask, dreading the answer. coach hesitates, “gojo. he’s the only one with the skill.” you laugh, bitter, “satoru? the hockey clown? no way.” but coach is serious, “he’s not just hockey. he was a competitive figure skater before college, junior nationals level. he’s your best option.” you’re stunned, picturing satoru’s smug grin, but coach insists, “meet him tomorrow. no choice.”

next day, satoru’s waiting at the rink, no hockey gear, just a fitted black sweater and skates, looking… different. focused. good.

“so, princess, ready to dance with me?” he teases, but there’s an edge, like he’s daring you to underestimate him. you cross arms, “don’t call me that. and don’t screw this up.” he smirks, “wouldn’t dream of it, hotshot.”

you grit teeth, hating how he makes “hotshot” sound like a caress, but when you hit the ice, he’s… good. terrifyingly good. his edges are clean, spins tight, and he glides like he was born on blades, not a puck in sight.

training’s hell. satoru’s a paradox—cocky off-ice, all “look at you, miss popular, melting the rink,” but precise on it, catching you in lifts like you weigh nothing, his hands firm, warm through your costume. you’re smaller, maybe a foot shorter, and his height makes throws effortless, but his teasing never stops.

“c’mon, you can moan louder than that when you land,” he quips after a rough jump, and you shove him, “shut up, gojo.” he laughs, “satoru, please. we’re partners now.” you roll eyes, but your cheeks burn, and you hate how his voice lingers.

weeks pass, and tension shifts. you’re syncing, moves fluid, his hands guiding you in spins, your bodies brushing in ways that spark—his breath on your neck, fingers grazing your waist. you’re practicing a side-by-side lutz, and he’s close, whispering, “you’re too stiff, loosen up,” his hand on your hip, lingering. “stop flirting,” you snap, but your voice wavers, and he grins, “who’s flirting? just helping my partner.”

you want to hate him, but you’re starting to… not. he’s still a tease, but he’s there early, lacing your skates when your ankle’s sore, taping your wrist after a fall, muttering, “can’t have you breaking, princess.”

one evening, the rink’s empty, music off, just the scrape of your blades echoing in the dim, frosty air. you’re alone, wrestling a triple salchow, your nemesis jump. you’ve been at it for an hour, frustration knotting your chest, each attempt ending in a wobbly landing or a near-fall. you curse under your breath, pushing hair from your face, ready to try again, when satoru glides in, unannounced. he’s in a plain hoodie, skates silent, blue eyes catching the rink’s faint lights, softer than you’ve ever seen.

“you’re overthinking,” he says, skating close, stopping a breath away. “it’s not math, hotshot. feel it.” you frown, “easy for you to say,” but he doesn’t tease, just holds out a hand, steady, calloused from ice hockey. “c’mon, like this.”

you hesitate, then take it, his grip firm, warm through your chilled fingers, grounding you. he pulls you gently, skating backward, guiding you slow, deliberate, across the ice. “don’t force it,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours, “let your body move.” his voice is soft, almost hypnotic, and you follow, mirroring his glide, your blades carving smooth arcs, his hand anchoring you.

he adjusts your posture, a hand brushing your waist, light but deliberate, “hips loose, not stiff.” you try to focus, but his touch, his nearness, makes your pulse jump.

you skate together, slow circles, his grip steady, guiding you into a single salchow, then a double, his voice coaxing, “there, that’s it, now push.” you land it, clean, and he smiles, “see? you’ve got it.” you’re breathless, not from skating, but from him. “why do you always tease me?” you ask.

he pauses, blades still, hand tightening on yours. “’cause you’re you,” he says, voice quieter, “all fire and ice, untouchable. makes me wanna… get close, break that wall.”

your heart skips, his words stripping you bare. “you’re close now,” you whisper, and he steps nearer, ice crunching, his height towering, breath visible in the cold. “yeah,” he murmurs, “too close,” blue eyes raw, searching yours, like he’s seeing past your popularity, your armor, to the girl who’s scared to fall.

you’re still holding hands, bodies inches apart, the rink’s chill fading against the heat between you. his thumb brushes your knuckles, slow, deliberate, and you wonder if he’ll kiss you, if you want him to. you’re not enemies, but you don’t admit it. competition nears, your sensual routine demanding trust.

during a late practice, satoru’s lifts are flawless, his hands steady, guiding you through a triple twist like you’re weightless. but you fumble a throw salchow, misjudging the edge, and your body twists awkwardly, crashing hard onto the ice with a sharp gasp, pain flaring through your hip and ankle.

you hiss, curling into yourself, the cold biting through your leggings. satoru’s there in a heartbeat, sliding to his knees beside you, panic flickering in his blue eyes, usually so smug. “shit, you okay?” he asks, voice low, urgent, hands hovering like he’s afraid to touch you.

“fine,” you mutter, trying to sit up, but the pain makes you wince, and he’s not buying it, his brows furrowing. “don’t bullshit me, hotshot,” he says, softer now, one hand gently pressing your shoulder to keep you still. “stay down a sec.” you glare, hating the vulnerability, “i said i’m fine, gojo,” but your voice lacks bite, and he shakes his head, “no heroics, we need you in one piece.”

before you can protest, he scoops you up, effortless, his arms strong under your back and knees, carrying you to the rinkside bench like you’re something fragile. you’re smaller against him, your head brushing his shoulder, and despite the pain, your cheeks burn at how close he is, his cologne—crisp, like winter air—filling your senses.

he sets you down gently, kneeling in front of you, eyes scanning for damage. “where’s it hurt?” he asks, hands already moving, careful, to your ankle, fingers brushing the skin above your skate. you flinch, more from his touch than pain, “hip and ankle, not bad.” he frowns, “not bad my ass,” and unlaces your skate with ease, slipping it off, his touch so soft it’s almost reverent.

“satoru, i can—” you start, but he cuts you off, “shut up and let me help.” it’s not mean, just firm, and you’re too stunned to argue, watching him roll your legging up, exposing your ankle, already swelling slightly.

he grabs an ice pack from the rink’s first-aid kit, wrapping it in a towel, and presses it to your ankle, his large hands steady, holding it in place. “keep this on,” he says, eyes flicking to yours, checking for compliance, and you nod, biting lip at the cold.

his fingers linger, brushing your skin, and you notice how big his hands are, dwarfing your ankle, making you feel delicate in a way that’s new, unsettling. he shifts to your hip, hand hovering, “can i check here?” you nod, and he presses gently, testing for tenderness, his touch clinical but warm through your shirt, sending a shiver up your spine. “just bruised, i think,” he murmurs, more to himself, but his hand stays.

“you didn’t have to carry me,” you mumble, trying to reclaim some control, but your voice is soft, and he smirks, though it’s gentler than usual, “wanted to, princess. can’t have my partner breaking.” you roll eyes, “i’m not your anything,” but the words lack heat, and he chuckles, “keep telling yourself that.” he adjusts the ice pack, his fingers brushing your calf, and you’re hyperaware of every touch, the rink’s chill fading against the warmth of his proximity.

he sits beside you, close, shoulder brushing yours, and grabs a water bottle, handing it over, “drink, you look pale.” you take it, sipping, and he watches, quiet now, no teasing, just concern. “you scared me,” he admits, voice low, almost shy, and you blink, “scared you? mr. invincible?” he laughs, soft, “yeah, well, you’re kinda important.” your heart does a flip, and you look away, “don’t get sappy, gojo.”

“satoru,” he corrects, tilting your chin back with a finger, his touch light but electric, forcing you to meet his gaze. he’s closer than ever, and you’re frozen, breath catching. “say it,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your jaw, “satoru.”

you swallow, “satoru,” voice barely a whisper, and his lips quirk, “good girl.” the air shifts, heavy, his face inches from yours, eyes dropping to your lips, and you’re leaning in, drawn, his breath warm, mingling with yours—

a rink door slams, a janitor’s voice echoing, and you both jolt, pulling back, hearts pounding. he clears his throat, “uh, better check that ice,” standing, but his hand lingers on your shoulder, squeezing, “rest, okay?” you nod, flustered, “yeah, okay.” he smirks, “don’t fall for me too hard, hotshot,” and you scoff, “in your dreams,” but as he skates off, you’re not so sure.

final practice, you nail the routine—spins sync, lifts soar, his hand catching yours mid-air like it’s fate. you’re panting, faces close, and he murmurs, “we’re gonna kill this.” you nod, “damn right,” and he grins, “that’s my girl.” your stomach flips, and you don’t correct him.

competition day, arena buzzing, you’re in a glittery costume, satoru in sleek black, hair tamed. backstage, he’s quieter, “nervous?” you shrug, “you?” he smirks, “nah, got my lucky charm,” nudging you. you roll eyes, but smile, “don’t mess up, partner.” he winks, “never.”

the ice is yours. music begins, and you’re fire and ice together—his lifts make you fly, spins mirror-perfect, your hand in his like it belongs. you feel the crowd, the judges, but it’s just you and satoru, his breath syncing with yours, his hands strong, guiding, teasing even now with a whispered, “lookin’ hot,” mid-spin. you hiss, “focus,” but laugh, and he chuckles, “always.” the final lift, he throws you, catches you, dipping you low, faces inches apart, and the crowd roars as music fades.

scores come—first place. you’re screaming, hugging him, and he lifts you off your feet, spinning, “told you we’d kill it!” you’re laughing, “you’re not half bad, gojo.” he grins, “satoru. and you’re fucking incredible.” you’re too happy to argue, letting him pull you close, his warmth sinking in.

“admit it, princess, you’re totally into me now,” satoru gojo teases, leaning against the changing room locker, his white hair still damp from the rink, blue eyes glinting with that infuriating, irresistible mischief.

the competition’s over, your first-place medals heavy around your necks, the arena’s buzz fading, leaving just you two in the cramped, fluorescent-lit room, costumes half-unzipped, skates off. you’re sitting on a bench, peeling off your glittery tights, and you scoff, “in your dreams, gojo. you’re still a pain in my ass.”

he grins, stepping closer, towering over you, his sleek black costume clinging to every lean muscle, making your stomach flip despite yourself. “oh, c’mon, hotshot, i saw you blushing out there, all pressed up against me in that dip,” he says, voice low, playful, but with an edge that sends heat up your spine.

you stand, barely reaching his shoulder, and poke his chest, “i was acting, you idiot. we’re partners, not lovers.” his smirk widens, “acting, huh? so why’s your face red now?”

you roll your eyes, turning to grab your bag, but he’s faster, grabbing your wrist gently, spinning you to face him. “satoru—” you start, but he’s close, too close, breath warm, eyes dropping to your lips. “you like me,” he murmurs, and before you can deny it, he kisses you, soft at first, testing, lips warm and sure, stealing your breath. he pulls back, smirking, “should i stop?”

you glare, “no,” and yank him down, kissing him harder, desperate, hands fisting his shirt, pulling him closer. he groans, surprised, then dives in, kissing you deep, tongue brushing yours, hands sliding to your waist, gripping tight, pressing you against the locker. it’s messy, urgent, your lips crashing, teeth grazing, his hands roaming, one slipping under your unzipped jacket, warm against your bare back, making you gasp into his mouth.

you’re drowning in him—his cologne, his low chuckles between kisses, the way he’s both gentle and demanding, tilting your head to deepen it. “still denying it?” he whispers against your lips, nibbling lightly, and you huff, “shut up,” kissing him again, fingers in his hair, tugging, earning a soft moan.

the changing room feels smaller, hotter, the world narrowing to his lips, his hands, the way you fit against him despite your height difference. “fuck, you’re trouble,” he murmurs, kissing along your jaw, and you laugh, breathless, “you’re one to talk.” he grins, pulling you closer, “bet i can make you worse.”

“you’re all talk, gojo,” you shoot back, tugging at his sleek black costume, but your voice is shaky, betraying the heat pooling low in your belly. “all talk? oh, princess, you’re gonna eat those words,” he says, and before you can retort, he sinks to his knees, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your sparkly skirt higher.

the cold bench bites into your skin as you sit, legs parting instinctively, and his fingers hook your panties, tugging them down with a smirk, “look at you, already so ready.” you hiss, “satoru, the door,” glancing at the unlocked entrance, but he shrugs, “let ‘em walk in. i’m busy.” his nonchalance sends a thrill through you, and you’re bare now, skirt bunched at your hips, pussy exposed, slick glistening under the harsh lights.

he looks up, eyes darkening, “fuck, you’re gorgeous,” voice rough, no trace of his usual teasing lilt. his hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, and you flush, hands gripping the bench, “stop staring.” he grins, “can’t help it, hotshot,” and leans in, breath warm against your folds, making you shiver.

his tongue flicks out, teasing your clit, light, barely there, and you gasp, “oh, shit!” head falling back, the locker rattling behind you. he hums, pleased, and licks again, slower, a broad stripe from your entrance to clit, tasting your arousal, sweet and heady, his tongue curling, savoring every drop.

“so fucking wet,” he groans, pulling back to watch your pussy clench, slick dripping onto the bench, and you whimper, “shut up, just—do something.” he laughs, “bossy, huh? love that,” and dives in, no more teasing, mouth relentless, sucking your clit softly, then harder, tongue flicking fast, precise, driving you wild. his lips seal around you, pulling gently, and you moan, loud, “satoru, fuck!” hands flying to his white hair, tugging, earning a muffled growl that vibrates through you, sending sparks up your spine. he’s messy, slurping, licking through your folds, tongue circling your entrance, dipping in just enough to make you buck, desperate for more.

“taste so good,” he mutters, and you’re trembling, thighs shaking, trying to close them, but his hands hold you open, fingers digging into your skin, bruising. “stay still, princess,” he orders, and you try, but it’s hard when his tongue’s relentless, flicking your clit, then sliding down to tease your hole, pushing in, fucking you shallow, slick coating his chin, dripping to the bench. you’re a mess, moaning, “satoru, please,” hips grinding, chasing his mouth, and he smirks against you, “so needy, look at you.”

he pulls back, blowing cool air on your pussy, making you whine, “don’t stop!” and he chuckles, “patience, hotshot.” his fingers trace your folds, one slipping inside, slow, stretching, curling to hit that spot, and you gasp, “fuck, right there.” he adds another, pumping steady, deep, while his tongue returns to your clit, licking fast, syncing with his fingers, building you up, pressure coiling tight.

“satoru, gonna cum,” you moan, voice breaking, and he growls, “do it, cum on my face,” sucking hard, fingers curling. “satoru!” you moan, pussy gushing, soaking his mouth, fingers, bench, body shaking, vision white, tugging his hair, riding the waves as you cum.

he doesn’t stop, licking through your orgasm, overstimulating, tongue relentless, fingers still pumping. “too much,” you whimper, pushing at his head, but he grabs your wrist, pinning it, “you can take it,” voice mean, eyes glinting. he slows, kissing your inner thigh, nipping lightly, leaving marks, and you’re panting, dazed, cum sticky on your skin, his face glistening. “fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, standing, pulling you up, and you’re wobbly, leaning into him, kissing him, tasting yourself, moaning into his mouth, messy and desperate.

“need you,” he growls, shoving his costume pants down, cock springing free—thick, long, tip red and leaking, veins pulsing. you lick lips, “fuck, satoru,” and he smirks, “like what you see?” you nod, “want it,” and he lifts you, effortless, pinning you against the locker wall, cold metal biting your back, his hands under thighs, spreading you wide.

“so fucking needy,” he teases, rubbing his cock through your slick, coating himself, teasing your entrance, “beg, princess.” you glare, “just fuck me, asshole,” and he laughs, ��that’s my girl,” thrusting in, slow at first, stretching you tight, making you cry out, “fuck, s’big!”

he pauses, letting you adjust, forehead against yours, “you okay?” voice softer, checking, and you nod, “yeah, move.” he does, pulling out, slamming back in, deep, filling you, pussy clenching, slick and cum easing the stretch. “so tight,” he groans, thrusting steady, hard, wall rattling, skin slapping, your moans loud, echoing, “satoru, fuck!” his hands grip tighter, bruising, lifting you higher, angling deeper, hitting that spot, making you see stars. “look at you, taking me so well,” he praises, but it’s laced with teasing, “thought you hated me, huh?”

“shut up,” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders, legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer, loving his cock, his voice, his fucking smirk. “make me,” he taunts, fucking harder, faster, locker banging, your pussy soaking him, dripping, smearing between you, down his thighs, to the floor. “gonna cum again,” you moan, head thrown back, and he grins, “already? greedy little thing,” one hand sliding to rub your clit, fast, sloppy, and you’re screaming, “satoru, fuck!” pussy pulsing again, cumming hard.

he doesn’t slow, “fuck, that’s it,” thrusting through your orgasm, relentless, cock dragging, overstimulating, making you whimper, “satoru, can’t.” he growls, “oh, you can,” and keeps going, harder, deeper, wall creaking, your body pinned, helpless, his. “so fucking good,” he groans, thrusts sloppy, losing rhythm, and you feel him twitch, “gonna cum,” he warns, and you moan, “inside, please.” he curses, “fuck, you’re killing me,” and cums, hot, thick, filling you, spilling out, dripping down your thighs.

he holds you, panting, foreheads pressed, your legs weak, cum trickling, sticky, warm. he kisses you, softer, slow, tongue lazy, and you melt, hands in his hair, tugging gently. “you like that, don’t you?” he teases, lips brushing yours, and you laugh, breathless, “it’s not bad.” he grins, “one more, then?” he pants, still hard inside you, voice rough, eyes glinting with that sadistic tease you’re starting to crave.

you’re dazed, cum trickling down your thighs, body trembling against the wall, and you blink, “what?” he grins, wicked, pulling out slow, making you whimper at the loss. “oh, you heard me, hotshot,” he says, grabbing your hips, spinning you so fast you yelp, “satoru, what the—!”

he sits on the bench, still slick with your cum, and pulls you onto his lap, spinning you to face away, straddling him reverse, your back against his chest, legs spread wide. “ride me,” he orders, voice low, hands guiding your hips, his cock nudging your entrance, already hard again, tip brushing your swollen folds.

you moan, “satoru, i can’t,” body spent, but he nips your ear, “oh, you can, princess, and you will.” his hands are firm, lifting you, teasing your pussy with his cock, making you shiver, want pooling despite exhaustion.

“look at yourself,” he murmurs, tilting your head toward the full-length mirror across the changing room, your reflection a mess—skirt bunched, costume askew, thighs glistening with cum, face flushed, eyes glassy. “fuck, you’re so hot,” he groans, and you see it too, your body trembling, pussy hovering over his cock, his hands gripping you, possessive. you meet his gaze in the mirror, blue eyes burning, and you nod, “okay,” voice small, but you want it, want him, this reckless, messy heat.

he lowers you, slow, cock sliding in, stretching you again, and you moan, “fuck, satoru,” watching in the mirror as your pussy takes him, inch by inch, his thick length disappearing inside you, slick and cum making it glisten. “that’s it,” he praises, one hand sliding to your pussy, fingers parting your folds, exposing where you’re joined, “look at how you take me, fuck.” you gasp, seeing it—his cock buried deep, your pussy stretched, dripping, his fingers spreading you open, clit swollen and pulsing.

“ride,” he says again, and you do, lifting, slamming down, moaning, “s’too much,” but it’s not, your hips moving, fucking yourself on him, watching in the mirror as his cock slides in and out. “so perfect for me,” he groans, other hand on your hip, guiding, bouncing you, skin slapping, wet sounds filling the room. his fingers rub your clit, slow circles, then fast, and you’re whining, “satoru, fuck!” head falling back, but he tilts it forward, “keep watching, princess, see how you fuck me.”

you do, mesmerized, your pussy clenching, gushing, his cock disappearing, reappearing, slick and cum making every thrust messy, dripping, pooling beneath you. “love this,” he mutters, fingers spreading you wider, “love how my cock looks inside you, so fucking tight.” you moan, “satoru, gonna cum,” hips frantic, riding harder, mirror showing your tits bouncing, his hand on your pussy, his eyes locked on yours. “cum, hotshot,” he growls, rubbing your clit faster and he’s not stopping before he fills you up again, making a mess out of you.

later, you’re panting, trembling, collapsing against him, cum trickling, mirror reflecting your wrecked state. he kisses your neck, soft, “still hate me?” you laugh, breathless, “yeah, but i like that.” he grins, holding you close, “good, ‘cause i’m keeping you, princess.”

[unintentionalseductress]

Prescription For Pleasure

Warnings: MDNI, sex, masturbation, medical masturbation, use of vibrators, clit play, piv sex, use of latex gloves, oral (fem receiving), some praise, kinda slow burn A/n: I am not normal about this man in any way. Not really proofread. Please do not use my banners without permission.

You’re seated in Zayne’s office, trying not to squirm as he sets up your appointment. Although this was now the third time you were seeing him for this regular inspection, it didn’t alleviate your nerves the slightest. Each month, according to the Hunter’s Association regulations, every hunter needed to be seen by their primary care physician for 3 consecutive days for their health.

And although the association deemed it a necessity, it was an embarrassing requirement according to you. The Hunter’s Association had done a survey and discovered that many of their employees suffered from high levels of stress because they were isolated and lacked much-needed human contact. To combat this, they made it mandatory to get physical contact by a medical professional every month.

But when all the fancy jargon was pushed aside, all the hunters called it the same thing - medical masturbation. It had become wildly popular amongst both men and women hunters, eagerly marking the days on their calendar for when they could come in. When you heard about the rule, you wished the earth would open up and swallow you whole. You had tried talking to Jenna to insist that you were indeed taking care of yourself in that aspect, thanks to your trusted vibrator, but she had shaken her head no. 

“We need documentation. I’m subject to it, and so is everyone else in my order.”  Defeated, you’d walked out of Jenna’s office before remembering another mortifying fact with a jolt. Your primary care physician was Zayne. 

Your childhood friend, your trusted cardiologist, stoic and calm, who remained reserved during your general checkups, was going to be your medical masturbator. You had almost turned yourself into a ball on the floor, tweaked out at the insanity of it all. Although Zayne was your general physician, you had a separate gynecologist, and apart from asking if you’d had your annual PAP smear, Zayne had left that part of your anatomy unquestioned. It didn’t help that you were attracted to him, and sure, if he’d asked you out on a date, you would have been more than happy to let him inspect you all he wanted down there.

But this clinical setting, enforced by your organization was a little too much to bear. Wondering how to tackle this situation, you wander over to Tara who was humming as she made her medical bookings on her phone app. “Isn’t this exciting?” she squeals as she sees you. “God knows the dating pool is thin right now. This is just what I needed!”

Tara’s primary care physician was a woman, and you wondered if that was a pro or a con. On the one hand, dropping your panties for a woman doctor seemed less unnerving than for a man. But if you had a preference for men, would it work against your arousal? You shook your head at your ridiculous musings and focused on talking to Tara. “Are you really that excited about this?”

“You have no idea!” Tara taps her feet as she talks to you. 

“And you’re ok about having a woman stimulate you?” You probe, trying to gauge Tara’s reaction. Tara giggles and lightly pats your shoulder. 

“I don’t know but the idea is kind of hot. I mean, getting it on in a doctor’s office? Besides if I don’t like it, I can change the doctor the next time.”

Her words hit you like a ton of bricks. “You can change your doctor?”

“For this yes, the app gives you an option since it involves showing off a lot of intimate areas. You have to be able to trust your doctor right?”

You logged into the app, finding the little button to request a change in doctors, but for some reason, the page kept refreshing and crashing. With a sigh, you decide to get the worst of it over with and call Zayne, hoping he can make the change for you on his end. His voice is cool and professional when he answers your call.

“Yes?”

“So, you must have heard about…the new regulation?” you had put forth nervously.

“I am aware of it, yes.” 

“Well, for obvious reasons, I would like a different doctor.” 

Zayne smoothly says, “Of course. Patient comfort is always first. Do you have a doctor in mind?”

“Maybe my gynecologist? I tried doing it in the app but it keeps crashing.” There’s a moment of silence and you can hear Zayne’s fingers tapping away at his keyboard before a low hum leaves his end of the line.

“There appears to be a problem.”

“Problem?” you’d parrotted back.

“Yes. Because so many people are booking appointments at the same time, most of the available doctors are already taken. Including your gynecologist.” 

It felt like watching a bird crashing into a window in slow motion, that brief moment of hope that it wouldn’t hit the glass shattering in an instant. “Oh.”

There’s a pause before Zayne delicately says, “I’m sorry but it looks like you will have to make those appointments with me for this month. 3 of them according to the regulation. Hopefully, you can make the change for next month.” His voice sounded slightly apologetic.

“Won’t it be weird given that we know each other personally?” The question had fallen from your lips before you could stop yourself. 

“I promise not to treat you any differently than any of my other patients who are coming in for this inspection. I understand this may be a little unexpected, but I assure you I did a term of gynecology during my internship.”

A tinge of mirth carried over in his voice and you can’t help but make a noise of embarrassment. “Zayne, please!” His laugh was dry but not unkind, and you can’t help but want to hide your face even though he couldn’t see you. 

“Don’t worry too much. But I do advise you to make the appointments soon. My schedule is filling up rapidly.”

With those words, he’d disconnected the call and you were left wondering if an unknown god from another planet had cursed your existence. 

And changing doctors had proven to be more difficult than you’d thought. The entire organization seemed to be having a single thought. They had made appointments in the app almost halfway into the year, essentially blocking you from being able to do anything about your situation. Now on your third month with Zayne, you watch as he checks his notes from your last session, feeling like you want to scamper from the room.

The last two sessions had been incredibly stimulating, your arousal heightened by the fact you were attracted to Zayne. You’d never considered having someone watch as you touched yourself but found that you’d enjoyed it, at least, when it was him. He had remained professional, but you’d avoided him these last two months, save for when you had to get your monthly cardiac profile. He reads his notes from his computer as he prepares for your session. 

“Preferred device for stimulation still a vibrator, with a large, rounded, flexible head?” His eyes remain on his screen and you’re grateful for him giving you this smidgen of privacy. 

“Yes.”

“Preference for the doggystyle position still?” 

Your face burns. “Yes.”

“Still consenting for verbal stimulation?”

You nod your head.

“And still consenting for internal vaginal stimulation?” You make a noise of consent, squeezing your thighs together, your panties uncomfortably chafing against your already swollen pussy. 

“All right, I have everything I need.” He logs off and removes his lab coat, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing his well-corded arms, and your mouth almost waters at the sight of them. Clearing your throat, you shyly reach into your bag and pull out the vibrator in question, which he takes from you and clamps into a stand, adjusting it over the examination table you’d be on. A bottle of lube awaits on the tray next to the table and you swallow as he finishes the setup. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says in that deep voice, and feeling like your fingers are wrapped in thick woolen mittens, you reach behind you to untie the hospital gown you’re wearing, and it falls to the floor with a swoosh, your nipples pebbling under the sudden chill. A small set of sensors were taped to your chest and on the sides of your forehead, essential medical devices to ensure your orgasm was satisfactory. Unperturbed, Zayne gestures to the table and you make your way onto it, letting your feet settle in the stirrups as he settles on a stool between your legs, pulling on latex gloves before gently spreading your folds apart. You stare up at the ceiling as he does his initial checkup.

“Labia look healthy, no signs of trauma or abnormal discharge,” he murmurs, then runs a finger down the edge of the fold that separates your inner and outer lips, causing your core to clench involuntarily. You hold still, knowing very well he saw the action, holding your breath, letting out a little sigh as he lets go. 

“Normal reaction to stimuli, already semi-aroused,” he says, trashing the gloves and making another note on his computer. He glances over at you, leaning back uncertainly on the table. “You may begin.”

You swallow, then carefully turn onto your hands and knees, crawling towards the head of the table, grabbing the bottle of lube and squeezing the viscous liquid onto the head of the vibrator, avoiding eye contact as your breasts sway under the motion, nipples painfully hard from anticipation. You could feel Zayne’s gaze but can’t bring yourself to look up. Even though this was the third time, it hadn’t gotten easier, stripping naked and pleasuring yourself in his office. 

Once the rounded head of the vibrator is slick, you turn, the chill of the lube against your heated membranes causing more blood to flow into your already engorged nub, and run your moist slit across the surface to spread the liquid onto your slickened folds. Your hand fumbles for the little remote control and with a buzz, the vibrator turns on at the lowest setting. You click the button a few more times until it gets to the speed you liked, then fail to hold back a moan as the sensations pleasurably begin to take hold in your clit. 

The first time you had done this, nervousness had made you set the vibrator on the highest possible setting hoping to get a quick orgasm and sprint out of the office. Unfortunately, the sensors relayed this information into Zayne’s medical record that your climax had been unsatisfactory, and you had endured being lectured by him with the medical gown loosely draped on your body, your rear open to the cold office air. 

His tone wasn’t unkind but it hadn’t helped you feel better either. “It helps neither of us if you rush this. The whole purpose of this examination is to ensure you’re relaxing. I know it’s embarrassing but if you fail to have a proper orgasm, I’ll have to make you repeat the process until I get data that says otherwise.”

“The sensors are-”

“The only way to measure anything. Without involving another person anyway.”

