#so he’s got bass in the front AND bass in the back | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

burgojo · 4 months ago

Text

27 CLUB. GETO / M!READER / GOJO

summary. satoru's crushing on suguru but finds out he's got a boyfriend! you are, however, equally dreamy, and if satoru was capable of such introspection, he might realise he has a type...

wc. 9.7k

tags. smut | dom top reader, switch bottom geto, sub bottom gojo; established geto/reader. non-sorcerer + rock/metal musician reader, reader is described as a big guy. skinny gojo supremacy, geto with piercings. somno, riding, doggystyle, exhibitionism, dub-con, degradation/praise, daddy kink (once; r. receiving), humiliation, gojo's a crybaby, edging, frotting, choking, overstimulation, gojo gets passed between reader + geto for a bit

"You brought me to a dive bar? Lame."

Suguru's brow twitches, but he says nothing – outwardly. "You were the one begging me to let you come with. Pick a side."

"I'm on the side of good music. I don't want to hear screeching kids out past their bedtimes."

"You think that's the sort of thing I listen to?"

"I mean," Satoru waves a hand in Suguru's general direction, eyeing his choice of clothes, "your outfit has so many holes in it. You could pass as a rebellious delinquent. Like one of them gyarus."

"I do not—" Suguru inhales, shaking his head; leave it to Satoru to think fishnets and cropped shirts count as clothes full of holes. His bangs sway over his eyes; for the first time in perhaps forever, his hair is loose. Satoru can't take his eyes off it when it shines blue-black under the street's neon lights. "I'm not falling for that again. Now, stop dragging your feet. We're here."

They halt in front of a big, dark block of cement. Its windows are blacked out with curtains, and years' worth of posters pasted to the walls overlap, flaking and peeling until only the fuzzy back sliver of the paper remains. The dates on the posters keep changing – the oldest one is from 1998. The ones on top are advertising weeks in the future, up to a month, and the shitty photo-editing reeks of their garage-band histories and amateurish natures.

One of the posters catches Satoru's attention. A young, attractive woman with dark hair and very few clothes on smoulders at him.

With a question on the tip of his tongue, Suguru approaches his side and follows his gaze questioningly. The eye-roll he gives is so quick it's almost pre-emptive. With a hand draped in black and silver jewellery, he grabs the back of Satoru's collar and hauls him away, almost lifting him clean off his feet. "Goodness, Satoru... Have some decency for once in your life."

"Hey! I thought you'd appreciate me taking an interest in your hobbies. And be gentle with that! It's designer!"

Suguru only lets go at the bottom of the stairs, where the evening light abruptly dims and every surface becomes twenty per cent stickier. Satoru grimaces at the palm of his hand, having caught himself against the wall when Suguru tossed him into the dingy basement like a sack of potatoes.

"This place is a real trash heap," he complains – or shouts, rather. The bass in the music rattles his bones like maracas. The place is less like a bar and more like a club. His sunglasses slip down his nose from the vibrations alone, and he pushes them up with a disapproving sniff. "Why couldn't we stay above ground? There seemed to be a perfectly okay bar up on the roof. Looked real nice and moody, too – good for dates."

"Because up there, they have to actually believe your ID," he says in a tone that adds the 'stupid' at the end for him. Without waiting for a response, Suguru pushes his hands into his pockets and leads the way into the bar. He waltzes up to the bartender, who seems to be between patrons. She dries a rocks glass in her hands. Her head bobs loosely to the beat of the live music.

He lifts two fingers. "Beer, please. Whatever's cheapest."

Satoru makes a noise at the back of his throat.

"It's not for you. Geez, Satoru, the world doesn't always revolve around you," he sighs exaggeratedly and flicks his bangs out of his eyes to meet Satoru's gaze. He smirks. "You want something to drink?" He points at the tiny backboard propped up beside him on the countertop, detailing a range of drinks and their prices. "Here are their non-alcoholics. If it won't make you sick, I recommend the raspberry float."

"Then I'll get that." Satoru leans against the bar in the space between Suguru's stool and the next. He shifts, trying to appear natural, and he places his other hand in the pocket of his jacket. He really doesn't need it in this cramped bar – not with the number of people crowding around, driving up the heat.

At the other end of the room, a large group stands at the base of a raised stage. The trio upon it complete sturdy rock covers of popular songs on the radio. They make for exciting listening, though their sound isn't what Satoru usually goes for.

Suguru flags down the bartender for Satoru's bright pink sugar abomination, and she drops off his two beers with a nod. Satoru doesn't have the time to wonder about them further before Suguru turns to him with a wry smirk.

"Sit down, greenie. You look like an idiot."

"And you don't?" he retorts, but hops up on a stool anyway. He prods the glistening mug of beer closest to him, inspecting the amber liquid within, and lifts his eyes.

What surprises him is that Suguru isn't looking at him – or at his drinks, either. Isn't one of the first rules of going to a bar ensuring one's drinks are always within sight?

He tilts his head, a light crease marring his brow. "Suguru? What're you looking at? Pay attention to me. I'm bored."

"I'm looking for someone," he replies coolly, scanning the crowds near the stage. With a sigh and a slump of the shoulders, he glances over at Satoru with a small smile, resting his elbow on the bar. "Sorry. I'm a little distracted. I haven't come here in a while, you see."

Satoru doesn't see – which is ironic – and wants to ask. But asking means he'll look his way, and that means Satoru won't be able to admire Suguru's pretty feline features for as long as he'd like. He'd get all embarrassed about it and growl at him.

Propping his chin on his knuckles, Satoru traces each curve and plane of Suguru's features with his eyes, committing every line to memory. Suguru won't always be this young, and the dim neon lighting is so nice on his skin, cutting deep shadows across the soft fantasy of his face.

Purple and green. Fitting, for a place called the Viper Lounge.

"Satoru. Your drink is here."

With a blink, he straightens up, and the pretty bartender lady shoots a knowing wink his way. The tall pink drink almost glows under the lights, and the float bobs with the tiny streams of fizzing soda bubbles that rise to the top.

Smiling to himself, Suguru glances back at the stage as Satoru's unyielding attention averts to the bartender, bothering her for a matching pink drink umbrella. The room is painted black, like a secret born to the night, and the stage matches the paint job. It makes its users seem to float several feet off the ground.

He taps his cheek with a soft sigh, fiddling with his brow piercing. His hair catches on it sometimes, but that's the price he must pay.

He watches Satoru absently. Where were you? Had your schedule changed in the weeks he'd been busy?

Then, with the faint echo of the microphone, an all-too familiar voice:

"One! Two! Three! Four!"

The leap from silence into rapid metal is violent. The drums beat lifeblood through veins. Steel shreds the guitar. Bass peels flesh from bone and snaps it back together.

Suguru's reverie shatters like glass.

There you are. Tall with confidence, clad in leather and denim. Your hair's shorter than he last remembers, but wilder, already-damp strands of hair sticking to your temples as if fresh from a romp in the sheets. Jewellery glints under the moody stage lights, and it's hypnotic, the way you charge up the crowd with your voice and your guitar. The amp by your feet is beat-up and worn, having played stepping stool to leather boots too many times, but it explodes with sound. Your sound.

You've got a quartet for a band, all faces made familiar through his connections with you. His heart flutters at the memory of your arm slung around his waist, pulling him into your side as you laugh at something your drummer said.

Satoru's head tilts as Suguru slides off the seat and grabs the two beers. "Suguru? Hey! Where are you going?"

It's too loud to hear him, what with the singing and the screaming and the heavy thump-thump-thump of drunken dancers jumping around. Suguru weaves through the crowd of crying fans – mostly girls; your bassist is your only female member – and it's easy to recognise him, his physical training and broad body letting him part the drunken gaggle just by walking forward and keeping balance.

He reaches the front of the crowd and lifts his face to you, a little smile playing at the corners of his lips. His dark eyes are endless in the shadowy room, and the way he raises the mug of beer feels like the hand of the devil. His tongue toys with his snakebite piercings, the soft pink of it peeking past his lips like a taunt.

During the lull of the song's vocals, you crouch down, avoiding the stares and grabbing hands of dozens of fans. You grip the beer – Suguru's smile widens – and rise to your feet. The rim's already at your lips, and rapid bob of your Adam's apple as you swallow invokes a wave of screams and a chant of "Chug! Chug! Chug!" that fills the bar.

Droplets run down your throat and soak into the collar of your shirt. Your skin glistens. Sweat dampens your throat and the furrow of your brow.

As the melody builds to a crescendo, you slam down the empty mug and launch into the song's chorus, the rough metal gravel of your voice sending more than one fan into hysterics.

Suguru watches the way your fingers fly over the guitar neck with impossible ease, smiling into his beer at the memories of those same fingers wrapped around his neck, his hips, his—

An arm falls over his shoulders. "Suguru! Don't run off like that again! Where you go, I go."

He glances over his shoulder. Satoru's almost shouting in his ear, and some ways behind him, he spots at the bar the empty glass with the pink umbrella balanced recklessly on the rim.

"Sorry," he shouts back, a sheepish, apologetic grin on his lips. "Got carried away. Did you like your drink?"

"Yeah," he says above the noise. "C'mon, hard to talk here! Let's find a booth."

Satoru slips in on one side, and Suguru takes the other. The deep red leather of the seats feels decadent in the low lighting, the same way velvet and jewels go together. Satoru peers over his glasses at Suguru with a shit-eating grin.

"Not gonna lie to you," he begins. "I'm pretty sure that normie over there was eyeing you up like a piece of candy."

There's a twang to his words, and Suguru smiles behind his glass of beer, leaning in and peering at Satoru closely. Nearly imperceptibly, Satoru leans away.

He straightens. "Are you jealous?" he says, almost in disbelief. "No way."

A pause.

"What?" he laughs, waving a hand as if to disperse the very thought from the air. "Jealous? Me? Of him? Don't make me laugh, Suguru. I'm way cooler! And better-looking."

"I'm not sure," Suguru hums, sparing a glance at the fans trying their damndest to touch the singer's steel-capped boots. "For starters, he drinks well."

"Don't say 'for starters' like you're about to dive into a list of compliments." Satoru pouts, crossing his arms. "Is he the person you were looking for earlier?"

"Mmh. He's got a good voice, doesn't he?"

"He sounds like he smokes three packs a day. But you don't care what I think, do you? You've already made up your mind."

Suguru chuckles, vanishing about half of his drink in two gulps. It's rather impressive. "That sound is raw talent and cultivated skill. You sound like you hate him."

"Nah, you're just trying too hard for a guy in some no-name garage band. Did you see his clothes?" He peers over his glasses at his friend. "They're western brands. Not cheap here. He's a total poser."

"But he looks good in them, right?"

"Eh. So-so."

"I bought them for him."

"I mean, they fit well on him. And they match the whole 'rockerboy' thing, but that's more because of you than him."

He hides his grin behind his beer, sipping on what remains to nurse it until your gig ends. Satoru's too predictable.

—

Later, Suguru ventures into the staff lounge with Satoru on his heels. Pleasantly warm with alcohol, he finds you alone by the couch, one boot kicked up on the footstool and an arm thrown over your eyes. Your chest rises and falls slowly with your breaths, and Suguru quietly slips around the furniture to take a seat next to you. He grasps your forearm and lowers it.

Satoru stares.

You're handsome. He gets it now.

One eye cracks open. Your hazy eyes pass over Satoru as if he's not even there – how annoying – and land on Suguru. Your gaze brightens and you sit up, lowering your boots to the ground.

"Oh, it's you!"

Your voice is surprisingly mellow, low and smooth like caramel. Despite your neutral affect – and the fact that you're not even addressing him – Satoru's cheeks warm.

"It's me." Suguru's voice is soft.

You gaze at him a while longer, the pause filled with your bright, contradicting smile. Then you grunt and sit forward with your elbows on your knees, your leather jacket creaking quietly. "My favourite man. What can I do you for?"

"You're too sweet, YN," he says, a flicker of shyness crossing his features. "Haven't seen you in a while."

Your brow furrows and you sigh, glancing aside. "I know, I'm sorry, doll. It's been difficult trying to adjust to my new job – just been dead tired all the time. Anyway – what is this, an interrogation? You gonna introduce me to your buddy or what?"

You cock your head up at Satoru, who stands in front of you with his hands in his pockets. With Suguru to your side and the corner of the room on the other, you have nowhere to go.

Suguru spares a glance at his friend. "Satoru, sit down." He turns back to you. "He wanted to come and I couldn't stop him. Just ignore him. I wanted to talk to you."

"Sure. What about?"

He places a hand on your knee. His nails are painted black. "I really wanna stay at your place."

If Satoru wasn't watching closely, he would've missed the way your eyes widened the slightest bit. He has to commend you – you smother it quickly.

"Tonight?"

"Mhm." He shuffles closer to you. His fingers twitch as he glances down at your hand, as if he has to suppress the urge to take it in his own. "Thought we could catch up a bit – braid each other's hair, do our nails, the whole nine yards."

You blink. "That's... awfully forward of you. You usually dance around these things until I finally figure it out."

His lips twitch up. "I can be direct when I want to be."

"Oh, so you just enjoy riling me up."

"I like what comes after."

Suguru's head tilts slightly, and your faces are an inch apart. His eyes flicker to your lips.

"Of course you can stay, Suguru," you murmur, your expression softening. "I'm glad you came here."

"Even though I'm breaking the rules?"

"My whole shtick is being counter-culture. That includes disobeying rules when they're stupid."

"When they're stupid," he echoes. He smiles, his dimples losing him his tough-guy persona. He bumps your shoulder with his, tucking his loose hair behind his ear. "Are you staying here for any reason?"

You shake your head. "Been paid and everything. I'm just abusing the couch for an air-conditioned nap. The others are going clubbing in a few hours if you want to meet up with 'em and say hi."

"Did you want to go?"

"Nah. I had a killer headache last night and don't want it coming back. Mostly, I planned to bake something."

Satoru can't hold it in any longer. "You bake?"

Two sets of eyes swivel to him where he stands by the fridge, checking out its contents.

"Uh, yeah." You turn to Suguru and stretch, resting an arm over the backrest behind his shoulders. A classic, almost dorky move, and one you do all the time, but Suguru's heart still flutters. "Who is this guy, by the way? Why's he wearing sunglasses inside? You're not cool, dude."

"I have sensitive eyes," he declares, pointing overhead at the bright, artificial white lights. "Name's Satoru."

You raise a brow. "I think you've been mentioned once. Last name?"

"Need-to-know basis."

You narrow your eyes at him.

Suguru interrupts the staring contest, shoving himself into your line of sight. "You said you had a headache. Are you okay?"

You drop the glare and smile at Suguru, squeezing his shoulder. "Mm, don't worry about it, baby. Nothing a few painkillers can't solve."

He lifts a hand to your face, tracing the shape of your cheek with his knuckles. His touch is so light it almost tickles. "If you say so. Don't forget to sleep more. It's not good for your skin."

You offer a fond smile. While swiping a few chocolates from the bowl on the table, Satoru notices how Suguru leans into your touch and how he presses his side into yours as much as he can, thighs and shoulders brushing. He didn't know he was... that sort of person.

Rather vacantly, Satoru thinks he should be more upset right now. After all, he's been pining after Suguru for the past year, and now he finds out that Suguru's got some normie with tight leather pants falling into his bed? He was planning on confessing after Suguru's birthday, but he supposes he should trash that plan.

Fuck. Awkward.

"Hey, Satoru." Suguru's soft voice draws him out of his thoughts. "YN wants to try a new recipe. Wanna come with?"

"You're gonna be my guinea pigs," you agree. Your heavy gaze rakes Satoru's body, and he suppresses a warm shiver. "Or my little white mouse."

Satoru tries to ignore his blush. He straightens, pocketing another chocolate. "You don't care about inviting a stranger to your house?"

"Any friend of Suguru's is a friend of mine." You stand and stretch with a pleased groan that feels far too intimate. "I don't have shit worth stealing, anyway, unless you count my banged-up guitar. It's, like, twenty years old."

"Not old enough to be vintage, too young to be seriously desirable." Suguru sighs, slumping against your side dramatically as you pass through the door together. "Story of my life."

"Ew. Don't joke about that." You glance past Suguru – Satoru's eyes, you notice past the glasses, are an unexpected shade of cornflower blue. "Hey, Baby Blues. How'd you two meet?"

"Hm? Oh, high school."

"Ah, you two are the same age?"

"Same class and everything," Suguru says as you wander towards your car, the keys jingling in your pocket as you try to find the correct one by touch alone. There's a shadow of a guitar case in the back of the car. "Can't get rid of him anymore."

"That just means you always have someone to shout you a drink or two." You pull open the door for Suguru and draw a vaguely round shape in the air with a finger. "Karma's a circle."

"Yeah? And where are you in that circle?"

Swiftly, you shut the door and turn to Satoru, nodding your head in the direction of the car. "Hop in, Blue! You'll be glad you came when you try my tiramisu."

—

Some time later, Satoru finds himself on your soft leather couch, nursing a very flushed Suguru on his left and a less-flushed you on his right. You cackle at his attempts to take the game controller off Suguru, and when Suguru gets touchier in order to body-block him, you can tell from his flustered expression that he doesn't really know how to deal with it when you're right there.

"I'm fine," Suguru sighs, batting Satoru's hands off. He leans in further, trying to push him back, when he persists. "Satoru, you're blocking my view with your big head! It's your fault if I die."

You own a PS2 with a pretty neat collection of games. Suguru is doing less than well with Metal Gear Solid 3.

"Let me have a turn," Satoru pleads, pouting when Suguru expertly weaves the controller away from him. He's had years of practice with it. "I'm so good at stealth games! Lemme try, I wanna go—"

"Just say you wanna impress YN. It's less desperate, man."

Satoru's jaw snaps shut with an audible click. His eyes are so blue that Suguru can see the shine of them behind his almost-opaque glasses.

Suguru smirks and shifts on the couch, tossing his legs over Satoru's lap victoriously. He settles comfortably among the pillows and returns his attention to the television.

"W-What?" he stutters. Did he hear that right? Was he drunk on the tiramisu's brandy?

"It's okay," Suguru says, sneaking past a guard successfully. He smiles victoriously, lip piercings glinting in the light. "I wouldn't mind sharing if it was you. Have you seen the size of him? I can't eat all that by myself."

You chuckle, one arm slung over the back of the couch. In your other hand is a brandy glass, the dark amber alcohol you used in the tiramisu sparkling under the light as you gesture with the glass. "Dunno 'bout that last bit. You try pretty hard to."

"I don't like leaving my meals half-finished. I'm also generous to those less fortunate – Satoru's never dated anyone, you know? I wouldn't want him getting hurt by some selfish asshole because he doesn't know any better. That's why I think you'd be good for him."

The colour of Satoru's face rivals Suguru's. He rubs his cheeks, sinking into the couch. "Stop telling him my life story! You're making me sound really uncool. You're so wasted, Suguru – is this what you're like outside of school?"

"I'm not that far gone," Suguru groans, controller going limp in his hand. He reaches around Satoru to give it to you, which you accept – you immediately start blitzing through the in-game building, attention now completely elsewhere. He levels him with an unimpressed stare. "I could probably take you right now."

"You want to fight me in your boyfriend's apartment?" Satoru squawks. "He made food for you! Control yourself. Gosh..."

"'Control thine emotions'," he mocks. "I'm perfectly in control. You need to admit that you like my boyfriend."

"I don't." Panic drips from his voice.

"You totally do. It's cute – I've never seen you with a crush on anyone. A rich boy liking an underground rockstar? Embarrassing. I've read that manga before."

"No, I don't – I'm not a manga protag—" He cuts himself off, jabbing a finger into Suguru's chest. "I just have eyes, okay? I can tell when someone's, like, visually appealing. You're visually appealing. Doesn't mean I'm going goo-goo over you."

With a roll of his neck, Suguru leans in, propping his elbow on his shoulder. He levels his gaze at him, blinking slowly.

He sucks in a breath. He can smell his honey-scented shampoo. He's holding on by the skin of his teeth.

"A-And," Satoru continues, shifting in his seat. How incredibly unfortunate it is that he's sitting between you and Suguru. Why is that, anyway? Weren't you the ones dating? "You're being weird. Who the fuck talks about this? Like, seriously."

"YN and I talk like this all the time. You're just a prude." He sticks out his tongue, and the flash of a silver piercing studded into his tongue leaves Satoru breathless and shocked. He scrambles forward, reaching towards him, and pinches Suguru's jaw with one hand.

"What the hell is that?" he exclaims, brows furrowing. Memories of the previous conversation are all but gone.

Suguru lifts an eyebrow, glancing aside. He'd almost forgotten how strong Satoru can be. "What's what?"

"That." He shifts his grip, forcing Suguru's lips to part. His tongue flicks against his front teeth, and the little silver ball catches the light.

"A pierthing," he replies, muffled. He lets Satoru, alarmed at their sudden closeness, pull away first with a scandalised blush. Suguru rubs his cheeks and lets his tongue loll out of his mouth, showing it off with a glint in his dark eyes.

Satoru stares. How is his tongue so long?

"Cool, right? I wanted to match YN's look. It makes us look ten times better than the next couple."

He blinks himself out of his daze. "Did it hurt?"

"Not as much as you'd think. I had to get used to talking with it, though – I was lisping like crazy while it healed. I was thinking of getting a septum piercing to balance it out – or just more on the ears."

"You never tell me anything." He pouts. "How'd I never notice it...?"

"You think I don't tell you things? Fine. How about this?" Suguru shuffles forward and drapes an arm over Satoru's shoulders. He offers a lazy smirk and cups a hand by Satoru's ear. "It makes guys feel great."

His heartbeat pounds in his skull. He swears Suguru glances down at his lips – but that could be his woozy double vision. His hair looks so soft...

"Done," you announce, setting the controller in Satoru's lap – he picks it up hastily before Suguru can nab it. He huffs and crosses his arms, empty-handed. "Your turn, Blue. I wanna see some slick action, or we both get to watch Suguru struggle with holding people up."

"I am not that bad!" he snaps. "The controller buttons are sticky."

"A bad workman blames his tools," Satoru says automatically.

He immediately begins to argue.

Hm. You can see why Suguru's so endeared with the white-haired man, especially when he takes off his glasses to blink his huge, glossy blue eyes up at him. He's pouting, Suguru's waving his arms around, and you're certain you've got enough room in your bed for three.

—

In the darkness of your bedroom, you're slowly dragged from the depths of sleep by a weight above you. Your brow furrows, a little grumble falling from your lips, as hands trail down the sides of your face and play with your hair.

"YN."

You release a soft breath.

"YN. Wake up."

Your eyes crack open, and you find yourself frowning up at Suguru's shadowy figure. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, but when they do, you notice that he's not wearing any pants.

He shifts on your lap, face inches from yours. His long hair is swept over his shoulder, slightly messy with sleep. His eyes, however, are perfectly awake, staring down at you with an animal hunger.

"Hey, you," he whispers fondly, barely a breath. He lowers his body over yours even further until your chests press together. You wrap a lazy arm around his waist. "Need you, baby."

"Suguru," you whisper back, only just now noticing the state of your boxers. They're slick and sticky, and you know for certain not all of it is because of you. "How long have you been at this?"

"Five, ten minutes. I don't know. I got impatient." He ghosts his lips over yours, tucking his hair over his ear before he cups your face. "Need you so bad. Need you right now."

"Fuck, seriously?" you huff, shifting slightly so you can rest back on an elbow. "Damn nymphomaniac..."

A body beside you rolls over. You freeze.

Shit. You'd forgotten he was here. Satoru had been insistent on taking the couch, but Suguru's large brown eyes and sweet words had worn him down. When you chimed in to express your agreement with your boyfriend, he'd broken fully, and accepted.

"I've already prepped myself," Suguru breathes, pressing his bare cock against the front of your boxers. He rolls his hips slowly, kissing you equally torturously. "Please, baby? Needa come so bad."

His words are slurring. Usually so put-together, Suguru grinds against your growing bulge with a soft whimper, eyes fluttering shut as his cockhead catches on the cloth.

He's going to be the death of you.

You place your hands on his waist, lifting him just enough to reach your waistband and free yourself from your boxers. Suguru sighs shakily and tucks the band below your balls, batting away your hand to be able to hold it himself. You roll your eyes at his attitude but allow him to admire your cock. He nibbles on his lower lip as he rakes its length with his heavy gaze.

"You're already hard," he teases under his breath, closing his fist around it and stroking it from tip to base and back again in one rough motion. You jump slightly, a hiss slipping out between your teeth. Suguru silences you with a hot kiss, his tongue pushing into your mouth as he strokes you and swallows your sounds.

He shifts cautiously on his knees, mindful of Satoru's still body next to him, and opens his hand to slot his cock against yours. He purrs as he tugs them both, head falling against your shoulder as he rocks back and forth atop your lap.

"So good," he whispers into your skin, his hot breath fanning your neck. You can feel him tremble – with excitement, with exertion. His breaths are shaky as he quickens his fist, rutting against you.

He's dripping. Your shared arousal slicks up your cocks, and Suguru's wet palm squelches quietly with every stroke. He shudders out a soft moan, nails digging into the pillow beneath your head.

"Is this what you wanted?" you growl under your breath, hands pressing firmly against his waist and forcing him to grind harder into your cock. His hips stutter. "Fuckin' whore, doing this when your best friend's a foot away from you..."

He swallows a moan as you dig your thumb into his leaky slit. "Y-Yes – yes, I wanted this. 'M sorry for being such a slut," he whines softly, his thick thighs tensing atop yours. His cock jumps as Satoru shifts in his sleep. "Oh, fuuuck..."

You chuckle breathlessly as Suguru leans into you, his slick fist squelching louder as he grinds more desperately into you. You hold your hand in place, formed into a loose circle, and allow Suguru to fuck into it as his tip catches on the ridge of your glans with every thrust.

"G-Gonna come," he whispers against your jawline, free hand tangling in your hair. His little moans feel so much louder right by your ear, and your heart races whenever it pitches that much higher. "Ohh, god..."

"Yeah," you pant, wrapping your arms around his waist and holding him close. You press your palm against his shoulder – his heart pounds through his back. "That's right, dollface. Don't hold back. I wanna see my pretty slut come for me, alright? Wanna have your come all over me."

His rushed, shallow little humps rock the mattress dangerously. You grip the shelf of his hips in warning, slowing him down. He whimpers like an injured animal, pleading.

Swallowing roughly, you wrap one hand around his cock and use the other to grip his plush ass beneath his oversized t-shirt, your fingers digging into the soft skin. He gasps softly and presses into your touch, humming gratefully as you jerk him off, your thumb swiping over his swollen tip.

With an arch of his spine, his arms tightening around you, he comes, his pants and sighs soft and breathy against your skin. He presses his hips against yours, coating your cock and stomach with spurts of hot come.

Your head falls back against the pillow, an exhale escaping your lips as your eyes flutter shut. Suguru collapses on top of you, hips still jerking intermittently, and you can feel his sticky pleasure dripping down your sides in rivulets. Fuck.

Suguru tucks his head under your chin, dragging a thumb down your side and smearing his pearly release over your warm skin. Your stomach tenses under his touch and he smiles, tongue running over his piercings.

"I want yours inside me," he declares, leaving no room for argument. "Don't waste it."

"Waste it?" you breathe. "Waste it for what? You want kids or something?"

His lashes flutter as his gaze lifts to yours, dark and smoky. "Something like that."

He picks himself up and positions himself upright on your lap, shifting on his knees to better balance his weight. He glances at Satoru's curled body and mop of messy white hair, almost glowing in the darkness. Heat swirls in his stomach as he notices how tightly Satoru's gripping his pillow. A wicked grin tugs at his lips.

Suguru grinds his ass against your cock, one hand reaching back to rub the tip and press it against his fluttering hole. He lets the tip catch against his rim, throwing his head backwards and scattering long locks of hair in a cascade down his back. His hole clenches around nothing.

"Feels like you're about to burst," he teases softly, continuing to rub against the shaft. "Your balls are so heavy, too... Please let me have your come, daddy. I want it all inside me."

"Dirty little thing. If you can stay quiet, I'll let you have it," you mutter, bending one knee to give him some support. He grips it, lifting his hips, and slowly sinks down on your thick cock, hole clenching and fluttering around you at the stretch.

"I can, I promise." He exhales shakily, expression twisted with pleasure and pain. "Fuck."

"Take it easy," you murmur, eyes flashing with concern.

He chuckles, breathy. "What if I said I liked it?"

"I'd call you a whore."

"And I'll prove it." With a sharp inhale, his hole swallows the rest of your cock in a single gulp. His thighs quiver, his mouth falling open in a silent moan. His cock throbs, hot against his skin.

"Holy shit," you exhale, eyes wide as he trembles around your dick, his long hair flowing over his shoulders as he stares down at the join of your bodies, fascinated by his own capacity. You can feel every pulse of his heartbeat, every ripple of his silken insides. He's tight as a vice, gripping your cock, and he moans softly as a spurt of precome makes the fit a little easier.

He grins, eyes dazed but focussed solely on you. He moans when you wrap your fingers around his cock, wet and hot, and begins to rock his hips, fucking into your grasp.

"Hard already," you note in an almost condescending tone of voice, twisting your fist and making him suck in a sharp breath. "You're such a pervert, aren't you, Suguru? Touching your boyfriend when he's sleeping, riding him where your best friend could wake up and see how shameful you are... I bet you'd fuckin' come if he watched you like this."

A hand shoots up to muffle his cry. Your cock nudges his prostate and he presses into it, but you keep shifting your damn hips to avoid knocking into it directly.

He's helpless. Why did you know him so well? Why was he cursed to suffer at the hands of a sadist?

"Quiet," you whisper warningly, grip tightening on his hips and forcing him to keep moving. You experiment with a few upward thrusts, meeting his bounces halfway with meaty smacks that feel far too loud in the silence of the room.

"I can't keep quiet if you're fucking my brains out," he hisses, but his aggression melts away the moment you crush his prostate head-on. Briefly, his eyes roll back to show their whites, and he shudders out a broken, muffled moan.

You pat the side of his ass, making him flinch at the sound. "Relax," you huff offhandedly, "I'm not even doing all that much. You're just too much of a slut to notice the difference – a cock inside you, and all your thoughts fly right out the window. You're so pretty, doll. Stop thinking so hard."

"Asshole," he grunts, but doesn't stop bouncing. He throws his head back. "Ohh, fuck me, your cock is so damn good..."

"That's right, baby. Just like that," you groan, his tight slick hole dragging with every lift of his hips. His pace grows unsteady, messy, a creamy white ring forming around the base of your shaft. You quicken your strokes, matching Suguru's shallow bounces, and he gasps your name, cock spurting precome that you smear over his shaft to make the glide easier – filthier.

"Fuck me," he curses, his voice growing dangerously whiny. "Why are you holding back? Just come! Come inside, please, I-I'm so close, wanna come with you—"

You thrust into him roughly and squeeze his cock. He chokes out a sharp gasp, far too loud, as thick come paints his insides white. He spills into your hand, his creamy release running over your knuckles and down his swollen, pulsing shaft. He grips your shoulders, nails digging into your skin, and his sides tighten as his movements slow, each bounce long and slow as he grinds down as deep as possible.

His muscles loosen as he pants, slumping down on top of you as he dips his tongue between your lips. You groan lazily as his piercing bumps your teeth and rolls against your tongue. You squeeze his hip, smoothing your palm over the generous curve of his ass. Your lips smack softly and he shivers, his cock giving one more valiant throb.

In the corner of his vision – the peripherals of his senses – Satoru twitches.

Suguru sits up immediately, to your confusion.

"Baby?"

He hushes you, not sparing you a glance. His gaze bores into his friend's back.

"Satoru?" he whispers.

Like clockwork, he stiffens.

A grin tugs at Suguru's lips. You stare up at him, propped up on an elbow. You don't have his sorcery-enhanced sensitivities – you don't notice that the white-haired figure next to you is breathing harder than usual, or that he's shifting far too much for sleep.

"Satoru," he hums, soft and coaxing. "I know you're awake."

Your heart drops like a stone. Suguru, however, smiles wider.

"Not moving won't do anything, you know."

Then—

Slowly, he sits up. His hair is more of a mess than it usually is. His oversized white shirt has risen slightly and shows off a sliver of pale skin.

Suguru is going to kill him. He's sure of it. His voice is soft and dangerous.

"How long were you awake?"

His head feels foggy, still reeling from shock. "Uh..."

Suguru lifts a hand to his mouth, eyes crinkling with a little titter. He points down at Satoru. "Long enough, I'd wager."

He looks down. His face explodes with heat.

The hard-on strains at the front of his shorts. A dark spot mars the cloth where his tip would be.

Shit. Fuck. He'd borrowed your clothes – so had Suguru – and here he was, soiling them with his envy and desperation. He was such a freak.

"I-I can explain," he stammers, and you can't help admiring the way he seems to swim in your clothes. The elastic in the shorts had to be pulled as tight as possible for it to stay up without help, and even then, they sat teasingly low, showing off his delicate hipbones whenever he stretched.

Smirking, Suguru gradually lifts his hips, eyes fluttering as he pulls off of your cock. Satoru's ocean eyes widen at the sight of it resting on your stomach.

"No need," he says evenly. Satoru doesn't need his Six Eyes to catch the drop of pearly liquid rolling down the inside of his thigh as he leans over to turn on the lamp on the bedside table. It douses the room in a faint golden glow. He bites back a whine as Suguru continues, as if nothing's wrong. "Come here, Satoru."

When he extends his hand, it's like salvation. Satoru stares at his kind, open palm.

He takes it. Suguru's slender fingers wrap around his, tugging him closer. He coaxes him nearer, the way one would with a frightened animal.

You're looking at him. You're both looking at him. Something sick and twisted in him likes it.

"Do you want us?" Suguru says softly. "Or have I read you wrong?"

Satoru swallows around the dry lump in his throat. His lips part. "I... I thought you wouldn't like me that way."

"Oh, Satoru," Suguru croons, lifting a hand to brush his white bangs out of his eyes. "Always so perceptive about everything but yourself."

Satoru's eyes dart away and amongst his jittering nerves, he latches onto the steadiness of your gaze, trained on him. He flushes when you smirk, your bare upper body displayed like a piece of art beneath his stare.

"Who do you want first?" you ask, and Suguru presses himself into your side. You level your gazes at him, and he stutters out some nonsense before falling quiet, pinned beneath your attention. "Suguru's already prepped, if you swing that way."

Suguru rolls his eyes at your choice of words, though he smiles fondly. "Surely he wants you, rockerboy. You're new – a novelty."

"And you're something familiar in an unfamiliar situation. Why wouldn't he choose you?"

"Can't I have both?" Satoru says quietly, though he blanches when your shared attention turns to him. "U-Uh, I mean—"

Suguru turns to you thoughtfully. "Hm?"

Your eyes glitter. "Hm."

—

"That's it, sugar," you chuckle, sliding a warm palm up Satoru's side to wrap around his throat. He gasps as you grip his jaw, forcing his lips to part, and maybe you're stronger than he'd like to admit – one hand on his shoulder, one around his throat, and that's all you need to lift him plain off the bed. His fingers scrabble at the sheets, barely brushing, and in his desperation, he grips your waist. The position only has him arching even further, your cock slamming into his bruised and sensitive prostate.

"Ah, ah, ah," he moans, eyes fluttering and silvery hair sticking to his damp temples. "Ah – Suguru, d-don't watch...!"

You wrench his head up, forcing a cry from his throat. You click your tongue, shaking your head. "Tsk tsk tsk. Look at him. Look, Satoru."

He mewls and obeys despite the hot shame and arousal crawling around his guts. The way you say his name makes him dizzy – not soft and purring like Suguru, not reverential or tense like other sorcerers. To you, he's just a brat, and you're firm with him in a way that nobody else has ever been. Not cruel – just firm.

When Satoru lifts his watery gaze to Suguru, he finds him staring down at the length swinging between his legs. His hole clenches as his thighs attempt to close – to hide himself away. You hiss in pleasure, knocking his knees apart with your own.

"Fuck," you rasp, stroking his lean hip and admiring the way bruises bloom red on his pale skin. "Look him in the eye, Satoru. You wanna make him come, right? We're doing this for Suguru. Don't be so selfish that you forget who you're serving."

"S-Sorry," he hiccups, shakily arching his back and exposing his bare, leaking cock, deep red with want. His gasps and moans are loud, echoing off the walls, almost drowning out the sound of your thighs smacking his ass. "Ah—! S-Slow down, I – nngh!"

Satoru's cock throbs painfully. The cockring you'd placed on him strangles his base, and his heartbeat pulses in his dick. He wants to come really bad.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" Suguru's foot nudges his pulsating cock, pressing roughly against it. A teasing smile plays at his lips and he hums as Satoru chases the friction with a miserable, choked noise, whimpering when you drag him back towards you.

