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tonycries · 2 months ago

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Heavy Metal Lover - G.S.

Synopsis. A group project with your tall, nerdy, hot academic rival and your handsome punk best friend? Oh, you’re getting a D++

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader x Geto Suguru

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, nerd!Geto, punk!bestfriend!Geto, thréesome, mmf, they go FÉRAL, dúmbification, Geto with tattoos and piercings, Jacob’s Ladder (iykyk), oraI (fem. rec.), all sIoppy type, yearning Geto, fíngering, spítting, p talking, manhandIing, dp, SAME DAMN TIME, creampíes, cúmplay, BIG stretches, size k!nks, rough s, marathons, overstím, PÚSSYDRÚNK GOJO, squírting, making him cúm dry, jock!Sukuna cameo, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 11.4k

A/N. TWO!! Because heh- daddy Tony just turned the big 2-0!!

“You won’t believe how big it was.”

“…”

“Satoru’s audacity, I mean.” Leaning over the cluttered café table, you’re cupping your mouth with one hand, whispering oh-so-conspiratorially to your best friend. “And his d-”

“Alright.” Geto cuts through your astute observation, making an observation of his own that the elderly lady seated beside you two had promptly turned off her hearing aids. “So you really didn’t get any studying done during this ‘study session’, huh?”

Waving your hands airily, “It’s not that we didn’t try, it’s just…” The glinting snake bites on Geto’s lips curl at the sinful sight of those teeth marks down the side of your neck, the way your thighs still quivered in broad daylight. Still.

He already knew that there was something more between you and your ‘cocky, book-hugging, jerkwad’ academic rival. He saw the way Gojo looked at you. And he saw the way you looked back.

Somewhere down the line it made Geto tighten in his pants.

He’s flitting a wide-eyed glance between his thighs, fuck, then at the thick smoothie in his hands- was there something they put in this or what?

No, he’s subtly shaking his head. It’s just not everyday that you hear about your best friend finally hooking up with the very same man she’d been complaining about ever since first meeting him. It was a long time coming - the entire campus knew at this point. Hell, he’d even distantly heard about a few betting pools to see who’d crack first (okay, maybe he betted in them, too- but only twice!)

So Geto was simply happy for you. Really.

After all, he’d been right by your side through every argument, every middle finger, every war for top spot on the Dean’s List until that tall, gloomy nerd had completely n’ utterly fucked you.

And here you were, telling him all about it.

Never having been more thankful for that obnoxiously frilly tablecloth covering his legs, Geto coughs away the slight hitch in his breath. “Was it good, pipsqueak?”

A slightly dreamy look wafts across your face, and with the way that his length twitches in interest, he’s pushing away his smoothie completely now. Unable to take any chances of it somehow being spiked.

You sigh, “Hate to admit it, but yeah.”

“Nerdy fuckin’ Gojo made you cum?”

“Multiple times.”

Another jolt, another squeeze of his meaty thighs.

He darts his darkening eyes away from the expression on your beautiful face. What he’d give to make you look like that, too- no. No, he can’t. “Ah, s-so- you two’ve fucked away the tension now, or what?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say fucked away.” You’re humming idly, “He did argue with me while he was inside of me.” At the strange, strangled squawk that leaves Geto’s mouth- “I know right?”

He’s crossing and uncrossing his legs, throat dry. Sharply glancing downwards once more, “Like- dirty talk?”

And you’re completely oblivious to the way that you’re absolutely ruining him, Geto latching onto every syllable that slips out of your pretty lips like he’s breathing them in. Goddammit, he was feeling so…“Hmm—sure, but just arguing, too. Would you believe it if I told you he tried to pick a fight even after I made him cum dry?”

“C-cum dry.” The usually-deep baritone of Geto’s voice breaks as he echoes the end of your sentence, fingerpads tapping impatiently on the top of the table. Stop talking. Stop thinking. “You can do that?”

“Heh- yeah.” Fuck. You’re smirking, “Why? Jealou-”

“No.”

It comes out much more urgently than he would have liked - much more panicked - and just before you can suspect anything, he’s tugging on the ragged texture of his baggy, ripped jeans. “A-anyways, did you hear about Yaga’s-”

“Sugu, are you okay?” Oh, too late. Before he can stop you, you’re reaching over one of your palms to cover the expanse of his forehead. Feeling for his temperature, “You’re a little…hot.”

“Mm– I’m always hot, gorgeous.” Trying for his usual nonchalance, but if the way you knit your brows is anything to go by, then you’re not buying his act one bit.

“Is it strange that I slept with Gojo? I mean, I know I’ve been hating him all this time but-”

He clasps his much-larger hand over yours, blunt nails chipped with dark polish. “No no. Don’t worry about it.” With a smile, Geto stretches his long legs underneath the table to tangle them with yours. Heat against heat. Swelling cock against his pants. Tongue snagging on the silver of his snake bites.

The scorching blush that simmers across his cheeks is almost startling as he pushes away the bangs from his face - so pretty, you had to admit. Such a brash, tattooed style to him that drove nearly every woman, man, and anything in between wild any time his looming figure sauntered through campus.

Winking his eyeliner-smudged lids, “In fact-”

Ah, well, if you can’t beat them…

“-tell me more.”

Join ‘em.

Geto’s sure the poor ol’ lady next to you faints.

“Fuck-” He’s whispering, cooped up in his dark apartment not even an hour after parting ways with you at the café. Apparently you’d left for a totally-not-date with Gojo- and Geto?

Oh, Geto had one hand wrapped around his aching cock to pump until his wrist ached.

Groaning at the squelch of his thumb smearing down the crown of his reddened shaft, he’s plugging up his bawling divot. Other hand reaching over to shuffle inside his bedside cabinet, “C’mon, where- where is- ah.”

There it was.

Geto’s fingers plunge out from the depths of the drawer, all wrapped up in the strappy lace of a pair of pretty pink panties. Your panties.

Ones you’d accidentally left after a sleepover - and really, you’d stolen more than enough of his Green Day t-shirts that he didn’t exactly feel bad about stealing them away.

About hastily plucking that cutesy underwear up and pushing it against his face, he’s rolling his glassy eyes back and sniiiiffing the sweet, sweet scent of you. That smell he couldn’t get enough of. So close and yet, so far.

“Sh-shit.” Geto’s heavy shaft grows even harder in his hand, and he didn’t even think that was possible. Sinking the fringes of his teeth into his bottom lip, he wraps the ribbony fabric ‘round his erection, “Oh, shouldn’t do this- r-really shouldn’t do this.”

But he can’t stop. Not when he’s fucking the plush comfort of his palm in repeated, sloppy strokes- and not even when Geto hears the bzzzt–! of his phone vibrating from that very same bedside cabinet.

Breath catching as he turns his head to blearily stare at the flashing screen - Pipsqueak. You.

Ah…without a second thought, Geto grabs his phone with one hand, the other still tugging on the veiny shaft of his cock. Unlocking it to find that you’d sent a photograph of you - and the infamous Gojo himself. Mouth downturned, flush burning.

The two of you were cramped into the frame, at the forefront of some aquarium. Innocent, surely- but Geto catches the glide of Gojo’s fingertips down the side of your waist, the way you’re leaning in just enough to let a flash of cleavage peek through.

Dilated pupils flickering between the two figures, he finds his tattooed hips thrusting—“Oh. I’m fucked.”

So very, very fucked.

And after this, he had an email to write. To none other than Yaga.

“Iori and Haibara. Ieri and Ijichi.” Professor Yaga’s bored, monotone voice drones through with his usual steady pace, announcing each pairing for the upcoming assignment.

A practical project, it seemed - and you can’t help but feel your heart race once he’s thumbing down the list of names. Finally announcing yours and…“Gojo.” But before you can show even the slightest bit of euphoria, Yaga’s tugging up his thick sunglasses. Raising a thick brow, he’s turning your way.

And for a split-second, you think he’s staring you down- that is, until you follow his line of sight and find that Yaga’s staring above you. Just the row above.

Exactly where Geto was.

Eyes half-lidded, atmosphere surrounding him burning. Goosebumps prick down your spine, and you find yourself wondering what the hell was happening in this thick moment of silence.

Evidently, Gojo’s musing the same from his seat right beside you. Whispering from the side of his maw, “What the hell? I haven’t seen Yaga look like that since the last time you started an argument with me during class, miss valedictorian.”

That damned know-it-all nickname.

You’re taking a good, long look at him - neat, crisp. The way his thick-rimmed glasses framed a slight cute frown, cosied up in a cotton vest that hid his muscular figure, his sapphire eyes twinkling through pale bangs as you sneer.

“Satoru, that was your fault- and yesterday.”

“Well, it’s about to be right now.”

“You just want to be yelled at by me, perv.”

He’s opening his pouted mouth to snark back - but Yaga beats him to it. With a gruff, cutting announcement that neatly finishes off the rest of your little group, “-and Geto.” Only to turn away as if nothing ever happened, and rattle out the rest of his lengthy list.

And Geto? You’re furrowing your brows- this was meant to be a paired project, wasn’t it?

Well, not that you were unhappy to be with your best friend - it was rare that your uptight professor ever took his students’ preferences into consideration. But, according to your calculations, there wouldn’t have been any odd ones out in the student body, and Yaga had seemingly formed two trios for the sake of it.

Question on your lips, you’re turning in your seat to face Geto. Only to meet his eyes and oh-

Something about him was almost predatory. Something dangerous. Something that makes you gulp, and Gojo squeeze his fingers with yours.

Resting his face upon one of his palms, Geto purrs—“Consider this project a…science experiment, gorgeous.”

A science experiment.

Rubbing his swole n’ red cock raw to your photographs, writing an intently-worded email to Yaga with his choice for project pairings, and inviting the two of you to his apartment later - he was finally here, with his ‘science’ experiment.

With his ringed fingers toying down the patterns of his throbbing shaft veins, listening to the way that Gojo made you let off the prettiest shrill whimpers. “F-fuck, don’t be shy.”

You didn’t even know how you were here - only seconds after entering Geto’s sprawling living room before you’re somehow laid across his couch. Sprawled across Gojo’s lap, still fully clothed but being kissed stupid.

The former gazing all the while, thick thighs manspread like he was watching a show of his very own. He’d moved one of his cushy armchairs to watch dead-on as Gojo lifts his mouth off of yours with a dampened slurp just to spit between your parted lips.

Thwack! It’s gluing to the ridges of your tastebuds with a splatter, “Then you kiss me all proper, princess.” Gojo’s hissing between your swollen lips, the honed points of his canines nipping down on your maw just to get you to open wider. “Yer really embarrassing yourself in front of your best friend.”

Huffing, “I’m the- mmpf-”

Only to have your heated cavern stuffed with the expanse of his textured tongue. It’s just so sloppy how he’s kissing you, with the slimy edge of his muscle swirlin’ the insides of your maw as Geto snickers.

Unhinging your jaw open, you manage to muffle out. “I’m the one embarrassing myself?” The flat of your palm caresses vertically down the front of his cotton vest. All smart and sensible. Moving it down his bumpy pecs, then only further down his abs, down, down-

Before clinging your greedy fingerpads onto the large, cylindrical length of his erection. All looong and hard, it’s laid out the side of his meaty right leg. “Who’s the one that’s rock fuckin’ hard already?”

“F-fuck.” He’s gasping into your touch, and through his linen pants you can feel the bulge of his cock twitch. Flinching needily enough that the syrupy puddle forming between his thighs starts to grow even sappier, “And whose fault is that~?‘

“Mmm– mine.”

“Heh, so you know how to take accountability?”

Vulgarly, the edges of your fingers twitch into a squeeze over the outline of his cock - so thick that your hand struggles to properly close around him. “Only for this.”

“You little-”

“So you two seriously argue during sex, too?” Geto’s husky voice breaks through, and you’re both snapping your head over to see the way his head tilts. The way he lurches his hips slightly off of his seat with a buck, fingers dragging down his veiny cock. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

Noticing the silky scrap of fabric that sticks out from the gaps of his fingers, you’re whining at the sight of those familiar panties you’d lost months ago. “Suguru—”

“You can make those sounds for him, too?” Gojo snarls, rutting you up on his v-line so that your dazed head lolls back towards him. Swatting a hand down on the side of your ass cheek, he’s lifting your thin skirt enough to give Geto just a peek of your panties.

Possessive. Feral.

Something primal slips into Gojo’s throat as he toys with the wiry strings of your underwear, where he’s sure Geto can watch. “M’shocked we’re not fighting even more, miss valedictorian.”

“Sh-shut up.”

With a gasp, you’re pushin’ your sultry hips further down onto his. Grinding so that the slope of your slit presses through your panties and onto his fattened cock, just so wet that it leaves a glistening snail-trail between Gojo’s thighs.

“Mmm—” Geto departs with a chuckle, hands pumping even faster on the veiny, gleaming length of his cock until it was almost just a pinkish blur. He’s milking himself with a grunt at each lecherous interaction, “Keep going, gorgeous. Just like that.”

Shyly, you shift your restless hips, “B-but, Sugu…”

“Ohhh I like that.” Geto juts his chin up, nudging the rough fabric of his pants down to free a few more solid inches even more. “Say that again, pipsqueak.”

“S-Sug-”

“Nuh uh.” But before you know it, Gojo has a hand smushing your cheeks together into such a pathetic pout. Staring back down at him- “You’re going to say ‘Toru.’”

Geto muses, “Sugu.”

“Toru.”

“Sugu-”

“To-”

“P-please.” Your wailing cries cut through the slight battle, impatiently humping the plane of Gojo’s clothed pelvis at a pace that damn near reaches a fever-point. “Just want something- anything.” Head throwing back, babbling, oh-so-pretty that Geto puffs out a low hum, and tucks your soaked panties away.

“Then c’mere, gorgeous.”

Gojo interrupts, “What?”

“I said…” The tattooed man plows on, lips twitching even further into a grin once you’re standing up on wobbly legs. The flesh of your thighs squeezing together with each step, “-come here. You too, nerd.”

Oh.

And you can’t even remember the treacherous trek you take to clamor up onto Geto’s widespread thighs, he’s just so big n’ beefy that it takes you a few tries to properly straddle his toned hips. Grappling your two hands on top of his round deltoids, “L-like this, Suguru?”

“Atta girl, there you go.” Perking you up further- he takes a second to admire you. To memorize you. To take in every heady pant of yours and each dry hump of your cunt.

Before tugging a girthy finger upon the sides of your current panties and teeearing straight through them. Skirt next to follow.

Gojo can only watch in utter awe as he’s bared to your pretty, sopping pussy from behind- fuck, he’s never going to get used to this. Joints weakening, mouth parched, his towering frame falls to his knees at merely the sight.

“Pussy got your tongue, Toru?” You’re tittering once Gojo’s only saddling up behind you on the carpet, glasses now level with your slick-glazed lips. Close.

“Well, he will have your pussy, pipsqueak.” Geto’s piping up from underneath you, sliding further down the armchair so that Gojo’s nose sticks to the outer part of your sheeny cunt. “But where do you want me? Here?” Groping your ass, “Orrrr here?” Your thighs. “Or-”

“No teasing, Suguru.”

“Oh, gorgeous, I could go allll fucking day without…” One of his rings shaped into a gothic skull traces your cunt, “-dessert.”

Gojo scoffs, “Well, I’m fucking starved-”

Geto grins, “And I wanna kiss these lips first.”

“O-oh mm–” It was just maddening- the very nanosecond that Gojo’s hearing he’ll be having your sweet, honeyed pussy all to himself, he’s plastering his mouth to your folds.

Stirring the curvy edge of his tongue instantly past your soppy entrance, puckering you up for a saccharine kiss. Latching his glossy lips down to the swollen fringe of your pussylips, he throws his head back and grins. “Nothing smart to say now, miss hah- valedictorian?”

“Now now, of course, she doesn’t.” And it’s the very moment that Geto’s mouth kisses your own that you’re realizing he didn’t have just snake bites - he’d hidden away a frigid, metallic tongue piercing.

That slick spheroid wafting between your lips, Geto’s drinking you in like he’s a man parched. And every cute bubble of spit spilling from your mouth was the first droplet of water he’s had in eons. Feeling his smug grin across your lips, “Not when she’s kissing me, of course.”

“Tch- as if.” Gojo spits- literally, a great, glittery wad of spittle that thrashes past your quivering hole. Salivating his tongue to push juuuust inside, just teasing the tight ring of your cunt with his velvety tongue. “S’because of me. Her vaginal introitus is just drooling.”

And oh- Gojo’s tongue is just so flexible. Swabbing the tender orifices of your sleek cunt with his pointed tip, he bullies a few inches past your entrance and makes you whine. “P-please- ngh more, Satoru. F-fuck me like you mean it.”

Snickering, Gojo only swats the right side of your ass cheek, gripping it to haul your wildly bucking body further against his face. Until his chin hits your treacly cunt, until his nostrils can’t even breathe-

“Aw, nothing f’me?” Geto coos, and while you’re all jostling and thrashing, one of his ringed hands plummet down the side of your body. Pryin’ apart your slick-glued folds to press his knobbled index on top of your clit like a button. “You’re my best friend. What if I wan’ a taste, too?”

Your breath hitches by the time he’s glazing his finger across your creamy pussy already, covering it with just enough layers of your juices. Just enough to hover up into his mouth and suck.

Gasping, “But you’re already…”

“S’not enough.” And while Gojo slips n’ slides his flattened tongue between your pussylips, Geto puckers his maw up to yours. Hazy amethyst irises only half-opened, mouth quirking just at the ends. “Spit.”

It happens all at once- you’re spitting inside Geto’s mouth and he moans at the taste of you, never one to be forgotten, Gojo splats out saliva on your cunt and forces his impaling tongue inside.

“Oh, your bartholin glands are just sopping all over me, so much- ngh- leukorrhea.” Babbling away, Gojo’s letting out such noisy smacks each time he flops his tongue out to flick your shaky hole. Harder. Deeper.

He’s eating you out like he’s addicted to it, the long length of his pale lashes fluttering every time the sharpness of his jawline pushes against your slam-contacted flesh until he can’t push himself even further.

Until the rim of his spectacles coldly swats your pussy and makes him stutter, “W-wonder if I can reach the ngh- Gräfenberg spot like this…” Tugging you back with trembling hands, the thickness of his tongue probes even deeper against your walls. “More- if only I can-”

“You’re never reaching it like that, nerd.” Geto rolls his eyes, back to slithering his right hand down and cupping your pussy.

He snickers each time he’s feeling the silky crowns of his fingerpads brush against Gojo’s thrashing tongue. Toying with the other man, he’s covering the nub of your pulsing clit each n’ every time, just so that Geto can be the one to give it a good, long pinch.

It’s just so cute how you buck into him with a hollow gasp, “Wh-what did I say about teasing, Sugu–”

“Just can’t help it, pipsqueak.” Your best friend purrs, snagging the sharpened ends of his snake bites against your lips. Bouncing his meaty thighs, running your cunt ragged with each rough drag down his loose, ripped jeans.

Once. Twice. Again and again- until Gojo’s clawing a hand on the side of your glissading hips to stop your slobbering cunt from darting too far away from him. You squeal, “W-wait, ohh ngh- Satoru, m’not gonna last like this–”

The dual stimulation was just rendering you stupid, twitching on top of Geto’s lap each time he’s scraping your pussy down to ride his tattooed thighs. Every bounce leaves you recoiling right back into Gojo’s mouth, mouth watering at the rovering push of his tongue entering you. And out. In and out-

“Good.” Thwack! Spanking one of his emblem rings down on your clit, “Because I think m’getting impatient here. I’ve been waiting for ages, after all.”

“A-ages?”

“Mhm— oh, you have noooo idea, gorgeous.” Drawling out, Geto’s driving you crazy with the twist of his hips angling you properly.

Making it just so that your pussylips spread wiiide open to ride his leg like you were pouring your sheeny slick out all over it. Just so that Gojo’s angular tongue can sharply strike near your g-spot, just so that you’re cumming before you know it.

It runs you over in a sudden wave, and before you know it- you’re simply seeing pure white. “O-oh my god. Fuck- fuck fuck fuck, m’cumming—” Glassed irises running cartoonish circles inside the whites of your eyes with each swivel.

Head falling forwards into the crook of Geto’s neck, hips planted firmly on Gojo’s face - exactly where he wanted it.

And he’s lavishing his tongue allll over your quivering pussy, draggin’ out each spike of your high with a stretching thrust. “Oh- oh, m’fucking starved, princess. Like that, cum- cum on my ngh- tongue. My tongue.” Dilated blue eyes blinking up drunkenly, “My tongue only.”

Geto raises a dark brow, “Yours only?”

Gojo pipes up with a glistening grin, slapping away Geto’s tuggin’ fingerpads to suckle on your clit like a sweetened piece of candy. “Yeah. Too fucking late now, aren’t you?”

Chilling spheroid tongue piercing licking down your salivating lips, “You sure?”

“Positive.”

Almost in response, Gojo’s wrapping his beefy forearms back around your inner thighs. Planting your overstimulated cunt even deeper across his mouth, digging his glasses back into his straight nosebridge - it didn’t matter if Gojo would suffocate if it meant he could go out with the syrupy taste of your slick drivelling down the sides of his mouth.

But Geto only coos, looking down at the other man through his inky locks. “Don’t be like that— didn’t all your books ever teach you about sharing?”

“M’not sharing my girl’s pussy.”

“Mhm?”

It was a challenge.

And both treated it as such.

You’re being tugged ‘round in the middle like some boneless ragdoll, the hazy state of your mind spinning once Geto stands up. For a split-second.

And seats you down all prettily on the armchair he was in, with your legs splayed wiiiide open with a deafening wet squelch of your pussy. Gojo’s coral pink lips parting into a soft oh! when the other man kneels down right beside him on the ground - both of them on their knees for you.

Both of them latching onto one of your legs with pawing hands, nudging them further open to accommodate their hulking sizes. To accommodate the way that both Geto and Gojo tackle themselves down to eat your drippin’ pussy at the same time.

Again.

“H-hold on- both of you- oh, mmm, fuck.” And you can’t do anything but cling your clammy palms onto both of their heads. “I don’t know if I even can hck! cum again so soon.”

“You will, princess.”

“We’ll make sure of it.”

Gojo on your left, Geto on your right- they’re flopping out two lengthy pinkish tongues between your trembling thighs. Sloshing against each other, fighting against each other, each of their pretty features plastered upon the inner side of each leg.

And where Gojo was eager, Geto was teasing. He was mean- lining the slick slit of your cunt with looooong, tender glides. He snickers once he’s feeling the other man impatiently thrust into your hole, “Mmm–fuck! Sweeter than I ever imagined.”

“I know.” Gojo’s snowy brows knit, chin polishing with ribbons of your juices each time he nodded his head down to shove past your first tight ring of muscle. Pumping you full. Beading your every nook and cranny with a thorough probe of his tastebuds, “And she’s my hah- miss valedictorian- isn’t that right, princess?”

“Y-you’re both acting so- hck!” It’s a wonder you even could speak with how much they were ruining your damn pussy. “-ch-childish- fuck.”

Lapping up every dribbling ounce of slick you gave off, licking into every and any spot on you that they could scour. And you were so much extra aroused now, a pure translucent waterfall sticking down the fronts of their chins with every too-sensitive touch.

Hell, you’re blinking your watery eyes down to watch the way that Gojo’s thumbing apart your swollen folds just so that he could plunge his tongue inside deeper. Faster.

Sloppier.

Slipping over each other, chins knocking, greedy.

With the rawest, loudest squeeelch–! Geto lingers his piercing over your clit, taking full claim with the way he’s sucking. “She might be your ‘miss valedictorian’...” Groaning, you’re feeling his glinting canines bite down once on the nearby flesh of your thigh, and then twice on your oversensitive clit - enough to leave a slight mark. “-but she’s my pipsqueak. So if I wanna taste, m’getting it. Isn’t that riiight—?”

THWACK!

Spanking your clit just so you’re crying out-

“S’what I thought.” Geto hums.

And that’s exactly what he was doing - what they both were doing.

Two soppily wet tastebuds rubbin’ your pussy all over until you were oversensitive, and the way they’re fighting to see who occupies the most of your sweet, sweet cunt is just animal.

Gojo pushin’ his face deeper until the line of his glasses left bright red marks on his flushed face, Geto instead moving you- gluing a palm on the side of your hips and jerking you to him.

“O-oh nghhh it feels shoooo good-” You’re slurring, so stimulated that your hands wrestle for purchase on the chair’s cushion each time you’re throwing your head back and bucking up, up, up.

“Good? Good, gorgeous–?”

“Mhm—”

Cunt throbbing oh-so-badly at every slash of their tongue, the way that Geto grips a hand onto the back of Gojo’s head to guide him into your favorite spots. Nudging your earliest bundles of nerves with his probin’, thumping tastebuds.

Your breath catches with a sob within your clogged throat at the sight of Geto usin’ that tight leverage to tilt Gojo’s head ever-so-slightly so that their tongues meet each other.

Filthy oodles of saliva watering over the edge of the other man’s tongue as he moans, Geto’s grinning when he’s kissing both your sappy cunt and him. “Don’tcha even know how ta properly eat a girl out, nerd?”

“I-I do-”

“Spit.”

“What?”

“Spit.”

In a sultry split-second, your already drenched pussy is being swamped by two steady streams of saliva. Spitting. Geto’s tongue everywhere, he sucks on your perked clit while Gojo back takes over sinking his honed muscle inside your gummy walls. “Tch, s’that all you got, Suguru? You clearly don’t even know the nghh- benefits of stimulating her adventitia-”

“That’s not shit, what you’ve gotta do is- hahh-” Geto departs a sweltering hot gust of breath, letting Gojo’s curling pink tongue thrash inside your pussy while he snagged three ringed fingers on your rim and push-push-puuuushes inside. “-stretch her pretty lil’ cunt wiiiide open.”

“F-fuuck why is it so big–” You’re whining, crying. Legs hooking over both their shoulders to bring them together. The sheer scrape of Geto’s metallic rings against your sweet spots makes you see stars, “Don’t think m’gonna last long…”

“C-close, huh?” Gojo drags out through a breathy tone - and there’s something higher-pitched in his tone, something that almost sounded gone. Such a primal tinge to his tone, he’s nuzzling his nose against your clit and making such a mess.

Geto grunts, rosy lips pulling back into a snarling grin by the time he gives you one-two-three sloppy strokes. Reaching for the plush area of your g-spot “What did I say? Gotta stretch her reeeal big so she can take me-” Hitting it - hard. “-isn’t that right, pretty lady?”

He wasn’t even talking to you at this point - just your pussy. And you swear you’re feeling the pointed nib of even Gojo’s falter slightly on your clit as he speaks.