His words had left you gobsmacked and your retort had died in your mouth. After that incident, you had learned. Even with the chagrin of having him watch you, you had learned to take your time and let the feelings build, leading to incredibly savory climaxes that made your body squirm from the aftershocks. 

Your hips sway, setting up a rhythm to brush your sensitive slit onto the head, letting it vibrate from cunt to clit, the lube aiding the frictionless sliding and making your core drip. Quiet noises of pleasure leave your throat as help yourself, arching your back and changing the curvature of your ass to maximize the sensations, then when the perfect pattern emerges, you let out a keening sigh, and try to remain still, letting the vibrator work its magic. 

Zayne, who has been quietly observing the computer this entire time, observing the spikes relayed from the sensors, asks, “Have you found your optimal pleasure form?”

“Yes,” you gasp, the timbre of his voice sending an arrow of lust into the deepest parts of your clenching core. You knew what was about to come next. The sound of Zayne’s desk chair moving, followed by the snap of latex gloves as he pulled a fresh pair onto those beautiful hands. He approaches the examination table and takes the bottle of lube you had set aside earlier, a wet squelching noise issuing from it as he squeezes it over his gloved hand, gathering the fluid on his index and middle fingers. He leans over to whisper in your ears; the verbal stimulation has begun.

The humiliating reveal that you had a heavy praise kink had come up during your initial session and despite your insistence that it wasn’t necessary, Zayne, the ever-diligent worker, had made a note in your profile, and he’d been fulfilling it each time. A tickle of hot breath near your ear, before he murmurs, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

The hum of the vibrator in the background coupled with his voice makes your breath catch in your throat. You nod, knowing you didn’t have it in you to form coherent words. 

“That’s a good patient. Good patients listen to their doctors you know. And you’re doing a wonderful job.”

Your hips snap back to push your clit against the rubber pad, letting out a whimper of pleasure, the action pushing your ass up higher, revealing your pathetically drooling cunt, fluttering with the dissatisfaction of being unfilled. 

“Are you ready?” He waits for your consent and you manage a husky, ‘mm hm’.

“Good girl. Take a breath.”

You inhale, trying to relax, then let out an uninhibited moan as Dr. Zayne inserts his middle finger into your needy cunt, the ring of muscles offering no resistance to the probing digit. He gently thrusts a few times, before curling the tip of his finger up into the delicate patch of nerves on your upper wall, the smooth come hither motion awakening a new level of pleasure in your body. Your fingers tighten on the edges of the table, sobbing, trying not to scream at the feelings that threatened to explode from you. He keeps up the gentle assault before asking, “Are you ready for another one?”

“Yes…” your voice comes out shakily, knowing you desired more than just his fingers, but that you would never get to experience it. 

“Perfect. So well behaved, taking exactly what I give you.” Zayne’s sensual voice floods your ear before his index pushes into you, the thickness of both his fingers sending you into overdrive. Your walls clench welcomingly around him, inciting an exciting pull of liquid heat in your abdomen, the muscles tensing in anticipation for the exquisite release you knew was about to occur. 

Feeling your inhibitions abandon you as you are stroked closer to orgasm your self-control slips and his name falls from your lips as he pushes over the edge.

“Zayne…” some partially functioning confine in the back of your brain registers what you had just involuntarily purred, but the spasms rocking your core, those gratifying waves of delight flooding your body made it easier to ignore it as your being is reduced to a pliant mess of pleasure. His fingers ease up as the fluttering in your pussy calms down, your clit pulsating weakly as the final vestiges of pleasure are wrung from your body. 

With a wet noise, his fingers leave your moist hole, the glove coated with your juices and the lubricant. Awareness finally comes crashing around you as you realize what you had uttered in the throes of passion. 

“I…I didn’t…I wasn’t in control…” You try to find a way to explain, to let him know you had very little choice in the matter of sobbing his name as you orgasmed, but everything feels flat, almost on the fine line between explaining and insulting. 

“There’s no need.” Almost as if he’s read your mind, Zayne matter-of-factly redirects the conversation. “It’s not uncommon to blurt out things during climax. Some people swear, and others call out names. It was a very normal reaction considering I was the one in the room with you.”

He throws the gloves in the trash and goes to check the computer, to ensure the sensors had given him the information he needed before starting the second round of the appointment.

“Oh.” You say quietly as he sits at his desk, feeling dejected. Although relieved he wasn’t making a big deal out of it, you can’t help but feel disappointed with his reaction. Shouldn’t a man be flattered when a woman cried out his name when she came? Maybe he really was treating you strictly as a patient. And here you were, pussy exposed and spread after being probed by his dextrous fingers, mooning over him like a high school girl. Perhaps the limit of your relationship with him was in fact, doctor and patient, the childhood friends aspect fading. 

So there was no romance here at all. You had a crush on him, and he was doing his job. Reality sucks. You sniff and suddenly feel cheap, and get out of the doggystyle position and try to find the hospital gown to preserve some of your modesty. Zayne glances over at your sudden movements.

“Are you cold? I can get you a blanket.”

“I’m fine.” You try to sound normal. 

“Your records show that you usually rest about 10 minutes before you are ready for the next round. Do you feel like that will be the case this time too?”

You find the gown and drag it up to your chin, covering your body as you lay back on the table. “Yeah. Actually a little sooner today maybe. I have somewhere to be.”

“You can’t rush these things. Your body will cum when it wants to. A forced orgasm doesn’t promote anything beneficial.”

“Well can we find a way for this to happen quickly and in compliance with the sensors?” You’re trying not to let your frustration show, the pleasantness of your orgasm fading. “I don’t think I have the patience to do two more rounds.”

Zayne listens to you impassively, but those amber eyes flecked with green had an underlying intensity you couldn’t place. “You don’t have the patience to do two more rounds?” He gets up and comes over to you. “You want to just leave then?” He approaches the edge of the table and there’s tension in his jaw. Perplexed, you look at him, his reaction unexpected. 

“No, I’m sorry, I know I can’t leave because of compliance and all that.”

“Compliance,” Zayne mutters under his breath before grasping your chin and forcing you to look at him, a gasp leaving your throat. 

“You’re getting frustrated because you have to do this a few times every month while being supervised? Do you have any idea what I have to do before you come in for these sessions?” His voice is a growl and you clam up, shocked by this aggressive display of expression from him.

“Every month I have to remain professional as you come in, pleasure yourself, and then leave. I have to endure seeing your beautiful body bare in front of me and control all my impulses to touch you, to not overstep my limitations as your doctor. I pleasure myself remembering the noises you make and ensure I’m well spent before coming in to do your appointments. You sit there, acting like it’s hard for you, but do you have any idea what you do to me?”

One of his knees is on the table, and he’s looming over you making you feel like a tiny animal caught in his fury. “It’s torture, to watch you. You’re not like the other patients I see. You never have been. Because with you, I always feel like I’m on the verge of losing control. Do you know how difficult it is to not do things to you that aren’t specified on your medical record? To have my fingers so intimately inside you, feel every little drop of pleasure clenching around my fingers, knowing at the end I can’t have you to myself? To hear you call my name and know that you only see me as your doctor?” 

Your face is a bright shade of red but you can’t look away from his face. His teeth are gritted, and when you dare to glance down, you see the noticeable bulge that has formed between his legs. He follows your glance and clicks his tongue, letting go of your chin. 

“I know I crossed a boundary today. It’s all right. You can go. I’ll reschedule you with another doctor. I know you didn’t want me in the first place.”

Your mind is a blur as you quickly reach out to grab his hand, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. His admission was like a prayer answered, and you weren’t going to meek about this. His breath hitches as he feels you pulling at his hand and gives you a look of uncertainty. Your lips part but the words you want to say refuse to come out. 

“Damn it,” he whispers ferally before his mouth captures yours in a rough kiss. It was wild and demanding, a contrast to the reserved, patient man he usually was. You’re swept up in the feeling of his mouth on yours, the taste of his tongue, and the softness of his lips. When you break apart, his hand cups your cheek, his eyes searching your face.

“This isn’t just because of the session right?” He asks keenly and you realize what he’s asking you. He’d been aching for you before this whole stupid policy came into place. The same way you’d been longing for him. 

“No, it’s not. I had a crush on you back when you became my doctor to check on my heart condition.” A sigh of relief leaves him before he tenderly presses his forehead to yours, and you’re caught up in the sweetness of the moment. 

“I just had to be sure.”

Boldly, you raise your head, delighted when he meets you, pulled back into his kiss, your tongues sliding over each other, your fingers tangling into his hair, scratching the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to you. 

You gasp as he breaks the kiss to drag his tongue down the column of your throat, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the heated flesh, your blood humming in your veins as your eyes flutter closed. He pulls away the gown and pulls your perked nipple into his mouth, and you revel in the jolt of pleasure it brings you, each suckle felt in your clit which had already swollen up again in need. His fingers capture your other nipple, softly tweaking and pulling it and drawing little whines of desire from your throat. 

Your hand finds the junction between his legs and cups the heavy bulge, drawing a groan from him, palming him through his slacks, feeling it grow and tent the fabric under your ministrations. A low guttural sound leaves him and he gets off the table, and you almost protest until you see him dragging the small wheeled stool from earlier towards the table. He settles down on it, looping his arms around the tops of your thighs and pulling you closer to the table's edge until your feet find the stirrups again. 

“Stay open for me darling,” he instructs, his eyes glittering and you shiver as you feel his breath against your swollen folds. You squeak as he pushes your folds apart with his nose, inhaling your scent, his eyes growing dark with lust. “You smell delicious. I always wondered. Had to stop myself from sniffing my gloves after you climaxed. Not professional you know.” 

The musky tang of your pussy fills his senses, and his tongue darts out and dips into your slit, finding the swollen bud and licking it with just the right pressure that makes your toes curl and stars pop into your vision. 

Your hand rests on his head, tugging his beautiful dark locks, his name falling from your lips without barriers. Your hips rock against him, moaning, then let a sob as his lips suction around your clit. His fingers, free from the gloves at last, probe your entrance, scissoring inside to prepare you for what was to come before they curl up into that gummy patch that he knew too well. 

The sensations flood you, and the sheer knowledge of knowing you had Zayne touching you this way, unbound by the usual rules was sending you into a frenzy. Incoherent noises leave your mouth, crying out hotly as he teases the orgasm from you, your body shivering from the intensity. 

He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and takes in your appearance, so soft and satisfied on his table, a dreamy look in your eyes.

“Are you prepared for the after?” he asks, you nod, more than eager to experience him. A sly smile crosses his face before he reaches over into the little chest of drawers by the table and pulls out a condom. 

“Hospitals have free condoms. It would be impractical to not use one when it’s on hand.” He explains seeing your questioning look and stands to undo his pants. You watch curiously as his cock is finally freed, eyes widening as it faces you, so impressive and veiny, standing proudly with a slight curve in its length. His pubes were neatly trimmed at the base, ebony curls visible behind the shaft. As he starts to roll on the condom, you feel your whole body heating up in anticipation. 

He leans down to kiss you before taking your feet and resting them on his shoulders, his cock at the perfect angle to enter you. As he sinks into your welcoming heat, you let out a sigh of longing, feeling the delicious stretch of muscle as he pushes up inside you, gasping as you feel his full length sheathe itself. As he bottoms out, his eyes close in bliss, hardly daring to believe that after all this time, he is finally getting to fulfill this private dream. 

Each stroke has him brushing against your gspot and kissing your cervix as he paces himself, feeling the primal urge to take you roughly and selfishly calling at his self-control. A growl leaves his throat as you whimper, straining towards him as the both of you struggle to keep a grip on reality. He feels the seductive way your walls clench around him, hears the soft noises you make, sees your face contort in pleasure with every roll of his hips. 

“Oh you feel so good,” he pants hotly, glasses askew, almost at the tip of his nose as he thrusts. “Clenching me so needily. Gonna milk me dry.”

Your response is a shuddering whimper, your back arching greedily to feel all of him, creating the perfect curvature to brush your clit against the base of his erection with each push of his hips. He feels the little bud on his heated skin, your combined fluids dripping onto his shaft, slickening the bundle of nerves with each stroke. 

“Be a good girl and cum on my cock the way you do on my fingers.” Zayne’s voice is husky as he tries to hold on, damned if he came before you. “I know you want to. I can feel the way your walls are spasming. They always do this pattern before you orgasm.”

The fact that he had memorized this knowledge of you was too much and you let go, your voice filling the room as you climax. Zayne’s hips stutter as he feels you around his length, pussy fluttering so him. His pace quickens, the sound of slapping skin becoming more and more urgent, his balls hitting your ass each time as he chases his orgasm. 

A shiver passes through his body as it happens and he buries himself in your warmth. You hum in satisfaction as you feel his cock twitch and pulse inside you as he spills his load. He pants, sweat on his forehead as he bends down to kiss you again, carefully lowering your legs which burn from the stretch as they settle on the stirrups. 

Threading your fingers through his hair, you brush your noses together, smiling shyly at him as he smirks, his eyes closing as he catches his breath.

“Can I see you outside of my office sometime?” he asks and you laugh at the invitation. 

“Are you asking me out on a date after having sex just once?” you tease as he grips the base of the condom and slides out, your pussy feeling the loss keenly. 

“I have been wanting to for a while. I was just wondering if I was misreading the signals. But I think I have a solid answer now.” He helps you sit up and cradles your body against his, idly stroking your skin, before gently removing the sensors off your body. 

“Let’s get dressed,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead after a moment of cozy silence, and the both of you hunt down your clothes. As he fixes his tie, Zayne passes by his computer and lets out an amused huff. 

“Something funny?” you ask as you button your blouse.

“The sensors definitely gave enough information to make anyone’s head spin.” You walk over and snort as you see the window, full of sharp spikes. 

“Well, at least I am guaranteed you had a good time.” Zayne’s eyes sparkle mischievously as he pulls you in for another kiss. 

“I’m not changing my doctor,” you reassure him as you pull away. There’s amusement in his gaze when he replies. 

“Oh, definitely not. I think if the Hunter’s Association ever sees this record, they’ll heavily advise you to remain with the same healthcare professional.” 

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating support banner by @/ cafekitsune @theimmortalbuns @otomegamesforlife @sweets-kozume @actuallysaiyan

[s0dium]

Warning: Gojo is so sensitive and cums so so much.

Contrary to popular belief, Gojo Satoru doesn't get around much.

Between missions that blurred into meetings with higher-ups, and training students, Gojo rarely has time to spare. So when he finally has time to let loose, time to be with you, the foreign sorceress who came to Japan to help out with curses, he forgets to warn you about two small things.

Number one, it's been so long since he has done anything remotely sexual. Number two, he cums a lot.

But it isn't until you're taking his heavy dick in your mouth and wrapping your soft lips on his pink tip that he realizes he won't be getting a word in. God, how long has it been since he even came? It feels like its been eons, he's having a hard time holding back whimpers from how soft and wet your mouth feels.

"F-fuck b-baby," He groans, burying his hand into your hair so he can guide your pretty lips up and down his lengthy cock. Gojo's dick is so hard it physically hurts. His entire body trembles with anticipation, every nerve alight as he fights to keep his moans at bay. Ecstasy rippled through him in waves, too intense to ignore, too consuming to control. He has to throw his head back to the ceiling because looking at how pretty you are sucking his dick like a lolipop is enough to make him spill then and there.

Colors dance behind Gojo's eyelids, vivid and pulsating with each sharp breath he took. His heart races, pounding in his chest as if it were trying to keep pace with the pleasure that threatened to consume him. It had been so long—too long—since he'd felt anything like this. So how can you blame him when he grabs either side of your face and starts to fuck himself down your throat? His hands entangle themselves in your hair as he sat perched on the edge of the bed, his legs barely steadying him as you knelt between his knees. You are overwhelming, beautiful, and intoxicating, he has no choice but to surrender to you.

Then, it hits him.

An all consuming wave of ecstasy crashes down on him making his thighs shake and toes curl. He doesn't even know whats going on anymore because fuck he is hearing color. He's too busy shaking from the shocks of his orgasm to notice your whimpers or how your eyes are going wide from the thick salty fluid spilling into your mouth.

So you swallow.

Once.

Twice.

Holy shit his cum just keeps coming. It's too much, filling your throat until it aches, but still, more pulses into your mouth. Unable to take another gulp, you let it pool inside, feeling it trickle past your lips, warm and slick, dripping down your chin. The sensation sends a shiver through your body, heat blooming deep inside you as the messy wetness makes you crave more, leaves you feeling desperate. Fuck, how would this feel in your pussy? Filling your womb like icing?

"Fuck, shit, I'm sorry baby fuck." With shaky hands Gojo pulls his softening dick out of your mouth, bringing his thumb to your lip to wipe the milky white cum from your mouth.

You gather yourself and take a deep breath, determined to swallow it all. With a big gulp, you force the thick fluid down your throat, your lips closing tightly around the last of it. The strain makes your throat burn, but you manage, the effort sending a visible shudder through you. Gojo watches, his sharp blue eyes darkening with lust, lips curling into a smirk before he bites down hard, stifling a groan at the sight.

"Atta girl."

This is inspired by @introloves bokuto fic

[holeforzenin]

Hiking with Kento <3

The air is crisp, practically biting at your cheeks and exposed skin as you brace yourself against the cool surface of the rock, its jagged edges digging into your delicate palms. The view stretches out in front of you—endless mountains, blue sky, birds cutting through the breeze—but all you can focus on is the way Kento’s cock is buried deep inside you, the loud plah! plah! plah! of his hips colliding with your rippling ass echoing loudly in the air, it’s almost embarrassing.

“Look at that beautiful view, Darling,” he murmurs behind you. His hands are heavy on your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh in the greediest way possible as he fucks into you like he’s permanently trying to connect your bodies together. “Incredible right? But I’m guessing you’re enjoying what I’m doing to you waaay more”.

You try to focus on the view, you really do—but the way his cock drags against your walls, stretching you open and filling you up completely has your eyes fluttering shut instead. “K-Kento…” you breathe out, barely above a whisper. He chuckles, the sound vibrating against your back as he leans over you, his larger body pressing you further into the stone, and ending up lifting you off the ground so that you’re just standing on your tippy toes because of his sheer weight.

“Come on, eyes up,” he commands, one hand sliding up your spine to grab a fistful of your hair, gently yanking your head back just enough to make you gasp. “Told you to look, didn’t I?”

Your eyes snap open, catching the sweeping landscape—the distant peaks, the endless stretch of green, birds soaring above—but the only thing you can really process in your head is the lewd way your husband’s brutally pounding you in broad daylight, purposely rolling his hips deep, making you feel every fat inch of his girth. It’s so nasty, the way you’re bent over the rock in the middle of nowhere, your pants pooling around your ankles with his cock stuffing you full, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the quiet.

“Kentooo—” His name falls from your lips in a broken moan, and he just hums in that patient, attentive tone he always does, one hand slipping down to rub tight circles over your throbbing clit. Your back arches, eyes rolling back as he bullies that spot inside you, making you squirm and whimper against the rock.

“That’s it—Look at you. So pretty when you’re taking me like this, what a good girl,” he grunts, his pace quickening, hips smacking your poor ass hard enough to echo. “Bet those birds are getting a nice show, huh? Watching you get fucked stupid out here”.

His words make your cheeks burn, your walls fluttering around him so tight he has to bite back a groan. “Oh, you like that?” he coos with condescension. “Like knowing anyone could look out and see you spread out for me? Letting me fuck you like this?”

Your knees start to buckle, legs shaking as his thrusts grow rougher and more desperate. He’s practically slamming into you now as if you were just a Gloryhole stuck in the rock, his cock punching deep with every snap of his hips, pulling fucked-out moans from your throat. “Gonna cum, sweetheart?” he pants, his voice strained. “Gonna soak my cock while you stare at the mountains like a good girl?”

You can’t even respond, too lost in the way he’s tearing you apart, pleasure coiling hot and tight in your belly. Your fingers dig into the rock, nails scraping uselessly as you clench around him, your orgasm crashing over you with a force that makes you cry out.

“Theeeere it is” he moans, hands tightening on your hips as you spasm around him, milking him for everything he’s worth. His hips stutter, and then he’s burying himself to the hilt, grinding deep against your cervix as he fills you up, the warmth flooding your cunt and making you shiver.

You’re both panting, still bent over that rock with your legs shaking and his seed dribbling down your shaky thighs. He leans down, pressing a rough kiss to the back of your neck, voice husky and out of breath. “Told you hiking was good for the soul”.

[rafesbimbo]

Hiii!! Can I request gynecologist rafe x fem reader that can’t orgasm and he helps her (some smut)

Tysm, love your stories!! <3

warnings: smut, taboo, age gap (19/29), medical kink, orgasm therapy, fingering, dirty talk, dominant!rafe, nervous!reader, lowercase

pairing: gynecologist!rafe cameron x fem!reader

you’re not sure what’s worse—the paper gown, the stirrups, or the fact that the man standing between your knees is painfully attractive.

dr. rafe cameron.

“first time?”

he asks, voice low and smooth. he doesn’t look like any doctor you’ve ever seen. slicked-back hair, perfect teeth, sleeves rolled up to show strong, veiny forearms. his gold watch catches the light.

you nod. “yeah.”

his eyes flick down to your trembling knees. “nervous?”

“a little,” you whisper, even though your heart’s beating so hard it’s making your chest ache.

he hums, scribbling something on the clipboard.

“you’re nineteen. no birth control. no active partners. but you made this appointment yourself. so what’s goin’ on, baby?”

your cheeks burn.

god.

this is so embarrassing.

you look down at your hands, fingers fidgeting in your lap.

“i… i can’t finish.”

his brow lifts. “what do you mean?”

you hesitate. then, in a small voice, “i’ve never had an orgasm. not with someone. not by myself.”

he doesn’t laugh. doesn’t make a face. he just stares at you for a second like he’s reading you.

“how long you been tryin’?”

you shrug. “a couple of years.. i thought something was wrong with me.”

he steps closer. “nothing’s wrong with you.” a pause. “some girls just need a little help.”

your breath catches. “you mean…?”

his voice drops. “i mean, if you’re open to it, i can do an internal evaluation. a hands-on assessment. we’ll go slow. see if we can figure out what’s keepin’ you from letting go.”

you blink up at him, wide-eyed. “that’s… allowed?”

he smiles. “with your consent? yeah, baby. i’m licensed to make you feel good.”

you shiver.

he helps you lie back on the table, spreading your legs gently into the stirrups. the gown falls open. you’re bare under it. skin prickles as the cool air hits your center.

his eyes drag down your body, hungry. “pretty little thing,” he mutters, almost to himself. then louder, “i’ll start with just one finger.”

you nod, breath shaky.

he gloves up, squirts a little lube onto his fingers, and presses one thick finger inside you. slow. smooth. your body clenches around the intrusion, and he pauses.

“tight,” he murmurs. “you ever use toys?”

you shake your head. “just fingers.”

“makes sense.” he pushes deeper, his other hand resting on your thigh to keep you still. “gonna feel around a little. let me know if anything feels good.”

you can’t speak—you’re already panting. he curls his finger upward, and your hips jolt.

he smirks. “there she is.”

he presses again. and again. and each time your back arches a little more. you’re gasping now, whimpering when he adds a second finger, stretching you wider.

his thumb brushes your clit, slow and steady. “you’ve been waitin’ for this, huh?”

“y-yeah,” you breathe.

“just needed someone to show you how your body works. someone who knows how to make you cum.”

his fingers speed up, thumb rubbing harder. your thighs shake, breath ragged.

“rafe—i—”

he mumbles low. “that’s dr. cameron to you, baby. say it.”

“dr. cameron,” you whine.

“that’s right. say it again when you come.”

your whole body is burning. your hands clutch the paper beneath you, hips grinding into his palm. it builds so fast you almost don’t believe it—your first real orgasm crashing through you like lightning, loud and hot and blinding.

you moan his name as you fall apart, legs trembling. he doesn’t stop until you’re whimpering, too sensitive to take it.

he finally pulls out, fingers glistening. he watches the way your pussy flutters, still clenching around nothing.

“fuck,” he mutters. “we’re definitely gonna need a follow-up appointment.”

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 !! ❞

❝ WHEN YOUR CHILDHOOD BEST FRIEND OFFERS TO TEACH YOU HOW TO LOVE, HOW CAN YOU SAY NO ?? ❞

✧ pairing: college student!yuji itadori x f!reader

✧ summary: yuji itadori has been your best friend since you were kids, and when he offers you to teach you how to fuck, you don't expect him to be able to find his way into your heart too.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, aged up characters (don't like? don't read), childhood best friends to fwb to lovers, college au! (no curses), reader is the same age as yuji (both 20s), grew up as neighbors, mutual pining, nobara playing cupid, jealous!yuji, yuji is so golden retriever bf, nightmares, mentions of parental death via car crash (yuji), adoptive dad nanamin :), nipple play, oral (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), semi public sex (under a blanket with sleeping friends nearby), sex (p in v), creampie, swearing, fanart by unknown artist (found on pinterest, pls let me know if you know the og artist so i can credit)

✧ wc: 13,544

✧ for my 2k celebration event: item 5 has been sold to two anons!

“You want me to teach you?” 

The words left your best friend’s lips nonchalantly as if he was asking you if you wanted him to teach you how to ride a bike. 

But that’s not what he was offering to have you ride—

“Yuji,” you say slowly, “what are you saying? Do you even know what you’re saying?” 

Yuji Itadori was dense, but you knew he was far from stupid. You learned that in third grade when he punched a bully that had been picking on you, the final straw being when he had tripped you, causing you to skin your knee. Before you could even well any tears up in your eyes, you heard a thwack and a yelp as Yuji had laid the boy out on the playground. You stared at Yuji, as he offered you his other hand to help you to your feet, as your eyes slid from him to your bully. 

Yuji knelt down, carrying you on his back to the nurse’s office, “but Yuji, what about him? We left him—“ 

And he set you down outside the nurse’s office — and he only smiled that wide smile he had always reserved for you, “Don’t worry — I made sure no one was looking.” 

But now, you were beginning to doubt his sanity, rather than his intelligence — “I know what I’m saying,” he chuckles, trademark smile on his lips, “I’m just offering you the chance to practice,” 

“This isn’t practicing a sport or test—you’re offering,” you shift on your bed, while Yuji lounges on the floor, back against the bottom of your bed, “you’re offering to sleep with me, Yuji,” he leans his head on your bed, looking up at you at way, your face upside in his vision. 

“I know, I know, but it’s not a big deal is it?” he’s acting so nonchalant you wonder if one of his teammates had hit him hard in the head during practice, “we’ve had all our firsts together,” 

You scoff, “That was like our first steps, first day of school, first drink—“ 

“First kiss—“ he interrupts, and your face burns at the memory — a preadolescent game gone wrong that ended up with you and Yuji sharing your first kiss when you were teens. 

“That wasn’t real,” you wave him off, crossing your arms, “and this isn’t just a kiss for a game—this could change our friendship—“ 

“It won’t, if we don’t let it,” his gaze is more serious than you’ve ever seen Yuji be — not when he was usually all wide smiles and enthusiasm, “it’s us, we can get through it, and we don’t have to let it get weird right?” 

You chew on your lip, “Yuji, what do you get out of it?” And he’s tilting his head at your question— “I mean you don’t have to do this — just because I’m insecure because I don’t have experience,” you mumble. 

And that’s how the conversation had started — your complaints about your friends talking about their boyfriends, exes, and hookups, while you just nodded along — far too aware that you hadn’t even had a proper kiss, much less sex. And now you had found yourself here. 

“Look,” he slides up to sit on your bed, a good distance away from you, his eyes finding yours — warm hazel that felt as if it was drizzling over your skin wherever his gaze traveled, “I want your first time to be safe. I don’t want you to just hook up with someone and something bad to happen because you can’t say no — with me,” he clenched his hand into a fist holding his other hand flat as he gently hit his fist against it, “you can tell me to stop and if I somehow don’t or don’t hear you, punch me,” 

You snort, “Yuji,” he’s shaking his head. 

“I’m serious, I want you to be safe,” and you’re fidgeting with your fingers in your lap — this was Yuji, Yuji — you couldn’t say you hadn’t noticed how well he had grown up. Not when all of your friends drooled over him — especially with how liked he was — by everyone. 

“What if I lose you?” And he chuckles, as he breaches your personal space and his hand brushes yours. 

“You won’t, ever. I promise,” and your breath catches — many millions of times had Yuji touched you throughout your lives — an arm over over your shoulder, a hug, even holding your hand through crowds during festivals — but a simple brush of his fingers against yours had your heart rattling against its bony enclosure, begging for you to let it out, “what do ya think?” 

And you’re thinking — this would be the best outcome — you weren’t one to hook up with a stranger and you were burnt out on dead end dating app conversations, and to have your first time with someone close, someone you knew — it would be ideal. 

“Are you sure?” And his lips curl into a soft smile, leaning closer, as his fingers gently brush against your locks. 

“Would I be here like this if I wasn’t?” his breath warms your lips, as his fingers skim your cheek, “is this okay?” 

You nod wordlessly, unable to find the words to even reply — you had never thought of this situation would ever happen — especially like this. You lean against his hand, calloused from his practices, but as gentle as it always was. 