"I-I – it feels—" He can't think straight, head spinning like he's been slammed against concrete one too many times. His breath snags on the thick air as your fingers dig into his jaw. Your dick punches the breath from his lungs, dragging the painful pleasure up from deep in his belly. He sniffles softly, hazy eyes welling with crystal tears. "Ahn – Suguru," he sobs, so weak and pathetic even to his own ears that it makes his cock swell within its cage, its tip drooling incessantly.

How cute – begging his best friend for help. As if he'd listen.

"Don't slow down," whispers Suguru, voice like silk. "He can take it. He's the strongest."

That means nothing to you, but Satoru's gut clenches violently. Humiliation curls around his thoughts, burning the fringes of his mind with an electrifying shame.

Suguru slinks forward, sliding his thigh between yours in the mess of legs. His touch flutters over Satoru's warm cheeks and he presses close. You slow your pace to a snail's crawl, dragging against and kissing Satoru's swollen gummy prostate.

"I can't," Satoru whimpers, weak in your hold. He leans into Suguru's gentler touch. "I can't do it. I can't. It's too much."

"No, it's not. Don't be silly," Suguru hums, taking his cock in his hand and making Satoru sob and jerk. He aligns it with his, rutting against it lazily. God, he's got another fucking piercing right beneath the glans of his dick – it catches, smooth and hard, on the ridge of Satoru's tip. His bright eyes lose their focus and his hips twitch. "I'm not letting you go until I think you're done. Just try not to pass out, okay?"

"He won't. He's a good bitch – barely needs any training. He takes me like a fuckin' champ." Your cock punches into his guts and he squeals, his cries high and melodic even as he falls limp in your hands, his fingers scrabbling at your hips and thighs. Suguru moans at the contact, his fist wrapped around both his and Satoru's lengths. "F-Fuck – you're both so damn pretty like this."

Satoru gasps as Suguru smiles and leans over his shoulder to kiss you. Pressed between your bodies, Satoru can hear every wet smack and soft moan of your kisses right in his ear. His cock throbs violently, leaking a constant stream of pre.

Suguru's hands rest on his hips, gently guiding him back and forth between your cock and his. His cock is warm and velvety, and Satoru whimpers as Suguru presses further into him to kiss you deeper with a pleased sigh. Your grip tightens on Satoru's jaw, pulling him into your chest, and he mewls, squeaky little moans falling from his lips as your cock fills him up over and over again, fucking him like he made you angry.

"S-Suguru—!" He can't get the rest of his sentence out before two thick fingers shove into his mouth. His yelp melts into a moan as they press down on his tongue, silencing him.

"Hot," Suguru observes, parting from you to catch his breath and watch the way his friend sucks and drools on your fingers, his cerulean eyes dazed and glossy. "Kiss me again."

You oblige, twisting your hand in his long, loose hair and pulling him towards you. His lips are warm and plush, and his breath hitches as your tongue rolls across his, flicking the silver piercing there. You pull back for air but he doesn't let you, yanking you back in and tracing the length of your tongue with a debauched moan.

Satoru can hear it all. He can't watch – no, not with your firm grip on his jaw – but not being able to see makes everything ten times worse. He feels like a toy, his high withheld and his sight limited. For all his gifts, he still has to fucking turn to see things, and he wishes really, really badly that he knew what it looks like.

He can imagine it clearly. Your faces flushed, your hair mussed. Suguru's delicate features relaxed into a wanton expression, his piercings glinting in the low light as his tongue twists with yours. Your brow furrowed, your lips swollen, as you suck on his tongue.

Desperately, with tears in his eyes, he slobbers around your fingers, gripping your wrist in both hands. Saliva runs down your knuckles and Satoru chokes as you push your fingers deeper, sliding over his tongue possessively. He adapts quickly, muffled moans high and needy as your cock slams into his guts.

He swears you can't be a non-sorcerer. How else could you ruin him so easily? How else are you tracking every little twitch that gives away his most sensitive places? How else are you still going?

You've backed off now, instead staring at Satoru and the way his lips close around your fingers like they're a cock. Suguru, equally mesmerised, licks his lips.

As if you're one being, you remove your fingers from Satoru's slick mouth, and Suguru cups his face and kisses him.

Kisses him.

He can't think. His body moves on instinct, his teeth clashing with Suguru's in a messy and uncoordinated manner, but he is kind, and he coaxes control from him to teach him how to kiss. Blue eyes made even bluer with the red ringing his lashline, Satoru moans and scratches at Suguru's shoulders, cock throbbing as the ring bites into his raw shaft. Suguru's fingers brush against his tight, aching balls and he blubbers like he's going to die.

"Please," he manages to choke out, gasping and jerking as Suguru scrapes his nails down his dark red length. "P-Please..."

He doesn't even know what he's begging for. More? Less? For Suguru to stop looking at him as if he'd hung the stars? He's a sinful, degenerate mess, he knows it – far from the perfect and powerful sorcerer the world expects. The Gojo clan heir, ruined on something so obscene and mortal as a big, thick cock.

You turn his face towards you, watching the tears fall over the flushed apples of his cheeks. He's so pale that every little touch burns him with lust, and his embarrassment spreads from his cheeks to his chest and down his shoulder blades.

You press your lips against his and he whimpers, a hand shooting up to grip your hair. He kisses back, moaning as you swipe your tongue over his lower lip, and the slick sounds of your lips smacking makes his walls flutter and clench around you.

He's clumsy, but eager. He whines like a puppy, bouncing on your cock, and leans into your touch when your hand smooths over his stomach, shiny and slick with his pre. He pants into your mouth. You swallow his moans.

Firm and swift, Suguru snatches Satoru's chin and pulls his face towards his. He makes an ugly sound as Suguru wraps his hand back around their cocks, forming a loose hole for them to fuck into – Suguru's release is thick and creamy, and it feels filthy when he smears it over both their cocks.

He came! He came, he realises joyfully, relief and arousal flooding his veins in equal parts – he came because of him! Satoru melts into the kiss, lips slick and parted as they pant and moan, sharing hot breaths between them. The air is muggy. Suguru licks into his mouth, hardly human, and tears stream down Satoru's cheeks, his brain so mushy he can't tell your limbs from Suguru's, or his own from the bedsheets.

Barely letting him breathe, you grab Satoru's face and stick your tongue down his throat. He hiccups, eyes rolling back as you grind into his ass and come with a grunt in hot, thick spurts. His toes curl and his lips pout pathetically, chasing yours when you pull back to check on Suguru. He whines and tugs your hair to make you turn those pretty eyes back to him again, your warmth spilling into him and making him yours. You allow it, your tongue running over the slick nubs of his teeth.

Suguru scrapes his canines over Satoru's pale throat, only marred by his blush. That won't do. He drags his pierced tongue down his jugular and across his Adam's apple, made more pronounced by the angle of his neck – Satoru sobs into your mouth, chest heaving as he grips Suguru's hair and feels the sting of hickeys bitten into his fair skin.

Through his tears and dizzy pleasure, he's given back to Suguru, who coos at him and kisses him sweetly – no tongue this time, just their swollen lips moulded together as if they belong right there and nowhere else. He twitches as your teeth sink into his shoulder, decorating his other side with love bites. He's never gonna be able to hide them all.

Passed around like a cigarette, like a whore, Satoru barely realises it when Suguru slips off the cockring – with some difficulty, as his cock, stomach, and thighs are so wet with pre that it makes everything feel like a damn waterslide. The moment it scrapes over his swollen tip, he's crying out and tensing, sobbing as heavy spurts of sticky come spray Suguru's stomach and thighs.

He tries to say their names – because they're so kind, so good to him, he has to say thank you and be grateful because they could've left him there all by himself – but the first syllables of their names devolve into relieved, babbling moans. Suguru strokes his hair, holding him close, as you help him ride out his bliss, your pace gradually slowing as he twitches and jolts in your hands.

As his high peters out, he slumps into Suguru's arms, whining shakily as you pull out with a slick pop. He clenches around nothing, his hole gaping and abused, and clutches Suguru like a lifeline.

You hum, pressing a thumb against Satoru's dark puffy hole and pulling gently. Feebly, it clamps around nothing, and a dribble of thick white come leaks out, joining the mess between his legs.

Man, those legs. He could be a model with a body like that. Despite being taller, Satoru's slimmer than Suguru, and he feels tiny and fragile in your palms, shuddering and trembling. You squeeze his slim thighs, watching his fair skin dimple under your touch like marble, and his muscles twitch, unsure whether to pull away or press into you. He decides on the latter, moaning softly when you grab his ass appreciatively.

"Such a darling," Suguru hums, voice light and adoring as he brushes the tears from Satoru's warm red cheeks with his thumb. "You did well, Satoru."

Giggling dreamily, he nibbles on his lower lip, pushing his cheek against Suguru's shoulder. He reaches blindly behind him, and when he finds your hand, he pulls you in behind him, forcing your arm to wrap around his little waist. He purrs, perfectly pleased now that he's squished between two big, warm bodies. "Yeah...?"

Suguru nods, his long hair falling over Satoru's shoulder too. "Yeah."

Eyelids half-closed and nose buried in Suguru's neck, Satoru follows easily as you lead them to lay down on the bed. When your arm loosens around his waist, however, his hand shoots out with startling speed and accuracy.

"W-Where are you going?"

If you didn't know any better, you'd think he sounded afraid.

"Bathroom. Gotta get you two cleaned up before it gets gross," you reply gently. He has Suguru to ground him. That doesn't seem like enough, though, because his large blue eyes well up again and his lower lip trembles. His grip tightens around your wrist and you're surprised when it almost begins to hurt.

"Stay," he whispers, slender pale neck craned to look you in the eye. It's covered in bruises and bite marks.

"I'm not leaving," you chuckle, stroking his inner wrist with your thumb. "You're in my bedroom. Nowhere else for me to go."

He shakes his head, stubborn – they're both like that. "Don't care," he whimpers, tugging insistently. "Come back. Clean later."

"But you're the messiest one here, Satoru," you point out, amused, and you don't miss the way he shivers when you say his name. "Surely you don't want to stay that way?"

"Don't care," he repeats in a mumble. He hums as you obey his iron grip and return to the bed, lying down in front of him. He snuggles into your chest, sighing soft and content as Suguru shuffles closer behind him. He feels your arm join Suguru's, resting over his waist. The heavy weight of them combined and the radiating warmth from your chests fade his thoughts into pleasant nothingness.

"Suguru?" you murmur.

"Hm?" His chest rumbles delightfully against Satoru's back.

"I've got him. You can get washed up if you like."

"It's alright. He'll pull me back down, just like you. It doesn't feel bad – I sorta like it. I've been covered in worse, anyway."

You curse under your breath, arm shifting around Satoru. "Do I wanna know?"

"No."

You chuckle lightly, and your next words are soft and teasing. Suguru responds in kind. Satoru's eyes flutter closed, the rest of your quiet conversation becoming hazy background noise as it lulls him to sleep.

Surrounded by warmth – a very human warmth that Satoru's been chasing for years – he can't help curling up like a cat, breathing soft and even as your rumbling voices pass over his head. Yours is deeper than Suguru's smooth, easy cadence, something of your musical talents emerging in the depths of your voice. It makes it easy for his subconscious to follow – at least for a while, before they blend into one lilting track.

Dreams come easy to him. How could they not when this pretty fantasy of his has just come true, tucked in the arms of Suguru and his dreamboat of a boyfriend?

Well, it's like Suguru said: can't get rid of him. He's yours, now – no takesies backsies.

4K notes · View notes

041ahy · 6 days ago

Text

── ☆ 𝑨𝑮𝑶𝑹𝑨 𝑯𝑰𝑳𝑳𝑺𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮

愛 ꒰ 𝒔𝒊𝒎 𝒋𝒂𝒆𝒚𝒖𝒏 ꒱

⌗ 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔 — Jake chose Fortnite over his girlfriend for 4 hours. Now he’s hard, ignored, and emotionally destroyed. Lesson learned: Never skip skincare night for a Victory Royale.

⌗𝒘𝒄: 3k┆ ⌗𝒕𝒘: smut (MDNI), oral (male rec), suggestive themes, strong language, bratty reader, blue balls(kinda?), references to period sex, jake has zero shame/horny (are we surprised). Lmk if missing any!

⌗ 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ⟢ idol bf jake x female reader

⌗ 愛 like 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒆 i‘ma need your skin, don’t give a fuck where the penis been ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Jake was in her goddamn chair again.

Her chair. The one she picked out in pastel pink and white, the one she assembled herself while watching “Love Island” reruns and drinking strawberry milk. But no, of course, he had claimed it like it was his birthright—just because she traded him the gaming space for unlimited takeout. A fair deal at the time, but she hadn’t known it meant selling her soul.

And what was he doing now?

Fucking Fortnite.

“BROOOOOOOOOO—GET FUCKED!! GET ABSOLUTELY SHITTED ON,” Jake roared into his mic like a frat boy in a Monster energy ad. His stupid-ass GFuel cup rattled beside him while his legs swung like a happy child on a swing.

On her bed, in front of her vanity, YN was trying to live her best life.

Pink bunny headband on? Yes

Face mask freshly spread? Yes

Taylor Swift playing softly in the background? Yes

Peace? NO

Because Ni-ki, over the headphones, screamed at the top of his lungs:

“JAAAAAAKE YOU NOOOOOOB, YOU GOT SNIPED BY A BOT?!”

She blinked at her reflection. Breathed in. Breathed out. Ignored it.

She continued applying her lip mask like a classy bitch, mouthing along to “Cruel Summer.” She had plans tonight. Plans to feel soft and pretty and hydrated, not listen to her boyfriend verbally assault teenagers on the internet.

But then.

Then.

“HEESEUNG YOU CAN’T AIM FOR SHIT, WHY ARE YOU EVEN IN THIS SQUAD?!”

Jake’s voice literally rattled her moisturizer bottles.

That was the final fucking straw.

She ripped off her bunny headband like a WWE wrestler ready to throw down and screamed:

“SIM JAEYUN, SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

There was silence for a glorious two seconds.

“…Sorry baby,” he said, innocent. “I’ll lower it—”

He didn’t. He got louder.

Then louder, even louder: “NIKI COVER ME I GOTTA HEAL—AHH SHIT HE’S ON ME!!”

Oh.

Oh okay.

This motherfucker.

YN stood, her feet silent on the floor as she approached, the smirk already curling her lips. If he wanted to play games tonight, then so would she. Just not the kind with pixels and victory royales.

Because she was about to get him good. Distract him so hard he’d never look at a loot box again.

Four hours of gaming and zero hours of her?

Yeah.

Not on her watch.

ᯓ★

She had a plan.

A devious, sinful, girlfriend-of-the-year level plan.

Jake wanted to act like she didn’t exist? Bet.

In the bathroom, she slipped out of her bunny pajamas and into a tight black shorts clinging like a second skin, and that tank top—the one hugging her chest in all the right ways, the one with the slightly loose strap that always made Jake’s brain melt into soup. A peek of her lace bra for extra devastation.

He was gonna suffer.

She peeked out of the bathroom door like a little villain.

And what the fuck.

This man—her boyfriend, her love, the person who once cried over a scratch on her finger—had not moved. Not one fucking inch. He was still hunched over like a shrimp in her damn pink chair, headset on, mouth moving at the speed of light.

“YOU STUPID—NIKI, YOU USED THE RIFT TOO EARLY! I SWEAR TO GOD—”

“HEESEUNG, BACK ME UP I’M GETTING THIRD-PARTIED!!”

Voice louder than ever. Hands flailing. Jake was in full gamer mode.

She stared at him like he just slapped her with a fish.

Then—oh of course—the screen lit up with a glowing banner:

#1 VICTORY ROYALE

The characters on screen, all dressed in Fortnite-fied outfits, were now dancing to their own damn choreo. Their Fortnite emote. The bass of XO thundered through his headphones as they celebrated.

“LET’S GOOOOOOO,” Jake screamed like he just won the lottery. “WE’RE BUILT DIFFERENT!”

Niki was screeching. Heeseung was singing. Jake was basically twerking in her chair out of joy.

YN blinked.

YN sighed.

YN turned her ass right around and went back into the bathroom.

Fine.

She’d really doll herself up now.

If he wasn’t gonna pay attention to her willingly, then she’d make sure he had no fucking choice but to notice—and then suffer when she left him high, dry, and with a very inconvenient… problem to solve.

Because tonight?

The only thing Jake was gonna win was a raging case of blue balls.

ᯓ★

Smacking on her gloss with finality, YN stared hard at her reflection. Just gloss and a little blush. No heavy glam. No effort, really. And yet—she looked hot. Hair tied back, lips glistening, shorts practically painted on, and that smug little sparkle in her eyes.

Jake was about to get humbled.

Hard.

She stepped out, confident, ready to watch his jaw hit the fucking desk.

Instead?

There he was.

Still in the goddamn chair.

Her chair.

Lobby screen on.

Ready for another fucking round.

Mouse clicking like he was solving world hunger.

She blinked.

No.

Nope.

Not today.

She strutted toward him like a lioness to her prey, arms crossed, hips swaying with silent murder vibes.

“Jake,” she called, her voice sweet with venom.

He grunted. Not even a glance. Not even a full syllable.

Just a half-muttered, “Mm, sorry babe… one sec…”

Oh.

One sec?

Not a look. Not a turn. Just vibes of disrespect.

As she stood there, dead silent, she watched his screen—and saw the moment.

Jake’s health bar was flashing red. Panic in the game. Some 12-year-old Fortnite demon was taking him out with a gold pump shotgun.

And so—she did it.

She reached forward… and pressed Exit Match.

Just one little click.

And then—

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—BABE, WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Jake let out a scream so visceral, it could’ve summoned demons. He spun toward her, arms flailing like he just lost custody of his firstborn child.

“You ruined it! I was about to clutch! Heeseung gave me his flopper and everything—OH MY GOD I WAS TOP THREE, BABE, I WAS TOP THREE!!”

She didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

Just stared at him dead in the eye.

Unbothered. Lip gloss gleaming. Arms folded.

Jake, mid-rant, stopped.

And then he saw her.

Really saw her.

What the fuck?

His anger? Gone.

His words? Gone.

His breath? Gone.

His dic—yeah, never mind.

All that came out of his mouth was:

“…oh fuck.”

Jake was done.

Like—cooked, fried, and served.

Because what the actual fuck.

Why hadn’t he noticed earlier?

This wasn’t her usual pastel PJs with the little clouds on them. This wasn’t her bunny slippers and fuzzy robe.

No.

She was in that tank top.

Those shorts.

The ones he had specifically told her should be “illegal in this household.” The ones that had him malfunctioning every time she bent over to grab her charger.

And now?

She was standing in front of him, all glossed lips and evil smirks, like the goddamn final boss to his horny little heart.

Jake’s tongue darted out to lick his lips, his teeth pulling at the bottom one as his eyes slowly dragged over her body like a man in a trance.

“Babe… you look—fucking hell, you look so hot right now,” he muttered, like he couldn’t believe it himself.

YN scoffed hard, rolling her eyes like it physically hurt her.

“Oh now I’m hot? What happened during the last four hours, huh? Did your mic deafen your common sense?”

Jake had the audacity to look sheepish, his hand rubbing the back of his neck like some rom-com himbo.

“…I was just, y’know… focused.”

“Focused?” she repeated. “Right. On Fortnite. Not your girlfriend.”

She turned to walk away, the shake of her hips pure evil—but he was fast.

Jake caught her wrist, tugging her gently back.

“Babe—c’mon. I didn’t mean to ignore you. I just… got carried away. I missed you.”

She narrowed her eyes, pretending to be annoyed, but the smirk on her face was already creeping back in. She resisted… or at least made it look like she was.

But they both knew.

Jake was weak for her.

And she? She thrived off it.

He pulled her onto his lap, one arm slipping around her waist while the other slid along her back, warm and possessive. She barely settled before she felt it—his hard-on pressing into her through his sweats.

“Oh my God,” she scoffed again, louder this time, eyes wide. “You’re actually hard? From that? Are you that easy?”

Jake groaned softly, burying his face into her neck. “Can you blame me? Look at you…”

She smirked as he kissed her skin, lips trailing up her jaw, hands gripping her hips like he was anchoring himself to reality. Their lips met—It started soft but only for a second.

Because then Jake kissed her like he was starving.

Teeth. Tongue. A low, muffled groan from his throat as she bit down on his bottom lip, tugging it just enough to make him growl under his breath. His hands roamed—sliding up her tank, gripping at the dip of her waist, tracing the curve of her spine like he wanted to memorize her skin.

She shifted in his lap, slowly grinding down, and God—Jake swore under his breath.

“Shit—baby,” he gasped, holding onto her tighter.

His lips left hers only to trail down her jaw, kissing down to her neck like he had no control. Like her skin was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

One hand was already sneaking under her shirt, inching higher, fingertips brushing the edge of her bra—

Until she stopped him.

Deadpan.

Eyes locked on his.

“I’m on my period.”

Silence.

Jake blinked once.

Twice.

His jaw dropped open like someone had disconnected his Wi-Fi.

“You’re WHAT?!” he choked, voice breaking like a 13-year-old boy. “You—BABE. You did all that—grinding—and—and—making out—and you’re telling me NOW?!”

She shrugged innocently. “Didn’t think it was relevant… until you started acting like a horny puppy.”

Jake collapsed dramatically into her shoulder with a loud groan. “I’ve never been played like this in my life.”

“Aww,” she cooed mockingly, patting his head. “Poor baby.”

He looked up at her, eyes wide with desperation and zero shame.

“…But you can still help me, right? I mean—it’s not illegal. There’s other ways—”

SLAP.

Right across his arm.

“I am not jerking you off because you ignored me for Fortnite.”

Jake whimpered. “But you’re so hot when you’re mean.”

“Jake, shut up before I make it worse.”

He blinked. “Worse how—?”

She leaned close, lips brushing his ear, voice a soft dangerous whisper.

“Next time, I’ll put on the red lingerie you love… and then go to sleep. Alone.”

Jake’s soul left his body.

And YN?

Well, she’d never felt more powerful in her life.

YN walked off, hips swaying like a taunt, lip gloss still gleaming, shorts still hugging her just right—and Jake?

Jake was following.

Actually, more like stumbling after her. Sweats hanging dangerously low, hair a mess, breath ragged.

And yeah, he was still hard. Painfully. Desperately.

Tragically.

“Baby, please—fuck, you can’t just do that to me,” he groaned, voice wrecked, practically dragging his feet behind her. “You got me standing here with a full-on situation. This is evil. This is, like—relationship abuse.”

She snorted as she reached the fridge, casually pulling out a bottle of water like her boyfriend wasn’t behind her dying a slow, horny death.

He leaned against the counter, palming himself shamelessly like a man with zero pride left.

“I’ll do anything,” Jake said, eyes wild. “I’m literally begging here. Mouth, hand, I don’t care. You could breathe in my direction and I’d probably—fuck—please.”

YN turned slowly, sipping her water, completely unbothered. “You should’ve thought of that four hours ago, when I was putting on my face mask and you were yelling at Ni-ki for stealing your kill.”

Jake groaned like she stabbed him. “Ni-ki did steal my kill.”

“And now you want me to breathe on it now?” she asked, voice low, sultry. “Damn, Fortnite really got you down bad.”

“Fortnite didn’t do this,” Jake snapped, eyes dropping to her body for the hundredth time. “You did. Walking around like a fucking fantasy with those shorts and that top—baby, I swear to god, I’m one second away from dropping to my knees and praying for release.”

“Not my problem, lover boy.”

And then—then she dropped to her knees.

Right there in front of him, like a literal fantasy scene. Jake’s brain short-circuited on the spot.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, watching her fingers toy with the drawstring of his sweats. His breath caught as her fingertips brushed low, eyes locked on his while she tilted her head—smirking.

“Baby…” he whispered, hands already tangling in her hair.

She tugged the waistband slightly, just enough to expose the waistband of his boxers, just enough to see his hips twitch beneath her touch. Her lips curled into a smirk as she looked up at him.

He looked destroyed. Jaw clenched. Knuckles white on the counter. Eyes glazed over like he was trying so hard not to lose it.

“Babe,” he croaked. “Please.”

And then—

She stood up.

Looked him dead in the eyes.

And said, “Nah.”

Jake stared at her like he just got divorced mid-proposal.

“WHAT?!”

She winked, skipping past him like a Disney villain in booty shorts. “You got hands, baby. Use ’em.”

“Wait, wait—baby, please, I’m actually in pain. Like real, physical pain. My dick thinks we’re in a hostage situation.”

She giggled. Actually giggled.

And that sound alone made him throb harder.

Jake dropped his head against the fridge.

“I swear to God, I’ve never been played like this in my life.”

And that night, Jake learned two things:

1. Ignoring your girlfriend for four hours is never a good idea.

2. And cold showers? Do nothing.

ᯓ★

# 𝒃𝒐𝒏𝒖𝒔 𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒆 — MDNI (18+)

Jake was barely holding himself together, every breath coming out shaky and thick with need. His hands trembled at her waist, eyes dark and desperate. “Baby, please… I’m this close to losing my goddamn mind.”

YN’s fingers slid under the waistband of his sweats, tracing just enough to make him shiver. “You want me to fix you, don’t you?”

He groaned, biting his lip hard, eyes fluttering shut as her mouth brushed against his hip, teasing at the edge of his waistband.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “Please. I need you… I need you to fucking take care of this.”

Her lips curled into a wicked smile before she dipped lower, tongue flicking teasingly over his skin as she slowly, deliberately peeled back the fabric.

His body tensed, every nerve ending alive as he trembled beneath her. His low, needy moans filled the room, his grip tightening, voice breaking with raw want.

“Fuck, babe… harder, please. Don’t fucking stop,” he begged, voice hoarse but urgent, eyes dark and desperate.

YN smiled against his cock, taking him even deeper to drive him wild, letting him unravel under her touch, drawing out every shudder and gasp.

Jake’s head fell back, a low, guttural groan ripping from his throat. “Fuck, babe… yeah—just like that.”

Her mouth moved with expert patience, warm and slick, every touch and flick designed to unravel him completely.

His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as his moans grew louder, desperate and raw. “God, you’re killing me. Don’t stop—please, don’t stop.”

Her hands pressed firmly against his hips, steadying him as he trembled, breath catching in ragged gasps.

“Shit, yeah—right there,” he panted, voice breaking with need. “I’m gonna—fuck!”

With a strangled cry, Jake lost himself, his whole body shuddering as she worked him through every pulse and wave of release.

Jake was still breathless, sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead as he leaned down, brushing YN’s cheek with a thumb—gentle, affectionate, eyes full of that stupidly soft post-release gaze.

“You did so good, baby…” he murmured, voice low and wrecked. “Like… Olympic gold medal level good.”

YN rolled her eyes, still catching her own breath, lips glossy and smug. “Yeah, well. Maybe next time don’t ignore me for four goddamn hours.”

He brushed his fingers along YN’s jaw with the kind of softness that almost made her forget he’d just spent four hours screaming about Fortnite.

“You’re literally… the love of my life,” he whispered, voice hoarse and still riding the high. “Like, if I died right now, I’d go peacefully. Possibly with a boner, but peacefully.”

YN raised an unimpressed brow. “Don’t start.”

“I’m serious,” he grinned, nuzzling into her neck. “I think my soul left my body. You gave me closure. You should charge for this.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, Romeo. Go take a cold shower.”

But Jake just hummed, dragging his fingers down her arm slowly. “Mmm… or… hear me out…”

“Nope.”

“What if,” he said, lips brushing her ear, “we stopped letting a tiny biological inconvenience get in the way of love? I’m talking… spiritual bonding. Ritualistic passion. Like ancient tribes did before tampons.”

YN pulled back slowly, blinking. “I swear to God, if this is about period sex—”

“I’m just saying,” Jake said, voice dipping low, lips dangerously close to her ear, “if it ever… drips or stains or, y’know, gets a little messy…”

She pulled back slowly. “Jake.”

“I don’t care.”

“Jake.”

He smirked. “I’ll clean the sheets. I’ll wash ‘em twice. I’ll throw out the mattress, baby—I’ll buy us a whole new bed. Hell, I’ll get it custom made. Blood and cumproof.”

YN stared, deadpan.

“A bed,” she repeated, “that’s blood and cumproof.”

“For us,” he said proudly, like he was pitching a Shark Tank idea. “Sturdy. Memory foam. Possibly water-resistant. And red sheets, so you won’t even notice the—”

She threw her hair tie at him so hard it snapped off his forehead.

“You’re unwell.”

Jake winced but laughed anyway. “Tell me that’s not the most romantic shit you’ve ever heard.”

“Oh, it’s something,” she muttered, walking away. “Something I’m reporting to the authorities.”

He followed her down the hallway like a puppy. “So that’s a soft yes? Medium yes?”

YN didn’t look back. “That’s a go sleep in your Fortnite chair.”

Jake groaned. “I’m not afraid of a little bodily fluid! That’s love!”

⌗ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 — first time writing smut….. I tried, I really did sorry if it wasn’t that good cus I deadass dk how to write smut. Do you guys prefer the longer fics or just short ones like this? Lmk >_<. Thank you for reading <3

Love, author nai

2K notes · View notes

mooningningg · 1 month ago

Text

notes, this was so fun to make especially adding more characters ty anon!

★ Roommate!Sukuna hosts a party in the house.

“This is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had,” you said flatly, eyeing the crowd gathering in your once-peaceful living room.

Sukuna cracked open a beer and leaned against the kitchen counter like a menace with arms. “Shut up. My house. My rules.”

“Our house,” you corrected.

“My name’s on the lease.”

You opened your mouth — and then Gojo physically kicked open the front door.

“THE PARTY GOD HAS ARRIVED!”

You groaned. “I’m locking myself in my room.”

“No, you’re not.” Sukuna grabbed the back of your hoodie before you could escape. “You’re gonna stand here and make sure no one breaks shit. Especially not that one—”

“Choso?” you guessed.

“No. That thing behind him.”

You looked over and saw Yuuji sprinting through the hallway with a Nerf gun, followed by Megumi, who had the calm murderous energy of a cat ready to swipe at a toddler.

Toji appeared behind them holding a case of beer. “Your kids are feral.”

Sukuna threw up a middle finger. “They’re not my fucking kids.”

“They’re kinda your responsibility,” Geto said smoothly from the couch. “Since you’re the one who invited all of us and insisted on not hiring a DJ.”

“I am the DJ,” Sukuna said, walking to the speaker and violently pressing buttons until something bass-heavy and borderline unlistenable filled the room.

“Christ,” Nanami muttered from a corner. “This is not music. This is a hate crime.”

You leaned on the fridge and whispered, “I told him to make a playlist.”

“He made one,” Nanami said. “It’s all angry gym edits and songs titled ‘murder breakfast.’”

Meanwhile, Choso had discovered your cabinet of snacks and was handing out bags of chips like a stoned camp counselor. “You want spicy or sweet?” he asked you sweetly. “I sorted them by vibe.”

Sukuna walked by, narrowed his eyes, and muttered, “Stop touching my shit.”

“It’s her shit,” Choso replied without fear.

“Yeah, Sukuna,” you echoed smugly. “My kitchen.”

He turned to you with a scowl. “Don’t push me, brat.”

Just then, Nobara stomped into the kitchen holding an empty Solo cup.

“Why is there no alcohol left?” she demanded.

“Because Gojo made a jungle juice bucket in the fucking bathtub,” Toji said, cracking open a beer.

“...He what?”

“It’s got blue Gatorade, Everclear, Sprite, and six Warheads.”

Sukuna pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to kill him.”

Gojo popped his head in like a cartoon ghost. “No murder before midnight! That’s the rule!”

“You’re the reason I have rules, you white-haired freak.”

Geto sauntered by with your Bluetooth speaker in hand. “Can I use this for my playlist? I promise it’s all R&B.”

“You touch it and I’ll cut your fingers off,” Sukuna replied calmly, sipping his beer.

“Jesus,” you said. “Why did you even invite them?”

“Because I was drunk,” Sukuna growled, glancing around the chaotic room. “And it was funny at the time.”

Someone suddenly crashed into a chair.

“I’M OKAY,” Yuuji shouted from the floor.

“I’M GONNA KILL HIM,” Sukuna shouted louder.

“You can’t kill him,” Megumi muttered from beside you, arms crossed. “He’s literally built like a golden retriever. You’d feel bad.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Bet.”

You grinned at the sight: your angry, cursed-energy-free roommate about three seconds away from strangling half the room while you just… stood there sipping punch out of a vase.

Then, as if summoned by chaos, Gojo slung an arm around your shoulders.

“So. On a scale of 1 to ‘my next therapy session,’ how’s living with Sukuna?”

You glanced at the walking red flag beside you — now trying to chase Yuuji with a spatula for sitting on his dumbbells.

“Somewhere between insanity and a sitcom,” you replied.

Sukuna stopped mid-step. “Why the fuck are you smiling?”

“Because this is the best decision you never made.”

His eye twitched. “I’m never doing this again.”

“Sure,” Geto called from the couch. “You say that now — until she asks you to host her birthday and you agree like a whipped little bitch.”

Sukuna whirled around. “Say that again, Suguru. I dare you.”

Geto smirked. “You heard me. Whipped. Soft. Domesticated.”

Sukuna lunged. Gojo dove into the hallway with a bottle of tequila. Megumi muttered something about going feral. Nobara lit a candle just because.

You stood in the middle of it all, grinning to yourself.

Yep.

Best party ever.

Taglist, @humeysaga @williamafton26 @aranisbaee @probablynotleahhhh @probablynotleahhhh. @beaniesayshi @levifiance @rinofcike @fushiguroooozzz @gojoscumslut @bellsoftheball @kunascutie.

#jjk #jjk x you #roommate jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x reader #sukuna #roommate sukuna #sukuna fluff #sukuna scenario #sukuna imagines #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna drabbles #sukuna ff

2K notes · View notes

hearts4hughes · 4 months ago

Text

RAFECHELLA | RAFE X FEM!READER

note: i’m super jealous of anyone who got to go to coachella. my outfits would go so hard 😓

more like this…

rafe hated coachella. he hated the music festivals, the skimpy outfits, the pure spectacle of a clear money grab.

but you? oh, you loved it.

you asked him if he wanted to go with you. it’d be two weeks in palm desert, spending time together, and partying on the weekends. of course, he politely declined, pressing a button on his phone and wiring you all the money you could need.

but now he knew he fucked up.

he clenched his phone so tightly that it creaked in his hand. the screen illuminated your instagram post: a photo of you wearing next to nothing with some douchebag male influencer next to you. his hand grazed the bare skin of your hip, not obnoxiously, but enough to have rafe dialing your number within two seconds.

it rang two times too many before you answered.

“hi, baby! i miss you so much!” you squealed, barely taking a breath before rambling on. “oh my gosh, it’s so hot out here. i mean i was in a bikini and i was practically having a heat stroke.”

“baby-”

“wait one sec, i have to tell you about charli xcx’s set,” you screeched into the phone. “it’s tonight and i’m praying that she brings out billie eilish or lorde-”

“that’s nice, hun, but-”

“and then julia forgot her shoes at her house and we had to go out and buy a new pair, and-”

“y/n.” rafe snapped, his voice stern and demanding. you stopped blabbering with a furrow of your brows. “who the fuck was next to you in your instagram photo?”

“that was just julia, sarah, and lexi… why?”

he scoffed, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. he was losing his patience. “i’m talking about that fucking douche-lookin’ male model that had his hands all over you.”

“oh, you mean mark? yeah, he’s super nice. he’s some influencer that is being sponsored to be here. i only posted the picture because i looked hot.” you said so casually that it made his jaw clench.

“why do you know his name? why does he know your name? why are you even speaking to men? scratch that, why are you even in a ten-yard vicinity as other men?” is what he wanted to say.

instead, he hummed. “yeah, mark, that’s who i meant.”

he thought of twenty ways he could kill mark—half painful, the other half excruciatingly painful.

you thought nothing of it though, continuing to yap about everything under the california sun. rafe sat on the other end of the phone, head in his hands, muscles taut. he crossed the room to his computer with a dangerous stride.

it looked like he was going to coachella after all.

the desert sun was merciless, but you barely noticed it. your body moved to the bass pounding through the speakers, hands in the air, hair a mess of waves and glitter, skin warm and glowing. you were in your own little world; sweaty, tipsy, high on adrenaline, and overpriced festival cocktails.

coachella was somehow even more unhinged than the day before. influencers everywhere. lights flashing. girls in metallic bikinis and guys in fishnets for no reason. and you? you were dancing in the middle of it, laughing with your friends, practically vibrating with the energy of it all.

and then it hit you.

that prickly feeling at the back of your neck.

like someone was watching you. no… staring.

you turned instinctively, and there he was.

rafe.

dressed in all black, looking like a threat, jaw flexing, sunglasses low on his nose. his eyes locked on yours like a heat-seeking missile. he didn’t move right away. just stood there, watching. as if he couldn’t believe his eyes; as if he wanted to scream.

you blinked and he started walking.

not fast but not slow, just determined. people moved out of his way like they could feel the tension rolling off him in waves.

and then he was in front of you. no words. no warning.

his hand slid around your waist, fingers splaying over the bare skin above your skirt. he pulled you back into his chest like it was nothing.

you gasped, breath catching. your head tilted back automatically, lips parting in surprise.

he leaned in close, mouth brushing your ear. his voice was low. dangerous. like a threat and a promise all wrapped into one.

