#because I’ll scroll through and see it and laugh all over again

[layla25708]

Stray kids reaction when they see you and it’s love at first sight ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 스트레이 키즈 ՞

﹙ They fall in love with you at first sight ﹚ .ᐟ

OT8!스트레이 키즈・ fem!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ Fluff, Light Romance ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ wc ・3,430 ‎ ‎ ‎

This fanfiction is a work of fiction written by me for entertainment purposes only. I do not own or claim to own any characters or idols of the real-life individuals mentioned. All characters, events, and scenarios are entirely fictional and do not reflect the actual personalities, relationships, or actions of the people involved.

﹙ 𐙚 : BANG CHAN ﹚ .ᐟ 방찬

It was supposed to be a quick stop for coffee. He had five minutes before heading back to the studio, hoodie pulled over his head, earbuds in, trying not to be noticed.

The cafe was half-empty, soft lo-fi playing overhead. He stood in line, eyes scanning the chalkboard menu, when the door chimed behind him. He didn’t turn around — not until he heard a laugh. Not loud. Just soft. Unbothered. Real.

He turned instinctively, and that’s when he saw you.

Your hair was slightly windswept from outside, your cheeks rosy from the cold. You were laughing with the barista about something—he couldn’t even hear what—but it didn't matter. Because in that split second, the entire room dimmed and focused on you.

Is this… happening?

You hadn’t even noticed him yet.

“Sir?” the barista asked, snapping him back.

“Oh—uh, yeah. Just a flat white, please,” he muttered, eyes flicking back toward you.

You moved to the side, waiting for your drink, scrolling through your phone.

He debated. Don’t be creepy, Chris. Just say something.He stepped forward slowly.

You looked up as he stood next to you. “Hey,” he said, voice cautious but warm. “Sorry to bother you… but I just—wanted to say your laugh made my day.”

Your eyes lit up, a mix of surprise and amusement. “That’s… unexpectedly sweet. Thanks.”

“I’m Chan,” he added with a nervous chuckle.

“Y/N,” you replied.

The barista called your drinks at the same time.

It felt like fate.

﹙ 𐙚 : LEE KNOW ﹚ .ᐟ 리노

He hated grocery shopping. But the dorm was out of eggs, and the manager said if he ordered takeout one more time, she’d personally cancel his credit card.

It was late — 11:09 p.m. — and the convenience store’s fluorescent lighting buzzed faintly as he scanned the shelves. He was squatting to grab instant noodles when your cart accidentally bumped his back.

“Oh god! I’m so sorry!” you blurted.

He turned around quickly, ready to shrug it off — and froze.

You were wearing oversized glasses, hair tied up messily, hoodie too big for your frame. And you looked like a goddess.

Something inside his chest went boom.

You looked mortified. “Are you okay? I didn’t see you there.”

He blinked. “Yeah—yeah, I’m good. Uh… that’s a strong cart,” he joked lamely.

You giggled. “It’s my secret weapon. Especially when I’m fighting for the last pack of shrimp chips.”

He smiled. And then couldn’t stop.

You tilted your head. “Wait, do I know you? You look kind of familiar.”

“Nope. Definitely not famous,” he said way too quickly, grabbing a random snack and tossing it into his basket.

You raised an eyebrow, amused.

He panicked. “Do you, um, live around here?”

You nodded. “Just a few blocks away.”

“Cool,” he said, heart racing. “Maybe I’ll see you again sometime.”

You smiled. “Maybe you will, mysterious noodle guy.”

And just like that, he stood frozen in the snack aisle, grinning like an idiot.

﹙ 𐙚 : CHANGBIN ﹚ .ᐟ 창빈

The underground gym was nearly empty at 2:37 a.m. It was Changbin’s favorite time — no distractions, no small talk. Just beats in his ears and the burn of lifting.

He’d just finished a set when he noticed someone entering — which was already rare — but what caught him off guard was that you weren’t a regular.

You had headphones in, hoodie sleeves rolled up, hair tied back. You headed for the punching bag with focused determination. He watched you wrap your hands methodically, then launch into the cleanest combo he’d seen in a while.

Damn.

He didn’t even realize he was staring until you caught him in the mirror. You pulled your headphones down, arching a brow. “Something wrong?”

He stepped forward quickly, shaking his head. “No—no, sorry. You just… hit like a pro. Wasn’t expecting that.”

You grinned. “Thanks. It’s my favorite way to blow off steam.”

He nodded, trying to play it cool. “You new here?”

“Just moved to the city. Trying to find my midnight rhythm.”

He chuckled. “You’ll fit in here, then. I’m Binnie.”

“Y/N,” you said, holding out your glove-clad hand.

The touch was light, but it jolted straight through him.

He couldn’t help it. The next time he hit the weights, he sneaked glances in your direction, unable to stop the warmth blooming in his chest.

Something about you was magnetic.

And for the first time, the gym felt too quiet without your voice.

﹙ 𐙚 : HYUNJIN ﹚ .ᐟ 현진

He wasn’t supposed to be at the art gallery. The exhibit he wanted to see had ended the night before, but somehow, the wrong date saved his fate.

The soft echo of footsteps over marble floors was the only sound as he wandered, hands in his coat pockets, eyes sweeping over oil-painted canvases — when he noticed someone else standing alone in front of a piece he barely glanced at before.

You.

Hair down, bag dangling from your shoulder, you stood quietly, completely still, admiring a stormy landscape. There was something about your posture — the tilt of your head, the calmness in your expression — that struck him deeper than any brushstroke on the wall.

You turned your head just slightly, and his heart stuttered.

You noticed him watching and smiled softly, a little curious, not startled.

He walked closer. “That one’s your favorite?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded. “It feels… honest. Don’t you think?”

He looked at the painting again, and for the first time, he saw it. Really saw it.

“I do now,” he replied.

You chuckled, then held out your hand. “I’m Y/N.”

“Hyunjin,” he said, brushing your fingers gently.

Time slowed.

You didn’t move on for another ten minutes, and neither did he.

﹙ 𐙚 : HAN ﹚ .ᐟ 한

The bookstore was quieter than a whisper.

Han had slipped in to avoid the chaos of fans down the block, hiding behind rows of fantasy novels and coffee-scented air. He didn’t expect to run into anyone — until he knocked over a whole stack of books trying to grab a snack bar from the shelf near the register.

“Oh no,” you gasped, appearing out of nowhere. “That was a beautiful disaster.”

He turned, cheeks already burning. “I swear the shelf attacked me first.”

You crouched down beside him, laughing as you helped gather books. “Guess I’m not the only clumsy one.”

He stared at you for a moment, too long.

You glanced up. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just… you have the nicest voice,” he said before his brain could catch up with his mouth.

You blinked. “That’s a new one.”

“Sorry,” he stammered. “I meant… not just your voice. The laugh, too. And… your face. Okay, I’ll stop talking now.”

You smiled. “No, don’t. You’re funny.”

He coughed. “Han. I mean Jisung. I mean… both?”

“Y/N,” you said, extending a hand.

He shook it with his whole heart.

By the time you left the shop, you were exchanging podcast recommendations — and he had your name saved in his Notes app with a little heart beside it.

﹙ 𐙚 : FELIX ﹚ .ᐟ 필릭스

Felix loved sunsets.

So it wasn’t unusual that he ended up sitting on a bench by the Han River at 6:42 p.m., hoodie up, camera beside him, watching the sky burn gold and pink.

What was unusual was the girl who sat next to him without a word.

You didn’t look over — not at first. You just sighed, long and content, like someone who knew how to enjoy silence.

He turned slightly, curious. You were hugging your knees, a novel tucked under one arm, earbuds dangling around your neck.

“You always come here?” he asked softly.

You smiled, not startled. “Only when the world feels too loud.”

He nodded. “Me too.”

You looked over, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. Your gaze was open, kind. His heart stuttered painfully.

“I’m Felix,” he added shyly.

“Y/N.”

“I like your energy.”

You tilted your head. “Is that your way of saying I don’t talk too much?”

He laughed. “A little. But mostly… you feel like peace.”

Your eyes softened.

When the sun finally dipped below the horizon, he offered to walk with you to the train.

You said yes.

﹙ 𐙚 : SEUNGMIN ﹚ .ᐟ 승민

He didn’t expect to meet anyone at a dog park — especially not without bringing a dog.

It was 9:56 a.m., and Seungmin was just there for a walk, hoodie zipped, coffee in hand, when a golden retriever bounded toward him and knocked his drink out of his hand.

“Max!” you shouted, running over. “I am so sorry—”

He looked up, drenched but grinning.

You skidded to a stop. “Oh my god, your sweater—”

“It’s okay,” he laughed, shaking off the coffee like it was nothing. “Strong dog.”

You sighed, tugging the leash. “He loves knocking over innocent bystanders.”

Seungmin’s gaze lingered. “I don’t mind. I think he’s doing me a favor.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“Well…” He gave you a small smile. “Now I get to meet his very cute owner.”

You stared, caught off guard. Then you laughed — full and surprised.

“I’m Y/N,” you offered.

“Seungmin. I swear I usually smell like vanilla lattes, not wear them.”

You laughed harder. Max barked in approval.

He offered to walk with you for a while — and suddenly, his morning felt warmer than any coffee ever could.

﹙ 𐙚 : JEONGIN ﹚ .ᐟ 아이엔

It was his first day trying pottery class — something he secretly signed up for on a dare from Hyunjin.

The studio was small and cozy, soft jazz playing through a dusty speaker, hands covered in clay as Jeongin nervously tried to center his wobbly bowl.

“Hi,” came a voice beside him. “First timer?”

He looked up and nearly dropped the entire lump of clay.

You were smiling at him, apron already dusted with white powder, your wheel spinning perfectly.

“Uh… yeah. Is it that obvious?”

You laughed, not unkindly. “A little. Want some help?”

He blinked. “You’d help a total stranger?”

“Only if he looks this nervous,” you teased.

You knelt beside him and gently guided his hands over the clay. “Like this. Easy pressure.”

Your touch was light, voice calming.

And just like that, he was smitten.

When class ended, he blurted out, “Do you… want to get hot chocolate or something?”

You beamed. “I’d love to.”

And for the first time, Jeongin walked out with something better than a finished bowl — a name, a smile, and a hope.

Please do not repost, translate, or claim this writing as your own without permission. Reblogs are appreciated to support the author!

Thank you for reading :)

[robidentevil]

. ˚ my spot ֹ ₊

collegestudent!leon x fem!reader

swearing, angst(?)

—-

if u finish reading it.. dont hate me.. if u didnt? enjoy it.. i love you guys trust me

-chapter 5-

second semester’s on.
you’re supposed to be going over the last bits of work with leon,
but you can barely bring yourself to even text him.
stupid, right?
right.

the knock on your door is loud.
jill doesn’t wait before barging in, voice already halfway to exasperated:
“you can’t be depressed and failing, y/n. c’mon. up.”

you groan, drag yourself upright.
the weight of everything pulls at your limbs like cement.
“you have to talk to him,” she says, softer now, as you pull on a hoodie.
you ignore it. pretend you didn’t hear her.

thank god english lit isn’t on your schedule today.
if it was, you’d have to see him.
and you’re not ready to be seen like this.

you come back to your dorm and she’s waiting again.
leaned back in her chair, scrolling like she hasn’t been pacing.
“what if he never hurts you, but you don’t even try?”
you snap too fast, too sharp:
“what if he does, and it ruins me?”

silence.
she just nods and looks away.
and you?
you hate her for being right.
hate yourself for not being able to be brave.

you’re not a child.
you’re not a child.
you’re not a—

buzz buzz.
leon.
his name lights up your screen like it’s on fire.
your heart stutters.

fuck. him again?

should you go? should you answer?
you stare at the message until your vision blurs.
your fingers hover over the keyboard—

—then drop.

you’ll go tomorrow. for real this time.
fuck it. tomorrow.

you close your phone.
he left you on read.
your chest tightens.

of course he’s pissed.
you deserve that, right?
you’ll deal with it later.
you need sleep.
or a way out.

you show up the next day.
no warning. no message.
if he wants it so bad, he’ll be there. right?

you knock.
he answers after too long—like he almost didn’t.
he doesn’t say hi. doesn’t smile.
you walk past him like a ghost in your own body.

“where the fuck were you?”
his voice is flat. restrained.
you flinch.

“i wasn’t sure if you were even gonna come,” he mutters, not looking at you.
you roll your eyes, fake annoyed, trying not to fold into yourself.

you sit down. open your laptop.
he does the same.

but something’s off.
the air? wrong.
too quiet. too sharp.

“what the fuck are you doing?”
he says it low. controlled.
like he’s giving you one last out.

you blink. “what?”

“nothing?” he repeats, voice rising now.
“nothing? oh yeah, everything’s peachy. it’s all fucking fine, right?”

your chest twists.
“i needed space.”

he laughs.
bitter. ugly.

“space?”
he echoes it like it’s a curse.
“ohh, space. okay. right. space.”
he throws his hands up.

“you didn’t seem to need space two weeks ago.”

you freeze.
he sees it.
and it only makes him angrier.

“no. don’t do that. don’t shut down. you don’t get to be the only one scared, y/n.”
his voice breaks, just a little. just enough.

“you think you’re the only one who’s terrified? the only one who’s been fucked over?”
he’s pacing now.
running his hand through his hair, wild with the need to move.

“i told you shit i’ve never told anyone. and you just—you left.”
his voice drops.
quieter.
worse.

“i trusted you.”
he swallows.

hard.
“and you didn’t even show up.”

you open your mouth. “leon—”

he cuts you off. fast.

“if you’re so good at giving people space, maybe you should just keep walking.”
his eyes flick to yours. cold.
“maybe all of this happened because we were stuck in the same place. close proximity. convenience.”

your stomach drops.
but he’s not near finished.

“maybe there was never anything. maybe i was just—”
he laughs, breath catching.
shaking his head.

“—desperate. for something. for anything, really. and you were just... there.”

your mouth opens. closes. opens again.
but there’s nothing left to say.

he stares at you for a long, quiet second.
then looks away.

“i’ll finish the rest of the project. just—”
his voice falters. he bites it back.
“just go.”

you leave.
the door clicks behind you like a full stop.
your throat burns, eyes sting, but you don’t cry.
not yet.
you walk down the hall counting every step like it might keep you from falling apart.

a few days pass.
but you can’t shake it.
his voice.
his face.
the first time he ever yelled at you.

maybe you’re being dramatic.
maybe he’s not worth it. its stupid.
right?

doesn’t matter.
you’ve got a bigger problem now.

like the fact you have a presentation today.
with him.

fuck.

you try to act normal, pretend it’ll go normal.
you tell yourself it’s just a few slides and some bullshit analysis.
you try to breathe, ignore that tight curling feeling in your chest.
try not to crack open in front of the class.

you both stand side by side.
shoulders tense.
the silence? violent.

if looks could kill, you’d be six feet under.
he doesn’t utter a word.
doesn’t need to.

you can feel it radiating off him.
cold. cutting.

you clear your throat.
eyes fixed on the screen.

“so... we believe that this part of the poem—”

a snort slices through the air.
“‘we,’ huh?”
his voice is sharp. mocking.
“so you speak for both of us now?”

you hesitate. blink once.
mutters slip out before you can stop them.
“leon, please…”

he tilts his head. fake sweet.
“go on. you’re clearly doing great.”

you grip the edge of the podium like it might hold you together.

“moving on,” you say, voice wobbling,
“we can see that the poet uses metaphor to—”

“sure,” he cuts in with a shrug.
“because metaphors fix everything, right?”

your eyes flash to him.
his tone isn’t loud.
but the words?
god, they echo.

the class is silent.

the air is thick with secondhand discomfort.

every breath feels like it might shatter the moment.

“okay,” the professor finally says, sharp,
“if you’re not going to present, then go sit down. this is not a therapy session.”

for a second, neither of you move.
then, at the same time, you pack up like robots.
clicks and zippers and silence.

he nudges your shoulder when you pass—barely.
petty.
fucking manchild.

you don’t look at him.
you can’t.

you sit down. head down. throat tight.
you’re not going to cry in front of everyone.
you’re not.
you’re not.

the professor lets out a breath.
murmurs just loud enough for everyone to hear:

“...interesting teamwork they’ve got.”

you don’t need to check the grade.
you know you flunked.
both of you.

well.
shit.

you don’t talk after class.
you don’t even look at each other.

he walks left.
you walk right.

but your shoulder still burns from where it almost touched his.

previous chapter - next chapter

[soft4changbin]

Bagged feelings

Jiung x bestie!reader

Summary: Jiung goes shopping with his longtime girl best friend, battling his growing feelings and hoping she’ll finally notice the love in his eyes.

Word count: 1,520

“You’re lucky I love you,” Jiung muttered, tugging the beanie lower over his messy hair as he followed you into yet another clothing store.

You glanced over your shoulder, beaming. “I am lucky. Who else would give up their one day off to help me find the perfect outfit for my cousin’s wedding?”

Jiung’s heart stuttered. You said it so easily. Love, as if it was nothing. But for him, it was everything. He’d been holding onto this ridiculous crush for… well, way too long. Long enough that even his members had started making comments about how whipped he was.

Still, he smiled. “It better be the outfit of the century,” he said, trailing after you between racks of pastel dresses and silk tops.

You pulled a few options and held them against your chest. “Too much?” you asked, showing him a blush-pink dress.

Jiung took a moment too long to answer, eyes lingering on how the color made your skin glow. “Not too much. You’d look good in anything.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Even in a trash bag?”

He chuckled, trying not to sound flustered. “Especially in a trash bag. Very fashion-forward.”

“Stop being a simp.”

If only you knew, Jiung thought, but he just grinned. “I call it honesty.”

You disappeared into the fitting room with a handful of clothes, leaving him to scroll through his phone and pretend he wasn’t a walking heart emoji. A few minutes later, you called his name.

“Jiung! I need your opinion!”

He looked up quickly, almost dropping his phone. “Coming.”

When he stepped into the fitting area, you stood in front of the mirror, tugging at the hem of a deep green satin dress that fit you a little too well. Jiung froze.

“So?” you asked, spinning slowly. “I like it, but I don’t know if it’s too… much?”

He blinked. “It’s not too much. It’s perfect.”

You smiled, cheeks flushing. “Really?”

He nodded, hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out. “Yeah. You look… you look amazing.”

Your eyes met his in the mirror. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

You looked away, suddenly shy. “Okay, well. I’ll try one more just in case.”

Jiung nodded, stepping back like he wasn’t about to combust. He sat down on the little bench in the waiting area, dragging his hands down his face. This was torture. Not just the shopping, but being this close to you, watching you twirl in dresses, watching you not see how much he adored you.

You reappeared again in a different dress, and he gave you the same answer—beautiful, stunning, flawless. Because you were. You settled on the green one eventually, because “if Jiung said it was perfect, it probably was.”

After checking out, the two of you wandered through the shopping center, sharing a boba tea while Jiung carried your bag like the gentleman he always was.

“Thanks for coming with me today,” you said, nudging him lightly. “I know it’s not the most exciting way to spend a Saturday.”

“I didn’t mind,” he said quickly. “I’d follow you around a hundred stores if it meant I get to hang out with you.”

You stopped walking, making him pause beside you.

“What?” he asked.

You tilted your head. “You’ve been acting kind of… sweet lately.”

He laughed, a bit too nervously. “Haven’t I always been sweet?”

You shrugged, but your eyes searched his. “Yeah. But lately it feels different.”