“We can take it as slow as you need,” he murmurs, as he’s even closer now, your eyes fluttering shut, only for his lips to graze your forehead. You pause at the featherlight touch — wondering if it actually happened when your eyes open to find his, “no need to rush, right?” He smiles, as he gets to his feet, “are we still on for tomorrow’s study session?” 

“Of course,” 

He scratches the back of his head, “Good because I still don’t understand math or why I need it, but unfortunately, I still have to pass,” he grabs his bag, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he offers a smile before he’s gone. 

And you’re left sitting on your bed, the warmth of his touch still on your skin, wondering what the fuck just even happened. 

“Yuji, you just have to solve for x,” you sigh, explaining the problem for the billionth time, as his pen waves back forth between two fingers, “it’s simple,” 

Your weekly study sessions with Yuji were a constant throughout your life, though more for Yuji than you. Yuji is very intelligent, despite his demeanor in class where it felt as if there was a perpetual question mark over his head — he just learned by seeing and then doing. And the repetition helped you all the same. But you had never felt so conscious sitting next to the boy you called your best friend. 

“Maybe to you, but I don’t why math has to involve letters,” he wrinkled his nose at the problem, sighing, as he twists the pen around his hand, and your eyes catch the movement — you didn’t know how the little boy’s whose hands you used to hold had gotten so big now — calloused from his practices, but so soft against your skin,  “is something interesting about my hands?” 

Your eyes snap up to meet his, cheeks burning as you shake your head, “No, just, uh, impressed that you can twist the pen around your hand like that,” 

“Oh, that?” he’s as unfazed as usual, leaning back a little, “that’s easy. I could show you if you want,” 

“It’s fine,” and you’re trying to focus back on the problem, when you find him still staring, “what is it?” 

“If you wanted to hold my hand, you just had to ask,” his fingers graze yours, with enough time for you to pull away, before his fingers lace with yours, “and we can do more if you want?” 

This was crazy — it was probably a mistake, but — as his touch made your heart flutter, warm rolling in waves that erupted into butterflies in your stomach — why weren’t you pulling away? 

“What does more entail?” and he inches a little closer, his breath warming your lips, “but you still haven’t gotten this problem down, are you just trying to get out of studying?” 

A chuckle on his lips, “Maybe I’m just looking for the right motivation, so how about we make a deal?” He moves over, spreading his legs apart, and pats the floor in front of you — for each question I get right, I get a kiss,”

And why you agreed to this, you really didn’t have words—but now you were sat between his legs, nearly in his lap, as he leaned forward — his chest against your back as his chin brushed your shoulder and his cheek brushed against your own, breath warming your neck — trying to get a better look at the math problem. His arm was wrapped around your side as his pen scratched against the scrap paper, trying to solve the problem. You bit your lip, trying your best not to glance at him, but you spot his wrinkled brow out of the corner of his lip and the tip of his tongue poking ever so slightly out of his mouth— and your lips curled, he still had that habit from when you were kids. 

“There, I think I solved it,” he murmurs, and you have to hold back a shiver at the words rumbled against your ear, “is it right?” 

And god, you could barely think, much less do math, but as you glance over the question and answer — he’s got it right.  

Fuck. 

“It is,” you say softly, “is all you need some motivation? Because I would have just promised I would go to see the next Human Earthworm movie,” 

He chuckles, his lips nearly against your ear, as his hand gently traces your jaw, “I’d like that, but I think i rather have what I was promised, as long as you’re still okay with that,” 

Your breath hitches, as you follow his lead, rough pads still so gentle against your cheek, as your eyes find his, but you don’t find his usual doe eyes — but instead find pools of lust threatening to drag you under. Although from the way your lips part and eyes flutter shut, perhaps he had you underwater for far longer than you even knew. 

His lips graze yours — it’s barely a kiss, a peck maybe — as he does his best to ease you in. You didn’t know lips could be so soft — meeting again and again, stealing logic from your mind and breath from your lungs. 

“Are you okay?” He’s murmuring, not even a breath away from your lips. You’re nearly dizzy, mind reeling from his touch, heart jumping at his thumb rubbing lightly against your cheek. 

“I am, just a little strange to be kissing, much less you,” and his brow knits together, “but not bad at all,” you add, and he chuckles, his fingers grazing your cheek firmer, as he leans in again, “we said one kiss—“ 

“Do you really want to stop now?” he’s murmuring, and your noses bump against each other. 

Your lips find his again and now you can taste the sour candy he had stolen from you, but an overwhelming sweetness overrides it, and your hand brushes against his cheek, the other finding purchase on his chest.

“Is that okay?” You murmur, as you lips part, the two of you catching your breath, your shared pants filling the silence, your cheeks burning as your eyes avert from his, “I don’t know—“ 

“You’re fine, don’t worry about it,” a small chuckle on his lips, fingers cupping your chin to guide your gaze back to his — a subtle heat that makes your insides turn to molasses, sticky and sweet and far too warm, “just do what feels right, ok?” 

And his lips find yours again, gently as he did the first time, but more passion behind it, swallowing your quiet murmur of his name with ease. Your lips move against his just as his did — you try to push aside the thoughts of whether you were doing this right. But the slight brush of his teeth against your bottom lip makes you forget too with a gasp. 

He pulls away with a grin on his lips, “Sorry, couldn’t resist,” and his lips are kissed red, your thumb brushed against his swollen lips, “don’t tempt me more,” 

“You’re the one who started this, shouldn’t you take some responsibility, Yu?” your lips graze his cheek, curling as a rosy flush settles over his cheekbones, “nothing to say?” 

“You’re making it hard for me to hold back,” and he’s burying his face in the side of your neck, making you shiver, as he pulls you even closer, arms around your waist, “I don’t want to rush you,” 

Cute, you think before you even think, and yet the way his face is hidden away in your neck, breath warming your neck makes your body flush, and when have you ever thought of Yuji as cute? And yet you couldn’t remember a time that he made your heart race either. 

His lips press a small kiss to your neck, drawing a yelp from your lips, “Yuji—“ he’s nosing the hollow of your throat, “ah, you’re teasing me,” you whine, and he’s lifting his gaze back to yours, heavy with want, a want that leaves you bereft of any semblance of sense. 

“You started it,” he murmurs, before he finds your lips in another kiss — this time it’s a slow heat, languid as it threatens to burn both of you alive, flames licking at the edges of your reason. And his phone goes off — a reminder for practice that he groans at, “I should go. I have to go run laps,” 

“Now?” And he’s slowly disentangling himself from you, the absence of his touch lingers, the heat ebbing, “don’t you usually practice in the mornings?” You get to your feet slowly as well, handing him his math notebook, and it occurs to you when you spot the puddles outside, “it was too wet,” 

And he nods, scratching the back of his head, as the two of you walk out into your apartment’s living space, “and I forgot my protein shake—“ you head over to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door and pulling out his shake, and he blinks, “how—“ 

“You did the same thing last week, so I just bought a pack for you,” and his lips curl as he walks over and takes the bottle from your hand, fingers brushing — and even that much alight a flutter of nerves through your body. 

“Thanks,” he grins, and you nod. 

“Of course, I thought it just made sense since you come here every week—” you turn to shut the refrigerator, before turning back, only to find him stepping a bit closer, “Yu—“ 

“I almost forgot, one more lesson,” and he’s leaning close, and your breath catches in your throat, as his lips brush yours, fingers tracing the swell of your cheek, “a kiss goodbye,” and he parts, a brush of his fingers against yours, “I’ll text you later,” and he’s gone in a flash. 

Your left, fingertips touching your lips, a questioning lingering as he left — whether these feelings blooming in your chest were just from the kiss, or something more. 

But you glance at your phone — a text from Yuji: 

Golden Retriever Bestie: thanks for the drink again :)

You lock the screen — but you couldn’t hope for more, right? Not when this was started with the intention of stopping. But why—as you laid back into bed, staring up at your ceiling in the same room the two of you had spent the last two years watching movies or studying in, eyes squeezing shut—

Why did you still want more? 

When did Yuji Itadori fall in love with you? It would probably be easier for him to list the moments he hadn’t fallen for you — but the earliest he can remember was when he had hurt himself climbing a tree in the schoolyard, falling from the branch he had made it to. You had been watching him the whole time, telling him to come down, and when he fell, you were at his side. His vision was a little blurry but when it cleared, he saw you knelt above him, big tears leaving your eyes. And when he came to, you hugged him tight, before helping him to the nurse’s. You had even insisted on bandaging his cuts, not letting the nurse do so. 

And that’s when he knew — he knew he always wanted to wake to you beside him. 

“You what?” Nobara scoffed at him, as she held up another of her new purchases in front of her while looking in her full length mirror, “so instead of asking her out and confession this pathetic crush—“ 

“Pathetic is kinda harsh, Kugisaki—“ 

“It’s been over a decade — your one sided feelings is now in secondary school — it’s officially pathetic,” she hangs up the new leather jacket she bought in her closet, before turning to Yuji, “so instead of confessing, you asked her to be your friends with benefits—“ 

“That’s not exactly—“ she cuts him off with a look, “ok that’s kind of what I did,” he shakes his head, “she was venting about how she never had her first kiss and words started coming out of my mouth and wouldn’t stop—“ 

“Not the first time that’s happened to you is it?” And Yuji glares at her through the mirror, “what? You came to me instead of Fushiguro because you wanted a pretty girl’s opinion right?” 

“I said girl, nothing about—“ it was her turn to glare at him, “alright, alright — what do I do now? I want to tell her I like her, but if I do, I might seem like a—“ 

“A creep? A weirdo? A pervert?” 

“I was gonna say liar, but those too,” he rubbed a hand down his face, “what do I do?” 

She sighs, tucking a strand of her dyed hair behind her ear, “the only thing to do in situation like this,” 

“Tell the truth?” And she scoffs. 

“No, of course not, just use this time to make her fall for you, but that means you’ll have to use this agreement to your advantage,” she hums, “she said she wanted more experience right?” And Yuji nods, “who says it has to just be making out and sex?” 

“You want to go on a date? Fuck,” you mutter under your breath as you turn the heat of your burner down, hoping you hadn’t completely burned your omelet now as you flipped it, “I thought this was just supposed to be for the more…physical sides of things,” your cheeks burned. 

God, what the fuck. 

“I mean part of gaining experience is learning how to date, right?” And you’re placing your slightly burned omelet in the plate, as you wipe your hands off with your dishcloth, “we could go to an arcade, maybe catch a movie,” 

“Human Earthworm 4?” And you hear him chuckle over the line, and the sound makes your lips curl — it always felt like an accomplishment making him laugh, but even more so now.  

“We don’t have to—“ 

“I don’t mind,” you cut him off, and you never did — you just loved to tease him, as you always did, “they’ve grown on me,” and you didn’t know there was more room for Yuji to grow on you, you thought his roots had already went far and deep, tangled around every inch of yourself and your mind, even your heart — but now—

“Does 2 PM work? I’ll come by and pick you up from your place,” and you didn’t know where it would go but— 

“Sounds perfect,”  he had found his way into a place you never thought anyone would find themselves in. — and as he hung up, biting your bottom lip—

And it seemed he was here to stay. 

“You’re such a cheater,” you glared at Yuji as he won for the tenth time at the boxing game — hitting the max score every time, “tell me what the trick is,” 

“You know I’m strong,” Yuji gapes,  holding his arm, “how would I cheat?” And you’re pouting, crossing your arms. 

“You’re cheating by being you,” and Yuji has to bite back his smile — you were being so cute — but he knows saying that will earn him a punch in the shoulder harder than you gave the punching bag on the machine, “now you have to buy me an ice cream,” 

“For?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“For being a cheater,” and he can’t help the chuckle that leaves his lips that earns him a bunch of slaps to his arm, before he’s wrapping that same arm around your waist, your complaints chased away by a gasp, “what—“ 

“I was going to buy you anything you wanted anyway, it is a date after all,” he smiles, and you stammer, but you don’t pull away, “what flavor do you want?” After you tell him, he goes off to the concession to buy you both some ice cream, and when he finds you at a table, he sees you’re not alone. His lips are a tight line, as he finds a guy leaning against the booth you sat in, clearly flirting with you, your back to Yuji so he can’t see your face. 

He finds his way back to you, his hand brushes your shoulder gently, “is everything okay?” He asks you, meeting your gaze without regard for the stranger — and he’s glad he did, because he spots your pursed lips and darting eyes that told him everything he needed to know, “you need something?” He asks the guy, a friendly smile on his lips. 

“Not from you,” the guy scoffs, “I was talking to—“ 

“Well, you’re talking to me now, not my date, so—“ and you’re leaning into Yuji, “you need something or not?” And the guy grumbles something under his breath before slinking away, and Yuji’s sliding in beside you when you move over, “you okay?” 

“Yeah, he wouldn’t leave,” you sigh, shaking your head, “sorry—“ 

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” he murmurs, as he hands you your ice cream, “as long as you’re okay,” his arm slides around your shoulder and squeezes you, “i would’ve punched him if it wouldn’t have ruined our date,” 

You snort, as you lick your ice cream, “if you punched him harder than you did the bag, don’t know if this date would have ended with us going home,” and he pouts, as he laps at his ice cream, and he feels you turn to look at him, “Didn’t know you were the jealous type, Yu,” and he chuckles, he wanted to say — only when it came to you. 

But he knew that he couldn’t. Not like this.  

“I didn’t think I was either.” 

“Nope, not gonna admit it,” and Yuji’s grinning still, as the two of you walk out of the theater, his arm still around your shoulder, “no it wasn’t that good,” 

If there was one thing about Yuji is that movies were literally his obsession — one movie marathon when the two of you were teens had turned him into a fanatic. And he often ended up dragging you to all of them he saw in theaters — and you probably had watched the Human Earthworm movies the most amount of times anyone ever has — aside from Yuji. Well, more like you watched him watch it, because while he was smiling and laughing (or crying) at the movie, you were looking at him. 

And right now, he looked far too smug, “So you admit that it was good,” and you cross your arms, shaking your head, “I saw you tearing up at the end — I told you, it’s all about love!” 

You purse your lips, if only to hold back your smile, before sighing, “How would no one tear up at that ending?” And his hand’s grabbing yours, tugging at your arm, as the two of you walk along, “Yu—“ 

“I knew you liked it! C’mon, I knew you would, now what was your favorite part?” And your lips curl into a smile, “what?” 

That was one of the things you loved the most about Yuji, how excited he could get — how he loved everything so wholeheartedly with no reservations, and you knew he was the one person you could always count on to cheer you up. 

“Nothing, nothing,” you chuckle, letting your fingers lace with his, “my favorite part?” And you want to say — watching him enjoy the movie. 

But you can’t. 

“Probably the ending,” you slowly smile, “liked it when the credits rolled,” and he’s mock glaring, as you laugh before his arm tightening around your waist, “Yu-ji—“ 

“Not going to be honest?” He murmurs, before kissing your chin, “then maybe I’ll make you.” 

“Yu—ngh, please,” Yuji could get addicted to your taste, it was never enough, was it? His lips had spent the last twenty minutes kissing every inch of your face and neck, traversing over every nook and cranny as he always wanted to — and yet it was never enough. Any time spent with you was never enough —because you always made anything better, and nothing ever worse. 

And he knew no one else would ever feel this good. 

How many times had he imagined just this scenario? Of you in his bedroom with him alone, as you had been many times before, but never like this. You never looked at him like that before — with that shyness mixed with an undercurrent of want. And it was enough to rip him away and drag him under with you. 

“Please what, baby?” Yuji looks up with a wry smile and soft eyes that burn a path where as it raked down your body like coals across a fire, “want me to stop?” And he’s dragging a thumb down your untouched lips. 

You cover your face with the back of your hand, and he’s gently tugging it away, pressing a kiss to your wrist, your pulse jumping underneath, “I want more,” and fuck if he wasn’t at full mast from the kissing, he was now at your words, “I want you to…kiss me and…touch me,” you mumble, eyes averted, but he’s smiling all the same — you were so cute. 

“Where can I touch?” he asks softly, his nose brushing yours, “need you to tell me. I don’t want to rush—“ 

And your lips crash against his, your fingers finding the back of his neck, threading in his pink locks. He’s pausing a moment before he melts into your kiss, and you’re taking the lead, as you lean further into the kiss, your fingers sliding down from his shoulder to his chest. His tongue flicks against the seam of your lips and you part for him. 

“I want you to touch me,” you murmur as you break the kiss, panting, strings of your spit still connecting your lips, your breathy words nearly enough for him to lose all control, “I’ll tell you if I don’t like it,” 

And he’s more than happy to oblige, his lips find yours in a bruising kiss, his hand toys with the hem of your shirt as permission, and you part from the kiss to nod. His hand slides up your soft flesh, pushing up your shirt along with it — finding your lacy bra underneath. He’s tugging the shirt up and over your head with your help, and god—

He has to stop himself from cumming right then and there at the sight of you. His fingers reach out, toying with the strap of your bra, “Did you wear this for me?” And you biting your bottom lip was all the answer he needed. 

“Yu—“ he’s tweaking your hardened bud through the fabric, “ah, fuck—“ and he leans down to suck the other side through your bra, while sliding down your bra strap. 

“Need to taste you,” and you’re nodding, while he’s reaching around to brush against the clasp of your bra to undo it, and his cock twitches at the sight of your bare skin — you’re so fucking pretty. 

He always thought you were pretty — when you were kids drenched from running around in the rain, when you were just waking up from a nap with your hair askew and dried drool in the corner of your mouth, when your eyes were wide with excitement and nearly jumping up and down to tell him good news; and when you’re smiling—especially when you’re smiling. 

It was his favorite thing. 

“Don’t stare so much,” you’re trying cover yourself, but his hands catch yours, easing them off, “It’s embarrassing—“ 

“You’re perfect,” and your lips part but no words come, but you can’t meet his gaze, “you are—“ 

“You’re just saying that—“ and his fingers pinch your nipple drawing a gasp from your lips, while he leans down and takes the other in his mouth. His eyes find yours, blown into deep, dark pools by his lust — ones you’d be more than willing to drown in. 

“I’d never just say that, especially to you, baby,” and you’re about to make a smart remark about him calling you ‘baby.’ But you forget every word you ever learned when his fingers start to drag down your stomach, fingers playing with the button of your jeans, “can I?” 

And you nod, your back arching ever so slightly as his lips press a sweet kiss to your bellybutton. He’s kissing down your soft legs as he tugs down your jeans — one to your thigh, another to your knee, and another to your ankle —before he’s kissing up the other. 

“How’s that feel?” he murmurs, eyes flitting up to meet yours, and fuck, your lips parted and swollen a pretty red, eyes half lidded with want, and — as his eyes fall between your thighs — a growing wet spot on your panties. 

His fingers toy with the elastic, snapping it lightly against your skin, a slight flinch only, as his eyes gaze at your clothed cunt with near reverence. He looks for permission, before he leans in to press a kiss to your swollen clit, a small yelp escaping your mouth. 

“Yuji,” you whine, lifting your head to meet his gaze again, “please,” 

“Say my name again, please,” he’s kissing your thigh gently, and it feels as if you’ll crumble under his touch any second, wither away in a figment of his imagination, and he won’t ever get the chance to hear you like this again, much less touch you. He was selfish to take advantage like this — and he knew he was — but he couldn’t leave it like this.

“Yuji, just touch me—“ and your head falls back as his fingers graze your clit through your nearly translucent underwear, “ngh, you fucker—“ and he’s chuckling, as he tugs your panties away. 

“Wanted to keep them on since you looked so good, but,” and he’s pocketing them with a grin, “I’ll just keep them instead,” your dripping walls twitch at the thought, “s’good for me. What do you want, my fingers or my tongue?” 

“Fuck, I don’t know, just touch—“ and your head lolls against the pillow as his tongue drags up flat up the length of your weeping pussy. 

“You’re so sweet — I could live here,” he murmurs, as his fingers spread your slick folds, a pretty moan falling from your lips as he does, “can’t wait to feel you cum around my fingers,” he’s easing a finger in — and you’re so tight, you’re tensing as he tries to part your walls, “relax, ok? I’ll be gentle. Don’t worry. I won’t ever hurt you,” his eyes meet yours and you’re nodding, as he pulls his finger away, a shiver at the empty ache, but it falls away into another moan as his tongue replaces it. 

The wet squelch of your folds is enough for him to cum right there — you smell as sweet as you taste, as he kisses your clit, before dragging the length of his tongue over your sopping slit again, “Yuji—fuck—“ your fingers find purchase in his pink locks right when he decides to sink a finger inside you again. 

“That’s it,” he grunts, as he works his finger knuckle deep into you, “so good f’me, so tight,” he’s murmuring, and your syrupy walls wrapped around his finger makes him wonder how good it will feel when his cock is inside you. He’s palming his erection through his pants, desperate for any kind of fucking friction, “g’nna add another,” 

And you’re nodding, “please, I—“ and a second finger joins the first, and the lewd noises grow louder from your slick and his fingers begin to pump faster — teasing and stretching your walls as they begin to flutter around you, “Yuji, Yuji—“ his name leaves your lips like a prayer, but he’s the one who would worship at your feet, if you’d let him, your moans and whimpers were all he needed to survive, and he’d give his very soul if it meant he could be at your side. 

His fingers are fucking you open, the tips of his fingers brushing against the spot that his your mouth falling open in a silent moan, “that’s it, cum for me, pretty girl,” and pleasure rips up your spine, as you cum all over his fingers, thighs shaking as you do. He fucks you slowly through your orgasm, helping you ride it out, until he’s slowing, leaning up to prsss sweet kisses to your face. 

“I’m going to pull them out slowly,” he murmurs, your eyes still fluttered shut, but they slowly open to watch him ease his fingers from you. Soft pants leave your lips as you watch him with lidded eyes lick his fingers sticky with your release clean. 

“Are you okay?” He’s murmuring, as he moves up to lean over your face, and you’re nodding, “let me clean you up and we can sleep, ok?” he’s moving to get off the bed, but you grab his hand, and he tilts his head. 

“What about you?” You mumble, frowning, eyes flickering to the tent in his pants with a shy gaze, “I want to—“ 

“It’s okay, let’s just take it easy today,” he’s smiling, fingers finding yours and squeezing, pressing his lips to your knuckles, “you look like you’re about to pass out,” and you’re pouting all the same, but you seem to relent as the exhaustion sets in once again at your words, “I’ll be right back,” and he retreats to his bathroom to wet a washcloth, only to come back to you fast asleep. 

He chuckles at the sight of you sprawled out on his bed — a sight not uncommon to him on nights you spent over, but never like this before. He leans on the bed carefully, mattress creaking ever so slightly under his weight, as he begins to clean you gently — and luckily, you don’t wake by the time he’s done. He can’t put your jeans or underwear on so he opts to grab a pair of his freshly washed shorts and slides them on you. He adjusts the blanket, draping it over you, running his fingers through your hair to tuck it behind your ear, and the back of his knuckles over your cheek. 

“Yuji,” you mumble in your sleep, and he bites his lip — as he returns to his bathroom, softly shutting the bedroom door and the bathroom door behind him, a glaring problem to deal with, as he is still nearly waddling at this point from the grazing of his boxers against his aching erection. 

He undoes his jeans quickly, eyes fluttering as he pushes both down and strips his shirt off before slipping into the shower. The squeak of the shower faucet and the water running hopefully don’t wake you — but more importantly, he hopes his moans don’t.  

His dick was rock hard and aching still — there were so many times he nearly came in his pants, and by how drenched his boxers were — maybe he had. But fuck, you were so gorgeous, laid back and spread out for him. 

His fingers grazed his weeping cock, smearing the precum up and down his length, thumb tracing his slit, as you would. He could see you thumbing his head experimentally, as your eyes flickered up at him, doe eyes, yet glazed over with lust. It wouldn’t be long until you’re slowly pumping him, as he does now — from base to tip, teasing his balls all the same. You’d flick your tongue over the tip, sucking at the dripping precum — wrinkle your nose at the salty taste, but you’d suck at his tip all the same. 

He’d look down at you as your hand switches to toying with his balls, as you let his cock slap against your tongue, before letting his length slip past your lips. Your lips would feel so much softer than his hand does right now, jerking himself off, your plush lips and tongue wrapped around his dick. A low groan escapes his lips, as he covers his mouth, hoping you couldn’t hear him over the running water. The squelch of his precum and his soft moans would only make him want to repay the favor, making you cum over and over, until you were begging him to stop. 

Fuck, he was close, by the way his cock twitched in his hand — where would he cum with you? He’d cum anywhere you wanted — but to cum on your face or chest, the image made him shudder. Your tongue would flick out to clean up some of the cum, and—

Fuck, he moans your name, as he cums all over his fingers, his release sprayed against the tile of his shower, dripping down and mixing with the water. He’s panting, as he cleans his hand off in the shower, leaning his head back. 

What has he gotten himself into? Was it right for him to do this? You didn’t know how he felt — and he didn’t know if you would ever feel the same. But as he got dressed and crawled into bed beside you, keeping his distance as you slept, he felt you move closer, mumbling his name as you did. He couldn’t help but softly smile, running his fingers through his hair—it didn’t matter if you never ended up loving him, as long as you knew what you deserved—to be with someone who loved you, as much or even more than he did. 

He let himself drift off, a loose arm thrown over your middle—he’d let himself have this, if only for now. 

“Oh come on, you couldn’t get the ad free version, Fushiguro?” Nobara complains as yet another commercial comes on, as she glares at the black haired vet student, who sat on the floor after she stole his armchair. 

He only shrugs, bearing little to no reaction, “If you’re going to complain, then why don’t you pay for it?” 

Nobara and him begin to bicker ever so slightly, and Yuji chuckles in your ear, “are they more fun to watch then the show?” 

The four of you were at your apartment, watching a new season of a TV show you all had started last year. You were sat next to Yuji on the couch, your bodies nearly pressed against each other as you shared the blanket, a little cold from the rain outside. 

“They’re always more entertaining than the show, that’s why we agree to this,” you whisper back, the proximity of your bodies making your cheeks burn. You turn away, hoping he can’t feel or even hear the way your heart was beating down your ribs to burst free. Every time he shifted even slightly, you felt your body react — so conscious of even a twitch of his fingers — you wanted to bury yourself under the blanket. 

It had been like this since that night. 

You had woken up to him asleep beside you. Your eyes fluttered open as consciousness slowly crept into focus, sunlight filtering into sight, a small groan leaving your lips. And it wasn’t until you tried to reach for your phone you realized the thing beside you wasn’t a pillow but a person.  

Your eyes flew open and you found Yuji still sound asleep beside you. It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to sleep on the same bed — especially after a late night where one or the other didn’t want to go home — but it was different to wake up entangled with him, especially after the events of the night before came flooding back. 

And after that, each time you had been around him, you had become more and more conscious of his touch, nervous even, at the simplest of brushes of his fingers. And this? His body pressed against yours, his fingers grazing your thigh nearly, and his soft breath against your ear — god, you were going to lose it. 

“You ok?” he murmurs a half an hour later, and the question itself makes you squirm — because no, your hot best friend was pressed against you and making you want to do nothing more than kiss him— 

Wait, wait, hot? Your mind stutters at your own thoughts, lagging to comprehend yourself — hot? You wanted to kiss him? You always knew Yuji was hot, he was objectively — especially based on how many of your friends had wanted you to hook them up with him — but you had never thought of him that way. Maybe in passing — but to you, that was the one line you could never cross, especially when you had seen so many friendships fall apart because of a relationship. 

You never wanted to risk Yuji like that. 

But then here you were — blurring that line you said you never cross — and letting the ground split underneath the two of you. 

“I’m fine,” you mumble back — and yet here he was, seemingly unfazed by your proximity and as the minutes ticked by, it began to eat away at you. Did he not find it as meaningful as you did? Did he not feel as good as you? Do you need to touch him just to make him feel just as heartsick as you were? 

And now you know what you wanted to do. 

As the show went on, Nobara and Fushiguro fell asleep — Fushiguro asleep with a cushion he had stolen from Nobara’s armchair and Nobara curled up in said armchair, passed out. 

“Should we stop the show and go to bed?” Yuji asks you, albeit innocently — but there was anything but innocent intentions in your mind when you shake your head, a smile on your lips. 

“Let’s keep watching,” your fingers grazes his thigh, as you lean over, lips nearly brushing against his ear, “it’s just getting interesting, right?” 

And his breath hitches, “what’re you—“ and your fingers inches higher, grazing over his already tenting erection, a hiss escapes his lips, as he’s covering his mouth. 

“Shh, don’t wake them,” and your fingers are ghosting and teasing over his cock, the precum already starting to seep through the fabric, as he shifts under your touch. Your thumb flicks over his head, now fully hard, “so big already,” you mumble, and now your lips press sweet kisses to his neck, finding small cuts and bruises from his practices, and a gasp escaped his lips. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this—“ and your lips find his, and he melts so easily into your touch, your fingers toy with the elastic of his shorts, his eyes flickering to the two sleeping. He’s pulling away for a breath, lips utterly ruined — his fingers running through his hair, “please—“ and your lips curl. 