Squelch after squelch, they’re both pulling out of you when you’re only growing wetter. The tips of your toes curling inwards as you’re feeling your tummy spark near familiar bliss, “S-Sugu–!”

THWACK!

The stinging noise rings out before you’re even feeling the burning ache, the way that Geto’s firm fingerpads stick to your plump cunt in a sharp swat. Him snickering, “See?”

“You’re insane.” Gojo titters back, prattling.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited for ngh- this, nerd.” Ever since he first met you that fateful orientation day, in fact. Tongue piercing tickling your clit, fighting Gojo’s tongue for purchase. “Have no- fucking- clue-”

“Don’t give a fuck-” And he didn’t - really, really didn’t. The glasses-clad man doesn’t think he could even register anything other than the streaming sap your cunt was gushing out onto his tongue, and the way your hole quivered in that way that told him you were close. Again. “Just wan’ you to cum on my t-tongue, princess.”

“Heh- you’re better like this, Toru.”

“Shut up and cum.”

Long, ivory bangs soft against the bottom of your tummy with how close he’s diving himself nose-deep. More. Gojo ruts against the cushion of the armchair, knees dragging against the carpet as he’s lunging even further- and he doesn’t even notice.

“Easy there, gonna suffocate-”

You run your hands through his sweaty scalp, breath heightening. “Yeah, you ngh- okay?”

Grunting at the texture of Geto’s own tongue, “Mmmm– no.” Gojo’s classes are completely fogged-up at this point, and he’s only clashing them further. Adding one of his own lengthy fingers past your hole so that he can pump furiously. Both their hands so dexterous. “Muscularis contracting- ngh, even more leukorrhea- wet. Gonna cum- gonna cum gonna cum—”

And that’s exactly all it takes - the slightest, tiniest bend of Gojo’s stifling digits thumping your g-spot in carnal unison with Geto’s ringed ones, and then you’re reaching your orgasm. For the second time.

Hips fully wrenching off of the dampened chair cushions to push your two boys with a generous mouthful of your candied pussy- one they’re salivating over gratefully. Repeatedly targeting your favorite spots with their fingers, maws further agape, eyes rolling to the back of their heads.

You can only hit your chin against your chest to take in the lewd, lewd sight of being eaten out by both Gojo and Geto. “Sh-shiiit–” Cheeks wet with tears, “Never cum like this- ngh, it’s so- oh.”

“Please- that’s it, use me.” Gojo recants back, giving his features up for you to conduct such long, slobbering drags. “Use me, princess- ngh- m’fucking starved. Ohhh, fucking love this pussy. M’gonna eat you out for the rest of my life, miss valedictorian.”

Smirking, Geto pins your gyratin’ hips down and watches as Gojo blindly whines. Chasing the taste of your cunt just so he can lap you through your wet high. “Heh- you’re damn pussydrunk, nerd.” Turning to you with hooded eyes, your best friend’s making sure he murmurs this into your overstimulated pussy. “And you’re dumbified, my cute lil’ pipsqueak.”

Though, it’s not like he was any better.

But before Geto’s forced to bite down on his lower lip and bite back pure whimpers at the oversaturation of your taste, he pulls away.

Painfully, with a final sopping thwack! of his palm coming down to strike your cunt. Your eyes are just barely open enough to make out the fuzzy shapes of Geto pulling Gojo backwards, too, with a hand at his throat.

Watching as his lips detach from your pussy with a wet plop! strings of slick scattering all over his maw. Watching as his neat glasses stick to your pussy n’ he has to manually smear them back up his nosebridge, “Oi- the fuck do you think you’re doing, punk?”

“Well, you can make out with her pussy all you want, nerd.” Geto’s piercings glint as he pinches his index and thumb into a circle. Sticking his tongue lewdly between that hole, “I wanna fuck it.”

“Oh…” You can only ogle unabashedly once the two make quick work of discarding your top n’ bra, then their own clothes - Gojo’s two layers of vests, his formal pants, and Geto’s torn band t-shirt and washed jeans. All in a pile somewhere by your throne of an armchair.

They couldn’t be more different.

And that went for their hot, rock-hard cocks, too - where Gojo was longer, Geto was thicker.

Both oh-so-massive that it has your thighs clenching in both fear and anticipation, you can’t help but stare at the way that Gojo was so fuckin’ red that the bulging end of his shaft looked like strawberry. And just as thick, he’s glazing himself with so many layers of slick pre that fall down his lengthy member.

And Geto- oh, Geto’s was the sexiest tannish pink at his tip. Covered with so many puffy veins that you’re almost missing the line of a few silver barbells lining his fat shaft. A Jacob’s Ladder piercing - with a studded Prince Albert’s at the very bottom of his thoroughly flared tip.

Where Gojo’s cock was utterly pretty and made your cunt water, Geto’s looked like he was about to positively ruin you.

“Heh, that’s cute.” Your best friend croons, catching both your gaped staring. Gojo quickly snaps himself out of it, hands reaching for your open thighs to-

“Ah ah, dibs.” Geto slaps his hand away, and it takes him only a second to pick you up as if you were weightless. All carried in his broad arms - his shoulders were so muscular - to the nearby bedroom and lay you flat on the bouncy mattress.

Hovering over you, you take the opportunity to mindlessly gawk at him in a way you didn’t allow yourself to before. Everything from the sinful silver piercings that punctured his rosy nipples, to the stark black dragon tattooed across his back and down to his hips- and wait.

Your eyes damn near pop out of your head- right on the left side of his prominent v-line…was that…a tattoo of your first initial?

Geto catches the beeline of your eyesight and muses, “Got it in secret honor of my- ah, best friend.” Leaning in, “N’ you’re gonna feel it reeeal up close and personal now, best friend.”

Gojo calls out as he follows inside, “Oi- first come first haaaah- serve. Isn’t that right, princess?”

Before you can answer, Geto cuts in- “Then, I’m first-‘ Shoving the other man slightly, fighting for who gets the first touch of your pussy on their aching cocks. Geto’s cleanly pushes your boneless body onto all fours, stood by the edge of his bed. “-because you were my gorgeous girl first, riiiight—?”

“O-oh–! Yes- I mean no- I mean…” You’re yelping the very instant his cold, orbed piercing runs lazily down your slit from behind. And you whimper as the bed dips with a creak, revealing Gojo in all his needy glory - pale thighs parted about the length of your head, so towering where he was starin’ down at you through his thick glasses.

“Ya hear that, nerd?”

Gojo rolls his eyes, one hand smearing the plump pinkish curvature of his cock between your glossed lips. “Tch- my princess disagreed. Clearly.”

With a cackle, Geto slobbers his drooling mushroom tip down your folds- making sure that Gojo’s ears burn at the lecherous squeeelch-! that’s sounding out once he does. And you swear you’re seeing fucking stars by the time that he manspreads his sculpted thighs part and presses his thick circumference in—

“Shit- shit shit shit—” You’ve never been so stretched, and the utter fuckin’ girth of his circumference makes your eyes tear up pathetically. “How are you so bi- mmmpf!”

If you thought that stretch between your shaky, sheened legs was incredible- then you absolutely weren’t ready for the way that Gojo’s barging his prolonged cock right between your gawking mouth. Filling up your hot gummy maw with a few solid inches of his length, he wasn’t even bottomed-out yet, and you swear you could already feel him at your throat.

“Easy there, pipsqueak. Eeeasy does it.” Geto croaks out from behind you, shuffling his toned hips ever-so-slightly closer. Just the merest deepening entrance enough to make you salivate.

“Shiiiit- dunno who’s glands are l-leaking more- ” Gojo hisses, heavy lids flapping at the feeling of your treacly saliva gluing against the underside of his shaft. “Your pretty mouth, or your cunt…”

And you didn’t know either- hell, you couldn’t even think at this point.

It was just rendering you so dumb having both your slick orifices plugged up, Geto’s tattooed hips relentlessly pushing in half-thrusts from behind. Gojo clawing on top of your clammy crown and nudging your lolling head down further—

Managing to somehow muffle out, “Ngh- hck- so mm-much—”

“Yeahhh, as you like it, g-gorgeous.” Something in Geto’s voice shatters the very moment he’s able to slip his rigid cockhead in n’ swab your entrance with the point of his piercing.

Usin’ it like some cute lil’ searchlight as he’s pressing the cold metal against the sides of your stretchy walls, scouring down each side of your pussy for that spot of your nerves. The rub of his Jacob’s Ladder was mind-numbing, miniscule knobbled barbells poking tender crevices you didn’t even know existed. “Want you and this ngh- p-pretty lady right here nice n’- happy- and-”

Each word was punctuated by the most probing thrust of Geto’s powerful hips, easing the measurement of his cock inside you with the sloppiest noises.

Damn near muffling out your shrills when his pure pressure forces you forwards to pump even more of Gojo’s leaking shaft down your relaxed throat. Deeper. Harder.

“And taking- this-” With a hand on your hips, Geto reels you in- only for Gojo to scramble a grip on your throat and keep you with him. A tug-of-war. Pushing. Pulling.

And the only thing that both can think to do is urge their capped knees closer to you on the bed and split you wiiiide open-

“-biiiig stretch.” Geto finishes off.

Just as he bottoms out inside of your sweltering cunt, your initial kissin’ your skin, just as Gojo scratches the edge of your nose on his tufted white happy trail.

Both of them.

And they’re not wasting a single second - not even a split-second.

Because once your hot, clenchin’ holes have greedily swallowed up both of them, they’re rutting their hips back and half-thrusting. Not even fully- just half just to feel your heat, the sweet softness of you.

“Fuh-fuck, your buccal mucosa just feels sooo ngh-” Gojo’s babbling away, neck still held deftly within his fingers as he’s swervin’ his hips back to dab the very back of your throat with the fleshy circle of your tip. “Th-think I’m hitting all the way at your ngh- palate-”

Geto rolls his hazed eyes, tugging your hips back to strike your ass cheeks against his toned v-line. Hard enough that your mouth leaves Gojo’s bulbous tip with a pop! “D’you always needa talk like ngh- that, nerd?”

“Do you always need to be s-so filthy, punk?” The other man snarls, tempting his hips closer so that you’re almost squished between the two.

“Mmm—” Geto pretends to think, tapping the point of his chin with one hand, whilst the other smears your ass cheeks open to take a vulgar look at your cunt from behind. And he doesn’t answer- not at first, what he’s doing is spitting a cool wad of saliva that darts straightly down to your slit. “Hell yeah.”

With a roll of his shoulders, he’s thrashing the globular ends of his reddened, swollen shaft into your deepest depths. And it feels like you’re just melting around him, “So shut up and fuck, nerd.”

And Gojo Satoru was always first in class - if you weren’t, that is - you think he ever needed to be told anything twice?

Nibbling onto his pouty lower lip, Gojo darts one of his carnally itching fingerpads up and squeezes your flared nostrils - already rubbed raw by the massage of his ivory, curly hair.

Giggling something drunken as you sputter and choke on his throbbing shaft, “Fuck nnngh- you’re a dirty fucking girl, miss valedictorian-” He hisses, he’s spitting through clenched teeth every time the bumpy texture of your tastebuds were rovering down his tender underside.

Were latching onto the pulsating lines of his veins, and making him groan. Heavy, pink balls tighening each time they strike-strike-strike your chin, “S-sooo much better with my hah- fat fuckin’ cock stuck between those lips.”

Whining, you couldn’t even pant out in wailing gasps each time Geto’s bulbous piercings were crazing your bubblegum walls like a ladder. “F- mm fuck y-”

Squeezing your nose even tighter- “Fuck me?” Gojo titters out from above, and it’s almost humiliating the way he blushes as he looks down at you above his pecs, flexing core rippling with each hasty jackhammer.

Mean. His mouth was so mean, and the way his thumb drifts down the forefront of your throat, feeling for that bulge where his cock was driving was even meaner.

He could feel himself. Feel you taking him. “Y-you’re the one being fucked right now, princess.”

“Mhm— and by me.” And the very second that Gojo lets your nose free to breathe, Geto snakes his clit down to pinch your sopping wet clit.

“No- yes! Please-” You’re mewling, “Close- I-I’m so close- ngh-”

Your best friend leans in so close to whisper against the shell of your ear; letting his tattooed pecs glue to your back, lengthy locks tickling the arch of your sweaty spine. Holding on close. Hard. “No? Close? Make up your mind.”

You can only spit through an open maw—“No- yes- fuuuuck m-more.”

Absolutely ruined, and neither of them have ever seen you like this.

“H-her nucleus accumbens is going into overdrive-” Gojo sputters out, and you’re starin’ through your teary lashes at the cute way his condensation-filled glasses slip down his nose with each battering ram of his ravaged cock. “Which- hck! which means decreased activity in the cerebral cortex and- and it means…”

“Spit it out, nerd.”

“She’s close.”

“Haaah- coulda told you ngh- that.” And, truly, you’re squeezing your pretty bubblegum walls ‘round him so tight that it’s almost hard for Geto to pull back and forth in repeated thrusts. “Gonna cum f’me, pipsqueak? C’mon cooome on- let your best friend hah- fill you up, would you?”

You’re whining, “Please-” Heard sparking with whatever jumbled mess that Gojo had talked about and you couldn’t even begin to make sense right now. “Close- gonna- ngh-”

“Wait- you’re cumming inside fir- fuck!” Gojo gapes, only to hunch his washboard abs forwards and drive into you at the flick of your velvety tongue on his sensitive slit - his favorite. Only to cum- and the sight of you gulping down his milky mess, letting it dribble all down your bobbing throat was so sexy that Geto can’t help but lose it, too.

Shit- that was fast. Faster than he’d ever been with your panties snugly wrapping his cock and your photograph in hand - but your quivering, wet pussy just felt so good that he’s squelching out his orgasm once he’s feeling yours.

Long, ribbony bouts of seed that were just scalding puddling at the bottom of your pussy- you swear you’re feeling it slosh about inside of you with each tiny motion. Splashing inside your mouth.

All for you to swallow.

All three at once, you didn’t even think you could cum again before Geto’s giving you a carnal pinch to your clit. “Cum—ing– ngh.” You’re heavily gulping the ivory sap that glazes your tongue, eyes rolling back in utterly stupid bliss. “Please- oh.”

“No one taught you not to talk with your- haaah- mouth full, hm?” The man above you gruffs out through a dry gasp, hips sloppy. Chest heaving. Ringed, sticky digits twitching. “No one-” His breath hitches as he’s feeling your unsteady hips sliiide off of his pummeling cock, “Oh, where’d you think you’re going?”

“Nononono- no-” Gojo snarls, properly bearing his glinting canines like he was more animal than man right about now. Tuggin’ you back with the hand bruising your throat, “If m’fucking your creampie then I get to ngh- have her to myself a bit. Open.”

Breathless, you’re lolling out your tongue and gazing up at the way the towering man’s eyes widen at the lack of anything in your mouth. The way you’d swallowed it all. “M’gonna have so much fun this time.”

Wait…your eyes widen. Still jolting bodily with sparking bouts of electricity, your third - was that even the correct number - orgasm wasn’t even bating before they’re talking about the next.

Unaffected, Geto only rolls his eyes- and his fingers over your drivelling slit. Practically turned into a waterfall of his buttery white cum, making you pull off of Gojo’s cock with a hiss at his rude fingertips. “Oh, shut it.”

Before either of you can blink- before you can even breathe, your best friend’s stuffing your breaths all the way back into your screaming lungs.

All by sticking his cum-glazed finger inside your mouth, swirlin’ that creamy polish into your deepest crannies. “Hm…you, too.” And in mere nanoseconds, Geto has his white syrupy fingerpads stuffed inside Gojo’s mouth.

“What- mmpf–” Your mouthy academic rival just looks so pretty with thick fingers plunged between his spit-glittered lips. Pale brows scrunching together, face red-hot, a thin line of cum trickling slowly down the side of his suckling mouth.

And it’s enough so that your ravenous hips start lurching down the expanse of Geto’s cock- as if to milk him for more.

“Hehhh–?” He’s grinning through his shaggy raven strands at your motions, pulling back his fingers with a squelch. “What a filthy girl- stuffed you with so much cum you’re over ngh- overspilling, and you still wan’ more?”

With only your cutesy babbles for an answer, you’re feeling him straighten his muscular core up to face Gojo even more. “So, you either fuck her w’my cum inside- or, watch as I fill her up with s-so much of my cum she can’t not feel it inside-”

“Shut up n’ let me fuck my girl, punk.”

“Mm— that’s not having the hah- reaction you want, nerd.” As if to prove his point, Geto’s gleaming cock twitches when he’s easing out of you with a raw slurp. Slowly, but surely, he takes his sweet, sweet time to remind you of the pattern of piercings lining his frenulum. “Our girl, you mean.”

You’re swearing he’s only getting even bigger at the sight of you- draped across Gojo’s thoroughly sculpted front not even a moment later. Your cunt frosted white with his own cum, Gojo’s bulbous mushroom tip bulging your pussylips wiiide open. Impatient.

“Oh.” Geto manages to pant out.

Just barely lets himself even breathe before he’s dropping further down the protesting bedsprings, all the way until his hot breaths breeze across your oversensitive pussy in a lil’ ‘hello.’

Grunting, Gojo tugs your chin back over to face him - resting flatly on his back so you’re trembling n’ limp on his abs.

“Mmm– hello, princess.” He’s crooning out with his deep, rasping voice. And you answer with a whimper of your own at the sexy feeling of his core flexing underneath you, pecs all bouncy in the way they had no right to be.

He was so big - both of them were, Gojo being taller where Geto was broader.

Yet, both numerous inches over six feet and sandwiching you with their chiseled weights as you’re settling on top of Gojo. Cushioned over his broad, flushed chest, you feel him cup your sweaty cheek, “Heh, d-don’t think you can be valedictorian like this.”

You’re marrying your brows in what looked like such adorable annoyance to his half-lidded eyes. “Mmm—how are you gonna say that when hck! you’re the one that got pussydru- oh, fuck.”

Fuck, and then you’re promptly shut up by Geto’s tongue slithering slimily between the folds of your pussy. Letting his curly tip lap up every wadded ounce of cum overspilling out of you, “Oh, don’t stop on mmm- my accounts. Always so cute when yer mad, pipsqueak.”

“I was thinking more hot—” Gojo’s moaning out, bucking- and he was still so rock-hard. So needy that just the slightest slip n’ slide across your outer pussy makes him rut- “Fuck.”

And it makes him sink inside, just the slightest push of his thick, rotund crown. Your filthy hole plugs up with his strawberry-pink tip and you’re finding yourself gasping.

“Not gonna help me clean up, nerd?”

“Sh-shut the fuck up-” Gojo’s scrunching his brows until he’s feeling dizzy- or maybe that was just the sopping, soft feeling of your pussy. Opening up such a primal part of him once he’s listening to the swampy noises being pulled out, “Her pussy- o-ohhh this pussy…your adventitia stretches so, the way you’re- I can’t…”

You’d made one of the smartest, most eloquent men on campus speechless.

“And you call me filthy.” Geto chuckles darkly from behind you, still not stopping. Still letting the pierced muscle of his tongue swirl right near your entrance, each solid inch that Gojo was bullying inside made you leak onto his tastebuds with a splat!

Filthy.

Absolutely filthy. You couldn’t even begin to describe the sensation when Gojo’s starting to pick up his pace- to start driving his hips in a back n’ forth that only lets him pound you with half-thrusts.

Shaft so plump that it won’t even fit- he’s arching his slam-reddened hips up from the mattress to push and push and push. “S’my turn now- my- hck! gonna take this fucking cock, right, princess?” Gojo strangles out, “Right- right?”

Voice pitching higher, unsteadily cracking.

He can’t stop himself from firmly planting his two feet spread further just so he can cling onto your hips and gift you direct slams. Deeper.

“Please- s-so biiig— will it even fit.”

Gojo shoots a prideful glance down at Geto, who only thumbs apart your bruised n’ battered pussylips with a smirk. “Of course, it will.” And you’re jolting at the burning sensation of his ringed thumb pushing inside of your wet hole, just to stretch you out even wider for Gojo.

THWACK!

He’s tittering meanly as the little spank leaves you leaking from the sides of your stretched-out hole, a little trail of creamy white for him to lick down. Frigid orb of his piercing just lightly skimming Gojo’s own tender shaft, “If you’re good that is, gorgeous.”

“Yeah- yeah.” Gojo’s panting out, so drunk on the sappy texture. He felt like your elastic walls were just molding to his exact size, so tight n’ warm. “Why don’tcha count for me, miss valedictorian?”

“C-count? Satoru, what do you- oh.”

Oh was right- by the way the inches of his cock flinched inside of you. He wanted you to count how many inches he was - and you swear you hear even Geto hum in interest from behind.

Smirking to himself, oh, he’s got his mouth open to drool and make such a mess as Gojo starts stirrin’ your dewy insides with the ragged lines of his veins. Pulling back all the way until his rounded cockhead stretches your entrance, “One- c’mon, one.”

“O-one-” You’re echoing out after Gojo- but oh, even that was a fucking feat. Especially with Geto’s twirling tongue piercing rubbin’ all over your overstuffed slit. Hiccuping, “Two-”

“Mhm—?”

“Three- ngh- five.”

Geto snickers, “Does five come after three?”

“Heh, not so smart now, huh?” Gojo lazes his tongue out for you to suckle on whilst you quietly sob at the utter size of him, he just kept going and going. Like it was never-ending, Gojo’s pretty pink girth kisses the very area of your g-spot without even trying-

“Then just shut up and fuck me, Toru- oh.”

He does. Oh, you think Gojo could ever deny you?

Bottoming out with an angry jackhammer, “Ten–!” You find yourself throwing your head back with a keen, feeling that shuddering thump of his weepy shaft strike the back of your cervix. Hard. With ten solid, throbbing inches somehow shovelled inside of you, you’re bucking backwards in figure-eights, “Ten- ten ten ten- please-”

“Mmm, my turn, pipsqueak.”

Stupidly, your maw splits open with a gush of saliva- “H-huh?”

“You heard me- heh, or are you that fucked out, already?” Geto was just so mean, taking his sensual time to finish drinking up the salted caramel taste of his gooey cum dripping out of you. Until you were all niiiice and clean.

Gojo gives you another few repeated whacks to your most tender spots, almost like he was staking his claim. Eyes narrowed through slimy, slick-sprayed glasses, “Oi- you already got your turn.”

“Yeah n’ now m’fucking hard again.” Rolling his lavender eyes, Geto tuts at the impatient, sloppy way Gojo was fucking into you. “Make yerself useful and open her pretty legs a little wider.”

Grumbling, you’re oh-so-shocked to find that Gojo Satoru actually does what he’s told.

“You hafta teach me how to do that-” You’re jesting, only to get punished with another merciless bruise gliding down your cervix.

“Hahhh- yeahhh, you know it.” Your best friend nods down at you, “That’s it. Now arch those hips up f’me now.”

Something like a territorial growl rips from the back of Gojo’s throat as he feels Geto hover onto his knees from behind. Leaning forwards until his silky, Stygian hair fell like a curtain around you two. “Now, wan’ you to count again- both of you.”

Both?

Evidently, the same thing is registering in Gojo’s mind because he squawks- “B-both?”

“Ya heard me.” Turning your head over your shoulder, you’re noticing that there’s something devilish glinting within Geto’s priggish smile. With a tilt of his head he’s pushing his plump cockhead to kiss the entrance to your cunt. Your already-full entrance. “Count. And m’not talking about how many inches.”

You whine, “Then what do you expect us t-to…”

Oh, and then you’re getting it. And Gojo is, too.

Because in that instant, Geto’s drawing that cold, circular piercing of his slit along the outside of your pussy folds. The down Gojo’s shaft, then slipping it inside-

“One- ohhh-fuck!” It comes tumbling out of your mouth before you can control yourself, and your hips are gyrating back crazily to chase the incredible stretch of a second thick cock entering you. Struggling to. Aching to. “One, ngh– Sugu, please.”

“Atta giiiirl-” Geto coos, the long locks of his bangs flying as he turns his head to Gojo. “Yer falling behind, nerd.”

“…”

With a tut, he’s rolling his hips, “Come on-”

“Oh-” Comes out that pretty, pretty gasp from the edges of your spit-glossed lips. Feeling the cold line of Geto’s second piercing - his Jacob’s Ladder, this time - just grazing the treacly base of your pussy. “T-two…?”

“Two.” Gojo spits out, in reluctant unison with you as that chilling metal touches his fragile shaft- and he hates to admit that it just made his mouth water.

“Theeere we go.”

With one hand groping the backs of your thighs to stretch you out wiiide open for him, and the other rovering underneath your tummy to feel you bulge with two monstrous cocks- Geto sinks his way inside.

Twitching his red, flared tip upwards to bash the roof of your channel once the both of your two below him start babbling in sync- “Th-three. Four. Five?”

Letting his back arch so sensually at the slip n’ slide of your velvety walls, “Fuck.” He has to fight to not throw his head back stupidly, because shit- watching your cute circular hole get stretched out so tightly was fucking heaven to see. “C’mon-” Each word, each breath punctuated by a mindless rut to squeeze inside. “C’mon c’mon c’mon-”

“W-will it even fit, Sugu–?”

“Of course it will, pipsqueak.”

“As if, punk.”

Geto raises a dark brow in challenge, “Heh- you speak- what- five languages and pussy isn’t one of them?”

Face burning red, Gojo only tilts his head down until his bangs cover up most of his face. Enough of playing patience, enough of humping you like some dog in heat- he’s perking his hips up and dragging them in tandem with Geto’s- who only seems to be enjoying the music of your pretty squelches.

“Mmm– see?” Oh, those lecherous noises were only spurring him on. The double penetration makes you slurp as if you were greedily gobbling him whole, and Geto just can’t stop smiling. “Otherwise you’d know that she’s just cryyyyyying for-” Bottoming out, initial tattoo gluing to your skin. “-both.”

You gasp, “Suguru, you have six-” Just as he nuzzles his dark happy trail, fully sheathed inside of you and like he never wanted to pull out now. “-seven piercings?”

Seven piercings in all, one at the very tip scraping along your bubblegum walls, and the others massaging up n’ down Gojo’s length. “Only for you, my girl.”

“My girl, you mean.” It was a challenge.

And Geto takes the bait. “Well then—” Purring out his sinful words, he leans over to restrain your gasping throat in a headlock. Big, beefy hands cutting off your airway- and Gojo’s dexterous fingers smushing your cheeks together embarrassingly, “Tell us. Tell us who you want.”

It comes out a whine- and then a beg—“More.” And you’re feeling the way that both men halt, as if your very voice had just shocked them into freezing. “M-more, I wan’ more- Toru- Sugu-”

Well, whatever you want…you get.

It’s like something’s snapping- audibly, in later hours you’d realize that it was Geto’s aged bedframe, but right now you’re dazedly wondering whether it was the last remnant of their sanity.