Because it is, he wanted to say. Because every day that passes makes it harder not to tell you that you’re all he thinks about. That being your best friend is the best and worst part of his life. That he watches you fall asleep during movie nights and thinks how could she not know?

Instead, he cleared his throat. “Different good or different weird?”

“Different…” You looked down at the half-finished boba in your hands. “I don’t know. It just feels like something’s changed.”

He panicked a little then, nervous she was catching on. “Do you want it to change?”

You looked up again, frowning slightly. “Do you?”

His heart skipped, skipped again, then slammed hard against his chest. It was now or never.

He exhaled. “Yeah. I think I do.”

You blinked. “Jiung…”

“I like you,” he said softly. “I mean, I really like you. And I know we’ve been best friends forever and this could mess everything up, but… I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel it anymore. I love hanging out with you, but it’s not just that. It’s the way you smile when you find the perfect outfit, the way you share your fries even though you pretend you’re not hungry, the way you laugh when you’re embarrassed. It’s all of it. I’m in love with all of it.”

You stared at him, eyes wide. And for a second, he was sure he’d said too much. That you’d laugh or tell him he’d ruined everything.

But then you smiled.

A soft, slow, shy kind of smile.

“I was wondering how long it’d take you to say it.”

Jiung blinked. “Wait… what?”

You laughed under your breath. “I’m not completely clueless, Ji. I’ve noticed things too. The way you always remember my coffee order, or how you always text me goodnight, even if we’ve been on the phone all day.”

“You… you noticed?”

“I did. And maybe I wasn’t ready to see it before, but I am now.” You stepped closer, brushing his arm with your fingers. “I like you too.”

His breath caught. “Seriously?”

You nodded. “Seriously.”

He grinned, completely unable to hide it. “Does this mean I get to kiss you now?”

You raised an eyebrow, playfully. “Are you asking as my best friend or my… something more?”

He leaned in, barely a breath away. “Something way more.”

You met him halfway, lips soft and familiar and sweet. And when you pulled back, cheeks warm and eyes shining, he swore he’d never felt happier in his life.

“Well,” you said, fingers laced with his, “good thing you came shopping with me today.”

“Best decision I ever made,” Jiung replied, heart full, hands full—finally—of you.

[666bedbugs]

“are you a picky eater?” yeah i only eat pussy

[luveline]

Hi Jade! (I’ve sent this before so ignore if you aren’t into it) just thinking about a bau!reader (maybe shy!reader??) who’s dating post-prison Spencer but didn’t know him before prison and she sees some footage of season one Spencer (maybe they need to refer to a recording of a previous case?) and she’s just dying at how cute he is 🥹

You’ve barely woken up with your face in a solid shoulder when Spencer’s turning around.

“Don’t,” he says when you whine, slipping a familiar hand over your hip. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Too early to make fun of me.” 

“Do you think I’m making fun of you?” 

His talking warms your nose where his head is angled down. Your skin smarts with goosebumps as he trails his hand lightly up your back, down again, the slowest, tumbling touch. You shiver, and Spencer, ever so slightly devious in love, says, “Oh, you’re cold?” with great pity as he pulls you closer. 

You rub your face against his shoulder. “Sorry.” 

“Why?”

“I smell.” 

He hums. “Sort of. Not like sweat, though. You smell like sleep.” His lips touch your cheek.

He lets you ‘warm up’ in his arms for a few minutes, then however long you doze for, lost and too comfortable to bother even trying to wake up properly. Your phone pings a couple of times after it comes out of sleep mode, a sure sign you’ve overslept, but Spencer doesn’t make you move until your stomach growls. 

“Come on,” he says, kissing your nose and slipping you back onto your side of the bed. “I’ll make breakfast.” 

“It’s nearly twelve.” 

“You just woke up, and it’s the first thing you’re gonna eat. You are breaking your fast. Breakfast.” He looks pretty even through achy, tired eyes, all the sleep crusted in your lashes no match for Spencer Reid. How you went so long without knowing him is a mystery. 

You get up only because he told you to and because he looked quite lovely when he did it, not because you want to. The bed is warm, that pit of his arms calling your name, but Spencer’s already rolling out of bed with an eager hand scratching through his hair. Sweat has made them tight and a little darker in the back. You’ll both have to shower at some point, preferably after he’s made you breakfast in bed. 

He can see your expectations on your face, and he laughs as he pulls a t-shirt on over his head. “Get up! I’m not bringing it up here, do you know how badly your sleep cycle is affected when you start doing the wrong things in bed?” 

“What counts as the wrong thing?” 

Spencer laughs again, softer now, and for a moment he traces your face with his eyes without speaking. “Fine,” he says, waving a hand at you as he makes for the bedroom door, “stay there. But only ‘cos you look so pretty!” 

“Thank you!” you call back. 

This time with Spencer isn’t enough. You need ten more years of this, thirty, fifty, you need to wake up in his arms and have him touch you and tickle your cheek with his breath. He’s too far to have him come back, so you resign to hugging him when he returns. 

Your phone pings again, drawing your attention finally. The first notification is a reminder to buy toothpaste today at the grocery store. The second is a text from a friend, the third an email. It’s one from last night that piques your interest, another friend, full capital letters: HELP. 

Her use of a laughing emoji defers any urgency. You click on the text thread and scroll up, puzzled by her previous messages, a link, and a caption: oh my god he was so dorky??? 

You open the video and feel your breath catch in surprise. 

Is that Spencer?

You're not stupid, you’ve seen photos of him and his friends together dotted around the apartment from over the years, and every time you come across that photo of him and Diana at a spelling bee with his huge black-framed glasses you have to laugh, but it’s different seeing him to hearing him. 

He’s so nervous. You can’t understand what it is he’s saying, something about mathematical components to profiling criminals. Jason Gideon stands in the background watching him closely. 

“There’s actually a good joke that–”

“Spencer,” Gideon reprimands. 

You watch in awe as Spencer stammers an apology, his cheeks a little pink. You’ve seen Spencer blush, but this feels different. He looks so young. His hair is straight as a pin. 

“Spencer, did you used to straighten your hair?” you call, hoping he can hear you over the sound of a frying pan popping in the kitchen. “Or do you have a perm now, or what?” 

“What!” 

“I’m confused on the logistics of your hair!” You feel something weird in your chest as on screen Spencer tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear. It’s a mixture of wanting to eat him and wanting to reach through the screen to stroke his cheek with your thumb. 

Spencer treks back into the bedroom with his pink and white pinstripe apron over his shirt and sweatpants. He smells like cinnamon sugar already. “What are you talking about?” 

“My friend found a video of you and Jason at one of those lectures you did.” 

Spencer presses his lips together. For a moment, he doesn’t speak. “I didn’t do any lectures.”

“Uh, yes you did, liar, and you looked so cute.” You turn your phone to him. “So sweet.” 

He marches to the bed. Before you can stop him, he’s taking the phone from your hand, giving you the world's silliest, tiniest shove when you try to get it back. 

“Cruel,” you quip. 

Spencer stares at the phone screen, then you, “Sorry,” he says, turning pink, “I don’t know why I did that, just– I just–” He frowns deeply. “Can you stop smiling like that?” 

You climb onto your knees, a morning disaster, but when you wrap your arms around Spencer’s waist he looks at you like you’re perfect. His eyes soften, brows relaxing, his irises like dark dimes that slowly dilate as he looks you over. Your phone presses into your back, his arm wrapping around you. 

“You were adorable,” you say sincerely. 

“Not anymore?” 

You rub your cheek against his apron. “No, you still are. Let me watch the video again.” 

“Not a chance.” 

[foxtrology]

bette davis eyes (2)

harry castillo x reader

series

word count: 9.1k

warnings: no y/n, 28 year age gap, female reader, fluff, smut.

Harry Castillo still didn’t know her name.

And it was driving him insane.

It had been three days.

Three days since he sat on the steps of The Met, seething over Lucy’s engagement only to stumble into a conversation with the most aggravating woman he had ever met.

Three days since she stepped out of his car.

"If you find me again, maybe I’ll say yes."

He had taken it as a challenge.

Of course he did.

He had spent years making impossible things happen. He had turned himself into one of the richest hedge fund managers in the country. He dictated the movement of money on Wall Street with a flick of his wrist. People waited months to get a meeting with him.

When he wanted something, he got it.

But he still didn’t know her goddamn name.

He had spent hours.

Hours, going through his friends’ Instagram followings, convinced that she had to be in there somewhere. She had been outside that party on those steps. That meant she knew someone.

Right?

Wrong.

Instead, all he got was accidentally following half a dozen people he didn’t even like and no clue how to unfollow them.

"You could just Google it," Danny had suggested, watching as Harry scrolled through Instagram with the confusion of a man trying to defuse a bomb.

"I shouldn’t have to Google basic fucking technology," Harry snapped.

Danny had just laughed. "This is why Lucy did everything for you."

Lucy.

Right.

Harry shut his phone off and tossed it onto the table like it had personally offended him.

He needed to let this go.

She was just a stranger.

A nobody.

But...

She wasn’t.

She was somebody, at least to him. Someone who had looked at him like he wasn’t some billionaire hedge fund manager but just a man sitting on the steps of The Met, sulking about his ex.

And that was risky.

Because for the first time in a long time he wanted to know more.

She was balancing a tray when she spotted him.

Harry Castillo.

Sitting at the corner of the high end Manhattan restaurant she was currently serving at, looking like he would rather die than be here.

Her grip on the tray tightened. No fucking way.

She had spent the last three days assuming she would never see him again.

Rich men didn’t go looking for strangers they met outside of parties. Not unless they had some weird obsession or a savior complex. And he didn’t seem like the type.

Yet, here he was.

Dark suit. Sharp jaw. Brooding like the miserable, wealthy asshole she suspected he was.

And worst of all—he didn’t see her.

Not yet.

She had to get out of here before he did.

Her name tag was visible.

If he saw it, if he recognized her—

"Table six, go," her manager barked, pointing toward the very table Harry was sitting at.

Fuck.

She briefly considered quitting her job on the spot. Just throwing her apron at the nearest wall and storming out.

But unfortunately, she had rent to pay.

So with a deep inhale, she straightened her shoulders, gripped the tray tighter, and walked straight toward him.

Harry wasn’t paying attention.

Not to the menu. Not to his surroundings.

His mind was still back in his office, replaying every attempt he had made to find her.

And failing.

His phone buzzed. Another news notification. Probably some article about the market or a New York Times op-ed about billionaires ruining the economy. He didn’t care.

Then—

A shadow passed over him.

Someone setting a drink down.

And before he even looked up—before his brain even processed it—he heard her voice.

“Whiskey neat.”

His head snapped up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

And there she was.

Standing right in front of him.

His breath hitched.

Her.

Her.

His eyes flicked to her name tag, sharp and laser focused.

Finally.

She saw where he was looking and immediately reached for it, ripping the tag off with a sharp tug before shoving it into her pocket.

“Not a chance,” she said, shaking her head.

His lips twitched.

“Afraid?”

“Of you?” She snorted, shifting the tray in her hands. “Not even a little.”

He exhaled, leaning back in his chair.

“You work here.”

She raised a brow. “Clearly.”

“You were at the Met party.”

“I was working the Met party.”

Realization dawned.

She wasn’t a guest. She wasn’t friends with anyone there.

She was a server.

A server.

Harry’s fingers tapped against the edge of his glass.

He didn’t know why that made something settle inside him. Maybe because it explained why she hadn’t given a shit about who he was. Maybe because it meant she wasn’t part of his world, wasn’t another socialite or heiress looking for an investment banker to marry.

Maybe because it meant that night was real.

“You’ve been looking for me.”

It wasn’t a question.

His eyes lifted to hers.

She was smirking.

She was amused.

And he hated how much he liked that.

Harry exhaled slowly. “Maybe.”

“Well. Now you found me.”

He studied her.

The restaurant bustled around them. The clink of glasses, the low hum of conversation, the scent of expensive wine and seared steak filling the air.

But none of it mattered.

Not when she was standing in front of him, arms crossed, head tilted, watching him like he was the one on display.

He reached for his drink, swirling the liquid before taking a slow sip.

Then—

“Have dinner with me.”

She blinked.

Paused.

Then laughed.

Again.

Like he had just told the funniest joke in the world.

Again.

“You really don’t like being told no, huh?”

His jaw ticked. “That’s not an answer.”

She tilted her head. “What do you think I’m gonna do? Take off my apron and sit down at your table? I’m working, Castillo.”

The way she said his name made something tighten in his chest.

Harry leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Then when do you get off?”

Her lips twitched.

“You gonna wait here all night?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

She exhaled, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.”

A pause.

“Fine.”

Harry’s brows lifted.

Her eyes flicked to the clock on the restaurant wall before settling back on him.

“I’m off in an hour.” She turned, already walking away. “Let’s see if you’re still here by then.”

He watched her go.

Watched as she weaved through tables, balancing drinks, chatting with customers, completely at ease.

And for the first time in three days—

He felt at ease.

Because this time, she wasn’t getting away.

Harry wasn’t a patient man.

He had built an empire on control, on precision, on the ability to anticipate movements before they happened. That was how he stayed ahead, how he won.

Yet here he was, sitting at a table in an upscale Manhattan restaurant waiting for a woman who barely spared him a second glance.

A woman whose name he still didn’t know.

He leaned back in his chair, swirling the whiskey in his glass, watching as she moved effortlessly through the restaurant.

She was good at her job.

Efficient, quick on her feet, balancing trays with ease.

And she smiled at customers.

Not the way she had smirked at him earlier. Not with that sharp edged amusement that made something itch beneath his skin.

No, these smiles were polite. Professional. A little forced, maybe, but nothing that suggested she was even remotely bothered by his presence.

It annoyed the hell out of him.

Because he was bothered.

She had been stuck in his head for three days.

And here she was, acting like their encounter meant nothing.

Like he meant nothing.

It was infuriating.

And intriguing.

And maybe—just maybe—exactly what he needed.

His fingers tapped against the rim of his glass.

An hour.

He could wait an hour.

Hell, he had waited longer for board meetings that didn’t even matter.

So he settled in.

And watched.

She could feel his eyes on her.

The weight of his gaze followed her everywhere.

She ignored it.

Or at least, she pretended to.

Because if she acknowledged it, if she met his gaze, if she let herself wonder why he was still sitting there—then she would have to admit that she cared.

And she didn’t.

Not really.

Not about Harry Castillo.

Not about his perfectly tailored suit or the way his dark eyes followed her every movement like she was some kind of puzzle he was determined to solve.

Not about the way her heart had kicked up just a little when she realized he had actually been looking for her.

Nope.

Didn’t care.

Not at all.

She refilled a wine glass at table twelve, smiled at a group of finance bros who didn’t deserve it, dodged her coworker carrying a tray of desserts, and did not look at the man still sitting at table six.

But she could feel him.

And it was driving her crazy.

Harry was losing his mind.

Every time she passed his table without sparing him a glance, something inside him tightened.

This was ridiculous.

He didn’t wait for people.

People waited for him.

He could leave right now. Get up, walk out, and be done with this whole thing.

But he wouldn’t.

Because she had said one hour.

And he was going to make sure she kept her word.

His phone buzzed.

He ignored it.

Buzzed again.

Danny.

Danny: Why are you ignoring my texts?

Danny: Did you figure out how to unfollow people yet or are you still stuck?

Danny: Are you seriously still looking for that girl?

Danny: …You are, aren’t you?

Danny: I hate you.

Danny: Text me when you’re done being pathetic.

Harry rolled his eyes and slid his phone facedown on the table.

The hour crawled by.

And then—

Finally—

She walked back toward his table.

Apron off. Jacket on. Bag slung over one shoulder.

Her shift was over.

And Harry sat up a little straighter.

“You actually waited.”

She didn’t sound surprised.

More amused.

Like she had expected him to wait but still found it funny.

He lifted a brow. “You said an hour.”

“And you’re a man who listens?”

“I can be.”

She huffed out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Dangerous skill.”

Harry smirked. “You have no idea.”

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the way her lips twitched.

It wasn’t a no.

Wasn’t a go home, Castillo.

It was something else.

Something better.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “So?”

“So.”

“What now?”

Harry exhaled, watching her carefully.

She was testing him.

Waiting to see if he was serious.

If he was worth the trouble.

And Harry Castillo never backed down from a challenge.

“Dinner,” he said simply.

She arched a brow. “You just ate.”

“You were working. I don’t eat alone.”

She crossed her arms. “That’s a dumb rule.”

He shrugged. “It’s my rule.”

She stared at him for a long moment.

Then—

“Fine.”

A single word.

But it sent something sharp and victorious rushing through his chest.

He stood, pulling a few crisp hundreds from his wallet and tossing them onto the table without a second glance.

She eyed the money but didn’t say anything.

Just turned on her heel and walked toward the door.

Harry followed.

The wind cut sharp against his skin as they stepped out onto the Manhattan sidewalk, the world around them alive with the hum of the city at night. A taxi honked a block away, a couple laughed as they passed, and the crisp scent of winter curled into the air.

She shivered, pulling her coat tighter around her body.

Harry didn’t shiver.

He barely felt the cold.

His eyes flicked toward her, noting the way she huddled into herself slightly, as if suddenly self conscious. She had been confident inside the restaurant sharp, unbothered, teasing—but now, beneath the glow of the streetlights, something in her had shifted.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She scoffed. “You think I’m just gonna tell you that?”

His jaw twitched.

She was impossible.

And yet, somehow, he found himself waiting for her answer anyway.

She sighed, exhaling into the cold air. “It’s just…I just got off a shift. I’m not exactly dressed for whatever expensive place you’re about to drag me to.”

Harry blinked.

Then looked her over.

Dark jeans. A fitted black sweater. Scuffed up ballet flats.

She looked fine.

Better than fine.

She looked real.

She looked like her.

And that, he realized, was the problem.

She didn’t belong in his world.

Didn’t fit into the mold of women he was usually seen with.

She wasn’t draped in designer. She didn’t have a last name people recognized. She didn’t float through life with the quiet, effortless privilege of someone born into money.

But she was still the most interesting person he had met in years.

And that was dangerous.

He shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “I don’t care.”

She blinked up at him.

“What?”

“I don’t care what you’re wearing.”

She hesitated.

Her eyes searched his, looking for—what? Lies? Pity? Some hidden agenda?

She wouldn’t find any of those.

He had none to give.

Instead, he tilted his head. “Are you hungry or not?”

She rolled her eyes. “I just worked a ten hour shift. What do you think?”

His lips twitched.

Without another word, he turned and started walking.

And after a beat—she followed.

To her surprise, Harry didn’t take her somewhere suffocatingly high end.

No pretentious Michelin starred establishment. No reservations only steakhouse with white tablecloths and chandeliers worth more than her apartment.

God, her roommate was in for a treat when she gets home.

Instead, they ended up at a cozy, tucked away bistro on a quiet side street. The kind of place that didn’t have a dress code. The kind of place where people actually talked instead of posing for Instagram photos.

She narrowed her eyes as she followed him inside. “How do you even know about a place like this?”

Harry didn’t answer.

Of course he didn’t.

Instead, he pulled out a chair for her like some old fashioned gentleman and waited for her to sit.

She hesitated, lips twitching in amusement. “Wow. Chivalry isn’t dead after all.”

He ignored that too.

She sat.

He took the seat across from her.

A waiter appeared almost instantly.

Harry ordered whiskey.

She ordered a glass of wine.

She knew her wine, he'll give her that.

And then—for the first time since they met—there was silence.

Not uncomfortable silence.

But silence nonetheless.