Your fingers finally brush against his leaking cock, and his head falls back, his cheeks flushed a pretty pink, lips parted as soft pants left his lips. And you’re nearly shivering yourself at his want — seeping into your own body, as his pants and moans send a wave of heat between your thighs. 

You rub your thighs together, as you shift even closer somehow, “Gotta be quiet Yu — they can hear us after all,” you murmur, right as your thumb swipes over his slit, a yelp caught in his throat, as his hand flies back to lips, “good boy,” and his dick twitches at the praise, as your finger begins to trace along his veins, “so big, how am I going to fit you inside?” you murmur, biting back a smirk when a muffled groan reaches your ears. 

Your fingers finally curl around his length, you never thought a cock to be pretty — but Yuji’s was. You stared at it under the covers, flushed a lovely red, too dripping pearly beads of precum, and the slight curve it had to it — made the ache in your cunt only grow. 

“Please, baby, I need, please—“ he’s whining, “I need you—“ 

And you oblige him, your hand beginning to spread the pre along his length, beginning to stroke him slowly from base to tip. He’s biting his lip, hard, nearly drawing blood as he chooses to bury his face in the crook of your neck, if only to muffle any moans that fell from his lips. 

“S’good for me, Yu, wanna make you feel as good as I did,” his moan vibrates against your skin, cock twitching in your fingers, “gonna move faster, don’t want our friends to see you like this, do you? You have to be quiet,” and god, why did only seem to get harder at your words? 

Your fingers begin to jerk him off in earnest, the wet squelch of his cock nearly not hidden enough by the volume of the TV, but nearly don’t care at this point — you just want him to fall apart under your touch, need him to. 

And oh, he’s so close. His groans are more frequent, his hips jerking against your fist, and when your other hand finds his balls, squeezing — it’s too much. 

He moans softly, “I’m—“ and that’s all he manages before he spills on your fingers — warm, white spurts splatter against your palm and the blanket, dripping, as he falls back, limp against the sofa. His cock softened in your hand, as you pull it away, before gently wiping him clean with the already drenched blanket. 

He’s panting and fucked out, eyes half lidded as his chest rises and falls, watching you lick your fingers clear of his release, gaze never leaving his. 

“Didn’t know you’d taste this good—“ you barely can manage, before he’s leaning forward to kiss you. Your fingers slide against his cheek to cup it, feeling his hand tangle itself in your hair, “Yuji—“ 

“What was that about?” he murmurs, “not that I’m complaining but—“ but then Megumi starts to move and you both freeze, your breath catching, until Megumi seemingly falls back asleep, “we should head to bed, but—“ 

He looks at the blanket, and the mess you made of him and the couch alike. 

“The blanket I’ll toss in the washer, the cushion I’ll clean up and just turn over—“ and you smile, “and you take a shower before bed,” 

His brow still knits together, “but we haven’t—“ 

“We’ll talk later,” and when later came, Yuji found you fast asleep in bed, with more questions than answers. But he supposed, as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his answers could come later. 

How long has it been? 

You stared at your phone — as if you could will it to receive the message you’ve been waiting for. As if it would grant your one and only wish for a text or a call — but it didn’t. Instead, it only gave you a spam call and a text to let you know you had a discount code for your favorite takeout place. 

Great. 

It had been a week since you had heard from Yuji — and a week since that night. You had woken up to the other three gone — gone off to their own apartments after you had slept in and texts on your phone from them in the groupchat. It was a few days before break — before you and Yuji would be heading back home for a few days together. But you hadn’t seen him at all since — not a chance to talk, much less seeing him. 

Was he upset? Was he done with this? Was his promise to stay empty in the end? Was it your fault — for pushing it, for agreeing to it, and for falling for it all the same? Falling for it or — your eyes trace the screen of your phone as if it’s his cheek — or falling for him. 

No, you rake your fingers through your hair, no, you didn’t love him — not like that. Not the way you shouldn’t, the way you had sworn yourself never to — but maybe all promises between friends were empty, when they were made like this. 

But you weren’t made to let this break apart. 

You found yourself at his door after classes, knocking at his door of his apartment. The door opens, and you find Yuji rubbing his eyes, hair askew, and shoulders drooped. 

“Hey,” he yawned, he’s still shaking off the shackles of sleep, “sorry, what’s up?” 

“Are you okay?” Your furrow your brow, your eyes spot the dark bags under his eyes, large enough to nearly engulf his eyes all together, “you look like you haven’t slept in days,” he steps aside to let you in, you glance around, his apartment wasn’t usually the cleanest — but it wasn’t a wreck like it was now. Clothes scattered, unwashed dishes stacked up, and papers strewn about. 

“I just haven’t…been sleeping—“ and then you remember. 

It wasn’t about you. It was about him. And you were so wrapped up in yourself, you weren’t thinking about him. 

“Yuji, you’re having those nightmares again, aren’t you?” You murmur softly, and the way his gaze falls to the ground tells you everything you need to know, “alright, go lay down,” 

“What?” he’s blinking, but your hand already finds his as you take him to his bedroom, “what are you—“ 

“You lay down. I’m going to make you dinner, and then you’re going to sleep,” and he sits on the bed reluctantly, fingers against his knees, as he bit his lip. 

“I can’t sleep, I told you—“ you cup his cheek, and guide his gaze to yours. 

“Remember what we’d do when you couldn’t sleep after the accident?” 

“This feels ridiculous,” Yuji murmurs into your chest, his head buried there, while your fingers run softly through his pink locks, “we’re not six anymore—“ 

“So what? Doesn’t mean we can’t do this still,” you say, as your fingers pause, “unless you don’t want me to,” 

“I didn’t say that,” he mumbles, and you can hear the blush in his voice that undoubtedly painted his cheeks, “I just meant it feels like I’m bothering—“ 

“Yu, don’t make me pinch you,” you murmur, rubbing his head, “you’re never a bother,” you kiss his head softly without thinking, and soon your cheeks are burning too, “sorry I didn’t—“ 

“Why are you sorry?” He chuckles, “we’ve done a lot more than kiss recently,” and he adds, “especially you,” 

You bite your lip, glad he couldn’t see your face like this, “I thought that’s why you weren’t talking to me, I thought you didn’t like what I did…on the couch, you know—“ 

“I know,” he chuckles this time, “and how could I not like that?” And you swallow the lump in your throat, as the two of you fall into a comfortable silence that you choose to breach. 

“You haven’t had these nightmares in a while,” you murmur quietly, before you add, “we don’t have to talk—“ 

“I know, but it happens from time to time, especially this month,” and your brow furrows, “don’t wrinkle your forehead at me,” and you lean back to gape at him, a smile pulling at his lips, “you always do that when you find out I’m keeping something from you,” 

He moves ever so slightly away, turning to look at the ceiling, “Well I think I have a right because this is a pretty big thing to keep from me, Yu,” you pout, and your fingers begin to absentmindedly trace his jaw, his eyes fluttering shut — you always treated him so gently, like that something that could shatter, but he knew you would always be there to put him back together. Because you did that once already. Over a decade ago, “why didn’t you tell me?” 

Because he didn’t want to worry you. Because he didn’t want you to think of him still as that broken kid you watched after when he had his world fall apart. 

Because he didn’t want you to take that burden — he wanted to handle it himself. 

“I didn’t want to bother you—“ 

“It’s never a bother when it’s you,” and his voice catches in his throat — fuck, how did you always know just what to say? 

He takes a breath, “it’s just the same dream. Of the crash,” he could see something so clearly that he never experienced. He was at home with you when the crash happened — a play date Yuji had insisted on when he had cried and begged his parents to stay with you instead of going to dinner with them. They had relented — and that was the thing that left him alone. 

It was lucky that his grandfather was able to take him in, and stay close by — so he still got to go to school with you. 

“Let’s try to sleep, ok?” You murmur, “you’ll feel better when you sleep,” you cup his cheek, and he’s biting his lip, “what is it?” 

“What if I see it again?” He whispers, as if he’s afraid that his words were any louder he would speak it into existence. 

“Come here,” you say softly, your fingers gently guide his head to face you,  “I’ll keep you safe, I promise,” A sigh leaves his lips as he moves closer, letting you engulf him in your arms, his eyes shutting, and letting himself relax for a moment — the first moment in far too many days. 

When he let himself slip into sleep’s embrace—it was the first night he didn’t dream of the crash — he dreamt of you.  

And when he woke in your arms in the morning, your soft lips parted as you slept, sunlight dappled on your skin through his window, and the way your fingers held onto the fabric of his shirt — he knew, he knew he had to tell you how he felt. 

He needed to end this — his fingers brushing a strand of hair behind your ear — if only to begin something new. 

You had to end it — it hadn’t sunk in until the car drove back home. The quiet morning drive left you both in a comfortable silence, the quiet white noise of his playlist, along with Yuji’s terrible singalongs and your bickering over his music choice. And you found yourself more than once staring at him as he drove, to the point where he had caught you looking. 

“What?” He tilts his head when the light turned red, fingers drumming on the steering, the other poking your side. 

“Nothing,” and you’re playfully slapping his hand away, a smile on your lips — same smile you always had with him. Always—because he’s your best friend. But he was so much more than that. 

You were in love. 

The two of you had returned to the place where you had laid your roots to rest and let your seed scatter to the wind. Only to return as a different flower altogether — but you knew, you couldn’t let it go on. 

It had become painfully clear that morning, you had woken first, the sun had not peaked over the horizon yet, and you found Yuji fast asleep — breaths even and face relaxed. You knew his parents had scarred him deeply — he spoke of them often, but not at all at — he mentioned their presence, but never his own feelings. You knew he had a habit of putting others above himself — but you had missed this — all of this week, you could have been there for him, but you were caught up in your own thoughts and you had made it all about yourself. 

And he deserved more than that. 

He deserved more than you. 

And you couldn’t risk losing him — lose him in a stupid argument or a disagreement and then never be able to comfort him again? Never be able to be by his side? You couldn’t bear to even fathom that. 

“Nanamin was asking about you,” Yuji says as the two of you walk home from the local convenience store — a late night run that produced a familiar bag of treats the two of you always shared when you came back home. 

“Oh really? Are classes over for high school already?” The English literature teacher had taken Yuji in for his last year and half of high school after his grandfather passed, and Yuji always stayed with him on breaks. 

“He asked if you were going to come with us to see my parents tomorrow morning,” it was a tradition to go visit Yuji’s parents graves each year around this time — you always paid your respects whenever you could, “he also said you’re free to stay over, but you have to sleep in a different bedroom,” you snort, “he said and I quote ‘we are past the age of sharing a room,’” You laugh, cheeks burning as you shake your head, “he’s not exactly wrong though,” his fingers graze yours, and there’s nothing more you want than to take his hand, but you know one way or another, you’d drop it in the end. Wouldn’t it be better now? When there isn’t far to fall? 

So you do, letting your hand fall away from his. 

“I’d be happy to see your parents, but I don’t know if staying over is a good idea—“ and he’s shaking his head with a chuckle in his throat. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t do anything you don’t want to—“ 

“We should stop, Yuji,” and his smile slips off his face as if it was slapped off, he blinks, shock settling into confusion. 

“Why?” Only one word and it manages to break you all the same. 

“We just shouldn’t. This was supposed to be about teaching me, but i think I’ve learned enough,” you’re turning away, but his fingers are gently finding your wrist, “Yuji—“ 

“You don’t think I can’t tell when you’re lying?” Yuji asks, and your glass-like facade shatters so easily — why does it always have to break so readily when it comes to him? 

But you pull away all the same, “I can’t do this anymore. Not like this. I don’t want to. I can’t lose you—“ 

“You won’t lose me—“ but you’re already walking off, sparing a glance back. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning when we leave, Yuji,” and he’s opening his mouth to call out, but he stops himself, watching you disappear up the street. 

What just happened? 

The car ride to the cemetery is notably silent. Yuji’s eyes burned when he woke, head aching from the circles he ran around in last night, trying to figure out what happened. Nanami drives in the quiet, his eyes noting when Yuji chooses to sit passenger instead of beside you, only with one glance that’s averted after Yuji refuses to meet it. 

Yuji didn’t know what to make of what you said. After everything, he thought maybe — just maybe, you felt the same as he did. He thought he could tell you tomorrow, tell you when the two of you were alone — and even if it didn’t work out, it would be okay. 

But now — as his eyes stole a look at you in the rear view mirror, he wondered if it ever would be okay again. 

You left the car a moment to go use the bathroom when they stopped to fill gas in the car, and that’s when Nanami speaks. 

“So did you finally ask her out and she said no?” And Yuji’s head snaps to his, but Nanami only stares back, “you aren’t hard to read, Itadori. You’ve liked her for a long time,” 

Yuji scratches the back of his head, “I did something, kinda stupid,” and Nanami tilts his head, “really stupid, ok? And I was going to tell her how I felt, but she broke off what we were doing—“ 

“You weren’t dating?” Yuji’s cheeks burn as he waves off his teacher. 

“That’s not important! But what do I do, Nanamin?” the blond haired teacher raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s not hard to know what to do, Itadori. It’s what you should have done. Tell her how you feel,” and then you’re walking back to the car, “come on, let’s get back. We’re close now.” 

And your gaze avoids his own when Yuji watches you get back in the car, and his lips part as if to stop you — but he doesn’t. 

Not yet. 

You stood with Yuji as he tended to his parents’ graves. Simple stones that he was able to put in with time from his part time jobs, ones he had insisted he would pay for himself — refusing any help from anyone, even you. You knelt down, helping him clear the strewn dead leaves, brushing away dirt and snow — your fingers brushing when you both reach for the same place. 

And your eyes meet, as both of your fingers intertwine slowly — the three of you pay your respects, and Nanami finally stands. 

“I’ll wait for you two at the car,” Nanami says with a nod, leaving the two of you alone. You both already had placed offerings at their graves, arranging them slowly, as the two of you stand, the silence of the cemetery hanging overhead — light streaming in between clouds in the overcast sky, the sounds of the wind rustling the trees the only thing in the quiet. 

“Thank you for coming,” Yuji says softly, and your blink, eyes sliding to his. 

“You never have to thank me for that, Yuji,” you squeeze his hand, “as long as you want me to come, I’ll always be here. And I’ll always pay my respects to your parents, regardless of that,” you say, and that's exactly why you had to stop with him. You couldn’t bear to lose him — lose this, not when he’s lost too much and he was too much for you to lose, “come on, we should get back to the car,” as you pull your hand away from his. 

And maybe things could get back to normal. 

“I know,” and he doesn’t move as you turn to leave, “and that’s why I love you,” 

And you smile, “I love you too—“ 

“I don’t mean it like that,” and you freeze a moment, his words barely processing before he continues to speak, “I mean I do love you in that way too — but that’s not how I meant it now,” he says, as you turn to face him — not finding a hint of humor on his expression. 

“Yuji—“ your brain can barely process your best friend confessing to you — much less next to his parents’ graves— “should we be having this conversation—“ 

“It’s the perfect place to have this conversation,” he glances around at all of the graves, and he’s shaking his head, “maybe not the perfect place, but—“ his gaze softens when he finds yours, “you saved me,” 

“Yuji—“ 

“No, you did. After my parents died,” he stares at the stones side by side — “I could barely function. I barely wanted to do anything but sleep — but you, you pulled me out of bed. You made me go places. You made me smile again,” he says, “but that’s not the reason I fell in love with you,” his lips curl into a soft smile, “it’s because it’s you — your smile, your laugh, your being — it reminded me of happiness existed, and then I realized you were the only person who could make me happy the way you do,” 

“Yuji—“ 

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. But I don’t want to lose you, lose this chance to tell you how I feel, to tell you—“ 

“Yuji—“ 

“And I’ve always loved you — there’s never been—“ and you’re hugging him, before you even know you are, your arms are around his middle, face buried in his chest, as he murmurs your name. 

“The only reason I broke it off was,” your voice wavers despite your efforts to force it to stay even, “I didn’t to lose you by not being good enough—“ 

“You just have to be you,” his brow furrowed into the same valleys he teased you for, “you’re all I need,” his hand finds your cheek, guiding your gaze to his, “how could you think you weren’t enough?”

“You don’t tell how you feel sometimes — you don’t tell me what you’re thinking, I didn’t even know you had nightmares—“ you break off, “what if we continued this and you realized you deserved better than me? And it was already too late for me because I love—“ you break off. 

“You what?” he asks, and you’re biting your lip, “I’ll say it again if it will make you—“ 

Fuck it. 

You lean up and press your lips to his, swallowing his words as your hand finds purchase on his shoulder. And it felt right. As it always did with Yuji. 

“I love you too,” you whisper against his lips, “I love you, in the same way you do,” 

“As a friend?” And your brow furrows, “kidding! Kidding—ow!” You’re smacking him playfully, before he catches both of your wrists and pulls you close, “does that mean I can call you mine?” 

“Or baby,” and he flushes, a cute pout on his lips, “what? Isn’t it—“ and he’s kissing you again, your heart leaping as he does, his hands sliding around your hips, “Yu-“ 

“And what’s my pet name? You still haven’t given me one—“ 

“Have some decorum,” a voice cuts through, and the two of you jump apart, as Nanami stands, glaring at the two of you, “come on, if you’re done paying your respects, then we should go home,” he sighs, rubbing his temples, “the dead shouldn’t have to put up with this.” 

Yuji’s cheeks are tomato red at this point — as he covers his face— but you only chuckle, your fingers intertwining with his, squeezing, “c’mon let’s go, and maybe I can give you a pet name when we get home,” and you both turn to face his parents, as you pay your respects and head down the path a little. 

Yuji faces his parents, kneeling down to say goodbye again — and he remembers how it was their idea to set up Yuji to have a playdate with you, all those years ago. And now, here you were — the most important person in his life. 

“Thank you for everything you did for me,” and he glances at you over his shoulder as he gets up, “especially for helping me find her.” 

“Yu-ji—“ you gasp, as he’s tugging you into your bedroom, bumping himself carelessly into the wall as he guides you both to your bedroom. You giggle as he presses you against the wall outside your room, “I text you my parents are going out for dinner and this is how you greet me? What happened to hello—“ 

His lips crash against yours and you forget about ‘hello’ and just about every other word in your head. Your lips curl against his lips, as his body cages you against the wall. It had been a few days since you and Yuji had been able to have a moment alone—Nanami was watching you both cautiously, while your parents had been keeping you busy at home, seeing family or cleaning up around the house. And Yuji was growing increasingly desperate for some time with you — that wasn’t hidden brushes of fingers under the table or stolen kisses out of sight from family or friends. 

“I missed you so much, baby,” he’s murmuring — and you didn’t know it was so possible to look like a kicked puppy so much until you met Yuji, “can’t believe Nanami was so mean and kept making us keep the door open—“ 

“It didn’t help that he walked in us making out on your bed three times—“ and a moan escapes your lips as he kisses your neck, teeth grazing against your racing pulse, “fuck, Yu—“ 

“How do you always taste so good?” he mumbles against you as he leads you inside your bedroom and shuts the door. His eyes glance around your childhood room, as he takes in the childhood posters plastered on the walls, the untouched books, the stuffed animals from a millennium ago that still lined your bed. 

“My family has not changed much here for years,” your cheeks burn, as he only chuckles, walking you backwards into your bed, and you climb into the bed, only grabbing a stuffed animal from behind you, “remember this?” 

He snorts, as he takes the stuffed penguin from your hands, “How could I forget? I tried a million times to win this,” 

You tilt your head, “You said you won it your first try—“ and you gasp as he looks away, cheeks flushed, “you were trying to impress me,” 

“Not that much,” and you’re leaning closer, brushing your lips against his, “maybe just a little,” you kiss him more insistently this time, sliding against his, fingers curling in his soft strands, “maybe too much,” and you smirk, noses bumping as your lips find each other’s again and again. 

And your fingers slide down to drag his shirt up and over, freeing his chest and abs to your sight — and what a sight it is. So toned and tanned from his American football practices in the sun — perfect for your fingers and lips to explore the peaks and valleys of his body, hands already far too eager.

He returns the favor by lifting your own shirt off in an instant, groaning when he finds you wearing nothing underneath — your eyes can’t help but flit down and find his erection already tenting in his sweatpants. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re so perfect,” his eager hands are already teasing and palming you breasts, a whimper drawn out by his precise pinches and touches, “so good for me,” and your hands drag down his chest, leaning down to press kisses to his chest as your fingers trace along his abs, making him groan. 

He’s pouting, after he pulls you into another kiss, “it’s not fair,” he mumbles into the side of your neck, “I feel like I’m always the one who’s more nervous than you are,” 

You chuckle, kissing his jaw, “I felt the same way, why do you think I touched you on our TV marathon that night?” 

And he’s blinking, as you lay back on the bed for him, “you didn’t know—“ you shake your head. 

“You had offered to help get experience, and even when we had done things, you were just so…normal,” he chuckles, before laying beside you. 

“I had some practice acting normal around you, but I really didn’t. I think you nearly gave me a heart attack that night,” and you grin, drawing so close that you even feel the hitch of his breath. 

“That good, huh?” You tease, and it only takes a moment until he’s hovering over you, lust pooled in his gaze that lights a fire on your body wherever it lays. 

And his lips meet yours right after he whispers, “I’ll show you good.” 

“One more, baby,” Yuji tells you, but you barely hear it through the haze of pleasure and heat that fills the room, along with the sounds of the squelch of his fingers in your tight cunt, “just need one more,” 

And how many times had he made you orgasm already? You’d lost count — five or six at least. The first had taken some time, working his finger into your weeping slit, the way your walls stretch around him make you wonder how good it will feel when he fucks you. It’s not long before he’s sinking another finger in, the sounds and feelings of his digits curling is enough to bring you to orgasm. And the rest are a blur — another finger in your tight entrance, fucking you open as he toyed with your walls, until you came again and again. 

And now he bent down, lips around your clit, teasing and sucking at the sensitive bud, as your fingers curled in his pink locks as the lewd moans fell from your mouth with ease. You’re so close — so fucking close, and when his fingertips brush against that spot and it’s all too much. 

You cum around his fingers and mouth, his name on your lips as you do, back arching against him, as he eases his fingers from your cunt. He licks his fingers clean as your eyes flutter open to meet his, “You taste so good, baby — you’re perfect,” and you watch as his tongue flicks out to clean his lips and chin of your sticky release. 

And soon enough he’s kissing you, hand cupping your cheek, letting you taste yourself on his lips, as your fingers drag over his bare chest and follow his happy trail into the elastic of his boxers. A soft moan leaves his kiss ruined lips, as his eyes are lidded with lust, soft pants against your skin. 

“Is this a dream?” Yuji murmurs, his lips ghosting along your jaw, “never thought we would get here,” and you turn your head to meet his lips in another sweet kiss. 

“It isn’t, we’re here. Took us long enough,” your lips curl, your fingers tracing over his cheek, “and nowhere else I rather be — or no one else I rather be with,” 

“You sure?” And you’ve flipped him over, kissing down his body, fingers tugging at the elastic of his boxers until his dick is freed from the fabric, “fuck, baby, you don’t have—“ 

And his words are cut off with a grunt as your fingers grazes his erection, teasing his weeping head. You start to pump up and down, working the thick beads of precum over his length, his head falling back. 

“How’s your cock so pretty, Yu?” you coo, blowing air over his dick, making him twitch in your hand, “never thought one of these would ever be so pretty,” you let his length slap against your tongue, slowly dragging it down your 

He hisses, hands grasping at the sheets, as you bend down to flick his tongue against the head of his cock. Your lips close around it, and suck, raising the back of his hand to cover his mouth, “fuck, s’good, baby, I—“ 

And you’re letting his cock sink past your lips, your tongue flicking against his slit. Your eyes find his own, as you hollow out your cheeks and sucking hard, and his hips buck into your mouth. His tip brushes against your throat, and you’re moaning around him, your fingers cup his balls, nails digging into your scalp. 

“Baby, fuck, I’m close—where—“ and he’s trying to ease you off, but your hands only hold his hips in place. Your nose brushing against his pubes. And when you’re suck hard on his tip, toying with his sack, only for him to moan your name, before cumming down your throat, his hot release painting your insides. 

You’re slowly pulling off his dick, a string of cum and spit connecting your lips to his cock, a smile on your face. You swallow his release, the salty taste still on your lips as you watch him pant, chest rising and falling. 

“Taste so good, Yu,” you murmur, and you’re moving back up to kiss him, “think I’m addicted,” you murmur, as your lips find each other again and again. 

“Now you know how I feel,” he smiles, fingers running through your hair, “been addicted to you for over a decade,” and he’s sitting up, guiding you into his lap slowly, “we can always stop right here, we don’t have—“ 

You kiss him softly, the way he deserved, the way you’ve wanted to for so long, “I want to, Yuji, I really want to,” your fingers intertwine with his, squeezing his hand, his arm slipping around your waist, “because I love you,” 

And your fingers grasp his hardening cock, pressing it to your dripping slit, and god, he’s so fucking big. You knew how big he was, but just feeling him pressed against you makes you ache at how he’ll be stretching you out. He drags his dripping tip against your slit, letting your cum mix together, letting his head catch on your clit. 

Finally, you’re sinking onto him, his thick length parting your walls, inch by inch. Your head falls back, as he leans into your touch, watching you flinch at the stretch, “you okay?” Yuji’s pressing sweet kisses to your lips and cheek, “should I stop—“ 

“No, no, I’m fine, it’s starting to feel good,” your arms wrapping around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his neck, “ and he’s helping you sink into him, until finally your hips are flush to his, “fuck, Yu—you’re so deep—“ his cock twitches against your walls, a shiver up his spine at your words. 

And he’s panting, his lips pressed to your shoulder, “you feel s’good, baby — so wet and warm—“ you smile, cupping his cheek, “can’t believe this is real — can’t believe—“ 

“It’s real, Yuji, it’s real,” your lips curl into a smile, “I’m here, I love you,” 

“I love you too, I love you so much,” he kisses you again and again, as he shifts slowly under you, swallowing a gasp that leaves your lips. 

“Please, Yuji, move—“ and he obliges, beginning to fuck into you, and your head falls back, as his cock rocks into you, a moan falling from your lips as you do. He’s groaning your name again and again, a grunt when you begin to ride him in tandem, both of your thrusts sending him deeper into you. 

“Baby, fuck, you’re perfect. You’re so good f’me,” his lips finding your neck, as his strokes become faster and deeper, the sounds of your skin slapping together rings in your ears as he fucks you harder and harder, “g’nna cum, s’close,“ 

“I’m close too,” you’re panting as his lips find yours in a sloppy, messy kiss that has you losing yourself more and more, as his thrusts become more and more swallow. And when he finds your clit between your bodies, rubbing as he finds that one spot that has you seeing stars, “Yuji- I’m—“ 

And you cum hard around him, soaking his cock and thighs as you do, walls squeezing him tight until he’s spilling his warm seed inside you. You slow as you do, legs quivering, as you nearly slump against him and he holds you impossibly closer. He helps you both detangle, easing his softening cock from inside you, a small groan as he sees your mixed releases leaking from you. He helps you lie back, as he wraps his arms around you, running his fingers through your hair. 

“Are you okay?” he whispers, brow furrowed in slight worry as your eyes flutter open, lips curling as your fingers smooth the wrinkles of his forehead. 

“I’d be better if you’d kiss me,” you whisper and he obliges, a soft kiss to your lips that leaves you warmer than you were before, “now I’m perfect,” 

“You always were,” and you chuckle, rolling your eyes, before shaking your head, burying your face in the crook of his neck. 

“No, that’s because I had an excellent teacher,” and he laughs, before he pulls you even closer, finding your lips in a kiss. 

“And you always will.” 

“Come on, Fushiguro, pay up,” Nobara holds out her hand, as Megumi glares, pulling out his wallet and plucking money from his wallet and handing it to her. 

“You cheated,” he says as she snatches the money, counting it with a grin on her lips, “I don’t know what you did, but I know you did,” 

“You never said we couldn’t give them advice,” she grins, as she pockets his money, “and all I did was give Yuji a nudge, he’s the one who fucked—“ 

“Alright,” Megumi rubs his temples, “I get it, but it’s still unfair — we’ve been waiting for them to get together all these years and all of sudden he gets the idea to become her friends with benefits—“ and Nobara only grins wider, “you didn’t—“ 

She shrugs, “you can wait around for two idiots to figure it out, or you can shove them off the deep end.” 

“I knew you cheated,” Megumi grumbles, “that’s the last time I ever make a bet with you, Kugisaki,” 

And she smirks, “Well now you’ve been taught a lesson too.” 

✧ a/n: another celebration fic done! now just one more and then i can start preparing for the next follower celebration :). i've settled on using wips but i'll pick out a bunch of prompts for you all to request for certain ones. that way, you all have had a hand in them <3. thank you to laney for helping beta <3.