Because in such precise unison, Geto pulls his cock nearly all the way out- enough for Gojo’s fattened length to take up every mass of space inside you and bludgeon all the way to the back of your pussy.

Reeling back, letting Geto nuzzle his startling metal piercings against your cervix- your walls. Back n’ forth back n’ forth- it’s like they’re milking themselves on you.

So big that you’re being constantly pumped forwards with each of their thrusts. Being sandwiched between Gojo’s eagerly pumping strokes, and Gojo’s mean teasing.

The sheer carnal stretch was just so incredible that you cry out, “O-ohhh, fuck. H-how does it feel this good- s’like you’re ngh- taking me from the- inside-”

“We are takin’ you from the inside, silly girl.” Geto’s tittering out, oh, it was just so cute how cockdrunk you were for them that he just can’t help but take extra sensually long to rub your g-spot raw with his Jacob’s Ladder. “Taking every inch of you, every spot, every pulse, everything inside this cunt.”

And that’s when Gojo pipes up, pushing his thoroughly foggy glasses up his nosebridge. “A-according to my calculations with time n’ speed and- ngh, stretch, s’at least triple the- the pressure on your anterior wall and Gräfenberg spot, princess.”

You can only look stupidly along down at the scorched blush covering his cheeks, a slim line of saliva drooling down the side of your chin that Gojo has the audacity to flop his tongue out and lap up.

“In other words…” Looking at you with such heady blue eyes- you swear you’ve never seen him look more gone. Cherry-pink lips twitching as he’s folding them into a grin, “Two is better than one.”

Geto chuckles from behind, “Now now, Satoru…don’t think our girl even ngh- understands that right now.” With the powerful headlock, he’s tugging you up to look at him instead.

And you don’t think you’ve seen either of them look so fucked-out. They weren’t any better than you.

Eyes wide, mouths parted, blushed the exact same sappy shades of pink as their bulbous tips. Each thump grazing your g-spot just makes your pussy bulge with the sagging weight of them- enough so that you almost don’t even hear Geto’s next few words.“Mm– heh, you’re sooo cockdrunk right now, pipsqueak. What’s two plus two?”

“T-two plus…” Trailing off, you can only chase their two smashing lengths for more more more. Bawling out just as much as your dripping pussy was right now, “Ngh- hck!”

“Look at you, miss valedictorian.” Gojo’s never looked more accomplished- not even during all those times he’d beaten you during a final or quiz.

Blowing the sweat-plastered white bangs out of his face, he croaks out- “S’the only thing you know how t-to ngh-” Hissing at the ridges of Geto’s cock, the way it was just suuuuch a tight fuckin’ fit inside of you, he has to put extra pressure just to fuck up into you. “-t-take both our- cocks, huh?”

Geto drags out a lil’ ‘aw’, but there was nothing nice about the way he was starin’ down at you. “Now now, Satoru. We should ask-” And he times his slender hips just right, “-d’you even know your own- hah- name?

“I- ngh- I–” It’s just so pitchy how you’re trilling out after each gash of Geto’s thick, split-ended tip. And Gojo’s- oh, Gojo’s was just rapid. You’re feeling them both probe against your cervix at once, and shriek– “Close- ngh- hah. I’m gonna- ohh, I’m gonna-”

“Close? S’that her name, Satoru?”

“Seems so, Suguru.”

Chortling, Geto’s sodden fingerpads find themselves moving from that tummy bulge of yours to your clit. Pinching. “Then, how hah- fitting that m’gonna make you cum, gorgeous.”

“Nuh uh, I’m gonna make her cum.” Gojo hisses- ah, there was that old challenge again. And both are taking it as such - determined to be the first to make you cum.

Gojo with his rapid, half-thrusts that bash your g-spot until you’re seeing stars. And then Geto with the filthily sensual rubs n’ dubs of his piercings that make you drool. Chasing that high. Ruining yourself.

Harder and harder- you didn’t even know if you could cum again. But it only takes one-two-three more synchronized pumps straight into the deepest depths of your pussy for you to find out - you weren’t just cumming. You were squirting.

Body shaking, eyes bawling by the end of it.

And by the looks of it, neither of the two were fully expecting that either.

Because Gojo gasps, he flushes- muscular pelvis hitting upwards into yours as he cums, too. Thick, ropey wads of seed that clog up the channel of your pussy, “Sh-shit. Shit shit shit- s’too much.”

It really was, and it was pouring out of you in hot, ivory bucketloads. So much that you never even thought could be cooped up inside you.

And Geto? Oh, this was way more than he’d ever seen in his wildest dreams- you with your stinging lips chanting his name, and his. “Sugu- Toru- cumming. Nghh fuck, m’cumming cumming cumming-” Hips sloshing over sparkly gushes of your slick with each bounce, still sucking him up so–

“F-fuck.” If any of you were in a better state, you’d have wondered about the way that Geto’s voice pitches. Cracks. About the way his breath hitches when he’s noticing that he’s cumming dry.

Heart thumping in his throat, rouge lips wobbling. It’s perhaps the first time that he’s officially lost for words, “I-I’m…” Remembering that conversation you had back in the café from what felt like years ago. Tongue parched, heaving- “-actually cumming…d-dry.”

“Told you.” You’re shooting him an impish grin.

“Join the club.” Gojo growls out- but that’s not what he’s worried about right now. Not at all, his forearms n’ abs were all shiny with your juices- pushing in the wiry knots of cum that sprays out of you like a fountain. “Inside- fuck, I need it inside, princess.”

Thighs trembling, you can only watch in speechless awe once Gojo’s taking up the job of webbing your pussy up with his leaking mess. Drawing an unsubtle S-A-T-O-R-U on your cunt all the while.

“Satoru…” You’re warning, throat alright tight with the feeling of Geto twitching-

Still rock-hard.

Still needy.

“W-well…” It takes him a few seconds to collect his fucking wits - absentmindedly, he dips the crowns of his fingers inside your creamy pussy and draws out his very own S-U-G-U-R-U on the forefront of your tummy, your womb.

Possessively, he bites down on the crook of your neck and it felt like you were being impaled by his snake bites. Burning once he guides one of your hands back to his v-line- to his tattoo of your initial. “Y’know what I love about ngh- science experiments, gorgeous?”

“Wh-what…?” You’re looking confusedly between him and Gojo- who apparently understands way before your cockdrunken mind does.

And so your nerdy rival grins with a push of his glasses. Bucking up, up, up- “They have twenty-five trials.”

“Oh my god- thrown to the wolves or…”

“Look at those marks—can barely even walk, is that Gojo’s doing-”

“Wait- Geto’s right behind, and he’s so close…you don’t think they’re-”

You’re fairly certain that a zoo could run through your lecture hall right now and no one would even notice. Not when they’re oh-so-occupied ogling and pointing out at the bites across every inch of your skin, the hand marks peeking from underneath the hem of your shirt.

Hell, a few were even secretly recording- surely to send to the betting pool groupchat. And somewhere in the student body you swear you see Shoko exchange cash with Ijichi. Traitors!

Though, to be fair you did look ruined - no matter how much you tried to tug at your sleeves and douse yourself in foundation. They’d simply run you ragged last night, if the broken bed, two broken couches, and five noise complaints were anything to go by.

And it really didn’t help that you had Gojo clinging onto one of your sides, and Geto dangling off of the other. Almost like they were stuck to you with adhesive.

They walked when you walked, they sat when you sat. And once you’re settled into your usual seat at the front row, surrounded by the two, you swear you hear Professor Yaga sigh something or the other about ‘not being paid enough.’

“I swear-” You start to whisper to the two underneath your breath, “If we make it out of this alive, I’m killing the two of you.”

Geto smiles, picking at one of his heavy rings. “Mm– anything for you, gorgeous. A bit kinky, however, no?”

“Hah-” Gojo only crosses his sweater-clad arms and leans back priggishly in his chair. “I’d like to see you fuckin’ try, miss valedictorian.”

Dear lord, what have you gotten yourself into?

But before you can open your mouth - or maybe stand up and run out of this hellscape of an exhibitionistic lecture altogether - a low, grouchy baritone drawls from the row right behind you.

And you don’t know what you’re more surprised at - the fact that you’re still recognizing the voice of your ex-boyfriend, Sukuna, or the fact that a nationally-acclaimed student athlete like him was attending class when he usually never did.

“So…” Sukuna’s swole biceps bulge as he leans over his desk exactly behind you- and you didn’t know whether it was the skin-tight boxing jacket with an emblazoned ‘SUKUNA’ or the fact that he’d gotten even bigger since your break-up. Everything from the meaty thighs damn near ripping through his sports shorts, to the way he seemed to take up two seats at once.

Obnoxiously, he hits the back of Gojo’s chair with his overly-long legs. “You three fucked. Everyone knows.”

Gojo sputters.

Geto grins.

And you can’t rip your eyes away from the sheer ripe curve of Sukuna’s tattooed pecs- coral pink hair still damp after training, athletic figure inching even closer as he smirks.

“I want in, ma.”

A/N. Slight Part 2 to this but can be read alone!! ALSO Y’ALL I’VE BEEN GETTING CALLED UNC HERE AND THERE TODAY I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS…

Plagiarism not authorized.

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kthologue · 4 months ago

Text

operation: get over your childhood crush! — gojo satoru

synopsis. in an attempt to move on from your childhood best friend—who definitely doesn’t see you the way you want—you hatch a series of plans to help you get over him. it doesn't go as planned.

contents. hurt/comfort, fluff, nerd!gojo, college au, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, unreliable narrator, miscommunication, insecurity, dorky references bc u make him go dumb and digimon inaccuracies probably

notes. i did not proofread this monster!! enjoy :P

The hum of the air conditioning fills the room as night settles in, the light from Satoru’s bedside lamp casting a soft glow over his mess of a room. You’re both sprawled out across his bed, limbs entangled like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Because, for the two of you, it is.

Satoru’s Nintendo Switch is balanced on his stomach, hands lazily tapping away as his little Digimon charges into battle on screen. You’re curled into his side, one leg hooked around his and a blanket thrown haphazardly across you both. The half-abandoned textbooks sit at the edge of the mattress, tragically ignored. Another study session: failed. Not that Satoru needed it. He passed everything with flying colors. It was more of an excuse for you to come over.

“Your room still smells like that cheap vanilla air freshener,” you mumble, nose scrunching.

“That’s because you bought it,” he replies without looking up, thumb expertly guiding his character through an attack.

“Because your room would end up stinking with sweat and whatever freaky stuff you do in here.”

“Hey!” He whines. “I shower everyday and you know it. The stink is all you. Have you ever sniffed yourself, princess?”

You swat at his stomach, and he lets out a dramatic grunt. “Rude. I brought that candle to add ambiance.”

“Ah yes,” he deadpans, “nothing like artificial sugar scent.’”

You snort, settling your head back down on his shoulder, the fabric of his hoodie soft beneath your cheek. There’s a long pause before you say, “You know, if we fail our exams, I’m blaming your Digimon addiction.”

He grins. “I’m raising digital warriors, thank you very much. And I’ve never failed an exam, don’t wound me now!”

“They look like mutant toddlers with attitude problems.”

He gasps, clutching his heart. “They’re champions, you monster.”

You laugh, letting the sound dissolve into something quieter as your fingers absentmindedly trace a pattern into the blanket. His hand rests near yours. Not holding it. Not not holding it.

His glasses are tilted again. Of course.

You reach up and straighten them with a sigh. “Honestly, you’d be lost without me.”

“Not true.” He says it reflexively, then pauses. His voice softens. “Okay, maybe. I’d probably just let them slide down until I walked into a wall.”

You smile faintly. “And there’d be no one there to patch you up.”

“Tragic,” he agrees. “Would bleed out on the floor, probably.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re so bossy,” he counters, shooting you a sideways look.

“Admit it,” he says, voice full of faux-smugness, “you’d miss me if I died tragically and left you all alone.”

You hesitate for a second too long before mumbling, “Don’t joke about that.”

It’s quiet. The game music loops in the background as his Digimon wins the battle with a triumphant fanfare.

He doesn’t say anything.

You suddenly feel too warm under the blanket. The joke had been harmless, stupid even.

But something inside you twists, the same something that’s been unraveling lately every time he mentions another girl.

Another type. That’s not you.

“You know,” you say slowly, eyes peeling from the screen to his phone, which lights up with a notification, revealing one of his favorite gravure model’s latest issues as its wallpaper. “You could probably date any girl you wanted. Why do you partake in freak stuff like this? It’s anti-girl repellent.”

He makes a noncommittal sound. “Doubt it.”

“I don’t. You’ve got that whole genius-who-doesn’t-realize-he’s-hot thing going on.”

He glances at you, skeptical. “Is that a thing?”

“It is. Annoying, but effective. Girls love it.”

He hums, clearly amused, cheeks slightly flushed. “Well, good to know I have options.”

You try to laugh, but it catches in your throat.

You shouldn’t ask. You really shouldn’t.

But you’re lying in his bed. Wrapped up in him like you belong here. And some part of you aches to know the answer.

So you pretend it’s a joke. You tilt your head against his shoulder, voice airy, teasing. “Hey, be honest—do you think I’m cute?”

He goes still.

His hand tightens slightly on the Switch. You think you’ve pushed too far, so you try to backpedal before he can respond.

“Not like… like that,” you say quickly. “I just meant, like, in general. Compared to those girls you’re into. Say, Waka Inoue. You know, long legs, shiny hair, cute face?”

His jaw tightens.

You’re still trying to play it off. “I mean, I’m not fishing for compliments. I just—was wondering.”

He finally turns to look at you.

His gaze lingers. And for the first time all night, he’s not smiling.

You feel your breath stutter in your throat underneath his gaze.

Then he shrugs.

“…Nah.”

It slices through the air with quiet finality.

Your heart drops. You don’t let it show. Not fully. But it must flicker in your face, because he quickly looks away.

You laugh. It sounds forced.

“Yeah, that’s fair. I mean, I wasn’t expecting a yes or anything.”

He’s silent.

You shift away from him slightly, giving him space. “I should head home soon. We didn’t really get any studying done, anyway.”

“It’s late. Why don’t you stay the night?”

Usually, you’d accept his offer with a smile, but you really wanted to go home and wallow in your own self pity.

“It’s fine, I have something to do anyway,” the lie slips out of your mouth easily as you begin to pack your things.

And you miss the way he watches you—guilt in his eyes, frustration on his tongue.

You knew it was time. Twenty years of hopeless, fruitless pining had done enough damage to your heart.

It had started the day your parents moved next door. Satoru had been the loud, obnoxious, too-pretty-for-his-own-good boy on the playground who shoved candy in your hand and asked if you wanted to be friends.

You’d been doomed since day one.

And to make things worse, you’d both gotten into Japan’s most competitive university—together. Same neighborhood. Same school. Same train route. You weren’t just stuck with him. You were haunted.

But you were young and hot. And allegedly in your prime. You couldn’t keep orbiting around a guy who still thought microwave gyoza was a food group and used your shampoo because it “smelled like you, so why not?”

You were sipping coffee with your two closest friends, and today’s topic was—unfortunately—your love life.

“Honestly, I can’t believe you’ve been stuck on Gojo for this long,” Utahime said, disgusted, as she stirred her latte like it personally offended her. “You could do so much better.”

“It was kind of cute in high school,” Shoko added “but now it’s just sad.”

You sighed, blowing on your drink. “I know, okay? It’s not like I haven’t tried. But he’s literally the only guy I’ve ever been close to. I don’t even talk to guys besides him.”

“That’s because he’s been gatekeeping you since the two of you met,” Utahime said flatly. “I swear, every time someone so much as glanced at you, he pulled that overprotective act.”

You wrinkled your nose. “That doesn’t sound like ’Toru…”

Shoko and Utahime exchanged a look. One of those knowing glances.

Utahime cleared her throat. “It doesn’t matter! What matters is you are hot. You’ve got the face, the body, the grades, the personality. You just need the confidence.”

You peeked up at her, unsure. “You really think so?”

Utahime leaned forward, smirking like she’d just won a war. “I know so. And that’s why I’ve come up with a plan.”

You narrowed your eyes. “A plan?”

She slammed her hands down on the table, eyes alight. “Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru.”

You blinked. “That’s… a long title.”

Shoko blew a slow stream of smoke. “It’s either this or pine until you die and haunt him as a love-sick ghost.”

You stared into your cup, sighing. “Fine. I’m in. What’s step one?”

Utahime grinned.

“Whatcha doing?”

Gojo’s voice drifts lazily over your shoulder, followed by the soft rustle of his hoodie as he leans in. He’s far too close, obnoxiously so, his breath tickling your ear and his chin was nearly resting on your shoulder.

You don’t even glance up. “Studying.”

The two of you are supposed to be studying— finals loom overhead like a guillotine, but as usual, very little academic progress has been made. Mostly because your study partner is a six-foot-something genius who insists on sitting sideways in the booth, long legs tangled in yours under the table like it’s second nature.

He hums, skeptical. “Liar.”

You hum noncommittally, thumbing through the dating app Utahime suggested with vague disinterest. The guys blur together: not tall enough, too cocky, too bland, too not Satoru. One makes a joke suspiciously close to a Gojo classic, and you immediately hit unmatch with a scowl.

“Wait,” Satoru says slowly. “Are you on a dating app?!” He practically yells the last part. Half the cafe turns to glare at the source of the disruption.

You hiss under your breath, mortified, swatting at him. “Keep your voice down, idiot!”

His eyes widen dramatically, hands thrown up like you’ve stabbed him. “I leave you alone for two minutes and you’re already planning a life with someone named ‘Keita, aspiring poet and spiritual healer’? I’m wounded.”

“You weren’t supposed to read that far.”

“I’m a speed-reader,” he says with a smug grin. “It’s part of the whole ‘genius’ thing.”

Before you can argue, he snatches your phone with a level of ease that tells you this isn’t the first time he’s done something like this. He grins like he’s won a prize.

“Satoru!”

“Relax, I’m not texting anyone,” he says, fingers flying across the screen. “Just optimizing.”

Your heart drops. “What are you typing?”

“Nothing~”

You make a grab for your phone, but he effortlessly leans back, holding it above his head with those ridiculously long limbs. You glare at him from across the table, arm outstretched like a furious cat trying to swat at the moon.

“Give it back!”

“Patience.”

“Gojo Satoru—”

“Okay, okay!” he relents with a dramatic sigh, finally placing your phone face-down on the table like he’s done you a huge favor.

You snatch it up immediately, eyes scanning for damage. No weird messages. No unsolicited likes. No new matches.

“…What did you do?”

“I didn’t message anyone,” he assures, too innocent to be trusted. “I’m not that cruel.”

You narrow your eyes, suspicious.

“But,” he adds with a grin, “I didn’t know you were dating.”

“I’m not,” you mutter, clicking your phone off. “Just considering it. Trying. It’s not going well.”

“Good.”

The word comes out too fast. Too sharp. And his face doesn’t match the light tone he’s trying to play off.

You raise an eyebrow. “Good?”

He shifts, leaning back in his seat, suddenly very interested in stirring the foam in his overpriced coffee. “I mean, it’s good you’re not settling. You should be picky. Guys are the worst.”

You snort. “You are a guy.”

“Exactly. I know what we’re like.”

You smile despite yourself, rolling your eyes. “I’m sure you think you’re the exception.”

“I know I am,” he says, winking. Then he sobers slightly, eyes flickering to yours. “I’m just… looking out for you.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. You wish it was more than just him being protective in that big-brotherly, annoyingly loyal kind of way.

You take a sip of your coffee to cool your nerves. It doesn’t help. The words come out before you can stop them.

“You know with the way things are going… maybe you should just date me at this point.”

Silence.

It’s a joke. Supposed to be. But the second it leaves your lips, it tastes real.

Gojo freezes.

You panic. “I didn’t mean—like, I was just joking—”

But he turns toward you, eyes unreadable behind the fringe of snowy white hair. “Maybe I should.”

You blink.

And then, with infuriating ease, he grins.

“Anyway,” he says quickly, swiping your phone from the table again before you can stop him, “Yuto here looks like the type to ghost you after three dates and a karaoke duet. You can do better.”

You gape at him, completely thrown off, your heart slamming in your chest.

You don’t even notice what he’s done until later—until you get home and open your app to find that your bio has been changed.

Taken. Mentally married to a nerd since birth.

You want to scream.

Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru?

Yeah. Not going great.

Not at all.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to it.

Maybe it was the look in Utahime’s eyes, so determined and hopeful. Maybe it was Shoko promising she would help you find true love. Maybe it was the quiet part of you that wanted to see yourself through someone else’s eyes. Someone who wasn’t Gojo Satoru.

“Today,” Utahime had declared, curling the last strand of your hair like she was threading a spell, “is the first day of your Gojo-less future”

You laughed nervously, tugging at the hem of your skirt. It wasn’t your usual style—not the dewy makeup you weren’t used to seeing in the mirror, not the new haircut that made your eyes look almost too bright, not the blouse that left your shoulders bare in a way that made you feel strangely noticed.

But when you caught your reflection, your heart fluttered. You looked beautiful.

When you stepped onto campus, the sun was out, the wind teasing your hair. You spotted him immediately—Gojo, slouched against the wall outside your lecture hall, nose buried in his Switch as he muttered something under his breath about evolving stats and attack modifiers.

He didn’t notice you at first.

Then he looked up.

His game froze mid-battle. His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, like someone had unplugged his brain.

“Wha—” he said eloquently. “Wh—what did you do.”

You blinked. “Hi to you too.”

He stared, unabashed. His glasses were slightly crooked, his ears glowing scarlet. He looked like someone had just told him Digimon was real and living in your shoes.

He blinked. “You look like… like you skipped two evolution stages overnight. Straight to Mega. Like if Angewomon fused with… I don’t know, some kind of rare, limited-release goddess-type Digimon that only spawns on a lunar eclipse.”

You blinked.

Utahime’s voice in your head: You’re hot. Unstoppable. He’s going to be speechless.

And Gojo was. But not in the way you wanted.

You tried to laugh. “So I look like a cartoon?”

“A beautiful cartoon,” he said, serious now. “Like the kind of boss character they only show for two frames because animating her costs too much.”

Your heart stuttered. It was the sort of compliment only Gojo could give: clumsy and dorky, yet brilliant in its own way.

But the moment passed.

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, sunglasses slipping slightly as he muttered, “You just… you look different. That’s all.”

Different.

Not better. Not prettier.

Just different.

You swallowed. “Yeah, well. Thought I’d try something new.”

“I didn’t say it was bad,” he added quickly, but the words felt unsure. Flimsy.

“I should… use the restroom,” you mumbled, turning before he could say anything else.

In the bathroom, you stared at your reflection. Your lipstick looked too bold now. Your lashes too heavy. Despite the change, you were still painfully you— the you Gojo teased during study sessions, the one he let borrow his hoodie when it rained, the one who sat next to him during endless all-nighters. And maybe that was the problem. You weren’t like those girls on the magazines.

What you didn’t see, what you couldn’t see, was Gojo still standing outside the lecture hall, staring after you, Switch forgotten, game over screen blinking on the screen.

He didn’t even notice.

“You good, Satoru?” Shoko asked, walking by.

He blinked. “I think I just saw my best friend… and my final boss… and my future wife… all at once.”

Shoko snorted. “You’re a dork.”

Gojo just sighed, shoulders slumping as he muttered, “I’m so doomed.”

It’s a mild Friday evening when you meet him—Kazuya, the guy from your psychology class. He’s polite, articulate, and kind of cute. The kind of guy who asks if you prefer cats or dogs before ordering his drink, and actually listens when you answer.

Utahime and Shoko had insisted you say yes. “A change of pace,” they called it. “You need a baseline. Not every guy is going to be Gojo Satoru.”

Exactly. That was the point.

You’re sipping a matcha latte and nodding along as Kazuya explains his thesis on cognitive development when a very familiar voice cuts through the air.

“Well, well, well. Fancy seeing you here.”

Your stomach drops. You look up, and sure enough—

Satoru.

In all his tall, obnoxiously eye-catching glory, wearing a white t-shirt that was inside out and a grin like he just won the lottery. He's holding a bottle of ramune and standing directly next to your table, like he’s been there the whole time.

You blink. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs. “Thirsty. Wanted a drink.”

“At this café? On this side of campus?”

“Yeah,” he says, tone innocent. “Weird coincidence, huh?”

Kazuya offers a polite smile. “You’re her friend, right? Gojo?”

“Oh, best friend. Lifelong. Practically her shadow.” He plops into the empty seat beside you without asking, casually tossing his ramune onto the table. “What’s your name again? Kaname?”

“…Kazuya.”

“Right, right. I always mix those up. You look like a Kaname, though. Or maybe a Yusuke.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “Satoru—”

But he’s already leaning over, squinting at the book tucked under Kazuya’s arm. “Ooh, Piaget. Bold move. Love that for you.”

Kazuya blinks. “Do you… like developmental theory?”

“I like being correct,” Gojo says with a cheeky smile. “Also, [Name] hates Piaget. She called him ‘the Freud of toddlers’ last semester.”

Kazuya turns to you in mild surprise. “Really?”

“I—I mean, yeah,” you mumble. “Sort of.”

Gojo beams. “Told you.”

Kazuya makes a valiant effort to steer the conversation back to safe, neutral ground.

“So, you mentioned you're interested in behaviorism, right?” he says, offering a gentle smile. “I thought Dr. Takeda's lecture on conditioned responses was kind of fascinating—”

“Oh, riveting,” Satoru cuts in, lounging back in his chair like he owns the café. “Nothing like bonding over Pavlov’s dogs to spark romance. Did she tell you she cried during Inside Out because the depiction of core memories was ‘psychologically resonant’? Real charmer, this one.”

You shoot Satoru a look. “I was twelve!”

Kazuya blinks, trying not to smile. “I actually thought that was pretty moving, too.”

“Wow,” Satoru deadpans. “A match made in neuroscience.”

Kazuya laughs politely and continues, undeterred. “So, uh, any research plans after graduation?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Satoru beats you to it again.

“She used to want to be a vet. Cried when she had to dissect a frog in middle school. Tragic day.”

“Is that true?” Kazuya turns to you, amused now.

“Technically, yes,” you mutter into your drink.

By the time your cup is empty, you realize you’ve laughed more at Satoru’s interjections than you have at anything Kazuya’s said. Not because Kazuya wasn’t interesting—he was. He was calm, thoughtful, well-read, and clearly trying. But next to Satoru, whose entire presence seemed impossible to ignore, Kazuya didn’t stand a chance.

Still, to his credit, Kazuya maintains a steady, if slightly strained, expression as he sets down his cup and finally says, carefully,

“So… is Gojo your boyfriend?”

The question hangs awkwardly.

You and Satoru answer at the same time.

“No,” you say quickly.