She leaned back in her chair, watching him.

Harry was hard to read.

Brooding. Intense. Reserved.

The kind of man who looked like he had a thousand thoughts running through his head but no intention of saying any of them out loud.

The kind of man who could crush someone with a single, well calculated decision in his office during the day and then sit across from her in a dimly lit restaurant at night like none of it mattered.

She tapped her fingers against the table. “So, are you gonna ask me anything? Or are we just gonna sit here and stare at each other?”

Harry’s brow lifted slightly.

“I don’t ask questions I don’t care about the answers to.”

She blinked.

Then huffed out a small laugh. “Jesus. You’re insufferable.”

“So I’ve been told.”

She rolled her eyes and took a sip of wine.

He watched her over the rim of his own glass, studying the way she moved.

She wasn’t nervous.

She wasn’t trying to impress him.

And he hated how much he liked that.

She started talking first.

Not because he asked.

But because she wanted to.

“So, what do you think I do?” she asked, resting her chin on her hand.

Harry took a slow sip of whiskey. “You’re a server.”

She smirked. “Wow. Good job, detective.”

His jaw twitched. “That’s not a real question.”

“Fine. How long have I been doing it?”

He studied her.

Noticed the way she held herself, the way she had moved through the restaurant earlier, the way she hadn’t hesitated when her manager snapped at her.

“Years,” he said simply.

Her smirk faltered.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Since I was nineteen.”

Something flickered in her eyes.

Something he didn’t understand.

Didn’t push.

But still—he noticed.

She exhaled, rolling her wine glass between her fingers. “It wasn’t supposed to be permanent.”

Harry’s fingers drummed against the table. “It never is.”

She lifted a brow. “You say that like you know.”

He didn’t answer.

Because he did know.

But he didn’t talk about it.

Didn’t talk about the nights he spent as a kid listening to his mother cry in the next room because she didn’t have the money for rent.

Didn’t talk about how she had worked three jobs just to keep food on the table.

Didn’t talk about how she got sick.

How the bills stacked up.

How money would have saved her.

But he didn’t say any of that.

He never did.

She watched him for a moment, like she was trying to figure him out.

Then she leaned back in her chair, lips curling slightly. “You don’t talk much, huh?”

Harry exhaled. “Not if I can help it.”

She grinned. “Well, lucky for you, I talk enough for the both of us.”

And she did.

She told him about the worst customers she’d ever had. The ridiculous things people asked for at restaurants. The way rich men treated servers like they were invisible.

She didn’t include him in that category.

And for some reason, that mattered.

She laughed at her own stories.

Harry didn’t laugh.

But he listened.

More than he should have.

More than he ever did.

She didn’t push him to share.

Didn’t ask him about his life, his money, his past.

She just talked.

And it was the first time in a long time that Harry didn’t mind someone filling the silence.

When their food came, she didn’t pick at it like the women he usually dined with.

She ate.

Finished her entire burger.

Made a satisfied noise as she wiped her mouth with a napkin.

Harry’s lips twitched. He wanted to smile. But he didn't.

By the time they left the restaurant, it was late.

The air was even colder now, the city quieter.

She shoved her hands into her pockets. “Alright, big shot. Where’s your driver?”

Harry exhaled, glancing down the street.

James was waiting, parked at the curb.

But for some reason—

For some stupid reason—

He didn’t want the night to end yet.

So instead of answering, he met her gaze.

And said, “Let’s walk.”

She blinked.

Then nodded.

“Okay.”

And just like that—

Harry Castillo found himself walking through the city with a woman he barely knew.

And, for once, he didn’t hate it.

The streets of Manhattan were quieter at this hour.

The usual chaos—the honking taxis, the chatter of impatient pedestrians, the ever present hum of a city that never slept had settled into something softer. The streetlights cast golden pools of light on the pavement and every now and then, a stray gust of wind sent a flurry of dry leaves skittering across the sidewalk.

She walked beside him, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket, her unhurried.

Harry had no idea where they were going.

She was talking again, the words flowing effortlessly, her voice filling the quiet space between them like it belonged there.

“I don’t know how people live alone in this city,” she mused, her breath visible in the cold air. “I mean, sure if you’re a billionaire hedge fund guy, then yeah, easy. But for the rest of us mortals? Forget it.”

Harry glanced at her. “So you have a roommate.”

She huffed out a small laugh. “More like a personal angel disguised as a roommate.”

His brow lifted slightly.

She kicked a small pebble across the pavement as they walked. “Her name’s Maya and she’s the only reason I can even afford to be in New York. She’s an artist—one of those ridiculously talented people who’s always sketching on napkins or leaving paint stains on everything.”

Harry hummed, tucking his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. “And she sells her work?”

“Oh, yeah. To people like you,” she teased, smirking up at him.

His jaw flexed slightly. “Like me?”

She shrugged. “Rich. Intimidating. Definitely the type to spend five grand on a painting because some gallery curator convinced you it was ‘evocative of the human condition.’”

Harry let out a sharp exhale, something just short of a laugh. “I don’t buy art.”

She gave him a pointed look. “So you just have blank walls in your penthouse?”

He hesitated.

She gasped, dramatic. “Oh my God, you do!”

His jaw twitched. “I don’t see the point.”

She groaned, shaking her head. “That is actually the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard.”

Harry smirked slightly. “Maya sounds lucky to have you as her publicist.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not her publicist. Just her number one fan. And her unpaid assistant, apparently, because every time she has a gallery showing, I end up playing bartender.”

“You work events for her?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, I mean... I don’t want to be useless.”

Harry frowned slightly at that. “You’re not useless.”

She blinked up at him, something flickering behind her expression like maybe she wasn’t used to hearing that.

She recovered quickly, exhaling through her nose. “Try telling that to the people who snap their fingers at me when they want a refill.”

Harry’s jaw tightened.

There was something about that, about the idea of her being treated like she was nothing, about people looking past her like she didn’t matter.

That irritated him more than it should have.

But he didn’t say anything.

Instead, he glanced over at her, taking her in.

Her hair was slightly tousled from the wind, strands curling around her face. The dim glow of the streetlights softened her features, casting a warm hue against her skin. She looked…

Gorgeous.

Pretty.

She caught him staring and arched a brow. “What?”

Harry looked straight ahead. “Nothing.”

She huffed a small laugh, bumping her shoulder lightly against his. “You’re weird.”

“Good to know.”

She grinned but didn’t push it.

They kept walking.

They hadn’t planned on stopping anywhere, but when she spotted a small, hole in the wall coffee shop still open, she made a beeline for it.

Harry watched as she pressed her hands against the glass, peering inside like a kid outside a toy store.

She turned back to him, eyes bright. “I need something warm.”

Harry exhaled. “You could’ve just said that.”

She grinned. “Where’s the fun in that?”

He sighed but followed her inside anyway.

The shop was small, filled with the comforting scent of coffee and fresh pastries. A tired looking barista was wiping down the counter, clearly ready to close up for the night but she bounced up to the register without hesitation.

“One hot chocolate, please.”

Harry stared. “Hot chocolate?”

She flashed him a look. “What?”

“You’re a grown woman.”

“Wow, ageism?” she gasped. “How very hedge fund of you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Hot chocolate is for children.”

She smirked. “And yet, I bet I’m gonna enjoy my drink way more than whatever depressing black coffee you’re about to order.”

Harry clenched his jaw.

Then turned to the barista.

“…Make it two.”

She lit up.

Not a smirk, not a teasing quip...just a genuine, unfiltered grin. “See? You’re not completely soulless after all.”

Harry huffed but said nothing.

They sat by the window, watching the street outside as their drinks cooled.

She took the first sip and sighed dramatically. “Oh my God."

Harry lifted a brow but took a sip of his own.

It was…warm. Smooth. A little too sweet.

Not terrible.

She grinned at him over the rim of her cup. “You love it.”

He set his cup down. “I tolerate it.”

She snorted. “Liar.”

Harry exhaled, shaking his head.

He was lying.

But he wasn’t about to admit that to her.

By the time they finally made it to her place, it was late.

The entrance to her building was old but well kept, tucked into a quieter side street. The kind of place that probably had thin walls and a temperamental landlord.

She stopped at the door, turning to face him.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then—

“You gonna be weird about this?” she asked, crossing her arms.

Harry tilted his head slightly. “Weird about what?”

She smirked. “You look like the kind of guy who doesn’t walk a woman home unless he’s expecting to come up.”

His jaw clenched. “I wasn’t—”

She grinned, cutting him off. “Relax. I’m messing with you.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Hilarious.”

She stepped back, pressing her shoulder against the doorframe. “But hey…thanks. For dinner. And the hot chocolate.”

Harry held her gaze.

She was looking at him like she wasn’t sure what to make of him yet.

Like she hadn’t quite figured him out.

And that, somehow, made him want to see her again.

Before he could say anything, she yawned, stretching her arms above her head.

“You gonna try to find me again?”

His jaw tightened.

But his lips twitched.

“I already did once.”

She hummed, tilting her head. “Then maybe next time, I’ll let you find out something about me.”

Harry exhaled.

He should have left.

Should have walked away.

But instead, he lingered just long enough to watch her disappear into the building, just long enough to hear her footsteps fade.

And then, finally—

He turned.

And walked away.

He still didn't get her name.

But he knew where to find her.

Harry had gone back to the restaurant.

But she wasn’t there.

Two days.

Two entire days of walking into that overpriced Manhattan restaurant, sitting at the same damn table, ordering the same damn whiskey neat, only for some random server—not her—to take his order.

It was infuriating.

He didn’t know her name.

Didn’t have her number.

Didn’t know anything except where she lived.

And that made something settle in his chest that he wasn’t ready to examine.

Danny noticed.

Of course he did.

“You’re sulking,” he said, lazily swirling his cocktail at their usual bar.

Harry scowled. “I don’t sulk.”

Danny smirked. “Right. You just glare at your drink like it owes you money.”

Harry clenched his jaw.

Then exhaled sharply. “She’s not at work.”

Danny blinked. Then grinned. “Oh my God, you are sulking.”

Harry resisted the urge to throw his whiskey at him.

Instead, he pulled out his phone and stared at her building’s address for the fiftieth time.

Danny sighed, tilting his head. “You know, if you really wanted to, you could—”

“I’m not hiring a private investigator,” Harry muttered.

Danny huffed. “I was gonna say Google it. Jesus, man.”

Harry scowled.

But he did Google it.

Or rather, he, Danny, and James—his driver, the only person in his life with more patience than a saint—spent two hours tracking down any lead they could.

It was a long, painful process.

But finally—Maya.

Maya Klein.

Her roommate.

Her best friend.

Her very online best friend.

It wasn’t hard to find her art portfolio.

Okay, maybe it was a little hard.

But after squinting through three different Instagram accounts, a Tumblr page, and a very outdated LinkedIn profile, they found it.

And in bold, clean font on her website—

GALLERY SHOWING TOMORROW.

TRIBECA

8PM-11PM

Harry leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming against his desk.

“She bartends for her friend’s events,” he murmured.

Danny’s brows lifted. “And you’re planning on showing up.”

Harry exhaled. “I want to see her again.”

Danny smirked. “Wow. You’re down bad.”

Harry ignored him.

He stuck out like a sore thumb the moment he stepped inside.

Danny, of course, fit right in. Already drifting off into the crowd, chatting up a woman in a fringed leather jacket holding a glass of something overpriced.

James had stayed outside, leaning against the Maybach with a cigarette between his fingers, avoiding any part of this ridiculous endeavor.

And Harry?

Harry stood in the middle of an art gallery, surrounded by people who clearly hated him.

The walls were filled with abstract pieces. Raw depictions of capitalism and greed, of money and power and the corruption that came with it.

A statement.

A big fuck you to billionaires.

A big fuck you to him.

And here he was—one of the richest men in the country—standing in the middle of it.

He definitely stuck out.

Eyes flickered toward him.

Some curious. Some amused.

But most?

Judgmental.

Harry sighed.

Danny was gonna love this.

He scanned the room.

And then—

He saw her.

Behind the bar.

Her hair pulled back in a clip, sleeves rolled up, effortlessly balancing bottles and glasses, moving like she had done this a million times.

His jaw unclenched.

Something settled inside him.

Something he didn’t have the time—or patience—to name.

He walked over.

She didn’t see him at first.

Not until he was standing right in front of her.

Then—

Her eyes lifted.

And froze.

Her fingers stilled over the cocktail shaker, her lips parting slightly in surprise.

Then, slow and deliberate...

She smirked.

“You again.”

Harry exhaled. “Me again.”

She hummed, setting the shaker down. “Didn’t peg you for an art guy.”

“I’m not.”

Her smirk widened. “So you’re here for the free drinks?”

He tilted his head. “No.”

Her lips pressed together, amusement flickering in her gaze. “Then why are you here?”

Harry held her gaze.

And then—

She sighed, shaking her head.

“You really don’t like answering questions, do you?”

He exhaled. “You weren’t at work.”

Her brows lifted slightly.

Harry leaned forward, resting his hands against the bar. “I noticed.”

Her expression softened just for a second.

Then she sighed, rolling her eyes. “My legs gave out.”

His jaw tensed. “What?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “It happens. I overworked myself too much. I needed a break.”

His fingers curled against the bar.

Harry didn’t like that.

Didn’t like the idea of her pushing herself until she physically collapsed.

Didn’t like the fact that she was still working tonight.

Didn’t like any of it.

She noticed.

“You’re brooding.”

“I don’t brood.”

She arched a brow. “You definitely brood.”

Harry exhaled sharply.

She smirked.

Then casually, she grabbed a napkin, scribbled something on it, and slid it across the bar.

He frowned. “What’s this?”

She smiled.

“My name.”

His fingers brushed the paper.

His jaw flexed.

Finally.

Finally.

Then—

Across the room, a conversation caught his ear.

Loud. Purposeful. Like it was meant for him to hear.

It definitely was meant for him to hear.

“I don’t understand how these people live with themselves.”

Harry’s fingers stilled.

He turned slightly, gaze narrowing at a group gathered near one of the paintings.

“They show up, throw their money around, act like they’re saving the industry when they’re the ones who ruined it in the first place.”

Another voice chimed in. “It’s capitalism at its finest.”

Harry exhaled through his nose.

Same conversation. Different setting.

Nothing he hadn’t heard before.

He should have ignored it.

But then—

Then, he heard her.

Her voice.

Sharp. Defiant.

“You do realize the only reason these paintings are selling at all is because of the people you hate, right?”

Silence.

Harry blinked.

His gaze snapped back to her.

She wasn’t looking at him.

She was facing them, eyes narrowed, jaw set.

The guy—some twenty-something in a turtleneck—sputtered. “That’s not the—”

“No, go ahead,” she said, tilting her head. “Explain to me how you think art survives without the rich. Who do you think is buying these paintings? Who do you think is keeping galleries open? I’ll wait.”

The group shifted uncomfortably.

Harry smirked.

The guy scoffed. “That’s not the point.”

She arched a brow. “Then what is the point?”

More silence.

She exhaled. “Look, I get it. The system’s fucked. But if you really hate capitalism so much then maybe don’t take a paycheck from a company that thrives on it.”

The guy’s face turned red.

Then, huffing, he spun on his heel and walked away.

Harry exhaled through his nose.

And when she turned back to him—

He was looking at her.

Really looking at her.

She raised a brow. “What?”

Harry’s jaw ticked.

Then, slow—steady—

He reached for the napkin with her name.

Folded it.

Slipped it into his pocket.

“Nothing,” he murmured.

And, for the first time in months—

Harry Castillo smiled.

Actually let out a smile.

It was a rare thing. Unpracticed. A little uneven.

And it caught her off guard so much she forgot to breathe for a second.

That smile.

The real kind, not the smirk, not the polite billionaire press photo kind. It was all quiet softness and amusement, like a secret between the two of them. It was the kind of smile you could fall into if you weren’t careful.

“Wow,” she murmured, recovering. “You do know how to do that.”

Harry’s smile didn’t falter, but he said nothing.

Typical.

The gallery began to thin out as the night wore on. Coats were retrieved from racks, the sound of shoes echoed across the polished concrete floor, and people began floating toward the exit in clumps, cheeks flushed from wine and conversations.

Harry stayed.

He didn’t know why he stayed.

He could’ve left after thirty minutes like most of the other well dressed nuts in the room. But something about the way she moved behind the bar—tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, laughing quietly when Maya came over to whisper something in her ear—held him in place.

She kept sneaking glances at him too.

Never long. Never obvious.

But enough.

He stayed perched in a corner, away from the art critics and the performative intellectuals with their wine sick grins and disdain for everything they secretly wanted. He watched her wipe down glasses and stack them methodically, her body moving slower than usual now, more deliberate. Her energy was dwindling down.

She was tired.

Exhausted, actually.

He could see it in the way her shoulders sagged when she thought no one was watching.

Around midnight, the final few stragglers filtered out. Maya was surrounded by compliments, champagne, and laughter as she waved people goodbye. She was magnetic.

But Harry’s focus was only on one person.

Her.

She was drying a wine glass with a rag that had seen better days when he approached the bar again.

“You’re still here?” she asked without looking up.

“I tend to see things through.”

She scoffed. “That doesn’t sound exhausting at all.”

Harry didn’t respond. Instead, he reached into his coat and placed something on the bar. A lemon ginger lozenge.

She stared at it. “What is this?”

“You’ve been clearing your throat for the last hour. Thought you might be getting sick.”

She blinked.

And then quietly, “Thanks.”

He nodded once. “You ready to go?”

She furrowed her brows. “Go?”

“You were going to walk home, weren’t you?”

“I—” She hesitated. “Yeah. I was.”

“Not happening.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Harry—”

“Maya said she’s having people over.”

Her mouth opened. “She what?”

As if on cue, Maya bounced over, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling. “There you are! Just wanted to let you know we’re having a tiny get together back at the apartment. You’re coming, right?”

She forced a smile. “Yeah…totally.”

Maya beamed. “Perfect! I’ll see you there!” And just like that, she twirled away in her silk pants and heeled boots like a whirlwind of chaos and charm.

Harry looked at her, quiet.

“You don’t want to go,” he said plainly.

She paused. “No, I mean—I don’t mind—”

“You need rest.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re exhausted.”

She made a face. “Thanks.”

“It wasn’t an insult.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t sound like a compliment.”

“It was. You’ve been on your feet all night and still managed to argue with an entire table of art anarchists without flinching.”

She blinked. “You were listening?”

Harry shrugged. “I’m observant.”

Something warm crept up her neck. “That’s actually…kind of sweet.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

“Still is.”

He exhaled, glancing toward the door. “Let me take you somewhere quiet.”

She looked at him carefully. "Okay." She nodded.

Harry smiled. “Come on.”

As they walked toward the exit, a low whistle echoed across the room.

“Ooooh, look who’s leaving together,” Danny called out, arm slung lazily around a girl wearing metallic eyeshadow and an alarming amount of lip gloss.

Harry cringed visibly. “Ignore him.”

“Oh, I planned on it,” she muttered, quickening her step.

Outside, James was leaning against the Maybach, his cigarette burning low between his fingers.

He straightened when he saw them. “Evening,” he said coolly, holding the door open without a single question.

Once inside the car, she leaned her head against the window, legs tucked beneath her. The car purred beneath them as it slid through the streets like a shadow.

“You always have a driver?” she asked after a moment.

“Yes.”

“Even when you’re just, like…getting groceries?”

Harry looked at her. “Do I look like I get groceries?”

She snorted. “Fair.”

He glanced at her again. “Do you want me to take you home?”