✧ taglist: @adrenova, @nakariabnrb, @skvllknight, @hanlay, @spider-fan72, @anonimusunnoaniswriting, @chososcamgirl, @thenezuko, @catsgomurp, @too-much-snow, @sashaiko, @forest-fruits-jam, @rita-ritarita, @anyaeuh, @dezznuggetsblog, @jayathelostdragon, @newspapergirlmal, @2livelaughlovefictionalmen2, @being-me-is-not-a-sin, @xoocii, @firelordazulaaaa, @cira273, @twosec0nd, @ororomunroro, @sunamatic, @withoutanameyet, @gojorgeous, @masctomboy805, @hantaslittlearsonist, @lemonpoppy-seed, @malmare, @teraine, @boopadoopa333, @jeyughh, @coffeebun17, @faeryli, @katienaps, @tojbitch, @fushitoru, @soulofoz, @yamaguccitadashi

[cafelattaes]

let love bleed red | geum seongje

summary: in which you got yourself tangled up with geum seongje. at first, it was trouble. then, it became routine. until, somehow, you became the only thing he would bleed for—willingly, violently, without regret.

pairing: geum seongje x fem!reader

genre: romance, hurt/comfort, angst

word count: 6.2k

playlist: he was chaos, he was revelry

last.

you were crouched by the side of a quiet alley behind a convenience store, setting down a paper plate with tuna and a cup of water. a tiny stray kitten had been hanging around there lately, mistrustful, but hungry. you've seen it a few times and started bringing food when you pass by.

the kitten was peeking out from under a box, inching closer. you kept still, one hand out, speaking low and soft.

then, there was a crash. a loud bang echoed from farther down the alley, and the sound of something—someone—getting slammed into a wall.

the kitten bolted instantly, disappearing into a gap between buildings.

you groaned under your breath, standing up with an irritated huff. not only did it startle the kitten, but it also startled you. you almost stumbled from the shock of the loud noise, your heart pounding rapidly.

"what the hell..." you stepped a little farther out to see the source, and then you saw him. a tall guy, maroon uniform jacket slipping off one shoulder, face stretched, hair a mess. bloodied knuckles and eyes wild.

he wasn't from your school. and by the looks of it, his opponent was already down. two more stood at a distance, too afraid to move.

the man lifted his head once, cracking his neck. then his eyes landed on you. you didn't flinch. just stared with narrowed eyes.

"go start your fight somewhere else," you said evenly. "you're not from around here."

he raised his brows and stared like he hadn't heard you right. then he smiled, crooked and wild. the kind that says, 'you've just made things interesting.'

you turned your back on him and walked off, not giving him another glance.

he stared after you. not many people talked to him like that. even fewer walked away before he decided the conversation was over.

you didn't run, but didn't linger either. just walked like you had somewhere to be, like he wasn't worth wasting another second on.

his eyes remained on you, tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. a faint cut on his knuckle stung, but barely noticed.

'go start your fight somewhere else.'

'you're not from around here.'

not a scream. not a plea. not even a threat. just pure irritation. like he was some dumb dog that pissed on your shoes.

his grin curled slowly, something unhinged hiding just beneath it. he pulled a cigarette from his pocket, stuck it between his teeth, and lit it. the flame briefly flickered across his face before he took a drag and blew the smoke out lazily.

he'd seen people cry, scream, and beg. he'd seen how most people either froze or ran when they saw him, faces tight with fear, eyes darting around. but you?

you looked at him like he was an eyesore.

his laugh came quiet. brief. half-laugh, half-breath.

feeding a stray cat, he thought, like it was some ridiculous joke the universe threw at him. you looked too soft for your own good, too normal, too boring.

so why did you stick?

he leaned his shoulder against the wall, just for a second. watched the street where you disappeared. his blood was still warm from the fight, but that moment? that edge in your voice?

it was the first time he felt interrupted.

not threatened, not challenged. just... like someone reached into his noise and pulled something to the surface.

he didn't know your name. but that was fine. he had time.

it wasn't the next day, or the day after. but seongje still found himself wandering near that same alley. always around the same time. leaning against walls with a cigarette between his lips, smoke curling above his head like a restless thought that wouldn't burn out.

he wasn't waiting, he told himself. he just happened to be here, just passing time.

he was mid-drag when he caught a flash of familiar movement. dark hair, a recognizable bag slung over one shoulder. you were crouched near the alley's corner again, opening a can of tuna. next to your feet was the same stray kitten from before, now a little less wary, its ears twitching.

you didn't notice him at first. he said nothing.

he watched you feed the kitten. your expression wasn't anything special, just calm, focused, lips pressed together in a straight line. but he stared like it was the most peculiar thing in the world, like you were something unreal.

then you sighed and sat back on your heels, that's when your eyes flicked up, and landed right on him. you tensed slightly, like you were trying to figure out if it was him or just some other delinquent in a maroon uniform.

it was definitely him.

"you again? you muttered, standing slowly, brushing off your knees. "don't tell me you're here to start trouble again."

seongje let the cigarette dangle loosely between his fingers, gaze half-lidded. "don't flatter yourself. this is my spot now."

you snorted. "your spot? pretty sure this alley existed before you."

a grin pulled at his lips, slow and amused. that sharp glint in your eyes was still there. that same irritation, not fear, not interest. just a girl who didn't give a damn who he was.

"you always talk this much when feeding cats?" he asked.

"no. just when someone interrupts." he laughed, quiet but real.

you moved to step past him, clearly done with the conversation. but before you could, he flicked his cigarette to the ground and said slowly, "you don't scare easy, do you?"

you paused. "i don't like getting caught up in situations like this."

you walked off before he could say anything else. same calm steps. same complete disinterest in him. he stared at the kitten as it ate.

for the first time in a long while, he didn't feel bored.

you were coming out of the convenience store with a yogurt drink in hand when you felt someone matching your pace beside you.

you didn't even need to look. you felt it, like the air shifted, a shadow slipping in just a bit too close.

"miss cat-feeder," came the drawl, smug and lazy.

you rolled your eyes and kept walking. "seriously?"

"you remembered me," he said, hands in his pockets, leaning slightly sideways to peer at your face.

"no. i remembered your stupid voice."

"ouch," he grinned. "you wound me."

"what do you want?"

"just walking. not allowed to exist now?"

"not next to me, preferably." he chuckled at that, keeping stride with you anyway.

he walked like he owned the sidewalk, like even the cracks made space for him. he kept glancing at you, amused by how hard you were trying not to look.

"don't you have school?" you muttered.

"skipped."

"of course you did."

there was a beat of silence before he casually reached out and tugged at the hem of your sleeve. "what flavor?"

you jerked your arm away. "touch me again and i'll pour this on your head."

his grin widened, eyes gleaming with delight. there it is. "you're fun."

"i'm really not."

"exactly."

you stopped in your tracks. he looked at you, curious. "look," you said, eyes flat. "i don't like hanging out with loud people. so if you're looking for someone to flirt with, pick someone else."

seongje stared at you for a second, unreadable. then he smirked.

"i'm not flirting."

"good."

"i just like watching you get pissed." and with that, he turned on his heel and walked away, hands back in his pockets like he didn't just drop a live wire into your day.

you watched him go, jaw tight.

god, he is annoying.

and worse, he knew it.

your shoes pounded against the pavement, too loud, too fast. the voices behind you were still getting closer. slurred words, the kind that came with guys who had too much time and nothing to lose. you'd told them off when they first approached, sharp and dismissive like always. but these ones didn't like hearing 'no'.

you darted around a corner, trying to cut into a side street you didn't usually take, and slammed straight into a body.

you stumbled back from the force, hands catching yourself on the person's chest, eyes wide and breath caught in your throat.

"whoa there," a familiar voice started, light and teasing.

your eyes shot up.

geum seongje.

of all people.

he was in his usual disheveled uniform, cigarette tucked between his fingers, a faint smirk already creeping up like instinct. "you really can't stay away from me, huh?"

but you weren't listening. you glanced over your shoulder, eyes scanning the street you just came from, anxiety tightening your features.

seongje's smirk faded, just a bit. his eyes narrowed.

"what happened?"

"none of your business. i need to go."

you stepped to the side, trying to move past him but his arm shot out fast, catching you by the wrist. not hard. not enough to hurt. but firm.

his voice lost all its humor.

"who."

you jerked against his grip, frustrated. "just let me go. jesus christ."

he didn't. instead, his eyes flicked toward the corner you came from. and for a brief second, something flickered through him, that thing he tried to keep under the surface unless it was time to let it loose.

then he heard footsteps and voices getting closer. the guys rounded the corner, laughing, loud, eyes scanning.

and then they saw you.

and then him.

one of them started to speak, some dumb threat halfway out of his mouth when seongje stepped forward and flicked his cigarette.

"alright," he said, eyes gleaming now. "which one of you thought chasing her was a good idea?" his tone didn't rise. he didn't shout. but it was enough.

the shift in the air was immediate, like a wire pulled taut. the guys slowed, uneasy.

"you with her?" one of them muttered, trying to size him up. seongje's lip curled in amusement.

"nah," he said, rolling his shoulder. "but she ran into me. so now you've got a problem."

one of them laughed nervously, already starting to backpedal. but it was too late.

you didn't say a word. his posture changed, loose and wild, but sharp, like the crackle before a fire starts.

"stay behind me," he muttered without looking at you. you almost snapped at him.

i didn't ask for help.

but something in the way he said it—flat, final—made you stay put.

he didn't do it for gratitude. he did it because someone pissed him off. and right now, that someone was anyone who looked at you wrong.

they didn't get the chance to react further. not really, because seongje's already on them.

the first one barely managed to raise his arm before seongje slammed his fist into his jaw, the sound cracking through the alley like a gunshot. he didn't stop, he grabbed the guy by the collar, slamming his head against the wall once, twice, three times until he crumpled like dead weight.

the second guy tried to pull something, maybe a pocketknife, but he was too slow. seongje grabbed his wrist and bended it the wrong way with a sickening snap. the guy howled, dropping the knife, and seongje grinned wider.

the last one tried to run. he got maybe five steps before seongje tackled him from behind, dragging him down like a wolf ripping through prey. there was nothing clean about the way he beat him. just pure rage unleashed in fists, knees, elbows, and feet.

the alley was quiet again. the three guys were groaning, two on the ground and one stumbling away. none of them dared to look back.

seongje stood in the center of it, breathing a little heavier, the scrape on his knuckles raw and fresh. blood trickled slowly down his arm, but he didn't seem to care. not even a glance at it.

you stared. not because you were scared of the violence. you'd known what he was capable of. you'd just never seen it up close. not like this.

there was a kind of stillness around him now, but it wasn't peace. it was the kind of stillness right after lightning hits the ground. charged, dangerous, humming under the surface.

he turned toward you, running a hand through his hair. eyes sharper now, less unhinged than before, but still wild.

"you good?" you hesitated.

"you didn't have to do that." he shrugged.

"i didn't do it for you." you frowned, annoyed.

"then why-"

"they looked at you like they could touch you," he said, voice low and quiet. "i didn't like that."

it came out too calm. like he was just stating a fact. like it was that simple.

you stared at him. "that's not normal."

he tilted his head. "i'm not normal."

you stood there in the silence again, tension thick between you both. then he looked down at his hand, flexed his fingers once.

"you gonna keep staring, or you gonna say thank you?"

you exhaled sharply. "i didn't ask you to help."

his lip twitched. "you didn't have to."

you started walking past him, brushing your shoulder lightly against his arm. "don't follow me."

he didn't. but he watched you go. watched like a wolf who'd just caught the scent of something that didn't run fast enough.

and this time, it wasn't about teasing you for attention anymore. it was something else. something worse.

something's changed. it had been days. you hadn't seen him near the alley, near the store, nowhere. and honestly, you were glad. the fight had left a sour taste in your mouth. not fear exactly, but it reminded you of the line he walked. the kind of line that most people never went near.

so when you saw him again leaning against the vending machine right outside the store, your steps faltered.

he noticed, eyes tracking you immediately. not grinning, not talking. just watching.

you stiffened, but kept walking. no use turning back now. you passed him without a word.

"you're avoiding me," he said. you didn't stop. "smart," he added after a beat.

that did it. you turned slightly, arms crossed, tone flat. "what do you want now?"

he looked you over, slower this time. less playful. like he was measuring something invisible.

"you said don't follow you," he said. "so i didn't."

"and yet, here you are."

"i was here first."

you hated that he had a point.

he pulled out a soda from the vending machine and cracked it open, taking a lazy sip. "i scared you."

"no you didn't."

his head tilted. "but you looked at me different after that day." you didn't reply. "you don't like people like me," he went on. "you don't like what i do. the way i fight. the way i look at you."

your throat tightened. "you make it sound like i'm supposed to like it."

he smiled, small, almost secret. "you're not."

you sighed and turned away again, but this time, his voice became lower. less teasing.

"you're not scared of me," he said. "but you're careful now." you paused. "i get it," he added. "but you should know something."

"what?" you asked warily.

"i'd kill for you without thinking."

the words didn't sound romantic. they didn't even sound intense. they were just real.

heavy. simple. dangerous.

you looked at him. at the bruised knuckles, the lazy posture, the eyes that never stopped watching you. and for the first time, you didn't see an annoying prick. you saw the storm behind his grin.

you didn't say a word as you walked away. but you walked slower this time.

the sky was gray, and the wind carried that dry chill that always came with autumn.

you didn't mean to come this way. really, you didn't. but this street was quieter than the main road, and your head was already aching from a whole day of voices, noise, and pressure from everyone around you.

your friends had found out. not just about anyone, but him. a certain delinquent hanging around you. not just anyone either, but someone from the union.

they kept telling you the same thing. stop meeting him, cut him off, stay away before things got worse. that's all you've been hearing for days. from different mouths, but the same message, over and over. as if you hadn't thought about that already. like you hadn't been trying.

you were tired. bone-deep, soul tired.

and there he was.

same place. same vending machine. like he'd been waiting, but not really. like he knew you'd come eventually.

seongje glanced up, surprised, but only a little. his cigarette burned lazily between his fingers, his jacket loose, like he didn't care how cold it was getting.

you stopped a few steps away and didn't say anything.

he raised a brow. "lost?"

"no," you said, too flat, too fast.

he stared. then blew out smoke in a low exhale. "you look like shit."

you snorted faintly. "thanks."

he nodded toward the chair beside him. "sit if you want."

"i didn't come to hang out with you."

"didn't say you did."

still, you sat. not close, just near enough to feel the warmth of someone else existing beside you. near enough to not feel completely alone. you stayed like that for a while. nothing said.

then, without looking at him, you muttered, "why are you like this?"

his brow quirked. "like what?"

"crazy. violent. all of it."

a beat. then a shrug. "it's fun."

you sighed, frustrated but not surprised.

and then, so softly that he almost didn't hear it, you said, "you make everything worse. but today... i don't know. you don't feel loud." that caught him off guard.

he turned to look at you, cigarette paused halfway to his lips.

you didn't meet his eyes. you just sat there, face turned to the street. like this, quiet and tired and not trying to prove anything, you looked different.

more fragile. not weak, never that. but human.

seongje flicked his ash away. "stay, then," he said. "if it helps."

you didn't answer. but you didn't leave either. and for once, he didn't push you to speak. he just let you be. which, for someone like him, was a kind of affection.

the unspoken kind.

the kind that doesn't ask for anything back.

another day, and there he was again. it wasn't often that you saw him alone like this. really alone. no noise. no laughter. no fights.

just seongje, slouched low on the steps behind an old building, elbows on his knees, head tilted back like he was trying to drown in the grey sky. he didn't notice you at first, too wrapped in whatever chaos lived behind his eyes.

you should've kept walking. you meant to keep walking. but something stopped you. maybe it was the stillness. maybe it was the fact that for the first time since you met him, he didn't look like someone trying to stir shit up. he looked tired.

you approached slowly, footsteps soft. he heard you eventually, turning just slightly to glance your way. his usual grin didn't show up.

"you stalking me now?" he said, voice low, like he couldn't be bothered to make it sound playful.

"i was just walking by."

"uh-huh."

you didn't sit beside him. you stood a little off to the side, arms folded, eyes scanning his face. there was a bruise on his cheekbone, not fresh but healing, and a split on his lower lip.

"what happened this time?"

"some idiot." he muttered. "deserved worse than what he got."

you rolled your eyes. "that doesn't narrow it down."

he smirked faintly. but it didn't last. he looked back up at the sky. "ever feel like you're stuck in a room that's too small, and the only way to breathe is to break something?"

you blinked. that wasn't the answer you expected. you said nothing.

he let out a low breath. "yeah. never mind."

you hesitated, then stepped closer. not sitting, just standing near him.

"i don't get you." you said finally.

"good."

"but i care."

that made him look at you again. not with that lazy, cocky grin. not with the sharp glint he gave the people he was about to wreck.

just... eyes. dark, unreadable, confused.

"you care?" he repeated, almost mocking, but there was no real heat in it.

you nodded. "i don't want to, but i do."

the silence that followed was heavier than anything he could've said.

you rubbed at your sleeve, eyes darting away. "it's stupid."

he stared a second longer, then tilted his head. "i'm not gonna be good for you," he said flatly. no apology in it. just fact.

"i know."

"i'll hurt people."

"i know."

"i might hurt you."

your gaze snapped back to his. "then i'll leave."

a pause.

and for the first time, his expression shifted, something sharp flickering behind his eyes, like the idea of you leaving physically bothered him.

but you held his stare. "i don't deserve to be hurt by you."

he didn't answer. when you turned to go, he didn't stop you. he didn't grab your wrist. he didn't make a scene. he just watched you leave like someone who'd been left too many times before to call out now.

and that was how you knew it wasn't just some sort of game to him anymore.

it was supposed to be just another normal day. you were going to meet up with a friend from a different school. but somehow, word got around that you'd said something snappy to the wrong group of boys the other day, boys who thought they could intimidate you into taking it back. you didn't.

but now they were standing in front of you in the alley near the rear exit of the building. three of them, too close, too smug, and too stupid to understand that they were walking into something far worse than your sharp tongue.

because seongje had seen.

he wasn't supposed to be there. you didn't even know why he was around this part of the city. but the second his eyes locked on the scene, on you cornered, arms crossed tightly, jaw clenched, something dark lit behind his expression.

he didn't run. he didn't shout. he just walked, calm as anything, like he had all the time in the world. the sound of his steps echoing on the pavement made all three boys turn.

"oi," he said, voice low and slow.

the boys stiffened. one of them scoffed. "the hell are you?"

seongje grinned cockily. "me? i'm geum seongje. you fuckers."

his name dropped like a dead weight. the air shifted. one of them paled a little, while another took an unconscious step back.

"oh—shit—" one of them muttered under his breath, recognizing it too late.

then his eyes flickered to you. "you okay?"

you swallowed. "i've got it."

"wrong answer."

he passed the boys like they weren't even there, stepping between them and you, like drawing a line they couldn't cross anymore.

"you wanna explain why the hell you're trying to corner mine?"

the word slipped out like instinct. your breath caught.

the boys hesitated. one of them backed up. the dumbest one laughed nervously.

"you serious, man? you dating this chick or something?"

seongje didn't answer right away. instead, he pulled out his glasses, the metal catching the light for a second. then, without a word, he took your hand gently, almost unnervingly so, and placed them in your palm.

"i don't repeat myself."

and that was the only warning they got. it wasn't a fight. it was a statement.

a clear, brutal, one-sided reminder that you were off-limits. that if they so much as looked at you again, they'd wake up in pieces.

he didn't let it last long. he didn't need to.

when it was over, and the three of them were groaning on the pavement, he turned to you, no grin now, just quiet breathing. without a word, he took the glasses from your hand and slid them back on.

"you didn't need to do that," you said quietly.

"they shouldn't have looked at you like they could."

"that's not how this works."

he glanced at you, sharp. "it is now."

you looked away, jaw tight. "you act like i'm yours."

another beat of silence. the only sound was the wind through rusted fences. and then,

"you are," he said simply.

you stared at him, your heart thudded too loud.

"you can't just—claim people."

"i can."

"why?" he held your gaze, something unreadable flickering in his.

"you're the only thing i don't want broken."

he said it like it bothered him. like the truth of it irritated the hell out of him.

you didn't know what to say. so you didn't. you just walked beside him as he left the alley, silent. but this time, you stayed close.

and this time, he didn't grin. he just walked with you like he always meant to.

the day had been long. longer than you thought it would be. school, people, life. everything felt suffocating. your body ached, your mind was frayed, and every little thing seemed to pile on top of you until you could barely keep your head above water.

but then, through the haze of exhaustion, you saw him.

seongje, leaning against your school gate. unbothered and detached. his posture was casual, his eyes scanning the crowd of students coming out of school. but the moment your gaze locked onto him, your heart gave a small jolt of relief.

there. him. the one person who, for reasons you still couldn't fully understand, made you feel safe. your body seemed to move on its own, your feet carrying you toward him without a second thought.

and then before you could even process what you were doing, you were already running toward him, arms outstretched, chest tight from the strain of everything you'd been holding inside all day.

the moment you reached him, you didn't stop. you wrapped your arms around him, burying your face against his chest.

you hummed. the noise was quiet, like a soft sigh of contentment, and for the first time all day, your muscles finally relaxed.

his scent, the familiar warmth of him, it was like home. a feeling you hadn't known you were missing until it was there, pressing against you in a way you couldn't explain.

for a split second, everything felt peaceful. you could rest now. let everything melt away. with him, it felt like nothing else mattered.

seongje froze. his first instinct was to step back, to pull away, because this wasn't how things were supposed to be. but when you stayed against him, not saying anything, just holding him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded, something inside him twisted.

what the hell?

he couldn't breathe for a second. your arms around him, your face buried against him like you needed him. like he was something more than just some mad dog. he didn't know what to do with it.

you were so soft against him. so warm. his heartbeat, which had been steady, quickened as your arms tightened just slightly. and his body, despite the automatic urge to pull away, instinctively responded, his hands hovering at his sides, unsure of where to put them, but not wanting to make you pull away.

his reaction was slow. he was staring down at you, his usual detached expression gone, replaced with a mix of confusion and something closer to... discomfort. he didn't know how to handle it.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, he placed his hand awkwardly on your back, barely enough to return the gesture, but it was something. just a gentle pressure, like he was trying to let you know he wasn't going to push you away. but he wouldn't pull you in either. not fully.

his voice came out rough, not because he was angry, but because he didn't have the words to make sense of what was happening. "you... okay?" he asked, his voice low. it was like he was trying to understand you better. trying, in his strange way, to care.

and when you hummed again, your body still pressed against him like you needed nothing more, he couldn't deny the warmth that spread through him. subtle, but undeniable.

he didn't say anything else, but he did one thing he never thought he would. he let you stay there, his hand still on your back, just enough to show that maybe, just maybe, he didn't mind you being this close.

thoughts had been swirling around your head. people already knew who you were, and the kind of connection you had with geum seongje. you'd been hearing disapproving remarks from people you knew, left and right.

but that wasn't what was bothering you. it was when one of your friends asked, "when did you even start dating geum seongje?"

you didn't know how to answer that. you weren't dating. were you even together? you'd been so focused on how you felt about him, so content with the time you were spending together, that you'd forgotten to ask the most important question.

where do you stand in his life?

so you finally asked, quietly. on a cold night, after one of his disappearances. you looked at him and said, "what are we, seongje?"

he didn't look at you right away. he just lit a cigarette, sat back like you didn't just ask something that's clawing at your ribs.

then, after a long pause, he said, "you don't need a label for something i'd kill over."

still too vague. so you pressed. "so that's it? you can show up and disappear and wreck people and i'm just... what? someone you know?"

now he's irritated. not because you're wrong, but because his feelings itch under his skin worse than blood.

he dragged you close by the wrist, eyes burning, voice low and rough. "you're mine. you're not like the others. you don't walk away from me. and i'll kill anyone who touches you."

it became even clearer in actions. he doesn't flirt with others. he doesn't sleep around. he shows up when you're hurt, when you need help, or even just when the silence gets too heavy. his violence becomes more controlled around you. his chaos pauses for you.

and if you ever try to walk away, not out of fear, but heartbreak, he doesn't beg. but he follows.

he shows up in the dark and says, "you don't get to leave. you're the only thing i don't want to break."

so no, you don't get a title. but you get certainty. the kind that claws into you and never lets go.

you were at seongje's place, curled up in the corner of his bed, wearing one of his hoodies, watching something on your phone. occasionally, you laughed, your brow twitching, your mouth tugging in little ways. you probably didn't know he was watching.

he was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall. a cigarette rested between his fingers, forgotten halfway through.

it should've been just another moment. just another afternoon with you near. that's all it was. but it wasn't.

something cracked. it was quiet. internal. sudden.

he looked at you, really looked, and it hit him like a pipe to the chest. he'd always known you were different.

you didn't scream like the world did, you didn't beg to get closer to him, or flinch when he tore the world apart with his bare hands. you didn't reach to fix what couldn't be fixed.

you just were. and he couldn't fucking breathe.

he'd thought what he felt for you was already obsession. he thought the way he needed you around—the way his days didn't start right unless he saw your face—was already too much.

but this? right now? it was worse.

because you weren't even doing anything. you were just there, in his space like you belonged. and he couldn't stand it.

he didn't blink, didn't move. his heart was beating too fast, too heavy. like it was trying to get out of his chest, like it was trying to claw its way toward you.

you looked up at him, catching the stare.

"what?" you asked, your voice soft, lazy with comfort.

that was the final hit. his cigarette dropped to the floor. he stood and crossed the room in two strides.

you blinked and sat up, shifting to the edge of the bed. confused, then mildly concerned, because he wasn't saying anything. just looking at you like he was on the edge of something ugly.

"what is it?" you asked again.

he dropped to his knees in front of you, hands braced on the mattress like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"you," he muttered, low, dangerous, barely holding back the quake in his chest. "you don't even fucking know, do you."

you blinked in confusion, "know what?"

"that i'm already gone."

he leaned in close, breath warm against your skin. his hands were clenched on the sheets beside your thighs.

"i didn't think it could get worse," he said, tone ragged. "but it did. just now. just looking at you."

"seongje-"

he didn't let you finish. his voice came out lower. hoarser.

"i'd burn down everything. rip open anyone. just to keep this. you. whatever the fuck this is—"

he pressed his forehead against your knee. his voice dropped, barely a whisper now, like it hurt him to say.

"—it's mine."

your fingers moved before your words did. you reached out, slow and certain, and slipped your hand into his hair, like you knew something inside him was coming apart at the seams, and you needed to keep it from unraveling further.

you didn't flinch. didn't pull away from the sharpness in his voice or the weight behind his words.

instead, you curled your fingers gently against his scalp and said, soft but steady, "you don't have to break things just to prove you want to keep me. i'm not going anywhere."

that did something to him. his breath hitched, quiet, jaw clenched. you didn't treat his madness like something to be pitied or feared. you didn't try to fix it. you didn't flinch from the wreckage. you just understood it was there and touched it anyway.

his arms wrapped around your waist almost without thinking, head still pressed to your knee like it was the only place he could breathe.

then you said it, quietly. not to tease, not to demand. just honest. like it had always been true.

"you are my home."

and that was the thing that shattered him. because he didn't have a home. not really, never did. he was a creature built from chaos and flame and blood. the idea that someone could look at him and find rest?

it wrecked him in a way no fist ever could. his grip tightened. not out of fear of you leaving. but because you just gave him something he didn't know he'd been starving for all his life. and now that he had it, he'd kill the whole world before he let it go.

he didn't know what to say yet. so when you gently pulled him toward the bed, he didn't resist. he didn't say something cocky or crass like he usually would. he just let you.

you lay down first, guiding him beside you. he collapsed next to you like a man thrown off balance. arms still around your waist, his head buried against the curve of your neck. as if he could crawl inside your skin just to get closer.

your fingers ran through his hair, slow, rhythmic, soothing. the storm inside him didn't vanish, but it quieted. simmered.

your voice cut through the quiet, soft and careful. "do you love me?"

he froze. he didn't pull away, but he did stop breathing for a second. his gaze locked on yours, heavy and unreadable. then he took a slow breath, jaw tightening.

love? what the hell was that supposed to feel like? that was too unfamiliar. too soft.

he didn't know. he'd never had it. not from anyone. not for anyone. all he'd ever known was survival, pleasure, and pain. wanting things so badly he broke them just to feel something. hurting because it was the only way to know he was alive.

but this? this thing in his chest, this raw, aching, burning thing that only grew worse the longer you touched him, it was something else.

so he didn't lie. he didn't pretend. he spoke against your skin, voice hoarse and quiet.

"i don't know what love is. but i know i can't fucking stand the thought of you not being here."

another breath. he pulled you closer.

"you're the only thing that makes me feel calm and insane at the same time. you—" he exhaled, shaky now, like it hurt to say, "—you make me feel too much. and i can't stop it."

his fingers dug into the back of your shirt. possessive. desperate.

"i don't know if it's love, but i know this—you're mine. you've been mine since the moment i saw you. doesn't matter if you run, or scream, or try to tear me out of your chest. you're still mine."

"you're the air that i breathe," he said, voice dropping to a whisper, like a confession no one else was meant to hear. "and i'd tear the world apart to keep you. no hesitation. no mercy."