“Yes,” he says with a smile.

You both turn to stare at each other.

“I mean—no,” he corrects, waving his hands. “Just a joke. Hah. Obviously.”

Kazuya blinks. “Right.”

You can’t meet either of their eyes. Your drink is finished, your palms are damp, and the café is suddenly too warm, too small. You push back your chair and stand.

“I should go. Early lab meeting tomorrow.” It’s the weakest excuse, but neither of them calls you on it.

Kazuya stands too, polite as ever. “Thanks for meeting up. You seem like a really cool person.” He hesitates, then adds, gently, “I just think maybe you’ve already got someone.”

You freeze. You open your mouth, then close it again. There’s nothing to say.

Outside, the cold air kisses your cheeks like a reminder. It stings a little, or maybe that’s just the confusion burning in your chest.

Satoru’s already waiting for you. Of course he is. He’s leaning against the lamppost, silver hair catching in the wind. But his eyes are downcast, trained on the sidewalk.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Neither do you.

You exhale, watching your breath curl white in the air. “You didn’t have to crash it, y’know.”

“I didn’t crash,” he replies without looking at you. “I was invited.”

“By who?”

“Fate. Karma. The gods of poor decision-making.” He shrugs.

You roll your eyes, but it tugs a laugh from you anyway. Stupid, annoying, charming Gojo.

“So,” he says after a beat, nudging your arm gently with his elbow, “how’d it go?”

You glance at him. He still won’t meet your gaze. His lips are pursed like he’s holding back a hundred words and none of them are funny.

“He was nice,” you admit. Despite being rudely interrupted by the white haired idiot beside you.

“Nice is boring,” he mutters, kicking at a loose stone on the pavement.

You laugh, soft and tired. “You’re the worst.”

He finally looks at you then, lips quirking into that smug, too-knowing smile. “But you like me anyway.”

You look away, cheeks burning, heart thudding like a traitor in your chest.

You don’t answer.

You don’t have to.

Despite Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru failing in every imaginable way, things were starting to feel bearable.

Almost good, even.

Satoru still hovered a little too close, always with that same half-smile like he knew something you didn’t. And maybe, just maybe— his constant sabotage, the teasing, the jealousy, the way he looked at you like he was about to say something important but never did. Maybe it all meant something.

You let yourself believe it, just a little.

And that was your first mistake.

It happens quietly, without fanfare or warning. Just a throwaway line between sips of lukewarm coffee and the soft shuffle of paper. You’re both at your usual spot in the library, surrounded by open notebooks and highlighted packets, pretending to study more than you actually are.

You’re halfway through underlining a term in your psychology notes when Satoru leans back in his chair, stretches like a cat, and says far too casually:

“So, guess who asked me out?”

You hum absentmindedly. “Who?”

“Ayane.”

The name hits you like a slap.

You freeze, highlighter paused mid-sentence. “…Ayane? From the biochem track?”

“Yeah,” he says, practically glowing. “You know her, right? She's in your study group sometimes.”

You do know her. Of course you do. Everyone knows her.

She’s beautiful, with this effortless, clean kind of elegance—long legs, perfect posture, and that quiet, poised confidence that makes professors adore her and guys fall over themselves. The kind of girl who posts one blurry bookshelf photo and still racks up a thousand likes. The kind of girl Gojo always jokes about marrying.

But he’s not joking now. He’s beaming.

“She asked me out to dinner this Friday. She’s so smart, too. I didn’t even have to pretend to know what quantum entanglement was. It’s wild.” He laughs, brushing a hand through his hair. “I thought she’d never go for a guy like me, y’know?”

You force a laugh. “A guy like you?”

“Yeah. I dunno. Too much, I guess? But she said I was ‘refreshing.’” He grins.

Your stomach sinks.

This is what you thought you wanted—for him to move on, so you could finally do the same. For Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru to succeed, for real this time.

But now that it’s happening, it feels like someone’s slowly pulling your ribs apart.

“Oh,” you manage, smiling like you’ve practiced it. “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

He doesn’t notice the way your voice cracks on happy. He just keeps talking, rambling about restaurant reservations and how she likes contemporary poetry and used to live in France. You nod in all the right places, but your thoughts are already slipping away.

Because it isn’t just that he’s going out with someone else.

It’s that he chose her.

Her with her flawless skin and quiet charm and the kind of beauty that doesn’t need to try. Her, with everything you’re not. And more than that, it’s that he made you believe you could have meant more to him, when really, he’d been searching for someone else all along.

You excuse yourself early, mumbling something about laundry.

He doesn’t follow.

You don’t cry until you’re halfway home, the cold air biting at your cheeks as your vision blurs.

For the first time in years, you don’t text him goodnight.

You don’t wait for a meme. Or a dumb joke. Or his usual, “Hey, genius. Sleep.”

You go silent.

And when he texts the next day, you don’t reply.

You skip your library meet-up. You don’t sit next to him in class. You even duck into the stairwell when you see his ridiculous white hair from across campus.

It’s not because you’re mad. It’s because you’re heartbroken.

And you can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter—that he doesn’t matter.

You weren’t just losing your best friend.

You were losing the love of your life.

And he didn’t even notice.

It takes him three days to notice you’re gone.

Well—no. That’s a lie.

He notices immediately. The moment your usual seat in the library stays empty. When your laugh doesn’t echo in the café line. When your name doesn’t pop up on his screen at 2AM with some stupid meme captioned, “this reminded me of you, idiot.”

But he tells himself you’re busy.

Midterms, right? Stress. Coffee. You get like this sometimes, and he gets it. He really does.

So he waits. Tells himself not to be clingy.

But then Friday comes.

And he's sitting across from Ayane in some expensive, quiet restaurant where the napkins are folded like origami cranes and the water tastes filtered. She’s telling him about her research internship in Osaka, about enzymes and international grants, and all he can think is—

You’d be making fun of me right now.

You’d be kicking him under the table. Whispering some dumb pun about digimon. You’d be pulling faces every time he tried to pronounce the items on the menu. You’d be you.

Ayane is lovely.

But she doesn’t laugh when he says something stupid. She just smiles politely.

She doesn’t ask about why his glasses are always crooked (it’s so you could fix them). Doesn’t tease him for double-knotting his laces like a paranoid grandma. Doesn’t call him “Sato” like it’s some private joke only the two of you get.

He walks her home. Thanks her for a nice evening.

Then he goes to the convenience store. Alone.

And he sees your favorite snack on the shelf and buys two out of habit.

He stares at his phone the entire train ride back.

No new messages.

Just the last one you sent days ago:

“Laundry. Rain check?”

And nothing since.

He waits. Another day. Then two.

You don’t show up to class again.

You don’t like his latest meme.

You don’t comment on the Digimon pun he texted you out of desperation.

You are silent.

And Satoru Gojo—brilliant, blind-sighted, the golden boy of theoretical physics, always five steps ahead realizes, too late, that he’s been a fool.

That he didn’t just lose a study partner.

He lost the one person who knew him better than he knew himself.

The one person he couldn’t replace with rare Digimon pulls, half-solved physics equations, or overly sweet desserts.

And for the first time since he was a kid—

He’s afraid.

It’s been a little over a week.

A little over a week since Gojo Satoru has heard your voice. Since you shoved your coffee at him without asking, muttering “too sweet for me” when you really meant “I got this for you.” Since you poked fun at his stupid sock choices, or knocked your foot against his under the table like it was nothing.

And Satoru is suffering.

He's tried everything. Showed up to your house with excuses too weak to be called plans (“Hey, I brought your favorite snacks. I just... figured maybe you forgot you liked them?”). Waited outside your lecture hall until a security guard asked if he was lost. Took detours between classes hoping to catch a glimpse of your ponytail, your laugh, anything.

But you were always one step ahead.

You stopped answering his texts. Blocked him on that stupid dating app (which—ouch, even though you hadn’t used it seriously). You didn’t even show up to the library anymore. And even Shoko started looking at him with thinly veiled pity and a you really fumbled the bag look in her eyes.

Gojo Satoru is just tired.

Miserable.

So when he finally finds you—not because he’s chasing you down this time, but because he’s walking the long way home, and there you are, sitting on the old swings at the park where you first met—it knocks the wind out of him.

You don’t look surprised to see him. Just tired too.

“I figured you’d find me eventually,” you say quietly.

He swallows. His hands curl at his sides like he’s preparing for a fight.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, like it isn’t obvious. “Why?”

You look away. “You’re smart. Figure it out.”

Gojo looks down at his feet.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy and stinging. The playground is empty except for the wind dragging a soda can down the sidewalk and the faint creak of the swing chain.

Then he exhales, ragged and unsure. “Look, I can’t—I can’t take this anymore.”

You glance up.

“I can’t either.”

Hope flares too fast, too naive in his chest. His shoulders drop like he’s been holding up the world. “That’s good,” he breathes, stepping forward. “Because the silent treatment— God, I thought I was going to—”

“I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”

The words stop him cold.

“What?” he breathes.

You laugh, but it’s hollow. Like something already broken. “Don’t you get it? I can’t be friends with you and pretend that nothing’s changed. That I’m okay just being your best friend. I’ve been in love with you for years, Satoru.”

His heart stutters. You don’t stop.

“And I love myself too much to keep hurting for someone who doesn’t even look at me that way.” Your voice cracks, but you push through. “Do you know how humiliating it feels? To love someone so much it aches, and still feel like you’ll never be enough?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

You wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You never even thought I was cute.”

He looks like he’s been hit.

“I’ve been chasing scraps. Leftovers. Mixed signals and stupid inside jokes. I—I can’t do it anymore.”

You finally meet his eyes, and that’s when he sees it: the hurt you’ve been hiding behind every smile, every brush-off, every joke you cracked to keep the silence from swallowing you.

And for once, Gojo Satoru can’t find a single thing to say.

Not yet.

Not until he stops you from walking away.

“Where did you get an idea like that?” His cerulean eyes search yours desperately. “I-I don’t think you’re just cute, are you kidding?” he blurts, eyes wild.

“Y-you’re breathtaking! Everything I’ve dreamt of and more! That night when you asked me if I thought you were cute, I only said no because it would be a divine crime to reduce to such. All of my fantasies have been centered around you since we first met on that playground—since you tripped over your shoelaces trying to race me to the monkey bars!”

Your breath catches.

He continues, desperate now, like every second of silence might kill him.

“I love you! And not like a brother. Like—I want to marry you. Like, small wedding in Okinawa, barefoot on the beach, you wearing that soft blue dress you like. I already planned it. Our firstborn would be a daughter, with your eyes, my hair. She’d be the boss of the house.”

You gape.

“Wait—”

“I’m not done!” he says, hands thrown up. “Then we’d have twins. Boys. Chaos gremlins. One would look like my twin and the other yours, and they’d absolutely terrorize us—but their sister keeps them in check, she’s fierce like you.”

You blink. A tear slides down your cheek.

“I want to move to Kyoto,” he says, softer now. “Buy a house with a dumb little garden. Grow tomatoes we’ll never eat. Live out the rest of our lives where it’s quiet.”

You cover your mouth, stunned. “You… really thought all that out?”

“It’s easy,” he breathes, “when all I can think about is you.”

He steps closer. The wind tugs his white hair into his eyes, but he doesn’t blink.

“I go to study nonlinear quantum field theory and all I see is your face. I try to cool off and play Digimon, and even that’s ruined—my lineup is garbage now! I only keep the ones you said were cute!”

A laugh bubbles out of you, fragile and watery.

“You idiot,” you murmur.

“I am,” he nods solemnly. “I’m the world’s biggest idiot. And I’m in love with you.”

Another tear slips down. He wipes it away before you can.

“Is it too late?” he asks, voice cracking slightly. “Please tell me it’s not too late.”

You stare at him, this man, this brilliant, ridiculous boy who had held your heart long before you ever admitted it.

“It’s not too late,” you whisper.

He doesn’t speak. Just steps closer. Gently and carefully, like he's handling something sacred, he cups your cheek in his hand.

Your nose bumps his. His breath ghosts over your lips.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for years,” he whispers.

And then, finally, he kisses you.

It’s not perfect, your cheeks are still wet, his nose bumps yours again, and his hand trembles just a little, but it’s warm and sweet and soft. It tastes like home..

When he pulls away, his smile is sheepish. “So… are we still doing the whole ‘Operation: Get Over Gojo’ thing, or?”

You laugh, heart full, forehead pressed to his.

“Mission failed,” you whisper.

He grins. “Good.”

And then he kisses you again.

art by leimiruu on x!

#kt.writes.·:*¨༺#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojou x reader #gojou x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x you #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #jjk angst #gojo angst #gojo hurt/comfort #jjk hurt/comfort #nerdjo #jjk x you

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fricks · 6 months ago

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letting gojo fuck you raw might have been a mistake, especially now that he wants kids..☆

(part 1 here)

yes—it felt good. heavenly, even. feeling him fill you up without a contraceptive barrier between you might overlap an ego death on the life-altering-experiences venn diagram.

but now your boyfriend throws a tantrum whenever you tell him to wrap it. he pouts and whines and stamps his fucking feet like a child at your child-preventative measures. he’s too tall to act like a toddler—if you didn’t secretly enjoy the pining you’d hit him upside the back of his head and tell him to stop sulking.

“we’re too young to be parents,” you’d tell him as he rubs his uncovered cock through your folds, from your entrance up to your sensitive clit and back down.

his counter? “the earlier we start, the longer we have to try for more.”

“maybe youre forgetting the whole ‘jujutsu sorcerer, could-die-at-any-moment' thing?”

“are you forgetting that i’m the strongest? plus, i think i’d look hot saving the world wearing a baby carrier… not that i would endanger our kid like that. bad point, ask me a new one.”

“we aren’t playing trivia.”

“cmon,” a tap of the head of his cock to your clit. “humour me.”

“alright, children are fucking expensive.”

“babe, you’re not serious—you do know i’m filthy rich, right? capitalism fears me. i’m like that rich disney duck with the top hat and—”

you point a finger in his face. “put a goddamn condom on or you’re banned from sex for a month, scrooge.”

and he blinks, pretends to be offended at how responsible you are, and then falls into an easy smile because sex with you is more than enough for him. when he sinks into you, condom-covered or not, he falls a little bit more in love each time.

but it is not the same and you know it.

the weight of him on top of you is the same. as is the snapping thrusts of his hips into yours and the gentle circles he traces over your clit and the way he moans your name once he’s sheathed fully inside of you. it’s the same.

but it’s not the same as taking him raw. it’s not the bulge of his veins against your velvet walls. nor is it the beading precum at his tip dripping inside of you, or the filthy fucking drawling moans he lets out when he fills you to the brim.

“you’re so beautiful,” he's moaning like he's in heat. completely enthralled with every aspect of your being, satoru groans and moans and snaps forward into you like he's trying to breed you regardless.

and you're so full, stretched to your limits with his cock pulsing inside of you, but you don't feel satiated like you could. you've tasted it once, the feel of his cum spilling into you, the knowledge of what it could do to you. to him. he would look good as a dad. god, him holding a baby in his arms...

"pull out."

gojo stops immediately at your words, blinking the lust from his eyes in an immediate shock change of expression. he's looking you over, making sure you're not in any pain, before pulling out of you completely with no questions asked. he's always been good like that—sure, he'll whine about wearing latex but he'd never push you past your spoken limits.

"you wanna stop?" he asks gently, already reaching for a washcloth to wipe you down with. his eyes watch you carefully, obsessed with your interest and comfort: you have to stop yourself from laughing at his panic. "we can watch some TV or go to bed or i could make you—"

his words die in his mouth when you reach down to his still-hard cock and slowly pull the condom that covers it from the top. it slides from his length with a little resistance before finally pulling over the head and snapping back at your hand with a subtle sting.

"fuck me," you meet his eyes.

"what? you said—"

"satoru. fuck me. breed me, even. how many other ways do i have to put it? i want you to fuck a baby into me."

he blinks again. no witty comment, no awful smirk or joke about being a dilf. you've gone and rendered satoru speechless. when he does finally move his lips, it's not to dirty talk you like expected.

"we aren't married."

you can't help but laugh. "what?"

"i'm going to marry you first, and then you are going to make me a dad. i have it all planned out, babe, we can't have drunk honeymoon sex if you're pregnant. though you would look fucking beautiful on a beach somewhere with a baby bump. god now i'm conflicted."

"you have it planned?"

the thought of satoru planning this out hits you, him thinking about a future with you, a ring on your finger, embracing the stress of parenthood together so well that when the kids move out and you're old and grey, you abhor having a silent home.

"so are you going to propose or not?" you look at him.

again, he blinks. "right now?"

"why not? do you have a ring?"

satoru looks at you, smiles, and slips off the bed—still naked—to reach into the bedside drawer. a small black box sits in his top drawer, ironically under a pile of condoms. he holds it in his hand and returns to you with a kiss to your knee, and then one to your inner thigh, and another just above your clit. he works his way up your stomach, of course stopping to bite at your nipples when he reaches your chest, and then presses himself fully against you once his lips find yours.

when he pulls away, you're met with the sight of a ring you had pointed out to him months ago. had he really been planning this long? "i knew i was going to marry you on our first date," he says, but then counters, "actually, that's a lie. it was when i tasted that sweet pussy of yours for the first time, but that's not as romantic."

you smile, bracing yourself for a long-winded speech when satoru suddenly pushes the tip of his now-uncovered cock inside of you. you gasp, and he swallows it with a kiss before taking your hand in his and slipping the ring down your finger with a breathy; "will you marry me?"

"yes," of course, is your answer. which warrants a sudden deep thrust from your now-fiancé as he bottoms out inside of you.

"yeah?" he nips at your neck. "you'll marry me? gonna make me a dad too, huh? gonna fill you up, baby, gonna breed you out and—"

"i thought you said—"

"changed my mind. now, lift your legs up: you're not leaving this bed until i've knocked you up, pretty."

#gojo smut #satoru gojo smut #gojo x you #gojo x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x you #jjk x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru gojo x you #gojo

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nanamiskentos · 6 months ago

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NERDS DO IT BETTER ☓. ── ( 呪術廻戦 )

⌗ turns out they're the best you've ever had, and you think you're gonna' have to come back for more!

ᯓ starring ─. jjk ensemble cast : nerd! gojo, nerd! geto, nerd! sukuna, nerd! nanami, nerd! toji, nerd! choso

𝓶𝓾𝓵𝓽𝓲. ㅤ﹑ ( 呪術廻戦 x afab!reader ) ─── ❛ cw ⌓. mdni. college au. risky, public séx. handjóbs. óverstím. hate séx. fíngeríng. fiíming (consénsual). édging. vírgin!kuna. óral (m). missiónary. soft séx. brééding kínk. créampíe. backshóts. óral (f). wc ⌓. 3.5k.

﹙ 五条悟 : gojo satoru ﹚ ─ advanced mathematics, physics

"oh, fuck!" gojo's absolutely quivering, throwing back a head of tousled, snowy hair, "that's, ouh, that's way better than i ever coulda' even dreamed of." pale-pink lips snapping sharp around another moan as he shudders, "can ya' do it again?"

you're clicking your tongue, doing your very best to bite back a flushed smile yourself. knowing that you've got the smartest, honour roll student pliant beneath you, his thighs splayed out and bare — the skin spottled with patches of rosy pink, dusted with fine white hairs. he's still got that campus sweatshirt on, rumpled over the askew collar of the dress shirt underneath. where you're eager to run your hands, to slide your fingers up past the low trail of hair on gojo's groin.

it doesn't hurt that gojo's, like, ridiculously gorgeous. thick-rimmed glasses foggy over vibrant blue eyes, framed by ridiculously long lashes. and you can see him gnawing at the inside of his cheek as your hand keeps at a steady pace. pumping him over and over, until thick ropes of seed are coating your hand. it must be the nth climax of his by now, but it seems neither of you are that eager to call it a day.

you smile at how gojo squeezes his eyes shut, glasses skipping askew so you can fondly kiss his forehead. titling his glasses right back into place, all while he bites back a low, rumbled groan, "a-another?" it's a plea, almost hopeful for you to milk his poor, throbbing cock until there's not much else it can give.

"mhm, i don't know, satoru. it's kinda' risky, don'tcha think?" you're trying to keep your voice down, knowing that anyone could round the corner here. they could move past the stack of chairs littered behind the physics subsection of books and old papers to find gojo spread out so sluttily over this chair, his pants drifting past his ankles while you lean over behind the desk to jerk him off. workshop questions and calculations long discarded as the most intelligent man on campus chases some form of pent-up relief from you, his angel that's solely heaven sent.

gojo's the type of guy that's always moving, whether he's skimming and flipping through pages of glossy textbooks or speeding over the butterfly keys of his steel-grey mac, and right now?

he's still in motion, tapping trimmed nails in staccato beats against the plastic table. drumming his fingers over and over as he does his best to not let you see the crystalline tears of delicious overstimulation pooling at the corners of his eyes. shuddering as you pull back, letting his big cock snap back, smearing a thin line of translucent cum against his blue sweatshirt.

cursing because he knows he's gonna' have to peel that top off before his next class, before anyone can figure out exactly what that stain is, "fuck, we still got 15 minutes before that lecture, yeah? one more, please, baby, jus' one more."

﹙ 夏油傑 : geto suguru ﹚ ─ philosophy, sociology

"what did i say? eyes on the lenses, pretty girl." geto's determined and mean when he's like this, but then again, when is he not a cunt?

that bitchy nerd's always sniping at you, doing dumb shit like taking your seat in class and sucking up to the teacher — batting pretty, dark lashes at the tutor while throwing a nasty look your way when you get the answer right.

but as of this moment, there aren't any right answers in your head. not when geto's got you propped up in his broad lap. right in front of a blinking video camera, perched on a shaky tripod as he swirls his digits as deep as he can into your pretty, swollen pussy.

"s-sugu', feels so good," you moan, sinking your teeth into the plush flesh of your lower lip as geto's face softens for a split second before hardening once more. handsome features crinkling as he shakes his head of choppy, raven hair, "didn't ask if it felt good, geez. i asked for the answer to the question, or are we jus' having trouble following instructions as well?"

"hate ya' so, so much, still, i don' even remember the fuckin' question," you're sniffling, knowing that he's so deliciously knuckle deep within you right now. your clear, glossy arousal coating his fingers as he pumps the digits in and out of your heat with a satisfying squelch!

geto smiles, as though he wanted you to say that while he was rolling a fat thumb over your clitoral hood. berry lips pulling at the corners as he tuts, using the hand that was previously holding apart your thighs to slide a pristine paper over his bed, clicking his tongue before he intones, "tch', let me quiz you, again, 'cause we got that test tomorrow. though, 'm not sure it's much good. now, how would you explain structural functionalism?"

your mind's absolutely turning to incredible, pleasurable mush as you struggle to form coherent sentences. instead, staring at the blinking red light blearing out through the dark haze of geto's form room, and swallowing as he begins pulling at the sensitive ache of your clit, "it's, like, the premise of everything havin' a purpose. like, hahh, society being a well-oiled machine n' people are jus' cogs and — fuck! suguru, can't even focus like this."

your back is writhing against geto's toned chest, and you can feel the dark strands of hair that have escaped his hairtie tickling at your cheek, "i know, beautiful," he coos, almost as though he quite likes you, rather than the loathing that he claims, "now tell me, who's ideas does structural functionalism align with? answer quick, and i'll make ya' cum this time, promise!"

brain whirring on overtime to snap out a rushed breath, "emile durkheim!" your lips pouting as you heave in a candied breath of air, "that's right, isn't it? now you promised, so please! make me cum, sugu', fuck."

you can hear geto chuckle, "you didn't make me pinky promise, though?" and he's revelling in how you huff, and curse him out, "besides, i like watching you squirm all pretty for the camera. helps me remember my notes so much more. y'know that 'm gonna' go back and revise this later."

﹙ 両面宿儺 : ryomen sukuna ﹚ ─ anthropology, history

"you're a virgin?" your mouth parting into a sweet gasp as charlotte tilbury leaves sticky strands of product stringing between your pretty lips. because, there's just no way...

sukuna's rolling his crimson eyes, and shoving his tattooed hands into the ragged pockets of his thick hoodie, "why don't we focus on the project again? y'know that the entire thing is due next week, and this is our last meet-up before we gotta' present?"

the burly, quiet man's clearly flushed — with his tanned cheeks painted awash in some watercolour, blushy hue. muttering something about insolent cheerleaders and how he's refusing to get a bad grade because of you. but you're never one to lose. you just cross your arms over your chest, and a little more firmly on purpose, just to watch sukuna gulp as his gaze drops right down to that shadow of cleavage, "hey, you're the one who asked if i was sleeping with the quarterback."

sukuna's just too easy, because for all his churlish, jerkish attitude, he's not immune at all to your easiest charms. like a pretty red lollipop, or a spritz of your favourite body mist, or when you hike the hem of your skirt up just a little bit higher to doodle faint hearts on your flesh. and now he's grunting, drawing his eyes away from your torso to gulp, training his eyes solely on the project rubric, "yeah. was jus' a question. i don't give a fuck."

"mhm, sure." snapping strawberry gum between your teeth, "because i'm not with him." you grin as sukuna stiffens, almost snapping the poor, thin frame of a cheap lead pencil between his thick fingers.

"no?" he sounds almost, almost sheepish. battered headphones clattering around his marked neck as he jerks, and you almost coo. for it's honestly quiet sweet at how interested he sounds. ironic, considering ryomen sukuna is one of the most surly men on campus. always with his nose buried in some medieval book, always some exemplary paper of his pinned to the student noticeboard about the heian era.

"no," you repeat, scooting just a little bit closer to his broad frame, "because 'm interested in someone else, ya' see. like you, 'kuna."

the pencil snaps, the wood finally giving out to the quick motion of sukuna's fingers clamping down on it. pieces scattering and littering the table as broken lead clutters, the remnants of a man who's just had his world rocked but doesn't want to admit it, "hah, funny," he's muttering, "yer' really interested in me?" all you had murmured was a tempting, alluring little phrase that would remain with sukuna forever, something like, "want me to prove it?"

and that's exactly how you ended up like this. eyes blown wide, little hearts dancing around your pupils as you took in the sheer size and girth of what sukuna was hiding in his faded jeans. lips parting to close over the weeping tip of his thick shaft, and grinning at how there's already sheer, salty drops leaking out.

"fuck, w-wait," sukuna's groaning, with his spiky head of two-toned hair thrown back against your desk chair, "it's sensitive." clacking his sharp teeth around a wanton moan when you tongue at the veins bulging on the sides of his cock, "already feels like 'm gonna –"

"cum?" you offer helpfully, flattening your tongue against him so he throbs, hot and heavy, into your mouth. releasing yourself from his cock with a loud pop! and you're sure glad that your sorority roommates aren't home, for you're not sure how to explain that you're dripping wet yourself, just from sucking off the most infamous, ill-reputed nerd on campus.