“you’re lucky i like that little outfit,” he whispered, every word laced with heat. “but if another guy even thinks about touching you, i swear to god i’ll put him in the fucking hospital.”

your thighs clenched, your pulse spiked, and all you could do was smile.

#nora’s writings 💐#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #coachella #coachella 2025 #rafechella2025

2K notes · View notes

rafeslvbug · 1 month ago

Text

midnight tiktok with nba!rafe

: inspired by @rafeslittlepup :

“you fuckin’ fans got my girl up at 2am, doin’ this shit.”

he rubs his forehead groggily, bed blanket hanging low on his hips, exposed bare chest. dim lamp glow, camera panning to the empty spot on the king sized bed, where a muscled arm wraps around an empty pillow.

“look at her!”

you in rafe’s basketball jersey, covering your thighs, sitting cross legged on a chair in front of a laptop, pretty pink bass in your hands. you giggle and wave at the camera. rafe tuts.

“you’re jus’ smilin’, you woke me up with that damn thing!”

he stuffs his face into the pillow– your pillow. more soft laughter from you in the background, a bernese mountain puppy nudging the camera now faced to the ceiling.

“yeah, you tell ‘em, got your momma up at night. no sleep, ‘s all your fault.”

rafe lightly scolds the camera, scooping the wandering puppy under his muscled arm.

“rafe! don’t be mean to my fans!”

you laugh, again. hugging your knees, bass trapped between your chest and arms.

“then come over here.”

he grumbles, camera showing his unamused face– almost pouty. then you, swinging your legs off the stool, shuffling over to him, holding the guitar by the neck.

“no! leave that thing behind.”

you softly frowning, but setting it against the table before continuing to come closer. climbing into bed, camera moving out to show you settling your head on his chest. his arm around the pillow now sliding around your neck, bringing you into him, dog cuddled in between.

“nevermind, got my girl back now.”

camera zooming in on your softly smiling face, eyes glancing up at rafe then back to the camera before you give it a shy wave.

“rafe loves you guys.”

soft whispering, overlapped with rafe saying gruffly.

“no, i don’t.”

“yes he does, and goodnight sweeties!”

you blowing an air kiss to the camera, pretty smile on your face. rafe nudging your face with his to stop the pouting, you laughing, him shooting the camera a bad look.

“where’s my goodnight?”

“goodnight rafe.”

you giggling, turning your head to face him again.

“they get sweeties, i get rafe?”

“goodnight cutiepie!”

blush creeping onto his cheeks, a chuckle escaping his lips.

“you call me that, i ain’t postin’ this fuckin’ video.”

…

basketballexpert3193: would never stand for being called cutiepie

#1 y/n fan: let our girl work!!! we want that new album!!

fantasstic: wanted to hate this couple so bad

– ryantheman: and i do, ruining the sport

– – lacy-11: she’s a singer?? how can she ruin the sport??

2K notes · View notes

papayadays · 2 months ago

Text

my man - ln4

⋆˚✿˖° lando just won monaco, but it was supposed to your night with him ⋆˚✿˖° inspired by miss possessive for my so close to what event ⋆˚✿˖° wc: 2.1k+ | a/n: this was finished at 12 am for lando monaco win so sorry it took me forever (so happy for lando)

SASS CAFE WAS BUZZING WELL INTO MIDNIGHT. lando had just won monaco, and of course, it called for a big celebration with his friends. honestly, was it really a lando norris win without a rager? there were celebrities galore, such were lando’s connections, and you even saw kylian mbappe hanging around. rounds of shots had been passed around, with most partygoers buzzed within the first hour or two.

it was how you expected—bass thrumming, lights down low, people crowded together as they attempted to dance to the beat. and there in the middle of it was your boyfriend, the race winner. from lights out to lap 78, it had been a whirlwind, but it ended with you tearing up as you watched lando beam, triumphant, so it was all worth it. had you almost pulled out your hair due to nerves? no comment. had your heart pounded with glee and pride? most definitely.

but it all worked out in the end. lando deserved the stars, in your unbiased opinion, and you knew how much this meant to him. c’mon, it was the monaco grand prix. historic. iconic. magic. and lando, your lando, had won it. in a beautiful, perfect victory no less. how were you supposed to be normal about that?

the whole time you were fidgeting with whatever was on hand, and a few curse words were muttered, but god, was it worth the anxiety. cisca and adam were also there, a highlight of your day as cisca gave you one of her unique bangles for good luck, and adam narrated everything in extreme detail. they were genuinely some of the sweetest people you’d ever met; it was clear where lando got it from.

you headed back towards the center of action, where lando and his mates were cheering and making a poor attempt to dance to the music. drinks in hand, you stopped in your tracks as you saw what was in front of you.

baby blue eyes wandered up and down your boyfriend’s figure, and a red lip caught by teeth made your blood boil. her outfit certainly didn’t help either; a skintight dress that landed high on her thigh with a slit. the girl leaned over, and you almost rolled your eyes. it was clear she was trying to get lando’s attention, and you didn’t like it. to be honest, it was like watching the fia make decisions: annoying, irrational, and pointless. now, you didn’t—couldn’t—move as you watched her blonde hair sweep over her shoulders, model physique moving closer to lando in that short orange dress of hers that you knew was for attention.

she was beautiful, anyone could see that she had the kind of natural beauty many women would envy. but you kept watching, frozen, as she squeezed his shoulder and giggled way too hard at whatever joke lando was making, shoulders shaking. and your boyfriend was too kind and outgoing to notice, bless his soul. he was oblivious, much to your surprise.

but the initial shock washed off, and a spark ignited inside you. you had already let the rest of the world have their moment with lando after his win. you let zak brown terrorize him. you stood off to the side and let the team have their share of champagne showers and helmet pats. you saw his parents squeeze him tightly, pride shining in their eyes. you went with him to interact with his fans and noticed him taking some time with the random famous partygoers. hell, you even watched on in disbelief as jenson button brazenly flirted with him, charm in full force as he teased lando about “monaco, baby”. everyone else had gotten their time with lando, and it was finally your turn now. or, it should have been.

it was akin to watching a wildlife documentary or something of the sort as the girl’s eyes flitted over your boyfriend yet again, a kind of ravenous desire in her eyes, like watching predator and prey. you knew what she saw—a famous and handsome f1 driver who had just taken a big victory here in monaco. yeah, you knew what she, and countless others, wanted: to run around and go home with a winner, someone with the status and fame. she wanted a star. she wanted your boyfriend.

something twisted under your ribcage, not a sharp pang but a slow, torturous grind. this wasn’t the first time this had happened, nor would it be the last. the tabloids had made it clear that you were different from the women lando had dated before, that you were cut from a different cloth. the “not a model and more of a normal person” cloth. and honestly? you didn’t expect lando to stay forever; you knew there would be an expiration date. his lifestyle was a magnet for girls like the one with your boyfriend right now, and let’s be real, athletes clearly dated models. part of you thought he saw you as a new challenge, a new kind of conquest that was nice before he went back to his old ways. and you supposed that you were fine with that, despite how it sounded. you liked lando, and it would be good while it lasted.

but tonight, he was yours. not hers. and she really needed to get her hands off your man before you were about to snap.

“lan, baby, here’s your drink,” you hummed, voice dripping with honey as you draped your arm around lando’s neck. you gave the girl a once-over, but if she noticed, she didn’t let on.

“thanks, love,” lando grinned, pecking your lips quickly but still giving you a taste of the champagne he had been drinking. you cast a side glance at the girl, smug as you ran your fingers through your boyfriend’s hair. lando waved his hand, the corner of his mouth quirking up at the sight of you as he introduced you to the girl. “this is my girlfriend, who i really appreciate got me drinks.” you snorted, playfully hitting his arm.

“nice to meet you,” the girl beamed, but you knew she couldn’t have been that happy to see you, as evident from the way the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. she reached over and patted your arm, nails skimming over your skin in a way that made you stiffen. quite frankly, you didn’t know why she was keeping up the pretense that she really seemed to like you. you hardly knew her, how was she acting like you two were about to become besties? “lando’s such a great guy, you must be very lucky.”

lucky. ha. if only she knew that was actually how you felt. as irritated as you were, you weren’t about to let her see that she had struck a nerve. “oh, i don’t know if it’s luck,” you chuckled, trying to ease the tightness in your jaw. you were already a few drinks in which made you much less cautious than how you usually acted, more reckless and unbothered. “you know fate has a way of bringing two people together.” you took a sip of your drink, trying your best to feign nonchalant indifference and not let her get what she wanted.

“and i’m glad it did,” lando chimed in, a soft, reverent gaze in his eyes.

he tended to get sentimental when he got drunk, and today was no exception. you chuckled, cupping his cheek for a second as if to ground him. he was making things easier for you, making it easier to prove your point. your hands left lando, fixing your outfit with indifference as you sat down on the couch next to him, one of his arms instinctively wrapping around your waist.

before you could do anything else, max and pietra walked over, with the latter smiling and rushing to hug the girl who had been hovering around lando. so apparently she was p’s friend. okay, well, so be it. your legs shifted closer to lando, and his hands went under your knees, pulling your legs over his, amusement sparkling in his eyes. with a knowing smirk, he leaned forward, voice low and teasing. “i know what you’re trying to do.” his lips almost brushed the shell of your ear.

“and?” you huffed, tilting your head as if to dare him to quit first. “you got a problem with that, lan?” to add to it, you splayed a hand across lando’s chest, playfully kissing his cheek and pushing him back as he tried to be a little shit and get up.

lando opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off as max nudged him, bringing you two back out of your bubble. “oh, we were just talking about you,” the girl added, not bothering to add further elaboration until the awkwardness started to settle like a cold front. “i was just asking p why we didn’t see you at all during the race.” wow, now you knew what it was like for lando in the media pen and the horde of press that loved to stir random things up.

composing yourself, you smiled and laughed like a champ, twisting a ring on your finger to ground yourself. “i’m not one for the spotlight,” you shrugged, leaning into lando, who was animatedly chatting with max about something he saw in the paddock. for a heartbeat, your breath caught at the way the purple light caught on the angles of his face and his wide beam as his hands were gesturing, clearly in the middle of telling a story. you couldn’t help but smile, your boyfriend was happy, and that’s what made you happy as well. he was just…a star, the dazzling sun, and you loved him.

the girl wasn’t impressed, blue eyes narrowing at you as she fixed her hair. she could act indifferent. still, you were so sure that she’d lay a hand on your boyfriend again. “lando, are you staying in monaco for a bit?” she asked, voice saccharine, almost a croon. “maybe the race winner should do a victory lap sometime.” the implication in her tone was obvious; if not, the way she was looking at lando like she was asking him to do her a favor was clear.

you almost rolled your eyes to the back of your head at the girl’s giggle. why the hell was she all over your man? kylian mbappe was literally right there. anyone else except lando, in your humble, unbiased opinion. “i’d appreciate it if you kept your hands off my man.” your eyes met the girl’s, hoping your glare didn’t waver.

lando moved his hand to your knee, giving you a small squeeze as a shit-eating grin stretched across his face, leaning back with an air of superiority. knowing him, he probably thought it was entertaining watching you fight off other girls.

the girl opened her mouth to say something before turning back to lando. “you know where to find me,” she purred in lando’s ear, metaphorically swiping her claws at you with the barbed smile she gave. with that, she walked off with an air of arrogance, presumably to find pietra.

you scoffed, wrapping your arms around lando’s neck. his grin widened, enjoying your extra attention. he closed his eyes as your fingers ran through his brown curls, gentle and bold, a juxaposition. as lando trailed soft kisses to your jaw, you shot a glance at the girl over his shoulder, blowing a mocking kiss to her. she so wished she was you. but alas, she could only wish.

“y’know, you become so vicious when you’re jealous,” lando smirked, the sound low and teasing, nuzzling into your neck. his hands roamed up and down your sides, squeezing your hips in a way that tempted you, looking like the cat who got the cream. “i love it. trying to stake your claim on me?”

it twisted something in you, some part of you that was happy at his pride over you being jealous. everything he did seemed to cater to your needs, honestly. “just didn’t like the way she was looking at you,” you mumbled, suddenly bashful as you ducked your head. “like she wanted the winner to herself when you’re mine.”

something flickered in lando’s eyes, some emotion you couldn’t place—it made you want to reach out and fall into the abyss of his eyes. he leaned forward, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him. “yeah? yours?” he grinned, voice soft as his eyes sparkled. and really, how were you supposed to not love him?

“yeah, mine.”

1K notes · View notes

grotesquevi · 3 months ago

Text

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ YOUR LOVE HAS GOT ME GOING ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ LIKE YOU COULDN'T IMAGINE.

cw # 18+ mdni, stripper!reader + older and divorced!ellie getting all hot and bothered, dirty talk, contains metaphors to addiction and vices, fingering in the bonus side yikes. i'm sorry mutuals, i'm not usually like this but made this everything sean baker’s was dreaming of when he wrote anora with his dick.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ boycott tlou || check out my fic directory

side note # i went above and beyond to search for this two motherfuckers, they were not even in tumblr so i thank this to moya since i had to go to the dark places to get 'em aka the wayback machine on internet's archive. if you recognize this? or are you my pillar nonnie? you may be confused but its because tumblr deleted my old account thinking i was a fucking bot, i used to be under the name vicorices. bare. with. me — wonderful art bellow by @nramv

things would be different if you weren't blatantly pressing your ass against ellie's belt, cause those feelings she exhaustingly told herself not to have? — she suffering from all of them.

it may have to be with the outfit or the lack of it, the way your long, pointed nails scratch over her naked arms. but it's the perfect combination to make all this façade of having her life already sorted out fall apart to the ground when she recently signed up her divorce papers and she's there, getting a lap dance from this girl she really, really fucking likes, as if she wasn't slipping dollar bills beneath the thin strip of your underwear.

so she's been in a similar situation before, promising herself she wont ever step a fucking toe back in the club — she's not that kind of person anyway, the kind that salivates over strippers. the club's packed with men, and being the only girl there it's almost shameful as she has this need to go on and ask for a lap dance from you cause yeah she's greedy, greedy, spoiled, ravenous: ellie has now turned into a junkie trying to get more of their vices.

and in the secluded room, she forgets about previous inhibitions cause you're leaning against her, dancing along the sound of the music already sitting in her lap and her mind bubbles around this stupid rule, the one that forbids her to touch you under any sense of the word if she wants to keep her hands attached to her arms, but she's temped, tempted even when the security camera is pointing right in front of you two.

"yeah? that's what you'd like huh?" the sound of your voice is almost normal, a huge contrast when ellie's feeling like drowning, when the bass on the speaker’s so low it resonates in her damn heart, pouring all over her like ocean waves in the sand "want me to be your little spoiled slut? you'd buy me expensive gifts and get me out of this hellhole?"

ellie's glasses rest on the lower part of her nose, almost slipping as she looks up to you, cheeks blushed cause she's hella ashamed of it, hellhole. when she's in the club you almost rejoice in bliss happiness cause she has money, a pretty face, nice hands and more important — she's not a pervert guy.

there's a huge difference between a perverted guy and a perverted girl in your brain — cause while 50-years-old trying to hit on you disgust you, she's in her 30's and in the best fucking moment of her life and you’re struggling to not ask her to touch you.

"i- fuck. i really don't know why i'm here" ellie admitted the first time after seeing your pole routine of a much shorter version of bauhaus's 'bela lugosi's death', conflicted as you're pushed to talk to her because of your boss: business, it's fucking business "don't know how this works."

"you should ask me for a private dance," you reply, of course you want to dance for her, feel her closer and she won’t say no, no when your index finger trail down her collarbone "maybe you can start finding out by that."

there's something insanely hot about the idea of taking a woman so put together completely apart. ellie knows that, you do. so when she comes back again two nights after, and every-single-time after that, she makes sure to ask for you, name loud and clear in her lips as she enters and you know, just know it's going to be a good night — please, fucking pay for me the rest of the night.

wrong. sets back feminism at least 30 years, but ellie's there anyway, seated like she is during various times the week, letting you take control of her cause it's just what she needs, comfortably seated on a velvet couch with you on top; it seems like the cure to all her ruins — how is she not going to be infatuated with you? how is she not going to suffer from withdrawal when she don't see you for days?

"you know i can," she replies, and your skin shivers against the serious tone in her voice, almost recovered from her sore throat as she takes a sip from the heavy glass of neat whiskey in the table next to the seat "i can afford your lifestyle if that's what you're asking. let me take care of you."

she don't know what's so funny, what entertains you so much as you giggle on top of her, but ellie's distracted as she stares at the tiny underwear you're wearing, the friction between you and her as her fingers ache to reach and touch you, make the triangle on your ass to the damn side.

the sound of your laugh catches her off-guard, and she don’t think when her hand gently pushes you down, making you rest your weight against her legs and let yourself rub your thin underwear in her jeans: sin feels good when you do it right cause shit if it's not the best thing in the world when you're taking her hands in between yours, polished and soft, they guide ellie into your sides, allowing her to trail down your body before giving a sly look to the camera, almost afraid you're going to be caught.

leaving her hands in your thighs seems an invitation cause your movements get slower. fuck the song, if someone's looking, let the lucky bastard live enough to see ellie's hand rub circles in the skin of your inner leg, close to the little outfit you're pulling and barely manages to cover your cunt.

your back presses against her chest, resting against her frame as you move your hips in slow circles, making ellie feel the scent of your perfume in her nose, the way it lingers in the air surrounding the private room.

"ask me again," you whisper, and her gaze lingers in the front part of your body as you lay on top of her: the curves on your skin, the silver and glittery fabric that cover your tits — nipples hard beneath as she has the damn need to use her right hand to do something much better than just sweetly touching your fucking leg "i'll be your good new wife, let you whine about your important job, fuck the stress out of you, all domestic and shit."

it's the way you say it, how you move on top of her, the sparkles splattered in your skin that makes you seem almost ethereal, however it makes ellie moan as she's nodding already on an invisible leash you tied around her neck from the very first time she came, intoxicating, her right hand moves from your leg to your hip, back to your navel and up to your very ribs.

"they are going to see that," you said, the camera always a fucking reminder of her ripping need to have a bit of decency, self-control as ellie's cheeks turn red — "you cannot touch me, love."

"to be fair at this point club 976's alive thanks to me" draining her money cent by fucking cent, she’s sure she keeps the place rolling during the week "so let them be pissed, m'snatching their best worker and takin' her away from this dump anyway."

it must be evil, should be if it isn't, cause just like you landed on her lap you're swiftly turning to face her as you dance, dragging your nails across her chest as from this angle, she becomes aware of your barely covered pussy that grinds against her legs; yeah, she has a much better view of your fingers slipping beneath her belt, of you basking in bliss almost unaware of how stupid ellie’s left when you're around.

"you really mean that?" you ask almost like it's a secret, and she’s smashed with this need of pulling you into a kiss, get lost in the threads of your hair “don’t fuck with me ellie.”

"i'll pay for your nails," her words are warm, her breathing now heavier as her fingers toy with the hem of your underwear: one little tug and it will surely let ellie see your soaked folds, sure you're wet when she see's the splotch in your underwear, the darker hue right between your legs "your clothes, fuck. i'll take you to fancy restaurants anything you want, just- just say you let me."

she can’t pay for interest, that reaction you got when moving on top of her, that almost silent moan you make as you dance or grind to seek for more friction. fuck it, she really don’t know it at this point.

“that’s enough for fifteen minutes,” she’s not aware also of the other people in the room until you’re standing up and she’s going to whine about the lack of touch until you’re screaming at the guard that’s yanking her outside the club — “respect the girls or don’t fucking show up here, got it?”

“outside,” she manages to says to you as she’s being pulled away “ah fuck off man- i’ll wait for you outside!”

the biggest surprise of the night though? she was serious, dead fucking serious; so when you’re leaving the club at almost five in the morning, she’s smoking there, back against her black mercedes as she tilts her head satisfied you’re looking out for her.

yes, ellie williams’s leash is tied to this pretty stripper she has in her sheets, spread over her kitchen island, under the cascading water of her shower, wearing her shirt, eating her food, taking her life — hand-cuffed.

i totally envision it and i’m getting brainrot about rich and divorced!ellie whos ex wife hates you when noticing how fucked up you have her already, wrapped around your finger — ellie’s important to her clearly and you’re quickly becoming a distraction: too much weed, late nights talking, buying you clothes, not picking up the damn phone. shocking cause makes ellie miss up work one morning since you convinced her to call in sick: yeah she’s important to the company, but why can’t she spend just one little morning with you? just one. cross your heart cause you’ll make her time worth it.

she likes it even when you’re a danger to her lifestyle, when you’re slipping inside her office after your collage classes (same ones she’s already offering to pay), and you go there sitting on her lap as ellie tries to be concentrated in reading this paper about the growing insides of the economy for tomorrow, but you’re making it hard to keep her attention in her best behaviour when you’re leaning to see more of her work curious about it, and she has the best view she could ever ask from your bare back and those pajama shorts you use to roam around her penthouse.

so politely fuck work. ellie’s planting some wet kisses on your back, her fingers tug on your crop top and suddenly, you’re leaving wrinkles over her papers cause you’re gripping the wood desk too hard in hopes to hold onto anything, anything that connects you to earth and prevents you from spiraling. shit, shit, shit. how did it end up like that? how she’s so quick to make you stand between her legs? to bend so she can shove her fingers on your already wet pussy? it’s so easy for her to reduce you to this state, this plain mess. her gaze seems to burn holes in your skin, wanting to say something about you ruining her work, yet her mind does not function when she cannot say nothing more than, — “that’s it- can you bend for me? cheek against the desk baby.”

her free hand holds on the fabric of your short and your panties to the side, keeping them hooked in a finger as she uses it to make you move, a gentle pull that invites you to roll your hips back to meet her digits again before she’s slowly shoving a third finger inside and yeah, work can wait.

“faster,” you ask, a lewd sound filling the air when your arousal drips on her hand, coates her palm and makes your folds glisten in evidence of your needs, only gaining a needy sound in return when she’s compelled to follow your orders, keep you satisfied “fuck ellie- s’good you’re filling me so damn good.”

it’s dangerous cause she’s driven by your words, those sounds she loves to hear, the way you seem to suck her fingers deep inside until she’s curling them to rub on your velvety walls, that spot you overly enjoy and ellie discovered during the week: sure.

work can wait for an hour or two, she has better things to take care of now.

1K notes · View notes

heavenlybodies333 · 2 months ago

Text

The Devil Works Hard, but You Work Harder -S.R

Spencer Reid x Hotch’s daughter!reader

“You’re grounded. Again.”

Your father’s voice rang in your head like a judge’s gavel.

You were so over it.

Okay, maybe you’d gone a little overboard. Caught with a fake ID, trying to sneak into a Georgetown bar that apparently had ties to an open BAU case. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong dad. You were twenty so what was one year more? Except who the hell waited until legal age to drink. To make matters worse, Hotch wasn’t a federal agent playing Daddy Cop of the Year—he had the badge to back it.

But now he was gone, along with the rest of the team, off to retrieve old case files from a station barely two hours out. Quick trip, back by midnight, if not earlier. That gave you time. Just enough.

Unfortunately, Spencer Reid had been designated babysitter.

“Your father just doesn’t want you to get into trouble,” he said now, from the other side of the bullpen, launching into a monologue about legal penalties for fake identification and—was that a tangent on Soviet dishonesty post-Chernobyl? Jesus Christ.

You turned your back to him mid-sentence and made your way into your father’s office. If Spencer even noticed your disinterest, he didn’t let on. The man could give lectures to a wall.

He kept talking, “…and when Pripyat was evacuated, many of the locals weren’t even informed of the reactor’s condition until days later…”

You rolled your eyes and peeled off your hoodie. Then your tank top. Replacing it with a black silk romper, low-cut and backless. The one that made your boobs look gravity-defying and your legs go on for days. You pulled your hair down, shaking it out like a hair commercial, and slid on your scuffed white Converse.

By the time you emerged from your dad’s office, Spencer’s voice faltered like a scratched record.

He stared. And not subtly. “…uh.” His mouth parted, eyes dropping, then snapping back up. “Where are you—why are you—?”

You looked down, slowly, at your neckline like you hadn’t just intentionally flashed him half your cleavage. Then up again with a lazy smile. “You were saying something about nuclear fallout?”

His jaw clenched. He dragged a hand down his face. “Where are you going?”

“I’m not going out,” you replied, voice syrupy and innocent. “Because that would violate the very serious and totally not overblown grounding my father gave me.”

“You’re grounded,” he reminded you, eyes still visibly trying not to look at the way your tits bounced slightly when you grabbed your phone. “Your dad said—”

You interrupted him, tapping your phone screen. “Uber Black’s two minutes out.”

Spencer’s eyes widened. “You’re seriously going?”

“Obviously. I’m grounded, not in jail. And my romper’s already on, so…”

“You’re not supposed to leave.”

“I heard you the first time,” you said, slipping on a jacket and flipping your hair. “But that’s your problem. Not mine. Bye, Spence,” you sing-songed, grabbing your bag. “Try not to miss me too much.”

You got to the elevator and just before the doors closed, a hand slammed between them. Spencer.

“Where?” he asked.

You smirked. “Greek row, frat party. Duh.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Yeah, as if” you laugh, half expecting him to stay.

“I’m coming,” he repeated, stepping inside. “Your dad trusted me.”

Fifteen minutes later: Frat Row

The bass hit before you even stepped out of the car. The front lawn was packed with sweaty hormonal undergrads, red solo cups, and the haze of weed in the air.

You didn’t expect Spencer to follow you. But there he was ten minutes later, standing awkwardly at the door, dressed like a narc with his messenger bag and worried face.

You turned toward him, “Try not to look like you’re here to arrest someone.”

“I should arrest someone,” he muttered, watching two guys size you up from across the yard.

You leaned in close, lips at his ear. “You gonna arrest me, Spence?”

His jaw tightened. “Don’t test me.”

You left him fuming by the hedge, hips swaying as you headed toward the keg line. A blonde guy with a backwards hat was already waving you over, leering like he’d just hit the jackpot.

Spencer’s knuckles were white where they gripped the railing.

When the blonde leaned in and whispered something into your ear—too close, too confident—Spencer was already moving. Controlled, precise, like a shark slicing through a pool of drunk fish.

He reached you just as the guy’s hand brushed your lower back.

Spencer’s voice cut through the noise. “Can I talk to you? Now.”

You raised an eyebrow, playing innocent. “Why? Jealous?”

“I’m not—” he stammered. “This is incredibly irresponsible. Do you have any idea—”

The frat guy piped up. “Yo, man, she said she was good—”

Spencer stepped forward, hand curling around your waist as he pulled you gently—yet firmly—away. “Hey,” Spencer said, voice low and polite and dangerous. “She’s with me.”

The blonde snorted. “Didn’t ask, dude.”

“I’m not repeating myself.”

The guy backed off, laughing under his breath. “Whatever, man. Chill.”

Spencer turned to you, eyes dark. “We’re leaving.”

You let Spencer drag you out the door.

“Jesus, Reid. Controlling much?” you teased once you were outside.

He didn’t let go of your wrist. “What were you thinking?” he hissed. “Do you have any idea what your dad would do to me if something happened to you?”

You leaned in close, smirking. “So make sure nothing happens.”

His breath hitched. “You can’t just—this is completely inappropriate—”

“Then take me somewhere appropriate.”

The Uber back to Quantico was silent, your thigh pressed against his, his fingers twitching on his knee.

You barely made it to the back seat of his car in the BAU parking lot before you were straddling him, your mouth hot on his, his hands gripping your thighs like he was trying to convince himself this was still a terrible idea.

“Spence,” you breathed, rolling your hips down. “I’ve wanted this forever.”

His voice was strained. “This is so, so—so unethical—”

“Then stop me.”

He didn’t. Instead, he groaned as you rocked against him, your soaked panties grinding against the thick, twitching bulge in his slacks.

“God, you’re—” he swallowed, “—you’re Hotch’s daughter.”

“And you’re hard as hell,” you whispered, kissing just beneath his ear. “What’s that say about you?”

Something in him snapped. He shoved the seat back, pulled your romper aside, and dragged your panties down with a single, desperate motion. The groan that left him when he slid his fingers through your wetness was guttural.

“Fuck,” he hissed. He undid his belt with one hand, still working you with the other. When he pushed inside, your moan was broken, needy, raw.

“Fuck—fuck, Spencer—”

“I know, baby,” he panted against your mouth. “I know.”

He fucked you like he’d been waiting forever. Deep, controlled strokes that had you crying out in the cramped backseat, his hand wrapped around your throat, his mouth crushed to yours to muffle the sounds.

“God, Spence,” you moaned, nails digging into his shoulders. “You feel so fucking good—”

His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you in place. “You have no idea what you do to me.” he muttered, voice rough.

“Oh, I think I do.” You clenched around him deliberately, biting your lip when his eyes rolled back for just a second. “You gonna come for me, Dr. Reid?”

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, his grip slipping beneath your ass to bounce you harder on his cock. “You’re not supposed to talk like that.”

“Still doing so good though,” you whispered, lips brushing his. “So deep… feels like you wanna fill me up.”

His pace faltered as he bottomed out again, every motion more frantic than the last. The windows were fogged, your hair was sticking to your forehead, and your romper was bunched around your waist like a sin waiting to be confessed.

“I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—” His voice broke, and you tugged his hair to bring his mouth back to yours.

“Inside,” you begged. “Spence—inside.”

He came with a strangled groan, thrusting up one final time as he filled you, panting into your neck. You stayed like that, shivering against him, still shaking from your own orgasm, his come dripping slowly between your thighs.

His hand was still around your waist, trembling slightly as the adrenaline faded. “We’re so fucked,” he muttered into your collarbone.

You grinned lazily, brushing a kiss over his jaw. “Mmhmm.”

You were slipping your romper back up when you glanced at your phone.

47 missed calls.

Hotch: Get back. Now.

You winced, tucking your hair behind your ear. “So… slight chance I’m dead.”

Spencer sat back up, face in his hands.

“Want me to say you tackled me and confiscated the vodka?”

He groaned. “Please stop talking.”

Back inside the BAU – 12:47 AM

You walked back into the BAU with Spencer in tow, your hair messy, your thighs still sticky, and a smirk on your lips like you hadn’t just been railed by the genius of the BAU.

Hotch was standing in the middle of the bullpen. Waiting. His face was stone.

“I asked you for one thing,” he said, his voice low and furious. “Stay put. Don’t leave. And you couldn’t even manage that.”

The team was silent. Morgan froze mid-coffee sip. JJ looked like she wanted to disappear.

Hotch turned to Spencer. “You’re not in trouble,” he said tightly. “You tried to do your job.”

“You and I are going to have a very long conversation,” he said, voice steel.

Spencer stepped forward, but Hotch stopped him with a raised hand. “Not your fault, Reid. I should’ve known better than to think she’d listen to anyone. I’m not blaming you for her choices. I know she’s manipulative.”

Ouch.

Hotch stood at the railing. “Office. Now.” You sulked up the stairs, giving Spencer one last smile before entering hell.

He shut the door a little too hard.

Then came the voice that could quiet nations. “What the hell is wrong with you? You think this is a joke? You think you can just disappear while grounded and embarrass me like this?”

You leaned on the chair across from his desk, feigning innocence. “I came back, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the point. Spencer is not your damn babysitter—he’s a federal agent, and you put him in an impossible position. You’re not a child anymore, but you sure as hell aren’t acting like an adult.”

You rolled your eyes.

He paused. “You smell like vodka.”

And now he looked like he wanted to break something. You waited for him to yell more. Instead, he just stared at you.

“You’re grounded until further notice,” he said finally, voice dead cold. “No car, no phone, no campus housing. You’ll be commuting from here. I’ll pick you up from classes myself if I have to.”

You scoffed. “You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” He stepped closer, lowering his voice so the team outside couldn’t hear. “You disobeyed me. Lied. Left this building after I explicitly said not to. Do you understand how serious this is? Do you understand what would’ve happened if something had gone wrong?”

You opened your mouth to argue but he cut you off.

“I’m not just your father. I’m a federal agent. And when your name gets dragged into places like this? It doesn’t just reflect on you. It reflects on me. On my team.”

“I’ve seen murderers with more impulse control than you,” he continued, tone clipped, full of bite. “And the fact that you think this is about a party or a drink or a fake ID just proves how out of your depth you are.”

You scoffed. “Please. If I wasn’t your daughter, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

“That’s exactly the point,” he snapped. “You are my daughter.” His eyes narrowed, jaw tense. “So here’s what’s going to happen.”

You crossed your arms. “Do tell.”

“This is the last time. Indefinitely. No car. No phone. You go to class, you come home, you breathe under my roof and nowhere else. Try me, and I’ll have one of the team walk you to every lecture, every building, every fucking bathroom if I have to.”

”Dad, if you would just let me FUCKING EXPLAIN!” you began to raise your voice at him. Wrong choice.

Hotch’s voice turned ice-cold. “Don’t raise your voice at me.”

You looked away. “I just needed to get out. Just for a night. I didn’t want to be… here. Locked in. Under a microscope.”

“You’re not under a microscope,” he said.

“You assigned Spencer to watch me like a damn parole officer,” you snapped. “That’s not normal parenting, Dad. That’s surveillance.”

“I know that,” he snapped, then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know. But that’s not the point. The point is you keep crossing lines like they mean nothing. And one day, you’re going to cross one you can’t come back from.”

The room was too quiet now. Just the low hum of the BAU bullpen outside the office glass. And you, shrinking a little more with each second.

Hotch stepped back from his desk, paced once, then turned.

“This is over,” he said. “You’ll be escorted to and from your classes for the next month. You’re grounded until I say otherwise. And if I catch you near a bar, a frat house, or—God help me—another federal agent, I will make your life hell. Understood?”

You nodded, muttering. “Understood.”

He sighed, running a hand over his face, suddenly looking more exhausted than furious. “Go home. Get in the car. Don’t say a word to anyone.”

Downstairs, Spencer was pacing.

His tie was loosened, hair mussed from your fingers, cheeks flushed red like he was still feeling the way you clenched around him. His eyes lifted the second you emerged.

“Well?” he asked.

You grinned. “Grounded. Again.”

He exhaled, rubbing his hands over his face. “Jesus.”

You stepped close, so close he flinched. “Was it worth it?”

He didn’t answer with words. Just the way his eyes dropped to your mouth, then your throat, then lower—like he was memorizing every inch again. Like he already regretted how badly he wanted more.

“Yes,” he said finally, voice like gravel. “But it can’t happen again.”

You smiled, pressing your lips to his ear. “That’s what you said last time.”

a/n: I’m not saying this is why I’m going to hell… but it’s definitely in the top five

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you smut

1K notes · View notes

sixxels · 2 months ago

Text

mr. take your girl ~ satoru. g

frat!sukuna x reader → frat!gojo x reader

!!disclaimer!! LONG ONESHOT ! smut, toxicity, angst, heavy themes of situationships, sukuna is mean, this is messy, satoru friends (?) to lovers (?), mentions of alcohol consumption. based on this ask!

wc: 10k

the party is a blur before it even begins. music so loud it feels like it’s stitched into your skin, like it’s blooming under your ribs. you can’t hear anything else. just bass, bass, bass, thudding through the floorboards, leaking into your bloodstream, softening your bones. smoke coils from the living room, lights pulse like strobes behind your eyelids, and everything is hot and slow and sticky.

sukuna’s hands are already on your waist.

you don’t even remember how you got here. one minute, you were talking to yuki in the kitchen, her voice low, laughing, bottle of pink moscato dangling from her fingertips. the next, you were in the living room, pressed back against sukuna like it was always going to happen.

he smells like spice and weed and tequila. he moves like a sin you’ve already committed.

“fuck, you look good,” he slurs into your ear, voice raspy, heavy with smoke and desire. his breath fans against your neck and you shiver, even though it’s hot enough to melt the drywall. his rings dig into the skin above your hips and your head tips back without thinking, like gravity wants you to fall for him.

you’re not even drunk yet. you wish you were.

your hands find his shoulders, anchor there. he’s wearing that shirt you like, black mesh, thin enough to see the ink stretched across his chest. you feel him breathe against you, the hitch in his throat when you grind back into him, slow, deliberate. he curses under his breath. you pretend not to hear it.

and it’s always like this.

you and sukuna have been doing this for months. no labels. no rules. just late-night texts and bodies tangled in the dark, his voice in your ear telling you everything and nothing. it started after one party, after one kiss that lasted too long in a hallway filled with smoke. he said it didn’t mean anything. you said okay.

but then it happened again. and again. and again.

he never asked you to stay the night, but he never pushed you away when you did. he didn’t tell you he missed you, but he’d show up at your door at 1 a.m. with a look in his eyes like he’d die without you. sometimes you’d pretend it was real. sometimes you’d forget it wasn’t.

but it never changed. he never changed.

the lights flash magenta, blue, red, and then no color at all. just his mouth, brushing the edge of your jaw, just his hand slipping down the front of your skirt like he owns you.

you shouldn’t be here. not with him.

not again.

but your body is a traitor. it always is with sukuna.

there’s something about the way he touches you, like you’re his, like he never wants to let go, like no one else could ever touch you the same. it makes you forget things. like how he never texts back. how he never asks you how your day was. how last week you caught him flirting with some delta sig girl in the hallway, and he didn’t even have the decency to look guilty.

your breath catches as he dips his head lower, mouth dragging along your collarbone. you can feel him smirk against your skin. it’s toxic, the way he knows exactly where to put his hands, exactly how to make your heart stutter even when you swore it wouldn’t.