She paused. Her apartment would be loud. Crowded. Too many people, too much laughter, and she was tired.

Bone tired.

“I…wouldn’t mind going somewhere quiet,” she said softly.

Harry didn’t reply. Just gave James a nod. And James didn’t need to be told twice.

The car ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable. The city lights flickered through the windows as they sped through Manhattan, the hum of the engine steady beneath them.

She was curled up in the passenger seat, head resting against the cool glass, eyes flickering between exhaustion and quiet thought.

Harry didn’t say anything. Didn’t push.

He liked the silence with her.

When they finally pulled up to his building, James barely looked surprised. He simply put the car in park, gave Harry a knowing look and muttered, “Have a good night, sir.”

Harry ignored him.

She hesitated when the elevator doors opened, glancing up at him.

“You sure about this?” she murmured.

Harry met her gaze. “You need rest.”

She exhaled. “You’re really committed to this whole taking care of me thing, huh?”

Harry didn’t answer. Just stepped into the elevator.

After a beat—she followed.

The penthouse was quiet when they entered.

It was huge.

Dimly lit, the skyline of Manhattan stretching out before them through the floor to ceiling windows. She looked around, taking in the sleek design, the impossibly neat kitchen, the pristine furniture.

Then—

“You really don’t have anything on the walls.”

Harry exhaled. “We’ve been over this.”

She smirked. “Still depressing.”

Harry ignored her, shrugging off his coat before turning to her.

“Go take a bath.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

Harry huffed. “You need to relax.”

She scoffed. “I’m fine.”

He raised a brow. “You’ve been on your feet for how many hours straight. Worked so long your legs gave out.”

She rolled her eyes. “I said I’m fine.”

Harry’s jaw clenched.

Then, slowly, pointedly, he turned and started walking toward the bathroom.

“What are you—”

“Follow me.”

Against her better judgment—she did.

The bathroom was nothing short of luxurious.

A massive tub sat beneath a soft glowing light, marble countertops lining the space. The air smelled faintly of something expensive, probably whatever soap billionaires used.

Harry turned on the water, letting the tub fill, steam curling into the air.

She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “You really think I’m about to take a bath?”

Harry gave her a look. “Yes.”

She scoffed. “Why?”

“Because you deserve to rest.”

Something flickered in her expression.

Soft. Unreadable.

Harry stepped back, nodding toward the tub. “Take your time.”

She hesitated.

Then—finally—sighed. “Fine.”

Harry nodded once before leaving the room.

She stood there for a moment, staring at the tub, at the ridiculous luxury of it all.

Then—she caught sight of the robe hanging by the sink.

A man’s robe.

His.

She swallowed.

Slowly, she peeled off her clothes, stepping into the warm water letting the heat soak into her muscles, melting the exhaustion from her bones.

She leaned back, closing her eyes.

And then—

She caught the scent of something in the air.

His shampoo.

His body wash.

Without thinking, she reached for the bottle, pouring a small amount into her palm before lathering it into her hair.

She didn’t know why she did it.

Didn’t know why the idea of smelling like him made something tighten in her chest.

But she didn’t stop.

Not until the scent of Harry Castillo was wrapped around her.

The warmth from the bath had seeped into her bones, leaving her skin flushed, her limbs loose.

For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt good.

Not just better—good.

Rested.

Weightless.

And wrapped in the scent of him.

She exhaled slowly, fingers dragging through her damp hair as she stepped out of the tub. Water dripped from her skin, soaking into the thick, plush bath mat beneath her feet.

She reached for the robe hanging by the door.

His robe.

It was heavy, rich, expensive fabric, meant for a man built like Harry.

She pulled it on anyway, wrapping herself in it, feeling swallowed whole by the warmth of something that belonged to him.

Something about that made her stomach twist.

Not in a bad way.

Not in a way she could name.

She let her fingers toy with the fabric as she padded quietly out of the bathroom, stepping into the dim glow of his penthouse.

Harry was waiting.

Not in a way that was obvious, but in a way that was distinctly him.

His posture was casual, leaning against the back of his couch, one hand resting lightly on the armrest. He had changed, too—no longer in his suit jacket, just his dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing the veins in his forearms, the carefully restrained tension in his body.

His gaze flickered over her, slow like he was taking his time, committing every detail to memory.

She knew what he saw.

Bare legs peeking out from beneath his robe. Damp hair curling against her collarbone. The softened edges of her normally sharp expression.

And for once—

For once, she let him look.

She watched his throat bob slightly, something unreadable flashing behind his eyes before he exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Come here.”

Her lips twitched. “Bossy.”

He didn’t deny it. Just waited.

She crossed the room, bare feet pressing against the smooth floor, stopping when she was just a few inches away.

Harry’s hands curled into fists against the couch for a second, like he was fighting the urge to touch her.

Then without a word he turned, disappearing into his bedroom.

She blinked, startled.

Then—

He came back.

With clothes.

A pair of sweatpants.

A plain black T-shirt.

Things that were clearly his, judging by the size of them.

He handed them to her, jaw tight. “Put these on.”

She took them, amused. “You actually own sweatpants?”

Harry exhaled through his nose, running a hand along his jaw. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t sleep in a tux.”

She grinned. “Shocking.”

He said nothing.

Just watched as she took the bundle of clothing and walked back toward the bathroom to change.

His sweatpants hung low on her hips, the waistband tied in a loose knot to keep them from slipping. The shirt was too big, drowning her frame, the fabric worn in and soft against her skin.

It felt like being wrapped in him.

Warmth lingered in the cotton, in the faint scent of his cologne. Something expensive.

She padded barefoot through the penthouse, fingers fidgeting with the hem of the shirt. The city glittered outside the floor to ceiling windows.

Everything about this place was so immaculate. So clean. So structured. It screamed of control—of a man who ruled his world with precision.

But the moment she entered it some of that control seemed to slip.

She could feel it in the way Harry watched her, the way his fingers twitched when she walked past him, as if resisting the urge to reach out and keep her close.

She stopped in front of the window, arms crossing over her chest, her breath fogging slightly against the cool glass. “You can see everything from here.”

Harry was behind her, watching her quietly. “You like it?”

She exhaled, eyes scanning the skyline. “Yeah. But…”

His brow lifted slightly. “But?”

She hesitated. Then with a small teasing smirk, she turned to face him. “It’s kinda depressing that you live up here all alone.”

Harry’s jaw twitched. “I’m fine.”

She huffed. “That’s what all lonely people say.”

His lips curved just slightly, something almost amused flickering behind his sharp gaze. “And you’re an expert on loneliness?”

She shrugged, moving closer, the fabric of his shirt swaying against her thighs. “I know what it looks like.”

Harry watched her approach, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “And what do I look like?”

She tilted her head, scanning him playfully. “Like a very, very��rich man who doesn’t know what to do with himself outside of work.”

Harry huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Accurate.”

She grinned, victorious. “Told you.”

For a moment they just stood there.

Him watching her.

Her watching him.

The silence between them wasn’t empty.

It was heavy. Charged.

Harry’s gaze flickered to her legs, to the way his sweatpants hung off her frame, the fabric pooling at her ankles. Then to the curve of her hip, the way his T-shirt stretched over her body, swallowing her whole.

Something deep and dangerous stirred in his chest.

She looked good like this.

Too good.

Her chin tilted up, eyes meeting his. “You really don’t talk much, do you?”

His hand lifted, brushing her damp hair back behind her ear. His touch was light, barely there, but it made her breath catch.

His fingers trailed lower, down her jaw, grazing the edge of her throat.

She swallowed.

His voice was deep when he finally spoke. “I say what matters.”

Her lips parted slightly, something unspoken hanging between them.

She felt it before she realized what she was doing.

The way her body leaned into his.

The way his fingers skimmed over the fabric of his shirt against her skin, so close, yet still too far.

His touch was careful.

Like he was memorizing her.

She exhaled shakily. “You keep looking at me like that.”

Harry’s thumb brushed over her hip. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to figure something out.”

“I am.”

She blinked. “What?”

Harry’s hand slid lower, fingers teasing along the edge of his sweatpants on her frame. His voice was softer this time, almost dangerous.

“If I can control myself.”

Her breath hitched.

She wasn’t sure who moved first.

Maybe it was him. Maybe it was her.

But suddenly—

They weren’t talking anymore.

His lips crashed against hers, urgent and deep, his hands gripping her waist, pulling her flush against him. She gasped into his mouth, fingers tangling in the fabric of his dress shirt as he devoured her.

The world blurred.

She barely registered the way he picked her up, his hands firm around her thighs as he hoisted her up, murmuring quietly against her ear, “Jump.”

And she did.

Wrapped her legs around his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He carried her through the penthouse with effortless strength, like she weighed nothing, like holding her close was something he’d done a thousand times before.

And then—

He walked her backward towards his bed, his mouth never leaving her skin, breath warm against her jaw.

The mattress hit the backs of her knees, sending her falling onto it in a slow, melting sprawl of limbs and want.

The soft silk duvet caught her, cool against the fever of her skin, her hair spilling across his impossibly expensive sheets. The room was dim but warm, the city humming just beyond the glass windows, the skyline glittering like a thousand secrets no one else would ever know.

Harry stood above her, his breathing deeper now, his eyes locked onto her like he was trying to memorize the moment. Like she was a painting he hadn’t expected to fall in love with.

She propped herself up on her elbows, staring back. Waiting. Wanting.

Harry’s fingers moved to his collar first. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, one button at a time, revealing inch after inch of warm, lived in skin beneath it. He wasn’t carved like marble—wasn’t the chiseled fantasy that Hollywood sold in glossy posters.

He was real.

His chest was broad, his arms strong but not perfect. Age spots dotted his skin like constellations, a faint scar ran along the side of his ribs, and when his shirt slipped off his shoulders, she saw the slight softness of his belly.

A pouch.

Honest. Natural. Human.

And when her eyes lingered there—he froze.

She could tell.

The way his breath caught. The flicker of hesitation in his brow.

He was used to being looked at like a power figure. A man in suits. Behind desks. Holding titles and leverage.

But being seen like this?

Like a man—just a man—baring everything? That was different.

She sat up slowly, still watching him. She didn’t say anything, didn’t tease, didn’t fill the space with false comfort.

She just reached for him.

Her fingers skimmed across the skin of his abdomen, soft and warm beneath her touch, and she whispered, “Come here.”

Something in him shifted.

Like maybe he believed her.

That she wanted all of him.

He slid out of his slacks, slow and deliberate, leaving him in nothing but his briefs for a moment before they, too, joined the pile of fabric on the floor.

Then he reached for her.

She let him.

His hands were careful when they peeled off her borrowed T-shirt, pulling it over her head and dropping it aside. Then her body lifted instinctively as he slid the sweatpants down her hips, revealing soft skin, flushed and ready beneath him.

Now they were skin to skin.

Warm and real.

Harry hovered over her, the muscles in his arms flexing slightly as he held himself above her, his gaze moving slowly down her body.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

Just like that.

No flourish. No performance.

Just a truth that had been sitting in his chest since the moment he first saw her.

She reached up and cupped his jaw, her thumb brushing just beneath his lip. “So are you.”

His breath hitched.

And then he kissed her.

Not rough. Not greedy.

Deep.

Warm.

Slow.

The kind of kiss that says I see you. I feel you. I’m here.

His hands roamed her body like he couldn’t decide what he wanted to touch first—her ribs, her hips, the soft curve of her breast beneath his palm.

And then—

He began to slide lower.

Kissing down her neck.

Dragging his lips across her collarbone.

Sinking further and further until he was kneeling between her thighs, the backs of his hands brushing gently along the insides of her legs, coaxing them apart like he was opening something sacred.

She was already breathing heavy, already undone just from the look in his eyes.

He settled between her legs like he belonged there.

And maybe—he did.

He didn’t dive in like a man with something to prove. He took his time.

Let her feel his breath first.

The heat of his mouth pressing gentle, almost shy kisses to her thighs.

Then—

He licked a slow, deliberate stripe up her center, groaning low when he tasted her.

Like she was the answer to a hunger he didn’t know he’d been carrying.

Her hips jerked. Her fingers scrambled for the sheets.

He pressed his palms to her hips, grounding her, murmuring something too quiet to make out.

Then his mouth opened on her again.

Tongue.

Lips.

Heat.

Every part of him focused on unraveling her.

She moaned, soft and choked, as his tongue circled her clit, slow at first, then faster with just the right amount of pressure.

He adjusted when she squirmed.

Groaned when she whimpered.

Moved with her, not against her.

Like this was a language only he spoke.

She looked down once—just once—and saw him watching her.

Eyes locked to hers.

Dark. Hungry. But more than that...captivated.

Like he could spend the rest of his life right here, on his knees tasting her like he needed her to survive.

His mustache scraped lightly against the tender skin of her thighs, a delicious burn. His fingers dug into her hips as his mouth worked in steady rhythm, not relenting even when she gasped, Harry, please—

Especially then.

He moaned against her like her begging was the most beautiful sound in the world.

And then—

She broke.

She came with a soft, shattered gasp, her body buckling as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her. Her hands found his hair, her legs trembled, her hips rolled up into his mouth.

He held her through all of it.

Licked her through it.

Didn’t stop until she was whimpering from overstimulation, her fingers tugging weakly at his hair.

Only then—only then—did he lift his head.

His mouth was slick, his jaw tense, his chest heaving.

He crawled back up the bed, lips brushing her cheek, her neck, the corner of her mouth.

He kissed her slowly.

Didn’t try to speak.

He just laid beside her, naked and warm and quiet.

Letting her curl into him.

Letting the silence stretch.

Letting himself feel.

And when she finally caught her breath, when she looked up at him and whispered, “You okay?”

Harry gave her a look so full of tenderness it nearly undid her all over again.

“I am now,” he said.

And she believed him.

They laid there, skin to skin, her fingers tracing slow, thoughtless shapes against his chest while his hand rested on the curve of her hip not wanting to let go, grounding them both in something quiet and real.

For the first time in months, Harry hadn’t thought about Lucy.

Not once.

Not her laugh, not the space she left behind.

He only thought about the girl breathing softly in his arms, asleep against his chest like she belonged there.

And when his eyes finally closed, he felt safe.

Maybe for the first time in his life.

[recordingmae]

JJK men x reader

Their reaction to being called your husband!

Characters; Gojo Satoru, Toji Fushiguro, Sukuna Ryomen.

T.W; nothing really but reader is afab, characters might be ooc, some suggestive content but nothing crazy!, fluff! NOT PROOF READ!!

author: GUYS THIS IS THE FIRST TIME IM EVER PUBLISHING SO PLS FEEL FREE TO GIVE ME FEEDBACK! Also first time writing in general 😭Anyway ahhh I’m so excited pls enjoy

Satoru, G.

The two of you had been laying in your shared bed for the past hour, your head on his chest and one of his hands gently raking through your soft locks. His other hand gripping his phone as he scrolled through some social media platform. You were doing the same thing until a video had popped up on your recommended page.

Calling my boyfriend ‘husband’ to see how he reacts!

The idea- almost as if in an instant cured your semi-boredom. You sat up abruptly only for Satoru to pout at your sudden movement.

“Hey, I wasn’t done playing with your hair,” he whined before reaching out and placing his phone down on a nearby nightstand.

His messy white locks covering some of his face, but you could tell he had an offended expression- like a child would when you take away their Lollypop. “ ‘m sorry ‘toru I was just gonna ask if you wanted pizza” you mumble as he tries to sit up and wrap his lanky arms around you, keyword being tries.

You got off the bed before he trapped you- knowing that if he got a hold of you he wouldn’t let go.

Satoru nodded at your question as he watched you pick up your phone and sit back down at the edge of the bed. A five second pause filling the air before you put on your best performance that he was oblivious too.

“Hi, me and my husband just wanted to order a large cheese pizza-“

Satoru blinked.

Then he blinked again.

Maybe he misheard you— God he hopes he didn’t.

After a small moment passed you simply pretended to humin agreement “yes, my husband can pick it up in about 20 minutes- alright thank you!” You place your phone down on the bed and a millisecond hadn’t even passed when you feel his arms wrap around your waist as he pulls you onto the bed- so that your back is to his chest as he spoons you.

“I didn’t know you wanted to marry me that badly” his breath hot on your neck as his grip on your waist tightens.

“Don’t get cocky, I just thought it sounded nicer” you mumbled out as the heat rose in your cheeks.

“I think calling you my wife would sound nicer too, yeah?,”he pressed his lips to the back of your neck, groaning slightly as he breathed you in, “I’ll take you wherever you want for our honeymoon— have a big cake, doves, I’ll buy us matching blindfolds too,” his voice going a bit playful near the end of his sentence.

“ ‘Toru it was a prank! we still have so much time” You let out a soft laugh, trying to wiggle free from his grip- or Atleast loosen it. Though it doesn’t even budge as places a soft dry kiss on your shoulder.

“I’m being dead serious angel, call me your husband again and I’ll go buy the ring.”

both of you forgot to actually call the pizza place after.

Toji, F.

The two of you were out- grabbing some food, shopping, and you were basically dragging him to every store he clearly didn’t care about, he only sucked it up because you said if he did then perhaps he’d get lucky tonight.

Your dark haired boyfriend walked beside you with a hand gently pressed onto the small of your back.

As the two of you were walking you heard a familiar voice call your name- a tone so sickeningly sweet that it made you want to gag as you turned around to see who it was.

An old classmate from high school- or known as the girl who spread random rumours about you all throughout senior year. She waved excitedly as she rushed over, “Oh my gosh!! Y/n it’s so nice to see that you actually aren’t such a shut in anymore!” Her passive aggressive tone only ticked you off more- you didn’t even notice how toji’s hand snuck around from your back to your waist, pulling you closer towards him.

You force a tight smile onto your face, the kind you would reserve for fake people and bad customer service.

“Who’s this guy with you? He’s not your like rent-a-boyfriend or something right?” She says pointing a finger up and down at the man before she reaches a hand out to you his chest and that’s when you finally realize that the conversation needed to end.

Before her grubby hand could touch your man, you stepped in front of him.

“nope, this is my husband, Toji” you made sure to drag out the title, which payed off as you saw your ex-classmate’s smile falter.

You feel Toji’s chest vibrate from behind you with a quiet laugh.

“Toji do you remember how I told you about the girl who couldn’t keep her mouth shut about me in high school?” You spoke but never broke eye contact with the girl before you.

Toji’s dark eyes flickered towards her, slow and dangerous. His smile didn’t reach his eyes “oh, her”—“Didn’t you tell me how she used to say you’d never get a man?” He continued, almost thoughtfully as he pressed himself flush against your back, hands reaching to grip your waist. “And now your married to a guy like me”

Internally you were crying tears of joy as he played along- damn he knew that he was doing a good job.

Lastly, he added a snarky comment just to put salt into her wound “guess Karma works fast- but it’s no surprise you have no guy with you”

Your ex-classmate could only laugh awkwardly as her eyes darted to Toji’s grip on your waist as if she would get burned unless she left, and so with a clearly unsatisfied look on her face she simply turned around and did just that.

Toji tugs you in the opposite direction before lifting his arm and draping it over your shoulder, leaning down to whisper into your ear. “You know I’m gonna make you call me that again later, right?”

You smack his chest lightly- but the smile on your face tells him everything he needs to know.

Ryomen, S.

For the past 20 minutes you and your boyfriend were bickering back and forth, threats were thrown, bribes, and maybe one or two shameless promises. It was only when you had practically crawled onto his lap- whispering into his ear as you begged Sukuna to do a Tik Tok with you.