"yeah, yeah," sukuna rasps, a heady and low tone that escapes from his chest, "and that would be e-embarrassing, fuck, that's — that's a good spot." sighing as you trail teasing fingers over folded skin, right at the underside of the base of his cock.

"not that embarrassing, 'kuna," you shake your head, loosening the slick strand of saliva that was stringing away from your lips. replacing your mouth with an entirely different type of gloss, and one that you're growing increasingly fond of, "and besides, we got a lotta' time before my roommates come back. plenty of other things we can do, hah."

﹙ 七海建人 : nanami kento ﹚ ─ economics

"but i jus' think numbers are kind of beautiful, wouldn't you say? like they have their own satisfying figure and precision?"

you smack nanami's chest, leaving a small, cherry hue over your boyfriend's pectorals, "your girlfriend is literally under you, and you're talking about numbers being beautiful."

he gives you an apologetic smile, thick waves of golden hair dampened with the sweat of exertion that was to be expected when he was delivering the sweetest, most loving strokes to your very core. thick, bulging tip kissing your cervix as nanami huffs, "sorry, darling. nothing's more beautiful than my girl, and, heh, yer' figure is the one i love the most."

"that's better," you gasp, feeling him rummage through your swollen pussy. girthy shaft bulging past throbbing, dripping folds as he delivers hit after surefire hit against your g-spot. but then, suddenly, you're frowning, "don't you have class, like, right now, babe?"

nanami squeezes his eyes shut, amber lashes kissing peach-flushed skin. "yeah, had some tutorial," he groans, drawing his cock out of you almost entirely before he's snapping his hips back into you with such force that there's a resounding smack reverberating through his bedroom, "but heh, they don't really need me there. i already know all my shit."

"and you won't get in, i don't know, trouble?"

your boyfriend shakes his head, pushing aside the stack of stock market magazines littered near your head, so he can slam his hand down on the soft quilt. all so nanami can steady himself as he has only one purpose in mind, to make you cum. to make you see such stars of pleasure that you squirt all over his cock. and he can already picture your fucked-out form, hazy and littered with the marks of his loving. and drenched down below.

well, anatomically, it mustn't be possible but at the mere vision, nanami can feel himself harden even more. like his cock is responding to the hypnotising grip that you've got him in. hefty balls tightening further and he's rasping in your ear, "can i —, fuck, can i cum in ya', darling?" desperate and falling apart at the mere idea, at the way your eyes flutter shut in bliss, "only if yer' also wanting me to, i swear. but please –"

"yeah. in me, kento. baby, all yours."

that's all it really takes for thick, stringy wads of hot release to spurt out from nanami's weeping tip. cock releasing strands of gooey seed into your cunt in a way that makes your boyfriend press his forehead against yours, littering a thousand kisses against your fucked-out, smiling lips, "thank you, thank you, thank you, darling. i love you so much. can't even put it into words, but i love you —"

﹙ 伏黒甚爾 : toji fushiguro ﹚ ─ physical education, kinesiology

"what the fuck did you jus' call me, ma?" toji's got a blunt nail trailing down your spine, running over the curve of your ass, "a nerd?"

you're writhing, "yeah, yeah. i mean, that's what everyone says," and it takes every cell in your body to fight back the inevitable release that toji's bestowing upon you. for you're determined to delay this just a little longer, to feel toji's thick cock slam into you from behind over and over in a way that you never really expected from the grumpy sports major.

and it seems the idea amuses him, for you don't even need to turn around to imagine how his sharp, jade-green eyes must be narrowing at the knowledge of what everyone calls toji fushiguro behind his back. how toji's sharp, shark-like grin must be widening, sharpening knives to sink into your shoulder, "why? 'cause i don't do that stupid, attention-seeking sports shit like everyone else in my degree? 'cause i don't wanna' waste my time on the field or in the locker rooms?"

"t-toji, it's 'cause you always got your damn nose in a book. and i didn't even know you could —," you shriek, feeling his burly forearm come up in front of you, past your bouncing breasts to support your weight as he presses further into you, "i honestly didn't even know you could fuckin' read."

"suchhh a nasty attitude, ma," toji chuckles, and your ass pleasurably stings at the resounding smacks echoing through the (thankfully) empty gymnasium. your lace panties pulled to the sides as you're balanced over the bleachers right in the very corner where the lonesome toji fushiguro prefers to sit, where no one else can bother him.

but damn, if he's not getting off on the idea of taking you so prettily like this. don't get him wrong, toji loves this position. loves how nasty and filthy your pretty arch is when he's swabbing his cock against your pussy. but fuck, he also wishes you were flipped around for him. just so he could press a thumb to your lower lip, and watch your eyes go all silly and crossed for him. while he tacked the thick curl of dark hair around his groin to your sticky, throbbing clit. battered your pretty cunt with his inches until that feisty lil' attitude melted away into sugar and cream.

you moan, such a wanton sound, when toji's thick fingers are climbing up your throat. past your jaw to settle at your mouth. pushing past your lip so you can drool so beautifully for him as he does his level best to at least regretfully silence the sexy sounds falling out of your lips.

"careful, ma," toji shudders, feeling the tight heat of your cunt snatch his soul away, "wanna' keep the volume down so those rocks-for-brains football players don't hear what's going on here. unless, you want them to see how the nerd's practically plowing your brains out, hah."

the resulting clench of your cunt tells toji all that he needs to know, and he has to bite back the furious blush crawling over him, underneath his faded varsity jacket, "oh? that's how it is? well, okay then. hold on."

﹙ 脹相 : choso kamo ﹚ ─ lab medicine, psychology

you know better than to sass choso when he's like this, the night before the final semester exam. see, because the man's got your thighs splayed so prettily out for him. glistening, and dripping all over his bedspread. and to the side, he's got that damn anatomy textbook flipped open.

choso's frustrated, sighing and flicking the pads of his fingers against his tongue to thumb at the sticking pages. rolling his eyes when he isn't able to find the passage that he wants, as if that's your fault. but you don't miss the hungry gleam in the raven-haired man's eyes, the spiky knots atop his head coming loose as he delves right back into his favourite meal. his favourite study snack being your glossy cunt, for he could munch on the slick strands forever.

"bear with me, my love," choso's cooing, trailing a slender, pale finger up your sticky folds until he comes to rest at your clit. tapping the throbbing bud once, "jus' gotta' memorise this, and you're helping me so much."

he's pressing a chaste, quaint kiss to your pulsing clit. that dark mark stretched across his face twitching as he murmurs, "ah, think, choso! right, the clitoral glans has, hmm, 8000 nerve endings. and it leads up to..." choso's drawing slow, teasing circles on your clit and it makes you whine, bucking your hips, "patience, my love. i'll reward you extra special for helpin' me out like this. now, it leads up to the clitoral shaft — and did i tell ya' what the crura is?"

you shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut as you rut against choso's handsome nose for some delicious friction, and he clearly seems eager to indulge you, though he's still lost in academic thought, "right. i guess, baby, you could say the crura are kinda' like the legs for the clitoris. and they extend allll along the pelvic bones."

choso's marvelling the glossy, sheer slick coating his fingers. licking a flat stripe right against your swollen, eager cunt, "and the glans, well, my extended answer needs to mention how they, uh, damn, baby. you're soaked." he's shaking his head again, "i keep getting distracted. the glans — they're the ones with the alpha-delta, and c-fibres, and that's what makes you feel so good. transmitting sensations y'see, i get extra marks for mentioning that."

you hazard a glance to the shining pages of the new textbook that choso's kept on his shelf all semester, "and the, uh, the pudendal reflex? you got a sticky note on that one, babe?"

choso smiles, slowly flicking your clitoral hood in up and down motions, each movement sending simmering pleasure through your groin, "a spinal reflex, m'love. helps with the involuntary muscle contractions, like when i do this —," flatting the pad of his thumb against your clit to run tighter circles against the aching nub, watching as your hips jolt up further against his face. coating the lower half of his features in translucent arousal.

"now, my favourite part," choso says, grinning as he turns his attentions elsewhere, to your dripping entrance pooling such a mess over his sheets. and your boyfriend's tugging at his grey sweatpants, "the grafenberg spot. i don't think my fingers will be enough to stimulate it properly."

10K notes · View notes

saltyjoy · 16 days ago

Text

Stupidly Lovesick

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You want Bucky to be happy, even if that means it breaks your heart every time you see him with Natasha. With the aid of Steve, you two devise a series of plans in order to get them together. What you fail to realize is that Bucky and Natasha are simultaneously devising a series of plans to get you and Steve together, even if it pains Bucky.

Word Count: 10.7k

Warnings/Tags: Reader is implied to be at least slightly shorter than Bucky (it’s like one line), Mutual pining except they’re both stupid, you and Steve wingman, miscommunication, there’s some texting, Avengers tower fic

A/N: Woah not a thunderbolts fic!?!?!!? crazy

Masterlist

You have been friends with Bucky for a while. You’ve been there with him during his low points and high points. After years of companionship, you had foolishly believed you had a chance. You really wanted to believe that maybe after all these years beside him, perhaps you could be the one to be by his side for the rest of your lives.

Like you said, foolish.

You had already considered the idea that he liked Natasha, but you wanted to live in denial until it was confirmed.

You get it, she’s pretty, incredibly skilled, and can empathize with him on a personal level. They’re essentially made for each other. You wouldn’t even be lying when you say that they’d be a good couple. They would, and that makes it hurt so much more.

You walk into the common area, immediately diverting your eyes away from Bucky and Natasha as you walk in. You beeline for the kitchen and grab a glass of water, using Steve as a shield to block your gaze from them.

Despite that, your own eyes betray you and sneak a glance at them. They seem to be invested in their conversation. You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you don’t bother trying to listen. If they don’t want you to be able to hear you, you won’t be able to.

“Notice them too, huh?” Steve leans on the counter next to you, a small smile on his face.

You place your glass down, “Huh? Oh, yeah.” You offer a polite smile to him.

“Honestly can’t believe they aren’t together yet,” you try to ignore how your stomach drops at his words.

You both turn to see Natasha smirking at something Bucky said. Whatever he says next seems to have her giggling.

“They really are perfect.” You admit, forlornly.

Steve nods, “Yeah, if he could do something about it.” He taps his finger on the counter before turning slowly towards you.

You turn to meet his gaze, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“Well, he hasn’t exactly dated since 1945, I’m pretty sure.” Steve starts.

You raise your eyebrow even more, “‘Pretty sure?’” You quote

He tilts his head, “Well, I haven’t exactly asked. I’m just making an assumption, but that’s not the point.” He waves a hand, shaking his head. “I’m saying that,” he points at himself, then at you, “we help him.”

You almost let laughter escape, but you catch yourself. “You want us to wingman for him?” You smile at the absurdity of the idea. Out of all the people he could’ve asked. How did Steve manage to ask the one person who also likes Bucky?

He offers you the most hopeful grin, and you want to decline. God, how you want to decline, but then you look at them. He looks unburdened, untroubled. He’s smiling as if nothing weighs him down, and at the end of the day, that is what matters.

You turn back to Steve, a smirk on your face, “When do we start?”

Dinner.

Dinner is when you start.

Honestly, you should not be surprised. You agreed to Steve’s proposition with (seemingly) no hesitation. Why would he wait to try to push them closer together?

So here you all sit at dinner. You sit next to Steve and across from the source of your pain and misery (and love, but that’s not important right now). Your eyes flicker over to Natasha, who's right next to Bucky.

It’s silent, like uncomfortably silent. Usually, somebody is making noise, but nope, not this time. All you hear is the utensils clatter every couple of seconds.

You glance at Steve, tilting your head slightly across the table to Bucky and Natasha. He returns the stare before looking towards Bucky. “So—”

“You two,” Natasha addresses you and Steve, surprising both of you. “How’ve you two been recently?” She takes a sip of water, giving you both a piercing look.

Both you and Steve glance at each other before looking back at her, “Uh, we’ve been… we’ve been good.” Your confidence falters at her random question.

“‘Good,’ huh?” She traces the rim of her glass, not breaking eye contact with you.

You nod slowly, not sure what she’s implying. “Yep,” you pop the ‘p,’ “‘good.’”

She turns back towards Bucky, for a moment, before humming. “You two been spending a lot of time together?” She phrases it like a question, but knowing her, it’s anything but. It’s a declaration in disguise.

“I mean, we spend lots of time with everyone,” Steve interjects, with you nodding in agreement.

“What about you two?” You try to flip this onto them.

Bucky looks puzzled. You wouldn’t be able to tell if you didn’t know him, but you do. You notice the details, such as a small twitch of his eyebrow, giving away his confusion.

Natasha, undeterred, quips back: “‘We spend lots of time with everyone.’”

You smile, “Touché.”

“We happened to notice that you guys were… conversing in private earlier.” Steve cuts his steak.

“I wouldn’t call that ‘private.’ If you guys could see us, it wasn’t exactly private.” Bucky joins in.

“Well, what else should I call it?” Steve takes a bite of his steak. “Intimate?” He whispers low so that only you four can hear it.

Bucky and Natasha both freeze, eliciting a reaction from one of them is an achievement, but two? They must really be trying to hide their secret.

“‘Intimate.’” Bucky deadpans, eyes flickering to you in disbelief as if asking, “Do you hear this guy?”

You shrug, “We’re only describing what we saw.” You move your food around your plate, avoiding eye contact with Bucky.

“Oh? What about you two?” Bucky scoffs.

You blink, stopping your motion, “What about us?”

“You two looked cozy earlier in the kitchen,” Natasha remarks.

“I was getting water?” You frown, you aren’t sure “cozy” is a word you’d use to describe that situation.

“Really?” She looks at you in mock disbelief. “'Cause I dare say it looked almost,” she smirks, “‘intimate?’”

Just as you’re about to defend yourselves, you’re cut off.

“Okay, what the hell happened? Did something happen? It feels like something happened. Frankly, I’m disappointed in all of you for not saying anything.” All four of you freeze and turn toward Tony.

“Nothing happened,” Steve responds dryly.

“Now why do I find that hard to believe?” Sam asks.

“Maybe we should drop the topic?” You try to smile, but it comes out more like a grimace. Thankfully, Bucky and Natasha seem to agree.

Tony gestures his hand to you, “Great idea. I think that’s a brilliant idea.”

The silence that permeates the room is suffocating, but the rest of the team looks relieved. You try to sneak a glance across the table, and Bucky meets your eyes. He raises an eyebrow, and you try to suppress a smile, but you fail. You cough in order to cover your rising laughter. You notice him smirk at his plate, and you avoid looking at him for the rest of the night. Sometimes you wonder if he is aware of the effect he has on you.

As dinner finishes up, Steve gestures for you to follow him.

“Well, that went better than expected.” You comment.

Steve gives you a look. “Perhaps we were too forward with it.”

You huff, amused, “Yeah, maybe ‘intimate’ was a bit on the nose there.”

Steve looks a bit sheepish, shaking his head. “Okay, we need a new plan. Maybe if we can catch them on their own, it might be easier to stage something.”

You shake your head, “That assumes they can be separated from one another. Every time I think I see Bucky on his own, suddenly Natasha appears out of thin air.”

“Well, Natasha does have a solo mission coming up soon.” Steve walks over to the couch, and you follow close behind.

“So what? We basically ambush Bucky while she’s gone and push him into admitting something?” You place your hand on your hip.

Steve smiles, “Your words, not mine.”

“Wait,” you shake your head, “what are we even aiming for at this point? Are we just trying to get him to admit his feelings for her?” The words feel bitter on your tongue.

“If we can get him to admit his feelings for her, then that makes our job a lot easier.” Steve sits down, looking up at you.

“I guess that’s true…” You look down at your feet, contemplative. “You know when she leaves?”

“Two days.”

“Okay…” You sigh, “We can make that work.”

Steve stands up, clasping his hand on your shoulder, “Don’t look so stressed. It’ll be quick and easy. He won’t need much convincing.”

You give him a soft smile, “Yeah, he won’t.” Your voice is barely a whisper at this point. You doubt Bucky will hesitate at the chance to get with Natasha.

“Well, I’m going to head in for the night. We can plan tomorrow. Goodnight.” He clasps your shoulder before giving a small wave and leaving.

“Night, Steve.” You return the wave.

The next day, you got up early, not because you wanted to, but because Steve knocked on your door at four in the morning.

“Is somebody dying?” You ask, half joking.

He rolls his eyes, “Wanna join me in the gym?” He asks. “We still gotta talk about what our plan will be.”

“You seem too happy about this.” You rub your eyes.

“Come on, I’ve never gotten to set up a date for him. You know, he actually tried to set me up on some dates in the past.” He leans against your doorway.

“Really?” You chuckle at the image. “How’d those go?”

“Eh, they never worked out. I always found interest in other things.” He shrugs.

“Like what? Enlisting in the military?” You smile at him.

He returns the smile, “You know me so well, now get dressed. I want to get there before Buck does.”

You sigh, mourning the sleep you could’ve had, but get changed anyway. When you open the door, Steve is still standing there. “When does Bucky get there?” You ask, continuing the conversation from earlier.

“Usually we go together a little past five,” Steve explains, walking towards the elevator.

“Oh, so you’re trying to avoid him.” You wait for the elevator door to open before walking in.

“You make it sound worse than it actually is.” Steve comments amused.

“I’m just stating the facts.” You mumble, closing the elevator door and tapping the floor number.

Eventually, the door opens up and you two make your way into the gym. “Okay, so…” Steve slowly trails off as both of your eyes widen. You don’t even hide your shocked expression at seeing Bucky and Natasha already in there.

You four all stare at each other for a moment before you try to break the tension, “Uh, hi?”

“Hello,” Natasha responds slowly, “we didn’t expect you two to be down here.”

“Yeah?” You nod. “Well, neither did we.” Your voice gets quieter the more you speak. You turn towards Steve. “I thought you said you and Bucky—” You whisper.

“I’m aware of what I said,” Steve responds, matching your tone.

Bucky and Steve look at each other for a long moment, not saying anything.

“Were you two planning on coming here alone?” Natasha asks slowly, keeping an eye on the super soldiers.

“I guess?” You frown, Steve turns toward Natasha, shaking his head. “I mean, what about you two?”

“Just wanted to get an early start to our day.” Natasha shrugs.

“Us too.” Steve gestures between you two. You nod eagerly.

It seemed the conversation started to die off after that comment, so you make your way to your preferred piece of equipment when Natasha decides to continue.

“Is this about dinner last night?” She asks, making both you and Steve pause.

“What?” You frown.

Natasha sighs, tilting her head to the side, looking at you two expectantly.

You look at Steve to try to gauge his reaction. “What about last night? I thought we moved on.” You give her a confused smile.

“Did you guys follow us down here?” Bucky asks, his eyes on you and you alone.

Your lips part in genuine shock, “No? Why would we?”

“I don’t know, you two seemed awfully passionate last night.” Natasha raises an eyebrow.

“‘Passionate?’” You repeat incredulously.

You turn towards Bucky as if to plead for him to understand, “In what world was that conversation ‘passionate?’” You shake your head. “What about you two? If we were passionate, then so were you two.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow, “We weren’t.”

You cross your arms. “Really?”

“Really.” You are briefly taken aback at his strong conviction, but nod anyway.

Steve sighs, “We weren’t spying on you.” He turns to Natasha. “Why are you two still hung up over dinner last night anyway?”

“We aren’t.” Natasha glares at Steve.

“You brought up the topic yesterday, and you’re bringing it up again today.” Steve frowns.

You groan, “We aren’t getting anywhere.” You turn toward Bucky. “Please, Bucky, I don’t know what you guys are talking about, but I promise we aren’t following you two. This has nothing to do with dinner. We just came to use the gym.” You don’t look away from him once.

Bucky looks at you for a long moment before looking back at Steve and Natasha, who are still talking (or yelling at this point). “Nat, let’s just go somewhere else.” He stands up, sparing you a meaningful glance before he ushers Natasha out.

You and Steve both watch, surprised. “Why didn’t you try that before she started grilling me?” He looks at you.

Your mouth parts, “I didn’t think it’d work.”

The four of you silently agreed to let that day go. You don’t even hide your sigh of relief when Bucky gives you the same smile he always does when he walks past you. You were worried he’d be upset at you, but it seems he let it go.

“Okay, so maybe you can trip him—”

“‘Trip him?’” You rub your temples. “Not all of us are super soldiers, Steve. Bucky is more likely to trip me while I try to trip him.”

“Well,” he pauses, frowning, “okay, maybe you can trip Natasha?”

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” You shake your head, not looking at him.

He runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, then what do you have in mind?”

You take a long sip of your water, “I dunno.”

“Great, so what I’m hearing is, we trip Natasha. Make sure Bucky is nearby, and hypothetically, he should catch her.” Steve spins a pencil in his hand.

“How would I even go about trying to trip Nat?” You look up at him.

He shrugs, “I don’t know. I mean, you can push her if that makes it easier?”

“‘Push her?!’” You repeat. “Captain America himself wants me to push her so that she can fall in Bucky’s arms?” You look at him, slightly dumbfounded

He snaps before pointing a finger at you, “Yes.”

“Is this how you got dates in the 40s?” You rub your temple, looking away from him.

“I didn’t, remember? Buck set them all up for me.” He responds, not an ounce of sympathy in his tone for the headache he is causing you.

“I can see why he had to, my goodness.” You sigh. He gives you a disapproving look.

“What if he doesn’t catch her?” You ask, leaning against the desk you two were planning on. There is a large piece of paper littered with stick figures sprawled out on top of it. The top of the page has “The Plan” written in black sharpie.

“He will,” Steve says confidently.

“Okay, what if Natasha catches herself?” You put your hand down next to Natasha’s stick figure.

“Well,” he pauses, “make sure you push her hard.”

“Natasha will kill me.” You sit down at the desk, setting your head onto it.

Steve pats your shoulder, “She will un-kill you after she gets with Bucky. Now come on, this will be great.”

You sigh, grabbing your phone before following Steve out of the room. “You sure you wanna do this now?” You ask, speeding up to walk side by side with him.

“I don’t see why not. No time like the present.” He keeps his long stride.

“How are we even gonna position them to be near each other? Maybe we should reconsider.” You frown, following as he sharply turns around corners of the hallway without slowing down.

“Just get Romanoff down, I’ll handle the rest.”

“Okay, well if you—”

You run into somebody, and it’s somebody strong. They immediately cause you to fall back a little, but they immediately clutch your arms. “Shit- You okay?” You immediately recognize Bucky’s voice.

“Oh, uh, yeah?” Your brain freezes the moment you try to speak to him.

“Is that an answer or a question?” He smirks, still holding onto you.

“Answer. It was an answer.” You regain your confidence, smiling back at him.

“Alright,” he slowly lets go of your arm, almost reluctantly, “what are you two speeding around for?” He finally addresses Steve. Steve looks between the two of you, seemingly baffled.

“Places to be,” Steve says slowly, his eyes still on you.

“Oh,” Bucky seems to be surprised. He turns away from Bucky to face you. “Oh.” He suddenly looks uncomfortable. “Well, I’ll leave you guys at it.” He looks towards Steve again, offering a small smile and nod before leaving.

You and Steve watch as he walks away. “You were supposed to trip Nat, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave him off.

“And didn’t you tell me that you couldn’t trip Bucky?” He adds, walking down the hall you two were heading down.

“I technically didn’t. I ran right into him.” You respond dryly.

“Yeah, I guess.” You follow up right beside him. “It’s a shame that would’ve been perfect. It was just the wrong girl.” He looks toward you, giving you an indecipherable look.

“Yeah,” you look down at your shoes, “the wrong girl.”

It turns out that, despite having good plans for missions, Steve actually really sucked at coming up with good plans to get Natasha and Bucky together.

You two didn’t even get a chance to trip Natasha. You somehow failed the mission before you made it into a room. Granted, you imagine that if you successfully made it to Nat and tripped her, it would have been a whole lot worse.

So, you two were out of ideas.

“Why don’t we just wait til Nat leaves to talk to him?” You ask, tapping your pencil’s eraser onto the Bucky stick figure’s head.

“Because Buck doesn’t even have her personal number yet.” Steve takes away your pencil, getting annoyed with the constant tapping noise.

“What? How do you know? Did you ask him?” You immediately sit up, firing questions at him.

“I didn’t need to ask him. He has like four contacts on his personal phone. I figured you would ask me to make sure, so yes, I did ask him.” Steve nods.

“I’m not sure whether to take offense at that. Anyway,” You tap your hands onto the desk. “Idea! Okay, so what if we stage something for them? I have Nat’s personal number. You have Bucky’s right?” You look at Steve optimistically.

“I do.” He responds, not matching your enthusiasm.

“Perfecttt,” You grin. “So maybe we just talk to them and casually mention that ‘Oh, I have their number! Ya know, in case you want it.’ That way, they can stay in touch while Nat is gone.”

Steve looks doubtful, “That’s your idea?”

You lean back, offended, “It’s better than you telling me to trip her!” You cross your arms. “Come on, you’ll just have to talk to Nat and casually add at some point that you have Bucky’s number. Make sure it seems natural. She’ll know if the change in topic seems too abrupt. Meanwhile, I’ll go talk to Bucky, give him Nat’s phone number.” You smile at Steve.

He looks at you, frowning, but he eventually nods. “Alright.”

You hide your joy at your victory, standing up to leave the room. As you begin your search to find him, you’re hit with a wave of dread. Dread that had been previously there, but subdued.

Hanging out with Steve helped you forget that you were setting up your crush with one of your friends. Now it’s getting real. You have an actual plan, and you were so happy that you thought of an actual idea that you almost forgot what exactly you were setting up.

Despite every bone pleading in your body to stay, to not go through with this, you go. You go because you know this is what he wants. This is what will make him happy.

It has to.

The next day, you and Steve decided to enact your plan. You had pretty high hopes, after all, there’s not really a way it could fail. Well, they could decline the numbers, but you throw out that possibility.

It was early in the afternoon when you and Steve split up. Knowing Bucky’s schedule (which is not weird at all, he’s your friend) came to be very useful in this situation. There he was, in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. You stare at him for a minute before approaching him.

“Hey,” you grin at him.

He looks startled by your presence, immediately standing up straighter and clearing his throat. “Hey,” he returns your greeting.

“Haven’t seen you alone in a minute.” You start off casually. You don’t want to immediately throw Natasha’s number in his face. You gotta build up to it.

He smirks, “Could say the same about you.”

You chuckle, “Fair enough.” You place yourself on the counter next to him. He watches you the entire time. “So,” you tap your finger on the counter, “how’ve you been?”

He shrugs, “Could be better, could be worse. You?” He looks down.

“I’m alright.” You nod, quickly realizing you aren’t sure how you’ll continue this conversation.