“missed you,” he murmurs, like a lie.

your eyes flutter shut. you hate how much you believe him.

the room swims. everything is too much and not enough. fingers clutching your hips, that familiar voice dripping with arrogance and hunger. someone spills beer behind you. someone laughs too loud. you don’t care. not when sukuna’s thigh is slotted between yours, not when his lips graze the corner of your mouth like he’s daring you to give in.

you do.

of course you do.

your mouth finds his and it’s ugly, desperate, soaked in months of mixed signals and unspoken rules. he tastes like tequila and spearmint gum and something bitter underneath. you bite his bottom lip a little too hard and he groans against your tongue, gripping you tighter, like punishment, like proof.

god, you wish this meant something.

you wish it wasn’t just this. dark rooms, lingering touches, his name stuck in your throat like smoke you can’t cough up.

but you already know the truth: sukuna doesn’t want you. not really. not in the way you want him. he likes to touch, not feel. he likes the idea of you, how you look in his lap, how you moan his name, how you always come back, no matter how many times he disappears on you.

“wanna get out of here?” he mumbles, dragging his mouth down your neck, teeth skimming your pulse.

you nod before you can think.

you always do.

because every time feels like it might be different, like maybe this time, he’ll mean it. maybe this time, he’ll hold your face like it’s delicate, not like it’s something he can drop when the music fades.

his hand slips into yours. the lights blur again. someone bumps into you and mumbles an apology. you barely hear it. all you hear is your heartbeat, all you feel is his grip, possessive, heavy, and unbearably warm.

and then he comes into sight. satoru passes you in the hallway.

you almost don’t register it. his white hair glows under the led lights, sunglasses pushed into his curls, solo cup in hand. he raises his brows when he sees you with sukuna, just for a second. it’s subtle. just a flicker.

but it lands.

you know what it means.

you look away before you can think about it too hard.

sukuna pulls you toward the stairs, toward the dark, toward the place where you’ll forget how lonely this makes you feel until morning. you let him.

you always do.

“…fuck, sukuna,”

your voice cracks on his name, high and breathless, your thighs trembling around his hips. the headboard thuds softly against the wall with every push of his body into yours, a steady rhythm you’ve learned by heart, like a song you never wanted to memorize but somehow know all the lyrics to.

his fingers dig into your waist like he’s trying to brand himself into your skin, pulling you closer with every thrust, hips snapping forward hard enough to steal the breath right from your lungs.

“say it again,” he grits out, voice thick and rough with lust. his mouth is hot against your neck, teeth grazing the same spot he always goes for, just beneath your jaw, where it’ll bruise in the morning.

“sukuna!” it’s not even a name anymore. it’s a plea.

his pace stutters, and then he groans low in his throat, forehead dropping to your shoulder. sweat beads along his hairline. his body is burning against yours, all sharp angles and muscle and frustration. you cling to him like he’s going to disappear, because he will. he always does. you arch up to meet him, chasing something you wish felt more like love and less like punishment. the air in the room is thick, sweet and sour, like weed smoke and sweat and every bad decision you’ve ever made.

his hand slips between your legs and your back arches instinctively. your fingers clutch the sheets, a choked whimper falling from your lips.

“you like that, huh?” he mutters, cocky, breathless, like he’s already forgotten the way you looked at him downstairs, like you wanted this to mean something.

you nod, dizzy. he knows what he’s doing. he always fucking knows.

he fucks like he talks, mean, smooth, unforgiving. every thrust is a promise he’ll break before sunrise. every kiss is laced with the kind of heat that doesn’t last. but you still take it. you always do.

your nails drag down his back, leaving angry little lines behind. he hisses through his teeth, hips grinding in deeper, slower now, like he wants to make you feel every inch of him. you do. god, you do.

“you’re mine,” he murmurs, almost too soft to hear.

you don’t say anything. because he isn’t yours. and you’re not his. not really. this isn’t love, it’s habit. it’s desperation wrapped in heat. it’s lonely nights that turn into mornings you can’t remember, only feel.

but you moan for him anyway. because that’s what he wants. because maybe, for just a moment, you can pretend that’s what you want too.

his thrusts get sloppier, rougher. his breath stutters against your throat.

“gonna cum,” he groans, voice wrecked and guttural.

“inside,” you whisper before you can stop yourself, before you remember that he never stays long enough to deal with what comes after.

he growls against your skin, hips bucking harder, and when he finally spills into you, it feels like something inside you shatters. like maybe you’ve finally reached the bottom of this endless, aching thing you keep falling into.

he collapses on top of you, heavy and too warm, chest heaving. his fingers curl into the sheets beside your head, and for a second, you think he might say something real, something soft, something honest.

but then he pulls out without a word.

and you don’t ask him to stay.

you wake up to sunlight slicing across the sheets like a blade.

everything is too bright. too warm. too quiet.

the first thing you notice is that your mouth is dry, like sandpaper, like regret. the second thing is the empty space beside you in the bed.

sukuna’s gone.

you blink slowly, head pounding, eyes struggling to adjust to the daylight bleeding through the crooked blinds. the room smells like him, sharp and familiar, smoke and spice and the bitter aftertaste of cheap liquor. your body still aches from the night before. thighs sore. lips swollen. the imprint of his hands still faintly lingering on your skin like shadows.

you pull the blanket tighter around yourself even though the room is hot. too hot. like the air hasn’t moved since he left.

and you already know he left a while ago.

you sit up slowly, the sheet slipping off your chest. there’s no sign of him, not really, just a crumpled hoodie tossed in the corner, the faint echo of his cologne clinging to the pillow. no note. no text. not even a glass of water on the nightstand. your phone buzzes somewhere across the room but it’s not him. it never is.

you shouldn’t be surprised.

you should be used to this by now.

you and sukuna have been… something for months. not dating. never dating. just a messy, unspoken arrangement full of late-night hook-ups and blurred lines, stolen glances at parties and long stretches of silence in between. no promises. no expectations. except you’ve been making promises to yourself anyway, letting expectations build in the space between his fingers and your ribs.

because when he wants you, when he really wants you, it feels like gravity, like heat and hunger and attention so sharp it makes you forget how shallow it actually is. he looks at you like you’re the only girl in the room. until he doesn’t.

and the worst part is, you know what this is. you know who he is.

ryomen sukuna: vice president of kappa tau, campus heartbreaker, smug bastard with a jawline sharp enough to wound and a laugh that sounds like danger. he’s too hot for his own good, too charming when he wants to be, and too good at pretending it means nothing when he leaves you cold in his bed.

he was like this before you. he’ll be like this long after you.

and still, you let him in. you drag yourself out of the bed, wrapping the sheet around you as you stumble toward the small mirror above his dresser. your mascara is smudged. your neck is bruised. there’s a fingerprint-shaped bloom of red on your thigh.

you feel like a cliché.

outside the door, you can hear voices, deep and lazy, laced with laughter and the clink of beer bottles, even though it’s not even noon. it’s always like this at the kappa house. chaos, constant. frat boys draped over furniture like throw pillows, the living room still sticky from last night’s party, someone yelling about pong rules in the kitchen.

you know the sound of them all by now, geto’s low, easy drawl, nanami’s flat exasperation, toji’s cocky laugh.

but most of all, gojo satoru.

he’s the only one who ever remembers your name.

you met him in your first semester, bio chem 101, second row from the back. he showed up late, slid into the seat next to you, and passed you a pack of sour gummies during the lecture like it was perfectly normal. he’d told you you had “bored pretty girl face,” and then spent the rest of the class cracking jokes under his breath just to make you laugh.

and somehow, that never stopped.

he’s the only kappa guy who never made you feel like a punchline, never looked at you like just another notch in someone’s bedpost. even at parties, when you showed up with sukuna, gojo would make room for you on the couch, pass you a drink already opened, always nonchalant but never unkind.

last week, you’d mentioned that you bombed a quiz in passing, just an offhand comment. two days later, he showed up with an entire color-coded study guide.

sometimes you wonder what it would be like, if it had been gojo instead. if you hadn’t wasted all your feelings on someone who only ever meets you halfway. if you’d chosen the boy who listens instead of the one who only calls when the moon’s up and his hands are restless.

but then sukuna looks at you with that hungry, half-lidded gaze, and you forget how to want anything else.

and now look at you.

cold in his bed. abandoned. again.

you sit down on the edge of the mattress and let the ache bloom in your chest, slow and awful. like bruised ribs. like heartbreak that isn’t allowed to be called heartbreak because you were never dating. he made that clear.

but your body doesn’t know the difference. your heart certainly doesn’t.

you press your fingers to your temples, trying to will the nausea down. it’s not just the hangover. it’s the shame. the familiarity. the way you knew this would happen and still let him in.

you thought, stupidly, selfishly, that maybe this time he’d stay. that maybe the way he kissed you last night meant something more. that the way he said missed you was a crack in the wall he always keeps up, not just something he said to get between your legs.

but you were wrong.

again.

and the worst part?

you knew you would be.

you force yourself to stand.

you get dressed slowly, hands shaking as you pull your dress back on. the same dress you wore last night, black, tight, low-cut. you remember how he tugged it up around your waist in the hallway before even getting to the bed. how his eyes raked over you like you were some prize he earned.

now it just feels… pathetic.

you find your shoes under the bed. your phone beside the bottle on the floor, cracked along the corner. your lipstick smudged, your hair a mess. you don’t even try to fix it. you just take a breath, square your shoulders, and open the door.

the hallway outside is dim, reeking of stale weed and sweat and old pizza. music murmurs low from someone’s room, a bassline throbbing lazily through the floorboards. you take the steps slow, head down, praying no one’s around to see you like this.

but of course, it’s kappa tau.

someone’s always around.

you make it halfway down the stairs when you hear his voice.

“whoa, hey, hey—morning, sunshine.”

you freeze for half a second, then glance up. satoru gojo is sprawled across the couch at the bottom of the staircase, a bag of chips on his chest, one sock on, hair a disaster of soft silver strands curling in every direction. his sunglasses are pushed up into his hair, and he’s wearing a sweatshirt that’s far too big for him, blue, with a bleach stain on one sleeve and the kappa crest printed on the back in cracked white ink.

his eyes land on you and go soft.

you must look like hell.

he’s already sitting up, setting the chips aside and standing with a stretch that makes his shirt ride up a little, enough to show a sliver of toned stomach and that tattoo on his hip you always pretend not to stare at in class.

you look away, cheeks burning. your dress feels shorter now than it did last night. tighter. you tug it down instinctively, but it doesn’t help. the shame is already clinging to your skin like sweat.

without a word, gojo shrugs off his hoodie and walks up to you, casual, smooth, like this is just something he does every saturday morning.

“you’ll catch a cold,” he says simply, slipping the sweatshirt around your shoulders before you can protest.

you open your mouth to say something, maybe thank you, maybe what are you doing, but he’s already ushering you down the last few steps, hand gentle on the small of your back.

“c’mon, honey,” he murmurs, lips tilted in that lazy smile, “let’s get you outta here.”

he doesn’t look at you like you’re a mess. doesn’t make a joke about the walk of shame. he just walks with you, calm and confident, like he’s done this before. maybe he has.

but it still feels like something sacred.

he keeps talking as you both move through the house, voice light and teasing but never unkind. like he’s trying to keep the silence from swallowing you whole.

“you know, i’m pretty sure this hoodie’s lucky,” he says, glancing at you as he holds the door open. “i wore it to my midterm last week. got an eighty-five, even though i studied for maybe twelve minutes and spent the night before watching shrek 2 on edibles.”

you huff a laugh, small, surprised.

he grins wider. “there she is.”

the air outside hits you like a slap, cold and sharp, the kind that clears your head whether you want it to or not. you shiver instinctively, pulling the hoodie tighter around yourself. it smells like detergent and weed and faintly like boy. not like sukuna. not like last night.

you step onto the sidewalk and exhale, like you’ve been holding your breath since you woke up.

gojo walks beside you in silence for a few beats, hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed.

“i can walk you back,” he offers softly, voice gentler now. “if you want. no pressure.”

you glance over at him. he’s not looking at you, just staring straight ahead, like he’s giving you room.

you nod.

he smiles again, smaller this time, and starts walking.

the quiet stretches between you. not awkward. just quiet. like he knows you’re not ready to talk. like he’s willing to wait until you are.

after a while, you find yourself saying it without even meaning to.

“ryo... he... he didn’t even say goodbye.”

gojo doesn’t flinch. doesn’t smirk. he just hums, like he’s not surprised.

“yeah,” he says, low, thoughtful. “he’s good at that.”

you bite your lip. “i keep thinking maybe he’ll change.”

“maybe,” gojo says. then adds, “but maybe he won’t. maybe he doesn’t want to.”

you blink. the honesty is startling.

he kicks a rock down the sidewalk, hands still deep in his pockets. “people like him… they take until someone stops letting them. doesn’t mean you’re stupid. just means you gave him more than he deserved.”

your throat tightens.

“for what it’s worth,” he says, turning to look at you fully, “you deserve way more than a guy who leaves you cold in the morning.”

you swallow. your voice feels small. “you don’t even know me.”

“sure i do,” he says easily. “you sit two seats over in chem. you underline your notes in three different colors depending on how likely it is to be on the exam. you chew your straw when you’re nervous. you hold your drink with both hands at parties, like it’s a shield.”

you stop walking.

he keeps going a few more steps before realizing, then turns back with a sheepish grin.

“also, you laugh at my jokes even when they’re bad, which makes you either incredibly kind or completely unhinged.”

you blink at him.

gojo shrugs, smile soft now. “i know enough.”

and you believe him.

for the first time in hours, the ache in your chest loosens. just a little, just for now.

you start walking again, slowly.

the street is quiet at this time of morning. just the rustle of leaves in the wind, the distant sound of traffic, the occasional jogger passing by with earbuds in and a grim expression.

he keeps glancing at you every now and then, not in a probing way, not even expectantly. just… checking in. like he’s making sure you haven’t slipped too far inside your own head again.

“you eat anything yet?” he asks eventually, cocking his head toward you.

you shake your head. “no. just wanted to get out of there.”

“understandable. that place smells like a frat boy’s sock drawer after a heatwave.”

you laugh under your breath.

he smiles again, like that’s all he needed to hear.

“you want me to grab you something? coffee, bagel?” he asks. “there’s that little spot on third with the cinnamon buns the size of your head. best post-regret breakfast in town.”

you glance at him. “you’re not hungover?”

“perks of being god’s favorite,” he says, deadpan. “or maybe it’s the fact i’ve been drinking gatorade since 8 a.m. like a responsible adult.”

you blink. “you woke up at 8?”

“well,” he says, “i never really went to sleep. i crashed on the couch watching akira and trying to figure out what geto meant when he said i have ‘emotional chihuahua energy.’”

you let out a surprised little snort.

“don’t laugh. that man has a phd in psychological warfare.”

you both fall into a more comfortable rhythm after that. step by step. quiet, but not heavy. you tell him no on the coffee, gently, and with a faint apology that you don’t really know why you offer. he waves it off, saying, “next time,” like it’s a promise instead of a maybe.

your dorm comes into view sooner than you expected.

you slow a little when you reach the front steps, unsure how to say goodbye. still wearing his hoodie. still not ready to step back into your room and sit alone with what’s left of your morning.

gojo notices. of course he does.

he rocks back on his heels a bit, watching you with those pale, unreadable eyes. there’s something behind the teasing today. something steadier. like he knows what it feels like to be used up and spit out and expected to smile anyway.

“hey,” he says lightly, “there’s a mixer this weekend at alpha pi.”

you blink. “you guys mix with other frats?”

he grins. “we’re very inclusive.”

you raise an eyebrow. “isn’t that the one with the margarita slushie machine?”

“and a mechanical bull,” he adds. “don’t say i never offer you culture.”

you should say no. you want to say no. you’ve sworn off parties a dozen times in the last month. they always start with lipgloss and promise and end in disappointment. in cold beds and unanswered texts.

but something about the way he’s looking at you, soft, expectant, like he’s offering you a way to start over, just a little, makes it hard to pull away.

“you don’t have to stay long,” he says. “just swing by. let me embarrass myself trying to dance to pitbull.”

you bite the inside of your cheek.

“…maybe,” you say quietly.

he smiles so wide it could light the whole damn campus.

“i’ll count that as a yes.”

he reaches out then, fingers brushing the edge of the hoodie where it sits loose around your shoulders.

“keep this, by the way,” he murmurs. “i’ve got more.” you look up at him. “you sure?”

he shrugs. “looks better on you anyway.”

and just like that, he’s gone.

he walks backward a few steps, tossing you a lazy salute, then turns down the path, humming some awful early-2000s song under his breath.

you stand there for a long time after the door shuts behind you, the hoodie warm on your skin, your heartbeat just a little steadier than it was before.

the music hits you before you even reach the door, deep, pulsing bass that rattles through your ribcage and melts into your skin like heat. alpha pi is already overflowing with bodies, beer, and bravado. red solo cups in every hand, laughter loud and chaotic spilling from every room.

you hesitate on the front step, just for a moment.

you’re wearing your best version of don’t-look-at-me-but-actually-look-at-me, a dress that clings in all the right places, heels that make your legs look longer, hair done up like you haven’t cried over a boy in a week. and gojo’s hoodie is gone, left folded on your desk, not forgotten but not worn. this night is about something else.

you step inside.

immediately, someone hands you a drink. music swells. heat curls at your collarbones. you scan the crowd and spot him before anyone else.

gojo.

he’s by the makeshift bar, laughing at something geto says, holding a red cup in one hand and gesturing wildly with the other. his shirt’s undone just enough to show that tattoo again, his hair messy in the way it always is, like he rolled out of bed and accidentally looked gorgeous. when he sees you, his face lights up.

but before you can take a step toward him,

he finds you.

sukuna...

he comes out of nowhere, moving through the crowd like he owns it, like he’s gravity and everyone’s just orbiting. shirt half unbuttoned, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, gold chain glinting against his throat. he sees you and smirks, slow, sharp, wolfish.

“well, well,” he purrs, already closing the distance. “look who came crawling back.”

you open your mouth, to tell him off, to say this isn’t crawling, to remind him he didn’t even say goodbye last time, but his hand slides around your waist before you can speak, tugging you close until your chest brushes his and your breath catches.

he smells like smoke and sex and the kind of trouble you never really learned to resist.

“miss me, princess?” he murmurs against your ear.

you hate how your body answers for you, the way your breath hitches, the way your knees soften, the way you melt into him like you always do.

“don’t flatter yourself,” you manage, voice thinner than you want it to be.

his grin widens. “don’t have to. you’re already lookin’ at me like you want to be ruined.”

your stomach twists.

you should pull away. you should walk toward gojo. you should not let this happen again.

but then sukuna’s mouth is against your neck, hot and slow and claiming, and his hand is trailing lower, resting just at the curve of your ass as he pulls you into the sway of the music.

“did you wear this dress for me?” he whispers, dragging his teeth along your jaw. “knew you’d come back. you always do. nobody fucks you like i do, right?”

your heart is pounding. your hands are on his chest before you even think about it. not pushing, gripping.

and he knows it.

“tell me you missed it,” he breathes. “tell me you missed this cock, missed the way i wreck you, how you forget everything else when i’ve got my hands on you.”

your eyes flutter shut.

you can feel it happening. the way you fall back under. the way his voice makes your spine go slack and your thoughts get fuzzy. it’s always like this with him, fast, hot, wrong.

and yet.

your eyes open, just for a second, and across the room, gojo is watching.

he hasn’t moved. just standing there, still holding his drink. his face is unreadable, but his smile is small. tight. polite. not quite reaching his eyes.

he raises his cup to you in a little mock-toast, then turns away.

your chest aches.

but sukuna’s hand is sliding up your thigh now, fingers bold under the hem of your dress, and his mouth is on your collarbone.

“fuck,” he groans, “this body’s mine. always has been.”

you want to tell him he’s wrong. you want to tell yourself you don’t belong to anyone.

but you lean into him anyway.

you always do.

he pulls you away from the main room like he always does, with that sure, possessive grip on your wrist, like the crowd is nothing but static, and you’re the only thing he wants to hear.

you barely register the way people part for him. they always do. like they know.

he drags you down a dim hallway, lit only by some fucked-up LED strip that flickers red and pink and purple, a pulsing, low-light hell that turns everything fever-dream warm. you barely get your bearings before he’s on you.

your back hits the wall with a soft thud, and his mouth is on yours before you can even gasp.

it’s immediate.

hot, greedy, all tongue and teeth. there’s no patience, no buildup. he kisses like he’s claiming territory, like he’s trying to leave a mark on the inside of your chest, not just your lips. his hands are everywhere, rough at your waist, sliding down to grip the meat of your thigh, dragging it up against his hip like he needs you to feel what you do to him.

you moan against his mouth, your body already giving in before your head can catch up.

“fuck,” he growls, breaking the kiss to drag his teeth down your neck. “this little dress, knew you were wearing it for me. always so ready to act like a good girl, but you show up dripping like you need me.”

your knees nearly give out when he grinds against you, cock heavy against the zipper of his jeans, and you let out a strangled little sound, half a whimper, half a plea. it’s too much. it’s good, but it’s too much.

his fingers are under your dress now, dragging against your inner thigh, slipping higher, and your brain is swimming, everything hot and too loud and him.

“been thinking about this pussy all week,” he mutters, voice dark and dangerous. “tight little thing, fuckin’ made for me.” his hand reaches your underwear, fingers pressing in, not even slow about it, and your breath catches hard in your throat. he kisses you again, deeper this time, all spit and possession. one hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back slightly to bite down on your throat.

your chest is heaving.

it’s too much.

you can barely think. the music is a distant, pounding blur somewhere far away, and it feels like your body isn’t even your own, like he’s pulling you apart faster than you can put yourself back together.

and for a second, you want to let it happen.

you want to disappear into the heat of his mouth, the drag of his tongue, the dirt in his voice when he says your name.

but then,

your stomach flips.

not with pleasure. not with anticipation.

with panic.

you push lightly at his chest. “sukuna—wait, just—give me a sec—”

he doesn’t move right away. his mouth is still trailing down your jaw.

you push again, firmer. “seriously, i—I need to slow down.”

his hands go still.

he leans back just enough to look at you, and for one second, there’s something unreadable in his eyes.

and then it’s gone.

his mouth twists into something cold.

“are you fucking kidding me?”

your stomach drops.

“no, i just—I got overwhelmed, i’m not saying no, I just—I need to breathe for a minute—”

he steps back like your touch burns.

“jesus christ,” he mutters, raking a hand through his hair like you’ve ruined his whole night. “why the fuck do you always do this?”

your throat goes dry. “do what?”

he laughs, sharp and humorless. “get me all worked up, act like you’re down, and then pull some ‘wait I’m not ready’ bullshit. again.”

you flinch.

“that’s not fair—”

“you’re not fair,” he snaps, eyes narrowing. “you show up looking like that, practically begging for it, and now you wanna play innocent? fuck off.”

he turns before you can reply, storming back down the hallway and disappearing into the crowd, swallowing him whole like he was never there.

you’re left alone in the too-warm hallway, breath shallow, dress askew, the imprint of his mouth still tingling against your skin.

your chest is tight. shame coils low in your gut.

but worse than that, there’s a hole there now.

a fresh one.

you lean back against the wall, blinking fast. trying not to cry. trying to remind yourself that this isn’t new. that this is exactly how it always ends with him, want, heat, need, and then nothing. like it was all a mirage. like you’re the problem for falling for it.

again.

get it together, you think. you are not going to let him ruin this night.

you take a deep breath. fix your dress. press your lips together hard enough to hurt.

and then you walk out of that hallway like nothing happened.

the music swallows you whole. sweat, perfume, the sticky scent of cheap beer and something burning in a corner, it’s overwhelming and exactly what you need. you don’t look for him. you don’t even let your eyes scan the crowd. you just find the rhythm again, find the chaos, find anything that isn’t him.

“there you are!” yuki’s voice cuts through the bass like a lifeline.

she finds you before you can fall too deep into your own head, radiant in rhinestones and a tiny crop top that clings to her like a second skin. she already looks three drinks in and fucking gorgeous.

she grabs your hand without asking, tugging you into the mess of bodies like she’s been waiting for you all night.

“we’re celebrating, bitch,” she grins, holding up her cup like a trophy. “i just got ghosted by a philosophy major with a man bun, and you look like you need to commit a felony. let’s dance.”

and god, you do.

you lose yourself in it, in the pulsing lights, in the blurred edges, in the way your body knows how to move even when your heart’s still trying to remember how to beat without breaking. the music climbs higher, deeper, meaner. the floor vibrates. people are shouting over the sound, laughing, kissing, spilling drinks, the whole world turned up too loud, and somehow, it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

you and yuki take over the dance floor like you own it.

you laugh so hard you snort.

you let your hair fall wild around your face.

you throw your head back and sing along to songs you don’t know the words to. your dress rides up and you don’t fix it. your shoes hurt and you don’t care.

you let a random guy buy you a shot. it tastes like watermelon and regret.

yuki cheers beside you. she twirls under the strobe lights and kisses your cheek like you’re made of moonlight. “this,” she says, voice slurred and shining, “is what being young and hot is for.”

and for a while, you believe her.

you let it all pour out of you, the ache, the shame, the bitter aftertaste of his voice in your ear. you dance until your thighs burn, until your throat is raw from laughing, until it feels like you could float out of your body and finally feel weightless.

but then,

a beat drops. the crowd shifts. someone brushes too close behind you and the scent of his cologne hits your nose.

and just like that, it comes crashing back.

sukuna.

the hallway.

his mouth on yours. his hands.

the way his voice dipped when he said mine.

the way it turned sharp the second you pulled away.

you sway, just slightly, your smile faltering. you don’t mean to think about it. you don’t want to. but it sneaks up on you anyway, sticky and cruel, like smoke in your lungs.

why do you always do this?

you told him to slow down.

you said you were overwhelmed.

you didn’t say no. not exactly.

but your body responded. you kissed him back. you let it get that far.

your stomach knots.

you blink against the sting behind your eyes and try to focus on yuki, who’s singing with her eyes closed and hands raised, pure chaos and glitter. you copy her. you smile wide. you lift your arms and pretend it’s still fun. pretend it still feels good.

but the guilt claws at your ribs.

he was angry.

he was hurt. (?)

and maybe he was right.

maybe you did lead him on.

you hate how your heart lurches at the thought. you hate how you care, even after everything. how his disappointment still cuts deeper than his anger. how it lingers in your bloodstream like poison.

why do you always fall for him?

you press your palms to your temples, just for a second. the heat of the room, the crowd, the drink, it’s all blurring together. you feel like you’re vibrating from the inside out.

“you okay?” yuki asks, leaning in close, voice slightly breathless. “you look kinda—spaced.”

you shake your head, force another smile. “just tipsy. keep dancing.”

she watches you for a beat longer than you want her to. then she nods, grabs your hands again, and pulls you into another spin.

and you let her.

because you’re good at this part.

the pretending. the dancing. the chasing of something bigger, louder, prettier than whatever’s breaking inside you.

you dance until your feet go numb and the room tilts sideways.

you laugh too hard at things you don’t hear.

you take another drink even though your stomach says don’t.

and all the while, somewhere in the far, buried part of you, under the music and the light and the haze, there’s still him.

his voice. his hands. his anger.

and your guilt, sitting heavy in your chest like a secret you’ll never admit out loud.

you’re halfway through pretending your buzz is still warm and good when you feel it, that ripple through the room. not like sukuna’s gravity, all heat and danger. no, this one’s different. softer. brighter. like the way the sun feels when it hits your back through the window after a shitty night’s sleep.

satoru.

you don’t even have to turn around to know it’s him.

yuki’s already clocked him, her eyes going wide like she just spotted a celebrity.

“well hellooo,” she laughs under her breath, tugging at your wrist. “dilf-in-training at nine o’clock.”

you roll your eyes, but when you glance over your shoulder, he’s already making his way through the crowd, solo cup in one hand, smile soft and low-lidded. hair a little messy, shirt collar askew. he’s got that same laidback, stoned-and-sweet energy he always carries, like the world could be on fire and he’d still find a way to flirt about it.

his eyes land on you, and the smile grows.

“sorry for not saying hi earlier,” he says, stopping in front of you, voice loud enough to rise above the music but not intrusive.

“you're right, so rude!” you toss back, teasing because it’s easier than being honest.

his grin tilts. “i was gonna. you just looked… preoccupied.”

the meaning’s not subtle, but it’s not cruel either. it hangs there in the air between you, unspoken but not ignored.

you stiffen for a second, not enough for most people to notice. but gojo? he always notices.

he leans down a little, voice dropping. “you okay?”

you nod quickly, too quickly. “yeah. yeah, i’m good. just… blowing off steam.”

he doesn’t call you out.

doesn’t push.

just hums, then smiles like the whole thing is no big deal.

yuki, bless her, takes the hint and melts back into the dance floor with a wink, leaving you two in a little bubble of calm right in the middle of the storm.

gojo leans casually against the wall beside you, holding out his cup. “wanna sip? i promise it’s not as gross as it looks.”

you take it, partly because you want to, and partly because it feels like an anchor.

he watches you with that lazy amusement as you drink, eyes sharp beneath the sleepiness.

“you clean up good,” he says after a beat. “this dress? dangerous. should’ve come with a warning label.”

you laugh, a real one this time, shaking your head. “pretty sure you say that to everyone.”

he places a hand dramatically over his heart. “i would never. i’m all about honesty.”

“you’re all about being a menace.”

“same thing, really.”

you don’t mean to smile as much as you do. but with him, it’s impossible not to. there’s just something about the way he talks to you, like you’re not part of the chaos, like you’re real and whole and seen.

and it feels… good.

like the first inhale after holding your breath too long.

“so,” he says, bumping your shoulder gently, “you coming to the alpha pi bonfire next weekend? it’s technically a mixer but mostly just an excuse to see who can make the worst s’more and still get laid.”

you laugh again. “tempting.”

“you should come. the playlist’s mine, so you know it’ll slap. and—” he leans in slightly, voice dipping low and playful, “—i’ll save you a chair by the fire.”

you look at him, trying to read the edges of it, trying to figure out if he’s just being charming or if there’s something else under it. but it’s gojo. even when he means something, he wraps it in jokes and grins and lazy affection.

still… something in you settles.

his presence is like cold water after too much heat. sobering. grounding. you hadn’t realized how far gone you were until he showed up and reminded you what steady felt like.

“thanks,” you say, quieter now. “for, you know… this.”

he tilts his head. “for showing up twenty minutes late to flirt with you and offer you mystery juice?”

you snort. “yeah. for that.”

he watches you for a second. not intensely, just… observantly.

“you deserve more,” he says. soft. careful. “than the bullshit you keep settling for.”

you blink.

it’s not an accusation.

not a judgment.

just a truth, handed over with kindness.

you don’t know what to say to that. so you just look away, heart beating somewhere between guilt and comfort.

he lets it sit for a second. then bumps your shoulder again, lighter this time. “come on. you owe me a dance.”

you glance at him. “oh, do i?”

“mmhm. i saved you from your own spiral. that’s at least worth a song and a half.”

you hesitate.

but his hand is already held out.

open. patient.

and for once, it doesn’t feel like a trap. doesn’t feel like a test.

so you take it.

and as he pulls you gently back into the party, all warmth and ease and that stupid grin, the knot in your chest loosens, just a little.

for the first time tonight, you let yourself believe that maybe things could be okay.

maybe not perfect. maybe not easy.

but okay.

and that’s something.

you’re light on your feet when you slip away from the crowd, laughter still clinging to your skin like perfume. the dance with gojo had left you floating, just a little. like maybe the night hadn’t ruined you after all. like maybe, just maybe, things were still salvageable.

you weave through bodies, squeeze past beer-soaked couches and someone’s half-naked beer pong victory dance. your head’s buzzing with alcohol and adrenaline, but your smile’s real, finally. warm.

“gonna pee before my bladder gives out,” you’d told yuki, who’d nodded and handed you her vape like a parting gift before getting pulled back onto the floor.

you head up the stairs alone.

the hallway upstairs is quieter. not silent, but muffled. far away from the music and chaos, just the hum of bass under your feet and the sticky creak of the floorboards as you walk.

you know this hallway.

you’ve walked it a dozen times. too many.

the second door on the right is the guest bathroom. tiny, a little grimy, but usually empty during parties. you wrap your knuckles on the wood anyway, just in case.

no answer.

you try the handle. unlocked.

and then the door swings open,

and the world ends.

he’s there.

sukuna.

half-naked, pants around his thighs, hips snapping into the girl bent over the sink like she’s his fucking religion.

your breath catches so hard it chokes you.

she’s moaning. breathy. fake. her heels are still on. her nails are digging into the bathroom counter, red tips clutching marble like this is the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

and him,

his head’s tilted back, mouth open, flushed and focused. sharp hands gripping her waist like he owns her.

he doesn’t even look up.

not until she glances over her shoulder and says, through a giggle, “uhhh… someone’s watching.”

his eyes meet yours.

and everything stops.

your throat closes.

your heart cracks, not clean, but jagged, like shattering glass in slow motion.

you don’t move.

you can’t.

it’s not real. it can’t be real.

but it is.

“shit,” he mutters, pulling out of her like it’s an inconvenience. like you just interrupted him.

his voice is casual. unbothered. “didn’t know anyone was up here.”

you’re still standing in the doorway.

your hands are trembling.

your mouth opens. closes. no sound comes out.

he runs a hand through his hair, already reaching for his shirt like this is nothing. like you’re just some stranger. like you’re not the girl he fucked last weekend. and the weekend before that. and the one before that. like you haven’t been crawling into his bed for months now, stupid and in love and hopeful.

“wait,” he says, taking a step toward you, zipper still half-down. “it’s not— it’s not what it looks like.”

you laugh.

you don’t mean to.

it just rips out of you. broken. small. deranged.

“you’re literally—” your voice cracks, “—fucking someone else.”

his jaw tenses. like you’ve said something offensive.

“it’s a party,” he shrugs. “people hook up.”

you stare at him, disbelief pouring down your spine like ice water.

the girl behind him doesn’t even care. she’s adjusting her top, barely glancing your way. like you’re nothing. like you’re no one.

your knees feel like glass.

“we’ve been sleeping together,” you whisper, like if you say it out loud, it might matter. “for months, sukuna.”

he sighs. “yeah. and?”

and?

your stomach twists.

you feel like you’re going to be sick. right here. in this disgusting hallway, in this frat house that already reeks of sweat and shame.

“you’re such a fucking joke,” you breathe, voice shaking so hard it barely makes it out.

his eyes flash, defensive. “don’t act like you’re some innocent victim. you knew what this was.”

“i thought you cared,” you say, and it breaks something in your throat.

a tear slips down your cheek, hot and fast. you don’t wipe it away.

you just turn.

and run.

down the stairs. through the crowd. someone tries to stop you, a hand on your arm, a slurred hey, you good?, but you shrug them off, vision blurring, everything warping under your feet like you’re dreaming and can’t wake up.

you push through the front door and into the night.

the air hits your face like a slap. cold. hard.

you stumble off the porch, down the steps, into the front yard like you’re drunk even though your buzz has evaporated.

your chest aches.

your hands are shaking.

you press a palm to your ribs like you can hold the pain in, like you can keep it from spilling out of your mouth and onto the grass. you want to scream.

you want to vomit.

you want to run until your feet fall off and your heart stops aching,

but all you do is stand there.

in your stupid dress.

alone.

humiliated.

hollow.

your tears come faster now, flooding your cheeks, wetting your collarbone. you clutch your arms around yourself like it’ll help. it doesn’t,

because it wasn’t nothing. not to you.

he kissed you like he meant it. he touched you like you were his. he held you after. not every time, but enough. enough to make you think maybe , maybe , you weren’t just another body to him.

but you were.

you are.

a sob slips out.

you slap a hand over your mouth like you can take it back.

but the pain is crawling up your throat, into your ears, behind your eyes. overwhelming. unbearable. endless.

you sink onto the curb and bury your face in your hands.

and for a while, all you do is cry.

messy, gasping, open-mouthed sobs. like your body’s trying to purge him from your system. like if you cry hard enough, it’ll erase the sound of his voice, the weight of his body, the taste of his skin.

you don’t know how long you sit there.

minutes. maybe hours.

until the front door creaks again.

footsteps,

then a voice.

soft. careful.