His exact response being “Only one video you damn brat- Anymore and I’m going to break your phone” awww what a romantic he was.

You had told him that the video would be one where the two of you rate your favourite snacks but little did he know it was all a cover for your little prank.

The two of you were in the kitchen as he sat down on a stool next to you, arms crossed, glaring at the phone propped up against a pile of bananas as if it owed him something. The hood of his sweatshirt was half on, and it perfectly casted shadows on his sharp features, Making it look like he was more or less ready to commit a felony rather then rate a few snacks.

Contrasting to you however- beaming brightly as you pressed the record button “Hey guys! Today me and my husband are going to be rating our favourite snacks!”

The silence that followed your words made you rethink your life choices as you didn’t dare look at him. You felt the weight of his stare- the energy emanating from him.

Sukuna turned his head, his voice low and deadly “The fuck did you say?”

You swallowed a lump down your throat and continued to stare at the camera- your voice shaking nervously “your my hus—-band?” You dragged out scared that he would kill you mid sentence.

Though instead Sukuna reached out and gripped your chin forcing you to look at him. His dark red eyes examining your face before he spoke “Again.” He demanded- and you complied.

Suddenly he stood up from his chair and let go of you briefly before he lifted you up from the chair with ease and threw you over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

“If you want to call me your husband then I need to make you my wife” he grumbled and you couldn’t help but just laugh as you banged your tiny fists lightly against his back “ it was a prank ‘kuna!! Put me down!”

“I’m sick of your Jokes, Woman. I’m gonna show you what really happens when you practically beg to be my wife”

and show you he did.

[sukumna]

┌─ HELP ! THE GIRL I TRIED TO KIDNAP GETS TURNED ON !?

triggers. toji fushiguro x fem!reader ੭ perv!reader. dubcon. cnc(ish). degradation. attempted kidnapping. age gap. size kink. manhandling. choking. belly bulge. creampie. breeding kink. pregnancy kink. rough sex. daddy kink. ddlg undertones. OTT porn. grumpy kidnapper!Toji. MDNI.

word count. 2.1k

authors note. i have discovered a new found love for over the top pornhubtittle-esque fics LISTEN IM warning you know this is over da tops lmfao 😭😭. NOT proofread!!

"I’m sorry, but if a hot daddy decided to kidnap me, whisk me away to his secluded cabin in the woods, and give me the full princess treatment? Call me Stockholm royalty because I’m NEVER leaving!”

The post popped up on your feed, and you couldn’t help the grin that tugged at your lips. You tapped the repost button with a satisfying click, adding the hashtag #iwish. Because honestly? You did. Life wasn’t awful, but it was just so... ordinary. The dullness of your 9-to-5 had you fantasizing about throwing it all away—not that you ever would. That’s where the idea of a brooding, dangerous man stepping in came into play. Someone so rough around the edges, so obsessed that he couldn’t imagine a world without you. The kind of guy who’d take you because he wanted to, consequences be damned.

It was a harmless fantasy. Or so you thought—until you walked straight into it.

You were so deep in thought, you didn’t notice the human wall standing in the lobby of your apartment building until your face smacked into a back as solid as concrete.

“Oh my gosh—sorry!” you blurted, rubbing your forehead with one hand while using his back to steady yourself. When you tilted your head up, the apology stuck in your throat.

He was huge. Towering, really. His dark blue eyes gleamed with something unplaceable, and the scar cutting down the left side of his face only made him more intimidating.

“I—I wasn’t paying attention,” you stammered, flustered. But he said nothing. Just stared down at you, unreadable and silent, like he could see right through you.

“Okay... uh, I’ll just... go.” Your voice cracked as you sidestepped and practically speed-walked to the elevator. Heat burned your cheeks, equal parts embarrassment and the sheer presence of him. You pressed the call button with the corner of your phone, avoiding any more eye contact like your life depended on it. Still, the thought lingered: He looks like the type to kidnap an innocent girl.

You were awful.

But then he stepped into your peripheral vision, right next to you.

You stared hard at your phone, pretending to scroll, though the brightness was turned so far down you couldn’t even see the screen. Not that it mattered. You had no intention of looking at him again. You flicked open Tumblr out of habit, hoping to distract yourself, but of course, the first post that popped up wasn’t helpful.

It was a picture of a girl bent over with the caption: "Daddy doesn’t care if it hurts, baby. Just take it."

Oh, God.

Your thighs clenched as the elevator doors opened. You stepped in quickly, refusing to glance back, but he followed. When he didn’t press a floor, your curiosity—and nerves—spiked. Was he visiting someone? You didn’t think you’d ever seen him before, let alone on your floor.

You stole a glance, and your breath hitched. His sharp eyes were already locked on you, glinting like he was enjoying your discomfort. The scar added to his rugged appeal, and the faint streaks of gray in his black hair made him look effortlessly mature. His build, though—not overly chiseled but solid, with a layer of softness that screamed ‘former athlete turned something far more dangerous.’

A small, nervous laugh escaped you, breaking the tense silence just as the elevator dinged. Floor six. You bolted out, legs moving faster than your brain could process, keys in hand before you even reached your door. But just as you found the right one, a large hand covered yours, stopping you cold.

The world seemed to narrow as you felt the press of a solid chest at your back, pinning you to the door. A rough, calloused hand clamped over your mouth, and the voice you’d only imagined growled low in your ear.

“Scream and I'll fucking bash your head into this door.” His husky voice harshly whispers in your ear. Your body stiffens, a shiver running down your spine as your lips part in surprise. You nod quickly, “Good. Is there anyone in here and don’t lie to me.” You shake your head no as fear and anxiety and something else paralyzes your body and mind. “Unlock it.” The hand covering your mouth cautiously moves to hold you by the neck and he lets go of your hand enough for your shaking fingers to unlock your door. You bite down on your lip as heat pools low in your belly—exactly the reaction you’ve imagined in this scenario so many times. His hand tightens slightly when your fingers slip over the keyhole, and a soft sound escapes your lips before you can stop it.

This is real, you remind yourself.

And isn’t that exactly what you wanted?

“Get inside.” He shoves you in your small apartments and you gasp and suck in a huge breath. You gasp, sucking in a shaky breath as you step forward. Your phone and purse hit the counter with a clatter, but you don’t dare make another move.

The sound of the door clicking shut is deafening. You turn slowly, eyes lifting to meet his. He’s blocking the door, his broad frame casting a shadow that stretches across the room. You should be playing the damsel, screaming for help or scrambling for the emergency stairs just outside—but instead, your feet stay rooted, your heart pounding as you stare up at him, waiting.

He smirks, his boot slamming the door shut with a bang that makes you jump. “Why aren’t you scared?”

You swallow hard, refusing to answer. The space between you disappears in seconds, his footsteps deliberate as he backs you toward the couch. Each step makes your skin prickle with anticipation, your breath hitching when you feel the edge of the couch press against the backs of your thighs.

“You should be scared girl,” he growls, his hand snapping up to grip your neck. The weight of it—rough and commanding—makes your knees tremble. You bite your lip again, suppressing the moan building in your throat, but his sharp eyes catch every flicker of your reaction. He looks down at you with furrowed brows. His leg slides between yours, forcing them apart, and you let out a shaky breath as his thigh presses up against you. The pressure is maddening, igniting a wave of pleasure that you can’t hide. The sound you’ve been holding escapes—a soft, breathy moan.

He chuckles darkly, leaning closer. “You dirty little slut,” he murmurs, his words a low rumble that sends heat racing across your cheeks.

“Please...” you manage to whisper, though even you’re not sure what you’re asking for.

“Please what?” His grin is predatory, his fingers tightening ever so slightly against your throat.

“Begging for more from the man who just threatened you?”

You shake your head, a flustered “No i-i want you to stop.” slipping from your lips, but he arches a brow, smirking as he looks down.

“Then why are you grinding on my thigh?” He chuckles, the hand against your throat shaking you around. Your eyes widen when you realize that he was right, he wasn’t the one rubbing against your pussy, you were the on rubbing against his jean clad thigh.

“Dirty girl...are you looking at my at my cock? Do you want me to take you against this couch?” He mock gasps and you half moan half cry.

“No—I don't want it.” You say in an almost childlike voice. But you do, you want this man who was about to do God knows what to shove his cock in you.

“If you say you want it and I'll be gentle baby.”

You shake you had and bring your hands up to the one wrapped around your neck You try and pull it off you, but he just watches you struggle with a grin. After a few minutes of watching, you cry and scratch at his hand he finally has enough and flips you over the couch. “You asked for it little girl.”

Before you know it, he's ripping your panties off and shoving two fingers into you. You scream.

“Fuck, you're fuckin’ soaked. You hear that? Your pussy’s talk talkin’ to it’s new owner.”

And you do hear it, hell you feel your wetness gliding down your thighs. Your fingers curl into your g-spot and you moan. He’s fucking you better than any man has ever fucked you. You clench around him harder when he finds his rhythm—fast and hard, his hand slamming around the outside of your hole and your clit getting frication from how hard your body drags across the couch.

“’m gonna come!” You moan trying to meet his pace and throw yourself back onto his fingers.

“Fuck—comin’ on a man's fingers and you don’t even know his name.”

And you don’t mean to say it but your so horny and the tittle just slips out from imaging this scenario over and over again.

“’m coming Daddy!” You squeal and your pussy contracts around his fingers. He doesn't even give you a chance to come all the way down before he’s throwing you face down on baby blue rug in your living room, freeing his cock.

“Fuckin’ hell. Aren’t you just the perfect little fuck doll.” He pulls you up by the hips and nuzzles his mushroom tip in between your pussy lips. He rubs from hole to clit a few times and you moan into the carpet, arching your back even more. He feels so big, like it’ll gonna hurt. “Say it again.”

“Daddy!” He shoves the tip in with some effort and before you can think he’s pushing himself balls keep into you. It hurts so good when he pulls halfway out and pushes back in. It’s so girthy, the width of your wrist. It’s too much for you.

“C-can’t take it daddy, ‘s too much!” You cry out, and you know your face looks a mess, mascara running down your cheeks.

“You think I care little girl? I say what, you can push me out I'll stop.”

Sniffling you do as he says, and push but every time your restart he pushes back into you, leaving you a blubbering mess. You can't push him more than two inches and it’s starting to feel good again. You give up when he grinds up against your ass, his hands fondling almost sweetly with your ass as he was watches you.

“Done playin’ hard to get now?”

You nod.

“Words.”

“Yes, fuck me daddy.”

Hands on your hips he does exactly that, pounding you so hard into the carpet you know you’ll have friction burns on your face and knees by morning. His heavy balls slap hard against your clit, and you can’t help but imagine all that come stored in them spilling deep into your womb. The thought makes you cream around his cock and Toji almost comes at the sight of the white ring sitting near the base of his cock. Grunting he tightens his grip on your hips flips you over. His hand goes to your clit and he curse at the bulge his cock is making in your stomach. One hand rubbing your clit the other presses down on the bulge.

“Daddy!” You scream, legs wrapping around his haps and heels digging into his ass.

“’m gonna breed this pussy so good little girl. Make you mine.”

“Yes please! Put a baby in me daddy!” You arch your back and roll your eyes into the back of your head as your come hard on his cock. Toji follows suit, spilling his come deep int you. You fall back on the follow utterly fuck out and exhausted. You don’t even try to open your eyes when you feel him start to pull out of you. Instead, you smile and raise your arms “’m ready to go back home with you now.”

[valleydolli]

Only You | Chapter Four

CW𝜗𝜚 MDNI, Stalking, Obsessiveness, Controlling Behaviour, Love Bombing, Murder, Fluff, Kidnapping, Smut, Toxic Sukuna, Yandere Sukuna? Readers a sweetie, (Touch her you die… like actually…)

𝜗𝜚 Series Masterlist

𝜗𝜚 Chapter Three | Chapter Five

𝜗𝜚 WC: 3.5k

You fell asleep instantly, drooling a little on his chest, but why would he mind? He's been dreaming of this since he met you. He can’t stop stroking your hair, your face, your body. He's just so happy to be able to touch you. 

You’re a deep sleeper; deep enough that he was able to open your phone and put a tracker on it. As if the cameras all around your apartment weren't enough. Now he’ll really know what you’re doing 24/7. He scours through everything, your messages, your photos, emails. He didn’t miss a thing. He was most interested in your messages with that neighbour of yours… Satoru. Or ‘Toru 💕’ as you saved him under. You gave Sukuna the same heart, just without the nickname. Is he not deserving of one? You call him 'Kuna' all the time. Do you still call him 'Toru?

He continues to scroll further up your messages stumbling across something he’s not sure if he should be happy to see or fucking livid since you didn’t send them to him. It’s a photo of your nude self asking him to come over… you’re sexting each other. He takes a moment, taking in a deep breath. You didn’t know each other yet, this was two years ago. The two of you have been close. He’s not sure if the close was a relationship or just fucking. There’s no “I love yous,” no indication of the two of you dating at all. Either or the feeling sucks. He thought he’d be your first, but he guesses that’s out the window. He has to hope you’re not fucking Satoru now. 

Hopefully. 

It’s 3:00 am now, and he still hasn’t taken a moment to not stare at your sleeping body.  His sleeping beauty. Not Satoru’s, not Ren’s, not that ugly bastard from the club. 

His. 

Maybe in a month, he could ask you to be his? 

Officially. 

You already belong to him in his eyes. He might as well start telling people you’re his girlfriend. You sigh deeply, moving from Sukuna's chest onto your back. Your lips are swollen and plump, as if you were kissed… He could kiss you, right?

Just a small peck… a small… peck.

He carefully leans down, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours, and it twitches a little like a bunny rabbit. Which causes him to smile slightly, letting out a quiet airy laugh. He carefully brushes his lips against yours before pressing into them softly. 

A small whimper creeps from his lips before pulling away. 

Shit. 

God, he wants to kiss you again. 

But his dick is so hard it hurts. He feels so dirty, but there’s a voice in his head telling him to do it again.

Just once more.

So he does just that, pecking your lips once more. Sucking lightly on your bottom lip. Do you sleep this deeply every night? Or is it because you were drinking?

“Fuck… Love you, I love you so much.” He whimpers softly against your lips. 

He needs to cum so fucking bad. 

You start to move again, flipping onto your stomach, face squished against the pillow. Sukuna runs the tip of his fingers across your lips. 

“I’ll have you sooner than later, I swear,” he whispers.

He looks away from you, looking down at the… problem you caused. Should he do it here or be a good man and leave? He continues to play with your bottom lip while he thinks. Rubbing at his erection while you soundly sleep next to him.

“For fuck sake.” 

He quickly leaves the guest room, heading to his own room to relieve himself. 

He sits at the end of his bed, slightly pulling down his boxers, feeling the pleasurable tightness around his swollen tip. He closes his eyes, imagining you in front of him, kneeling so obediently. Like the good girl you are. Wrapping your perfect lips around his swollen tip. Tightly jerking at his length—

“Mmph!” He covers his mouth, quickly spurting out heaps of his cum all over his boxers. That might have been the fastest he’s ever cum. Or was it when he touched himself in your room?  

15 seconds. 

Damn.

Will he last that long when he slides into you? God, he thinks he’ll die of embarrassment if he does. He’s now wondering how long you’ll stay for and if or when you’ll come back again. The only reason you’re here right now is because of that piece of shit, jackass that was harassing you. He’s still thinking of what he’s going to do with him. Little did that asshole know, Sukuna swiped his wallet, and of course, his ID conveniently had his address. He’s about 30 minutes away from the two of you.  Far, but close enough. Too close for his liking. 

Jogo. 

What’s with all these guys harassing you, having the worst names? Fuck, he hates them. He might hate both of them more than you. 

He’ll deal with all this another time, not now. He needs to get back to you and soak in the fact that you’re sleeping in his penthouse right now. 

He changes his boxers before walking back into the room you’re peacefully sleeping in. Slipping in next to you, pulling you onto his chest. As if he didn’t just masturbate across the hallway because he kissed you. 

He hopes you’ll stay for a while in the morning. It’s a Sunday, you can’t be that busy, and he doubts you’d want to be at home alone right now. He shuts his eyes, praying that when he wakes up, you’ll still be next to him. 

——

You wake up on a hard surface. That hard surface being Sukuna’s chest. There are prickly hairs across it, scratching your face slightly. You examine the tattoos across his entire body. Bands around his arm and torso, other markings on his chest. Incredible. You carefully run your fingers along each tattoo, completely forgetting he’s trying to sleep, until you feel him grasp your arm, causing you to jump. His eyes are still closed as if he were asleep, but he questions your actions. “What’re you doing?” His voice is deep and sleepy, startling you. 

“I umm knew you had tattoos, but I never properly paid attention to them. I love them.”

Sukuna opens his eyes, watching you continue to trace his tattoos. “When did you get them?” You ask, laying your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat quicken. You see him hesitate before answering you. “When I was 17. My dad has a few of the same too. Guess it’s a family thing.” 

He’s lying to you, by the way. He got them in prison. They’re prison tattoos. In the Edo period in Japan, they would mark criminals with these tattoos. Though it’s not the Edo period, Sukuna Itadori is most definitely a criminal.

But you don’t need to know that.

“I love them, they suit you,” you smile. “I kind of want some tattoos myself.” Sukuna frowns slightly. Which causes your brows to furrow. “No, you don’t think I’ll suit any tattoos?”

“You’re already perfect, why ruin yourself with meaningless ink? You’re like a blank canvas,” he explains as he lightly brushes your arm. “That’s beautiful to me.” You stare at him with gleaming eyes. He thinks you're beautiful. You quickly push your face into the crevice of his neck, your cheeks hurt because you can’t stop smiling. You hear him chuckling before questioning you. “What’s wrong? Are you shy?” You slowly nod your head before sitting back up, facing Sukuna. His maroon eyes are scanning your face until he reaches your lips.

He wishes he could kiss you again.

Properly.

Before he can speak again, you slam your lips onto his, shocking Sukuna completely. Did you really just do that, or is he still sleeping? He pinches his thigh, feeling the tight sting on his skin. You actually just kissed him. He moves you on top of him, slightly grinding you onto him. Heaven, he’s in heaven. Your tongues are dancing with one another, getting hungrier for one another by the second. He should stop you. He can't control himself. You do too much for him, he’s gonna—  A groan rumbles from Sukuna’s throat. 

He stiffens. 

He might just end his life. 

You slowly detach your lips from his before looking down at his wet boxers. You don’t even know that this is the second pair he’s changed into. God, what the fuck is wrong with him?

“‘m sorry,” he mutters, while not looking at you. You’re still on top of him which he doesn’t mind at all, but he’s really, really fucking embarrassed right now. You place your hands on his warm cheeks, which prompts him to open his eyes, finding you smiling at him. Not a mocking smile, a comforting one. “Don’t be embarrassed, that’s honestly a compliment to me if you think about it.” You place a soft kiss on his lips, rolling off his body. He’s still as red as a tomato. 

“Do you have a spare toothbrush I can use?” 

He doesn’t respond; he just nods his head, confirming your question. So you sit up, grabbing his hand, telling him to show you. After you both brushed your teeth, Sukuna is still on edge because;

One. He doesn’t want you to leave. 

Two. He came in his pants from kissing you. 

“Erm, do you want me to make you breakfast?” 

Yes, angel say yes. 

“Umm, I need to let Himiko get her things. I’ve got to get back.” 

Fuck.

“I’ll take you.” He says, not giving you the chance to reply, grabbing his keys and guiding you out the door. 