A long moment of silence goes by, but it’s not uncomfortable. In fact, you almost find yourself enjoying it. You try to look at him a few times, but he continues to stare down at his feet.

“Sorry about the other night.” He breaks the silence.

You turn toward him, slightly confused. “Sorry for..?”

“Dinner,” he clarifies, gesturing a hand out, “and the next day.”

“Oh,” you respond, blinking in surprise. “It’s fine, really. We all moved on.” You place a hand on his shoulder casually. You feel him relax slightly under your touch, almost as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

“I know, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to bring it up. I just,” he looks at you, “I didn’t mean to push the topic so hard.”

You shake your head, “Bucky, don’t worry about it. In your defense, we were also kinda pushy too.” You rub his shoulder.

“Yeah, but we started the conversation.” Bucky insists. Does he want you to be mad at him?

“How about we compromise? We are both at fault.” You suggest, he seems hesitant to accept it, but you give him a pleading look. “Please? For me?” You ask.

He scoffs before turning back to you and sighing, “For you.”

You grin at him, pulling your phone out of your pocket. “Great! Now that we have that out of the way, I have something you might be interested in.” So maybe you're a little impatient.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. He watches as you scroll through your phone.

“So, Steve tells me you do not have a certain someone’s number in your contact list.” You smirk at him, hiding your screen.

Bucky frowns, “I have all of your guys’ numbers.”

You shake your head, “No, I meant on your personal phone.”

“Oh,” he says dumbly. “Uh, yeah, I guess not.” He mutters.

“Well, I guess you can thank me later.” You scroll down to show Natasha’s number, turning your screen towards him. Her name isn’t visible on the screen, but he knows who this is for.

He blinks slowly at the screen for a moment before turning toward you, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah! I mean it’s always good to expand your contacts with new friends.” You shrug.

He shakes his head, amused, “I guess so.” You watch as he enters the number into his contact before he starts typing her nam-

That’s not her name.

“What… What are you doing?” You ask, watching as he types your name onto the contact that is definitely Natasha’s number.

He frowns at you, confused, “Adding your contact?”

You gape at him as he continues to stare at you, confusion clear in his eyes. “Oh, that’s uh,” you clear your throat, “that’s Nat’s number.” You clarify.

He looks down at the screen, which has your name plastered clearly onto it. “Oh.” He slowly erases it before putting “Natasha” on his phone. Well, at least they don’t have cute nicknames for each other. You might’ve jumped off the tower if that were the case.

“Sorry about the confusion,” you look back down at your phone, slightly embarrassed.

“No, no, it’s okay.” He chuckles as he puts a hand on your shoulder, helping diffuse the tension. He nudges your foot, making you look up at him. “How about I get yours too? After all, I’d like to ‘expand my contacts.’” He holds out his phone, his number reflected on the screen.

You look up at him, instantly feeling your face heat up once you see the smirk on his face. Remembering why you are here, you compose yourself before adding a new contact labeled “Bucky.” You text him a simple “hi” to make sure he gets your number as well.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” You literally feel your heart rate skyrocket.

You nudge his foot, and he laughs, “Bold move there, Barnes.” You look away so that he can’t see the pure fondness in your eyes.

“Worked, didn’t it?” He opens your message, holding it up like it’s a damn trophy.

You exhale, not able to withhold your smile, “Yeah, yeah, it did.”

Later that night, you meet up with Steve.

You walk into your meeting room with a smile on your face, “I take it somebody was successful?” Steve asks, leaning back in his chair.

“Yeah, mission successful.” You take a seat next to him. “How’d yours go?”

Steve gives a long exhale, “She got it.”

You nudge him, “Come on, it couldn’t have been that bad.”

“It wasn’t bad,” he shakes his head. “She was just very hesitant,” he taps the arm rest mindlessly, “and confused.” He adds on. “You run into any issues?”

“Not really, he did ask for my number as well. Figured he wants to get past those four contacts you mentioned. Perhaps he’ll reach ten by the end of the month.” You joke.

“He asked or you offered?” Steve tilts his head at you.

“Does it matter? He asked and then said, and I quote, he wanted to ‘expand his contacts.’” You do air quotes as you speak.

Steve looks down at the ground in front of you, contemplative. “You good?” You ask, and his eyes snap back to you.

“Fine. How would we know if Nat texts Steve or vice versa?” He leans against the desk.

You shrug, “We won’t.”

“So there’s a chance that all of that was for nothing?” Steve walks over to the desk.

“It’s not for nothing, don’t be dramatic.” You sigh, at least for you it wasn’t. Steve watches you through his peripherals. “At least my plan has the potential to work. Your plan failed before we even got them in the same room together.” You frown at him, offended.

“That’s because you bumped into Bucky!” Steve points a finger at you.

“That’s because I was trying to keep up with you! You were walking beyond what anybody would consider a ‘normal speed.’” You do air quotes.

He rubs his temples, and you lean into your chair. “What are we doing?” He asks. You aren’t sure if he’s asking you or himself.

“I assumed you were the one with the answer.” You stare at the ceiling. You feel Steve give you that same “Really?” look he loves to give.

“Alright, let’s just wait til tomorrow.” Steve leans against the desk. “We’ll wait til Nat is gone, and then we can talk to him.

“Alright,” you nod, “sounds good to me.” You sit up straight.

“Meet here at eight tomorrow.” Steve looks at you.

You give him a mock salute, “Yes, Cap.” He kicks your foot.

“Get out of here.” He rolls his eyes, but there is a smile on his face.

You bid him goodbye before making your way out of your meeting room. On the way out, you decide to grab a quick snack. You grab some chips from the cabinet before closing it and turning around.

“Oh my— Geez, Nat.” You jump as you see Natasha appear behind you. “Scared me.” You lean your elbows against the counter.

“Sorry,” you note that she doesn’t sound very apologetic, “just wanted to ask you something.”

You stand up straighter. Is this something serious? “What’s up?”

“We were planning on going for a walk later. Perhaps we can get something after, do you want to join us?” Natasha smirks.

Not serious. All that for a not-so-serious question. “Sur-”

“Oh, Steve is coming.” You blink at her interjection. “Just thought you should know.”

“Oh, okay?” You laugh. Did Steve just decide not to mention this? That’s odd, you were just with him. “Yeah, sure.”

“Great,” Natasha smiles before starting to walk away, “meet us in the lobby at seven.” She says over her shoulder before disappearing from sight.

You stand there alone in the kitchen, chips forgotten, “Okay?”

You decided to go back to your room after the strange encounter, not thinking much about it. You tidy up your room a bit and scroll on your phone for a bit. Before you know it, it is time to go. You grab your stuff before heading to the elevator and descending to the lobby.

“Hey guys,” You smile at Natasha and Steve. “We ready to go?”

“Waiting on Buck,” Steve responds, looking towards the elevator as it opens to reveal a person who is decidedly not Bucky.

“Oh,” You weren’t aware he was coming. Actually, you feel substantially worse now that you know he’s coming. Did Natasha invite you and Steve to third wheel?

“Don’t worry, we’ll give you two plenty of space,” Natasha smirks, giving you a small wink.

You blink, “Okay?” You whisper to yourself. Bucky finally appears once the elevator opens again, and he walks over to you three.

“Sorry about that, ready?” He smiles at you and Steve before you all agree to leave.

You let Bucky and Natasha lead for a bit before turning to Steve, “You didn’t mention that you planned this.” You whisper to him.

He turns towards you, frowning. “I thought you planned this. Buck told me you were coming, so I thought you had some plan.”

You both turn toward Bucky and Natasha, then back to each other. “They got us.” You sigh.

“No, we can work with this.” Steve tries optimistically.

“We can try.” You mumble tiredly.

The four of you walk around the city, eventually getting to the park. Natasha seems to attempt to make eye contact with you on multiple occasions. You offer her a small thumbs-up. At least things seem to be going well for her and Bucky. You and Steve haven’t needed to do anything.

“I have an idea.” You nudge Steve. “You see them on the bridge over there?” You gesture over to where Bucky and Natasha are talking on the bridge. “Let’s offer to take photos for them.” You smile at him.

“That’s an… idea.” Steve watches as you pull out your phone.

“Come on, let’s go.” You elbow him before heading over to the bridge.

“Hey! You two want a photo together?” You walk up to them, phone in hand.

Bucky freezes before turning around to face you. Even Natasha looks startled. You smile at him innocently, holding up your phone with the camera app.

“Do we get a choice—”

You cut Bucky off, “Annnnd smile!” You take various photos of them.

“Put your hand on her shoulder, Buck,” Steve calls out from beside you.

“Are we photographing a family portrait?” Bucky retorts, amusement in his tone.

“A future one, maybe.” You whisper to yourself, slightly bitter.

“Okay, done.” You give them a thumbs up. “Those were so cute, you two. I’ll send them to you both.” You smile at them. The sooner you send them, the sooner they are out of your gallery. Those are not photos you need to keep in your phone, for your sanity’s sake.

The four of you continue to trek your way through the park. At some point, Natasha and Steve get caught up talking about the mission she’s leaving on.

“There are ducks over there.” Bucky finds his way next to you.

You turn to where he’s pointing, seeing five, maybe six ducks on the shore of the lake. “Oh my goodness,” you frantically pull out your phone. You were honestly surprised that Bucky remembered that you liked taking photos of animals.

“Want me to take a picture of you with them?” Bucky asks.

You slowly pull your phone down, “Oh, sure.” You hand him your phone.

He steps back, and you let him take a few pictures of you with the ducks. “Thanks, Bucky.” You smile.

“It’s no issue at all.” He smiles.

You don’t know where the sudden burst of confidence came from, but you grab his shoulder and pull him next to you.

“What are you—”

“Smile!” You snap probably a dozen selfies of you and him in front of the ducks. He initially looks stunned by your action, but then he eventually gives the camera a small smile.

“Aw, these are cute.” You say scrolling through the photos. “Look at how shocked you look in this one!” You turn around to show him your phone, only to find he’s already been staring at the photos from over your shoulder.

“Send those to me.” He whispers, his voice right next to your ear.

“Of course.” You smile at him.

“Hey!” Natasha’s voice catches both of your attention. “Where’ve you two been?” She asks, frowning.

You point your thumb to the ducks behind you two, “Oh,” she looks towards Bucky. “Well, come on, we were going to go get ice cream.” She walks away before either of you responds.

Despite your actual objective having no progression, with Steve talking with Natasha and you talking with Bucky, you’d say that the whole adventure was pretty fun. By this point, it was pretty dark, so the group decided to wrap things up.

You guys walk to a small ice cream shop a couple of streets away from the tower. Steve and Nat go in first to order. You tell the worker what you’d like before Bucky comes along.

“I’ll have chocolate chip cookie dough.” He tells the employee. You all decided to get cups this time around. Once Bucky gets his ice cream, you all pay before walking out.

You happily enjoy your ice cream, and you feel almost at peace right now. You could almost forget the fact that you and Steve are probably intruding on what could’ve been a date. Bucky and Natasha do such a good job of hiding their relationship that you almost think they aren’t dating. Bucky has actually spent more time next to you this trip than anyone else.

“Your ice cream good?” You walk up to Bucky. He nods, “Wanna try?” He asks, tilting his cup towards you.

This means nothing. This means nothing. This means nothing. “Sure!” You take your spoon and get a small bit of his ice cream before eating it. “Oooh, that is good!”

He chuckles, “You want more?”

You shake your head, “Nah, it’s okay.” You tilt your cup towards him. “Do you wanna try mine?” You try not to think too much about what you offer.

He seems hesitant to accept, but you offer him a warm smile as if you want him to try it. “Sure.” He gets a small bit of your ice cream. “That’s good.” You smile, happy he enjoyed your choice.

You eventually cave under Bucky’s persistent offers to share the ice cream. By the time you both finish, you realize you basically just split ice cream. You failed to notice how Steve gave you both odd looks as you shared ice cream. Before you know it, the four of you arrive at the tower and are crowding into the elevator.

“Well, I’m done for the night,” Steve says as you guys walk out into the common area.

“Yeah, that was fun though.” You add, and everybody murmurs in agreement.

You all bid each other goodnight, and you start to get ready for bed. Right as you plop into bed, ready to knock out for the night, you check your phone. Who is texting you at—

Hey, so I noticed you haven’t sent me those photos we took by the ducks. Do you mind sending them?

Instantly awake, you grip your phone, staring at the message. Do you open it now? What if he thinks it’s weird that you read his message so fast? Does he even care if you read his message immediately? Does he know general texting etiquette like that?

Oh shoot my bad

You attach the photos and send the best ones you could find.

I only sent you the best ones :)

You stare at your phone, watching as the bubble appears, showing he is typing.

Just the best ones? I’m sure all of them are perfect. Send them all.

You instantly feel your face heat up, and you kick your feet against the bed. Damn, you are glad he can’t see you acting like this.

Please.

You snort as he adds on that last text. It’s okay, though. Nobody is in your room. Nobody can judge if you act a little crazy.

Alright, but don’t blame me if they’re bad lol

You attach all the photos you guys took in front of the ducks.

Sorry I may have spammed the camera without thinking. There’s a lot.

You watch as he types his next response out.

That’s okay. Thanks.

You decide to heart the message, and then put your phone down, thinking that’s the end of the conversation. You look up at the ceiling with a massive grin on your face. You turn off all the lights and get under the covers when you hear it: a vibration.

Instantly, your hand shoots out from under the blankets into the cold air, grabbing hold of your phone.

Don’t you find it funny how Nat made us all go out to get away from work, and then proceeded to talk to Steve about work for the whole walk?

You stare at the message, an actual conversation?

Omg fr I was like bro come on why did you two ditch us like that??

You eagerly await the next message. You watch the texting bubble.

I haven’t heard “fr” yet. What does that mean?

You beam at the screen.

You walk into the meeting spot right on time, rubbing your eyes.

“Okay, so— What happened to you?” Steve starts out before frowning at your disheveled state.

“I was up late.” You respond shortly.

“I knocked out last night. How long were you up til?” He asks.

“Like two? Maybe three?” You shrug, sitting down in one of the chairs.

“Doing what?” He asks, you didn’t realize he was so nosy.

“On my phone. Anyway,” You wave a hand for him to continue his original rant.

“What could you be doing on your phone that late?” He asks, frowning.

“Watching videos, doomscrolling.” You say, trying to ignore the voice in your head saying, “I was texting Bucky for hours, my bad.”

He looks at you, “Alright, well, maybe avoid doing that.”

“Yes, sir, Captain.” You spin in your chair twice before stopping. “Alright, now what is this plan you wanted to tell me about?”

He sighs, “As I was saying, Natasha is already gone by this point. Her mission shouldn’t take more than a day, as it’s pretty close to New York. I will talk to Bucky and try to open him up to the idea of a relationship.” You nod along to his plan.

“Then, later that day, you will just casually bring it up to him. Maybe even mention Nat by name. We won’t do it immediately, though. We don’t want him to think our efforts are coordinated. Let it roll around in his head for a bit. This is where you come in. You bring up dating again. Make him think ‘Wow, two people are telling me I should date somebody? Maybe I should.’ By this point, it’ll be night, and he’ll fall asleep thinking of Nat. Then I come around the next morning, and he agrees to let us help him get with Nat.” Steve gives a proud smile at the end of his plan.

You blink at him slowly, your brain still sluggish. “Yeah, sure.”

Steve smiles, “Oh, come on, give me more than that. It’s a good plan.”

“It’s a plan.” You say dryly. “Let’s just hope it works.” You stand up.

“It will, trust me. Okay, as for specific timing, I will go talk to Bucky now. You will wait at least six hours before talking to him.” Steve checks the time.

“Alright,” You give a small smile, “if this works though, Bucky owes us bigtime.”

“Oh hell yeah, he does.”

You went about your day normally. You didn’t really want to think about how you were going to approach Bucky. Hours and hours passed until you eventually got the text from Steve. “It’s time.” It read, perhaps a bit ominous for your liking.

You walk around the tower in search of Bucky, and surprisingly, it doesn’t take long to find him. You walk into the common area, having zero expectations, and find yourself staring at Bucky on the couch.

He looks up straight at you, and you’re both frozen in place. For some reason, you get this feeling that he expected you.

“Hey,” You greet him, walking over slowly.

“Hey,” He returns, and it’s so quiet.

“Mourning the absence of the other half?” You joke, leaning onto the couch opposite him.

He raises an eyebrow, “Steve? Didn’t realize he left the tower.”

Thrown off guard, you frown, “What? I meant Nat.”

He nods slowly, glancing at the elevator before nodding, “Right,” he draws out.

“How’ve you two been anyway?” You ask, taking a seat on the couch, facing him.

“Nat and I? Fine?” He seems a bit puzzled by the question, but answers it regardless.

You cross your legs, leaning onto the armrest, “Just ‘fine?’”

He frowns, shrugging, but nodding nonetheless.

You open your mouth to speak, but hesitate. He’s looking at you, and it feels like he can read your mind. Does he know how much you hate this? He couldn’t. This whole time, you haven’t struggled with aiding Steve in this operation. You’ve been doing well. Pull yourself together.

You shake your head inconspicuously before continuing, “You’d be cute together, you know.” Your voice doesn’t stutter, and it sounds confident.

Bucky’s mouth parts, as if surprised by the assessment. “You think?”

You nod, fidgeting with the fabric of the couch in order to avoid eye contact. “Yeah, I mean, you two spend a lot of time together. She’s badass, you’re badass. Power couple, ya know?”

You feel Bucky smirk at your comment, “You think I’m badass?” He chuckles.

You turn to look at him reproachfully, “That’s what you took from that?”

“I heard the rest, don’t worry.” His smirk widens.

You debate throwing a pillow at him, “Yeah huh.”

“I’m serious. What, you don’t believe me?” He shakes his head, as if offended. You know he isn’t.

“No, not really.” You can’t help the smile that appears on your lips.

He chuckles lowly, “That’s painful, sweetheart.” He gives a quick glance at the elevator.

You have to stay focused. Do not look at Bucky. Do not look at Bucky. That’s just how he is. You can’t help but think back to how Steve said Bucky was always the one who set up dates for him. If this was how Bucky talked to girls back then, you would’ve also caved.

“You’ll live, sweetheart.” You mock him, if only to detract attention from your embarrassment. You await his laughter, perhaps a scoff, or even an overly exaggerated sigh.

Instead, he remains silent. You turn to look at him, but he just seems frozen, staring at you. The moment your eyes meet, he laughs, but it sounds strained. You raise an eyebrow at his odd behavior.

Suddenly, the elevator rings out. You don’t think much of it, but Bucky gives it an oddly conflicted look. Relieved? Pained? You can’t tell. Then you turn around.

Natasha walks in, and you feel your brain short-circuit. You watch, trying to hide your obvious shock, as Natasha walks over to where Bucky is. They greet each other casually, as if you aren’t there. Ouch.

You guess that Steve was wrong.

It’s fine. Really, it’s okay. It’s okay. Steve didn’t exactly give you a backup plan on what to do. This is going great.

Eventually, Natasha turns to greet you, and you smile at her. “I didn’t realize your mission would be so quick.”

She gives a knowing smirk, “I left last night so I could finish it early.”

“Oh,” you respond eloquently. “Welcome back.” You aren’t feeling very “welcome” yourself, but that’s not important right now.

“Thanks,” she takes a seat on the couch next to Bucky.

You look between the two of them. Sorry Steve.

“Well, I’ll leave you two—”

“You and Steve? How’ve you been?” Natasha smiles, crossing her legs.

“Uh,” you glance between her and Bucky, “Good. Good? I guess? I can’t speak for him.”

“You can’t?” Natasha raises an eyebrow, clearly doubting your statement.

“No? Should I?” You frown.

Natasha sighs, “Look, we wanted to catch you on your own since we concluded that you’re less clueless than Steve.”

You blink, “Thanks?” You don’t like where this is headed. You need to get out.

“As your friends,” Natasha gestures between her and Bucky, “we feel obligated to help you.”

“Did you two plan this?” You ask them. Both of them ignore your question, but Bucky decidedly avoids your eyes.

“Look, we saw you two talking.” Bucky leans forward from his spot on the couch. “And it’s,” he looks away, “agonizing seeing you two dance around each other.”

You gape at Bucky, “You are severely misinterpreting what you saw.”

“You guys have been meeting in one of the old storage rooms.” Natasha deadpans.

“You are…” You point to Nat, “also misinterpreting that.”

“Really?” Bucky responds detachedly.

“Yes. Whatever you guys are seeing is not what you think.” You sit up straighter.

Bucky scoffs, and Natasha gives a long sigh. “Fine, live in denial.” He looks directly into your eyes. You take a deep breath as he shakes his head, “I- We will be here when you want to tell us the truth.” Bucky stands up, ready to walk away.

You furrow your eyebrows, “You aren’t going to believe anything I say, are you?”

“I’ve seen you two.” He seethes.

You shake your head, looking away from him. “Fine, believe whatever you want.” You toss your hands up in the air. “If you want to believe I’m sneaking around with Steve, you can believe that. I told you the truth. It’s your choice whether you want to believe that.” Bucky seems to falter at your words.

You don’t wait to hear what they have to say next before you walk off. Of course, you had to be the one they confronted. Couldn’t be Steve, no.

You make it back to your room, closing the door behind you. You pull out your phone.

They think we’re sneaking around together

You don’t even have to wait a minute before Steve responds.

What?

You flop onto your bed.

Bucky and Nat think we’re trying to hide some secret relationship or something

This time, you wait a bit longer for a response.

How? How could they possibly come to that conclusion? Did Bucky tell you?

Bucky and Nat told me. They’re both here.

She’s back already?

Yupppp, I think they planned to confront me about this. She left for her mission early. She not tell you?

Not a word.

He sends another text immediately after:

I’ll talk to her.

You groan, throwing your phone onto the mattress before grabbing a pillow and slamming it onto your face.

You lean against the wall, waiting for Steve’s door to open. You had gone to sleep that night, not wanting to deal with the aftermath of whatever that was. Steve hadn’t said anything after his last text.

You have your phone in your hand, and you tap the side of it anxiously. The door opens up, and you immediately move to greet Steve.

“What happened?” You ask, making him stumble.

“Jesus, how long have you been there?” He asks.

“Like twenty minutes,” you follow him as he makes his way to the kitchen. “Now what happened?”

He starts to make himself a smoothie, and you lean on the counter watching. “I talked to Nat.”

You raise your eyebrows, gesturing for him to continue. “Okay? Details?”

He sighs, “I told her that we aren’t in a relationship.”

“Did she believe you?” You grab an apple from the counter.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Seemed like it?”

“‘Seemed like it?’” You take a bite of the apple.

“Yeah, I dunno.” He grabs the ice tray from the freezer.

“How are you so calm about this?” You watch him in disbelief.

Steve pauses his movement, looking up at you, conflicted.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He puts all items down on the counter, giving you his full attention.

“What?” You blink.

“About Bucky.” He almost looks sympathetic.

“What are you talking about?” Is he implying what you think he’s implying?

“Don’t,” he shakes his head, “Don’t play stupid.”

You remain silent.

“When you bumped into him in the hallway, I thought it was odd. He was acting bizarre.” Smoothie forgotten, he moves closer to you to keep your conversation quiet.

“I thought maybe it was a fluke, but then you told me that he gave you his number.” He gives a small chuckle. “He is picky with who he adds to his contacts.”

Suddenly, your mouth feels dry. You can’t form words; you can only listen as Steve lists out the different pieces of evidence.

“Then he shared his ice cream with you.” Steve shakes his head at you.

You look down, away from his unwavering stare. “We’re just good friends?” You respond, but even you’re questioning it.

“I’m his best friend, you don’t see me scooping ice cream out of his cup.” Steve deadpans. You cover your face with your hands.

“Were you ever going to say anything?” Steve asks softly, a frown on his face.

“I dunno, you sounded so convinced that he’d be happy with Nat, I tried to ignore it.” You mumble into your hands.

“I wouldn’t have done any of this if I knew you actively liked him.” Steve sighs.

You shake your head, “I didn’t think it mattered. You’re his best friend. If you thought he liked Nat, then that was probably the most likely scenario.”

Steve leans against the counter, “This is a mess now.” He says softly.

You laugh humorlessly. “Yep.”

He turns to you, “Are you going to do anything about it?”

You give a dead stare to the fridge in front of you, “Nope.”

Steve looks like he was slapped, and it’d be funny in literally any other situation. “So you’re just going to leave him with Nat?”

“Yeah,” You look down at the ground.

He remains silent for a moment before standing up straight. “I gotta go.”

You blink, “What—”

“I’ll talk to you later!” He calls out, pulling out his phone.

You look at the cluttered counter, “Your smoothie?” You look at the forgotten ingredients.

“Guess I’m making one now.” You sigh, picking up where he left off.

After your talk with Steve, you pretty much locked yourself in your room for the rest of the day. Was it sad? Absolutely. However, you didn’t have the energy to face any of the people involved in whatever that was. The chances of seeing those people are pretty high, seeing as they live here, so yeah, you stayed in your room.

You didn’t get any texts from anybody (not that you were checking). So, you put on some of your comfort movies and watched those for most of the day.

Steve didn’t come to say anything, which you do find a bit surprising. You expected at least a text of “You okay?” He seemed concerned about your feelings earlier. Perhaps he realized that you and Bucky were a hopeless case. Which, yeah, true, but it still hurts.

You couldn’t help but rethink the past few days. When Steve laid it out like he did, it really seemed like Bucky could’ve liked you. You had ignored the signs because, well, Natasha was right there. Despite everything that’s happened, you still have that infinitesimally small spark of hope that he returned your affection.

You pull out your phone, the movie droning on in the background. You open photos and see the selfies you took with Bucky. You tap on the first one, smiling at how unprepared he looked. You scrolled through some of them until you stopped at one.

It wasn’t one of the ones you had originally considered the best. After all, he wasn’t looking at the camera. What made you pause is where he is looking.

You.

He was looking at you.

You had a smile on your face, staring at the camera, oblivious to his gaze. The look he gave you wasn’t something you recognized. It wasn’t a look he gave Natasha, nor a look he gave Steve.

You dare to say it looks lovesick. The same emotions that had you giggling and kicking your feet late at night. The same emotions that had you avert your gaze when the word “sweetheart” was uttered by him. The same emotions that had you texting until early mornings, awaiting a response instead of sleeping.

You favorite the photo, immediately hiding your screen as if somebody would see you.

A loud knock startles you, and you stand up, frantically throwing your phone (which lands safely on your mattress). You approach the door to see Steve there.

“Hi?” You ask, looking at his hand still raised to knock.

“Hello,” he puts his hand down, “so I may have done something.” He whispers to you.

“Okay?” You raise an eyebrow.

“So, remember how we were talking about Bucky earlier?” He asks.