“hey.”

you freeze.

his voice is soft, barely more than a breath.

but it cuts through the fog like light.

“hey, y/n.”

you don’t move. can’t.

not with your knees pulled up to your chest, not with your hands clutching at your sleeves like they’re the only things keeping you from falling apart.

but he’s already stepping closer.

not rushing. not startling. like he’s approaching a kicked puppy,

he crouches in front of you, eyes wide and impossibly gentle, and says your name like it’s a question.

a whisper.

your head stays down. the tears won’t stop.

your throat aches, clogged with every sob you’ve bitten back since the bathroom.

you hate this. hate that he’s seeing you like this—mascara-streaked, shivering, used.

but gojo just tilts his head slightly. like he’s trying to read your mind. like he’s piecing it all together without you needing to say a word.

he doesn’t push. doesn’t ask what happened,

he already knows,

instead, he sinks down beside you on the curb, his arm slips around your back, firm and warm and steady.

“you’re okay,” he murmurs, barely brushing your skin, “i got you.”

you shudder.

“shhh, hey… it’s alright,” he says again, his voice syrupy and slow. “you’re not alone.”

and then, without even thinking, you lean into him,

his body welcomes you without hesitation, a warmth that feels too good, too safe, too real. his hand comes up, tentative at first, then sure, threading gently through your hair.

his palm presses lightly against the back of your head, cradling, protecting.

you bury your face in his chest, into the soft cotton of his t-shirt, where his heartbeat thuds steady and calm beneath your cheek.

you’ve never cried like this in front of anyone. not even him.

not like this.

not so raw. not so ruined.

but he doesn’t flinch.

he doesn’t tell you to stop.

doesn’t ask you to explain.

he just holds you , like he’s trying to keep the world from hurting you again.

“you didn’t deserve that,” he whispers. “not even close.”

a breath hitches in your chest.

you don’t respond.

you can’t,

because if you open your mouth you might just sob until your lungs give out.

he shifts slightly, pulling your knees across his lap until you’re curled against him completely.

your whole body feels like it’s trembling, and he just keeps rocking you gently, brushing hair from your face, knuckles grazing your jaw.

“hey,” he says, so quietly you almost miss it. “you’re still beautiful, y’know.”

your breath catches.

“not just, like, super hot, which, obviously,” he adds, like it’s some cosmic fact, trying to draw a laugh out of you. “but… like. you glow. even like this.”

you finally lift your head just a little, looking at him through your lashes, dazed.

“even now?” you whisper, broken and small. “after what i saw?”

he meets your gaze like it’s the most important thing in the world.

“especially now.”

he reaches out, thumb brushing beneath your eye, catching the streak of a fresh tear.

“fuck him for making you cry,” he says softly. “seriously. he doesn’t know what he’s losing.”

another tear slips down. he catches that one too.

“you’re the kind of girl people remember,” gojo murmurs. “the kind that ruins other people for them. he’s just too fucking stupid to know it.”

your heart cracks all over again, but it’s a different kind of pain. not betrayal. not devastation.

it’s softness.

it’s someone seeing you when you’re shattered,

and still wanting to stay.

you swallow the lump in your throat and whisper, “i feel stupid.”

“nah,” he says gently. “you feel human. and honestly, you’re handling this better than i would.”

“you don’t have to say all this,” you murmur. “you don’t have to pretend.”

his expression softens even more. “who’s pretending?”

he presses his forehead to yours, close enough that his breath fans across your skin.

“you wanna know a secret?” he says, voice low and boyish, like it’s just for you. “i came to the party tonight for you.”

your eyes widen.

he smiles, small and sad. “saw you with him and just, figured i’d missed my chance. again.”

“gojo…”

“it’s okay,” he says, brushing his thumb across your cheek again. “i just didn’t want you to think no one noticed how amazing you are.”

you blink up at him, tears still clinging to your lashes, and you feel it , a shift,

a weight in your chest starting to melt.

the ache’s still there. it probably will be for a while.

but his presence makes it bearable.

his warmth makes it real.

and for a second, just one second, you don’t feel like a mistake.

you feel held.

safe.

wanted.

you breathe him in , peppermint and beer and something sweet underneath it all. he smells like comfort, like home, like everything sukuna never gave you.

his arm tightens around you as if he can feel you relaxing, even just slightly.

“there she is,” he murmurs, smiling against your temple. “there’s my girl.”

you don’t even question it.

you don’t tell him to stop.

because right now, in this tiny moment on a shitty frat house curb, you want to believe him.

you want to let him say all the things sukuna never did.

you want to let someone take care of you, finally, without games or silence or conditions.

so you close your eyes,

and let him.

omg this oneshot was longg

924 notes · View notes

prettyfilmz · 1 month ago

Text

BACK OF THE CLUB • ELIAS S. MOORE

author's note: did this take me an entire month to finish and edit because I got hit with a major case of writer's block and had to drabble myself out of it? yes. but that's ok! it's been a minute since i've written something long so I hope y'all enjoy 🥹💗

synopsis: absence makes the heart grow fonder they say...when comes to elias and charlotte after 7 years of silence is the spark still there? or is this just a night of nostalgia?

pairing: elias 'stack' moore x black oc (charlotte belle)

warnings: 18+ (MDNI), modern au (set in the mid 1990s) some angsty themes, hints at religious trauma, flirty banter, established relationship, heartfelt confessions, closet sex, unprotected sex, lots of kissing, teasing, body worship, daddy kink, cunnilingus, hand job, missionary, sweet praise, clit play, riding, mating press, creampie, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, lots of dirty talk.

word count: 5.9k words

(songs to enhance your experience: back of the club - kwn , aeomg - coco jones)

Stack saw her before she saw him.

He always did.

Through a haze of liquor and bass speakers of the club him and Smoke recently purchased, where the air smelled of cologne, sweat, perfume, and marijuana, his eyes locked onto the silhouette near the back of the room. Poised, elegant, and haunting.

His Lottie.

Her name had weight now. Charlotte Elise Belle : The world-renowned Poet. Her books blessed shelves across the world. Front page of Essence magazine, photographed on intimate balconies with timeless beauty and books that spoke like lullabies. Critics said her writing made people cry in languages they didn’t even know how to speak. That her words were soft, but heavy. Feminine, but untamed. Girls sent her letters about how her words healed wounds they didn’t know they carried.

He’d seen her on billboards with her face half turned, lips parted, a manicured nail poised beneath the title “Her Garden of Solitude” like she was about to silence the whole world with her pages. An NAACP Award nominee. Bestseller three times over. Her poems were everywhere now, whispered on lips that wondered who was the muse she scribbled with love, angst, and sultry incantations.

There was fire in her walk she shied away from seven years ago, confidence lining every step like she trained for the runway. Her once fidgety and buzzing nature bloomed into aura that was enchanting and firmly claimed her femininity. She traded the bulky sweaters and ankle length skirts she used to hide her body in for a coral slip dress clung to her gently, not flashy, not loud, still authentically her but more mature. Her full lips painted with a deep berry color. Her doe eyes lined with kohl eyeliner and fluttery lashes. Her coily hair flowed just about near her mid-back which…god it suited her so well. Her body was even curvier than he remembered caressing in the latest of nights, her breasts more fuller and her ass had more jiggle, could make the holiest of man commit every sin if it meant getting a taste of what she had.

And grace. Lord, she moved with grace. Like the pain hadn’t stolen it, the judgment hadn’t crushed it, and his absence hadn’t shriveled it up and tossed it behind her.

She hadn’t seen him yet.

Stack leaned back, drink sweating in his hand. Annie laughed nearby, brushing past him on her way to the bar, Smoke at her hip. Sammie and Pearline were on the dance floor somewhere. Lottie’s soft eyes flickered toward the floor then up again as she weaved through the crowd. Nervous, maybe but not scared. Not how she used to be.

Not after what he did to her.

“Damn,” Stack muttered under his breath.

The blonde beside him curled a hand around his bicep. “You say somethin’, baby?”

He blinked. Barely registered her. Just set the drink down with a clink and stood up.

“Yeah. I'm gettin’ another round.”

He moved through the crowd like a slow storm, eyes locked, body drumming with anticipation. And when Lottie looked up and saw him—really saw him—her breath hitched in that way she always had when he was close. Her lips parted, her chin tilted stubborn, but he caught it…the ache, the longing, right there under her skin.

“Hi,” she said, voice soft yet steel like iron.

She didn’t hug him. Didn’t reach. Didn’t touch. Hell, she didn’t have to. He felt her touch through her intense stare with those big beautiful brown eyes he always got lost in.

“Hey, Lottie,” he said, low and rough, like her name lived under his tongue.

They stood like that a beat too long, taking each other in. Like they were trying to get used to seeing each other again after all the years that passed by.

Then he gestured toward the bar. “Can I get you somethin’?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “White wine. Nothin’ too heavy.”

He nodded, waved the bartender over. She perched on a stool beside him, legs crossed delicately, back straight, every movement elegant but not rigid. He watched her watch the room. It occurred to him then that she didn’t belong here. Not in the way others didn’t. She simply...transcended it.

“Didn’t see you at the openin’ last night,” he murmured, sliding her the glass.

She took it gently. “Wasn’t ready last night.”

He gave her a half smile. “What changed?”

“I got tired of hiding from ghosts.” She shrugs.

His chest ached. That definitely struck a nerve.

He sipped his glass of scotch slow. “You ain’t no ghost, Lottie.”

“True, but you were.”

The silence that fell between them hurt. It was thick and suffocating.

“I read your book,” he said finally, voice low.

Her lips parted, eyes flickering toward him. “Which one?”

“All of ‘em.”

Her laugh was soft and surprised. “You said you hated poetry.”

He leaned in, close, elbow brushing hers. “I didn’t hate it. It just didn’t have your soul in it before.”

Her smile was small, fragile even.

“I ain’t ever known anybody who wrote like that,” he continued. “Felt like you carved those pages outta my own fuckin’ chest.”

“I didn’t write it for you.” She states plainly.

“I know.”

“I just…knew if I didn’t release any of this pain, I’d never heal.”

His throat tightened.

She shifted, hands brushing down the smooth curve of her waist like she didn’t know what else to do with herself. “My mama threw my writings in the fireplace,” she said after a moment. “Daddy tried sending the deacon to ‘pray the demons out of me.’”

Stack’s jaw clenched.

“I ain’t seen ‘em for a few years now,” she said quietly. “Guess when your baby girl writes about cunnilingus and religious trauma, it don’t fit with the gospel of shame they taught me.”

Stack frowned, taking another sip from his glass allowing the burn to trickle down his throat. “You didn’t deserve none of that.”

“I needed it,” she said. “All of it. Losing you, the silence, the judgment, the isolation. It gave me the confidence to stop livin’ for other people and start livin’ for Charlotte.”

He nodded, proud of her but regretful in his part of her growth.

“You ever tell your family about us?” he asked quietly after a brief pause.

She tensed up, taking a generous sip of wine but nodded.

“After you left… I didn’t have a reason to hide anymore. They knew somethin’ was up anyways ‘cause I was cryin’ nonstop the first two weeks after you left. I ended up leavin’ the house a few weeks later. I just felt..suffocated. Like every time I walked through the door, I could hear their voices…not talking, just judging me and lookin’ at me like I was damaged goods. And telling me who I was supposed to be, what loving you meant, and what God would think.”

He said nothing.

Lottie took a slow breath. “They said it was God’s will that you left. That your kind of man only brings ruin and I should be grateful I was spared.”

“My kind of man,” he echoed, bitter.

She took another sip of wine. “They meant the man who fucked me on a picnic blanket mid-day near the bayou and came inside me in his busted ass buick before even making me his girl. That kind.”

Stack choked on his drink, not expecting the vulgarity out of her.

“You were mine,” he said, his voice hushed and raw.

“No. You fucked me and then left me,” she cuts him off, pointing a finger at him. “That’s not a proclamation of love, that’s a fling with a timestamp.”

“I had to leave.” He argued.

“No, you didn’t,” She snapped. “You wanted to.”

Stack exhaled. “I wanted to keep you safe. Away from the shit me and Smoke were drownin’ in.”

“You should’ve let me choose that.” Her eyes narrowed, pierced right through him.

“And then what?” he asked, tone sharp, but low. “You get caught up in mob shit, end up bleedin’ in a trunk some night in Chicago ‘cause I wanted to feel loved? Nah, I’d rather be the villain than the reason you bled out.”

She leaned closer now, barely a breath away. Taking in the warmth of his cologne that haunted her for years. Her voice turned cold with fury laced in heartbreak. “I’d rather bleed beside you than ache in a room full of people who only love the molded idea of me.”

That shut him up.

Lottie traced the rim of her glass, then continued. “Anyway, I left their house. Annie helped me out with some jobs and I got my own place. Started reading everything I was never allowed to read, wore what I wanted, wrote what I wanted and I stopped asking for forgiveness for loving you.”

His jaw clenched. “Lottie-”

“Don’t interrupt me.”

He closed his mouth.

“I found my own rhythm but it didn’t come from them. And it damn sure didn’t come from you either. You leavin’…it hurt me so bad I thought I was dyin’ from a broken beart. But it cracked me open and I gained a spine from it. I found my freedom.” Her voice didn’t raise, It was calm, measured, still kind.

He watched her, awe carved into the lines of his face.

“I ain’t surprised,” he said.

She looked up.

“You always had that strength in you, Lottie. You was just scared to embrace it.”

“No. I had love. You just didn’t believe you were worth basking in it.”

That hit him harder than any bullet could. She always knew how to see through him like he was made of glass.

“I believed you were too good for the world I was walkin’ into,” he confessed.

“You don’t get to make that choice for me.”

“I see that now.”

She didn’t respond. Didn’t have to.

He finished the last of his drink and placed his glass down again. “Dance with me?”

Lottie hesitated, then stood determined. “Only if you hold me right.”

He nodded. “Always will.”

Stack pulled her in. Slow. Soft. The music was fitting perfectly for their vibe, Sade being spun by the DJ this time. Her fingers slid over his shoulders. His arms wrapped around her waist, strong and sure, and the moment she laid her cheek against his chest, something inside him cracked.

He pressed a soft kiss to her hair.

“I saw your tattoo,” she whispered against his chest. “The one inside your forearm.”

“You like it?”

“It’s my name. You don’t think that’s a little…”

“Permanent?”

She looked up. “Stupid.”

“I got the flower too,” he said, smiling boyishly. “Hibiscus. ’Cause I remember how much you loved ‘em. You always said roses are too cliche.”

She looked down, her voice caught in her throat. “You remembered that?”

“I remember everything’.”

They moved slow, her body molded to his but still holding back, like her soul wasn’t sure whether to run or be reborn. They were silent again. As the song played on, she sighed into his shoulder.

“I missed you, Elias,” she whispered.

“I missed you too, Lottie. More than you can imagine.”

“Still flirtin’ with them white girls, huh?”

“Ain’t none of em’ ever made me feel like a goddamn boy again. The only woman I want got her name on my skin.”

Her lip trembled, but she smirked. “And I thought I was the poetic one.”

He chuckled. Then, quietly he says “I loved ya, even back then.”

“You never said it.”

He nodded. “’Cause it scared the hell outta me.”

She looked up. “Why?”

“Because when we had our time together, sex or not you always looked at me like I was something sacred to keep. And I ain’t never been that. Not once…and I knew I’d ruin it.”

Her cheeks flushed. Her voice was still soft but steady.

“Yeah?” She said, ”And yet you still had the nerve to lick the blood off my pussy after you popped my cherry in your car that night on Valentine’s Day.”

His body tensed, eyes darkening and teeth clenching as if he was automatically transferred back to that moment remembering her moans, her taste, her touch, the feeling….

“Lottie..”

“Lottie, what?” her voice laced in a sarcastic tone. “You can’t rewrite history like that shit ain’t happen.” She stared up at him, voice quiet but sharp enough to slice him raw.

His grip found her hip, a firm warning. “You sayin’ shit like that’s gon’ get you-”

A soft smirk played on her full glossed lips. “Get me what, Stack? got a problem? fix it.”

And with that, she broke away from his hold, walking with an extra sway in her hips exhibiting temptation. She didn’t have to look back to know he was following her trail.

♡

The door clicked shut behind them softly.

Cool air in the closet kissed Lottie’s flushed skin. The hum of music outside was muffled by thick walls and the thudding of her heart. Her back was to him.

Stack stood behind her with his hands at his sides, breath heavy. The space between them was fragile, like a wand bubble too full to last in the air.

“I ain’t ever been good with words,” he said softly. “Not like you.”

She turned then. Slowly. Her chest rose and fell fast, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress. She looked up at him with those big, beautiful brown eyes. “You didn’t have to be good with ‘em. You just had to use ‘em.”

He stepped forward, cautiously to see if she would back up..but she didn’t. She instead moved towards him, closing the gap between them.

“I love you.” He breathed, the words held a weight on his heart for seven long years.

The pause after was heavy, her hands flattening against his chest like she needed to hold the words still between them as if they were going to disappear.

He leaned in, kissed her forehead, then her nose. “I never stopped.”

“I needed you to say it back then,” she murmured.

“I know.” His voice cracked. “I’m so sorry.”

“I hated you for so long.” She sighed, a single tear falling down her face which Stack gently wiped away from her cheek with his thumb.

“You got every right to,” he murmured. “You never looked at me like I was wrong—even if I was—you always looked at me like I was someone worth lovin’ and…fuck Lottie I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

Lottie lifted her hand to place against his cheek, prompting him to turn his head and lay a gentle kiss on her palm.

“You’re still it for me,” he said. “You always were. Even when I was drownin’ in my demons, gettin’ my hands bloody, even when I was fuckin’ around just to feel anythin’ but empty…I’d see your name in a bookstore or your beautiful face on a billboard and it’s like my whole world goes quiet and calm.”

Her lip trembled as she took every single word into her soul. As much as she wanted to believe he was bullshitting, just saying things just to say. The way he gazed at her like she held the sun, moon and all constellations in the sky made her heart flip.

“You know…I wrote those poems for myself.” she whispered. “But a part of me really wanted you to read them.”

Stack brushed a few wild curls away from her face. “Once I found your books, I keep readin’ em’ over and over. Whatever place Smoke and I ended up in, I’d sit and read. It’d help me sleep.”

“If I known that I would’ve sent you an autographed copy.” she dryly joked. “Shouldn’t have made me suffer in silence. You either.”

“I didn’t think I deserved a woman like you.”

“Then be the man who does.”

His lips parted, but no words came out.

Her hand left his cheek to slide down to his forearm, fingers trailing the brown skin until it met the ink that decorated it. His sleeve was rolled up enough for her to see its full design. Her name—Charlotte— carved in delicate cursive with a blooming hibiscus twined through each letter. The petals shaded in vibrant pink and red hues that he remembered she loved best.

She traced over the tattoo softly with her fingers.

“When’d you get this?” she asked.

“Six months after I left,” he murmured. “I couldn’t get you out of my head. Needed a reason to keep goin’.”

She sniffled a little.

“You not leavin’ again?” she asked, silently praying this wasn’t a single night of nostalgia.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere Lottie.” Stack took her hands into his, squeezing in reassurance.

“Promise?” she pressed, voice cracking.

“Wherever you go, I go.” His voice filled with emotion as he pulled her close, lips a few breaths apart from hers.

She let out a shaky breath as her body melted into his. Their lips met soft and delicate. His kiss poured all the words he left unsaid for seven years and Lottie didn’t dare pull away. Her hands slid up into his short, slicked back curls, fingers tugging gently earning a few quiet groans from him which sent a throb in between her legs as his lips deepened against hers, slow and coaxing. He kissed her like he was eager to relearn every inch of her mouth, tongue tracing hers, exploring the taste he deprived himself of for too long.

Her breath hitched every time he pressed himself closer to her body, his hand ghosting the curve of her waist, sliding over her hips to grip her thigh.

She gasped into his mouth when he lifted her.

“Elias..” she murmured against his lips.

“I got you,” he whispered, something told her that statement had several meanings…all which made her heart warm.

He pressed Lottie carefully against the closet wall, the coolness from the heat combined with heat of his body on hers felt almost erotic. Her legs were cradling his hips all while Stack kissed her neck. Every brush of his warm, wet lips against her neck, every nip and gentle suck against her pulse point brought back memories her body stored. Lottie tilted her head back, lashes fluttering, every breath she took was shaky between her full parted lips as he licked the spot beneath her ear that made her whimper even years later.

“I’m surprised you remember that.” she whispered.

“I told you I remember everything about you, baby.” Stack mused. His hands slid underneath her dress, warm against the back of her curvy thighs, trailing higher where her thighs met her ass.

“No fair…you’re teasin’.” She moaned as his palms kneaded her flesh.

“Ain’t no fun without a lil’ teasin’” he chuckles, kissing her pouting lips. He gave her ass a firm squeeze and a sharp smack that made her squeak, and his grin widened against her lips.

“You still mad at me?” Stack murmured, kissing under her ear, letting his lips linger on the sensitive skin.

“Maybe.” Lottie’s breath hitched when she felt his teeth nibble on her lobe.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I should make up for that, huh?” His tongue traced the curve of her throat, his teeth scraping gentle against the skin under her jaw before placing wet, open mouthed kisses there.

She let out a hum of agreement, tilting her head back to give him more access. He didn’t rush when he slid his hands under her dress. He took his time pushing it up, revealing smooth thick thighs that trembled slightly. He dropped to his knees. Kissed her belly, then the sensitive spot on her hip, and hooked his fingers into her lace panties.

“Can I see her, baby?” he whispered. Lottie complied, resting one leg on the shelf nearby and the other on his shoulder, letting him pull her panties down and off, her thighs parting on instinct.

He stared in awe. She was glistening. A small but neatly trimmed triangle of dark curls framed the mound of her swollen pussy. He saw the twitch of her heat and the slow throb of her clit peeking out between the puffy lips of dark pink.

“Damn, Lottie…”

She tried to close her legs in embarrassment but he was quicker than her, hands holding her thighs apart firmly.

“You wet like that from kissin’ me, hm?” he teased, lips ghosting over her inner thighs.

“I-Shut up..”

He chuckled knowingly, grabbing her ass to pull her forward until her back arched off the wall.

“Don’t hide her from me,” he murmured. “You know I love this pussy..I missed her.”

She gasped as he leaned in, burying his face in between her thighs. One of her hands flying to the wall and the other clinging to his hair. He didn’t go straight for her pussy. He teased her inner thighs with slow, wet kisses, nuzzling her folds with his nose, dragging his lips up her mound and down again. When he blew cool air over her clit, she shivered.

“Eliaaas,” she whined. “You’re teasing..”

“You said I owed you,” he smirked. “This how I pay my debts.”

Stack’s tongue traced her slit slowly, teasing the sensitive flesh before flattening against her clit in slow and greedy circles.

“O-oh, god…”

He moaned against her, tongue working her open, mouth sucking on her clit not too hard but not too soft..just the way she liked it, lips locking around it while his tongue flicked back and forth.

“Mmmnh! E-El-Elias…oh-��

“I missed this lil’ button,” he said with a wicked grin, tongue flicking right over her clit, then down again. “She so fuckin’ pretty… always so damn sweet for me.”

Her thighs shook. She arched into his face.

His voice was filthy now, soaked in lust. “You always liked it when I talked to her, huh? She likes it too. She pulsin’ on my tongue, baby. She know who I am.”

He used two fingers to spread her open, licking deeper now, tongue darting in and out of her hole before flicking up to her clit again, stroking slow circles. She rolled her hips into his face, crying out softly with every pass of his tongue.

She cried out, the sound raw and needy, hips jerking against his mouth. “Fuuuuck, baby, don’t stop—don’t stop—”

“Not stoppin’ till you cum all over my fuckin’ face,” he growled, tongue and fingers moving faster. “Let her give it to me, come on, baby girl, let it go.”

And she did.

Her body tensed, thighs clenching around his head, pussy spasming around his fingers. She moaned his name in a high-pitched cry, eyes squeezed shut as her orgasm rolled through her like a wave, long and hard and aching. He held her steady through it, fingers still pumping in and out of her pussy. He lapped at her, slow and deliberate now, sucking and kissing the oversensitive flesh until she whimpered and pulled back.

“Too much,” she pants tapping his shoulder, voice shaking. “Oh god too much…”

He pulled back, lips and chin glistening, looking drunk on her.

“I ain’t even started yet,” he murmured, licking his lips, standing back up to full height.

He kissed her again, allowing her to taste herself on his tongue, and she whimpered into him.

He pulled her dress off completely, tossed it to the floor next to her clutch and took a slow, full step back.

“Lemme see you, Lottie.”

She stood in front of him, completely bare, brown honey skin glowing under the closet’s dim overhead light. Her breasts full and soft, nipples dark and hardened peaks.

He reached out, ran his fingers down her torso.

“You so fuckin’ beautiful,” he breathed, thumbs brushing over her nipples. “Shit…I shoulda worshipped you better back then.”

He bent his head, kissing along her throat, her collarbone, down to her breasts. He sucked one nipple into his mouth, circled it with his tongue, then bit down just enough to make her gasp.

She grabs his shirt at the hem, helping him pull it over his head.

Then she kissed his chest. His neck. His jaw. Soft little nips and whispers of her breath across his skin. Her hands unbuckled his belt, undid his pants, pushed them down until he was bare, his shaft was heavy, thick and hard, standing proudly between them.

Her eyes dropped and her breath hitched.

“I forgot how big you were,” she whispered, prompting a smirk to appear on his lips.

“Still yours,” he said. He took her hand and wrapped it around him. “Still remember what to do with it, baby?”

She stroked him slowly,her hand barely able to wrap around him fully, thumb circling the slit at the tip where precum beaded, eyes locked to his.

“Like this?” she asked, voice sugary sweet, tone soft but knowing.

He groaned, burying his head in the crook of her neck. “Fuuuck, baby…”

“You look like you missed me.”

“I did.”

She pumped him slower, watching his jaw clench.

“I think you should say it.”

“I missed you,” he breathed. “I missed this hand, this mouth, this pussy—fuck, baby, I missed everything…”

“I think you should prove it..” she purred, her hand leaving his length to bring up to his view, her fingers shining with precum that she eased into her mouth while keeping eye contact with him.

Stack growled, picking her up with ease earning a gasp from Lottie and laid her on the bench against the wall. He stroked himself once, lining up with her soaked entrance with the head.

“You still my sweet lil’ Lottie?” he asked, lips ghosting down her neck, warm lips dragging along the line of her jaw, lightly tapping the head of his cock on her clit.

She whimpered, legs wrapping around his waist. “You know I am.”

He took that as an invitation to push in.

The stretch was divine.

Lottie’s breath was caught sharp in her chest the moment she felt him sink inside. She reached for him instinctively, arms curling tight around his shoulders, nails digging crescent moons into his brown skin, face buried in his neck as inch after inch filled her up. Her pussy fluttered, drawing him deeper with every soft gasp that escaped her lips.

“Mmmnnh fuck Elias…’s too much..” she whimpered and he shushed her gently.

“Shhh…just breathe, baby…I got you.” he whispered in her ear, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other gripping the plush meat of her thigh. He moved slow, letting her feel the full press of him, allowing her body to adjust.

When he was buried to the hilt, pelvis flush against hers, he paused and exhaled.

She was warm, slippery, and tight and so damn soft. Like her pussy spent the last seven years waiting to mold perfectly back around for him. Her walls fluttered, squeezing him in slow little pulses that made his jaw lock.

“Damn,” he groaned into her neck. “You still tight like you ain’t let nobody else in here.”

“s’cause I didn’t..” She blinked up at him, flushed and panting.

He froze, throbbing inside her.

“You bein’ serious?”

Her fingers trailed up the back of his neck, nails softly brushing against the small curls there.

“You’re the only man that ever touched me, Elias…the only one.” She whispered.

That struck something vulnerable in him.

Stack kissed her hard, lips crushing, open mouthed, tongues entangling as he started to move. He started with long, deep strokes at first, the drag of him inside her was slow and greedy, savoring in the way Lottie’s pussy clung to him like a vice. Her nails dug into his back, the stretch still intense, toeing the line between pleasure and pressure but it was perfect.

“Mmm..Mmmnnh—fuck..” she gasped, head lolling back. “God you feel so good.”

He grunted, pulling both her thighs over his shoulders, thrusting deeper to hit those sensitive spots at a different angle. “Look at you,” he rasped, brown eyes trained on her face, the way she shivered and moaned underneath him. “You so pretty like this...that’s my good girl.”

“‘m your good girl.” she whimpered back, voice shaky.

“That’s right. My sweet lil Lottie.”

Her pussy clenched and his breath got caught in his throat.

“Yeah?” he murmured, hips grinding slow and tight. “Still like when daddy calls you that, hm?”

“Y-yes…” she moaned soft and high, choked by the pleasure blooming hot between her thighs, her hands on his shoulders, rolling her hips to meet his thrusts. “I love it.”

“Rub that button for me, baby.” he instructed her. “Give her some love.”

Lottie placed a hand in between her legs, rubbing tight, quick circles on her clit, just the way he used to teach her. She moaned high and sweet as she came for him again, Stack kissing her through her orgasm.

“Let me see you ride it, baby.” he growled, pulling out and sat on the bench with his thighs spread.

“C’mere, mama.”

Lottie climbed into his lap, knees bracketing his hips, her thighs trembling with anticipation. She reached between them and guided his cock back to her soaked entrance, rubbing the thick head against her clit at first, teasing herself with little circles until Stack grunted and grabbed her hips.

“Teasin’ ass.”

She smiled knowingly, and then she sank down on him slow, eyes fluttering as she took all of him.

“Ohhh…fuck…” she moaned, bottoming out, thighs tensing around him.

Stack’s head fell back against the wall, jaw clenched. “That’s it,” he groaned, gripping her ass, guiding her up and down his length. “Bounce on it, baby. ’s all yours.”

She rolled her hips, beginning to ride him slow at first then picking up the pace. Her body moving like a slow dance, glistening under the closet light. Her breasts bounced with roll of her hips, he reached up to cup them in his large hands, fingers pinching her nipples lightly. Her hands braced his shoulders and he watched her like she was straight out of his favorite dream. Lips parted, eyes glazed over with lust, lashes fluttering against the tops of her cheeks, her signature scent of orange blossom, vanilla marshmallow and a hint of amber flooding his senses. Her pussy was soaked, dripping down over his thighs, making slick and obscene sounds as she moved.

“You been practicin’?” he teased, hands sliding over her ass to squeeze.

She moaned, a little laugh escaping in the process. “N-no…just remember what you like.”

He laid a sharp smack to her ass, prompting her to cry out and bounce harder.

“I like all of you, baby girl.” he leaned up to catch a nipple between his lips, suckling on the swollen nub until she gasped. “Every inch. Every moan. Every fuckin’ part of you.”

He gripped her hips tightly, beginning to thrust up into her as she dropped down, slamming into that sweet spot inside her over and over. Her moans turned into cries, breathy little sobs of pleasure.

“You sound so pretty, Lottie.” Stack growled. “You love daddy’s dick, don’t you?”

“Y-yes yes, baby…’s so good.” Lottie keened, head falling against his neck pressing wet kisses to his throat. He kissed her jaw, then lowered his lips to her collarbone, tongue flicking in between the valley of her breasts.

“Gon’ cum again for me, baby?” he panted, watching as her face twisted up into that beautiful, broken expression.

“Mhm..mhm-oh God yes! Please please don’t stop-“ she babbled senselessly.

He reached in between them to rub fast little circles over her swollen clit with his thumb, her thighs locking up.

“I got you, baby.” he promised. “Cum for me. Let go.”

And just like that, her body shook. She moaned, loud and high pitched and ragged, thighs shaking as her orgasm hit. Her pussy gushed between them, soaking his lap and drenching his thighs. He caught her mouth in a sloppy kiss, hands rubbing her back while she sobbed softly into his neck.

“That’s it, baby.” he praised softly. “Did so good for me.”

He moved again, flipping her gently, laying her back across the bench now, folding her thighs to her chest and slid back into her in one fluid motion, groaning at the feel. He started to fuck her slow, hard, deep, each thrust making her cry out, overstimulated and limp underneath him, tears sliding down her cheeks from the corners of her eyes,

“I know, baby…I know it’s a lot,” he cooed, kissing her jaw, her cheek, her lips. “But I need it. I need you one more time okay?”

He pulled all the way out, leaving only the tip inside, then slid back in slowly, dragging a moan from her throat. Then again, faster this time. He pounded into her now, whispering filth against her lips.

“Look at this pussy…she suckin’ me in like she missed me.”

“You milkin’ me girl goddamn..”

“Used to dream about the fuckin’ pussy baby.”

She was a mess now, drooling, sobbing, her words slurring. Lottie bit into his shoulder, nails raking down his back, and every moan she let out made his balls tighten.

“You gon’ give daddy one more?” Stack cooed into her ear, pressing his thumb against her clit.

She nodded frantically, feeling another orgasm burn through her core. “Y-yes! I-i’m close-“

“Give it to me, Lottie. Let her sing for me, baby.”

She sobbed, pressing her forehead to his, lips trembling as she came for the final time. He kissed her hard, tongue claiming her mouth as she milked him.

“I love you, Charlotte.” he moaned. “Always fuckin’ loved you.”

She whimpered, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders. “I love you too,” she sobbed. “Don’t stop..don’t stop baby.”

“Shhh…” Stack soothed her pleas, fucking up into her in a steady gentle rhythm helping her ride out the aftershocks, now chasing his own edge. “You take me so good baby. You feel so good…I’m gonna…fuck-“

His head dropped to her shoulder. He groaned loudly against her damp skin, shooting warm thick ropes inside her with a few airy moans, cock pulsing as he filled her up.

They stayed still for a moment, skin to skin, the sounds of their heavy pants filling the closet. She peppered soft kisses to his temples, his eyes fluttering closed as he let her ground him back to reality.

“So…still think you don’t deserve me?” she asks after fully catching her breath.

He chuckled, still breathless. “You were always too good for me, Lottie. I’m just still glad you wanted me anyway.”

Her fingers threaded through his curls. “I never stopped…even when I was cursing your name.”

He lifted his head to fully look at her, eyes all round and soft, twinkling with love. He pressed a few soft pecks to her lips and brushed her now messy curls from her glowy face.

They remained in their little bubble of oblivion until they heard three hard knocks on the closet door, causing them to jump.

“Y’all better be decent in 15 minutes before I spray your nasty asses down with this fucking lysol.” Smoke boomed from outside the door. “This ain’t the type of establishment you were advertisin’ to me when we bought this joint, Stack. It was nice seein’ you Lottie…”

The couple remained quiet until they heard his heavy footsteps walking away to break out into a short fit of laughter.

“You think he heard?” Lottie managed to say in between giggles.

“Yeah,” Stack groaned. “He gon’ be on my ass about that.”

She leaned into him again, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Worth it?”

He looked down at her, seeing her eyes glimmer the way he remembered. “Yeah,” he said with a smile, show casing the gold of his grills. “One hundred percent.”

taglist: @cafeluvs @cremeful @mirathebookworm @a4g3lstarfire @monstaxmomma80 @bl3ssyn @thecoloredpages @dumb-b4mbi @spiicii @wrestlingprincess80 @transparentphantomface @pinkkycherrish @groovytidalwavevoid @sug3rco0k1es @girlstowomen @zillasvilla @lexiis26 @ami-sk @loveabledovee @sajoi @ultralspblr @aurelover @christinabae

if you'd like to be a part of my taglist, sign up here to be the first to see my newest drops! 🫧

#stack moore x oc #stack x reader #stack moore smut #stack x y/n #sinners fics #stack sinners #sinners 2025 #sinners #michael b jordan x reader #michael b jordan smut #michael b jordan #michael b. jordan #michael b jordan x black reader #sinners movie #sinners fanfiction

779 notes · View notes

oceantonelli · 12 days ago

Text

⌗ romance tropes

✦. ── summary: drivers as typical romance tropes ✦. ── featuring: lando norris, oscar piastri, george russell, kimi antonelli, max verstappen [part 2 here!] ✦. ── content/warnings: fem! reader, fluff, light angst (in george’s) ✦. ── author’s note: wow, my first f1 fic! i’m a little nervous but i hope you like it!

‎𖦹 lando norris — (one-sided) enemies to lovers

You didn’t always hate Lando Norris.

In fact, you had looked forward to meeting him. You’ve been friends with Oscar since high school when he moved from Melbourne to Hertford, and you trusted him with your life. Oscar had told you a lot about his teammate, saying that Lando was funny and a genuinely good guy despite his tendency to be annoying and cocky.