“I can make us breakfast at your place after she leaves?” He quickly tells you.

“Y-yeah okay, sounds good.”

“Perfect, let’s go.”

——

You walk up the steps to your apartment with Sukuna stomping behind you. The two of you come into view of your apartment door, finding Himiko leaning against your door with messy hair and smudged makeup. She hears your footsteps immediately turning her head towards you, running to hug you. “Oh, I’m so so sorry! I was drunk, stupid, careless. All of the above, but I can’t lose you, please, I love you so much.” She’s hugging you tightly, sniffling slightly into your neck, while stroking your waist gently. You don’t know what to say. But the tall man behind you has plenty to. Surely you don’t believe this bullshit ass apology. And why is she touching you like you’re her girlfriend or something? Himikos’ face lifts from your neck, staring dead into Sukuna’s eyes. She scowls at him. Why the fuck did she just– “Do you forgive me?” she asks as she instantly changes her facial expression for you. “It’s fine, Himi, I’m over it already.” 

Angel, You're a damn pushover... 

You kiss her cheek before letting her go. She’s slightly blushing from your little gesture. You turn behind around, pulling Sukuna closer towards her to properly introduce him. “This is Sukuna, Himi. Sukuna, this is Himiko. Let’s pretend this is the first time you guys are meeting, okay?” Sukuna’s face is blank, he really does not like this girl. Will he have to be around her more often when the two of you start dating? She seems clingy. He wants her gone, but he can’t get rid of your apparent “best friend.” 

“Nice to meet you… Himiko,” he mutters bluntly. “Yeah, you too,” she also replies back bluntly.

You look between them, sensing the awkwardness from a mile away. 

“Well, um, lemme let you get your stuff.” 

You open your front door, letting the two into your house. Himiko skipping inside and Sukuna, of course, letting you in before him. “Is it okay if I shower quickly? It'll be 5 minutes. Just don’t… kill each other,” you say as you eye the two of them, you can wholeheartedly tell that they don’t like each other already. Sukuna because of what she did yesterday, and Himiko? Well, Himiko is always like this. Anytime there’s a guy you like, she immediately hates him. Never giving them a chance. Not one. According to her, “no one deserves you.” “You’re too good for them.” Was she right? sometimes? Yes, but she cannot do this with Sukuna.

Ever.

Sukuna takes a seat on your sofa, making himself comfortable, waiting for you, while Himiko… was collecting her things from your room. He’s watching her from his phone, of course.

She’s strange. She’s snooping around in your room, freak. Who does that? 

…

Nevermind. 

You make your way out of the shower, running into Himiko lying comfortably on your bed. She says your name as if she’s about to tell you off. “I don’t like him.”

Shocker. 

You roll your eyes, taking your towel off, and applying your lotion. Ignoring your negative Nancy of a friend. “Are you listening to me? He looks like a criminal. And why has he got such an angry face? What’s he mad about?”

“Himiko? Do you not get tired of this? Every time I like a guy, you act like this, it’s exhausting.” 

“It's exhausting for me, too. I just want you to be with someone who’ll take care of you. Does he even have a good job? I mean, he has a nice car, but anyone can these days.” You stare at her from the mirror of your vanity, sighing deeply. You turn to her, telling her what Sukuna does for a living. “He has a great job, he has a great apartment, he’s a good guy. Himi and I actually really like him. Plus, he protected me yesterday when you left me.”

“You said you were over it,” she murmured. 

“I’m over it, meaning I forgive you, but I’m not just going to forget, I mean it hasn’t even been 24 hours.” She gets up from your bed, wrapping her arms around your shoulder, turning your head to face her. “I am sorry, okay. I would never want anything like that to happen to you. I was stupid.” She’s gently caressing your cheek with her thumb, resting her forehead against your own. 

Sukuna is, of course, witnessing all of this, and he’s livid. She’s clearly in love with you. God, he’s in love with you too, but you are so damn blind. 

“Himi, I really like him, seriously, and I would really, truly appreciate you getting along with him, I mean, what if we get married, are you still gonna hate him then?”

“You’re thinking about marrying him already?” She says with a disgusted look on her face.

“I’m just saying it as a hypothetical, but I don’t want to date just to date, I want to fall in love, get married, have kids. How can I do that when you scare all the guys I meet away?”

“Just give him a chance, if you love me, you’ll do that for me.” 

“…Fine.” 

It takes 20 minutes for the two of you to come out of your room, 15 minutes longer than you promised, but it’s not your fault; you’re being distracted by your secret admirer. 

“Sorry I took so long,” you say, giving him a peck on the lips. He goes to reply, but nothing comes out. 

This is you guys’ second kiss— no third. What will the fourth be like? Or the 20th? Will he count every single one? 

Most probably, yes.

“Sukuna… I’m leaving… and I hope you guys have a good… Sunday. Goodbye.” 

She slams your front door, finally leaving the two of you alone. You place yourself on top of him giving him a gentle smile.

“I’m sorry about her. She always acts funny when I start seeing people. I don't know why.”

Because she wants you for herself, angel. 

“I don’t know, it’s weird, no? You should tell her to stop.”

“It’s fine, as long as she doesn’t do it with you. I really hope we have a long-lasting relationship.” 

Sukuna’s lips twitch into a small smile. “So do I.”

“I want to know more about you, and I want you to know more about me.”

He already knows nearly everything about you, but you genuinely know nothing about him. Do you need to know… everything?

“Hey, if you’re not ready to tell me things about you, I don’t mind waiting. Don’t stress.” 

“Thank you.” 

——

You and Sukuna have been seeing each other for almost two months now. Things are as great as can be. He brings you flowers at the beginning of every week. He picks you up from work with Yuji. He buys you crazy expensive gifts. And she showers you with the love and appreciation you’ve yearned for. He’s perfect. Now all you’re waiting for is for him to ask you to be his girlfriend. He’s told you he’s going to be busy this week with some cases at work he needs to go over, so you haven’t seen much of him, but you’re hoping that when you next see each other, he’ll finally ask you to be his. 

“Please, man, I was drunk, I didn’t know what I was doing. I have a family, a wife, two boys.” Jogo struggles to speak out.

Sukuna has Jogo locked up in a cage in a storage unit that only he owns, miles away from the city, nearer to his family estate. No one knows he has this. It was supposed to be a place for him to relax and get away from his nagging family. But now it’s turned into something more sinister than that. For the past three days, Jogo has been held captive and tortured profusely for what he did to you that night. Cuts, lumps, and bruises all across his body. He told him he doesn’t forget a face, but it seems that Jogo was doubtful. He thought Sukuna was a stupid meathead sending out empty threats.

How wrong was he?

Sukuna followed Jogo for a good 5 days, collecting a lot of information about him. He does, in fact, have a wife and two boys. He’s also cheating on said wife with an intern at the office where he works at and she happens to be 30 weeks pregnant with his child. He paid her a hefty sum of money to terminate the pregnancy and disappear, but she, of course, said no, took the money, and left the country. He’s a regular at Kenjaku’s club, and it’s not his first time harassing young girls. Sometimes even more than that.

He's a repeated offender. 

Sukuna is doing God's work right now. This guy doesn’t deserve to walk on the same planet you reside on, let alone breathe the same air you do. Why the fuck would he allow it. Every person who harms you should be taken out of the equation.

Reduced to none.

He will continue to remove any danger that crosses your path. Ren, Jogo, anyone. 

“Jogo, I already know a lot about you. Did I tell you that?”

“I—“

“I know you’re married with kids and a baby on the way. But wait, that baby isn’t your wife’s baby, it’s your mistress’s, right? A bastard.” 

“I know.” He mutters

“Oh, you know? Do you know your wife knows now, too? You have so much proof on that phone of yours. I didn’t even need to do much, I just sent her all she needed to see.” 

Sukuna picks up a letter from the table behind him, opening the small door on the front of the box, and placing it in for Jogo to take. Before closing the door, Jogo immediately tries to open the one on his side. 

Sukuna tuts. 

“It doesn’t work like that. It only opens when I close my side.”

Sukuna closes his side, telling Jogo to open his and read the letter that was sent to him. “Go on, open it,” Sukuna tells him as he takes a seat, largely grinning. “Don’t keep me waiting, I wanna know what it says. Read it to me.” Jogo rips open the large envelope, skimming through the first few lines. He looks as if he saw a ghost. He looks up at Sukuna, who is still grinning as wide as the Cheshire cat. 

“Read it to me. I’m waiting. What is it?”

Jogos adam’s apple bobs. “It’s divorce papers.” 

“Good,  and what does it say on the uhh 10th row?” Sukuna points out.

Jogo counts down the rows, landing on the 10th. “I’ll have no assets...” 

Sukuna does a loud clap, pushing himself forward and walking towards the glass cage. “It’s fine, don’t worry. You’re not even gonna need any assets. I’m gonna kill you.”

“Wha— No!”

“Yes, I can’t have you walking around aimlessly. What if you run into her?”

“Run into who? My wife?”

“No, don’t be stupid. I don’t care about her. I’m talking about mine.” 

“Please, I was drunk, I-I don’t want to die.”

Sukuna walks into the cage, grabbing Jogo by the throat, slamming into the wall. Just like their first encounter. He whispers sinisterly in his face. 

“Being drunk isn’t a fucking excuse. I don’t care if you want to die. I’m sure every girl you assaulted didn’t want to be raped either but you did it anyway. You’re dirt on the bottom of my shoe.

You. Don’t. Deserve to live.” 

Sukuna looks down, noticing urine trickling down Jogos' leg. He’s scared. 

Good. 

He should be. 

“I’ll take my time with you, I can promise you that.”

𝜗𝜚 Authors Note: I think I have nothing to say. I sat outside in my garden finishing this. It was really nice very sunny. I got a lil tan :p

extra note: so like i got really distracted and i started playing overwatch and then i started watching an overwatch streamer and i was trying to read through this but i was so fucking distracted omg. so i’m sorry i took so long LMFAO i’m actually addicted.

𝜗𝜚 Chapter Three | Chapter Five

[heartyluv]

Plz give the girls a full fwb!caleb fic ur little ficlet was so good like it had my cootamunk QUIVERING ‼️

Note: I just want you to know that cootamunk has had me in tears since yesterday. Literally couldn’t stop laughing and now I can’t stop saying it. You’re a hilarious genius and I luv you. This is for you, babe. Enjoy!

Creds to @/anitalenia and @/strangergraphics for the dividers!

Rating: Explicit - !!Minors DO NOT Interact!!

Warning: Smut, Caleb is a little controlling and rough.

Word Count: 2,251

Summary: Caleb finds out that you’re trying to go on a date and shuts that shit down.

Jealous&FriendsWithBenefits!Caleb/Reader

Hey. You up?

The notification that appears at the top of your phone screen stops your doom scrolling. You smile just a little to see that familiar message with the name accompanying it. You look at the time, not surprised that it’s almost two in the morning. You never go to bed at the time you intend to, unintentionally looking and reading through a whole bunch of things from your roulette of consistently used apps.

You open your messages, twiddling your thumbs before you get ready to answer. Tonight could go one of two ways: You’re either about to be put to bed with sex or you’re about be up for another hour or two watching something you’ve already seen before until you and Caleb pass out on the couch.

When Caleb proposed being your first after you shared your fears of giving yourself to someone who didn’t deserve it, you thought he was joking. But when he looked at you with those serious eyes you’ve grown to be able to identify so well, you knew that you were about to tread into some dangerous territory. But you let it happen, and you were convinced that if you ever had sex again, it wouldn’t be what Caleb showed you, what he did to you.

You’ll never forget his gentleness, his praise and respect. The way he put you and your needs above his own. Your thighs always press together just thinking about how you watched him slide on a condom and look into your eyes before he began to slip inside. You worried about pain, but Caleb had prepared you so well, gotten you so wet, that it was nothing but blissful pleasure.

“You’re doing so good for me. I got you, pretty.”

“It’s okay, hold onto me. I’ll make sure it feels good.”

“If you need me to stop, don’t hesitate to tell me. This is about you.”

You were addicted. And you were scared that your newfound desire for consistent sex was because it was Caleb who made you feel so good. You tried convincing yourself that you just wanted to feel that full and taken care of again, but you knew better.

No other man would do what he did—would feel like he did. So when you vented to Caleb about how much you enjoyed yourself, you played it off and said that it was going to be scary showing yourself like this again to a stranger. But, then he said what you would’ve never had the guts to.

“We can still have sex if you want. I mean, neither of us are dating or anything. Friends with benefits, you know? It doesn’t hurt to just feel good and we trust each other enough.”

You didn’t hesitate to accept and it’s been history ever since. He comes over all the time and you still operate like friends, but when he’s hard and you’re wet, you two fuck like a couple madly in love.

He always comes over at some point when he has a break or you go to his place. If he’s up for it—he always is—he’ll make the drive to your apartment when it’s past midnight because he tends to get off work late. Tonight is no different. Finally, you start to write your reply.

Hey. Yeah, everything okay?

Yeah. I’m outside. Open up?

Your eyebrows raise in shock. He’s outside already? That’s a first.

Your oversized shirts falls mid thigh when you stand and you walk to your front door, not needing any light to see since the moon is so bright that it casts a gentle light into your open floored space. When you open the door, Caleb looks at you with a tight smile.

“You sure you’re okay? You texted me like you weren’t here, yet you were standing outside this whole time,” you chuckle. But Caleb doesn’t laugh, he just holds that expression that you can’t read.

He steps inside when you move over and you shut the door behind him, locking it while looking at him take off his sweater.

“Caleb—” you start, but he’s cupping the side of your face and kissing you with so much intensity. You accept it, melting into his hold as your hands snake into his hair, pressing your body close to his as your tongue licks at his mouth.

It must be one of those nights where we talk after, you think. He’s done this before and so have you, where you’re so overwhelmed with something that you need to release physically before you can do it verbally.

He’s eager in his urge to pull your clothes off, tickling your skin with his fingertips as he grabs the hem of your shirt to lift it over your head. You’re just as grabby, pulling his shirt off and tugging at his pants to get them down. You kiss your way to the couch and he falls backwards when you gently push him.

You can see him, but just barely. You don’t feel like cutting a light on, so the moon illuminating through your windows will have to do. You slide your panties off and your pussy squeezes around nothing when you hear how ragged his breathing is and the wet noises that you know is him stroking his cock.

You crawl onto his lap, bracing your knees on both sides of him as you raise your hips. You put one hand on his shoulder and use the other to grip his length to put him where you both need.

“Caleb…Oh my god…” you whine as your body takes him inside, making you two become one.

You feel him twitch inside your walls as you start to move just a little bit, rubbing your breast against your palm as you hold onto him.

“I’m in love with you,” he finally speaks for the first time since his arrival and you nearly freeze, but he doesn’t let you. He keeps your hips moving, keeps thrusting into you from beneath as you choke on your breath from his words and actions.

“The thought of you letting anyone but me get the privilege to see you like this makes me fucking nauseous.” He kisses your shoulder as he moves snugly within your warm cunt, and all you can do is listen to him because he’s not giving you a second to speak.

“Could you deal with me killing a man for you? Because if you ever let him experience this, I wouldn’t hesitate. Tell me what you need from me and I’ll become that and more to fulfill your every desire.”

You whimper as he grabs your ass tightly, keeping you moving so that you take him ass deep as you can.

“Caleb, what are you—What happened?” you say breathlessly, confused and thrown off by his confession. Every time you try to stop moving, he won’t allow it.

Caleb doesn’t want you to stop because if you stop feeling how good he makes you feel, you’ll try and find a way to bullshit him.

“You think I’m going to let you leave me?” he groans when you squeeze him. “I know about your little date. Remember what you told me when we started this?”

You never told him anything, but you’re not surprised that he was able to find this out. Caleb always finds his ways and you’ve never understood how. The date was harmless, setup by a coworker of yours after she told you the guy liked you and he didn’t seem bad, so you figured—why not? Well now, you know you made a terrible mistake.

You do remember what you said, and it replays in your mind like a voice recording.

“If either of us start dating or anything, we have to cut this off. There won’t be anymore sex, but we could still be friends. But if someone can’t deal with that, it’s healthy for us to just cut ties entirely.”

“Yeah, you remember,” he licks your neck. “I never agreed, I just let you try and ignore your feelings because you said you weren’t ready for a relationship. But now?” he abruptly stands with him seated inside of you to the brim.

“It looks like I have to make the right decision for both of us.”

He walks through your dark apartment into your room with your small lamp on. You turned it on before you got up to answer the door and you’re glad you did, because you can see him so clearly now. And he looks hurt—hurt and angry.

“Caleb I didn’t mean—”

He roughly throws you down into the bed, still pulsing inside. You don’t even understand how he’s this fucking strong, but it’s turning you on so much that you know his cock is soaked with your slick.

“What?” he growls, cutting you off, grabbing your hands and placing them above your head as he starts to pound into you so hard that you can’t breathe. Your bed physically moves, you hear the frame grate against the floor.

“To hurt me, huh? To make me have to think that you were going to choose someone else over me? Over us?” He spreads your legs, spearing into you over and over while your breasts bounce in his face. He roughly takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking and licking the peaked nub. He starts to suck on your breasts, leaving red marks that he intends to keep on you so you’ll always look in the mirror and know who owns you.

He angles himself, sitting on his knees and you don’t know how he’s able to make you so flexible right now, but you’ve never been so spread in your life. His hand comes to your throat, not putting pressure but it’s telling you what you two are without it needing to be said.

“Caleb…” you hiccup. “I can’t..I’m gonna—”

You’re going dizzy at how hard he’s fucking you, how he’s punishing your cervix with each brutally delicious thrust. His head falls to your neck while he keeps your throat in his palm, and when you hear him sniffle, you damn near cry yourself. You move your hands from above your head where he put them, tugging on his hair and tracing his back while his hips never lose their momentum.

“I’ll make you see. I’ll make you realize how much I belong to you. I want to live in your body, I want to stay a part of you forever. I’ll do everything in my power, baby. Please take me, please, please don’t make me have to know what it’s like without you.”

“I’ll never do that you,” you whine as he circles his hips to make you feel every thick inch. “I’m sorry…I’m here..”

“Show me how sorry,” you feel wetness of what you believe is a tear drop on your neck as he continues to hide his face in it. “I’m not pulling out. Let me put my cum inside you. I want you to feel it. You’ll let me, won’t you? Please tell me yes, baby… I’m so fucking close..”

“Yes,” you affirm, your own orgasm impending. “Give it to me, Caleb…”

And when he whimpers as he slams into you just a few more times, his heavy load floods your fertile pussy as his cock fucks it into you deep. Even when you cry out from how hard you finished, he’s still slowly rocking his hips, making you and him both feel that mix of pleasure and pain from overstimulation.

You feel the cum start to spill out, falling down and pooling beneath your ass. It sticks to your skin and stains your sheets but you don’t care. If you could stay like this forever, you would.

He finally pulls back to look at you and even if his eyes aren’t red, his face is flushed and you can see the wetness on his long eyelashes. Gently, you take your thumbs to his eyes to wipe his tears. You pull him down, kissing him so sloppily that you don’t care how messy it is. He follows your lead without hesitation, sticking his tongue down your throat and making you both pour the rest of yourselves into one another.

He bucks his hips, his cock slightly moving inside of you as a reminder that he’s still there—that he’ll always be. He’s not giving you a choice but to let him. And you can’t stop clenching, you can’t stop your hole from wanting to bring him deeper, to keep him there.

“Caleb,” you say softly when you two are forced to pull away to catch your breath.