How could you not? “Eh, maybe a little.” You respond sarcastically.

“I made a plan.” He looks at you proudly. “For you two, not Nat.”

You look at him in horror, “All of your plans for helping him with Nat were awful. How is this going to be any better?”

“Uncalled for, but this is good, I promise.” He gives you a small smile.

“Okay,” you look at him doubtfully.

“I told him I’d meet him in the common area to hang out in fifteen minutes. However, I want you to be there before then. He will be expecting me, and then see you. Then you two can hash out.” He leans against your door.

You look at him, blinking. “You serious?”

“Yes. I figured it’s the least I owe you for making you suffer through all of that.” He waves his hand as he talks about the past. You stand there speechless. “You might wanna go now, no rush.” He gives you a smirk before leaving you standing at the door.

You turn around and zip around the room, you try to make yourself slightly presentable with the less than fifteen minutes Steve gave you. You are about to walk out of your room before you decide at the last second to grab your phone.

You walk to the common area, taking deep breaths. You eventually pick a couch to sit on, pulling out your phone so that at least if somebody (Bucky) walks by, you aren’t staring at nothing. You stare at your reflection on the screen, feeling your heart race.

The couple of minutes you sit there feel like an eternity. While waiting, you open every app on your phone before closing it seconds later. Maybe this was a terrible idea. Perhaps Steve is making a mistake, and wouldn’t that be soul-crushing?

Minutes go by before you hear them: footsteps. You fight the urge to look up as they approach.

He says your name.

You look up casually, as if you haven’t been waiting for his arrival. “Oh, hey, Bucky.” You smile at him, giving him a slight wave with your phone. You both remain silent.

You try not to watch as he slowly makes his way over to the couch opposite you. He sits down, and your gaze flickers to him a few times. You should put your phone down. You should definitely put your phone down. The issue with that is it’s the only thing protecting you from just blatantly staring at him.

“I believe you.” He breaks the silence after what felt like minutes.

You look up to him, confused.

He meets your gaze, “The other night. When I thought you were with Steve.” He clarifies.

“Oh,” you pause, “don’t worry. I’m sure the situation did look weird from an outsider's perspective.”

“That shouldn’t have mattered.” He shakes his head. “I should’ve believed you, I was just…” He looks away. “Steve is my best friend. He looked happy with you. You two would sneak away and meet up secretly. I wanted him to be happy. He hasn’t found somebody who made him act like that since Peggy. I thought that maybe you’d be the one.” He looks up at you. “And I know, I know, that isn’t what you two had. I just made an assumption, a bad one.”

“You were upset that I was taking away that potential happiness from him?” You begin to understand.

“No.” He instantly says, “I mean, yes, but that wasn’t the main reason.”

You take a deep breath, digesting the information. “Because of me.” You whisper.

He gives you a tired smile, “I thought that maybe if I made Steve happy, that would triumph over the ache I felt for you. When you rejected the idea of getting with Steve,” he shakes his head. “I didn’t know what to do. I assumed you didn’t like me because you never attempted to do the things you did with him with me. You never snuck away to talk to me, never conspired with me like you did with him or anything. I figured it was a lost cause and damage control by that point.”

“You liked me?” The words are a question, but your tone makes it sound like a statement. He nods slowly.

You stare at him before leaning back and covering your eyes with your hand. “I know, please don’t feel obligated to—”

“I liked you too, but I thought you liked Nat.” You say, abashed.

That makes him stop talking instantly. “What?”

“You were talking with her that one night, Steve and I happened to see it at the same time. He started telling me how he couldn’t believe you two weren’t dating.” You chuckle, looking up at Bucky’s astonished expression.

“So we came up with a lot of plans,” you continue, “to try and get you two together. It failed, obviously.” You gesture between you both.

Bucky rubs his temples before leaning forward from his spot on the couch. “You aren’t joking?”

You smile, but it comes out more like a grimace, ”I wish.”

“That night,” he starts slowly, “we saw you two plotting. Nat instantly spotted it. She told me she had been wanting to set him up with somebody.” You feel your stomach drop. There’s no way this story goes where you think it’s going.

“She told me how cute it’d be if you two got together, and well,” he gestures to the room around him.

“That night she came over and asked if I wanted to join you guys on a walk…” You shake your head.

“Her idea.” He responds dryly. “I assume the phone number thing was one of your guys’ plans?”

“Yeah,” you respond, laughing in disbelief.

He stands up, watching you. You copy his movement, moving closer to him. Neither of you looks away, staring at one another as if the other will vanish once eye contact breaks. “I can’t believe…” He chuckles. “This whole time?” He slowly reaches his vibranium hand up to cup your face. The moment the metal touches you, he flinches back, as if forgetting it wasn’t his flesh one. You grab it before he can pull away, slowly bringing it back to your face.

He gently cups your face before freezing, “Wait, do you still like me?” He looks genuinely concerned.

You smile, stepping closer, “I never stopped.”

He leans in, and before you know it, the gap between you two is nonexistent. You feel your heart beating faster than ever. This time, however, it’s not out of stress or fear. You think that maybe this is it, you are going to melt under his touch, but he holds you firm and in place as if to tell you he will be there to support you. You find yourself relaxing in his hold. Love, the word places invades your thoughts as if it always belonged. It cements itself in the trenches of your mind. All those times you doubted who felt what now feel insignificant. The moment feels like it lasts less than a second, but oh— how you wish it was your eternity.

He pulls back, a smile on his face.

“I swear you guys can’t pull this every damn dinner.” Tony points his fork around the table. “You did this last time, where you start off quiet, and then end with unsubtle glares across the table. Please, we are better than this.” He sets his fork down.

You glance at Bucky, who is sitting across from you. As if sensing your gaze, he turns toward you, matching your expression.

“Oh, and now that is happening. Love it.” Tony remarks sarcastically.

“I take it things worked out.” Steve comments.

“You can say that.” You sneak a glance at Bucky before turning to Steve.

“Oh, kinda hate it actually,” Tony adds helpfully. “You know, when I said I was disappointed in you all for not telling me whatever you’re up to, I lied. I don’t think I want to know anymore.” He shakes his head as if trying to tune out the situation.

You roll your eyes, turning toward Bucky, who shakes his head at Tony. He meets your eyes and throws you a small wink.

“No, you really don’t.” You smirk at Tony.

The only reason that the last plan of Steve's worked is cause it wasn't his lmao. He 100% asked Nat for help. Bucky thought that you were "planning on meeting Nat" in the common area, and Nat told him to go meet you there.

Okay real side note, thank you SO much for all the support on my fics so far. I have no words. I read every single comment you guys leave (reblogged or not), and they bring me tremendous joy. Thank you so much for reading my work. I appreciate every like, comment, and reblog :D

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #self insert #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #marvel fic #marvel x reader #saltys seasoned fics🧂

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yasminawayne · 1 month ago

Text

PART I. 100 Object Boyfriends vs One Ex-Boyfriend

SYNOPSIS: Your ex is coming at 7:00 AM to pick up his stuff. Your object boyfriends have other plans.

TAGS: GN!Reader, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Protective everyone, Hurt/Comfort if you squint, Mild Angst, Fluff with Feelings

W.C: 6.8k | CHARACTERS: Dorian, Dirk, Hanks, Johnny Splash, Barry Styles, Daisuke, Timothy/Timmy!

A/N: Ignore the Dateviators plot hole 😍 Pretend it’s surgically injected into your retinas

PART II HERE

AO3: yasminwayne Ko-Fi: buy me a coffee!

"…Can we still hit him?" "No," you said firmly, not slowing your pace as you walked toward the closet door, the box steady in your grip. "Throw something at him?" Hank 4 asked, hopeful as ever. "..." You paused. "We’ll talk about it." "Fuck yeah!"

IT HAD STARTED AS A QUIET MORNING, just you, the sink full of dishes, and the hum of the house stretching itself awake.

"Daisuke," you giggled, squirming as a cold hand brushed the exposed skin just beneath your shirt hem. "Stooop—I’m trying to give the dishes a bath."

You were elbow-deep in suds, fighting a hardened chunk of rice that refused to let go of the ceramic plate. The faucet hissed, warm steam curling around your face. But even through that, through the clatter of dishes and the citrus scent of dish soap, you felt him before you heard him. He pressed in behind you, quiet as always, but present. The faint scent of warm porcelain and stainless steel polish clung to him like cologne.

"And yet," he murmured, voice low and smooth like ceramic, "you neglect me."

His breath was cool against your nape, sending goosebumps scattering across your spine.

You laughed as you squirted soap onto a plate. "You are not one of the dishes."

"Is that so?" he replied softly.

One hand slid past your waist, plucking a mug from the drying rack. His fingers, pale and long, traced the rim as if it were a sacred object. "A forgotten favorite. Used, scrubbed, and left to dry without affection."

"Oh my god," you muttered, trying and failing to hide your smile. "You are so dramatic."

He said nothing, but you could feel the ripple of amusement beneath his stillness. A moment later, both hands returned to settle at your waist.

"You’ve been standing for too long."

You blinked. "I’m fine?"

"Your back will ache. Again." He paused, gaze dropping deliberately down the line of your spine, as though mentally cataloging every knot of tension waiting to bloom. "Sit. I’ll handle the rest."

You turned to face him, suds clinging to your forearms, a soft frown tugging at your brow. "You’re such a worrywart."

Daisuke’s expression barely shifted, but you caught it. That tiny pull at the corner of his mouth.

"You exhaust yourself," he said, voice low and clipped. "Running about this house, tending to everyone but yourself. It has been less than twenty-four hours since your last injury, and already you are moving."

Your breath caught at the softness buried beneath his deadpan delivery.

"…You’re such a dork," you whispered.

He leaned in, tapping his forehead gently to yours.

"And you are a menace to dishware. The plate you’re holding is from my spring collection. Irreplaceable."

"Then don’t leave it where I can touch it," you challenged, even as you let him pluck it gently from your hands.

"Exactly my point."

You rolled your eyes and huffed, but didn’t protest when he dried your hands with a towel, fingers brushing yours with infuriating tenderness. He guided you away from the sink with a hand at the small of your back, leading you toward the dining table.

When he pulled out a chair and sat down, you didn’t bother with the other seat. Instead, you just flopped sideways across his lap, limbs loose, arms slung around his neck like it was your throne by birthright. Daisuke let out a quiet, almost exasperated sigh, but his hand came up without hesitation to steady you, palm resting warm and certain against your back.

You tilted your head toward the other end of the dining table, where Timothy sat primly on one of the chairs. Legs crossed, clipboard angled just-so, and his sleek golden timepiece cradled delicately in his gloved hand.

His ears twitched once. Tail flicked twice.

Without glancing up, he announced in his smooth, static-laced cadence, "Thirty minutes, thirty-nine seconds until the next schhhhedule."

You leaned over Daisuke’s arm to reach Timothy, your hand settling between his twitching ears. His fur bristled beneath your touch, but he let out a soft, involuntary purr as he leaned into your palm.

"Morning, baby," you cooed, scratching gently behind one velvety ear. "What schhhhedule?"

Timothy rolled his eyes at your teasing but didn’t dignify it with a response, not right away. He just exhaled, slow and pointed, then flipped the clipboard toward you with a flat glare.

"The one you instructed me to note." His ears twitched. "Precisely thirty minutes from now. A meeting schhhheduled to take place here, in your residence."

It hit you all at once, like a cold glass of water hurled in your face.

Your brain stalled. It completely locked up. You could practically hear the internal hard drive spinning, whirring uselessly in search of a backup you never bothered to make. The rest of the room blurred into background static. All you could see was the clipboard in Timothy’s hands… and the slip of paper pinned dead center like a death warrant.

Your handwriting. Your pink gel pen. That dumb, cheerful to-do list, scrawled.

Pick-up for clothes – 7:00 AM. Don’t let it get weird.

It was already weird.

Your chest tightened, and then you launched off Daisuke’s lap. The chair leg caught your ankle mid-motion, nearly sending you sprawling face-first into the hardwood. You caught yourself just in time, one hand gripping the back of another chair, breath coming fast and uneven.

The living room snapped into focus, and now that you were seeing it, really seeing it, every flaw screamed at you.

No vacuuming. Of course there wasn’t! Why would you think ahead like that? A fine layer of dust still clung to the side table, right where you’d been chatting with Dolly last night.

Three jackets were flung over the coat rack, thanks to Dirk. Sock ropes, actual tied-up sock ropes, dangled off the couch, remnants of the "couch climbing" the Hanks did two nights ago.

The coffee table was a disaster zone from your last drink experiments with Kopi and Beverly. Powdered creamer clung to the surface like a dusting of snow, several half-empty cocktail glasses were scattered across limp napkins, and one mug of oat milk sat forgotten, slowly spoiling, still bearing a lipstick stain on the rim.

No coaster, of course.

And worst of all, you hadn’t told anyone your ex was coming over.

"Tim!" you finally choked out. "Why didn’t you remind me earlier?!"

Timothy, unfazed by your panic, tilted his head and reached calmly into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a small black cube, thumbed the side, and clicked it once. Your own voice crackled out in tinny audio:

"If I forget, that’s a sign from the universe that I wasn’t meant to remember."

You stared at him, jaw open. "You’re supposed to override me when I’m being stupid!"

Timothy sniffed, flipping the clipboard closed with a tidy little snap. "Beloved, if I overrode you every time you were being stupid, I wouldn’t have time to wind myself."

You nearly screamed.

Behind you, Daisuke shifted in his chair. You heard the quiet rustle of fabric, followed by the soft clink of a plate being set down on the counter with care.

"Who’s coming?" Daisuke’s voice came from behind you, but you couldn’t get a word out. Just stood there like an idiot, mouth working uselessly, opening and closing like a fish pulled out of water.

Timothy, sensing the spike in tension like a radar ping, clicked his stopwatch again. The sound was sharper this time, more clipped.

"Twenty-nine minutes, seventeen seconds," Timothy murmured. His ears flattened, and unease flickered in his eyes as he shot you a quick glance from the corner of his vision. "You’re unraveling? You are never this worried over your schhhedules."

You let out a shaky, half-laugh of a breath and dug your fingers into your hair, close to spiraling.

"Oh my god," you rasped. "Oh my god, I gotta—I have to shower. I have to get ready. My ex is coming over here!"

The silence that followed hit like a dropped weight.

Timothy froze, every line of his body drawn tight and still. Similarly, Daisuke’s hand slipped slightly, fingers curling hard around the edge of the chair like he’d just remembered it was there. Neither said a word, but something bristled in the air.

You didn’t stick around to explain. Your heart was already thundering in your chest as you turned on your heel and bolted up the stairs, two at a time.

As your footsteps faded up the stairs, Timothy’s expression soured. He stared down at his clipboard, ears still flat against his skull. The pen in his hand clicked once, twice, three times. Each press sharper than the last until he slashed angry lines of ink across the scheduled meeting on the page.

Daisuke glanced over, brow raised, but said nothing.

Timothy’s tail gave a single flick behind him.

"Well," he muttered, voice clipped and cool, almost mechanical in its precision, "perhaps I ought to have let them forget."

You burst into the laundry room mid-strip, breath coming fast, one arm still jammed halfway through your shirt sleeve. A towel dangled from your teeth, and your socks made a pitiful slap-slap against the tile as you skidded to a halt.

"Hey," Dirk said casually, without even glancing up. He had a hip propped up against Drysdale, folding a towel one-handed.

You made a sound that was meant to be words but came out closer to a dying goose. Then, in your frantic tangle of limbs and laundry, one of your socks decided to fling itself from your foot and strike Dirk squarely in the chest.

"Wow," Dirk said flatly, holding the sock between two fingers. He held it between two fingers, arm fully extended as if the thing might bite him. His nose wrinkled ever so slightly in mock disgust, and he gave you a look. "Bold choice. Weaponizing laundry."

"Emergency," you wheezed, still halfway trapped in your shirt like it was trying to strangle you. "Defcon Five. Incoming Ex-Situation. Shower critical."

Dirk quirked a brow. "Oh, so we’re panicking."

"I’m not panicking!" You finally yanked the shirt off, hair sticking up like static. You flung the shirt towards Harper. It missed. Badly.

With a frustrated groan, you started unzipping your pants with one hand while rummaging through a pile of your towels with the other. "Okay, I didn’t plan for this. Obviously. I forgot. I forgot on purpose. And now I have to de-gremlin myself in under twenty minutes before they walk in and think I’ve been living in a hoarder den slash emotional bunker!"

Dirk raised both hands in a slow, exaggerated shrug. "So... Thursday."

"Dirk."

"I’m just saying, baby," he said, completely unbothered, swinging one leg over the edge of Drysdale. "You keep describing your normal day and calling it an emergency."

Before you could throw a quip back, you tripped over your half-peeled jeans and slammed shoulder-first into the open dryer door with a loud thunk.

Dirk cringed. He straightened immediately, legs dropping to the floor as his relaxed posture vanished in an instant.

"Okay," he said slowly, "let’s not concuss ourselves in a towel. That’s a very unsexy way to die."

You groaned, wincing as you pressed a hand to your shoulder and used the washer to keep from sliding straight to the floor. "Fantastic. Just kill me. Honestly. I’d prefer that to facing my ex."

"Don’t say that." His voice cut in fast, sharper than he meant it to be. He paused, then sighed through his nose, arms folding. "You know I hate it when you make jokes like that."

There was a beat of silence. Then, like flipping a switch, he looked away and rolled his eyes.

"Anyway," he muttered, "if you do keel over, I’m not dragging your corpse upstairs. I’ll throw a blanket over you and call Farya. Let her deal with it."

"I’m fine," you groaned, "Look. If they get here before I’m out of the shower… stall them, okay?"

"Define stall," Dirk said blandly. "I’m literally a pile of clothes."

You let out a strangled noise and buried your face in your hands, palms digging hard into your eyes. "Oh my god. This is such a mess!"

Dirk’s smirk cracked just slightly. He crossed the room and slung an arm around your waist, draping himself over your barely-toweled form. He pressed a kiss to your cheek. Then another, soft and slow on your jaw. Then lower, trailing warm across your neck.

"Does he really have to come get those clothes?" Dirk murmured, low and careful, like he didn’t want to startle the moment. "I mean… we could throw them in Cam. Or leave them in the front yard. Let him fetch. Like the dog he is."

You turned to glare at him, but your breath hitched before you could speak because his lips brushed under your ear again.

"You could stay," he said, quieter now, fingers tightening at your waist. "Forget the damn guy. Stay here. With me."

Then his mouth dragged slowly along your jaw, the scrape of his teeth light. His next kiss landed just below your ear, then lower. He sucked a mark into the soft skin at the curve of your neck, and the sound that left your throat wasn’t voluntary.

Your hand shot out to grip the edge of the dryer, knuckles white. Your knees barely held.

"Maybe bring the Hanks in," Dirk added, his breath hot where it ghosted across your skin. "Make it a whole event. Let them watch while I remind you how his name hasn’t come out of your mouth once while you were under me."

You swallowed hard, mind blanking. The tension between your bodies was molten, heavy. The towel was barely staying on.

"Are you—" you tried, throat dry, "—are you seriously seducing me out of taking a shower?"

Dirk just smiled. That crooked, lazy smirk of his that always spelled danger. His thigh slid between yours, hand still low on your towel, thumb brushing the dip of your spine.

"Wouldn’t be the first time," he said smoothly, tilting your chin so you met his eyes. They were dark now, full of unspoken things. "And honestly? If it keeps him from seeing you like this… I’ll do a hell of a lot more than kiss your neck."

Your breath stuttered. Every nerve in your body seemed tuned to his touch.

Dirk leaned in, mouth brushing just below your collarbone now. "Why should he get a version of you I have to live without?"

You exhaled hard, arms crossing over your towel.

"Dirk…"

"I know," he snapped. "I know. You’re not going back to him. You’re just... doing the responsible thing. Tying up loose ends."

You nodded, barely.

Dirk’s jaw clenched. "Still feels like hell."

You reached up, cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing the skin just beneath his eye. "It’s not about him," you murmured. "You know that, right?"

He didn’t answer. Just stared at you a moment longer, then finally stepped back.

"Fine. Whatever. Go on," he said, voice flatter now, retreating into something colder. "Get cleaned up."

You hesitated. Then kissed him on the corner of his mouth. "No loose ends."

And then you turned and disappeared down the hall. Behind you, Dirk stayed rooted in place. He dragged a hand through his hair and let out a low, shaky breath.

"Don’t take too long."

The shower was already running, the room thick with steam and the scent of soap clinging to the air like a second skin. You barely managed to close the door behind you before the heat kissed your cheeks, curling the edges of your hair and drawing sweat from your skin. You tossed the towel aside and stepped in without ceremony, urgency buzzing under your skin.

"Well, well," came that slow, familiar drawl. Slick as honey over warm porcelain. "Ain’t you just the prettiest little storm I ever did see?"

Johnny stood inside, already half-formed from mist and heat, one hip propped against the fogged glass wall like he’d been expecting you. His eyes swept over your naked form with zero shame.

"Thought maybe you were ignorin’ me today, darlin’," he went on, voice slow and syrup-thick. "But here you are. Lookin’ like heaven and hell got together and made a mess just for me."

"Johnny," you groaned, stepping in and letting the spray slam against your shoulders. You tipped your head forward, water tracing down your spine. "This is not the time. I am officially spiraling."

"Mm," he hummed, unconcerned. "And you spiral so pretty. Plus, that’s cruel, baby. Walkin’ in here all glistening and flushed and expectin’ me to act like a gentleman."

"My ex is on the way," you hissed, yanking open the shampoo. "I forgot. I literally blocked it out. And now I have—" You stopped mid-sentence, scrambling through your mental schedule with wild-eyed dread. "—Five minutes. Maybe."

Johnny let out a low whistle, folding his arms across his chest. "Mmm. Sounds like you need a deep soak and a whole lotta Johnny love."

Then, stepping in a little closer, eyes gleaming with mischief. "But I s’pose I can work with five."

You gave him a flat look. "Johnny. I am naked. In you. That does not mean this is a flirt window."

He raised both hands in mock surrender. "What? You always look like you got it together, sweetheart."

Johnny’s voice dropped, warm and low like the water wrapping around your shoulders. "Even when you’re fallin’ apart, you shine. Makes me wanna hold you ’til the world forgets how to hurt ya."

You blinked up at him, just for a second. Just long enough to feel your pulse slow beneath the heat and the quiet care in his gaze.

"Johnny…"

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"Ain’t gonna stop ya from washin’, baby," he murmured. "But don’t you go thinkin’ you gotta face that fool out there without knowin’ there’s a whole mess’a people in this house who already worship the ground you trip over."

You sighed, letting your shoulders relax. "Thanks, Johnny."

He hummed softly, then slipped into one of his off-key tunes—just for you. The melody wobbled all over the place, a half-sung mess, but it made everything feel a little less frantic.

A few minutes later, you stepped out of the shower, towel cinched tight around your body. Your hair dripped steadily onto the tile, and water still clung to your arms and shoulders. You were halfway to the sink, reaching for your toothbrush, when Johnny’s fingers brushed across your collarbone.

"Hold up, sugar," he said, stepping into your space. "You got somethin’ right here…"

He tapped just below your neck with the back of his knuckle, casual as anything. "Little love bite, bloomin’ like spring."

You froze. Then turned sharply on your heel, bare feet squeaking slightly on the tiled floor as you leaned in toward the mirror. The glass was fogged up, but not enough to hide the purpling splotch on the side of your neck. It was front and center, impossible to miss.

Your jaw dropped. "DIRK!" you shrieked, voice bouncing off the walls. "I swear to God!"

Right on cue, Barry’s voice drifted in, light and sing-song. "Darling, breathe. Stress gives you texture."

You spun toward him, panicking. "Barry, I have four minutes and a full-on hickey on my neck!"

"Four minutes? Four? Hun, that is nothing. Right, then! Let's start moving. We are focused and we’re fabulous under pressure!" He was already hovering near the vanity, makeup brushes orbiting his shoulders like tiny satellites.

"Brush... where’s your brush? No, not that one, that one—!" He snatched a toothbrush from the cup, passed it to you, then shoved a bottle of foundation into your palm in one seamless motion. "Toothpaste. Yes. Open—mouth, not complaints."

You blinked. Then sighed through your nose and obeyed as he popped the toothbrush between your lips.

Mouth full of foam, you grumbled around the bristles, "I hate this."

"Oh, I know, darling, and I cherish you for it," he said breezily, already rearranging his brush set. "Hate gives you an edge. Very retro."

After brushing, you leaned over the sink and spat, then wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. When you looked up, your eyes went straight to the blotchy mark blooming across your neck.

You jabbed a finger at your reflection. "When this is over," you said flatly, "I’m slapping Dirk’s smug little grin clean off his face."

Barry didn’t even blink. "He’ll love that. Start with the left cheek. It’s his better side. You’ll get a cleaner echo on the second slap."

You just shook your head and started fumbling with the bottle of foundation, the cap already halfway off, ready to slap some dignity back onto your neck. But before you could even squeeze a drop, the weight disappeared from your hand.

You blinked. "Huh?"

Your eyes darted to the counter just in time to catch Barry sliding the bottle back into the drawer. The soft click of it closing felt louder than it should have. His fingers lingered on the handle, but his gaze was fixed on Amir.

"…Did you just take that away from me?"

He didn’t flinch. "Mm. Yep."

"Why?!"

"I changed my mind, darling."

"I need that."

"No, no, no—no," Barry said, swatting the air like your argument was a mosquito. "You want that, but what you actually need, boo boo bear, is to strut out that door in the next sixty seconds with your chin high, your energy radiant, and that bite on full, glorious display."

You pointed wildly at your own reflection. "My ex is going to see the mark!"

Barry turned, squinted at your neck, and made a thoughtful noise. "Mmm… yes! Bold placement. Strong colour story. Bit messy around the edges, but honestly? I’ve seen worse lining."

"You’ve lost your mind," you groaned, dragging a hand down your face. "New plan! After I slap Dirk, I’m slapping you."

"Ooh, spicy," he chirped, already spinning you toward the door by the shoulders. "Just use the wrist, not the elbow. Now go! Shoo! Time is ticking!"

With a groan and a muttered curse, you bolted from the room, towel flapping around your legs, damp footprints chasing behind you.

The moment the door clicked shut, Johnny let out a low whistle, his grin already stretching ear to ear.

"Damn thing’s redder’n a fox in a henhouse," he drawled, arms folded across his chest. "Plain as day. Lookin’ like it was hand-delivered. Hoo—their ex’s gon’ take one look and forget his damn name."

Barry didn’t even glance up. He just gave a hum of satisfaction as he tidied the counter. "Good. I hope he chokes on it. I hope it’s the first thing he sees, and I hope it haunts him in every mirror for the rest of his sad little life."