"when i look at you, it hurts." he said. "but i want that hurt. over and over again. you're the only thing i'd bleed for without thinking twice."

he let the silence stretch, like he wanted the weight of his words to press against you. crush you, mark you, bind you to him in the only way he knew how.

it was not a confession, but a surrender.

your chest tightened. your eyes stung. and you hated that they did, because you weren't sad. you weren't broken.

you were just... full. full of him. of this.

a shaky breath escaped you as you cupped his face, your thumb brushing just beneath his eye, like you needed to touch something solid to believe any of this was real.

you smiled. small, trembling, but true.

"whatever it is you feel for me, let it consume you." your voice was steady, despite the trembling in your chest. "break for me. burn only for me. want no one else—because i don't want anyone but you."

he stared at you like you'd just taken the air out of his lungs.

"i don't care if it's wrong, or selfish, or if the world thinks i've lost my mind." your hand slid back into his hair gently. "you're mine, geum seongje. just as much as i'm yours."

his hands were already on your waist, but they tightened at those words, like something inside him finally snapped.

and he kissed you. it wasn't soft. it wasn't careful. it was desperate, like he needed to feel everything at once, like if he didn't press every inch of you into him, he might fall apart.

you kissed him back just as hard, just as aching, fingers curling in his hair like you could anchor the both of you with the weight of your want.

and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

not the danger in his eyes. not the chaos in his soul. not the way the world would look at you.

because you knew him. and you would choose him—still. every time.

for you, he would bleed himself dry a thousand times—willingly, completely, because he didn't know how not to.

[st6rrrs]

Bunny! Reader thinks rafes to big!

BUNNY! READER MOOD BOARD

P link

"not right now...rafey" you say pouting up at him as he stares at you confused

it was about 7:30pm, you and rafe were sitting on his balcony to his room, just enjoying the nice breeze as the sun begin to set.

"What the hell do you mean, not right now?" he groans rubbing his buzzed hair

"not right now." you huff whirling your hair with your finger and avoiding eye contact

"What are you on your period? ‘Cause you’re really starting to piss me off." his tone shifts. "you never turn me down?"

"no! im not...its just" you stammer your voice shaking slightly.

You fidget nervously as rafe stares at you impatiently

"your too big." you squeal covering your face with your hands and laying your head on his lap embarrassed.

"Too big?" he repeated a cocky smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

you knew he would be like this.

“Well I don’t know” he teased "Maybe you're just too tight, huh?" he chuckled as his hands moving up and down on your body.

you whine embarrassed again and cover your ears.

"everytime we fuck i feel like your suffocating my dick ya know?" he yanks your hand away from your ear and whispers that.

"Stop it, Rafe!" you whine as your face burns with embarrassment

you feel his laughter vibrating through his body.

your voice barely above a whisper. "

You're just so… big, and it hurts." you whimper sitting up now looking at him with your pretty, wide doe eyes.

"Maybe we just need to work on… stretching you out a bit yea?" he suggests his voice full of cocky confidence.

"ahh this isn't helping!" you moan into the bed below "it hurts"

you were on your hands and knees as rafe was behind you

"Ah come on baby relax your squeezing me." Rafe says as he pushes himself deeper into you.

you whine in frustration

"Ow, Rafe, stop! Just stop for a second" your voice high pitched and frustrated.

you were someone who rarely ever gets mad, you were the softest so this shocked rafe a bit.

Rafe pauses and looks at you with a mixture of concern and amusement.

"You're not going to break, baby," he says rubbing your head

you take a deep breath and try to calm down

Rafe's expression softens and he leans down to kiss you gently.

"I'll go slow okay? I'll make it feel good I promise." He starts to move again his thrusts slow and gentle.

you feel yourself start to relax and it doesn't hurt as much.

"Oh, Rafe," you moan "That feels…really good."

Rafe starts to move a little faster.. his thrusts still gentle but more insistent.

you feel yourself getting more and more turned on

"Rafe oh my god" you whimper, your voice rising. "I'm going to...I'm going to cum rafey..." the wave of pleasure crashes over you and you let out a little squeal.

you huff in exhausted and fall off your hands onto you stomach but rafe grips your hips, holding you in place as he pounds into you. His fingers are digging deep into your skin

As Rafe's cock thrusts deeper into you, you feel a sudden jolt of sensation as he hits your cervix.

you gasp as Rafe's cock rubs against your cervix. it hurts but it feels so gooddd

Suddenly he's crying out

his voice a loud groan of pleasure as he cums inside you. you can feel his hot seed spilling into you, filling you up with a warm, sticky sensation.

his hips jerking as he rides out the wave of his orgasm.

He's collapsed beside you.

Rafe's voice is low and husky

"You just needed to be stretched out, baby," he says "You were a little tight but I knew I could loosen you up."

“Don’t be embarrassed baby” he whispered his voice smooth almost teasing.

“You’re cute when you’re shy”

[shy-writer-999]

Summary: Luffy gets into an alluring tin of mysterious cookies. One thing leads to another, and he ends up in your room, disoriented and distressed. What will it take to help him feel better? ~5k words.

CW: Smut with a bit of plot. Afab reader, gendered language (“princess”), overstimulation, dry humping, begging, aphrodisiacs, penetrative sex.

MINORS DNI. NSFW CONTENT.

Luffy stumbles into your cabin late at night. The door is wide open and it seems like no one else on the Sunny is awake. You’re messing around on your phone, doom scrolling to pass the time and entertain yourself. You wish that you could fall sleep, but it won’t come any time soon. It’s a restless sort of night.

He almost trips over his feet as he crashes onto the chair by your desk.

“Luffy, what’s up? It’s late.”

A closer look at him reveals that he’s sweating and bright red. His eyes look off and he looks sick.

“Are you okay?” You’re worried—he looks seriously unwell.

“I feel funny. I think I ate something bad, my tummy hurts.” Luffy’s brows are bent in the middle and he’s grimacing.

You’ve seen Luffy when he has food poisoning before. He literally turns green and complains non-stop. It’s his own fault, he’s like a racoon. He’ll eat anything, regardless of how questionable it is. Old leftovers wherever he can find them, almost-rotting fruit, poisonous fish, none of it matters for Luffy. If it looks edible, he’s taking it to the neck. He frequently suffers the consequences.

But right now, he’s not green, like he usually is when he’s eaten something spoiled. He looks different.

You get up and walk over to him, placing your hand on his forehead. When your skin touches his, he lets out what initially sounds like some sort of moan, but you shrug it off—that must have been a wail of pain, right? He’s concerningly feverish and sweating bullets.

Does he have the flu? Should you wake up Chopper?

“Luffy, you’re burning up. Like, you have a really bad fever. I’m going to get Chopper.”

“Wait, I feel—I feel weird inside,” Luffy’s voice strains and he sounds like he’s in pain He’s visibly shivering. “It’s like my stomach is on fire, but I feel cold.” He continues almost babbling, so obviously in distress and discomfort, feverish nonsense falling from his lips impulsively.

You don’t realize it yet, but his hand wanders to his crotch and starts to fidget.

“Your stomach is on fire but you’re freezing cold? Did you eat something that went bad again? What did you eat?” You raise an eyebrow at him, vaguely annoyed. He sure doesn’t look like he has food poisoning. Also, there isn’t usually much spoiled food on the ship. Sanji keeps the fridge nice, tidy, and clean.

Why did Luffy come to you, instead of Chopper? He’s distracted, eyes zoning out somewhere and his face wrinkled up. He must not have heard you.

“I said, what did you eat? Luffy!”

“I ate—fuck,” Luffy’s brows furrow and he closes his eyes in anguish. “Ate Sanji’s cookies.”

“You did what? Sanji’s cookies? The ones with the huge note that says ‘do not eat’ on the tin?”

Luffy lets out another wail of pain and shifts in his seat. His fingers squeeze his crotch again. He’s hard, rubbing his massive erection, sliding his fingers over it, squeezing it and playing with himself.

“Luffy, what are you doing?!” You’re incredulous when you realize he’s touching himself. You’ve never seen anything like this before. He’s your captain, for fuck’s sake. What was he doing touching himself in your room, with a raging fever and chattering teeth?

Putting the pieces together, you remember that Sanji had devilish smirk as he brought his special souvenir onto the ship. It was a pretty box, made of metal, covered in some sort of light blue paint, filigreed with gold accents and illustrations of pretty pink ribbons. The chef put an obnoxious “DO NOT EAT SANJI’S COOKIES” sign on the box and slid them to the top shelf of the pantry, almost out of reach. It was, admittedly, extremely naïve of Sanji to expect Luffy to pay any heed to that sign.

You put two and two together. The cookies must have had something in them.

As a response to your indignance, Luffy squeezes his erection harder and gasps quietly. Sweat drips from his temples and down his cheeks. His mouth hangs open, and his pupils are huge. He’s a fucking mess, and you have no clue what to do in this situation.

“’m so cold,” he whines and shakes. “Too c-c-cold.”

This is wildly inappropriate, but… you are kind of turned on, just because he’s touching himself. You have some sort of repressed crush on your captain—how could you not? You usually push it to the back of your mind, though. Pining over him is a waste of time when nothing would ever come of it.

“Fuck,” Luffy’s voice is gravelly and his hand moves of its own accord. “Feels like it’s helping. Feels warm.”

Your heart does a flip. Luffy is palming his cock in front of you, panting with arousal, head thrown back. He can’t help but touch himself. It’s the only thing that’s relieving his discomfort, evidently. You feel awkward, but it’s almost starting to get you going. You feel heat creep up your neck and you're frozen still.

Luffy’s eyes wander to your chest—he’s staring at your breasts, drinking in the shape of them and the outline of your nipples though your shirt. You start to turn red, matching his color rapidly.

“Luffy, what the fuck? Stop! You’re a wreck.” You divert the awkwardness for a second. “No wonder the sign says do not eat! I’m going to get Chopper. You need to rest. Go do that in your room.”

Luffy grinds his palm down his erection and a stifled sound of pleasure gets caught in his throat. You pause, against your better judgment. That sound—the sound of Luffy in pleasure—makes you feel some sort of way. You start to warm up between the legs.

“I want you to do it.” Luffy’s voice gets lower each time he talks. He’s still shaking, freezing, sweating, and unwell. But he’s touching himself, and you had imagined this before. It’s hard to look away.

“What?” You respond reflexively, caught completely off guard. Did you hear him right?

“Want you to touch me,” he whines and continues to rub himself. The friction feels electric. “I think it’ll h-help.”

Luffy’s eyes are half open and glossy, still riveted on your tits. His pupils are really dilated. His fingers grasp and stroke his hard cock through his shorts, and each sound that leaves his mouth goes straight between your thighs.

“You want me to touch you? Are you… Are you sure, Luffy?”

“Need it,” he scrunches his face up. “’m going crazy.”

You bite your lip and pause for a second. If your captain was asking you for help, you might as well assist him… Also, this didn’t feel like that crazy of a request for help, considering the fact that he’d literally die for you (and has gotten close to that on multiple occasions). And you could tell he wasn’t being malicious or predatory about his request—he was just being Luffy, asking plainly for something. If you said no, he would be fine. He may whine a bit, but he’d never genuinely pressure you to do something you were uncomfortable with.

But fuck, was he in his right mind? You shake your head. You want to touch him. But you are genuinely worried about him. It must be 2:00AM, so you need to wake up Chopper. You might want to touch Luffy, but you have to do your due diligence. You care about Luffy. If he’s sick or in danger, you have to make sure he’s okay.

“Luffy, no. I’m going to get Chopper. Just wait here.”

You speed-walk down the hallway, heart racing. What a bizarre turn of events. You didn’t expect that to happen when Luffy initially walked in your room. When you reach the door to Chopper’s cabin, you knock.

No answer. He’s obviously asleep.

You knock again. “Chopper? It’s me. Please get up. Luffy’s sick.”

Another knock. Rustling blankets. You can hear Chopper hobble to the door. He opens it and pokes his little head out, squinting. He’s wearing one of those sleeping gowns and a cute hat. “Mhm? What’s wrong with him?”

“Uh... He has a fever. He’s burning up and he’s shaking. He’s sweating a lot, too.” You figured you’d save the ‘and he’s masturbating’ part for later. Maybe you didn’t have to say it at all?

“Does he have food poisoning? Did he eat anything out of the ordinary?”

“Well, I don’t think he has food poisoning... But he ate some of Sanji’s cookies.”

“What’s in the cookies?” Chopper is shading his eyes from the dim hallway light. He’s half asleep and you feel bad for waking him up.

“I-I don’t know. Maybe there was something weird in them?”

Chopper yawns. Fuck. He looks like he’s falling asleep again. You can’t blame him, really, it’s way past his bedtime.

“Chopper, can you please come look at him?”

He yawns again. “I’m sleepy. Can you ask Sanji what’s in the cookies and get back to me? I just want to go to bed a little bit longer.”

You huff and frown as Chopper shuts his door. So now you were supposed to play telephone? If it was anyone else you would have chewed them out, but you couldn’t do that to Chopper.

Extremely aggravated, you storm down the hallway to Sanji’s cabin and knock on the door, loudly. It’s an angry knock. A fuck-you knock.

“Sanji. Get up.” Silence for a moment while the blonde jolts awake. “I said get up.”

His door opens just a tad until he realizes it’s you. Then he opens it wider. His hair is all rustled up and he’s shirtless, in boxers. If he wasn’t half-asleep, he’d be blushing and acting ridiculous because you’re seeing him half-naked.

“Oh, hello beautiful.” His voice is scratchy and he’s blinking. “How may I help you? Are you finally going to crawl into bed with me?” He flashes a cheeky grin and you almost slap him.

“No, Sanji. Luffy ate your cookies. He’s a mess.”

The cook’s half-asleep composure immediately drops. “He did what?”

You can tell he’s fully awake now.

“I said, he ate your fucking cookies, Sanji. What is in those things!?”

“FUCK. How many did he eat?”

“How many? How should I know?! He’s in my room with a fever right now. It’s Luffy, we can assume he probably ate the whole box.”

Sanji smirks and laughs out loud. “Well, there’s only one way to fix that. Good night, princess.” He winks and shuts the door in your face.

“Sanji, what the fuck!?”

You knock on his door again, but you can hear him get back in bed. You’re beyond pissed. You’re ready to kick the door down and wring his neck. But… you have a sinking feeling that you know what the cook is getting at. Fuck. The cookies have some sort of aphrodisiac in them.

You trudge back to your room, flabbergasted and defeated. Luffy is still in your chair, letting out wails of “pain” which you are now realizing are just fucking moans. Not to say that he isn’t in pain but… if the placement of his hand is any evidence right now, he’s feeling pretty good.

“Y-you’re back,” Luffy gasps as he grinds his palm on his erection for what is probably the 50th time.

“Fuck, Luffy. What did you get yourself into tonight? You can be such a bonehead. Goddamn.” Your hands are on your hips and you’re looking at him, weighing your options. You could kick him back to his room and tell him to masturbate.

He looks downright pathetic. His face is twisted up in agony and his hand is putting in work. “T-touch me,” he whines. “P-please.”

“Luffy, are you sure?” You walk over to him and place a hand on his cheek in pity.

He opens his eyes and weakly croaks out, “Not there. Lower.”

You tut and frown. “Ohhh Luffy. What am I going to do with you?”

He tries to give you puppy dog eyes and fails. Another erotic sound escapes his lips as his palm grinds on his cock particularly hard. He whispers, one last beg before he’ll do all the work himself. “Please.”

You cautiously reach your hand down and place it on his erection. Luffy throws his head back, hissing in air through his teeth, and fidgets under you.

“Fuck, that feels weird. Feels tingly, like—like it’s on fire,” he whines.

He grasps your wrist and makes you rub his cock harder, widening his thighs. His grip is so tight that it hurts. He’s forcing your palm down on his cock so hard that you can’t believe it isn’t hurting him.

Luffy’s eyes are closed and he’s actually drooling. He’s still shivering, and his cheeks are crimson. Sweat plasters his hair down on his forehead and temples.

The obscene sounds leaving his lips make you hotter between your legs—you squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to mitigate the rising heat, but Luffy’s desperation is making it worse. He’s starting to rut his cock up into your hand.

“Ah, that feels—feels so hot and—fuck—feels funny, like it, it feels good.” You can feel his cock twitching under your fingers. He’s writhing around and whimpering, and fuck, he looks good. “Need more.”

“Y-you need more?” You ask hesitantly.

“C’mere.” Luffy grabs you by your waist and effortlessly lifts you up, guiding you to straddle his lap. You freeze up. There’s no way this is really happening.

“Mmmmmm, fuck.” He murmurs in your ear and his hips buck up, cock craving friction through the layer of his pants and yours.

“W-want you to rub on me,” his voice is wretched and depraved. “Feels good.” When you lock eyes, you can see animalistic desire plainly. You’ve never seen him look like this—it’s like he’s a different person; lust is completely driving his movements. It’s like primal instincts took over the second the aphrodisiac cookies went to his stomach.

Luffy dry humps you and it’s starting to feel good. His hands are gripping your hips and he’s doing all the work, dragging you over his cock, pushing you down on it and making your hips roll while needy noises trickle from his parted lips.

As friction builds on your clit, you stifle a moan that threatens to jump out of your mouth. Luffy’s so aroused that he’s panting and slobbering down his chin.

It’s like he’s in heat, the way he humps and grinds on you. Seeing him like this is making you wetter. Your panties must be saturated by now—the friction is already making you buzz, and he hasn’t done much other than rub you on his cock a bit.

“It’s helping,” the words fall carelessly from Luffy’s mouth. He has no clue what’s going on. He’s on autopilot right now, lost in lust and barely cognizant. “Wanna be warmer, ‘m still so—so cold.” His teeth are chattering amidst his moans. Considering how hot his cheek was, he must really be freezing.

Luffy’s hands wander to grip your chest through your tank top so hard you let out a yelp. He pulls it down and starts to greedily squeeze and knead your breasts. Your breath hitches when his fingerpads move back and forth on your already stiff and sensitive nipples.

When he leans forward and wraps his lips around one, you let out a gasp. His tongue swirls around your bundle of nerves and he starts to suck on it hungrily. Luffy is making you wet beyond belief—the suction on your nipple is feeling dangerously good. You’re on the verge of losing it, totally giving in to the nagging animalistic voice in your head that’s telling you to fuck him like crazy.

His erection is huge and hard as it grinds on your core. It feels good—no, he feels good. The noises he’s letting out add to the effect. Your core is throbbing and sopping wet.

“L-luffy,” you moan, finally, as he grazes your clit and sucks your nipple particularly hard. He lets out a muffled hum in response, vibrating your nipple. “Luffy, if you keep doing that, I’m gonna cum.”

He goes faster. He thinks that if he sees your face contort in bliss and hears you moan some more, it’ll fix him. He’s starting to feel better already with each hump. Maybe if he sees you cum, he’ll stop pulsing and his body will stop screaming at him. Maybe if you cum from his dry humps, he’ll be satiated. Maybe his fever will go away.

Luffy can hardly form cognizant, coherent thoughts like this, though. His mind can only focus on two things. First: you. Your pleasure. Your cunt. Your tits. Your smell. He wants to devour you. Second: he’s freezing cold. He needs warmth—twenty blankets, a cup of hot tea, a heating pad, something. He feels like he’s in a vat of ice water.

“Can’t stop,” he chokes his words out with effort, somehow picking up the pace of his cock humping your cunt through your pants. “Need more.”

He grinds your clit just right and it sends you over the edge of orgasm. As you spasm over his clothed cock and soak your panties in ecstasy, he never once lets up the pace. He pushes you back and forth on his erection and doesn’t pay attention to your whimpers from overstimulation.

You collapse forward into him, resting your head in the crook of his neck while he uses his grip on your hips for leverage to rut harder into you.

“Wanna put it in,” Luffy groans and his voice is deeper than usual. “L-lemme put it in. Wanna feel you. Need it. N-need you to—to help me feel better.”

You whisper a hum of affirmation in his ear and he picks you up. Fuck it. He already made you cum. He’s begging for it. You decide to let him ravage you.

Luffy basically throws you on the bed and rips your clothes off. You realize that the door to your cabin is wide open—anyone could walk by and see this. You don’t have the willpower to care right now.

You’re lying on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. Luffy grabs your wrists and holds them over your head with one hand, pinning you down on the bed. His other hand steadies his cock flat on your inflamed, wet folds. He starts to thrust forward a bit, rubbing himself on your cunt, teasing himself before he finally fucks away the ice-cold blood in his veins and stokes that roaring heat his belly.

His cock gliding over your clit feels too good. If he keeps it up, you’ll cum a second time. “Luffy, fuck,” your whimper makes his heart pound. Reality fogs up more and he can’t think straight. He rubs his cock flat on your lips until you’re arching your back, then lines his tip up with your weeping entrance.

When Luffy pushes his cock into your slit slowly, he groans the whole time. “So fuckin’ tight, ‘s like you’re swallowing me whole, fuck. Y-you’re so warm, feels good.”

He’s shaking and shivering still. After a moment of being bottomed out, he starts to fuck you at a measured pace. He’s entranced by the way your tits bounce. He’s still drooling shamelessly, his pupils are blown with lust and he’s sweating. His free hand gropes up for your tits and plays with your nipples. Every time you moan his name, he feels like he’s an animal.

“Nnnnggghhhh, fuck, fuck, you’re—you feel so slippery,” Luffy feverishly grinds his hips into yours, hitting your deep and sensitive spots just right. “Feels weird and hot in my stomach, like s-something’s gonna happen.”

“Luffy, it feels too good,” you keen his name and squirm. “’m gonna cum soon.”

“W-wanna see,” he chokes out an answer between breathless thrusts.

He brushes your hot and soft spot, and you once again are drowning in pleasure, toe-curling and delicious. You cum, squeezing his shaft and milking out as much precum as possible.

He sounds like he’s hyperventilating. He’s truly going crazy. He keeps fucking you through your orgasm and you start to squirm. The sight goads him on.

“More,” he groans. “Please, more.”

Luffy rocks his pelvis into yours. His abs and arms are muscly and defined, his hair is sweaty, his eyes are totally dilated, and he’s looking at you like he’s going to fuck you for hours.

When he feels your walls clench down on him, he starts to cum. He seizes up and his cock plunges into your cunt. “F-fuck, fuck, I’m gonna—I’m cumming, it—feels too good, feels so good, fuck.”

His thrusts are erratic while he pumps ropes of cum into you. He pauses and looks down at your cock-crazed face, closed eyes, and slack jaw. His cum is currently seeping out of your slit, coating the base of his shaft.

But even though he just came, his cock is already starting to pulse again. That one orgasm? It isn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

He feels better than he did before, but still not back to normal. The fire and ice in his veins still runs strong, he feels like he's buzzing, like he’s an animal looking for a mate.

You think that he’s had his fill until he starts thrusting again, just as hard as before. After a minute, he shifts you. Luffy pulls out and picks you up again, maneuvering you so you’re laying on your bed with your stomach touching the covers. He gets on top of you and—fuck, he’s heavy. And his skin is boiling hot. You can feel the sheen of sweat on his chest when it presses on your back.

He has you in prone bone now, spreading your thighs wide with one of his hands. When he finally presses his cock into you, your back arches. It feels much deeper than before—is he using his devil fruit powers, or is his cock just this big?

“Fuck,” he’s rasping in your ear. His husky voice goes straight to your throbbing core—god, he sounds hot right now. You can feel his hot breath. One of his hands is braced next to your head as his cock rolls into you. He’s hitting the perfect spot and it’s starting to feel so good that you’re seeing stars. “Your pussy—feels so, so warm and good, I think it’s working.”

You lose track of time while his cock caresses your sweet spots. Before you know it, you’re cumming again. You hardly have the energy to let him know what’s happening. Is it the aphrodisiacs making his performance this good, or does Luffy just know how to fuck? How is he this good in bed?

When you squirm and cream on Luffy’s cock for the second time, he reaches a hand under you and thumbs your clit. He draws circles on it and presses it like a button. It feels like an electric shock—he has neglected it until now but still managed to coax three orgasms out of you. And while you are mildly overstimulated, when his fingers start dancing over your clit it turns up the notch of pleasure inside of you.

“Luffy, fuck that feels good,” a sort of guttural moan escapes your lips and you can’t help but buck your hips up and back onto his cock. “Don’t stop. Fuck.”

You’re keening through the waves of pleasure that he’s pulling out from you while he rams you with his cock. His heavy grunts are like music in your ears—feral, low, and ravenous. Your captain is absolutely railing you right now, and you like it. He more than likes it.

“So tight and, ah, so warm inside, like—aaghhhh fuck—like you’re made for me.” He groans and his thighs shudder. Is he cumming again? How many times is this? Second? Third?

Your mind is in a haze. He’s devouring you like a rabid animal. How many orgasms will it take to fend off his fever? How many hours until the aphrodisiac cookies wear off?

In your haze, filth starts to slip out of your mouth.

“F-fuck me harder, captain—please,” you mewl, and you can feel just the slightest pause in Luffy’s thrusts, barely noticeable. “Your cock feels so fucking good.”

After his pause, he starts pressing his weight harder on top of you, moving his hips at an angle so his cock is literally ramming into your cervix. The sensation is overwhelming, to say the least—painful but so, so good. You’re gasping for air and it’s hard to breathe because he’s on top of you. He’s literally fucking you like he’s in heat.

“Say that again,” he grunts and thrusts with each word but he’s struggling to get them out because he’s barely breathing. “Say it.”

“Captain, fuck, y-your cock feels so good. Fuck, captain.”

He’s somehow going faster, bringing you to another cliff, another ledge of euphoria from which to free fall. His cock bullies your bundles of nerves and your cunt squelches with each pass.

“C-captain, Luffy, please, fuck.” You’re spasming under him again, cumming on his cock for, what was that, the fourth time? Maybe it was the fifth. You’ve lost count. You didn’t know it was possible to cum this many times. You’ve also lost track of what words are coming out of your mouth. “Cumming, I’m cumming, y-your cock ‘s too good, captain, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He’s right after you, jerking his hips deep into yours and cumming inside again. There’s so much cum leaking out of you that Luffy’s shaft is obscured by milky white goop. There’s a sizable puddle of it underneath of you. It’s going to leave an unfortunate-colored stain on your bedsheets. You’ll cross that bridge when you get to it.

His hips are still bucking though. His cum just keeps… coming. It’s a visceral orgasm. It’s the final orgasm (for a brief refractory period). When he’s done shooting seed into you, he collapses on top of you.

It’s like you’re under a weighted blanket except its Luffy, he’s heavy as fuck, and his cock is in you. And damn, he’s sweaty.

But somehow this is the best sex you’ve ever had. And you have a sneaking suspicion that the night isn’t over yet.

When you protest and Luffy rolls off your back, you use all your strength to open your eyes and check on him. His chest rises and falls at a rapid pace, his eyes are closed, he’s still drooling but he looks decidedly better.

You bring a hand to touch his forehead again and he lets out another quiet whimper. He must be so sensitive still. Poor thing. But his fever is considerably better.

Sanji must have been right when he said there’s only one way to fix this aphrodisiac frenzy. You wonder what Sanji was saving those cookies for. The day you finally crawled into bed with him?

Pfffft. No, thank you. After round six or seven with Luffy, you’ll never look back. You truly didn’t expect your captain to fuck like this. Or to like being called captain when his cock is in you.

“Luffy, are you doing ok?”

He hums in response.

“Use your words. Luffy, are you doing okay?”

“Yeah. Feels a lot better.”

When his chest slows, he starts to sleep. You’re left on your bed with a puddle of cum under (and inside) of you, and your captain sound asleep like a rock next to you. And fuck, the door is still open.

Hopefully no one heard that. Even if they had heard, oh well. Too late now to stress over it.

You close the door and turn off the light. Then, you get cleaned up and put your pajamas back on.

Luffy may be sound asleep, but you shove him around so he’s at a decent angle. You fall asleep together on your bed, cuddling, and sticky with sweat (and cum).

Of course, no more than two hours later, Luffy is awake and his cock is throbbing again. He tries to touch himself and make the heat go away but it isn’t working. So… he wakes you up. And that’s how rounds eight, nine, and ten go.

When his fever finally goes away, he’s left with a long-lasting craving that he can only satiate one way: you.

It should go without saying, but the next day you literally cannot walk. You hobble around, trying to play it off like you slept weird or something. Sanji rubs the whole thing in your face.

“How was last night, angel?” His smirk is sly and smug, teasing and suggestive.

“Sanji. Please. Not right now.”

“Do you want me to get more of those cookies sometime? Maybe we can eat them next?” He winks and you balk.

“Fuck off, Sanji.”