He just stares down at you, his eyes dancing across your face as his breath becomes steady.

“I’m in love with you too.”

He smiles hard, holding you tight as you wrap your arms around him. He’s more than happy that the feeling was mutual, that you want him just as much. Because he wasn’t exaggerating about killing a man for even daring to think that he could have you. He wasn’t playing when he said that you’d never leave him.

But hopefully, you’ll never have to find out how far he’ll go. A man like Caleb in love is a man who has no shame or fear, other than losing you. And he’ll go great lengths to prove that.

“Forever,” he mumbles. “You’re never leaving me.”

“Never,” you kiss his neck. “I promise.”

And he intends to make sure you keep it.

[fadedtoneverland]

d&g’s prince | c.sn

❤︎ synopsis — your boyfriend is away at milan for another fashion show. you’re lowkey (highkey) missing him very much, until he facetimes you to check in on you… wearing something a little too sexy

pairing: choi san x fem!reader

theme: fluff ✿ , suggestive ❤︎, slight crack ✦ (if you squint)

a/n: seeing the clips of him circling around online in this outfit …. i went a lil’ too crazy … i didn’t want to post another smut fanfic of san, so i just went for the suggestive route

cw: reader makes lots of sex jokes cuz they’re feral. implied sex at the ending. mostly teasing and shi

you never knew true boredom and desperation.

well, at least not ‘till this week.

your absolutely stunning, gorgeous, panty-dropping enigma of a man, choi san, had left your poor self all alone in your apartment. not intentionally, of course. being a hot idol that’s constantly in the spotlight, was a busy lifestyle that you completely understood.

and san just so happened to get invited to one of dolce & gabbana’s latest fashion week shows, a brand that san has modeled for numerous times.

he was over the moon, absolutely beaming about going to milan again. you were happy for him too. only problem is, he couldn’t take you with him. san being san, wouldn’t stop whining about how he couldn’t take his “absolute unit of a partner” with him, but you reassured him everything would be fine back home in seoul, and you’d regularly text.

even then, sending off san with kisses and goodbyes at the airport didn’t stop you from missing him. because, he’s choi san. who wouldn’t miss their boyfriend if he was choi san.

so now here you were, curled up in your plush, king sized bed underneath the duvet. a jellycat goose tucked underneath your chin while you scrolled through your texts with san.

sannie <3 [12:03am]: baby

sannie <3 [12:03am]: are u up ??

sannie <3 [12:03am]: just finished a pop live

sannie <3 [12:04am]: come facetime me i wanna say hiiii :33

sannie <3 [12:05am]: do it >:((

you couldn’t hold back your smile. oh san, that lovable little dork. despite being the hottest person to literally grace god’s green earth, he was still a clingy goofball of a man.

your fingers glides across your screen as you typed back

y/n [12:07am]: omg i will

y/n [12:08am]: so needy, ur lucky ur cute

sannie <3 [12:10am]: ik i am <3

sannie <3 [12:11am]: open ur laptop, baby. i’ll be on soon

and you did as you were told, getting comfy underneath your duvet while pulling out your sticker-infested laptop. snuggled in san’s favorite hoodie that had a faint scent of his sandalwood cologne, you eagerly opened the screen and clicked on the bright green facetime icon, waiting for him to call you up.

you were incredibly giddy too, trying to act like you weren’t delusional and the most sane person on planet earth. and well- you weren’t really being delusional, considering that you were dating the choi san himself.

the incoming call icon popped up on your screen, and you quickly shifted to sit up while hovering your cursor over the green button, clicking it, and watching as the screen expanded to reveal your stunning boyfriend.

“hi, baby!” san called out, waving to you. his voice smooth as honey. ugh, you could listen to him forever, especially when he sounds so happy.

“my man,” you sighed dreamily while giving him a little finger wave, resting your cheek on your palm. “i seriously felt like i was gonna die if i went another day without hearing your voice.”

san laughed, the sound light and teasing. “oh, really? and you’re calling me needy? can’t even go a week without hearing my angelic voice, y/n.”

“yeah? well—“ you were about to retort wittily to his teasing, but the grainy web camera on san’s end cleared up a bit more, showing off a bit more details of the black outfit he was wearing. the sight made you effectively stop talking, which san took notice of.

“baby?” san called out, smirk faltering a bit from concern. “you alright—?”

“stand up.” you suddenly said.

your boyfriend blinked.

“i- wha—“

“i said stand up, choi san,” you interrupted firmly. “show me what kind of slutty fit you have on.”

san blinked once. then twice. he did a little head shake before chuckling, slowly standing up from his swivel chair and adhering to your hasty demands.

“whatever you want, angel.” san sang teasingly, pushing the chair away from his desk and stepping back to give you a tantalizing view of the outfit. the camera cut out his face, and the desk cropped up to his thighs, not showing you the full body, but showing just enough details to make you go feral.

san always looked good in black, made his features pop more, and just dripped him out in sin and scandal. but your eyes roved hungrily over the expanse of his muscles that were very much defined by his shirt.

his top, thin cotton fabric in the form of the sexiest blouse you’ve seen him wear. the middle part dipped down just enough to reveal a flirty little chest window for your lucky eyes. some black stringed ribbon was tied together nearly at the front of his shirt, creating a more sinful feel, knowing he can just untie those strings and flash you with his glorious tits at any given moment.

and the jeans? tight, leather, and fucking whorish. even when he did a little spin in front of the web cam to give you the whole galore of his outfit, you couldn’t stop thinking about how those jeans fitted perfectly along his hips and curve of his ass.

you were destroyed completely, reduced to nothing but a horny little dog who felt like they were gonna howl at the moon any second. and san seemed to notice, due to your lack of speaking after he showed off his stripper fit.

“uhh… y/n?” san called out while leaning down so his face was in view of the webcam. “are you okay?”

a beat of silence. one breath. then two.

and…

“you little shit.” you suddenly blurted out.

san was baffled. “… huh???”

“who told you that you could dress up like a hooker??”

silence.

then san shook his head, blinking furiously. “i— w-what?!”

your devastatingly hot boyfriend practically lurched himself back in the rolling chair, completely bewildered by your bold, yet astronomically down bad statement for him. meanwhile, you just stared at the camera, completely serious.

“babe, this is so unfair. you can’t dress up looking like a full-course meal and not expect me to go feral,” you said, practically whining with how devastated you were. “and you’re in milan too? ugh, even worse. who’s gonna suck your dick ‘till the skin falls off now??”

san choked on his own saliva. “until the skin falls off—?! baby- it’s just a shirt!!”

“yeah, a shirt that’s making my pussy way too wet. there’s a whole damn tsunami down there.”

“princess—“

“if i was a man i’d be popping the biggest boner right now, i’m just saying.”

san was crying with laughter. laughter from both disbelief and amusement. he’s heard you say all sorts of diabolical stuff regarding many things, but never to this level of down bad. maybe this was your glorious way of reminding him who gives him the best blowjobs while he’s gone.

“baby— honey—“ san laughed, rubbing the tears of joy out of his eyes. “you- you can’t just say stuff like that! it hasn’t even been that long since i left korea.”

you scoffed, and turned your head dramatically away from the virtual image of your boyfriend. “yeah, but it’s been long enough since i last saw you, and you have the audacity to come on here and flash me??”

san blinked. again.

“flash you???”

“uh, yeah? i’m getting the whole front row view of your twelve inch dick through those slutty pants, babe.”

“i— twelve inches!?”

“god created men and sent you as an apology, baby. you’re the whole package and i’m about to unwrap your boxers like one. i’ve gone too long without your glorious presence.”

san’s jaw was practically on the floor with that one, and you looked unfazed. composed, cool, collected, despite the sheer diabolical-ness of your filthy words.

remind him why you were his girlfriend again?

“okay, okay. if you really want to come see me, you can catch the closest flight to milan,” san said, leaning closer to the screen, flashing those cheeky dimples, “but it won’t be any cake walk trying to get alone time with me, baby.”

“fine by me,” you declared, smirking back at him. “i can be stealthy.”

san raised an eyebrow, amused. “i doubt it.”

“are you saying you don’t trust me?” you retort teasingly.

“no~ im just stating the facts, the fact that your chances of sneaking past all the guards and paparazzi and staff to be with yours truly is slim.”

“slim but never zero, baby. come on, i’ve done this plenty of times during tours. i can do it again for fashion week~”

and you just had to pull out those sparkly, mischievous eyes that you know san loves so much. god, he was a weak man when it came to you. but who could blame him? he was also dying to have you near him soon, especially with how busy the d&g fashion week as gotten him.

“i better see you here soon then, baby,” san said, grinning ear-to-ear while leaning back. “and wear an outfit that’s easy to rip off.”

you smiled devilishly, knowing you’ve won.

“already looking for tickets to milan, prince.”

▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆

fadedtoneverland © 2025 | do not steal, modify or repost ANY of my work.

[goldfades]

https://www.tumblr.com/goldfades/776149472466141184/could-u-write-joe-burrow-and-a-young-gf-3

AS A YOUNGER JOE GIRLY (‘04 baby 😩), THIS MADE MY ENTIRE WEEK

that being said, WE NEED MOREEEEE 🧎‍♀️‍➡️🙏🏼 so i was wondering if i could request a part 2 to this post?? your writing is literally my comfort reading material <3

OMGG no thats how i feel as an 05 girl LMAO likeeee

The thing about loving Joe Burrow is that it always sneaks up on you when you least expect it.

Like right now.

Because you’re standing in his kitchen—your kitchen too, technically, though you still hesitate calling it that—wearing his old Athens High hoodie that nearly swallows you whole, scrolling through takeout menus while he tries (and fails) to figure out how to fix the Bluetooth speaker.

"It’s literally not that hard, Joe."

"Then you do it," he shoots back, turning the speaker in his hands like it’s a puzzle box. "It worked last time. I don’t know what I did."

"You probably pressed every button at once."

"That’s literally how you fixed the dishwasher last week—don’t start with me."

You hide a smile behind your phone. He’s got that stubborn look again, brows furrowed, jaw set. The same look he gets when the defense drops into a zone he wasn’t expecting. Concentrated. Calm. Competitive over the dumbest things.

You don’t even care about the speaker. You like the quiet. You like this.

Joe, barefoot on the tile, the late afternoon sun catching in his hair. The smell of laundry detergent clinging to his hoodie. The slow realization that this—here—has become your routine.

"Okay, genius," you sigh, setting your phone down. "Move."

He steps aside with exaggerated reluctance, watching as you press a single button. The speaker beeps, the connection light blinking blue. Instantly, music floods the room—some playlist he made that’s a mix of old-school rap and indie tracks he refuses to admit he likes.

"You’re welcome," you say smugly.

Joe stares at you.

"How?"

"I have the touch."

"Nah, that’s witchcraft. You’re a witch."

You grin, settling back against the counter. "Jealous?"

"Terrified," he deadpans, stepping closer. His hands find your hips like they always do—easy, familiar. "You could end me at any moment."

"Maybe I will."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He dips his head so his nose brushes against yours, voice dropping.

"Do it, then."

It’s stupid. It’s playful. But your breath still catches. Because this is how he gets you—soft, steady, sure. Like there’s all the time in the world.

"I’ll spare you," you whisper, pulling back just enough to glance at the phone. "But only if you pick dinner."

Joe groans dramatically, dropping his forehead against your shoulder.

"That’s worse."

"Big NFL quarterback can’t handle choosing takeout?"

"Not when you are the pickiest eater on the planet."

"I am not—"

"Babe." He pulls back to look at you, giving you a look. "You cried over soggy fries last week."

"They were ruined, Joe."

"You said it ‘destroyed the entire vibe.’"

"And it did."

Joe laughs—really laughs—and you don’t even care that he’s laughing at you. Because when Joe Burrow laughs like that, everything else fades.

It’s always like this. Light. Easy.

But underneath, there’s something heavier.

You see it in the way he checks his phone when he thinks you’re not looking. The season’s creeping closer, and with it, the pressure. The expectations. The weight of it all.

And you? You’re still figuring things out. Still balancing finishing school, internship applications, trying to find where you fit in his world without getting swallowed by it.

The age gap—people still talk.

They don’t see this, though.

Joe brushing your knee under the table. Joe remembering your coffee order, your weird movie opinions, your fear of thunderstorms. Joe looking at you like you’re the only thing that makes sense when everything else gets too loud.

"You okay?" you ask quietly, catching the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

He looks at you for a long moment, then nods.

"Yeah. I’m good."

But he leans into you a little more than usual. His fingers lace through yours, thumb brushing slow, rhythmic patterns against your skin.

You don’t push. You never do.

Joe will tell you when he’s ready.

He always does.

Later that night, after the food’s been eaten, the music turned down low, and the city hums quietly outside, you find yourselves in that familiar spot again—Joe stretched out on the couch, you tucked against his side, his hand resting lazily on your thigh.

"Hey," he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.

"Hmm?"

"You ever think about how this all worked out?"

You tilt your head, looking up at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Us," he says, glancing down at you. His eyes are soft in the low light, thoughtful. "You being there that night. Talking to me. Sticking around."

"You act like I did you a favor," you tease, but your voice is quieter now.

"You did," he says simply. "You didn’t have to."

There it is again—that flicker of vulnerability he rarely shows to anyone else.

"You make it sound like you’re hard to stick around for," you say after a moment, fingers tracing lazy patterns over the fabric of his shirt.

"I can be."

"Not to me."

He doesn’t say anything, just watches you for a moment. Then, with a soft sigh, he pulls you in closer, his lips brushing your forehead.

"I’m glad you stayed."

"I’m not going anywhere, Joe."

And you mean it.

The thing about loving Joe Burrow is that it sneaks up on you—soft, steady, sure—until one day, you realize it’s the most real thing you’ve ever known.

[synity]

Can you please write Junhui picking up Y/N after a party because she was near to take the bus and he didn’t want

YOU'RE SAFE IN MY ARMS

(Wen Junhui X FemReader)

*angst, emotional healing, slice of life, Romance*

We didn’t mean to fight.

But sometimes, love isn’t about meaning to.

It’s about pressure. Timing. Miscommunication. And tonight, it all snapped.

“I’m not asking for much, Jun!” I shouted, pacing our apartment floor. “I just want you to listen. Actually listen. Not nod along while thinking about your next schedule.”

Junhui stood across the room, arms folded tightly over his chest. His jaw was clenched. He was trying to stay calm but I knew him too well.

“I am listening, Y/N,” he said, voice low. “But it’s always something lately. What do you want me to say? That I can quit everything and stay home all day?”

“That’s not what I said,” I snapped. “But you never have time anymore. You’re always tired. Or busy. Or distracted.”

He looked away, letting out a heavy breath. “I can’t win with you lately.”

That hurt. That hurt more than anything.

I went silent. He didn’t follow up.

And that silence? It felt like a wall. Like a door he wasn’t opening. Like something in his eyes had pulled back.

“I’m going out,” I said after a moment, my voice hollow. “I’m not going to stay here and fight with you all night.”

He didn’t stop me. Just stayed quiet.

That made it worse.

At the party.

My best friend tried her best to distract me. The music was loud, people danced freely, the lights shimmered, and for a while, it worked. We laughed, sipped on something light, and I even managed a smile.

But when the night slowed, I felt it again. That tight ache in my chest.

I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to see him. Not yet. I wasn’t ready to pretend it didn’t hurt that he didn’t chase after me when I left.

I was scrolling through my phone, ignoring texts, when I glanced up and saw it was nearing midnight. I needed to get home, but I didn’t want to trouble my friend and definitely not him.

So I walked to the bus stop near the club.

I knew he’d hate this.

Jun never liked me walking alone at night, let alone taking public transportation in the city. But tonight, I didn’t care. I was still mad. Still hurting.

That’s when I heard it.

My name.

I turned, confused.

A familiar car slowed down at the curb. The passenger window rolled down, and there he was Wen Junhui, leaning over from the driver’s seat, looking as annoyed and worried as he looked relieved.

“Get in.”

I blinked. “What are you—”

“Get in the car, Y/N.”

I hesitated. “I didn’t ask you to come.”

“I know,” he said, gaze steady. “That’s why I’m here.”

Something cracked in me right then.

I walked over slowly and slid into the passenger seat. He didn’t drive yet. Just sat there with his hands on the wheel, staring out the windshield.

“I saw your location,” he said after a moment. “When I realized you were near the bus stop, I…” He let out a shaky breath. “I couldn’t let you take the bus. Not at night. Not when you’re mad at me.”

“I was fine,” I mumbled.

“You could’ve been,” he said, finally looking at me. “But what if you weren’t?”

I stayed quiet.

“I may piss you off, Y/N. And I’ll probably keep doing that sometimes. But I’ll never let you be out here like this alone. Not when I’m breathing.”

His voice wasn’t angry. It was quiet. Determined.

I looked down at my hands.

“I didn’t want to see you,” I admitted. “I didn’t want to forgive you yet.”

“I didn’t come here to ask for forgiveness,” he said gently. “I came here to make sure you got home safe.”

That did it.

I felt tears sting at the corners of my eyes.

“Why didn’t you stop me earlier?” I whispered.

“Because I thought you needed space. And maybe I needed it too,” he said, voice rough. “But I watched that dot on the map move and I panicked. I’ll let you leave when you need to cool down. But I won’t let you go without making sure you’re safe. Never.”

We sat in silence for a moment.

Then I said it, barely audible: “I hate that you know me so well.”

He smiled a little. “I love that I know you that well.”

I turned to him. “I’m still mad.”

“Me too.”

“But I’m glad you came.”

His hand reached for mine in the dark. Warm. Solid. Real.

“I’ll always come, Y/N,” he whispered. “Even when you're mad. Especially then.”

I nodded and squeezed his fingers.

And in that quiet car, under the orange glow of the streetlight, we drove home. Not speaking much. But sometimes, love is in the showing up.

Not the perfect words.

But the silent promises.

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

wicked game

chapter 4 - the bet

synopsis: y/n is sarah’s roommate and the embodiment of sunshine. rafe, on the other hand, is her complete opposite. when the boys place a bet that he can't win her over, rafe takes the challenge without hesitation. after all, he never backs down from a dare. the closer rafe gets to y/n, he finds himself drawn to her warmth in a way he never expected, and for the first time, he wants to be more than just the guy with a bad reputation.

but secrets don’t stay hidden for long, and when y/n finds out the truth, rafe is left to face the consequences. now, he has to prove that somewhere along the way, the bet stopped mattering, because losing her was never part of the plan.

masterlist

cw: language, alcohol

you groaned and turned over in your bed, last nights events flashing through your head. you had fun for the most part, but all you could think of was rafe's annoying voice running circles in your brain.

you got up to the kitchen and saw sarah making herself a coffee, "good morning sarah."

she grumbled in response, clearly not feeling her best. "never. drinking. again." she muttered.

you laughed at her, "that's what they all say."

"no i am serious this time. watch me." she said straight faced.

"we'll see how long that lasts." you looked down to see two new notifications on your phone. "the fuck?"

"what is it?" sarah's attention now peaked.

"why did topper and kelce just follow me on instagram. who even is kelce?"

"ughhhh," she groaned, "another one of rafe's minions."

"you're got to be kidding me. why have they just followed me." confusion taking over.

"i'm not sure. i wouldn't worry about it though, they follow everyone." she reassured you.

"ok good."

sarah sipped her coffee, watching you scroll through your phone with narrowed eyes. "they didn’t message you did they?"

you shook your head. "nope. just the follow."