You had been grabbing a drink at a vending machine near the paddock, having been invited by Oscar to watch one of his races. You spotted Lando out of the corner of your eye, walking towards you. He stopped behind you and you turned to introduce yourself. Before you could even get your name out, Lando had just sighed and said, “I’m not really in the mood to give an autograph or take a picture.” And then, he grumbled something about “not getting any bloody privacy” and stormed off somewhere else. You were left there, scowling and glaring at his retreating form, your drink clanging heavily as it fell into the port.

When he saw you in the Mclaren motorhome, Lando had scoffed, “So, you’re just stalking me now? How did you even get in here?” Then, Oscar had returned from the bathroom and introduced the two of you. You had watched as Lando’s expression had shifted from irritated to something subtly horrified, but instead of apologizing, he just laughed it off. And from that day forward, you knew that you hated Lando Norris.

You’re out with friends at a club to celebrate your promotion, the DJ’s bass-boosted version of Charlie XCX’s song “Club classics” thrumming deep in your chest. You tell them that you’re going to get another drink, weaving through the crush of bodies to make it to the LED-lit bar counter. As you wait to catch the bartender’s attention, a man sidles up next to you. He tries to chat you up but you’re wholly disinterested, ignoring him. It’s only when he grabs your bicep in a tight grip that you turn. “Hey, I’m talking to you and you’re just being a bitch.”

You wrench your arm away and hiss, “I’m not interested, asshole. Fuck off.”

“Don’t be like that, sweetie, you’re not going to get men like that.”

“If it’s men like you, I don’t want it. Fuck. Off.”

The man opens his mouth to retort when you feel someone squeeze in behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder. You’re about to whirl around, primed to strike him when you hear the familiar voice, “She told you to fuck off.”

The man in front of you pales when Lando appears and his splutters something incoherent — you think it’s an apology — and disappears into the crowd. You turn to face Lando. “What was that?”

He raises an eyebrow. “I think you mean, ‘Thank you, Lando, for saving my arse.’”

“I had it under control.”

You expect him to bite back but instead, he nods and says, “It always helps to have back-up.”

You don’t reply and Lando asks, “What’re you here for?”

You think about a snarky reply but decide against it, saying, “I got promoted at work.”

“Right, Oscar told me you’ve been working hard for that. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“What are you drinking?”

“Vodka cran.”

Lando turns to the bartender as she approaches. “A vodka cranberry and two tequila shots, please. On my tab.”

“You don’t have to do that—”

He waves you off, and when the drinks come, he hands you one of the shots. “To your promotion.” You clink your glasses before downing the show together. The tequila burns deliciously down your throat.

“Hey,” Lando says. “I, uh, I realized I never apologized for being such a dick to you that day. I had been swarmed by cameras and reporters and people all day, and I know that’s not an excuse, but I was just… over it all. And then you tried to talk to me and I just took it out of you, which wasn’t fair.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t.” You sip your drink and say, “But thank you, I accept your apology. And appreciate that you recognize that you’re a dick.”

He laughs, “I said I was a dick!”

You shrug with a smirk, taking another taste of your drink. Maybe it’s the alcohol and the flashing lights, maybe it’s because Lando finally apologized for his dickishness, maybe it’s because he looks really good in his half-open button up with a thin silver chain laying against his tan skin, but you ask, “Do you want to dance?”

He grins. “Yeah, let’s go.”

‎𖦹 oscar piastri — best friend’s brother

You and Hattie have been best friends since you could remember. Your parents were friends and you lived so close to each other that your family had dinner together every weekend. Knowing Hattie since you were in diapers also meant that you knew the rest of the Piastri siblings since then, including Hattie’s oldest and only brother, Oscar.

Oscar had always been an enigma to you. He was quiet, reserved, polite — so unlike the horror stories you heard from others about their older brothers snapping at them and their friends, slamming doors, and just being all around douchebags. Oscar never rolled his eyes or huffed and stomped around, always well-manned, letting you and Hattie butt into his hangout with his friends when you were bored of playing fairies. He had been your pseudo-older brother figure growing up.

But right now, as Oscar pressed hot kisses along your neck, he is anything but brother-like. But he hadn’t been for a while, not since you first reunited when you were sixteen and on vacation in England. Not since you were eighteen and he pressed you against the door of his childhood bedroom on a visit back home and kissed you senseless. Not since you officially entered this clandestine relationship a couple of weeks ago. Not for a long time.

You whine when his lips brush your pulse, your fingers carding through his soft hair. His hands are under your shirt as he presses you into the hotel bed, fabric inching further and further up your torso. Then, your phone rings — a song by the K-pop group TXT called “Blue Hour.” It’s your ringtone for Hattie, an homage to her favorite band, and Oscar knows it too. You two pause and glance at each other and, in mutual understanding, retreat from one another. There’s a knot in your stomach as you let the call go to voicemail and you say, “I feel bad we’ve kept it from her for so long.”

He sits beside you and sighs, “Me too.”

You flop back onto the hotel bed, groaning. You wish that you had told her sooner, but the farther along you and Oscar move into your relationship, the harder it feels to reveal it.

Oscar leans back on the bed beside you, entwining his fingers with yours. He says, “Tomorrow. We’ll tell her tomorrow.”

“Yeah, okay. Tomorrow.” You settle into a comfortable silence, at peace just existing with each other. It’s not long, however, until there is a knock on your door, Hattie’s voice calling your name. Both you and Oscar stare at each other before you’re scrambling for the door.

You only open it a crack, just enough for Hattie to see you. She eyes you suspiciously. “Are you alright? You weren’t answering your phone.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. My phone’s just dead, that’s all.”

“Right…” She nods. “Well, I just wanted to see if you wanted to go downstairs and check out the arcade with me.”

“Oh, yeah, that sounds fun! Let me just get some things sorted out up here and I’ll join you.”

“Perfect.” She turns to leave and then, with a sly grin, shouts over her shoulder, “Osc, you’re welcome to join as well!”

‎𖦹 george russell — secret celebrity

You’ve been ignoring George’s texts and calls. It puts a pit in your stomach but you can’t shake the humiliation you felt when you were on a dinner date with him and two women came hurrying up, telling him that they were his biggest fans. You remember the way George’s eyes darted from you to them as he politely thanked them. Confusion must have been written all over your face because one of the women turned to you and scoffed, “Do you not know who you’re on a date with?”

Your face felt like it was on fire as George, respectfully but firmly, told them that you would both appreciate privacy. They took the hint, giggling as they exited the restaurant, glancing back and whispering. You turned your attention back to your boyfriend, mouth set in a firm line as you asked him what they meant. He told you what he did — that he was a fucking world-famous Formula 1 driver — and stammered through half-articulated excuses, so unlike the George you’ve been dating for three months now. All you could hear in the moment was your blood rushing through your ears. How could he not tell you this? You left abruptly, flagging down a cab despite George’s protests and appeals for you to listen.

Four days later, you’re on your couch with your laptop, reading through George’s Wikipedia page and watching footage of races and interviews. You had never bothered to look him up since you met through mutual acquaintances.

Both of your parents were strict academics, so you didn’t grow up with any sports in your house. The TV in your living room was seldom used and if it was turned on, it was always for documentaries or shows like 60 Minutes. You didn’t get into sports as you got older either, and most of your friends weren’t interested either. But as you watch him flying on a race track at over 200 miles per hour, reading through the hundreds of social media posts about him, and scroll through his public Instagram account (he had given you a private one), you can’t believe you were in the dark for this long.

You’re watching a video of George proudly celebrating his win at the recent Canadian Grand Prix, standing beside Max Verstappen — who, as you have found out, he apparently has a complex relationship with — and spraying his rookie teammate Kimi Antonelli with shaken champagne when your doorbell rings. You’re sure you already know who it is.

With a deep exhale, you close your computer and walk over to open your door. George stands before you, a little breathless and clearly a little surprised that you answered. There’s a bouquet of tulips in his hand and the silence between you stretches as you stare at each other for a few seconds. He extends the flowers towards you and you take them. Then, he says, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

You’re quiet for another moment, and finally ask, “Why didn’t you?”

He sighs heavily and asks, “Can I come in?” You nod, stepping aside and shutting the door behind him. You two linger in the foyer.

George says, “I’m sorry. Honestly, when we met, I was surprised you didn’t know who I was. But it was… refreshing, in a way, to not have to be George Russell, F1 driver and worry about whether you were dating me for clout or fame or whatever else.” His voice gets softer when he tells you, “It was nice to just be George with you.”

You take in the man in front of you, shoulders slumped and eyes sad, so different from the usually composed and confident George you know. You lean against the wall, bottom lip tucked between your teeth in contemplation. The silence stretches between you. Then, you finally say, “Let’s start over.”

George’s eyes flicker to you and he straightens. With a relieved smile, he extends his hand. “Hi, I’m George. I drive for Mercedes in F1, and you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

You shake his hand, introducing yourself with a quiet laugh. Still holding his hand, you say, “No more secrets.”

He nods, bringing your hand to his lips for a kiss. “No more secrets.”

‎𖦹 kimi antonelli — oblivious to love

It’s absolute chaos on the grid. You’re not sure whose bright idea it was to give the drivers on the grid water guns and have them play some version of the game “assassin.” You guess it would have been good in theory, except nobody here adhered to the rules and everyone, including team principles, engineers, and underpaid social media interns like yourself, was fair game.

Thankfully, someone did have the foresight to close off the paddock for the thirty minutes that the game went on, since you are currently sprinting away from Isack and Liam, who are in hot pursuit, cackling like maniacs. You’re shocked you’ve lasted this long without getting sprayed but your luck ran out after your supervisor was soaked by Isack and he and Liam turned their attention to you.

You’re running towards the edge of the paddock, which should have been a safe zone, but clearly, it's the law of the jungle right now. You don’t realize that you’re sprinting past the Mercedes motorhome as you turn a corner, ducking behind it. You don’t hear footsteps, and you hope that Liam and Isack found another victim.

You sit down, breathing heavily. It’s definitely no small feat to have stayed ahead of two high-performing athletes. You’re grateful for the break but your luck runs out when Kimi appears from the other direction, a water gun aimed at you with a teasing smirk on his face.

You whine, “Kimi…”

He shakes his head, eyes alight with mischief. “No mercy, mate. Sorry.” And then he pulls the trigger, soaking your entire torso. He laughs as you groan, standing up to survey the damage. Your tank top is completely soaked through, clinging to your body.

You wring out some of the hem and sigh, “I don’t have a change of clothes, you jerk.”

Kimi tilts his head. “Seriously? Shouldn’t you have brought some because of this?” He gestures to the plastic gun and you reply, “I think it got a little out of hand.”

Your heart does that pesky little flip — something that happens far too frequently around him — when he pouts guiltily, brown eyes apologetic. He pauses and then says, “I have some clothes here. Come on.”

He walks you to the motorhome and you stand in his temporary bedroom as he rifles through his suitcase, pulling out a plain black t-shirt. “Here.” He hands it to you and you take it gratefully.

You two stand in a few seconds of silence before he asks, “Is there something wrong with the shirt?”

“Uh, I don’t think I’m going to change while you’re here, Kimi.”

He jolts, face flushing and he says, “Oh, right, right. Sorry. Right.” And he’s hurrying out, closing the door hastily behind him. You wriggle out of your wet clothes, sliding the t-shirt on. It’s baggy and soft against your skin.

You push the door open, Kimi’s back facing you. There’s that heart palpitation again. “Thanks, Kimi, you can look now.”

“You look good,” he tells you as he stares. “Not because you’re in my clothes— I mean, you do look good in my clothes, but not like— not in that way! Not to say that you don’t—”

You just giggle, “Don’t worry, I got it.”

He nods, breathing out a soft “Yeah” before he says he’ll walk you back to your office. You’re on your way when he spots Lando, George, and Alex. They see the two of you as well but they freeze when they see you’re in Kimi’s shirt. “What’s this?” Lando asks.

Kimi moves to stand in between you and the trio. Alex cocks his head with a confused smile and George raises an eyebrow. “I shot her with the water gun and she didn’t have a change of clothes,” Kimi explains. “So, I’m protecting her from the water. Nobody’s going to spray her, got it?”

Lando smirks. “Loud and clear, Antonelli. We get it, you gotta protect your woman.”

Kimi’s face turns pink again and you roll your eyes, trying desperately to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. You grab Kimi’s bicep, swallowing when you feel the firm muscle beneath your palm. You give him a tug to start walking again, both of you trying your best to calm racing heartbeats and to drown out the 2019 rookies’ chuckles and conspiratorial whispering as you retreat to the social media team’s paddock headquarters.

‎𖦹 max verstappen — special treatment

You smile gratefully when Martin Brundle pats your shoulder warmly and says, “Welcome back. Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, definitely. I’m not sure what happened, I’m usually better at handling colds but this one knocked me out.”

He nods sympathetically. “It happens to the best of us.”

“Thanks, Martin.” He slips off to go interview Esteban while you wait for more drivers to arrive. You get some nice interviews from Pierre and Carlos, both of them asking how you were. Even Lewis, gliding by on his scooter, halts briefly to ask how you are. Sometimes, you forget how fast news travels here.

You laugh softly when Lando says the same thing. “Didn’t know my presence was so missed.”

“Oh, yeah,” Lando says with a grin. “You’re our favorite, you know. Especially Max, hopefully he’ll be less grumpy today.”

Your eyebrows raise but before you can ask Lando more about it, someone from the Mclaren team calls his name. He departs with an exaggerated wink that makes you roll your eyes. It’s not long until the man in question arrives. When he sees you, he makes a bee-line for you, ignoring other reporters’ shouts of his name. “You’re back,” Max says, a quiet disbelief creeping into his tone.

“I’m back.”

Max smiles like he can’t help it. He straightens, adjusting the backpack strap on his shoulder, and asks, “So… any questions for me?”

You go through your slate of queries with Max answering humbly and thoughtfully. As you ask him about his thoughts on the potential of a rainy race, you find that you can’t meet his eyes. Against the gray sky of the incoming storm, his eyes seem deeper and bluer than usual. You spot the usual warmth and softness you see but Lando’s words make you ponder. You haven’t really paid attention to Max’s attitude towards you. Of course, you know that you are one — if not, the only — reporter who manages to hold his full attention for a significant amount of time but you always chalked it up to good timing or good questions.

Max’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Are you okay? Have you drank enough water? Do you need something to eat?” He sets down his bag and opens it up, fishing out an orange. He pushes it into your hand and says, “Vitamin C is good for colds.”

“Thanks.”

He nods. “Any more questions I can answer?”

You shake your head wordlessly, the orange feeling heavy in your hand. Max says, “I’ll see you later, then.” He offers a warm smile and, as he’s about to leave, he adds softly, “It’s good to have you back. It was boring without you.” He walks towards the Red Bull motorhome, offering short, polite answers to the other reporters who scramble after him with outstretched microphones. You watch his retreating form.

Before Max enters, he turns and waves. There are a bunch of people who wave back but, with the way his eyes lock on yours, you know that it was just meant for you.

727 notes · View notes

sweetblossomsss · 2 months ago

Text

IN THE NIGHT || J. YH (1/3)

Synopsis: You were just trying to survive. Dance, collect money, pay off your debt. Repeat. What you were not trying to do is to fall in love with someone you can’t have—not when you are owned by someone dangerous.

THEME: mafia!Yunho x Stripper!Reader

Warnings: Alright here we go. ANGSTY (MY FAV), SMUT, eating out, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, lots of back and forth/push and pull (you have been warned), mention of guns, someone gets shot, Yunho and Y/N are idiots in love, cursing, drinking, drunkenness, Y/N is in denial most of the time, we have Jae (IFYKYK), at his point he’s going to be my paid actor in my stories (Jae isn’t based on anyone), fluff, adorable happy ending, a drunk guy who tries to get at Y/N, have to break this up into 3 parts because tumblr hates me, I know I’m missing just lmk. PART 2, PART 3

Word count: 46K

Date started: EST 2024 Date Finished: June 4, 2025

Blossom’s Note: My petals, thank you for being patient. I haven’t forgotten about you. Life has just been hitting really hard. I’m doing my best to keep writing so bear with me. Now that we have that out the way, Yunho in this story had be kicking my feet at times. Let’s give an around of applause for Jae making a comeback in a different story lmao. Story was inspired by Obsessive by Lumi, Obsession by Mellina, and In the Night by The Weeknd. You know what to do, grab that popcorn and drinks and let’s get into it.

—

You sat in front of the vanity, brushing powder on your face to ease the shine on your face with practiced, steady hands. The low thumping of the bass from the club pulsed through the room.

You applied the final touches—coating the lashes some more with mascara, one more swipe of lip gloss, brushing through your hair with your finger, fluffing it out.

Lastly, you spritzed perfume along your neck and collarbone, scrunching your face up at the intensity of the smell as you waved the air off with your hand.

Placing the perfume down, you let out a sigh. Your eyes flickered to the mirror in front of you, roaming at your reflection. You felt the nerves kicking in, slowly.

Tonight was important. There was no room for mistakes—no room for excuses.

Jae’s orders.

And speaking of the devil—

A knock from the door echoed in the room. You stiffened slightly, trying to keep your composure but now having the nerves coursing through your veins at full speed. There was no need to turn around to know who it was.

Your eyes flickered through the mirror and stared at him. “There she is,” Jae murmured with a smirk as he stood leaning against the doorframe. His eyes are roaming with hunger—dripping with satisfaction at the sight of you. “My star.”

Your back straightens—gut twisting as he steps into the room all slow and deliberate. When he reaches behind you, his hand slides over your chest, all possessive like.

“You look so beautiful.” His palm flattened against your skin before reaching up to your throat, “All mine.”

You remained stiffened under his touch, jaw clenching. You watched him lean in causing you to exhale through your nose in disgust—fright. His lips brushing the shell of your ear, “Tonight we’ve got a very special guest.” His voice is low, almost playful. “Do not disappoint me.”

Your eyes flicked to the mirror.

Blank.

Still.

“Do I ever?” You asked him with calmness—too calm. Your hands forming into fists, trying to ease your mind.

Jae hummed as he tilted his head side to side slightly, “Mm, no.” He said thoughtfully. “But you’ve got this habit of forgetting who is in charge.” He pressed his body closer to you, “You start thinking you are free.”

The word free sends goosebumps in your body.

Oh, how you yearn to be out of this.

His breath touched your skin as he whispered. “Let me remind you once more—you are here because I allow it.”

“How can I forget?” You murmured, voice feeling tight, “You remind me every chance you get.”

A pause.

Silence.

You then hear a soft tsk. His hand slipped from your neck to your jaw, forcing you to face him, causing you to let out a soft gasp.

His eyes held that hungry, possessive look.

“That mouth of yours,” he muttered as he leaned in closely, gripping tightening, “it’s going to get you in trouble one day.”

He flickered his eyes between yours before letting go of your face, which caused you to inhale sharply as your hand reached to soothe the aching sensation on your face as you glared at him through the mirror.

“But don’t worry,” he circled behind you. “Not tonight.”

Your mouth parted slightly as you let out a shaky breath, eyes still on him. “Tonight I need to seal this deal.” He said as he stood still behind you.

He leaned down next to your face, removing some strands of hair from your face. You closed your eyes under his touch, feeling scared. “And I am counting on you to make sure it happens.”

His words held something dark which made your skin crawl as you clenched your jaw. He turned his head to your lips, leaning in, “Don’t make me regret it.” He whispered.

Your eyes snapped open as you looked at him through the mirror, hand sliding slowly off your face.

His words felt sharper than a knife.

He smirks at your reaction and stands up, taking a few steps back. And just like that—

He was gone.

Leaving the horrid, chilling of his absence behind.

The door clicked shut.

Silence.

You felt the beating of your heart in your ears. You don’t move—not right away at least.

Your eyes looked into the mirror and saw that they were hollow—empty of life and light behind them. You saw the way you slightly shook, raising your hand slightly to watch it tremble.

You placed both hands on the table and closed your eyes. You inhaled and exhaled deeply—shaky—and then opened your eyes.

You blinked once. Twice.

Then—

You snapped out of it.

It’s time to get to work.

You reached for the powder once more—calming down the slight redness from Jae’s touch. You then just moved on autopilot—hands moving like they belonged to someone else.

You can’t afford to tremble in fear tonight.

Not when the wrong breath, glance, movement—anything—could send everything into a dangerous spiral.

You stood up and leaned your hands onto the table. “Showtime.” You whispered to yourself.

You turned around, heels clicking against the floor as you made your way to the door—mask in place, heart gone.

—

You could hear the loud chatter of men as you walked to the stage behind the curtains. You watched as your coworkers came off stage, talking about how exhausted they were.

Finally you arrived and took off your robe, handing it to security near the steps that lead to the stage. He places a comforting hand on your arm, “You got this!” He whispered to you with a smile, “You can do it, Y/N.”

You gave him a wink and a small smile before he left. You then turned to the DJ, who had a direct view of you from the outside, and nodded at him to which he returned and went to work.

Finally—

The music played.

A mysterious and sultry tune that resonated throughout the club as the lights turned down low. Slowly, you make your way up the steps and then onto the stage.

Instantly—the atmosphere felt electric.

Once your silhouette was spotted, loud hollering and whistling from men commenced. They wasted no time in throwing money like confetti, hungry gazes waiting impatiently for you.

Then it hits—

A golden glow spotlight that shined heavenly on you in synchronicity of your movements, making you the sole person of attention.

Every single step you took towards the pole was a calculated step to captivate everyone in the room.

You let your hips sway to the rhythm of the song, reaching out to wrap your hand in the pole. Your body quickly curves and twists in fluidity and sensual motions.

Slow and deliberately spinning to which you arched your body—commanding the room without a single word.

You then turned your head to the side, smiling at the men as they erupted with loud cheers. The bright neon lights made your body glitter shimmer as you gently landed on your knees.

You crawled to the edge of the stage where eager hands clutched bills. Men desperately waving it in your face—signaling you to go to them.

With practiced ease, you smiled at one of the shy ones. You beckoned him to come closer, watching him gulp in nervousness as his shaky hands reached out to give you his money.

You let out a small laugh at his actions. You got closer and grabbed his hand—guiding his trembling hands to slip a bill into the strap of your bra while “confident” hands found the curve of your hips—tucking cash into the waistband of your barely there lingerie.

You kept your composure, maintaining that sultry smirk—remaining in control, but inside your stomach twisted in horror.

Their fingertips would linger too long as their gazes stripped away your clothes. ‘Ugh’, disgust coils deep within your chest, but you don’t flinch.

You don't let it show.

Instead, you arched your back—letting their fantasies run wild.

You just kept selling the illusion they crave as you internally wish to scrub every trace of their touch from your skin.

But—

Your focus wasn’t on them—

Not tonight.

In perfect sync with the sultry rhythm of the song, you turned your head towards the vip section—a section that was far away from the sweaty hands and greedy gazes.

Perched in the dimly glowed of the private lounge sat him. The man Jae would not shut up about.

Jeong Yunho.

Wow—

Is that him?

You could feel your breath hitch for a second.

There was no denying that this man was dangerously handsome.

Just one look and you can tell the power he held.

That tailored suit not only reeked of expensive, but—the way it looked like it belonged to him. Molding to every sharp line of his body like it had been made with only him in mind.

The way his broad shoulders displayed, long legs spread in a way that screamed power and ease. One arm draped over the back of the leather couch, his fingers lazily tapping against the rim of the glass while the other rested on his thigh—just a few inches away from the women clinging to him.

Despite the desperate attempts for his attention from the women, his eyes were elsewhere—

On you.

His gaze was dark—unreadable—piercing in a way that, suddenly, the air around you got heavier—hotter.

His lips, slightly, curled into something in between amusement and intrigued.

It’s almost as if he was already three steps ahead of you.

You crawled to the center edge of the stage—right in front of his view in a controlled feline motion. Your hips sway to the slow, hypnotic beat as you feel the music pulse throughout your body.

You take this moment to take in his surroundings.

Men—standing stationed all around him, even on the steps that lead up to the VIP section. Silent but watchful.

Yet—

He simply sat there. Completely unbothered, as if he knew nothing could touch him.

As if he owned the room. And—maybe he did.

Heat shot up your spine as you met his gaze. You slide off the stage with each sway of your hips being a calculated promise. The front of your heels hit the edge of the bottom of the steps—still keeping that eye contact locked on one another.

Then—

Like a predator closing in on its prey—

You dropped to your hands and knees, feeling the velvet material of the stairs below them.

In this moment, it’s like the crowd disappeared—no longer mattering. Everything fades as his eyes are the only thing that fills your vision.

The world shifts. Music slows.

Suddenly, there is only you and him.

Your feline–like movements were slow and deliberate. Every crawl forward was a tease—an invitation wrapped in pure seduction.

That smirk on his lips remained. But his eyes darkened with something almost… feral. He raised the glass to his lips, never breaking that contact with you.

The women around him, who were desperately clinging onto him, shot you judgmental glares. You watched as their eyes burned with jealousy as they pressed their bodies closer to him.

But you don’t care.

You are here to do your job.

That’s it.

But they just kept on. They whispered vile things about you. Laughed at you. You couldn’t make out what they were saying in specific, but with the way they exchanged looks with eyes of venom—you knew enough.

But then—

He raises his hand.

A single powerful gesture and the chatter—

Stops.

They fucking froze in their words. You watched as they stiffened up as his eyes flickered to them with an icy glare. The girls looked down to the floor, feeling upset that they got him angry.

But with a wave of his hand, he silently orders them to leave.

They tried to protest but he gave them a look. A look that held many words. They let out an annoyed scoff as they get up—heels sharply clicking against the floor as they retreat to the shadows, arms crossing and hips jutting out with attitude as they glared at you.

Within perfect timing, you reached the top. You remained kneeling down before him—your pulse racing. You felt like his presence was a magnetic force that pulled you closer without even doing anything.

Your eyes flickered to the top floor. For a split second chills were sent down your spine—Jae standing there with arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

Reality hits you.

‘Don’t make me regret it’ his voice rang in your head. You take a slow, controlled inhale through your nose and gently exhale—controlling yourself.

You began by gliding your hands up his thighs—teasingly slow—until they rested on his hard muscles beneath the fabric of his suit.

You can feel the heat radiating off of him underneath you as you move up, sliding onto his lap with the grace of a predator claiming its prize.

Your hands run up his chest, leaning in just enough to let that tension build. Your breath warm against his ear, “Are you enjoying the show?”

He inhales your alluring perfume. His voice was low and smooth—sending shivers straight down your spine, coating your skin in goosebumps, “Immensely.”

Shit.

You can’t help the smirk that curves your lips as you lean back, grinding your hips just enough to draw a breath from him. You placed a finger under his chin—running your thumb on his lower lip.

The room around you seems to blur. The thumping of your heart matches the beat of the music as you continue to tease him with each controlled movement.

From your peripheral, you see his hands sliding towards your waist but—

Before they can reach you, you look at him with a challenge flashing in your gaze, “No touching,” you purr out, your voice dripping in mischief as you slide off him, caressing his face with your fingertips as you stand up. “Not tonight.” You winked at him.

You lingers there, a few inches away, your gazes locking for one last breath—a stealing second.

And then—

The shift happens.

Something dangerous flashed behind his eyes. That smirk curled into a scoffed out smile. Behind that smile there was something deeper, almost sinister.

You have no idea what you have done.

What you have started.

But you’re already turning away.

Your body swaying with each step as you head down the steps. You smiled at the men who stood at the bottom of the steps, shoving money in your face, happily taking them as you headed up the steps with the help of the club’s security.

You left him behind, craving for you again.

You returned to the spotlight, music sweeping to match the energy surging through your veins. The cheers grew louder as you finished your routine—bills raining down, more than you’ve ever seen in one night.

From the distance, Jae smirks as he flickered his eyes between you and Yunho—a look of satisfaction. Yunho can’t keep his eyes off of you like a hungry predator watching its prey.

You lit a fire within him.

You then vanished behind the curtains. Unaware of the chaos you left behind.

—

The crowd has since scattered, leaving behind drinks and empty bottles on tables. Chairs all over the place, thrown or fallen, with bills scattered on the floor and stage.

To say you were exhausted was an understatement.

You stood on the stage, eyes looking at the bills that had yet to be collected and sighed. You took off your heels and just dropped them behind you, then you tightened the strings of the silk robe and crouched down on the stage.

You gathered the money in a bunch and started collecting them—straightening them out before folding a good amount and wrapping a rubber band around it.

You’ll count it later.

Right now, you just just want to go home and boil the night off and sleep.

The laughter and chatter from your coworkers with their clients was a background hum to your own thoughts. Enjoying this calmness.

You were so lost in thought that you didn’t notice the shadow at first. Not until the overhead lights dimmed slightly, casting a silhouette over you.

“Impressive performance,” a deep, velvety voice drawled.

You froze.

That voice.

Slowly, you lifted your eyes up to the voice. Your breath hitched when your eyes locked onto his. The gleam in his eyes was something unreadable, “May I?” He asked as he extended his hand out for you, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Your eyes flickered to his hand. You gnawed on your inner lower lip as you looked around the area. His men standing around you two, the same women from earlier with crossed arms with annoyance written on their face but most importantly—

No Jae.

You looked back at his face to which he tilted to the side, as if saying ‘well?’ Slowly, you reached out and grasped his hand, noting the rough patches on it as you stood up.

He steps to the side and helps you down the stairs with ease—as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

“Thank you.” You told him gently as you stood in front of him. He smiles and slowly releases his hand from yours, reaching into his inner pocket of the suit.

“This,” he takes out a thick stack of cash, neatly stacked with a white paper band wrapped around it, “is for making my first visit… worthwhile.”

Your lips slightly parted in shock as your eyes widened at the sight of the money. He just took that money out as if it was nothing but pocket change to him.

You felt conflicted.

“I–“ You couldn’t speak.

Your eyes flickered between the money and his face—you were hesitant.

What if this is a test? Should you even take his money? Was the deal completed? What would Jae say—?

“Take it.” His voice was softer, taking you out of your thoughts. He noticed your hesitation, his smirking slowly fading. “It’s not a gift—it’s recognition.”

You swallowed hard. You still felt reluctant at the offer but eventually, you slowly reached out, brushing his fingers with you as you took the money.

You gave him a small smile, “Thank you.” You tell him, keeping your tone neutral. “It’s very generous of you.”

“Of course.” He said with a faint smirk.

There was a pause between you two.

You slightly shifted under his gaze, feeling like you’re about to suffocate. “Um, so,” you say softly, “Thank you for coming tonight. We hope it was up to your expectations.”

You gave him another small smile and went to turn around but—

“Wait,” He said, grabbing your arm with the most gentle touch you have ever felt. You looked at his hand and then back at him, eyes slightly widened. “May I have your name?” He asked with a smile.

You could feel your heart skipping a beat—something you’ll bitch at yourself for later tonight. “I think that…” you turned to face him and gave him a coy smile that didn’t reach up to your eyes, “you and I both know I can’t give that to you.”

Now, it’s not that you were hiding. You would gladly give him your name except—

It was about protecting yourself from Jae. It felt like he owned your own name. Jae was very keen on keeping you all to himself—not even wanting to let others breathe your air.

You can see his face slightly drop but kept smiling. “But,” you stepped closer fingertips lightly brushing against his chest, trailing down the smooth fabric of his suit until it hovered just above the top of his belt, “it was lovely meeting you… Mr. Jeong.” You murmured as you looked up at him with your lips curling into a teasing smile.

But before you could take a step back, his hand caught yours, once more, “Something tells me this won’t be the last time I’ll be seeing you.” He said in a low voice, laced with certainty.

His eyes bore into yours, a smirk on his lips.

You let out a small scoff as the smile remained on your lips. You then slipped your hand out of his grasp, turning on your heels as you walked to the curtains.

His eyes stayed fixed on you until you disappeared—not bothering to glance back at him. He stayed there for a moment. The ghost of your touch lingered in his hand.

No one has ever made him feel so intrigued like how you have. Especially in such a short time like this. Yes, he has gotten dances before but something about you… he can’t pinpoint it.

“Who are you?” He murmured to himself.

He then straightened up, “Her name,” his voice low and sharp. “Find it.”

You won’t give it? Okay.

He will just find it first.

One of his men stepped forward, nodding once before disappearing.

Soon another one stepped forward, “Sir, the car is ready.”

He didn’t move at first, keeping his gaze on the curtain—wanting to open it and find you. He adjusted his cuffs on his suit sleeve and nodded, “Very well. Let’s go.” He turned around and headed to the entrance of the club.

His girls quickly dropped the sour faces and giggled as he propped his arms out to the side, causing them to hug his sides as they walked to the door. He glanced down at them with a mischievous smile as they whispered something to him.

Behind the curtain, you watched him the entire time between the narrow slits, feeling your heart race as you watched him leave. You stood up straight and let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

You took a few steps back and leaned against the wall. You then felt the stack of money in your hand, making you look down at it—fingers curling around it.

“Men,” you said in a whisper—bitterly, “They really do have it all, don’t they?” Your lips curl into a humorless smile.

—

It had been a week since that night.

A week since you disappeared behind the curtain, leaving Yunho behind—drowning in curiosity and intrigue.

But no need to worry, he sure as fuck did not forget you. Not the way you were perched up on him. Not the look in your eyes. Nor the delicacy in your touch. The way you said his name.

Safe to say, your performance—or rather, you—really sealed the deal with Yunho. Which is exactly why he was back tonight.

Partly to finish some business with Jae. But most importantly… in hopes that he is able to see you—even if it’s just a glimpse.

The lights were dimmed slightly in Jae’s office, casting a soft glow within the room. The air was filled with strong scents of expensive cigars and champagne with the music vibrating throughout the space.

Laughter echoed within the circle as Jae clicked his glass with Yunho’s—some liquor spilling out from the action. Jae leaned back into the sofa with legs spread comfortably apart, taking a huge gulp.

He sighed in satisfaction as he looked at Yunho. “Your terms are fair, Yunho.” He said with a grin. He then sits up straight with a devilish smile, “You won’t find a better deal elsewhere. Trust me.” His fingers lazily twirled the glass.

Yunho smirked as he placed his drink down onto the table, “Then we understand each other.” He said with his eyes glinting. “That’s all I need.”

Jae—a man who wants more and more. More reach, control, and power. But, in order for that to happen he needs Yunho—the man with the keys in his hands. He had the contracts, network, and the leverage.

And just like that—

The deal was sealed. Two men gaining more power and money. And to celebrate—?

Immediately, several girls came dressed in lingerie into the office—their eyes locking onto the scattered men in the room, picking who they wanted quickly. Jae gives two girls a glint of approval with his eyes as they sit next to him—all the girls settle in beside the men, laughter blending into the atmosphere.

Yunho looks at the girls who draped their legs over his. Watching how they quickly went to work when one girl slowly undid the top of his buttoned up shirt, caressing his exposed skin while the other rubbed his arm.

His expression was unreadable at the sight of them. “They seem to follow your lead without question.” Yunho said smoothly—calculated. He flickered his gaze to Jae, “Is that loyalty or… good training?”

Jae lifts his eyebrow when he flickered his eyes to Yunho, the corner of his mouth twitching, “Well, you know how it is,” He smirks.

Actually, Yunho didn't, but proceeded with your stupidity.

“Loyalty isn’t given. It’s bought. Broken. And rebuilt.” He looks at the girl wrapped in his arms, smiling, “Ain’t that right, baby?”

Yunho watched as Jae kissed the girl’s neck, making her laugh—a little too high. A little too fake. Yunho saw the way the girl tensed up her shoulders, how she looked at the floor, dead inside, before laughing in fear.

Then Jae gets a thought.

He looks at Yunho, removing himself from the girl’s neck. “Why?” He smirked, “Did someone catch your eye?”

“Well,” Yunho said in a low voice. “It’s hard to ignore someone who doesn’t want to be seen.” He reaches down for his drink and takes a sip.

Jae furrowed his eyebrows, trying to understand who it was that he was speaking about. Then his eyes light up, snapping his finger when it hits him—

“You must be talking about, Y/N.” He lets out a small laugh.

He didn’t flinch.

He already knew your name.

The same night he sent his men to find it, he got it. Took a little bribing but nothing a few dollar bills couldn’t fix. The girls talked—eventually—made the men swear they won’t even breathe a word about this to Jae.

Yunho leaned back in quiet satisfaction, letting your name settle in his mind. He didn’t answer back at Jae, but that’s all Jae needed to know.

“Do you…” Jae paused. Something dark flickered in his eyes. “Want to meet her?” He asked casually—too casually.

But his tone said otherwise. It’s as if he was going to show off his most prized possession. Telling Yunho subliminally that you belonged to Jae.

Yunho stayed silent.

Didn't blink.

He remained leaning back, the corner of his mouth barely twitching as his eyes locked with Jae's— unreadable but speaking volumes.

A slow, knowing smile slowly crept on Jae’s lips. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers, keeping his eye contact with Yunho. Instantly, one of his men appeared with readiness as he leaned down to Jae’s level, “Go get her.” Voice was low and smooth as he whispered.

The man gave a curt nod, "Yes sir." And with that he slipped away.