The chef chuckles and saunters away. He’s never going to let you live that down.

thank you for reading!!! ive been feeling a certain way about luffy recently. its just his fucking muscles in wano that have me in a chokehold. muscle make brain go brrrrrrrrr.

here's my masterlist and my posting schedule for october!

i'm posting every day from now until halloween!

finally, trick or treat? (tumblr links)

[bywons]

MAKE YOU MINE ⭑ 𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗇 𝖻𝗒 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗋𝖾

𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄， 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎

❪ 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐄 ❫ ｡ vamp!enha 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋 1765────── fluff ✿‎ kissing skinship bruises blood 贅沢 𖥔

★ 𝖱𝖤𝖡𝖫𝖮𝖦 𝖥𝖮𝖱 𝖠 𝖪𝖨𝖲𝖲

LEE HEESEUNG

“get away from her,” heeseung’s voice cuts in like a knife in the darkness, and in a flash of a moment, he’s standing in front of you, the dark figure before you a second ago vanishes in the air.

his chest rises and falls steadily, but his eyes burn with a fierce protectiveness that makes your heart skip. “are you okay?” his voice is softer now, trembling slightly, as if the threat had shaken him more than he wants to admit.

you look at his red glinting eyes, a horrifying sight, and yet it’s what draws you in, the real him. you finally nod at him, his cold hands cupping your jaws.

“don’t ever scare me like that again,” heeseung whispers, his forehead pressing against yours, breath cool and ragged. his hands are still on your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks with a touch that borders on reverence.

you don’t move—you can’t. not when his lips are this close. not when his eyes, red and unholy, flicker down to your mouth like he’s starving for more than just blood.

“you don’t know what it does to me,” he breathes, voice dropping lower, hungrier. “seeing someone else near you—touching you.”

his lips graze yours, not quite a kiss, not quite innocent. it’s restraint. torture. heeseung’s fingers curl slightly at your neck, thumb dragging down to your pulse. “this… it’s mine,” he murmurs, pressing his mouth against the skin there, not biting—just claiming.

you feel the chill of his breath, the heat of his desire. it’s terrifying. intoxicating. and you don’t want him to stop.

PARK JONGSEONG

“stay behind me,” jay says, voice low, dangerous—like a blade unsheathed in the dark.

you barely have time to breathe before he moves, a blur of motion that leaves the air sliced and stilled. the threat—another vampire, fangs bared—crumbles to ash at jay’s feet without a sound.

you stagger back, heart pounding, your silk gown torn at the hem. jay turns to you, eyes burning red, blood trailing down his temple.

“you’re bleeding,” you whisper, reaching up to touch him.

he catches your wrist midair. not harshly, but firm. “don’t.” his voice is tense, too tense. “i’m barely holding back.”

you search his face—the furrow in his brow, the tightness in his jaw. he looks more beast than man, yet still beautiful. yours.

“you keep risking everything,” you say, stepping closer, ignoring his warning. “you’re not just my bodyguard anymore, jay.”

his expression shatters. “you think i don’t know that?” he breathes. “every time you look at me like this, i forget what i am. what i could do to you.”

“then don’t forget,” you whisper, pressing your palm to his chest. “remember who you are with me.”

his breath stutters. “you’re playing with fire.”

“maybe i want to burn.”

his lips crash onto yours—desperate, bruising, filled with the hunger he’s buried for too long.

and as he pulls you into his arms, shielding you once again from the world, he silently vows:

he’d rather burn with you. than live forever without you.

SIM JAEYUN

“you can’t keep doing this to yourself,” you whisper, voice trembling as your fingers brush over the purple bruises blooming down jake’s ribs.

he winces, but not from your touch. his eyes, bloodshot and rimmed with dark shadows, lift to meet yours. a dried line of blood streaks from the corner of his mouth, sharp against his pale skin.

“i had to,” he says quietly. “he was getting too close to you.”

your heart clenches. “you let him hurt you just to protect me?”

he doesn’t answer. instead, his gaze drops—shame flickering in the red that still glows faintly in his eyes.

“jake,” you murmur, cradling his face. “this isn’t saving me if you’re killing yourself.”

he leans into your touch like it’s the only warmth left in the world. “i don’t care what happens to me,” he says hoarsely, “as long as you’re untouched. unbitten. alive.”

you feel his pain under your fingertips—the fractured ribs, the bloodless chill of his skin, the weight of everything he’s endured just to keep you safe.

“i never asked you to suffer for me.”

he looks up, jaw clenched. “i need to suffer if it means you’re okay.”

your hands tremble as you pull him into your arms, his body too cold, too still. “then let me take some of the pain, jake. please. let me save you for once.”

his voice breaks against your shoulder. “you already did… you just don’t know it yet.”

PARK SUNGHOON

“your father won’t approve this,” sunghoon breathes, lips just inches from yours, swollen from the kiss he couldn’t resist. yet he doesn’t move. his cold hands stay firm on your waist, pulling you tightly against the chestplate of his armor.

you tilt your head, breath hitching, heart pounding like a war drum beneath royal silk. “he never approved of anything that made me feel alive,” you whisper. “but you… you do.”

sunghoon’s jaw clenches, fangs just barely visible in the moonlight that spills through the stone corridor. “i’m not a man, princess ,” he murmurs, voice like dark velvet. “i’m a monster in armor. your father assigned me to guard you, not—”

“—not fall in love with me?” you finish, eyes shimmering with both defiance and longing.

he exhales shakily, eyes fluttering closed for a second. “you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

you reach up, fingers trailing over his jaw, cool and sharp under your touch. “then show me.”

and he does—he kisses you like a man who’s starved for centuries. his hands slip into your hair, down your back, trembling as they memorize every curve like it’s his last night breathing.

“we can’t stay,” he whispers against your lips. “if i stay, they’ll kill me in front of you.”

your breath is shaky, but steady with resolve. “then take me with you.”

his eyes flash red.

the next night, the princess’s bed was cold. her chamber empty. and far beyond the kingdom’s borders, a knight rode fast beneath the moon—his arms around the only thing he ever dared to love.

KIM SUNOO

the night is soft, wrapped in a quiet so complete it feels like the world is holding its breath just for you. sunoo’s hand slips into yours, warm and gentle, grounding you in the stillness. his eyes gleam faintly crimson as he studies your face, searching for the words he can’t find.

“you don’t have to be afraid of me,” he says softly, voice like a lullaby in the dark.

you swallow hard, heart fluttering against your ribs. “but what if you hurt me?” your voice is barely a whisper, trembling with the weight of uncertainty.

sunoo’s fingers tighten around yours. “i would never hurt you,” he promises, voice breaking with the honesty that feels almost too fragile for someone like him.

he leans closer, breath warm on your skin, and you can’t help but shiver. “there’s a darkness inside me,” he admits, eyes locking with yours. “but with you, it’s quieter. softer. like i’m… learning to be human again.”

his lips brush yours, hesitant at first, then with growing certainty. the kiss tastes faintly metallic, but beneath it is something sweeter—hope, trust, something new.

you rest your forehead against his, breath mingling. “teach me,” you whisper.

sunoo smiles, a delicate, almost shy curve of his lips. “we’ll learn together.”

and in the quiet night, with stars watching overhead, you find yourself willing to take the leap—into the unknown, into forever—with him.

YANG JUNGWON

you shouldn’t be here. not in the shadows of the balcony, not with jungwon’s back pressed to the stone wall and your hands clutching his bloodstained collar.

“this is wrong,” he whispers, but he doesn’t move. doesn’t stop you. his eyes glow faintly crimson in the moonlight, flickering between restraint and something dangerously close to desire.

“you’ve said that every night,” you murmur, fingers brushing the healing gash on his neck. “and yet, here you are.”

he exhales, sharp and shaky. “if your brother knew—”

“he’d kill you,” you finish for him. “but i’m not his to protect, jungwon.”

your words hang heavy between you. the space is thick with tension, charged with every stolen glance, every quiet moment over the years where you knew—he was always soemthing more than he let on.

“you smell like blood,” you whisper, stepping closer, voice softer now. “you’re hurt again.”

“i’m fine,” he lies, jaw clenched.

you reach up, cradling his cheek. his breath catches. “you keep fighting for me in the dark, jungwon. when will you let yourself have something… light?”

his composure cracks.

his hand wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his forehead pressed to yours. “you don’t understand what i am,” he whispers.

“then show me,” you say.

and he does—kissing you like he’s spent centuries waiting, like you’re the only thing that makes him feel alive in a world of shadows.

he’ll regret this. but not tonight. not while you’re still in his arms.

NISHIMURA RIKI

“vampires aren’t real, right?”

your voice is barely above a whisper, shaky, like you’re afraid the truth might answer back. you stand in the doorway of your shared apartment, hoodie pulled tight around your frame, eyes wide and fixed on riki—who’s sitting on the windowsill, bathed in moonlight.

he doesn’t answer immediately.

he just looks at you. too still. too quiet. like he’s trying to decide whether to lie or let everything unravel.

“why are you asking that?” he finally says, voice low, almost careful.

your eyes dart to the blood on his sleeve. your breath catches. “i saw you,” you say. “last night. in the alley. your eyes… they weren’t human.”

he stands. not rushed, not startled. just slow, graceful, quiet in that unnatural way you never noticed until now.

“you weren’t supposed to see that.”

you take a step back, heart pounding. “so it’s true.”

he sighs. his voice is softer now. “i didn’t want you to find out like this.”

“how long?”

he meets your gaze, something ancient and sorrowful flickering behind his eyes. “since before we were roommates. since before i knew what it meant to want something… i couldn’t have.”

he moves closer. you don’t run. you should, but you don’t.

“are you scared of me now?” he whispers.

you tremble. but you don’t look away. “should i be?”

riki leans in, just enough that you feel his breath on your lips, he smiles through his nervousness, hand caressing your cheeks.

“absolutely not,” he murmurs, “i want to keep you safe, even from myself.”

스루 ܃ the way each one of these can be a seperate drabble or oneshot .. TT i love vampire enha 🫰🏽

© bywons, 2025 div ctto —taglist open ! nets. @/k-labels @kflixnet @k-films

[buckysleftbicep]

little rabbit 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, primal play, chasing, unprotected sex, rough sex, overstimulation, oral sex (f rec), light degradation, loads of aftercare (please take care to read the warnings)

summary: you wanted to play prey and bucky was more than happy to hunt.

word count: 2.3k

author's note: hi loves! this fic reminds me of the foot pursuit challenge on tiktok, where partners get their significant other to chase and catch them and my gosh, i get why being chased (consensually) is a kink. based on this request | requests are open!

and suddenly my pants are gone

The forest swallowed you whole.

Dusk draped itself over the trees like a velvet veil, thick and breathless, shrouding everything in deepening shadow. Every snapped twig beneath your bare feet echoed loud in the quiet.

Still, you ran. Low branches clawed at your arms. Thorns kissed your legs. The thin fabric of your dress snagged and fluttered behind you, a ghost of surrender, but you didn’t stop.

You couldn’t. Not when you could feel him.

The weight of his presence stalked you from behind—unseen, but undeniable. The almost inaudible crunch of leaves. A shift in the air. That creeping prickle along your spine that told you that he’s close.

Bucky had given you a five-minute head start. It was a mercy. Time enough to let your pulse spike, to feel the adrenaline kick into your bloodstream. Not fear—never fear. This was anticipation, sharpened to a razor’s edge. Because you had asked for this. Planned it, begged for it. Every line, every rule, every dark little detail etched in the safety of shared trust.

He would chase. You would run.

And when he caught you… you were his.

You ducked beneath a low-hanging branch, stumbling over roots slick with moss. Your breath came in short, frantic bursts, chest heaving as sweat kissed your skin. The air felt electric, every sound amplified—every rustle, every breeze, every bird gone silent.

Then— A sound. Too heavy. Too close. Intentional.

You twisted mid-step, eyes wide, just in time to catch a blur of movement before something crashed into you, full force.

Not something. Someone.

You hit the ground hard, bark and soil tearing at your skin, the wind knocked from your lungs in a startled gasp. But even before you could react, you knew. His weight settled over you—solid, hot, commanding. Breath brushed your ear. A metal hand wrapped around your wrist and dragged it over your head, pinning it into the dirt. His other hand found your waist, gripping hard, keeping you still.

“Got you,” Bucky growled, his voice ragged and low, more breath than sound.

The sound of him went straight to your core.

You squirmed beneath him—reflex, instinct, desire. “You said five minutes,” you panted.

He leaned down, mouth brushing the edge of your jaw. “You had four.”

A breathless laugh escaped you, cut short the moment his hand slid up and curled around your throat. Not tight. Not yet. Just enough to anchor you. Enough to make your breath catch.

His other hand traced down the torn side seam of your dress, slow, deliberate. Fingertips dragging fire across your skin. His touch was reverent and rough all at once, equal parts worship and promise.

“Look at you,” he muttered, voice thick with hunger. “Mouth open like you’re already fucked.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. He didn’t want you to.

Instead, he kissed you—if it could be called that. It was teeth and tongue and breathless desperation. His stubble burned your chin. His mouth stole the air from your lungs. It was a claiming, not a kiss. And when he pulled away, you were already dizzy.

“Get up,” he said roughly.

Your brows furrowed. “What—?”

He didn’t wait. Didn’t explain. Just hauled you to your feet and spun you around so your chest hit the nearest tree trunk with a thud. His hand flattened between your shoulder blades, pressing you forward, and you barely caught yourself before your knees gave out.

Then you felt him.

His cock, already hard, already leaking pressed hot and heavy against your ass through his pants. He rutted against you once, slow and deliberate, making sure you felt it. The power. The possession.

“You made me chase you,” he murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You made me earn this. You think I’m just gonna take it easy on you now?”

His teeth scraped your neck, and your head dropped forward against the bark with a shudder.

“I’m gonna take my time,” he growled, fingers already hiking your dress up around your hips, exposing your thighs to the night air. “And you’re gonna take everything I give you.”

Your breath hitched as rough bark scraped against your chest, grounding you. The tree was unyielding, but so was he—pressed flush behind you like a furnace, all sharp heat and coiled restraint on the verge of snapping. You barely had time to catch up before his hands were on you—gripping, dragging, claiming. One curled possessively around your hip. The other fisted the neckline of your ruined dress.

And tore.

The sound of fabric splitting echoed in the dark like a gasp. Cold air kissed your bare skin, sending a shudder through you—part from the chill, mostly from the anticipation. The dress fell in tatters around your waist, exposing your breasts to the open night.

Bucky made a low, guttural sound behind you. “Fuck,” he rasped, voice strained and rough with hunger. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You were too busy shaking as he dropped to his knees behind you, slow and heavy, like a man worshiping at an altar. His metal fingers dug into your thighs, spreading them apart with forceful ease until you had no choice but to brace yourself against the tree.

Then—his mouth.

A single, filthy lick dragged up your center, and your whole body jolted like you’d been shocked. You cried out, loud and unfiltered, legs already trembling.

His breath hitched against you, rough and heavy, sending vibrations through your core that made your legs tremble.

And then he devoured you.

His tongue was relentless—sloppy, fast, desperate. Every stroke made your knees weaken, every flick against your clit sent stars dancing behind your eyes. He sucked, licked, teased, and when he pushed a metal finger into your dripping heat, you almost collapsed.

“Bucky—fuck, please—”

He didn’t stop. Just added a second finger, thrusting deep, curling up until your thighs started to quake. His other hand held your ass in place, keeping you pinned as you instinctively tried to pull away from the overwhelming pleasure.

“Too much,” you gasped. “I—I can’t—”

But he didn’t stop. Not until he chose to.

But when he finally pulled back, your whine of protest was almost pitiful.

He stood, chest rising fast. You could feel the tension rolling off him in waves—his breathing uneven, hands rough now as they grabbed your hips again.

His voice was a low snarl against your ear. “You think you get to come?”

Your whole body clenched, heat rushing to your core like you hadn’t just been on the edge of release.

“You ran,” he continued, biting down on your shoulder. “You teased me. And now you think you get to fall apart without permission?”

You whimpered. “Please…”

He grabbed your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “You begged for this. Remember?”

You nodded weakly.

“Said you wanted to be used.”

Then you felt it. The thick, hot weight of his cock nudging against your entrance—bare, leaking, ready.

“Then take it.”

He slammed into you with a single, brutal thrust.

Your scream tore through the woods, raw and involuntary. There was no gentleness. No easing in. Just the full length of him stretching you, filling you, splitting you open as your breath hitched and your eyes fluttered shut.

He didn’t pause. Didn’t let you adjust. Just snapped his hips into yours, over and over, fucking you hard enough to make your body jerk forward against the tree.

His grip bruised. His rhythm was punishing.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he groaned. “Tight little cunt—jesus—meant for this.”

Every thrust forced a choked moan from your lips, your forehead scraping against the bark. His metal hand snaked around to grab your breast, pinching your nipple between cold fingers until you sobbed.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You—Bucky, you.”

His mouth found your neck, biting hard, and that was it. You shattered. The orgasm hit you like a freight train—violent, sharp, sudden. You cry out as you clenched around him, body going rigid, stars bursting behind your eyes.

But he didn’t stop.

He kept fucking you through it, deep and fast, chasing his own release. You were limp, barely holding yourself upright, when he finally slammed into you one last time with a grunt, his cock pulsing as he filled you. Warmth spread between your thighs, dripping down as your muscles twitched.

And then, for a long moment—silence.

Only his breathing. Only yours. The wind through the trees.

He stayed pressed to you, his chest against your back, forehead resting on your shoulder. When he finally moved, it wasn’t rough. It was careful.

He pulled out slowly as you whimpered. His hands smoothed over your waist, then wrapped around you, holding you upright.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he murmured softly, lips brushing your skin. You nodded, too dazed to speak.

“Still with me?” A hum was all you could manage.

He didn’t move at first. Just stayed close, breath still ragged against your neck, one hand on your waist like he was grounding himself with the feel of you.

The heat of him clung to your skin, everywhere, your chest, your thighs, the slick mess between your legs. Your pulse hadn’t steadied yet, and neither had his.

His forehead came to rest against your shoulder. “You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded, your voice slow and slurred. “Yeah. Just… give me a second.”

He didn’t rush you. Just waited. His hands softened where they held you—no more grip, no pressure. Only presence. Only warmth.

“I didn’t go too far?” he asked after a pause, quieter now. Like he needed to hear it.

“No,” you said softly, eyes closed. “You didn’t.”

He let out a slow breath, tension finally slipping out of his frame. Behind you, he shifted carefully, pulling out with a gentleness that made your breath catch. The stretch still ached, your thighs trembling from exertion, and the cool night air wrapped around the places he’d left warm and ruined.

You pressed a hand to the tree, steadying yourself.

“Come here,” he said gently, and when he turned you around, you didn’t resist.

Your legs were unsteady, but he was solid. You let yourself fall into him, cheek to his chest, breath still shallow. He held you with one arm wrapped around your waist, the other cradling the back of your neck. His chest rose and fell beneath your face in a steady rhythm, anchoring you.

It was quiet for a moment. Then, without letting go, he said, “So… I take it that worked for you.”

A soft laugh escaped you, hoarse and tired. “That was insane.”

“You sure?” His tone was light, but you felt the nerves under it. “Didn’t think I was gonna find you that fast.”

“You nearly tackled me.”

“You said run,” he said, lips brushing the side of your head. “I took that personally.”

You smiled, breath catching slightly. “You were scarily good at that. Honestly.”

His fingers threaded gently through your hair, grounding you. “You weren’t exactly innocent either. All wide-eyed and breathless. The dress helped.”

You huffed a laugh. “Told you it’d rip.”

“And I said I wouldn’t tear it.” “You absolutely tore it.”

He grinned into your hair. “I’ll buy you another one.”

You nodded, letting silence settle again, warm between your bodies. Then, softer, he asked, “You really okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, and this time you met his eyes. “I liked it.”

His expression shifted—something softer in the lines of his face, something quieter. “Good,” he said, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Because I didn’t know how to stop once I had you.”

The confession hit low in your chest, but not in a bad way. It settled deep.

“I know,” you said.

For a while, you just stood there. Breathing. Letting the night move around you while everything inside you slowed.

Eventually, he shifted. “Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s go inside. Get you cleaned up.”

You blinked, then grimaced. “My legs feel like jelly.”

“I’ll carry you,” he offered, already crouching.

“You don’t have to—”

But he didn’t let you finish. Just swept you up without effort, arms secure beneath your legs and back. You looped your arms around his neck and let your head rest on his shoulder as he started the walk back through the woods.

The world was still and dark around you. The crunch of leaves beneath his boots was steady, the rhythm of it soothing. His chest rose and fell beneath your cheek, and his grip on you never wavered. It was careful. Thoughtful. Safe.

After a while, you brushed your fingers along the line of his jaw. “Thanks for doing this,” you murmured.

He glanced down at you. “For what? Nearly fucking you into a tree?”

You let out a tired exhale, half a laugh. “For making it feel real. And then making it feel safe again.”

His eyes softened, and he didn’t hesitate. “You never weren’t.”

You nodded, eyes closing. You knew that, but still, it meant something to hear it out loud.

The compund's lights came into view, glowing soft and golden through the trees. He shifted you slightly in his arms, settling your weight.

“I’ll run you a bath,” he said. “You want food?” You groaned. “God, yes.”

He smirked. “Didn’t know primal play gave you an appetite.”

“It’s the trauma,” you deadpanned, and he laughed, a real one, low and warm and full.

You smiled, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“Next time,” you murmured, voice already slipping toward sleep, “you better give me more than five minutes.”

He huffed. “You barely lasted four.” You smirked, eyes still closed. “Didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it.”

His hand moved in slow circles along your back. “Yeah? Because I’d do it again. However you want.”

You just nodded, the edge of sleep tugging at you now, soft and easy. “Just like that,” you whispered. “Don’t change a thing.”

He pressed a kiss to your hair, steady and certain. “Wasn’t planning to.”

a/n: i hope you guys enjoyed it! i love you all, and please stay safe out there!

[dksfml]

EIGHTEEN - YANG JUNGWON (PART II)

pairing: fboy!jungwon x reader summary: where on your 18th birthday, you receive a blessing that lets you see the future, only to find yourself married to jungwon, the college heartthrob you’ve barely spoken to, with a child calling you mom. genre: university / college au, soulmate au, fantasy, fluff, slight angst, love triangle, pining, slow burn word count: 4.8k playlist: 18 - one direction, stuck with u - ariana grande & justin bieber, you belong with me - ts, lavender haze - ts, wish that i could - umi, meddle about - chase atlantic A/N: forgive me if this part's a bit short. i promise to make it up to you in the next ones, hehe

masterlist.

This is a work of fiction. It does not represent real people, events, or systems. Any similarities are purely coincidental, and all elements are created for fantasy purposes only.

The drama club’s room smelled faintly of old velvet curtains and cheap perfume.

Jungwon was half-distracted, mind somewhere else entirely, when the girl he barely remembered the name of tugged at his collar, lips finding the side of his neck. Her fingers slipped under the hem of his shirt, nails scraping lightly across his skin.

He let her.

Only because he wanted to get this over with.

The only reason he even agreed to meet her again today was to retrieve his wallet. The one he stupidly left at her dorm last night. He didn’t even plan on staying longer than necessary. Hell, he didn’t even plan on seeing her again. Jungwon didn’t do repeats.

But when she leaned in too close, smirking against his ear and said, "At least let me give you an advanced birthday treat, babe," he froze.

He should have walked away right then.

Instead, when she kept pushing, fingers pulling at his belt loops, mouth chasing his, he kissed her. Hard. Too hard.

Just to shut her up.

A mistake.

A fucking mistake.

Because that’s when the door creaked open.

And everything inside him seized up.

Through the tangled mess of limbs and desperation, his eyes locked onto a figure standing stiff at the door.

You.

Wide-eyed. Frozen. Like you’d just witnessed a car crash you couldn’t look away from.

Fuck.

He pulled back like he’d been electrocuted, his breath catching sharp in his throat.

“Y/N?” he blurted, voice rough and broken.

You didn’t say anything.

Didn’t move.

Just turned too fast and disappeared down the hallway, footsteps fading like a nightmare.

The girl beside him clicked her tongue, smoothing down her skirt, unfazed. She leaned against the desk casually, fixing her lipstick in the reflection of a trophy case.

“She’s pretty," she said, voice light, teasing. "Is that her?"

Jungwon stared at her, still breathing hard. “What?”

She tilted her head, smiling like she knew something he didn’t. “The girl who rejected you during freshmen year. Jake told me.”

His fists clenched at his sides. He stared at her, a million unsaid things clawing up his throat.

“I wasn’t rejected,” Jungwon snapped, sharper than he meant to. “And Jake doesn’t have the right to say shit. He’s in the same fucking position.”

The girl only chuckled, slipping her phone back into her bag like she hadn’t just dropped a nuclear bomb and walked away.

Jungwon stood there for a long moment, the stale, suffocating air pressing down on him.

He had come here for a wallet.

He had stayed because he was stupid.

He kissed a girl he didn’t even like because he thought it didn’t matter.

But it mattered.

Because for the first time in a long time, something actually fucking mattered.

And he might have just ruined it before it even had the chance to start.

It started small.

The kind of thing you wouldn’t even notice unless you were paying attention.

There was a vending machine tucked beside the science hall. Old, humming, half-forgotten. Students barely used it unless they were desperate between classes. But Jungwon did. And he always bought the same thing: the yellow-pack gummy bears.

Soft, sweet, just the right chew.

Something about them tasted like how he imagined being a kid felt simple and untouched.

Except, lately, they were always gone.

He’d walk up between lectures, coins ready, tap the scratched glass — and nothing.

Every other snack untouched.

Every other candy still neatly stacked.

Just the yellow gummies, empty.

It pissed him off a little.

He even once smacked the side of the machine in frustration, earning a few weird glances from passing students. He ignored them, he had bigger problems.

One day, he was earlier than usual. The hallways were half-empty, the vending machine still blinking lazily in the corner. And there you were.

Crouched low, head tilted, tapping the glass thoughtfully like you were deep in negotiation with the machine. In your hand? Two packs of the yellow gummies.

And in your bag? He caught the flash of even more, at least three, four crammed into the front pocket like a guilty secret.

You turned, mid-stuffing the last pack into your bag. Eyes meeting. Both of you frozen.

He recognized you vaguely. Freshman orientation, Jake's friend, the girl who laughed at his jokes but never stuck around for long.

And now? Now you were the damn vending machine thief.

You blinked, the barest flicker of surprise crossing your face before you straightened up calmly, like you weren’t doing anything remotely suspicious. You were.

Jungwon crossed his arms, smirking before he could stop himself.

"Leave some for the rest of us, maybe?"

You shrugged, not even guilty. "Survival of the fittest."

He huffed out a laugh. "You're hoarding them."

"They're the best ones," you said simply, like it was obvious. "Supply and demand."

He shook his head, smiling despite himself. You were something else.

"I’ve been trying to buy those for a week," he said, mock offended.

"You should be faster," you replied, voice light, teasing, as you zipped your bag shut and slung it over your shoulder.

Before he could think of anything clever to say, you tossed one of the packs toward him. He caught it, stunned.

"Here," you said.

A peace offering.

Or maybe just a dare to keep up.

Then you walked away, steps light, disappearing down the hallway before he could ask your name.

He stood there for a second, the vending machine humming behind him, the yellow pack crinkling in his hand.

Slowly, he smiled.

He didn’t know much about you yet. Only that you liked the same gummy bears. And that you didn’t apologize for it.

But that tiny, stupid moment? It stuck. Burrowed somewhere he couldn't dig out later, no matter how many months passed.

And later, when people joked about how he must’ve had dozens of girls chasing after him, he just thought about you, walking away without a second glance, leaving him standing there like some idiot holding candy.

After that day at the vending machine, Jungwon started noticing you everywhere. At first, he told himself it was coincidence. The campus wasn’t that big. Maybe your paths just happened to cross. Maybe you just happened to sit two rows ahead of him in economics. Maybe you just happened to linger outside the drama clubroom, laughing too brightly with Sunoo.

But deep down, he knew the truth.

He was looking for you now.

Tuning out the rest of the world, unconsciously drawn to the sound of your laugh, the flash of your bag stuffed with books and candy, the easy way you moved through life like you weren’t trying to impress anyone.

And you never noticed him.

Not really.

You barely even glanced his way.

He almost gave up then, almost let himself believe it was just a vending machine moment, a glitch in the universe that wasn’t meant to last.

Until rumors started.

Jake was courting you.

Jake, the golden boy with the easy smiles and a trail of admirers.

Jake, who was somehow close to you already.

Jake, who could make anyone fall for him if he really wanted to.

Jungwon told himself it didn’t matter. He lied.

It hurt.

More than it should have.

A stupid, sour sting every time he saw Jake walking next to you, tossing you candies or making you laugh in that easy, infuriating way of his.

So Jungwon, idiot that he was, joined the drama club. “I need the extracurricular points," he told everyone. Nobody believed him.

Mostly, he stuck to backstage work, fixing broken chairs, painting sets, running errands Sunoo barked at him with terrifying efficiency.

You were always around, helping, organizing, laughing. Sometimes you sat cross-legged on the stage sorting costume jewelry into plastic bins. Sometimes you passed him a bottle of water without looking. He said thank you quietly every time and you never noticed.

But he stayed anyway.

Because being near you, even if you didn’t see him, felt better than nothing at all.

Then one afternoon, everything shifted again.

He was fixing a crooked light rig when Sunoo’s voice rang out through the dusty club office.

"Y/N turned Jake down yesterday." Loud. Blunt. No room for misunderstanding.