"good. let’s keep it that way." she sighed, "kelce and top are basically rafe’s bithces. if they’re paying attention to you, it’s because rafe is."

you scoffed, rolling your eyes. "lucky me."

sarah smirked. "hey, maybe he’s just mad that you didn’t fall at his feet like every other girl at that party."

you snorted in response, "yeah, because i’m sure rafe cameron loses sleep over girls not liking him."

sarah just shrugged. "stranger things have happened."

you brushed it off, chalking it up to nothing. after all, what reason could rafe possibly have to care about you?

sarah's eyes flickering between you and her phone. "so… did you have fun? you know, aside from my asshole brother?"

you smiled. "yeah, actually. it was fun. kie and cleo were great. jj's insane."

sarah laughed. "yeah, he’s a lot, but in the best way."

you poured yourself a cup of coffee, "and john b huh?"

sarah nearly choked on her drink. "what about him?"

"i think someone might have a crush on him," you grinned."

"what?! who?"

"you, you dumbass." you said laughing.

sarah’s face turned bright red as she sputtered, "oh my god, shut up."

you just smirked, sipping your coffee. "im just saying… the tension was there last night.”

she rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. "please. john b and i have known each other forever."

you raised an eyebrow. "and?"

sarah covered her face with her hands. "and… i don’t know. he’s just- ugh, can we not do this right now?"

you laughed, nudging her with your elbow. "fine, fine. i’ll let it go. for now."

sarah muttered something under her breath but couldn’t hide the small, knowing smile tugging at her lips.

just then, your phone buzzed with a notification. you glanced down, expecting something normal, a text from kie or your boyfriend.

instead, your screen flashed with something much worse.

rafecameron followed you

a/n: ah finally the bet is in PLACE! missed u guys

🏷️: @heartzshiftamy @hoefordrewstarkey @luvrclub @yesterdaysproblemm @leleee3 @yktayy9669 @miumiuestmoi @anacamofficial @cokewithcameron @bloodofadoll @shorttandsweett @mysticbby2009 @emmiesummers @wintercrows @drewrry @starkeyxcameron @xxbirkindoll2 @stoned-writer @drewstarkeyslover @hannieskzzz @verycherryblossomhideout @letstryagaintomorrow @@jjsbbg7 @mariamadison6-blog @laniirackssss @xeneasworld @countryclubwhore @drewsphswife @mattyskies @moonywhisp3rs @starkeygirls @lmaolmaos @thereallifebambi @emeloyy @vcnillafairy @rafecameronswhoore @st8rkey @angeldiaryy @therealfairybatman @drewsephrry @vanessa-rafesgirl @dreamybabbyy @pogueprincesa @happy-mushrooms @hannaa20002000 @whoismxtti

[loserlvrss]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 📽️─────wang yixiang, aka, spending quality time with your adoring boyfriend

王奕翔 &fem!rea. ⟡ drabble, fluff warn. skinship, kiss, language wc : 495HUN ++( 𝑒𝓈𝓉. 𝓇𝑒𝓁𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 ). 📼 ˊˎ- req?no. move yn, my turn now :c click4more

Like the washed out color of stained wine, the cheeks of the man in your lap flushed red. He didn’t shy away when you pressed another kiss to his forehead, no, he only giggled through closed eyes. 

His lips had an upward turn to them, arms crossed over his chest. You did it again, pressing your lips to the space between his brows to elicit the same reaction—he just looked so damn cute. 

Yixiang has been lying in your lap as you watched a cartoon, adamant to spend his free time with you. And, after a while of scrolling through his phone his eyes had fluttered shut, soft sighs audible through his sleepy state. 

Of course, you froze, purposefully not even moving a neuron so he could dream peacefully. Afterall, He’d been working so hard, you figured that this was best for him, even if your legs fell off from the lack of circulation causing pins and needles. 

You‘d been glancing down occasionally, distracted by the slight pout on his lips. You admired the fullness and length of his lashes, slightly envious that you had to use fake ones to get near that amount of volume. 

And then, you laughed—he just looked so…fake in your lap. 

The vibrations had made him stir, face turning towards your stomach, hiding from the overcast light. He wrapped a loose arm around your waist, the other still sat over his mid-section. Yixiang was so close to you, you could almost feel his heart beating. 

“I like feeling your heartbeat,” You remarked, only realizing that it was supposed to be in your head when he answered. 

He pulled himself closer, voice muffled by your shirt, “Are you a psycho?” 

“You’re awake?” You almost gasped out, “I mean—wait.” He laughed, turning his head to the ceiling again but not opening his eyes. “No, I’m not a psycho…” 

“You just say creepy things for fun?” 

“No,” You huffed, “I just like you…a lot.” 

He hummed, “Well, I love you today. I’ll love you tomorrow and,” You didn’t know if it was because he was half asleep that he was confessing his deep-rooted love for you but, even shocked, you let him go on. “Forever? That’s not long enough.” 

A dorky-smile spread across your face (though he couldn’t see it), practically all your teeth on display. Then, you were kissing his face. 

His eyes shot open for a moment as you pressed your feather-light lips to his skin again and again in different places, then he closed them again. 

Once he’d had enough (well, he actually hadn’t) Yixiang stopped you, a gentle hand holding you mere centimeters from his face by your cheeks. 

“Hey, psycho,” He practically whispered, “My lips are right here.” 

And, he made you find them quickly after, shushing whatever snarky remark was hanging on your tongue. You smiled into the kiss, disregarding his new nickname for you and relishing in the moment. 

He was right, forever wasn’t long enough. 

© loserlvrss 2025. 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱. networks : @blossomnet @starlit-network @k-films @kstrucknet @lune-net taglist : @slytherinshua @bbangbies @jihyokat @mystarsohee @seomisaho @atzlordz | fill out form to be added.

[rinhaler]

Not me being an absolute slut for step dad Gojo and Uncle Nanami!?!? 😩 sharing is caring!

-Very Much Embarrassed Anon🫂

PERHAPS i got carried away but i hope u enjoy this !! luxe write something under 1k challenge: impossible x

warnings: 18+ MDNI, step/incest, fem!reader, step dad!gojo, uncle!nanamin, implied virgin!reader, threesome, vaginal sex, oral (m receiving), fingering, tit sucking, possessive!gojo, daddy kink, praise, pull out method, orgasm denial, noncon photo taking, slight oral fixation, hair pulling, face fucking.

words: 2.7k

“You know you’re too young for boys, right?” your step-father reminds you, like it’s a mantra he’s told you again and again for years. It isn’t a suggestion or a thought he’s choosing to share. It’s an instruction. “I don’t want you to think because you’re all grown up and going to college now that you can be reckless.”

“I- I know, Satoru.” you smile at him.

Both of your attention is stolen as you hear your uncle, Kento, laugh out a scoff. He tries to conceal it as he ruffles his newspaper and drinks his coffee. You see your step-dad’s brows furrow in annoyance. Or, anger. He looks at you, again, and his expression softens.

“I know you’re a good girl, sweetheart.” he tells you, wrapping his arms around your form and placing a kiss atop your head. Nanami’s eyes peer over his newspaper, locking with yours. A knowing glance to each other before a smirk finds his features. He raises his newspaper, shielding his face completely as he tries to focus on reading.

He lets you go, reluctantly, as you pick up your college bag and grab your phone.

His expression sours as he sees you reach for your phone, smiling at a text message you received. He shouldn’t pry. He knows he shouldn’t pry. But he can’t seem to stop himself as he finds himself leaning across the kitchen island and snatching your phone from your hands. And now he scoffs, scrolling through your messages and looking at the name at the top.

“What did I just say?” he speaks, only an octave away from yelling at you. Your lip wobbles, and he keeps your phone at arm’s length as you try to grab for it. He tosses it towards the kitchen table so Kento can look for himself.

“He was just asking if I needed picking up for my classes, Satoru! You don’t need to worry…” you tell him. Of course this would happen. He’s always been stupidly over protective.

“Well you don’t, do you? That’s what I’m here for. Hell, I’m sure even Nanami would be happy to take you since he came all of this way to spend his off time visiting you.” Gojo reminds you. And you feel a slight pang of guilt at that. You know how hard your poor uncle Nanamin works. He could be on vacation, somewhere tropical, unwinding from the humdrum of his boring office job. But here he is, sitting reading the newspaper and listening to you two argue with each other. “In fact, you’re grounded. I’m keeping your phone and you can forget about going to class today.”

“But—!”

“Don’t whine, I’ll write you a note.” he adds, walking around the counterspace to collect your phone from Nanami. He finishes scrolling, locking it, though he keeps hold of it. “Go upstairs.”

You huff, but grab your bag and do as you’re told. It’s not like he can stop you from being online. You can talk to people on your laptop, after all. Though given the mood he’s in you suppose you’ll have to be stealthy about it.

“You’re too harsh on her.” Kento tells Satoru, earning another disgruntled glance from him. He closes his newspaper and rests an ankle over his knee as he leans back and drinks the remainder of his coffee. “She’s curious, you can’t do anything about that. It’s not like she’ll stay a virgin forever.”

“Tch. Spare me.” he laughs lightly. “You think I don’t know why you’re here? I hear you, you know, when you sneak into her room at night.”

And Gojo revels in how the colour drains from Nanami’s face. He sits upright, his back stiffened straight and he starts to loosen his tie. He should have known, really, it was too good to be true. He should have known he’d always get caught eventually. But by Satoru Gojo of all people?

“I haven’t…” he clears his throat. “It’s not what you think.”

“Sure.” Satoru rolls his eyes. “If I’m bein’ honest… I don’t really care. Who am I to stop you? I’m not blood… like you. Sick fuck.” he laughs, sitting down at the table and looking into Nanami’s panic-stricken eyes.

Your uncle rests his elbows on the table and holds his head in his hands. What is Gojo plotting? Blackmail of some kind, maybe. It’s not like he’s concealed his disapproval for his sisters relationship with him. He’s tolerated him, sure, but he’s a nuisance he thinks his family would be better off without.

“I don’t like this either.” he throws your phone towards the white-haired man and sighs. “But she doesn’t respect you, Satoru. She doesn’t even call you dad. I think she sees you as temporary, so of course she isn’t going to listen to you. Not really.”

“But…” he leans over the table with a smug grin. “She respects you, doesn’t she? Her favourite uncle. I don’t like college guys, I remember what we were like in college, I don’t want her around that.”

“No… maybe she won’t go searching for it if she’s better educated.”

Gojo’s brow quirks in intrigue, a sadistic smile soon follows.

“Who knew a corporate goon could be such a sick fuck, hah?” Gojo laughs, picking up Nanami’s coffee mug for him and walking it to the sink to clean. Nanami rolls his eyes, burying his reddening face in his newspaper again.

You feel a surge of fear stab through you as you hear footsteps climb up the stairs. You hide your laptop back into your bag and turn on your TV, hurrying to find something to watch as a cover. But when you hear a knock, you relax, Satoru never knocks.

“Come in!” you speak, happily, welcoming your favourite and only uncle Nanamin into your room. Though your heart sinks as your step-father follows, crossing your arms across your chest as you huff and pout petulantly.

“Don’t be like that…” Nanami speaks softly, sitting on the edge of your bed and resting his hand on your thigh. “We need to talk to you. And we want to ask you something.” he continues. Your pout fades, then, a slight feeling of anxiety creeps into you as you wonder if something serious has happened.

And Satoru sits on the edge of the bed, too, his beaming blue eyes almost pierce through your heart as he begins to explain. How he’s just worried about you because he knows from experience how college guys can be. How he’s your dad no matter what and he just wants the best for you. And he thinks you need a little help in the right direction on your journey of self-discovery.

“I know you’re a woman now, sweetheart, but you’re still daddy’s little girl. Yeah? So, let daddy help.”

“He- with what?” you blink at him, dumbly, and the delighted snarl on his face almost chills you to the bone. He doesn’t speak right away, so you look at Nanami. But it’s like he can’t bear to look at you as he sinks his head low with shame. “With what?” you ask again.

 “Well, Nanami said you’re curious. So he’s been fucking you, right?”

“No!” you and your uncle yell simultaneously. Did he really tell your insufferable step-father something so personal?

“I told you, I haven’t slept with her. Don’t tease her or you’ll make things worse.” Nanami clarifies before he focuses his attention on you. “But you are curious, aren’t you? You’re getting attention from boys and you’re enjoying it, clearly. They aren’t good for you though, princess. They don’t know how to treat girls right.”

You hum, softly, as he pushes your legs apart, revealing your pink cotton panties to the two of them as they continue to talk you through their thought process. And the touch of your uncle Nanamin is your ultimate weakness. They both get a live response to his action as your pretty pussy starts to gift your panties with a dark, sticky patch between your dewy folds.

“Boys that age, sweetheart, they don’t know what they’re doing. Do you touch yourself? ‘m sure you do, I’m not naïve enough to think otherwise. But that means you like to cum, yeah? These college guys don’t care about that. They just want a little hole to cum in and defile. And we think you deserve better than that.” Satoru explains, his inquisitive fingers begin to prod at your puffy cunt, though you trap his hand between your plush thighs.

“Satoru…” you respond, bashfully.

“No.” he speaks, grabbing your thighs and pulling you down the bed and towards himself. He looks mad, but there’s no real malice behind it. Still your heart is pounding. “I’m your dad like he is your uncle. I’m not Satoru. Who am I?” he asks, reaching under your skirt to pull down your panties.

“D-Daddy… you’re daddy. ‘m sorry.” you whimper. Your eyes flutter as his long fingers invade your pretty, virgin walls. “Hng—!”

“Gooood girl.” he smiles as he begins to curl them upwards. “I slipped right on in, has uncle Kento gotten you used to taking his fingers?”

“Mhmm…” you blush. The man in question bends down to kiss you.

It’s sweet, though you find yourself grabby and desperate as you follow his lead. He pulls away to undress you, unbuttoning your shirt and then his own after throwing away his tie. He helps you out of your bra, and you instinctively go to cover your nipples as you remember who you’re actually in the company of. But Nanami doesn’t want that. He locks his fingers with yours, holding your hands above your head as he begins to suckle on them until they’re both puckered and raw.

“Sit her up, and sit behind her.” Satoru tells his brother-in-law. And of course he acquiesces. You’re moved like you’re weightless as your uncle sits behind you, his clothed cock pressing angrily into the curve of your spine as he continues to torment your tits. Satoru pulls his fingers out of your cunt and sucks them clean, smiling at how your eyes begin to sparkle with wonder as he puts on such a display. “Do not tell your mother about this, understand?”

You nod, obediently. You wouldn’t dream of telling her something so scandalous. Though it does fill you with a slight sense of pride as your Satoru makes it abundantly clear how desperately he’d longed to be the first person to explore your untouched core. He pulls down his trousers and you moan at his smooth, pink cockhead. Though right now it’s closer to an angry shade of red.

He really is desperate.

You wince, slightly, as he pushes his tip inside. Though he retracts it, coating his head in your wetness.

“Fuuuuck, you weren’t lyin’. You really never fucked her, huh Nanami?” Gojo chuckles as he pushes in deeper and deeper. Nanami slots his fingers into your mouth to suck on as you accommodate to the length. “Relax, baby. Clampin’ so much you’re gonna push me out.” he laughs shallowly, his thrusts matching as he begins to work you open.

“D-Daddy!” you gasp, back arching against Nanami’s chest before he pulls you back towards him.

“We’re so proud of you, princess.” Nanami shushes you, placing a kiss to your temple. You look at him with wide, trusting eyes, though he can’t really concentrate as his own fixate on the way your tits bounce with each thrust Gojo inflicts onto you. “Why don’t you show your dad how I taught you to suck cock, hm?”

“Oh? Now that I’d like to see.” Gojo smiles, pulling out of you briefly. The sound of your sticky walls echoes through the room as he pulls out. The men help you onto all fours, and your daddy slots himself right back into your tight heat. The adjusted angle makes you fall forward, your head lolling as he finds a nice little trigger inside of you. “Oh… there, huh? Okay, baby. I’ll fuck you right there.” Satoru tells you as he begins to fuck into you before slowing down.

Nanami takes his cock out of his briefs, tapping the tip against your swollen lips. They open, obediently, and you lick the precum he’s spilling directly from the source. Your hole flutters as he hisses, enamoured by the sensation.

“Perfect, princess. Such a good little girl for me.” Kento comments, and your heart beats harder. You’re almost robbed of all sense as Gojo pistons his hips into you, and he leans forward to grab your hair and wrap it into a makeshift ponytail.

“Now that I’m thinking about it, Kento, maybe we should teach her how college boys fuck. Since she wanted that experience so badly.” Satoru proposes, and Nanami considers it. He really considers it. And Gojo chuckles at that. “Go on… show her.”

Nanami nods, grabbing the sides of your head and fucking your face like you’re his own personal cocksleeve.

It’s relentless and dizzying and you don’t know how to settle. You can’t possibly as you’re ruined from both ends. There’s no reprieve, there’s no way to relax. You’re trembling and moaning and fuck you never knew sex could be so intense. Nanami is always calm and patient with you. But this isn’t that.

They’ve ran out of patience with you.

It doesn’t matter which way you try to retreat, you’re only encouraging the other one. More of Nanami’s cock down your throat and more of Gojo’s hitting your g-spot.

“W-We’ll have to get you on the pill, sweetheart.” Gojo tells you, but it’s more like he’s telling himself. He knows he can’t cum inside. He can’t, but fuck, he wants to. He fucking needs to. “College guys, they like- leaving their- mark.” he thrusts again and again until he’s on the very brink of blowing his load. But his life won’t be worth living if he knocks his cute little daughter up. His marriage will be over. He’ll lose everything.

And with that, he pulls out and coats your pussy lips with his sperm. The loss of feeling from inside makes you cry out around Nanami’s length, though you still can’t pull away from him as he continues to use your mouth as his own personal toy. You never knew your uncle Nanamin had this side to him.

He’s usually so sweet and patient.

He pulls out, too, depriving you of the taste of his cum and the chance to prove what a good girl you are. Though you take his load beautifully as he shoots soupy ropes across your pretty face. His heart skips a beat as your false lashes flutter and he realises a heavy glob stuck to them.

“College guys, sweetheart, might take pictures of you like this.” Satoru pulls his phone from his back pocket and takes a few photos of your quivering cunt. You’ve been neglected in the worst way, and it’s dawning on you now what he had meant by giving you the college experience. He tosses his phone to Nanami, encouraging him to do the same. Your innocent and betrayed face is captured so perfectly through the lens of the phone, Nanami’s pearly seed is the perfect colour for your complexion.

“College guys would send these around to their friends too, you know.” Nanami warns you.

“But we’ll just keep these between ourselves.” Satoru promises you. “I think it’s only fair we didn’t let you cum this time since you were so intent on disobeying your daddy.”

“I think she’s learnt her lesson, though, Satoru.” Nanami speaks, pulling your hair so that you can look up at him and he can identify if you dare to lie to him. “Fucking college boys doesn’t sound that fun anymore, does it? Say sorry, princess. Your dad might let you cum next time if you’re a good girl.”

You sniff, and hiccup, unsure of where to look.

“’m s-sorry, daddy.” you sniffle, Nanami releases your hair and allows you to look back at Gojo, a wild grin on his face.

“Awe… sweet.” Gojo smiles, circling the bed so he’s standing beside Nanami, both of their eyes bore down at you with an intensity you’ve never felt before. “I think we’re owed a thank you, we took the time to teach you such an important lesson, after all.”

“T-Thank you,” you sniff, again, “Thank you, d-daddy. Thank you, uncle Nanamin.”

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