Jae downed his drink, placing it on the glass table in front of him. “I figured you would want a closer look.” Jae said. “Eventually.” His smirk widening just enough.

Yunho gave him a faint smirk back, remaining silent.

This game just started.

—

Finally, the night was over.

Fuck.

The music faded, stage lights dimmed, and the noise from the crowd was nothing but an echo behind you as you stepped off the stage.

You thanked the security who handed you your robe and quickly slipped it on as you made your way to the dressing room, exhaling after a long day of work.

You shut the door and instantly, your body ached with exhaustion. You made your way to your chair and just dropped onto it. You sighed in relief as you kicked off your heels—flexing your sore feet, moving them in circular motions to get the circulation flow back with a slight tingling fire feeling.

You leaned back in your chair, throwing your head back as you closed your eyes for a moment. ‘Home’. It was all you can think about right now. You couldn’t wait to get out of this heavy makeup with this outfit that makes you feel like your boobs are pushed up to your ears.

Slowly, you get up, winching in pain as your joints burn, limping slightly at the ache in your legs. You rolled your shoulders back, moving your head side to side as you took off your robe.

You started to gather your things off the counter until—

A sudden knock on the dressing room door snapped you back into reality as you jolted. “Y/N?” Your body tensed up when you heard your name, muffled.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, eyes shooting to the door, “Boss wants to see you.”

Oh, fuck no.

You closed your eyes as your jaw tightened. You exhaled a sigh of frustration through your nose. And just like that, the ache in your body was instantly forgotten—replaced by the heaviness settling in your chest—anger in your body.

You walked to the door and opened it with an attitude, “Can you tell him that I—“

“You’re coming.” He cuts you off, words feeling like a slap in the face. “Now.”

You glared into his emotionless face. You wanted to scream but you stayed silent. You turned around, putting on those dreaded heels back on. Once you finished, you stood up and closed your eyes one last time to enjoy the final peace you had.

You turned back to the guard, who didn’t even say a single word. You glared at him and he nodded, stepping to the side, waiting for you to follow him.

And you did just that.

The small peace you had was completely snatched from you.

—

Every step that led to him was a step you dreaded. This walk to his office felt longer than usual for some reason tonight. Maybe because you were just tired and wanted this night to be over.

Or because you hated him and didn’t want to see Jae.

Finally, you arrived at the door. You inhaled and exhaled, getting mentally ready for whatever bullshit Jae had in store. You nodded at the guy and he opened the door for you, his hand gesturing to go inside, “He is waiting for you.” He tells you.

You straighten your posture and take your first step inside and—

“Ah,” you heard Jae’s voice, “there she is!” You looked and saw Jae giving you the most wicked smile ever. He goes around the sofa and takes your hands, “my beautiful Y/N.” He plants kisses on them.

Before you could even gather your bearings—Jae grabbed your wrist and pulled you with him to the couch. He then pulls you down to his lap with a sharp tug. His hand immediately slid possessively across your waist and onto your backside, squeezing roughly.

You could barely suppress the flinch as the familiar disgust was threatening to show on your face, but you quickly pushed it down—giving a tight smile.

You looked across from you and froze.

How did you not see him? Maybe that’s why Jae was acting the way he was with you at first.

Yunho was watching you intently. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied your body language. His gaze flickered to Jae’s hand on your waist—his expression was unreadable but the slight crease of his brow didn’t go unnoticed by you.

Jae chuckled, “Beautiful, isn’t she?” He said as he admires—if you can even call it that—you. “She’s shy at first but—once she knows her place, she is perfect.”

Yunho gives you a faint smile, “Beautiful,” he echoed, bringing his drink to his lips, “you got that part right.”

Your breath hitched—just barely.

Did you hear that correctly?

No—

No.

Last time you fell for a man’s words, you ended up in this bullshit.

This man is just as dangerous as Jae—if not, more.

Don’t be stupid.

“Pour me a drink, darling.” Jae said, snapping you out of your thoughts. Just like that, back to being a machine. He leaned back, arms resting on the edge of the couch.

You nodded as you leaned forward, grabbing the mini tongs. You placed three ice cubes into Jae’s cup—

“She’s a good girl, don’t you think?” He said caressing your back. You wanted to throw up from his touch as you poured his drink into the glass. “Knows how to listen. Knows when to stay quiet—that’s rare these days.” He said, looking at Yunho with a smirk.

You sat up and handed him his drink, watching how he smiled at you as he said a small thank you. Ugh, asshole. You wanted to throw the drink in his face and slap him right across.

During the interaction, you felt Yunho’s eyes on you. “Quiet doesn’t always mean obedience.” He said in a low, calm voice—an undercurrent tone you couldn’t pinpoint.

Your heart raced just a little faster at his response. Jae chuckled as he caressed your thigh. “Spoken like a man who’s never trained anyone.”

Trained.

That word sat heavy in your chest. You tried to keep your face neutral as you flickered your gaze to the glass Jae kept in his hand—waiting for this moment to be over quickly.

“Spoken like a man who’s afraid of what happens when they think for themselves.” Yunho answers back as he finishes his drink, placing it on the table as he stares down Jae.

His words ran a fucking shiver down your spine—fighting to not look at him.

Jae shifted beneath you—you can tell these words affected him. “Control is not fear.” He said smoothly. “It’s all about consistency. My girl knows that I’ve got her.” He smirks, “Therefore, she does not need to question anything. Right, baby?” He looks at you with a smile.

But before you could say anything—

“Or maybe she knows what happens when she does.” His words cut through the silence like a knife.

Your heart stops as you slowly look at Yunho.

No one has ever spoken to Jae like that.

Jae’s voice dipped into something darker, a grin still on his face. “Are you trying to say something, Yunho?”

Yunho slightly shook his head. “I’m just observing.” He said calmly. His eyes lingered on you as if it held you in place.

You knew the look in his eyes—the type of man who commands with just a glance. This only confirms how dangerous Yunho was and you do not want to fuck with that.

But—

You can’t help it. Something about him was tugging you towards him.

Was it…

The way he looked at you? The way he saw the cracks through the mask? The way he made you feel human, even if it was just for a second?

I mean—You don’t even know man. Yet, slowly, he has undone some of your walls… just with words.

Wait—

Stop—

This was reckless.

You have to stop it.

You know better than to want answers. Curiosity in this world gets people killed.

—

It was later in the night.

Yunho was sitting in the back of the car with one arm slung casually along the seat—the window cracked open as the smoke from his cigar disappeared into the night air.

His driver was silent—ready for any command.

But Yunho—

He was busy.

He was watching you.

There you were. Standing outside with Jae—who had two of his men standing behind him. You were at the back of the club, away from curious eyes. Your coat was wrapped tightly around you, shielding you from the cold night.

You adjusted your purse strap on your shoulder and then crossed your arms, looking away from Jae with attitude.

Jae had stepped closer to you—the argument was escalating as you looked back at him and scoffed at whatever he said, shaking your head at him in disbelief.

Jae just looked away from you, smoking his cigarette as he waited for you to comply with what he asked of you. You glared at him with fury in your eyes as you opened your purse, grabbing the stacks of cash and shoving it to his chest.

Jae stumbled back slightly—taken aback by your actions as he looked down at the money on the floor. He exhaled through his mouth as closed his eyes, letting out a scoff. He smirked as he looked back up at you, face written with anger.

“What do we have here?” Yunho murmured to himself as he tilted his head slightly in curiosity—the tip of his cigarette glowed a faint red as he took a drag, casting a brief flicker of light across his face.

“Sir?” The driver asked, looking through the mirror. But Yunho stayed silent, just keeping his eyes on you.

You then proceeded to tell Jae something that just sets him off, talking back at you in anger. You roll your eyes at his stupidity. Done with his bullshit, you turned around—

But—

Then it happened.

Jae’s hand shoots out and grabs your face, roughly and controlling as he leaned in, yelling something directly in your face. Yunho can faintly hear you yelling at Jae to let you go as you try removing his hands off of you.

There was a lot of back and forth yelling but eventually—

He let go.

Your chest was heaving as you looked at him with fear and anger all mixed up. You adjusted your purse and turned around to walk away—fast. But Jae tsks as he dropped his cigarette to the floor and rushed to you but only this time—

It’s gentle.

He caught up to you and turned you around, softly. You closed your eyes as he caressed your face, him apologizing for his actions. But you aren’t falling for his antics.

You completely tensed up as you looked away, removing his hand from your face as your lips curled in disgust from his touch. He caresses your hair and leans down, whispering something in your ear causing you to freeze and look up at him.

He steps back and walks to his car, opening up the backseat door for you. He gestures for you to enter as he gives you a smile. Yunho can see your hesitation.

He sees the way your eyes linger on the car before you slowly make your way to the car, stopping once more but eventually, you climb into the car. Jae then follows suit but before closing the door he orders one of his men to pick up the money.

Yunho flicked the cigarette out the window, little flicks of ember spark upon contact to the floor. Interesting, he thought.

“Let’s go.” Yunho told his driver.

And with that they took off, leaving Yunho curious of what just went down.

—

It’s been a few weeks and Yunho has now become a permanent fixture within the club. But of course, it was bound to happen now they are partners.

It just means he isn’t going anywhere.

You saw him more often than you wanted to.

He never once did anything to make you feel uncomfortable but—you won’t deny the feeling that occurs within you when you two lock eyes.

You don’t know what it is. It’s unspoken—unnamed. But it weighed very heavy every time.

The club was darker tonight. A spotlight on you as you performed. The music was sultry, dangerous—enough to make the men holler for you as you gave them your captivating smile.

Off in the distance, Jae leaned back against the leather of the booth with a lazy smirk on his face, “She is something, isn’t she?” He said in awe of you as he watched you dance.

Yunho just hummed in response.

He leaned forward as his elbows rested on his knees, glass dangling from loose fingertips. His eyes followed your movements, feeling like he was in a trance.

He then looks down to the floor and ponders hard before asking, “What is she to you?” His voice was quiet yet it sliced through the noise.

Jae didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, there was a pause. Both men looked at you in admiration—well, one did. The other looked at you as a money making machine.

“She is everything to me.” Jae said in a serious tone, downing his drink, letting out a satisfied sigh.

He then sits up with a face full of smugness. He places his cup on the table, opening up the bottle of liquor, “She is the best thing I ever invested in.”

Thing.

Asshole, Yunho thought as he let out a small scoff that went unnoticed.

Yunho looked at him with an eyebrow raised, “Invested?”

Jae chuckled, tipping his glass towards the stage in faulty delight. “Found her working at a shitty diner. She was the most beautiful girl I have ever seen…” He said as he zoned out, daydreaming about when he first saw you.

All bright smiles. Now they are all gone.

“Well,” Jae said, clearing his throat, snapping out of it. “I made her an offer, one where she can make real money—to live a little, ya’know?”

He then leans closer to Yunho, lowering his voice, “But, let’s just say, she signed the contract without reading the fine print.” He lets out a cackle as he shoves Yunho as if he just said the funniest joke ever.

“Ahhh,” he sighed happily, in a daze. “Now, she belongs to me.”

Let me tell you, if looks could kill—

Jae would’ve been dead.

Yunho’s stare had darkened but his face just remained cold—expressionless. He can’t believe someone would do something so fucking cruel to a person who was just trying to survive.

“Hey,” Jae said as he tapped his arm, “do you want a closer look?” He offered you. He then places a hand on his own chest, “It’ll be my personal gift to you.” He smiles at him.

He then gets serious, “But,” he warned, “don’t get attached.” He said in a low tone. They just stared at each other before Jae bursted out into laughter making Yunho smirk back at him.

Yunho looked away from Jae and watched you finish your dance. Jae didn’t bother for a response as two girls approached him and easily got distracted. Idiot, as always.

When you finished your set, your eyes roamed the crowd—the room. You caught Yunho’s eyes already looking at you and it felt as if time slowed down for the both of you.

But reality came striking in as the lights turned off—snapping you right back into the moment as you disappeared behind the curtains.

Yunho just kept his gaze on you.

Little by little, things were starting to make sense to him.

—

After the performance, the club was winding down. Once again, as always, right when you’re about to leave—

Jae.

Of course.

But this time, it’s slightly good news?

You stood off at the side of the bar, arms crossed tightly over your chest as you stood in your silk robe. Jae was completely leaned into your space—mouth near your ear, smiling as he spoke to you.

Completely blinded that he didn’t notice your face was carved out in flat annoyance as you stared into an empty space—wondering when the fuck this conversation was over.

From the shadows, way up near Jae’s office, Yunho had the perfect view. He saw the way Jae cupped your face, caressing it with his thumbs as if you were something so delicate he wanted to take care of.

Right.

He saw how you removed his hand with a sharp flick of your wrist—careful to not draw attention from your coworkers. Jae’s smile faltered for half a second before snapping back into his cruel self.

He closed his hand around your arm, fingers digging into it as he guided you around the corner where the noise of the club thinned out, swallowed by the heavy walls.

He leaned in, voice low. “I’m leaving the city for a bit.” He said as he brushed a stray hair from your face.

Oh?

“Business things, you wouldn’t understand.” He said condescendingly, making you exhale deeply. “You see, there are some things I have to finish now that Yunho is onboard with us.”

You stayed still.

Silent.

Jae’s mouth curled into a smirk. His hand lifted your chin to face him, “And since I’m leaving, I’m trusting you with a little responsibility, mmh?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “What is it?”

His hands slide around your waist, bring you close to him as he sways you two a little bit. “Take care of our new partner, yeah? I want you to show him why we are the best in the business.”

Your stomach twisted.

“But,” his eyes darkened. “Don’t get any fucking ideas. Do you understand me?”

You nodded as you swallowed down your nerves. “Good.” He said smiling. “I don’t know when I’ll be back but—“

He leans in slightly.

“Don’t give me a reason to come back early, alright?” He then gives you a patronizing little tap under your chin before walking off, leaving you standing there.

Yunho watches as you stand there, letting Jae’s words sink in your mind.

Slowly, he starts to back up into the shadows—disappearing just in time as you flickered your gaze up to the third floor where Jae’s office was, feeling someone looking at you.

But no one was there.

—

Jae has been gone for some time now and quite frankly it has been… peaceful.

Everything seems to flow with ease now. The club seems vibrant with good energy. The girls seemed happier and actually laughed more. Security seemed relaxed, less tense than normal—everything just seemed lighter.

As if everyone can breathe.

Why is that, you may ask?

Yunho was the complete opposite of Jae.

He earned the respect of people without raising his voice or barking out orders.

And the girls? Well, they noticed it.

They laughed more when he was around, joked with him in between sets—hell, even the newest ones felt safe enough to talk to him about issues they had. Something no one ever bothered doing with Jae.

It’s like he was always surrounded by them. Comfortable enough to drape themselves over him, flock to him, hooking arms around his shoulder or arms as they whispered things into his ears that made them giggle in the process.

They craved his attention—his gentle touch. A small piece of him. But it was understandable—we never had this type of figure in our lives at the club—it’s almost as if he was something the club itself was missing.

And you would see how he would let them.

Let them play their games. Pour his drinks. Caress his whole body.

You also saw how he would lean in, whispering sweet nothings to them making them turn shy under his stare. How the girls would send glances at each other before standing up, grabbing his hand as they tugged him to one of the many private rooms—where fantasies would roam.

But—

You maintained your distance.

You’re not falling for his antics—his bullshit. I mean, let’s focus on the facts here; he’s just like Jae.

You tell yourself, ‘look away, it's not worth it.’

But—

Something always pulls you back.

You did look

Every time.

Every night, he would run off and disappear with different girls.

You had no clue what the hell would happen behind the closed doors but with the way they came out with makeup smudged, faces flushed, giddy as they adjusted their clothes, and fixing their hair said enough.

And Yunho? Untouched.

And yet—

No matter how much you try to avoid him, despite Jae's orders, he somehow manages to find your eyes through the crowd—every single time.

It never fails to make your heart race or breath hitch.

Like take tonight for example—

Finally, you finished your set and you just wanted to count your money and go. You were behind the bar, stacking up your cash tips into neat piles but your hands were trembling slightly.

Your fingers would fumble when you looked up to grab a glance—wanting to know if he was still looking.

And he was.

He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, his stare was unreal to relentless. Feeling conflicted and frustrated with how easily you let him affect you—

You dropped your money and sighed, leaning on the counter as you closed your eyes, exhaling. You ended up gathering your money in one pile and decided to just count it in the dressing room—what you should’ve done in the first place.

You gave him one last look—slight annoyance written on to which he returned with a small smirk as you disappeared into the dressing room.

His stare felt like it whispered, I’ll see you. Soon.

—

The following night, you were in the dressing room with the rest of the girls—shift change.

But not for you, you have been here the whole day.

Some girls were wiping off their makeup and talking out loud about some handsy, cheap men, gaining some laughs from some girls as they made jokes over it. Some focused on getting dressed as they prepared for the night.

You sat at your vanity, tugging your zipper open on your makeup bag, grabbing your setting spray. You softly chuckled at the ongoing conversations from the girls as you took off the cap from the bottle and sprayed your face, waving your hand to help the skin soak in the liquid.

Once that was settled, you adjusted the straps of your outfit back onto your shoulder—hands moving on autopilot to adjust, tighten, apply.

Just as you were about to take off your heels to let your feet breathe for a second—“Hey,” your coworker leaned around the corner of your mirror, “You’re booked. Private dance. Room 11.” She said lazily chewing gum, voice casual.

You let her words sink in as you felt your sore body crying, complaining at her words. You exhaled slowly through your nose as you nodded at her words, giving her a forced smile, “Got it.”

She flashed you a wink and disappeared around the corner. You sat there for a second longer, staring at your reflection. You mentally tell yourself ‘you can do it’ as you get up, roll your shoulders and head out the room with some girls telling you good luck as you give them a small smile.

—

You approached room 11 and stopped in front of it. You gave your body a little shaky to wake yourself up and exhale once. You steadied your hand into a fist, knocking twice.

“Come in.”

You turned the knob and pushed the door open, stepping into the dimly lit private room. The heavy door thudded close behind you, muting the club's music into a dull vibration against the wall.

Oh my god—

There he was.

Yunho.

His legs were crossed at the knee—an arm draped lazily along the back of the chair while the other rested on the curve of his thigh with a glass of dark liquor dangling loose in his grasp.

He didn’t move.

He didn’t speak.

He just watched you through the huge mirror in front of him. A slow smirk curved his lips while you two stared at one another.

Internally, you were scared—shitless. You wanted to turn around and leave but Jae’s words haunted you. You had no time to slack off—

You leaned casually against the door frame, “Mr. Jeong,” a sweet, coy smile appeared on your face. “What can I do for you?” You purred, voice like honey.

His smile only widened—darkly. You pushed yourself off the door, ignoring the way your heart raced as your heels softly clicked towards him—walking around the room.

A predator's arc.

You let your finger trail lightly across the back of the leather sofa behind him until you stood directly behind him. Your hands slide down his chest, palms ghosting over his broad shoulders—all light and teasing.

You lowered your head slightly, just enough for him to feel the whispers of your breath against his skin. “You know,” you murmured, voice dropping to a sultry tone. “I was wondering when you were going to come to me.”

You felt the way his body tensed but barely. It was controlled within seconds.

Finally—

After what felt like forever—

He spoke. “I want you tonight.” His voice was low and smooth—unrushed. “Just for me.”

“All to myself.” He smirked. You felt the floor crumbling under your feet just by his words.

He tilted his head up just enough to glance at you over his shoulder. “You understand me,” he said as he caught your eyes. “Don’t you, Y/N?”

Hearing your name come from his mouth made your knees slightly buckle.

The room felt smaller now—hotter even. You felt your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

“I understand.”

You smiled at him as your hands moved around the chair, humans saying with a practiced roll. You deliberately dragged your fingertips across his chest as you circled him and stood in front of him.

You hooked your finger under his chin and made him look up at you, “So…” you whispered, voice dipping into something dark—intimate. “What are you willing to do to get what you want?”

He said in full confidence, “Anything.”

That smirk remained on your face, “Anything?” You repeated as you tilted your head. He nods once at you.

“Mm.” You hummed in amusement as you let go of his face, taking a step back. The way his legs spread out just enough seemed to invite you in—but not enough to beg.

His eyes burned into your figure, waiting for your next move. You turned around and walked to the speaker—purposely leaning down to press the button of the speaker, showcasing your curves.

He lets out a quiet chuckle at your action, taking a sip of his drink before placing it off to the side.

And just like that—

The music played.

You walked to the center of the room, sliding down to your knees—maintaining that eye contact with him. You slowly crawled on all fours to him until you were between his legs. Your hands gently caressed his strong thighs—

Moving them up and down a few times before you use his thighs to help yourself up—your hands finding the hard plane of his chest, giving him a push.

He lets you force him back deeper into the chair with a soft thud, smirk flickering at the edges. You swung one leg over him, straddling his lap with a slow roll of your hips that barely skimmed his—just enough for him to feel the unbearable heat trapped between your thighs.

You settled on him deliberately, your weight feather–light—teasing as your thighs squeezed around his hips.

You leaned in, mouth brushing against the shell of his ear, letting your breath ghost over his skin until you felt the sharp inhale he tried to hide.

Here goes nothing.

“Tell me you’re mine, Mr. Jeong,” you murmured to him—voice dipped in velvet sin. You rolled your hips—slow.

Controlled.

You felt him slightly tensed at your actions causing you to look back at his face. Your fingers reached up to his hair—just enough to make him obey.

“But look at me when you say it.”

His breath hitched—fuck.

We are just getting started and he already feels in heaven with you.

“Yours–” His voice was low and strained, distracted by your slow grinding. “I’m yours.”

You smirked at him as you tugged his head back, just enough to expose his neck. Your fingertips traced from the tip of his chin down to his chest—barely a touch.

He bit his lower lip in delight—hands twitching at his sides, aching to touch you but you moved faster than he could—

“Oh,” you scolded, voice teasing, ”Mr. Jeong. Keep those hands to yourself.” You smirked at him as you grabbed his face gently, bringing his head to eye level with yours. “Wouldn’t want to get in trouble.”

Although you held that smile—inside, your walls were still up.

This was just a fantasy—a role you were just playing. And this man did not belong in your reality.

His lips parted slightly—a low growl rumbling deep from within his chest. You silenced him with a single finger pressed against his mouth, “shh,” you whispered, giving him a faint smile—just enough to keep in control of the moment. “Don’t worry. You’ll get a taste… eventually..”

Your eyes darkened as you removed your finger from his lips, using that same hand to drag it down your body. Over the swell of your breasts. Down the curve of your waist. Moving with a slow, deliberate arch of your back that made your core pulse with need as you grind shading him again.

Instinctively, his hand shot up—desperate to feel you more. But you smacked it away with a sharp crack against his wrist—the noise cuts through the room, making his jaw flex harder.

You grabbed his face firmly with one hand, forcing him to look at you. “I said no touching.” You warned him, your tone in pure dominance.

His breath caught in his throat as your grip tightened on his jaw. There was a pause between you two as his eyes flickered between yours.

Until—

“That look in your eyes,” his tone was deadly, “I know you only get like that with me.”

You paused at his words. Your brain short circuits for a second—

But you’re quick with words.

You let out a small laugh, leaning as your mouth hovers over him, your eyes narrowing with the faintest smirk on your lips. “You must think you’re special.”

You let the words hang there, your lips inches from his. Then you pulled back, in control of the moment. “Don’t mistake the fantasy for something real, Mr. Jeong.”

You won’t fall for his charms.

His voice.

His eyes.

You won’t fall for his act.

He’s just like Jae.

You won’t be stupid—Not again.

Yunho’s gaze devoured you. His pupils were blown wide, jaw clenched so tight you could practically feel the restraint vibrating off him.

He stays silent.

And then—

That smirk again. It’s like he can see through you. It’s as if he knew something you didn’t dare to say out loud.

Your fingers were the first too move—

Eyes still locked on one another.

You reached for his dress shirt. Undoing one button. Then another. Slow, no rush. Your touch brushed against the heat of his skin with every pass.

When the fourth button slipped free, you shifted closer—your body brushing his. Your lips hovered over his skin, pressing soft kiss just beneath his collarbone—

Right over his heart.

Your lips press kissing trailing up to beneath the ear. “Tell me,” you whispered, “does it still feel real?”

Yunho threw his head back, making a soft thud with the she of the sofa as he fluttered his eyes close with delight. He let out a low, desperate groan that growled deep from within his chest. “Shit”. He whispered.

You felt him twitch underneath you—for the first time feeling helpless. His hands flexed into fists, trying to restrain from touching you as he kept letting out broken, low groans.

Your hands dragged slowly down his chest, fingertips gliding over his skin until they reached his thighs—thick and tense beneath your touch.

You began to rub them in a slow, tormenting rhythm—up, down, up again—never rushing. Your thumbs brushed dangerously close to his throbbing bulge, straining against his slacks.

He inhaled sharply—he twitched as his chest heaved, head still thrown back as he now gripped the edge of the sofa.

You felt it—the way he was eager to know what you were going to do next.

And just when you knew he was about to break—

You stood up and backed away—leaving him with the ghost of your touch.

He let out a wrecked, frustrated groan as he snapped his head up at you—pupils blown wide, completely dazed out as he panted hard.

His eyes tracked your every move like he couldn’t believe this shit. You really walked away from him. Fuck.

You turned your back to him, hips swaying with a deadly rhythm. You knew his eyes were locked on you.

You ran a hand through your hair, then glanced back over your shoulder—just enough to catch him watching. And you winked—causing him to let out a scoff in disbelief.

Crossing the room, you approached the silver pole in the center of the mini stage. You turned, leaned your back against the cool metal, arching into it with feline grace.

It was cold against your skin but you didn’t flinch. This was your moment.

You threw your head back, exposing the curve of your neck as your chest rose and fell with every breath you took. One hand slide up to your throat, letting out a moan as you squeeze it gently—

Then gliding both hands over your breast, looking at him as you give a soft, purposeful squeeze before trailing them down the sides of your waist with fluid motion.

Across the room, Yunho shifted in his seat—feeling like his clothes were getting tight, air was thinning—he felt like he was suffocating.

He grabbed his drink and brought it to his lips, fucking taking a gulp trying to control himself. His eyes never left you—they were locked on you.

Dark. Frustrated. Barely blinking.

You smiled to yourself, remaining quiet.

Your fingers slid down the hem of your top, dragging the fabric upward—slow and teasing—peeling it off inch by inch until you finally lifted it over your head in a fluid motion, dangling in your hand until you dropped it beside you.

The soft lace of your bra hugged your skin perfectly. The swell of your breast showing the rising and falling with each breath.

You let him absorb every inch of you.

You then do a 180 twirl on the pole and face the mirror. Your vision adjusts on his eyes as you smirk—slowly, you bent forward, hands trailing down the back of your thighs.

They glide over the curves of your calves as your ass arches up high in the air. You stood up with a sensual roll of your hips. Then—

Your thumbs slipped into the waistbands of your shorts—dangerously dragging them down.

Just slow enough to feel every inch of the fabric as it slid over your hips, down your thighs, past your knees… until they pooled around your feet in a soft heap.

You stepped out of them, now standing in nothing but a delicate lace bra and matching thong.

You felt him. There was no need to look at him.

The way the air had thickened—the way his breathing faltered behind you.

He was dying in that seat.

And you weren’t done yet. Nope.

You turned your head—just slightly. Just enough to glance over your shoulder.

The corner of your mouth lifted into the softest, cruelest smile when you saw the sight of him—

Jaw clenched. Eyes dark. Chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Completely wrecked.

Then you moved again—slow, dangerous, with a rhythm, turning around to face him.

Just then, you let your fingers trail down your stomach, throwing your head back as you bite your lower lip.

You lower and hover right at the thought of something completely unholy—

The music stopped.

Room fell into silence as you lifted your head and looked at him.

No one spoke.

Until you did, giving him a smile, “We are finished here.” You say softly as you walk to the robe hanging on the wall.

He didn’t move at first. Just sat there—shirt half unbuttoned, chest rising and falling like he’d been holding his breath during the whole performance.

Then his chair scraped back slightly as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low and raw. “What the hell just happened?”

He wasn’t angry—just wrecked.

You turned your head to him, tying your robe, “A performance.” You said smoothly, walking up to him. “Did you enjoy it, Mr. Jeong?”

He remained silent and broken—wrecked, disbelief. He sat there fuming and aching, wondering where the fuck did time go.

You smiled, politely, and reached for his cup. “I’ll get you another one, sir.” You offered as you headed towards the minibar.

It was a habit. You did it for Jae. You did it for clients. Nothing more.

Yunho stood up and adjusted the buttons on his shirt, shaking his head as he let out a broken chuckle—he didn’t know if to laugh or curse. He turned his head to you and watched as you made his drink, ice clinking softly as you poured.

“How do you…” His voice was rough and low, “turn it off so quickly?”

You see glass down on the counter, feeling your hands shake as you try to calm down your rushing heartbeat. “What do you mean, Mr. Jeong?” You asked him, tilting your head in confusion.

There was a pause as he looked at you. He reached for his drink without looking at it—still trying to piece together what just happened.

He gives a small smile, slightly shaking his head. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter.”

But there was something that flickered behind his eyes—something you couldn’t pinpoint.

You slowly gave him a polite smile, stepping back. “I’m just doing my job, Mr. Jeong.”

But his eyes were still on you—quiet, unreadable.

“You know,” he said, taking a sip of his drink, “you can call me Yunho.”

You maintained a professional smile. “Of course, Mr. Jeong.” You said it softly—sweetly even.

But it hit Yunho harder than a slap.

“I hope you have a good night.” You tell him as you walk around him, getting ready to leave the room as your heels click on the floor.

But then—

Thud

You froze mid-step.

The sound cracked through the room—loud and final. He had the final power move.

Your heart jumped, slamming against your ribcage. You tell yourself to not turn around but—slowly, you did, internally cursing at yourself.

Two thick stacks of money sat on the bar’s counter. Tossed like they meant nothing, but to you it meant everything. Your eyes lifted to him.

He hadn’t moved. He stayed watching you.

“I know why you’re here.” His voice was low. “That night outside of the club—I saw you and Jae.”

Your breath caught as you slightly stepped back, eyes widening. “I saw you handing him all of your money.” He said as takes one step towards you.

You looked at the floor frantically—breathing a little bit heavier. You felt embarrassed right now, humiliated. Your eyes shot to him, “That doesn’t concern you.” You said in a cold tone.

He ignores your tone and steps closer to you. “You’re right, you’re right...” He shrugs and stops as he looks into your eyes. “But no one deserves to be treated like that.”

You didn’t look away.

Just stood there in silence. Letting his words wash over you. His words come back, getting you out of your thoughts, “This is what you’re going to do,”

He reaches for one of the stacks and slides it across the counter towards you, “You’ll give this one to Jae.” He pauses and then he picks up the other stack and hands it to you, “And this one—you keep. Spend it however you want.”

You stare at the money, feeling your pulse ring in your ears. “I can’t.” Your voice barely above a whisper.

“You can.” Yunho said with his tone unwavering—expression unreadable.

You shook your head, “No.” You said taking a step back, “I don’t want it.” Your breath was shallow as you turned around, feeling the room spin.

Your heart was racing, palms were sweaty. You placed your hand on your heart as you closed your eyes, trying to calm down the spinning in your head. You didn’t notice how fast you were breathing until Yunho stepped in front of you.

“Hey, hey.” He said softly as he took your hands, gently to ground you. “It’s okay.”

Your eyes shoot to him. “You don’t understand.” You tell him as you swallow to moisten your dry throat, “Jae will find out. You don’t know the things he will do once he does. He watches everything—He’ll know. He’ll know I’m hiding money—“

“He won’t find out.” He cuts you off gently. He held your gaze as he cups your face, “This stays between you and me. Okay?”

You didn’t speak.

You just nodded. Small.

“Okay.” He said in a whisper as he gave you a small smile.

You didn’t notice it but this was the first crack in your mask—your first moment of trust in him.

Then, without another word, Yunho lets go of your face and takes a step back, keeping that small smile before heading out the room.

There was no glance over his shoulder—just straight out the room.

You stood there for a moment.

Frozen.

“What the fuck just happened?” You whispered to yourself. Your breathing calmed, everything steadied. How did he do that so easily?

When you finally were able to move, your body moved on autopilot. You reached for the door, pulling it open—cool air from the club spilled in, brushing your exposed skin. Your eyes searched for him—why? You don’t fucking know why.

But when you did—

Across the club, already halfway to another private room. Two girls happily pull him inside as he gives them a smirk, one of them stopping to whisper into his ear as he wraps his arm around her waist for support.

But then—

He looks back at you. A quick tilt of his head, barely noticeable.

Your stomach drops. You weren’t sure what that look meant, but you can’t deny what you felt from it.

Soon enough he disappears as the door closes. You stood there, still gripping the knob of the door. Slowly you stepped back into the room and shut the door, turning to leaning on it.

Your eyes then dropped to the money on the counter. Your jaw tightened. You didn’t move. Just stared at it. You didn’t want anything from him but—

You sighed as you pushed yourself off the door. As you approached the money, your hand hesitatingly grabbed them.

You hated yourself for a second.

But this was the only choice you had.

—

It was a new night.

The lights were blinding, bass pulsed through your body, crowd was loud—

One thing that stood out from everything was how you felt before you saw him. The way everything faded the moment your eyes locked on him.

Yunho.

In the VIP section again. Legs spread out, shoulders relaxed, one hand resting on his thigh, the other lazily cradling a drink he hadn’t touched.

Watching you on stage.

Your body moved on muscle memory. You knew this set like the back of your hands—hands know where to go, how your hips should sway.

But tonight, everything felt… different.

Something along the lines of intimate.

Your eyes flickered in his direction when they were suppose to stay closed, hips rolling a second longer, fingers sliding across your skin a little too slow—

Hey, what are you doing?

Stop it.

You know better. You know better than to give him a show.

But you did.

Somehow, you always did.

He could feel every thought passing through your head, every skip in your breath—it’s like he can read you.

And then— he smiled.

The faintest pull on his lips. Like he owned the way your body shifted in movements.

Your breath hitched, turning your eyes back to the crowd as you ached your back against the pole. Fuck. Get your shit together. You think to yourself as you collect yourself.

The music pounded as bills flew off of hands—loud cheers but you didn’t register it.

Because one name cuts through your mind like a knife; Jae.

Your chest tightened. Suddenly the air didn’t feel electric—it felt dangerous. Your movements snapped back to routine.

You finished the set.

But as you slid off the stage and stepped behind the curtain, heart pounding and knees weak, all you could think was that he saw it. He saw the way you messed up when you looked at him. Even deep in thought as you were up there.

You just wanted to go home.

But—

You just wanted to know why the fuck you were heading towards Yunho.

What the fuck are you doing, Y/N?

You kept telling yourself to stop.

You told yourself to keep that distance.

And yet–

One step.

Two steps.

One after another. The sounds of your heels against the floor felt louder than the music.

He was still there, seated. Relaxed. Confident. Watching the next performance.

Always watching.

You hate the way your stomach flipped inside at the sight of him. You hated the way your body reacted towards him.

Why were you going to him? You don’t owe him anything. You don’t talk to him. You don’t trust him. You can’t.

You should just stop and turn around, forget this even happened.

Five more steps.

His eyes lifted and locked onto yours. Your breath stuttered. You were close now—no turning back.

Your mouth parted to say something—maybe a greet? Come up with a half assed minuscule complaint that you can just deal with on your own?

You had no clue.

But suddenly— Jae’s voice echoed in your head. “Don’t get any fucking ideas.”

And for once, you agreed with the possessive, power-drunk asshole.

You were not going to get any ideas, even if your body betrayed you.

Your throat closed around the words you didn’t even know what you were going to say.

You clenched your jaw, swallowed the lump in your throat and just turned around.

You didn’t even look back.

Yunho leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he gnawed on his lower lip, curious as to what you were going to do as he watched you disappear behind the curtain.

—

It was later at night and the crowd had thinned out, lights were dimmed—and you were exhausted.

You saw in the farthest booth—away from the noise, away from stares, away from him. You did check your surroundings and didn’t spot him anywhere. You sat down with a sigh of relief as you counted the stack of bills resting in your lap.

On autopilot. Barely present.

Your fingers moved, but your mind was miles away. You wonder if he left already or is in a private dance with some girls—not that you care.

Just focus on you and everything will be okay.

You were halfway through rolling a band around a few bills when a shadow stopped at your table. You looked up and saw it was one of the new girls, standing in front of you with a cold bottle of water.

You tilted your head, “Oh?” You were confused as you reached out and grabbed it from your hands. “…Thank you?” You gave her a small smile.

“You’re welcome!” She said brightly with a little smile. “You… didn’t ask for one, right?”

You shook your head slowly, confused. “No. I didn’t.”

She grinned like she knew something you didn’t. “I know.” She beamed. “Someone wanted me to give it to you.”

Your heart skipped, taken aback. “Who?”