The room went quiet. Someone gasped. Someone else whistled low.

Jungwon tightened his grip on the wrench. Heart slamming. Mind racing.

You turned Jake down?

"Yeah," another club member chimed in, dramatic as ever. "She said she's not ready for dating. Wants to focus on her studies first, plus she was thinking of running for the student council next year."

Sunoo laughed. "Classic Y/N. Always has her priorities straight."

Jungwon barely heard the rest.

All he could think was—

Maybe.

Maybe there was a chance.

Maybe he wasn’t as invisible as he thought.

He spent the whole night drafting letters he’d never send. Debating if he should say anything at all.

In the end, he didn’t write a love confession. He didn’t pour his heart out. He just kept it simple.

A bag of yellow gummy bears. And a note taped on it.

"I know this might not be the right time to give you something like this.

But I just wanted you to know,  you're interesting in every possible way.

You're the kind of person someone could admire quietly for a long time, even if the tides never turn in their favor.

I hope you keep smiling the way you do when you win arguments.

I hope you keep picking the yellow gummy bears, even if you have to fight for the last one.

No pressure.

No expectations.

Just... you deserve to know."

He left it in your locker early the next morning. Heart hammering. Hands shaking.

He thought maybe you’d know. Maybe the gummy bears would tip you off. Maybe you’d remember the stupid vending machine moment that never really left his mind.

Instead—

At lunch, he saw you. Marching across the courtyard. The bag of gummy bears clutched in your hand. Heading straight for Jake.

From where Jungwon sat on the stone steps by the library, he saw it unfold like a bad dream:

You smiling politely.

Talking softly.

Handing Jake the gummy bears back like they were some kind of apology.

And Jake—Jake just blinked, clearly confused, before awkwardly nodding and taking the bag.

You looked relieved.

Jake looked baffled.

Jungwon felt like something inside him cracked quietly open.

You thought Jake sent the gift.

You thought Jake wrote the letter.

And you turned it down.

Kindly. Gently.

And you never even knew it was him.

Later, Jake found him by the vending machines, tossing the crumpled bag onto Jungwon's lap.

"You’re a dumbass," Jake said, not unkindly.

"You should've put your name on it."

Then he left, leaving Jungwon alone with a silent, half-empty machine and a gummy bear pack that tasted a lot more bitter than sweet now.

Jungwon never said anything about it.

He just swallowed the rejection he was never even given the chance to earn.

And maybe that’s why now, standing years later in a messy drama room, when that girl tilted her head and said with a teasing smile—

"The girl who rejected you during freshmen year. Jake told me."

Because truth was… you never even knew it was him.

You never even saw him.

Not then.

Not yet.

The door slammed shut behind him.

Jungwon didn’t stop walking.

Down the hallway, past the bulletin boards, past the same scratched lockers he could’ve walked through blindfolded.

His fists curled tighter with every step.

Breath shallow. Mind buzzing.

He pushed outside, the night air slapping cold against his face. But the sick feeling in his gut didn’t go away.

He barely made it two steps across the courtyard when—

"Jungwon!"

He turned, shoulders stiff.

It was Sunoo, jogging up, frowning. "Dude, what happened? Why is Y/N storming out like she’s about to sue the entire drama club?"

Jungwon opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Rubbed a hand down his face.

"I messed up," he muttered finally, voice hoarse. "I didn’t mean for her to see... that."

Sunoo stared at him, mouth twitching like he wanted to ask a dozen questions but knew better.

Jungwon dug into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out the bright yellow pack, the gummy bears he'd bought earlier, before everything went to shit. Before he'd ruined it.

And then it hit him.

Today was your birthday.

You were supposed to have a good day.

You were supposed to laugh and smile and maybe — maybe — open your locker to find a stupid, cheesy pack of candy from someone who actually thought about you.

Instead, you found him like that.

Instead, he made you leave like your heart was breaking in real time.

A fresh wave of guilt slammed into him, sharp enough to make his stomach turn.

He shoved the pack into Sunoo’s hands, almost too rough.

"Give this to her," Jungwon said, jaw tight. "Tomorrow. Please."

Sunoo blinked down at it. "Uh. Okay? What is this, a bribe?"

Jungwon gave a humorless huff of air.

"Just... tell her I’m sorry. Tell her it’s from me."

Sunoo tucked the candy into his tote bag, still looking like he wanted to say more.

"I have to check our biochem lab results tomorrow," Jungwon added, half an excuse, half the truth. "I won’t see her before lunch."

Sunoo nodded slowly.

"You sure you don’t wanna just give it to her yourself?"

Jungwon shrugged helplessly.

"I don’t think she wants to see me right now."

A beat of silence.

The wind picked up, rattling the bare branches overhead.

Sunoo sighed, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Alright. I’ll make sure she gets it."

He started to turn away, then paused, glancing back with a small, lopsided smile.

"Oh—and, uh, advance happy birthday, Jungwon."

Jungwon managed the barest curve of a smile.

"Thanks."

And then he turned, hoodie pulled up against the cold, and disappeared into the night.

The morning Jungwon turned eighteen, the world stayed silent—for a moment.

The sun rose like it always did, pale and slow against the cracked skyline.

His apartment was still the same too: neat, spare, clean to the point of looking unlived-in. A couch, a low coffee table, a desk piled with textbooks he didn’t really touch anymore.

Nothing screamed special day.

Nothing at all.

He sat up on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the muted light seeping through his curtains.

In families like his, birthdays — eighteenth birthdays — were monumental.

Because here, you only got your blessing once.

It came exactly on your eighteenth birthday, and it never changed after that.

It was supposed to be a celebration. A doorway into the life you were meant to live. But in Jungwon’s family, it wasn’t magic. It wasn’t wonder.

It was a contract.

A cousin who awakened the ability to manipulate probability was immediately signed into risk management for the family's overseas holdings flown out within two weeks. An older sister who could predict crucial decisions before they happened became the sharpest negotiator in corporate mergers. An aunt who could sway opinions through subtle energy became a political lobbyist, shuffled from one continent to another, her life signed away to strategies and campaign wars.

The blessings were always bent, reshaped, weaponized.

Once your blessing appeared, you were sealed into it. Expected to serve it. Or get discarded quietly, like those who didn't "align" well enough.

Jungwon learned early not to hope. Hope made you vulnerable. Hope got you chained.

His phone buzzed on the bedside table.

🎉 Happy 18th Birthday, Jungwon 🎉

It's time to check your Blessing 💫

He stared at the screen but didn’t move.

Because once you checked it, there was no going back. Once the world saw what you were it would decide who you were.

The phone buzzed again.

A text from his mother.

[Mom]

Happy Birthday, my love. Remember, make today count. Everyone’s watching and waiting. We love you.

And then bleeding in like a crack through the wall  he heard it.

He can’t afford to screw this up. We’ve invested too much already. If it’s not useful, we’ll need to reassess him for overseas placements.

Jungwon stiffened.

It wasn’t a message.

It wasn’t in the text.

It was her thoughts.

He wasn’t reading her words, he was hearing the parts she didn’t say.

He sat there, frozen, as realization sank in.

With a slow, almost reluctant movement, Jungwon finally tapped the blinking notification on his phone.

The screen flashed once, then displayed in clean, gold lettering:

Blessing Activated: The ability to hear the thoughts of those you are conversing with.

And if he could hear it through this simple text conversation...

What would happen when he spoke to people in real life?

A sour, heavy feeling settled into his chest.

This blessing wasn't something he could turn on and off.

It wasn’t something he asked for.

And it sure as hell wasn’t going to make his life easier.

He pushed himself to stand, grabbing his jacket in a stiff, mechanical motion. Then powered off his phone.

When he left the apartment, the air outside was cold against his skin.

As he made his way down the street, he avoided conversation like it was poison. He ignored the greetings of the security guard in his building. He nodded mutely to the woman who sold coffee on the corner without saying a word.

Because he knew what it meant now. Because he knew the moment he exchanged words, he would hear the real thing hiding underneath. Not their smiles. Not their words. The truth they kept locked away.

And Jungwon had spent his whole life surrounded by that kind of duplicity. Family members who said "I'm proud of you" but thought "You better not ruin our name." Cousins who laughed over family dinners but secretly wished for each other's failures. An uncle who clapped him on the back and said "You’re lucky" while thinking "It should have been my son instead."

He grew up seeing it already. The way blessings, were twisted into weapons, into currency, into burdens too heavy to carry.

And now?

Now he would never be able to unhear any of it, would he?

By the time he reached the university, his head was already aching.

He remembered, vaguely, how Sunoo had clapped him on the shoulder yesterday, laughing, "Advance happy birthday, Jungwon!" before running off to one of his club meetings.

How easy it had been to smile back then.

He wished he could freeze himself in that moment before the world tilted sideways.

Now, everything felt heavier.

He was grateful for the excuse to be alone today. Hidden away in the lab under the pretense of gathering data for his project. The thick walls, the stale scent of old paper and chemicals, the silent machines, it was a kind of peace he didn’t realize he needed so badly.

Here, there were no conversations.

No words exchanged.

No truths bleeding through.

Just silence.

Finally.

Jungwon leaned back in his chair, staring up at the cracked ceiling tiles.

Was this what blessings were supposed to feel like? Or was this just another leash, dressed up like a gift?

He closed his eyes and exhaled quietly.

Happy birthday.

What a joke.

Jungwon stayed frozen by the wall, watching you cross the quad like you were some mirage that might dissolve if he blinked too hard. The lab data crinkled faintly in his fingers, forgotten. His brain, usually so sharp, so careful, now felt like someone had jammed it into slow motion.

Because you were here.

Because you had actually replied.

And he had heard it—your thoughts, clear as day, slicing through the usual static of the world.

Sorry I just saw this. Where are you now?

He’d read the text with a stone face. And underneath it, he heard it—the rush of your guilt, the tiny pang of something warmer, something unbearably human.

Not calculation. Not politics. Not some angle to manipulate him, like everyone else he grew up around.

You.

Just you.

The moment your gaze locked with his across the quad, something in his chest tightened painfully. He stuffed his phone into his pocket, stood straighter, forced himself to smirk internally even though his throat felt dry.

"Hey. President," he called, casual, careful.

Because he remembered the look in your eyes that day outside the drama room—how you flinched when he tried to apologize, how you wouldn’t even look at him.

The last time he said your name out loud, you flinched like he was something rotten.

So now it was just "President." A shield between you and him.

You approached, steady, distant. Your voice clipped when you asked about the lab data. Jungwon handed it over, his fingers brushing yours—and he felt it, again, like a ripple of static under his skin.

Your thoughts cracked into him like sunlight through a stained glass window.

"His hand’s warm."

"Focus, Y/N. You’re being ridiculous."

"Just get through this. Don’t let him see you melt like some idiot."

Jungwon almost dropped the papers.

He bit the inside of his cheek instead, forcing himself to stay calm, to stay cool. Because if he lost it now—if he said anything wrong—you might shut him out completely.

You thanked him in that same clipped voice, turned to leave.

And then he heard it.

"God, why does he have to look at me like that? I hate feeling like this"

"Ugh, why he out of all people? Everything was fine until what I saw last night.”

“Just forget it, Y/N. Forget that stupid future your blessing showed you. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“He’s not going to be your husband. No way. Watch me prove fate wrong.”

Jungwon's world tilted.

Husband? Your husband?

His instincts scrambled for something, anything, to tether him back to earth, to slow the pounding in his chest. The words just slipped out, raw and unsteady, the first thing his brain could grab onto.

“…You saw the file?”

You paused. Nodded. Muttered, “It’s good.”

Then you walked away.

Jungwon stood there, rooted to the spot, heart hammering against his ribs so loud he thought someone might hear it.

Because for the first time since he woke up this morning, with the whole damn world feeling like it was pried open, every thought bleeding through the noise, didn’t feel suffocating.

That night, Jungwon’s dorm was too quiet, but his mind is completely the opposite.

Jungwon sat hunched on the edge of his bed, hoodie sleeves half-pulled over his knuckles, phone glowing dim in his hand. He’d read your message probably a hundred times.

"Sorry I just saw this. Where are you now?"

So casual. So harmless. But the memory of your voice, your clipped tone from earlier, the way your eyes didn’t quite meet his. All of it kept repeating in his head like a glitch in a dream he couldn’t wake up from.

And worse than the silence was the part he couldn’t shake.

Husband.

The word had lodged somewhere in his chest and refused to leave.

He didn’t even realize he was grinning like an idiot until his reflection caught in the dark window. Quickly, he sobered, scolding himself but it was useless. That voice—your voice—echoed in his head with too much heat.

She saw a future where I was her husband.

She thought about me. Dreamed about me.

She didn’t just push me away for no reason.

His thumb hovered over your contact.

He wasn’t supposed to use his blessing like this. He knew it. It was too intimate. Too invasive. But tonight, he needed to understand. Because your voice inside his head didn’t sound like hate. It sounded like fear. And want.

He opened the chat.

[9:47 PM]

hey.

it’s jungwon.

He hit send, then hesitated.

Don’t text her this late, idiot. You’ll just look desperate.

But what if she thinks you don’t care?

He sent another.

thanks for checking the file.

Still nothing.

He tapped his leg nervously, eyes locked on the screen. His thoughts were a mess with half apologies and half what-ifs.

are you still mad about yesterday.

it’s fine if you are. just wanted to say i wasn’t trying to... make you uncomfortable or anything.

didn’t know you’d walk in.

The reply came fast. Faster than he expected.

[Y/N]

Don’t flatter yourself. You didn’t make me uncomfortable.

I’ve seen worse.

But your thoughts betrayed you, spilling into him like sparks on skin.

Liar. I felt like my lungs collapsed when I saw him.

Because seeing him with someone else felt like a punch in the gut. Because it confirmed he’d never be mine. Even if the blessing said otherwise.

Jungwon’s heart thudded, warm and dizzy. You wanted him. Maybe not openly, maybe not consciously, but it was there. Real and raw.

His ears burned. He grinned against his knuckles.

He typed again.

you sure? you looked like you saw a ghost.

Because I did, okay? You were the ghost of that stupid dream. That version of you who held my hand and whispered all those sweet things.

And then I saw you tangled up with someone else like a slap of reality. God, maybe it wasn’t a vision at all. Maybe it was just a stupid delusion and I was the idiot who let it mean something.

His smile faded, just a bit. He wanted to explain. He wanted to reach into your thoughts and pull that version of him out, hand him to you like a promise.

Instead, you answered.

[Y/N]

I was just surprised. That’s all.

Another lie. Another flicker of your truth curled under it:

You make me nervous.

You make me mad.

But worse, you make me want to hope.

And I don’t know what to do with that.

A soft laugh bubbled from Jungwon’s throat. It felt... new. Not like the practiced chuckles he gave to classmates or the stiff polite ones he reserved for teachers. This one felt like sunshine cracking open in his chest.

sunoo said you looked pissed.

[Y/N]

Well, maybe tell Sunoo to mind his business.

That little traitor.

But... he’s not wrong.

I was pissed. Still am. But also, ugh. Why do I want him to keep texting me? NO, every text from him makes my head boil.

His chest ached in the sweetest, most unbearable way.

He barely realized what he was typing next.

you don’t like me much, do you.

The silence stretched just long enough to make him nervous. But your thoughts answered before your fingers did.

I don’t know how to not like you. I don’t know how I feel about you. That’s the problem.

You make me mad. But you also make my hands shake.

He sucked in a breath.

You were trying so hard to protect yourself. And yet, your walls had tiny cracks and through them, he could feel your heartbeat echoing like his.

[Y/N]

I don’t really know you.

A beat passed.

Then another.

Jungwon stared at those six words for a long time. And when he finally replied, it came from somewhere deeper.

This time, he didn’t hesitate.

then maybe let me fix that.

The words were barely on the screen before your thoughts fluttered again.

What does that even mean?

Is this how he talks to the other girls? That easy, casual charm?

God, I hate this. I hate how I want it to be different with me.

Is it stupid… that a part of me wants to say yes?

Jungwon pressed the phone to his chest, eyes closing for a second.

For once, the world was quiet.

Except for the soft, dangerous hope blooming between your mind and his.

And god… he hoped you could feel it too.

That night, Jungwon thought maybe his blessing wasn’t so bad after all. Not loud. Not suffocating. Just... quiet enough to feel like something sacred.

He fell asleep on his birthday without telling anyone what he’d received. No big announcement, no family expectation, no performance. Just him, alone with the memory of your thoughts that are honest and vulnerable echoing softly in his chest.

It might’ve been his favorite birthday yet.

Because for the first time in a long time, he dreamed not of pressure, pleasure, or perfection, but of you.

And when morning came, groggy and golden through his window, the first thing that surfaced in his mind wasn’t the dread of responsibility.

It was you.

Now, hours later, that same girl—the one who’d occupied his mind all night, maybe even all these years—was clinging to the back of his shirt, arms wrapped around his waist as his motorbike hummed down the empty road.

And Jungwon smiled, wind in his hair, heart louder than the engine.

masterlist.

sorry for another cliffhanger hehe, notes and comments are very much appreciated :D

permanent taglist:

@1starqi @imfuckingwhipped @moon0fthenight @jiawji @shawnyle @simja3 @babyboomysweetie @50-husbands @charlizefaye @anudocuments @ooriwoo @sa-brinaaa @luumiinaa @personallyminelol @yjwonsgf @lvvstruck @leah-rose03 @kanonjji @kyunlov @somuchdard @seongiewon @theothernads @luumiinaa @enhaverse713586 @lynanist @moriwori

@han-to-my-minho @hhyvsstuff @gardenwons @frankenstein852 @firstclassjaylee @lamin143 @serenadehera @elove2047 @cookiesha11 @enhamysunshines @tkooooop @lizdevorak @hoshilysm @meggxsxs @deluluscenarios @babyboomysweetie @tinycatharsis @leesolbeesol @jayjw16enxp @seongiewon @wonislife17 @lixiebokie @wonys-won @morganaawriterr @wonwon1e @rjssierjrie @won1yoiz @merakicafee @in-somnias-world @drunkjazed

@maewphoria @wondash @dawngyu @14-hibiscus @woofie-nctzen-fanarts @coucopuffs @minjeong28 @povjin @jaerisdiction @sweetwonieee @haerni @meowwwon @rooomeo @avadie @kyutiepeachy @jjongmi @hollxe1 @gyubindrift @i-am-not-dal @sumzysworld @jellymiki @cutehoons02 @bxcndd @tunafishyfishylike @rialikesbts @miumiuoi @tobiosbbyghorl @cherr-y-eji @tasnemluvs @lucysteponme @yoojiy @hayana-rchves @snesible @onlyywwon

[zuzu-tries-to-write]

GUYSSS this one got me giggling and kicking my feet it’s sooo cute

Title: A Boy Who’s Jacked and Kind

“Katsuki, pleeease?” You dragged out the word, looking up at your boyfriend with your best pleading eyes.

Bakugo crossed his arms, eyeing you suspiciously. “The hell are you up to now?”

You grinned, holding up your phone. “It’s a trend! I just need you to pick me up—”

“Done.”

Before you could even finish explaining, Bakugo bent down, grabbed your waist, and hoisted you onto his shoulders like you weighed nothing. You let out a surprised squeal, hands gripping his hair lightly to steady yourself.

“Okay, okay, that was fast!” You laughed, hitting record on your phone. “A boy who’s jacked and kind!”

Bakugo scoffed. “Damn right I am.”

You beamed down at him, squeezing his biceps playfully. “Seriously, babe, your muscles are insane.”

His hands tightened on your thighs, and you felt him smirk. “Damn right they are.” Then, before you could react, he tilted his head back slightly, tugging you down just enough to crash his lips against yours.

The kiss was short but firm, and when he pulled back, you were left blinking, completely flustered.

“Katsuki!” You huffed, cheeks burning.

He finally let you down, arms still locked around your waist as you landed in front of him. You stopped recording and looked at the video, shaking your head. “I was gonna redo it!”

Bakugo raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because you kissed me in it!”

“Exactly.” His hands gripped your waist tighter, smirking. “Post that one.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re still posting it.” He leaned in, voice lower now. “Unless you wanna film another one where I kiss you longer.”

Your face burned. “Katsuki!”

He only laughed, completely unbothered.

[iydiamartinx]

THREE SECONDS

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune word count: 1.8k synopsis: You call Damian after you catch your boyfriend cheating on you. a/n: I love writing younger Damian since he's more funny but grown up Damian is equally fun to write in his own way. The pair are platonic but if you squint there's the implication of more.

The hallway spun. Not literally—but in that dizzy, gut-punched way that comes after betrayal. You couldn’t even remember how you got out of that apartment. You just remember slamming the door  behind you harder than you intended, the sound echoing in the quiet of the hall. You were still shaking—whether from rage, disbelief, or heartbreak, you couldn’t say.

You’d seen it. Heard it. That sickening moment when you opened his door without knocking, expecting to surprise him, only to become the one caught off guard. Clothes half-on. Some girl giggling. His stammered excuse still rang in your ears.

You didn’t even remember the Uber ride. Just rushing out of the car, the ache in your chest threatening to split you open, and the rush of cold air as you sprinted up your building’s stairwell.

By the time you reached your apartment, your fingers were clumsy at the lock. Your breath came in harsh gasps. The tears you’d held back during the ride now fell freely—hot, burning tracks down your cheeks. The moment replayed over and over again—his voice, that laugh, her shirt on the floor, the look on his face—Not for what he’d done but because he’d been caught.

You made it inside.

Locked the door.

Collapsed to the floor.

You didn’t know what else to do but call the one person who wouldn’t feed you lies. Wouldn’t try to make this better. Who wasn’t friends with your now ex. 

You hadn’t even thought about it. Your fingers dialled his number before your brain caught up. And when he answered, you didn’t even speak. You didn’t need to. The second he heard your broken sobs, he just said, “Stay where you are.”

You don’t remember getting up, but somehow, you’d pulled yourself from the hardwood and changed. You were now curled up on the couch in a sweatshirt far too big for you—his sweatshirt, actually, left from a night he crashed here after patrol. 

You peeled yourself off the couch, every movement heavy, limbs weighted with exhaustion and emotion. You shuffled barefoot to the door, fingers fumbling with the lock. 

He didn’t say a word at first. Just took one look at you—red-rimmed eyes, blotchy skin, your frame swallowed in his old hoodie—and stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

“Did he touch you?” he asked, voice too calm.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh that didn’t sound like you. “It wasn’t me he was touching.”

Damian’s jaw ticked.

“Where is he?” he asked quietly, voice cold.

You shook your head. “It was at his place. I left.”

He stepped closer, green eyes scanning you head to toe like he was checking for wounds.

“You’re trembling,” he said.

“I—I’m fine,” you lied, trying to straighten your spine.

His gaze locked on yours, unflinching. “Don’t lie to me.”

And just like that, your composure cracked.

Your lip quivered. Tears welled again, the pressure of them spilling over with barely a blink. He exhaled—quietly, slowly—some of the sharpness in his expression softening.

“Come here,” he murmured, stepping forward. “Sit down.”

His hand found yours, grounding, warm despite the chill still clinging to your skin. He led you gently back to the couch, as if you might shatter if he wasn’t careful.

He didn’t let go of your hand until you were seated again, curled up into the corner of the couch like you were trying to disappear into the fabric. Only then did he crouch in front of you, resting his forearms on his knees, eyes level with yours.

“Tell me what happened,” he said softly.

You hesitated. Your voice was paper-thin. “I thought I’d surprise him… he always said I didn’t do that enough. So I went over, hoping we’d spend some time together. He’d given me a key so I just walked in.”

Damian said nothing, just waited. Not rushing you. Not reacting. But you could see the effort it took—how tightly he held himself, how his fingers twitched like they wanted to reach for something and break it.

You blinked through the blur of tears. “I heard her laughing first. Then I saw them. She was in her underwear. His shirt was off. They were kissing. He tried to make excuses and say it wasn’t what it looked like.”

Damian scoffed under his breath—sharp and dry.

“I-I just left,” you finished, barely audible.

Silence settled between you like dust.

And then Damian stood.

You looked up quickly. “Don’t—don’t go to him. Please.”

“I’m not,” he said, voice tight. “At least yet.”

Instead, he went to your kitchen and poured you a glass of water that he came back and handed over. You let the coolness settle you as you took small sips watching as he paced back and forth in your small living room. You could practically feel the war going on behind his eyes. Not between right and wrong—he already knew which side he stood on—but between restraint and wrath. 

You wiped at your cheeks. “I’m fine,” you whispered again.

“You keep saying that,” Damian muttered, coming to a halt. He turned toward you, his expression unreadable. “But you’re not.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

He moved again—this time toward you. He sat beside you slowly, carefully, like he was afraid of pushing too hard too fast.

Then, gently, Damian lifted your legs and guided them into his lap. His arm settled around your shoulders, the other curling across your knees like a protective cage. His posture was slightly stiff from discomfort but for you he was trying.

You didn’t realize how cold you were until you felt the warmth of him.

“I feel so stupid,” You admitted quietly.

Damian didn’t respond at first. Just the sound of his breath—steady, quiet—filled the space between you. His arm tightened around you a little, as though he could shield you from the words before they even left your mouth.

“You’re not,” he said finally, his voice low and certain. “Don’t mistake betrayal for foolishness.”

“I should’ve seen it coming.” The shame bled through your voice, thick and unshakable. “The late replies. The cancelled plans. I thought I was just overthinking—being insecure.”

“You trusted him.” His tone didn’t waver. “That’s not a flaw. That’s decency.”

You gave a shaky exhale, your cheek pressing against the fabric of his hoodie. “Maybe I don’t know how to choose decent people.”

“You don’t have to carry the blame for someone else’s cowardice. He failed you. Not the other way around.”

Your chest hitched, breath catching somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “Since when did you get so good at saying the right thing?”

He huffed, just a little, and you could feel the shift of his chest under your cheek. “Because I usually am.”

There it was: the faint thread of arrogance laced through his voice, familiar and absurdly comforting. You felt the corner of your mouth twitch, the smallest stir of something close to amusement.

But the moment barely had time to settle.

but just as you were finally calming down and relaxing, frantic knocking broke the peaceful silence the two of you fell into and you could hear the muffled voice of your ex pleading for you to let him in so he could explain.

You froze.

Without a word, Damian easily lifted you off of his lap and set you back down on the couch before striding to the door, opened it—and stood in the doorway like a shadow from a nightmare. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

“You have exactly three seconds to walk away.”

Your ex blinked, caught off guard. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded, his voice rising with a scoff. “Has she been cheating on me with you?!”

Damian didn’t even blink.

His gaze remained fixed—unflinching, unreadable, but unmistakably cold. The kind of look that didn’t entertain foolishness. 

“One.”

Your ex’s eyes flicked past him, trying to look into the apartment. “This is insane. I just want to talk to her. I didn’t come here to fight—”

“Two.”

A muscle in Damian’s jaw ticked. He hadn’t raised his voice, but the shift in his posture was unmistakable. Still calm. Still collected. But coiled. Like a wolf deciding whether the threat was worth the bite.

“Look, I messed up, alright?” your ex said quickly, hands rising like he was trying to fend off a blow that hadn’t come yet. “I just want her to hear me out—”

“You won’t get the chance to say her name again if you don’t turn around right now,” Damian said.

Seemed your ex was stupider than you’d ever given him credit for. He squared his shoulders, puffed out his chest like that would somehow make a difference as he tried to square up—but Damian was still taller.

Yes, your ex was broader—more muscle, more bulk—but you knew the difference. Damian’s strength wasn’t for show. It was built for combat.

“Oh yeah?” he sneered. “And what are you going to do?”

He didn’t even see the moment shift.

One second, Damian was still. The next—your ex was slammed against the hallway wall, his feet barely scraping the floor, Damian’s hand locked around his throat.

The sound of the impact echoed through the empty hall.

Damian didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. The venom in his tone was enough.

“You’re fortunate I’ve retired from killing.” he said, eyes burning into the man’s paling face. “Others have died for far less.”

Your ex struggled, gagged softly against the grip, but Damian held him there—hovering on the edge of real violence.

“Tt. Pathetic. You don’t get a second chance, coward.” He leaned in, voice dropping to a razor’s edge. “Go near her again, and you’ll wish death was the worst of your options.”

Then—just as suddenly—Damian let go.

Your ex crumpled against the wall, coughing and gasping, arms trembling. His gaze darted toward you, but he didn’t speak. Whatever cowardice had kept him dangerous before had finally caught up with him. He turned and bolted down the hall, stumbling over his own feet like the pathetic excuse for a man he was.

Damian stood there for another breath, watching the retreat before he turned, stepped back inside, and shut the door calmly.

The second he was within reach, you crossed the space between you and threw your arms around him. Damian stiffened, only for a moment. Then his hands found your back, steady and warm.

“Thank you,” you murmured against his chest.

He was quiet for a beat. Then, dry as ever, “If he shows his face again, I’ll introduce him to my katana.”

You huffed a small, unexpected laugh, the sound muffled in his shirt. “Violent solutions. Very on-brand.”

He tilted his head slightly, just enough to glance down at you. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

You didn’t.

Not when it was him.