But she just winked and turned, heels clicking as she walked away without another word. Your eyes flicked to the bottle and then you saw it—

A napkin—

Folded neatly beneath the water, pressed flat under the condensation. You peeled it free with careful fingers.

For your hard work tonight. —J

Your throat tightened as your eyes slightly widened. Your head shot up as you scanned the room with too much urgency.

And you spotted him—

Outside of Jae’s office on the third floor—half in the shadow. He raised his glass to you. A silent acknowledgement.

You looked back down at the note, trying to ignore the way your heart fluttered from his gesture.

But you couldn’t ignore the fact that he saw you for you. Not as a toy or machine or dancer… but you.

And in all honesty—you didn’t mean to keep it.

Seriously, you didn’t.

It was just a napkin.

So how did it end up in your purse?

You were sitting in your vanity, fully dressed in your sweats to go home, taking off the makeup before you left. Once you were done, you reached into your purse for your keys but felt something soft, causing you to take it out with furrowed eyebrows.

It’s crumpled a little now from being cooped up in your purse. You looked around and saw that you were alone in the room then read the simple words again.

For your hard work tonight. —J

You stared at it like it had something more to say.

But it was just a note.

He treats all the girls like this, maybe even more.

But your fingers fold it gently—delicately—like something fragile. Like something worth keeping. You then tucked it back in your purse.

You reached over to turn off the light on your vanity but before you did that, you stared at your own reflection, whispering. “Get a grip.”

With that you turned it off and headed on home.

Where you reread that note on the napkin a few times before drifting to sleep—napkin on your chest.

—

You were on bar duty that night.

The bottles clinked as you restocked the top shelf, lips pursed in quiet annoyance as you felt a cramp forming in your shoulder from extending your arm too far.

You stretched your neck to the side as you rolled your shoulder backwards to quickly release the pressure. Besides the pain in your shoulder—tonight was a good night.

First things first, no heels.

Secondly, no drunk men harassing you or any of the usual chaos.

But most importantly—No Yunho.

It was just your and your space with the low hum of the steady music and peace.

But you spoke too soon.

“Hey,” One of the girls called out as she leaned over the counter, adjusting her top in the mirror behind the bar as she chewed her gum, “you got a booking.”

You blinked.

Like hell you do.

“I’m not on rotation.” You didn’t bother to look up—just kept polishing the glass in your hand.

She smirked, “Yeah, well, now you are.”

You placed the cup down, her smirk quickly dropping as you looked at her. “Who is it?” You asked.

She blinked innocently—too innocent. She shrugged, “Didn’t say.”

Bullshit.

You can see the lie in your eyes.

But just as you were going to confront her, another dancer strolled in, heels dangling from her fingers like dead weight.

She tossed them on the bar as she sat on the stool, leaned her elbows against the counter and grinned at you.

“Whoever it is, paid in cash.” She paused, looking around and then leaned in closer to you causing the other girl to lean in as well to hear her. “They also tipped enough to cover someone’s rent for two days.”

The other girl gasped as she popped her bubblegum. “What?!” She exclaimed as the other one just nodded at her words. “Bitch, you’re so lucky.”

You gave them a deadpan look.

Lucky is something you are far from.

You scoffed as you rolled your eyes, wiping down the counter. “Well, whoever it is—“ you paused as you narrowed your eyes at them, “I’m not doing it.”

The girls exchanged a look before bursting out into laughter—loud and unapologetic. “You say that like you have a choice.” The barefoot one said as she got off the stool and winked at you as she scooped up her heels.

They both walked away, not bothering to hear a response from you.

You stare at the hallway then at the bar top. Let’s just get this over with.

—

You should’ve fucking known.

There he was.

Yunho.

Sitting in the center chair like it was and for him—legs spread, arms draped over the sides, head tilted slightly like he’d already been waiting for hours, but he didn’t care. He would wait for you.

His gaze dragged up your body, slow and heavy. “Thought you weren't going to come.” His voice was low.

You raised an eyebrow, taking small steps to him, “I didn’t realize I was expected.” You replied in a neutral tone—but you could hear the tightness in it.

Yunho smiled. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

You hesitated—just a flicker—and his eyes caught it.

Why does he have to say it like that? Why does he say things like this to you? Why does it affect you so much?

You turned your back to him as you untied the robe, letting it drop to the floor. You could feel his stare on you as goosebumps arose on your skin.

You stepped into the center of the room, “Then I hope…” you paused as you finally looked at him face to face, “I don’t disappoint you.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak, just watched. There was no way to describe the emotions Yunho was going through as you looked him in the eyes.

You walked until you stood between his legs, lifting your hand up at him.

His gaze flickered to it, a brow lifting in amusement but he didn’t move.

He sat there, motionless.

He knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted to make you suffer just a little.

Was he going to accept it or not?

But then—

He reached out.

Sliding his large and warm hand into yours, fingers curling up. The contact sent heat spiraling up your arm. You gave him a soft smile—controlled and measured—gently tugging him up.

He smirked as he rose up, letting you lead him. His gaze never left yours as you guided him to the center of the room.

The look behind his eyes—it was something unreadable. It burned slowly, deep, and dangerous. You don’t know why his eyes felt different, compared to Jae. Compared to the many men you have met.

When you reached the spot, you stopped. His chest is a few inches from yours. Your hands slide up his suit jacket, over his firm chest. You then slide them down—until they paused just above his belt.

You look up at him, eyes twinkling. Your arms reach over his shoulders as you hover over his mouth, “I want you to get on your knees.” You whispered. “Mr. Jeong.”

A beat of silence.

You waited for rejection. For the challenge. For the smirk that always meant game over.

But what came instead—

Was surrender.

A slow shake of his head, that smile curling at the edges almost as if saying you have no idea what you’re doing.

Then—

He stepped back twice, still looking at you, and he dropped to his knees. You smiled down at him as you took out pretty pink handcuffs from your back pocket as it dangled on your finger, “Hands behind your back.” You lightly teased.

He didn’t hesitate or asked why. His hands slid behind him, interlacing at the small of his back as you began to slowly circle.

Your fingers traced across his broad shoulders—light, deliberate—like you were trying to memorize him through touch alone.

He stayed still. Relaxed.

Waiting.

You crouched behind him, your body close but not touching—hovering. Your lips close enough behind his neck as your breath fanned on it.

One hand reaches forward, slipping around the front of his neck, finger played across his throat. The other slid up to jaw, gripping just enough to make his lips part.

In the mirror across the room, you saw his reflection—on his knees, chest slightly heaving as he waited desperately for your next move while you were in control of this moment.

You leaned in, your breath a whisper against the shell of his ear. “Why are you so quiet, Mr. Jeong?”

He didn’t answer.

But the shiver that ran down his spine told you everything.

You smiled and pressed your thumb under his jaw, gently tilting his head back. “Always looking at me with loud eyes,” you murmured, “yet your mouth has gone quiet.”

You scoffed a quiet smirk against his cheek. You then reached down and with a soft click, you fastened the cuffs around his wrists.

“Or is this what shuts you up?” Your voice dropped to something darker—dangerous. “A woman touching you like this? Someone who you can’t control?”

And for a second—just a second, he didn’t breathe.

Then he chuckled.

Low and deep.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/N,” he said, voice sounding strained but steady. “You think me being quiet means surrender.” His gaze lifted to the mirror, looking into your eyes, “But it doesn’t.”

His lips parted in a slow, wicked smirk. “It just means that I’m watching you.”

You could feel your heart drop.

You let out a silent chuckle.

You then stand up and circle back around to face him. You then raised your foot to his chest and pushed him back, his breath hitching at the impact to the floor.

“Still watching?” You asked him as you tilted your head to the side, smirking.

His eyes just went feral.

He couldn’t speak—you left him speechless.

You, too, couldn't believe what you have done as you felt your hand tremble slightly—

What the hell just came over you?

You dragged your foot off his chest and stepped over him. You sat down and straddled him—knees sinking to the cold floor on either side of him.

You lowered your hips just enough to brush his thighs—hard and straining with tension. You instantly felt his body tense under yours as he bit his lower lip—trying to keep his composure.

You started to roll your hips, slow and sensual. This wasn’t for pleasure—this was for control. You wanted to watch him fall apart.

But your mind was screaming at you. You better stop before things get worse. His back arched at the touch of you as he inhaled and exhaled sharply, trying to not break.

So you leaned in, grabbing his face gently to face you. “You think I mistake your silence for surrender?” Your voice was dangerously low. “You think that being quiet means power?”

You rolled your hips—slow and deep, letting out a small laugh as he twitched under you. “It just means you’re trying not to beg.”

Your hands slid up his chest, planting them there as your body rolled with a precision that was lethal. “Quiet men are always the loudest when they come apart.”

You dragged out every movement like punishment, “Let’s see how long you last.”

And just like that—

His groan cracked in the air, thick and broken as he threw his head back. “Fuck.” He whispered as his chest heaved, eyes shut tightly, body tensing.

Fuck, indeed.

The way he looked under you looked so ravishing that you barely caught the moan that slipped out your mouth.

Shit. You swallowed down the rest that wanted to come out down and leaned in, your lips brushing his throat. “You look better like this.” Your voice murmured like velvet. “On your knees. In cuffs. Beneath me.”

“Much better than the other night.”

You felt it when the words hit him.

He knows exactly what night you’re talking about. The night he left you in that confused state with his kind act, where he looked back at you and nodded as he was being dragged into the room by the two girls.

The night you told yourself you didn’t give a fuck.

“What a shame,” You kissed the corner of his lips, then whispered in his ear. “You don’t look nearly as desperate as them.”

Fuck, the way his body reacted.

A low grunt caught in his throat as he tilted his head up slightly to look at you—he felt like he heard something he wasn’t supposed to.

Was this… jealousy?

But you masked it with a smirk, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. You reached into your bra and pulled out a key—dangling it off one finger.

“Someone should help you finish.” Your voice was laced with a playful tone but your jaw was a little too tense. You hovered over his lips, “I’m sure one of your girls would be happy to.”

You then flicked the key off to the side and got off of him, heading to the door. He sits up slowly and glares at your figure, eyebrows furrowed—you struck a nerve. “Y/N, wait—“ he paused as he panted.

His eyes were burning with anger.

He doesn’t fucking want them.

He wants you.

Just before your fingers touched the handle, you paused. You turned around with a half smirk, “Thank you,” you said, “for your hard work… Mr. J.”

You didn’t wait for a reaction.

You walked out the door not bothering to look back at him. You didn’t slam the door, didn’t storm out—just remained calmed.

Your eyes spotted one of his girls leaned against the wall—looking at the crowd. When she spotted you, she stood up straight, “He is waiting for you. Go.” You didn’t say it rudely, you said it like a command.

She blinked in surprise. “O-Oh. Okay.” She nodded as slipped past you, her heels clicking on the floor as she made her way to the room.

And as she opened the door—

There he was under dimly red lights in the room, still kneeling—still cuffed. Glaring at you through the mirror. He felt wrecked, pissed—betrayed.

You didn’t flinch. You turned and walked away, “Maybe now he’ll leave me alone.”

But you didn’t even believe those words. Not one bit.

—

Tonight, you were on bar duty again and you made damn sure it was going to stay like that. You checked the board twice—three times—just in case someone wanted to change things around.

Tonight was actually a slow night—Thank god. You were mixing some liquor and syrup sweetener in the cocktail shaker, lost in thought.

You grabbed two cups and placed ice cubes in each and popped open the top of the shaker, pouring the drinks in. You then placed them on the side counter for the girls to pick them up and at the same time—

A ticket came in.

You sighed as you looked over the order. You placed the ticket down and turned to the wall of bottles, grabbing one of them to turn around—

Only to nearly scream.

Yunho.

Sitting on the other side of the bar like he’d always been there. Legs spread as his elbows rested on the counter, watching you with a smirk.

Like nothing had happened.

As if you didn't cuff him and humiliate him with another girl walking in on him like that the other night.

Your breath caught, a soft yelp slipping out. You straightened fast, placing a hand over your chest as you slammed the bottle onto the counter—harder than you meant to.

“Jesus—” You hissed out. “What are you doing? You can’t just sneak up on people like that.” You tell him as you get back to work.

He waited a moment.

Just tilted his head a bit and smiled at you. “Why?” He asked.

“Did she take the cuffs off too soon?” He teased in a low voice.

Your body stilled.

Glass in hand as your lips parted but nothing came out. Your grip on the bottle tightened—but you kept your face expressionless.

You then looked him dead in the eye and just dropped everything you were doing and walked away. You headed to the storage room, telling yourself to grab some random bottles to “stock up” but really, it’s just to get away from him.

You opened the door and walked to the wall of bottles, you went for the highest shelf but couldn’t reach it. Soon the air shifted as you saw his hand reaching out and grabbing it for you.

You turned around, fast, and stumbled back a bit, not realizing he was very close to you. He hands you the bottle and tilts his head, “Why do you keep walking away from me?”

You tilted your head to the side and gave him a deadpan look, “If it was obvious, I’m working.” You gestured to the bottles behind you and in your hand.

He steps a little closer. “So was I.” His voice was low, “But you know that’s not what I meant.”

Your breath caught at your throat.

You just shook your head, “I’m not doing this.” You said in a whisper as you left the room but he was hot on your steps.

“You keep walking away, but I know you don’t want to.” He tells you as you two walk down the private hallway. “I know you feel what I feel too.”

You stopped in your steps and sigh, turning around to face him. “What makes you think that you know what I want?” You got closer to him, “What I feel?”

He got serious as he closed the gap between you two. “Because I know how you sound when you do.” He lifts a hand and cups your face, “The way you react when we touch.”

Your knees nearly buckled.

You closed your eyes at the warmth of his hands, letting out a soft sigh. No, no, no—

This can’t be happening.

You removed his hand and backed up.

There was a silent moment.

Your eyes snapped at him. “What do you want from me, Yunho?” Your voice was a whisper, feeling like it nearly trembled.

“You look at me in a way I can’t explain.” You said. “You show up one moment and the next you’re gone. You do things to me and it makes me feel like something is there.” You gestured between the both of you.

You shake your head. “No matter how much I tell myself what we have is just transactional—just a fantasy… I almost start to believe the feeling. Which is the worst part.”

You don’t know why you’re getting teary. You bring the back of your hand to your mouth as you clear your throat, feeling like you’re going to collapse. “I don’t know you and you don’t know me yet why am I getting like this?”

You let out a scoff as you shake your head. You really can’t believe you are actually confessing to him.

“But then you know what you do? You run back to your girls. Every. Single. Fucking. Time.” You spat at him. “Like none of this matters.”

He flexed his jaw. “Is that what you think?” His voice was quiet—dangerously low. “You think none of this matters to me? You think this is about them?”

You let out a disbelief laugh, “Are you serious?” You asked him, sarcastically. “No, really, are you being serious? Because I don’t think I have ever met anyone so stupid before.”

“You say these things to me, you are always asking for me—you think— you think I don’t know you were asking for my name that same night?” You dropped the bomb on him causing his eyes to widen.

“You give me money for myself. You call Jae out on his bullshit whenever I’m around, trying to subliminally talk to me—trying to reassure me that you see me for me.”

“Let me explain myself—“

“Explain what? How you tell me things to make me believe that you are different from others and then turn around fuck whomever you want leading me to think you actually are the same as everyone else—?”

“That’s not what it is—“

“Then what is it?” Your breath hitched, chest rising with everything you were trying to bury. “Am I just a game to you? A power trip?” You asked him.

“No—“

“You don’t want me, Yunho. You just want control.”

His eyes flickered between yours, brow twitching.

But you weren’t done.

“You want me quiet. Obedient. All yours—just like Jae.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why?” You asked sarcastically. “Because judging from where I’m standing, you’re just like him.”

And that landed like a slap to the face.

“Don’t ever compare me to that piece of shit.” His voice was low but filled with rage.

He was fucking hurt.

You froze, swallowing that lump in your throat. “Then why are you working with him?” You said. “If you hate him so much—if you’re not like him—then what the fuck does that make you?”

He just looked down, shaking his head in disbelief.

Your voice cracked. “You knew what he was. You knew exactly who he is—“ You slightly raised your voice, “And yet, you still chose to sit next to him. Become partners. Protect him. So let me ask you—“

You glared at him. “If you’re not like him… Why are you helping him keep me in a cage?”

Now, it was his turn to talk.

He steps closer, his dark eyes locked on you. “You want to know why I partnered up with him?” His voice was laced with something darker.

“Because someone like him is better as a partner instead of an enemy.”

Honest. Brutal.

But he wasn’t finished.

“Don’t get things twisted with me. You handed him the keys to the cage.” Your stomach flipped. “You let him break you. Piece by fucking piece—until there was nothing left but obedience.”

You looked to the side, not being able to stare at him anymore as tears were stinging your eyes. But he kept going. “You blindly gave yourself away… and stayed.”

“And those girls?” He let out a bitter scoff, eyes burning into yours. “I never once fucked them. They were all background noise. Distractions. Faces I don’t remember. Touches that meant absolutely nothing.” His voice cracked—just slightly.

“Empty. Fucking empty. They didn’t mean shit to me.” He tells you as he looks between your eyes.

You felt angry tears streaming down your face as you glared at him. “And what you saw was an act for the cameras.” He says. “To make Jae believe the girls are doing their part. I would never, ever make you think otherwise of my words. I would never disrespect you like that. Because what I feel for you is real.”

“So,” he said, “don’t you compare me to that man that you chose.”

Silence.

You looked back at him with tears streaming down your face. Behind that fury in his face—regret already forming but it was too late.

You cleared your throat, feeling like your voice was going to tremble when you spoke.

“I really—ahem—“ your voice did crack, you sniffed as you stared into his eyes. “I really thought you were different.”

His expression cracked—barely—but enough. His harsh words are repeating in your head. “But, I guess I was blind. Once again.”

You sniffed once more, biting your lower lip. “Fuck you, Yunho.”

You quickly run out the hallway and through the back of the club, pushing open the exit door as the air of the night hits your face.

You placed your hand out to the wall for support as you walked towards the edge of the club—feeling like you’re going to just fall. You then leaned against the wall, placing your hand over your mouth and just broke down.

Quiet sobs that shook your shoulders as your other hand clutched your ribs like you could hold yourself together as you slid down the wall.

Inside—

Yunho just stood there.

Replying the way you ran away from him—your words still sting him.

Just then—

“Yunho~” One of his girls cooed when the both of them turned into the hallway. “There you are. Are you coming to the VIP section?” She asked as she grabbed his arm.

The other girl caressed his arm, giggling. “Yeah, we miss you.”

Yunho was just zoned out, looking at the floor. He then shakes the girls off and walks between them—they stumbled slightly back. “Leave me alone.” His jaw clenched.

They gasped and blinked in confusion as they watched him walk away. But just before they could say anything—

He turned the corner.

He just walked up to the office and slammed the door shut, shoving everything off the desk as everything hits the floor. He stands over it with his chest heaving as he looked at the empty table.

He slams his fist on it and then leans on it, feeling like he, too was about to break down.

"Fuck." He whispered in defeat.

To be Continued.

1K notes · View notes

imaginedisish · 1 year ago

Text

Hungry Like the Wolf (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Loved this request. Thank you so much anon! Here is the *jealous sex* with Logan. Inspired by "Hungry Like the Wolf" by Duran Duran. Enjoy!

Summary: You're cornered by a scum-bag frat-boy while on a mission in a club, and Logan gets possessive, deciding he needs to remind everyone who you're really with.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!!! Oral (f!receiving), fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up), rough/jealous sex, jealous!Logan, softdom!Logan, implied!age gap, creepy unnamed OC who doesn't fuck off, Logan gets a little (very) possessive, breeding kink?(if you squint), mention of alcohol, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 3,513

This has to be the most ridiculous mission Charles has ever sent the team on.

Music pulses through your body, the bass of the song shaking the dance floor and the walls of the club. Everything feels blurred, unstable, just out of your grasp. Colored lights flash rapidly, and you look around hoping to find Logan out of the corner of your eye. Naturally, he’s nowhere to be seen, and neither is the rest of the team.

“A club? You’re sending us to get information from a club?” Logan spat, furrowing his brows.

Charles tilted his head to the side, taking a deep breath. “I assure you all, this is well thought out. The information on the sentinels will be placed by the informant on a napkin underneath a martini at the bar at promptly 12:45 AM.”

Logan shook his head, and Scott scoffed. “What is it, big guy? Afraid to have a little fun for once?” “Shut the fuck up, four eyes,” Logan said back. You couldn’t help but laugh at his gruffness, at the way he put Scott in his place.

“Enough,” Charles commanded. “The club is called Nightmoves. Be there by 12:20 AM, no later. Is that understood?” Charles looked to you, Scott, Jean, Logan, and Jubilee individually, and waited for each of you to nod.

“Fine,” Logan huffed.

But now you’re here, alone, somehow separated from the team. You look at the watch on your wrist: 12:44 AM. Shit, you think to yourself, glancing at the bar. You see a hooded figure alone on the far-left side, and you start to make your way over. The person picks up a martini glass, places a new napkin underneath, and walks away. You look back down at your watch: 12:45 AM.

You rush over to the bar, pick up the martini glass, and grab the napkin. The white, thick paper has small numbers scrawled on the back of it in neat, black ink—a set of coordinates. You smile, folding the napkin carefully, and stuffing it into the front pocket of your leather pants.

“Hi there,” an unfamiliar, male voice calls from behind you. You turn around to find a young, 20-something-year-old frat boy ogling you, his eyes trailing up and down your body. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before. Would’ve remembered.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes and smile politely instead. “First time here,” you shout over the music. “And probably my last. I’m heading out, so if you’ll excuse me—”

“Let me buy you a drink,” he cuts you off, stepping closer to you.

You take a step back, bumping into the counter of the bar. “I’m alright. Really, I’m not staying—”

“Aw come on, I don’t bite,” he persists. “Unless that’s what you’re into.”

You scoff, disgusted. “Listen, and fucking trust me when I say this, I am not into you. Got it?”

“Hard to get, I like that.” You audibly groan at his ridiculous, disgusting comment, trying to step towards the edge of the bar to make your escape. But he reaches his arm out, his knuckles brushing against your bare shoulder. “You know you want me, baby. Don’t try to—”

The man stops short, his jaw dropping. You take another step to the side, bumping into someone unmistakably warm and familiar. “I think she’s made herself clear, bub,” Logan says from behind you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and tugging you in closer.

“A-and who are you?” The man rolls his eyes. “Her father or something?”

“Fuck off, bub,” Logan growls, backing you away from the man. “You’re a disrespectful piece of shit. She told you no, and yet you kept badgering my girl.”

The man swallows harshly, wracking his brain for something to say, for some excuse. “W-well maybe she wanted it!”

“Wanted it?” You groan, rolling your eyes. “Fucking prick.” Logan tugs you away, flipping the guy off with his claw. The frat boy responds by yelling Fucking freaks! shrilly over the synth-pop blasting through the speakers.

“You okay?” Logan asks, his lips at the shell of your ear as he guides you through the club. “Did he hurt you? Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine, really,” you assure. “Just a fucking weirdo.” But Logan isn’t letting up. His arm is wrapped tightly around your waist, keeping you close while guiding you through the crowded club. “I-I got the napkin,” you say, but Logan doesn’t answer. Just when you think he’s heading out the door, he takes a sharp left towards a dimly lit hallway.

He lets go of his grip on your waist, reaching for your hand instead, his fingers intertwining with yours. He doesn’t say a word as he walks past a set of doors—the bathrooms, the coat room, and an office. He looks behind him before trying the knob of a closed door. The knob twists and Logan pushes the door open, pulling you inside with him.

“Logan, what are you—”

He shoves you against the door as the room envelops you in darkness, his hands fumbling on either side of your head for a light switch. There’s a click, and the light switches on, revealing a spacious broom closet. Logan cages you in, his chest heaving, his forehead pressing against yours.

You bring your hands up to his neck, but he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head. “Lo,” you whisper, his lips just inches from yours. You can see the jealousy in his eyes, the possessiveness, the protectiveness. He knows you can handle yourself—knows that you’re even more powerful than he is. And Logan isn’t normally the jealous type—he trusts you endlessly. But something set him off tonight—he’s almost feral. He works his jaw, looking down at you under dark, lust-filled eyes. He grips your wrists tightly.

“Need you now, pretty girl,” he growls. “Nobody touches you but me.” His lips capture yours, hungry, needy, desperate. He’s swallowing you whole. “My girl.” His teeth graze your bottom lip. Everything is rushed and hazy, rough and impatient. “Fucking mine.”

“Yours,” you mumble against his lips. “Only yours.”

One of his hands releases its hold on your wrists and slides down your body, toying with the straps of your tank top. “Gonna fuck you, pretty girl,” Logan husks, his fingertips trailing across your collarbone, teasingly tugging at the neckline of your top. “You want that?” “Y-yes,” you stutter, your knees buckling as he palms your breasts, massaging gently, brushing over your nipples. “Please.”

His hand glides down to the hem at the bottom of your top, slipping underneath. His fingers trail over your bare skin, across your stomach, and up to your breasts. He smirks darkly at the realization that you aren’t wearing a bra. He hums, pulling your shirt up the rest of the way, revealing your chest to him.

“So fucking beautiful,” he praises, teasing your nipples with one hand while the other still pins your wrists tightly against the door. “Want everyone to know who you belong to,” he husks, pinching a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and then repeating on the other side.

“Y-you,” you moan, rocking your hips against Logan’s, searching for friction, for some kind of relief. “Always want you.” You grind down on his thigh impatiently.

“Need me that bad, huh?” Logan teases, pushing his hips against yours. You can feel his erection straining through the denim of his jeans. “Don’t think I’m too old for you?” He asks, half serious. “Don’t think that guy can fuck you better than me?”

“N-no,” you stammer, your chest heaving against his. “Th-that guy was an idiot,” you breathe, struggling to find your words as Logan’s hand slips down your body, suddenly palming your heat. “I just want you, Logan.”

His fingers brush over your all too-clothed cunt, toying with you. “I know, darlin’,” he soothes. His hand reaches up to the waistband of your pants, working at your button and zipper. He lets go of his grasp around your wrist as he drops to his knees. His fingers hook into the waistband of your leather pants, pulling them and your panties down with one fluid motion. He spreads your legs with the palms of his hands as he settles between your thighs.

“Lo,” you whine, his face so close to your cunt that you can feel his every breath. A shiver runs down your spine, anticipation and heat growing in your already aching core. “Please,” you beg. “Need you, always need—”

And then he’s lapping at your clit, burying his face inside your cunt. His tongue laves through your folds, savoring you, exploring you. “Tastes so good, beautiful,” Logan mumbles against you. “Always so sweet, so perfect.”

You curse under your breath, holding back your moans as Logan’s hand trails up your inner thigh, climbing towards your folds. His teeth graze your clit as he pulls the bud between his lips and sucks roughly. His fingertips nudge your slit open, spreading your slick.

“Wanted to fuck you on that bar,” Logan husks. He finally thrusts two fingers deep inside you, down to his knuckles. “Wanted everyone to know who you’re with, who makes you feel good.” He slides all the way out only to shove his fingers back in.

“F-fuck,” you whimper as Logan pumps in and out. “Logan.”

“That’s right, pretty girl,” Logan grunts against you, his tongue drawing tight circles around your clit. “Wanna hear you say my name again.”

“L-Logan,” you pant, his thrusts growing faster, his fingers dragging along your inner walls, hitting that sweet spot deep inside every time. He takes your clit back into his mouth, sucking roughly again. You bite your lip, holding back your moans.

But Logan notices. His tongue slows to a stop, his fingers suddenly still inside you. He looks up at you, squirming against him, searching for relief, and he smirks. “No holding back, princess,” he demands, watching your hips rock against his fingers. “Wanna hear you. Want everyone to hear how good I make you feel.”

You nod, swallowing harshly as his fingers pull out, adding a third finger as he slams back into you. “Fuck!” You groan. Logan’s tongue laps at your clit again, flicking the bud mercilessly. His name falls from your lips like a chant, a prayer, a hymn.

“Doing so good for me,” Logan praises, the vibrations of his voice rocking against your core. “Such a good fucking girl.” Your walls flutter around his fingers as he sinks deeper, still working you open with every thrust.

“L-Lo, I’m so close,” you groan. His teeth graze your clit as he smiles against you, taking the bud between his lips and sucking again—longer this time, and harder. You can feel yourself slipping, falling apart under his touch. “Please, I wanna come, Lo.”

“Yeah?” He mumbles, his gaze finding yours. You can see the starvation in his eyes, that possessiveness from before. “Wanna feel you come on my fingers, pretty girl.” Your muscles contract at his words, your knees buckling as pleasure courses through your veins. “Wanna taste it.” He pumps in and out, harder, deeper, his tongue still drawing those delicious, tight circles around your clit.

His voice darkens. “Wanna be the only one who ever gets to do this to you.”

And then your orgasm crashes into you, wave after wave, destroying you and building you back up. It’s overwhelming—your legs trembling as Logan continues to lap at you, to consume you, to commit your taste to memory. You cry out his name as you come, melting into the door as he works you through it.

Logan’s pumps slow until his fingers are still inside you. He gently pulls out, leaving you feeling empty. His tongue licks long stripes through your folds and up to your clit, savoring every last drop of you.

“Lo,” you whine, bringing your hands down to his head. You tangle your fingers into his hair, and he hums against you. “Lo,” you call again, and he finally looks up, his face pulling away from your cunt. “Need you now.”

Logan smirks, standing up and unbuckling his belt. “Need you too, beautiful,” he huffs, letting the belt fall to the floor as he works at his button and zipper. “Always fucking need you.” He tugs his jeans and his boxers down his legs. He drags his beater up and over his head, casting it to the ground.

He suddenly hoists you up, leaning you against the door, his hand gripping your ass, the tip of his cock nudging against your entrance. “Please,” you beg, trying to sink down onto him, but he holds you back, pushing your hips into the door.

“So fucking impatient,” Logan teases, suddenly thrusting into you, bottoming out, splitting you open.

Your arms wrap around his back, and he presses his forehead to yours. He’s deep inside you, unmoving. “Lo,” you whine. “P-please, m-move.”

“Wanna feel you first,” he grunts, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “So fucking tight,” he murmurs, his lips meeting yours again. “So warm, fuck.” He finally pulls out and thrusts all the way back in, somehow deeper this time.

“Logan,” you moan, digging your nails into his back. “Fuck me, please.”

He slides out, his cock dragging along your walls, and slams back in. “Like that?” He grunts, filling you up. “Want me to fuck you into this door?” You hum a soft yes, and Logan rams into you, his hips snapping roughly.

“It feels so good,” you whimper, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing along the walls of the closet. “Only want you, Lo.”

“I know, pretty girl,” Logan soothes, his free hand slipping between your bodies and finding your clit. He begins to draw tight, rapid circles around the bud. “F-fuck, you’re mine. This is my fucking pussy, isn’t it?” “Yes,” you whisper as he fucks into you. “All yours. Always.”

Logan groans as he thrusts deeper, harder. His pace is insatiable, unrelenting, frantic. His thumb strokes your clit, adding more pressure with every swipe. You know he’d do anything to get you there, to have you falling apart in his arms. You know he wants to make you come again and again—to prove to you that he’s all you need—to make you feel good. No, better than good. Whole. Perfect. Satisfied.

Your walls flutter around him as he flicks your overstimulated clit. “A-already close,” you whine as Logan plunges into you, his hips snapping against yours.

“I know, beautiful,” he coos, pinching your clit. “Can feel you squeezing me.” He thrusts in and out, pushing you closer to that edge. Your walls flutter again, and Logan bites your pulse point, licking soothingly once he’s finished. “Let go for me, pretty girl.” It’s a demand, not a request. “Wanna feel you come.”

It’s all liquid heat and warm thick honey, the tension snapping as you come undone again. But you know Logan isn’t finished with you yet. You know there’s more to come. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you moan a string of curses and Logan’s name.

“That’s it,” Logan says softly, pressing a kiss to that spot just underneath your ear. “Taking me so well, letting me make you feel good.” His thumb is still on your clit, drawing those tight little circles while his hips pound into you. “I know you’ve got one more in you, princess. Know you can take it.”

“It’s s-so much,” you choke, the tension already building back up at the bottom of your belly. “I-I…” You trail off, fucked out beyond belief. He’s still splitting you open with every thrust, filling you to the brim.

“It’s okay, princess,” Logan whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. The intimacy sends a pulse of pleasure to your core. “I’ve got you, just wanna make you feel good.” You curse under your breath as he ruts into you, working at your clit.

You know you can’t last much longer. Not with the way his eyes watch every moan escape from your lips, or the way his hips roll against yours, searching for more, always finding a way to sink deeper. He wants all of you, always. And you’re more than happy to give yourself to him time and time again.

“You feel so good,” you whine, your muscles contracting and releasing as his cock pumps in and out. “Only you, Lo.”

“F-fuck,” Logan moans, his pace faltering, his hips stuttering. He flicks your clit, edging you along. You know he’s close, his cock throbbing inside you, twitching as your walls squeeze him. “Wanna fill you up,” he husks, shoving himself deeper. “Wanna make you mine.”

“I’m all yours,” you whimper. Logan pinches your clit, circling roughly, and the current drags you under. It’s more intense this time, stars flooding your vision as you let go. Your orgasm wracks through your body, leaving you a quivering mess as Logan finishes inside you, painting your walls.

You share one breath, your chests heaving together as Logan’s cock stalls inside you. He strokes your clit as he fills you up, riding out your orgasm, easing you down from your high. His fingertips slip away from your bud and trail up your body, his arm wrapping around your back. He pulls you into his chest, holding you close, his cock still half-hard inside you.

“I love you,” he whispers into the crook of your neck, his possessiveness and jealousy are replaced by the softness he reserves just for you. “So fucking much.”

“I love you too, Lo,” you whisper back. You can hear the bass of the music pouring through the club, and you suddenly remember the mission at hand. “We should go. The others are probably worried.”

“Don’t care about the others,” Logan mumbles, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Just care about you.”

You smirk, shaking your head, trying to wiggle yourself free from Logan’s iron grip. “Really, Lo. We need to leave. I have the napkin in my pocket. It’s the coordinates to—”

He cuts you off, pressing a kiss to your lips as he settles you back down. He pulls up his jeans and boxers, starting the process of putting everything back in its proper place.

“Relax,” he mutters, sinking down to the ground. He grabs a roll of paper towels from a nearby rack and rips off a sheet, cleaning your inner thighs. He throws the sheet into the garbage and pulls your pants and panties back up your legs.

Logan tugs your tank top down over your breasts and swipes your hands away as you reach to button and zipper your pants back up. He takes over the task for you, bringing his hands to your face once he’s done. His thumbs gently brush underneath your eyes, likely clearing away whatever mascara or eyeliner smeared while he was fucking you.

“You okay?” He asks once he’s done, his arms wrapping around your back and pulling you into his chest.

“Yeah,” you mumble, letting him hold you for a second before slipping your hand into your front pocket to make sure the napkin is still there. You let out a sigh of relief when you brush your fingertips against the coarse paper. “Never better.”

“Good,” Logan whispers, letting you go and grabbing his belt and beater from off the floor. He pulls the beater up and over his head, and then slides the belt through the loops of his jeans, securing the buckle. He grabs your hand, his eyes looking deeply into yours. “Ready?” He asks, and you nod. Logan twists the knob of the door and pushes it open, the pulsing music and lights of the club flooding your senses.

You walk towards the entrance, and find Scott, Jubilee, and Jean surveying the club, likely looking for you and Logan.

“Let’s go,” Logan shouts over the music, getting the team’s attention. Scott steps towards Logan. “Where did you go?” He yells. “We were getting worried.”

Logan reaches into your front pocket, and you can feel the heat rising to your chest as he squeezes your thigh and pulls the paper out. “She got the napkin. That’s all that matters.”

You know Scott is rolling his eyes underneath those glasses. Jean smirks and shakes her head, and Jubilee laughs. You make your way to the exit, pushing through the doors and into the quiet of the parking lot.

“You know, Logan,” Scott chides as you walk to the car. “I heard some guy talking about a freak flipping him off with a silver claw. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” He asks, condescension and sarcasm heavy in his voice.

You look at Logan and he smirks. “Had to put an asshole in his place,” he says nonchalantly, his arm wrapping around your waist. He presses a kiss to your temple. “My girl,” he whispers against the shell of your ear so only you can hear.

His.

Nobody else’s.

tags: @galacticglitterglue @buck-angel31 @alsoprettyinpink @annabelldoesstuffz @starrdustss @figsnpassionfruits @spiderset @ilysmdovie12 @prettyseaveins @silversprings-mp3 @fanfic-writing-barbie @movhoney @wittyjasontodd @theasiaabattoir @manipulatour @pedrohoe04 @derbygracie @honeyfewr @evasmlp @rammakela @cosmiccandydreamer (if I forgot to add you I'm so sorry)

3K notes · View notes