He reached for a lipstick tube, uncapped it with a satisfying click, and held it up to the light, eyeing the color. "Mm. Should’ve outlined it. Crimson would’ve been stunning. Maybe a little shimmer. No... black. Black with a gloss finish. Or! Oooh! Ombre. Scarlet fading to wine. Very femme fatale, very sexy, very fabulous. Honestly, missed opportunity."

Johnny let out a low whistle, amused. "You’re cold, sugar. Still. Gotta admit. I like the bite. Looks real fine on them. Real fine."

You trudged up the stairs, one hand gripping your towel, the other clutching the banister. Your fingers were damp, still a little pruny from the shower, but it wasn’t the water making them shake.

The railing slipped a little under your palm. Your breath caught.

"Get it together," you muttered under your breath.

At the top landing, you slipped into your room and shut the door behind you, careful not to let the knob click too loudly. Then you just stood there, forehead resting against the wood, letting the silence wrap around you.

Your hair clung to the back of your neck, still wet. Your skin, warm from the steam, prickled in the sudden cool. The air in your room felt sharper than it should have. Colder.

It was stupid. You knew that. Just a box of clothes. Just a simple, civil drop-off. He was coming to get the last of his things. Some stuff you’d forgotten was even his. A hoodie, maybe a book. Socks. Nothing that should’ve been heavy. Nothing that should’ve made you feel like your spine was caving in.

And yet, the thought of hearing his voice again. Of opening the door and seeing him standing there, same face, same tone, that awful familiar pause before he said your name, tightened your throat like a noose.

You didn’t notice the shift in front of you until your balance tilted just slightly. The door didn’t feel like a door anymore. It was warmer now. Solid in a different way.

You blinked and looked up to see Dorian.

"Hey, love," he murmured, arm already wrapped securely around your waist. And then, gently, the fingers of his other hand slipped into your damp hair, slow and careful, and pressed to the back of your head in the lightest cradle. His thumb moved once behind your ear, and for some reason, that was the thing that unspooled your chest.

"You don’t have to open the door," he said simply. Like he was stating a fact.

"He’s just coming to pick up his stuff," you said, the words small in your mouth.

Dorian was quiet for a moment. Like he was weighing something he didn’t want to press you with. Then, without shifting his grip, he drew his palm slowly down your back, letting it settle against the middle of your spine. His touch was warm. Centering.

"He’s not coming in," he said finally, like he'd already decided it, and the world would bend to that decision.

You swallowed hard. Your hands were still gripping the towel too tight.

"I can handle it," you said, barely louder than before.

He sighed and just raised one hand and brushed your hair back behind your ear, knuckles trailing lightly along your temple, then let his fingers rest for half a second more before they dropped.

"Fine. Get dressed," he said gently. "You know where I’ll be, love."

With a final kiss to your forehead, Dorian vanished out through the door.

You stood there for a moment, the ghost of his touch still lingering. Then, smiling faintly to yourself, you crossed the room and reached for the closet handle.

But when you opened the door, instead of seeing your closet, you blinked against a sudden change in light.

The soft creak of the door gave way to a humid wave of warm air, thick with the scent of eucalyptus muscle balm, energy drinks, and the faint tang of sweat. The floor beneath your bare feet was no longer the cool wood of your bedroom, but the familiar give of rubber matting. A thunk-thunk of someone hitting a punching bag echoed from somewhere deeper in the room.

"HOUSE BABE!"

A blur shot out from behind the squat rack. Hank 4 practically flung himself across the floor like a golden retriever let off leash. His curls were an unruly tangle of sweat, his tank top clinging to his muscles like second skin, and his grin stretched so wide it nearly split his face.

"You’re in a towel!"

You didn’t break stride. You stepped into the converted closet gym like it was any other day. "Closet gym day again?"

"EVERY day is gym day," Hank 4 declared, sweeping his arms wide. "But now it’s the best gym day! Because you—" He gestured up and down at the towel. "—are here. In that!"

Hank 2 raised a brow from the pull-up bar. "Please tell me they’re not still dripping wet. You’re gonna catch a cold, babe. Seriously. Where are your socks? Did you at least dry your hair a little?"

"Oh, they’re dripping," Hank 3 purred, already sprawled out sideways across the weight bench. His shirt was off and he was grinning wide at you. "Drippin’ like they’ve been marinating in sin. Babe, you step in here glistening like that again, I’m gonna start conducting research."

You raised an eyebrow. "Research?"

"Yeah," he said with a wicked grin. "Wanna come here and find out my methodology, baby? Real handy stuff."

"You’re so cringe bro," groaned Hank 2, letting go of the pull-up bar and dropping to the floor. "You need a muzzle."

Hank 4 cackled, clutching his side. "Lowkey embarrassing, bro! But let him cook! He’s spittin’ truth, no cap!"

From the back of the room, Hank 5 stepped into view with a roll of wrist wraps. "Ignore him," he said simply. His gaze swept over you. "You walk in like that, the whole room tilts, babe."

"All right," came Hank 1’s voice. He clapped once, loud enough to snap everyone’s attention back to center. "Five-minute timeout. Let our baby breathe. Hydrate. Focus up."

Across the room, Hank 3 purred, "Hydrate them, maybe."

"Bro!" Hank 2 hissed, scandalized. "Stop talking!"

You couldn’t help but laugh as you shook your head. "Thanks for the group thirst. That’s… very affirming. Really. But I’m just here for clothes."

You padded barefoot toward the corner of the room, past tangled resistance bands and tubs of protein powder stacked like bricks. A pair of laundry baskets waited near the wall. You crouched beside them, fingers curling around familiar fabric. Your voice dropped, quieter now.

"My ex is here."

Hank 1’s posture straightened. "Wait. Here here?"

You nodded, trying to make it casual and failing. "Just to pick up some stuff. It’s not a big deal. I just need to change. And maybe not cry. Or puke. But mostly get dressed."

Silence settled, the weighty kind that only falls when a room full of idiots collectively decides they’re about to become dangerous.

"Or," Hank 3 said suddenly, voice smooth as ever but with something darker under it, "you cry, puke, and get dressed. At the same time, we go out there and break every bone in his body. Alphabetically."

"Yup," Hank 2 said.

"Sounds fair," added Hank 5, who had already begun rolling up his sleeves. "Honestly. I’ve been itching to hit something."

"These muscles ain’t for nothing, baby!" Hank 4 shouted, flexing both arms. "Let me at him! I’ll fold that man like a gym towel and wring him out!"

"Guys," you started, but your voice cracked halfway through, and you swallowed hard before trying again. "Guys, no fighting. I don’t think he’s here for a brawl. I just… I need to change. Please."

You turned back to the laundry basket, but your hands didn’t quite work right. You reached for a hoodie and dropped it. Picked it up again, fumbled the sleeve. Your fingers were shaking.

Hank 1 crossed the room without a word and knelt behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. His chin came to rest gently on the top of your head, and for a long, quiet moment, there was nothing but the steady rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his body pressed against your back, shielding you from the rest of the world like a wall.

"We got you, baby," he murmured into your hair, his voice low and sure. "You’re safe."

"Yeah!" Hank 4 chimed in, softer than usual but still bright. "Like, for real. Why’d he even come back after fumbling a ten outta ten? Peak dumbass behavior."

You let out a shaky breath, the corners of your mouth twitching. "I just feel stupid."

"Hey," Hank 1 said, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "Nah. Don’t. Don’t ever feel dumb for caring. That’s not weakness, babe! That’s heart. And you’ve got the biggest one in this whole damn house. Fo’ real."

He gave your arms a little squeeze. "Dude was just too mid to handle it."

"Certified goober," Hank 3 muttered, throwing an arm over his eyes like he couldn’t bear to witness the stupidity of it all.

"No, seriously," Hank 2 said, spinning in a short frustrated circle before planting his hands on his hips. "I straight-up can’t even believe the guy. Who fumbles someone like that? You break up with us and I’d like… stop going out Hank gliding, brah."

Hank 4 reeled back, hands in his hair. "Not the Hank-gliding!"

"You know I only glide when I’m at peace, brah," Hank 2 said solemnly, placing a hand over his heart. "That’s sacred."

A wet snort slipped out before you could stop it, and you wiped your eyes with the edge of your towel. "God. You guys are the worst," you mumbled. "But seriously... thanks. I should get dressed."

"You got it, baby!" Hank 1 said, already backing up with a grin.

And just like that, the room broke back into chaos. Foam rollers hit the floor. Someone stubbed their toe on a kettlebell. Hank 3 tripped over Hank 4, who was trying to dive behind the bench like it was cover fire.

"Go! Go! They need pants!" Hank 4 shouted.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help your smile as you slipped past them toward the back of the gym where your actual clothes, mercifully, were still neatly folded on the shelf.

You dropped the towel and stepped into your pants, pulling them up quick. You grabbed a tank top next and pulled it over your head, smoothing it down over your ribs. As you bent to adjust the hem, you heard the soft shuffle of movement behind you.

You turned, instinctively bracing for another Hank being Hank, but stopped short when you saw Hank 5 standing quietly in the doorway. One hand rested against the frame, light and hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to step further in.

"Hey, babe," he said, his voice quiet and easy in that way only he ever managed.

"Hey," you breathed, surprised but not startled. You offered a small smile, a tilt of your head. "Wanna come here?"

He didn’t answer right away, just stepped forward, slow and steady. Like he was checking in with every step, making sure you were still okay with it. You stayed put, arms loose at your sides, breath coming a little too fast for no clear reason.

A few more steps and he was in front of you, a crooked smile tugging at his lips before he leaned in and kissed you.

His hand hovered for a moment, like he was still giving you the chance to say no, then settled gently at your hip. The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, and when you gasped softly against his mouth, he chuckled, tilting his head to press in a little more.

You hadn’t even realized how tense your shoulders were until they started to drop, your body slowly remembering how to breathe.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far, just enough to speak near your face, his breath still warm against your cheek.

"Thought you might wanna wear this," he murmured, and lifted a familiar jacket between you.

It was his letterman jacket. Green and white, worn at the sleeves, soft in the places where it had been handled a hundred times. The stitched H on the breast was unmistakable, and your stomach did that stupid swoop it always did.

Without saying a word, you stepped into the space between you and let him guide the jacket onto your shoulders. His hands were gentle as he helped you into the sleeves, tugging them down and smoothing the fabric. His fingers hovered for a second longer at the back of your neck, brushing lightly at the edge of your damp hair.

"It looks better on you," he said, barely above a whisper. "No cap."

You huffed out a breath that might’ve been a laugh, the jacket already warm against your skin. "You’re such a dork."

He leaned in again, voice dropping low near your ear, the words brushing over you like static. "Still better than your ex."

You snorted, shaking your head, but the smile that curled your mouth was real this time. "Not exactly a high bar."

His grin curved in reply, but he didn’t press it.

It was already past the time you were supposed to meet your ex, but he hadn’t shown up yet. So instead of waiting around like a chump, you holed up in the gym closet with the Hanks, letting the himbo hive distract you with whatever nonsense they were on about now.

"You’re wrong," Hank 4 was saying. "Protein powder totally counts as soup."

"It’s not soup!" Hank 2 snapped. "It’s not liquid. It’s dust. You’re drinking wet dust."

"Wet dust in water," Hank 4 argued, throwing his hands up like that settled it. "What the hell do you think soup is, bro? Broth is just seasoned water, brah."

"That’s not—" Hank 2 made a strangled sound and pointed to Hank 3. "Back me up. You meal-prep for us. Is protein powder soup?"

Hank 3 didn’t even bother to open his eyes. He was laid out across your lap like a cat, your fingers moving absently through his hair as his arms curled tighter around your waist.

"Soup’s a state of mind," he mumbled, voice lazy and content. "’S long as you can chew it, brah."

"You’re not supposed to chew soup!" Hank 2 barked. "If you have to chew it, it’s stew!"

"You’re just scared to think outside the bowl," Hank 4 shot back. "Soup can be thick. Soup can be chunky. Soup can have macros, bro."

Before Hank 2 could explode again, the doorbell rang.

Your chest clenched instantly, and before your brain could catch up, your body had already gone still. Hank 3 stopped drawing absent circles on your thigh. Hank 1 looked up from where he’d been sorting weights, head tilted like he was already listening for movement down the hall.

You inhaled and slid out from Hank 3’s arms, pushing yourself upright with careful hands as you moved toward the back shelf where you’d stashed his box.

The worn cardboard felt lighter than it should’ve when you picked it up, like the contents had evaporated into meaninglessness but still managed to drag at your chest all the same. Just a few leftovers: his hoodie, still clinging to that cologne he always overused; the beanie he never washed, soft from wear; socks rolled the way he liked them, even though he probably wouldn’t notice. You’d folded everything too carefully, like maybe if it looked clean and orderly, it wouldn’t sting so much. Like presentation could make any of it easier.

Behind you, the silence stretched like the whole room was holding its breath right alongside you.

Then, after a beat too long, Hank 3 muttered, "…Can we still hit him?"

"No," you said firmly, not slowing your pace as you walked toward the closet door, the box steady in your grip.

"Throw something at him?" Hank 4 asked, hopeful as ever.

"..." You paused. "We’ll talk about it."

"Fuck yeah!" someone whispered, triumphant.

You tugged Hank 5’s jacket a little tighter around your shoulders and turned just enough to flash them a crooked smile. "I’ll see you guys later."

Without saying much, you stepped out of the closet and headed down the stairs. The wooden floor was cool under your bare feet, the letterman jacket heavy around your shoulders. Each step echoed down the hall, louder than it needed to be.

But just before you reached the corner, Dorian stepped clean into your path.

You nearly walked straight into him at the foot of the stairs. "Tryin’ to stop me again?" you muttered, already bracing for whatever speech he had locked and loaded.

He didn’t move. Just looked at you, one brow arched slowly like it was doing all the talking for him.

"Not tryin’, love," he said, dry as old stone. "Just thought I’d head off the trainwreck before it makes it to the bloody doorstep."

You grimaced. "Again. He’s just here to pick up his things. He's been asking for it all week."

"Mm," Dorian hummed, unimpressed. "I liked Dirk’s plan better. Chuck it all on the lawn, let the twat fetch it. Bit of exercise might do him good."

You rolled your eyes, but the box in your arms suddenly felt heavier. "I just want it over with."

His gaze dropped to the box, then up to your face. He let out a slow breath through his nose, then stepped aside.

"You’re stronger than ’im on your worst day, yeah?" he said, voice low, almost a murmur now. "Just don’t let the bastard see you flinch."

You gave a small, wobbly breath and nodded once.

As you walked past, Dorian added. light, but not joking, "I’ll be nearby. Just in case he gets clever. Been dyin’ to see if this umbrella can crack a skull."

You huffed a laugh, and the box in your arms shifted slightly as you adjusted your grip. The doorknob was cold under your fingers. You took one last breath, steadied yourself, and turned it.

The front door opened with a soft creak.

NOTE: suggest characters for the next chapters!

PART II HERE

#date everything #dorian date everything #johnny splash date everything #the hanks date everything #daisuke dishware date everything #timothy timepiece date everything #barry styles date everything #dirk deveraux date everything #dorian x reader #johnny splash x reader #the hanks x reader #daisuke dishware x reader #timothy timepiece x reader #barry styles x reader #dirk deveraux x reader #date everything x reader #jesus this is a lot of fucking tags

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mooningningg · 2 months ago

Text

After Hours - Toji F.

about. After hours, the library is supposed to be quiet. Peaceful. Safe. But ever since you found him — wounded, dangerous, and far too tempting for your own good — silence became a luxury. Now he keeps showing up. And tonight? He’s not leaving without a reminder of who you belong to.

pairings. Yakuza!Toji x Librarian!Reader

words. 17.09k

content. mentions of drugs, blood, violence, guns, swearing, multiple rounds, both receiving. library sex (multiple locations), semi-public, size kink, oral (f receiving), creampie, overstimulation, filthy dirty talk, possessive!toji, jealousy, phone sex but it’s accidental, toji being so in love he brings you flowers, playful ending w/ interns (yuuji & nobara), aftercare-ish, 18+ only, unprotected sex, manhandling, rough sex, dom!toji but soft touches, mild possessiveness, mention of canon character (naoya) as a rival/date, yuuji & nobara being nosy AF, some explicit language, minor marking/bruising, reader gets absolutely ruined

notes. gosh i hope i dont bore you guys with a fuckass 17k word oneshot, i hope i made up with the sex part at least.

The rain had been threatening all afternoon. It loomed behind the windows in heavy gray waves, each low rumble of thunder sounding like it was clearing its throat, waiting for the exact moment the sky could justify breaking open.

Inside the library, it smelled like old paper, polished wood, and the faintest hint of citrus from your linen spray. You moved between the aisles in your soft cotton dress, hem brushing your ankles, sleeves rolled just below your elbows. It was the kind of dress that whispered instead of shouted—no frills, no bold colors. Just you, in your quiet, elegant orbit.

You were checking through the cart of returns, fingers moving lightly across worn spines, sorting them instinctively. You didn’t need the barcode scanner—not when you knew every section and every call number like muscle memory. History to the left. Philosophy to the top right. The language dictionaries always got stuck behind the self-help books for some reason.

“Miss Y/N!” came a call from across the stacks.

You turned just as Yuuji popped his head out from behind the oversized encyclopedias like a prairie dog.

“Where do we shelve books about marine biology again?” he asked, holding up a thick hardcover titled The Living Sea with an octopus mid-ink attack on the cover.

You blinked. “You’ve been here for four months, Yuuji.”

“I know, but that’s science, right? And science is... everywhere.”

“Third shelf in the science bay, just before botany. It’s labeled,” you said, trying not to smile.

Yuuji disappeared again, mumbling, “Botany’s fake anyway.”

From the front desk, Nobara chimed in, not looking up from the return logs.

“Tell him biology isn’t the same as space. He put a book about the solar system next to the reptiles last week.”

You raised a brow.

“Seriously?”

“He said ‘they’re both cold’,” Nobara deadpanned.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you took the next book from the cart.

The quiet rhythm of the end-of-day shift resumed: the sound of books sliding into place, the occasional sigh from Nobara when she had to fix someone’s misfile, Yuuji humming a One Piece opening from the history section.

The air conditioner clicked off with a final wheeze. Almost closing time.

You started your final sweep of the east wing, fingers trailing the spines of the classics—dusting, straightening, pausing to flip over one copy of The Old Man and the Sea that someone had shelved upside down.

The rain outside had finally begun. It tapped against the windows in bursts, steady and heavy, filling the quiet building with the rhythm of a ticking clock. A perfect backdrop to a peaceful end of shift.

Then—

the front door creaked.

Not the smooth automatic swoosh of someone arriving during business hours. This was deliberate. Slow. Someone pushing open the old wooden emergency door that hadn’t been used since the power outage last semester.

You frowned.

“Nobara?” you called out softly, moving around the shelf.

“Still here!” she answered from the desk.

You rounded the corner toward the main entrance.

And your heart stuttered.

Because it wasn’t a student. Not a professor. Not even the weird local guy who liked to sit in the non-fiction section just to read outdated cookbooks.

No.

It was a man.

A bleeding man.

Tall. Broad. Shirt clinging to him like a second skin, black and soaked through from the rain, his muscular frame hunched as he leaned heavily against the wall. One arm clutched tightly to his side. Blood soaked the lower left of his shirt, trailing along his white pants in ugly streaks. His jaw clenched. His green eyes were dull but alert. Black bangs stuck to his forehead, framing a face that looked carved out of war stories.

He looked like he’d walked out of another life—and bled all over the pages.

Your breath caught.

You knew those tattoos.

You’d seen them on crime reports, on back pages of tabloid photos, flashing behind grainy camera shots and pixelated mugshots.

A Yakuza.

In your library.

Bleeding. At 7:59 PM. On a Sunday.

The man didn’t speak at first.

You didn’t either.

You just stood there, fingers frozen mid-reach for your phone, lips parted like your brain couldn’t quite catch up to what your eyes were telling you.

He looked up at you.

Sharp green eyes. Too sharp. Too aware.

You froze.

The silence was loud. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out at first. Then—

“You—need to leave. N-Now,” you hissed, keeping your voice low and stern. “I’ll call the cops.”

The man huffed a laugh.

You could see the tattoos curling along his arms—old, rough lines from a life that didn’t play by civilian rules. You’d read enough newspapers. Seen enough warnings. That ink meant something. He wasn’t a lost drunk. Or some desperate college student.

He was something worse. A yakuza.

And now, bleeding in your library.

“Oh yeah?” he drawled, still leaning against the wall. “That’s cute, sweetheart. But I don’t think you’re gonna do that.”

Your breath hitched. “I’m not kidding.”

“You’re scared,” he said, eyes lazily dragging over your figure. Not in a way that made your skin crawl—but in a way that made your stomach twist. He was... calculating. “Smart girl. But scared.”

“You’re bleeding all over the goddamn carpet,” you snapped, still keeping your voice low. “And this is a public building. You can’t just walk in—”

“I was expecting an old man,” he interrupted, flexing his jaw as he slowly slid down the wall to crouch, wincing. “Some wrinkled, half-blind staffer I could bribe for a rag and a phone call.”

His lip twitched up at the corner. A smile.

“But instead,” he muttered, glancing up at you, “I get you.”

You took a step back.

“Stay there,” you warned.

He lifted a hand, mock-innocent. “Hey, don’t worry. I ain’t in any shape to chase you. Not today.”

“You shouldn’t be here at all.”

“And yet,” he exhaled, head tipping back against the wall, “here I am.”

You watched as he repositioned himself—tucking his injured side behind a rolling cart of textbooks. His posture was casual, almost lazy, but the way he moved was too precise. A trained body. A man who’d been hurt worse than this before.

“I’ve got two interns here,” you said, softly but firm. “Teenagers. If they see you—”

“I clocked ’em,” he murmured, looking past you toward the main hall. “Spotted the pink one stacking dictionaries. Loud little shit.”

You stiffened. “Don’t talk about them—”

“I ain’t here for them,” he cut in, voice sharpening just a touch. “I’m not here to hurt anyone. Just need to stop the bleeding. Catch my breath.”

“And then what?” you whispered. “You walk out like nothing happened?”

He smirked, eyes half-lidded, jaw flexing again as he sucked in a breath and adjusted how he was sitting.

“You’re not dumb,” he said quietly, eyes locking on yours again. “You know what I am.”

You didn’t reply.

“Good,” he murmured. “Then you know I’ve got no reason to lie.”

You stared at him for a beat. Still six feet away. Phone still in your pocket.

Your mind raced: What if he has a gun? What if he can’t walk? What if he passes out? What if Yuuji comes around the corner and sees him—

And then his voice cut through your thoughts. Calm. Low. Almost... amused.

“Help me out, yeah?”

He was bleeding. He was dangerous. He was watching you like a wolf in a corner who still had all his teeth.

But that tone—So casual. So confident, like he already knew you would.

Your hand hovered at your side.

One librarian, one bleeding yakuza, and one extremely poor decision waiting to happen.

The second you stepped back into the main hall, you were hit with two things:

The sound of Yuuji humming from behind the returns desk.

The intense awareness that you were now actively hiding a criminal in your library.

You took a deep breath, brushed invisible dust off your dress, and approached them with a smile you had to force into place.

“Alright,” you said gently. “Both of you clock out.”

Yuuji blinked at you. “Huh? But we didn’t finish—”

“I’ll take care of the rest,” you said quickly. “It’s past closing. Go home. It’s storming.”

Nobara narrowed her eyes. “You never send us home early.”

“I’m feeling generous.”

“Are you dying?”

“Yes. Of stress. Go.”

They exchanged looks. Suspicious ones. But they shrugged, grabbed their bags, and made their way to the door.

“Bye Miss Y/N,” Yuuji said, hoodie half-zipped and hair a mess. “See you Tuesday!”

“Don’t die alone in here!” Nobara added, half-teasing.

You smiled tightly. “I’ll do my best.”

When the doors finally clicked shut behind them and the silence returned, it came louder than before. Your breath escaped you in one long sigh.

You turned on your heel.

You already knew where you were going.

There, just barely visible along the floor—a trail of blood. Still fresh, dark and glossy, leading away from the wall where he first appeared, and vanishing behind the door to the storage room.

He’d listened.

Of course he did.

You told him to hide, and he had—like a predator beneath the surface.

You gathered what you needed quickly: first aid kit, antiseptic, towels, gloves. Your hands were steady, but your heart wasn’t. Every part of you screamed this is so, so stupid.

But a smaller voice whispered: If I don’t help him, who will?

Maybe you were too kind. Maybe you were too curious.

Or maybe you’d just never seen a man who looked like that fall into your world and bleed all over your polished floors.

You pushed open the storage room door.

And there he was.

Leaning against the wall like he owned it. One hand still pressed to his side, shirt pushed up just enough to reveal a canvas of muscle and ink. His green eyes flicked up lazily as the light hit him—and for one long, electric moment, he just looked at you.

“Took you long enough, sweetheart.” His voice was low, rough. Like gravel soaked in honey.

You swallowed. “You’re lucky I didn’t let you bleed out.”

“Mm. Don’t feel very lucky.” A grin. Sharp. Dangerous. Almost smug.

He didn’t look like he was in agony. No—he looked like he was comfortable.

Comfortable bleeding out in your storage room like it was a five-star suite.

Your eyes dropped for a split second.

The scar.

It sat just above his right hip—a thick, pale slice healed over long ago. A different story. A different time.

And near it, curling around his side and crawling toward his ribs, were inked waves and smoke, thick black lines forming serpents and clouds across his skin. A mark of the clan.

He watched you watch him, and his grin widened. “Like what you see?”

You snapped your eyes back up. “Shut up.”

“I’m wounded,” he said, mock-offended.

“You’re a criminal.”

“You’re observant.”

You knelt beside him, unzipping the kit. “Lift your shirt.”

He smirked, then complied—pulling the drenched fabric up and over the gash.

Your breath caught.

Not just because of the wound—though it was nasty, clean but deep, the kind of thing you weren’t technically trained to deal with. No.

It was everything else.

Toji was built like a sin. Solid muscle. V-shaped torso. Abs so defined you could’ve run your finger along each one and never miss a beat. His skin was a battlefield: scars, ink, tension. And he smelled like rain and gunmetal.

You reached for the gloves.

He reached for your wrist.

“Relax,” he said. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m not a nurse,” you replied, brushing his hand off and dipping gauze in antiseptic.

“I can tell,” he murmured, amused. “But you’re doin’ fine.”

Your fingers grazed his abs—trying to clean the wound—and his breath hitched.

You looked up. He was watching you now with something different in his gaze. Still teasing. Still unreadable.

But... interested.

“You always help out strange men bleeding in your back room?” he asked.

“Only the ones who don’t bleed on my books,” you muttered.

“Lucky me,” he said, tilting his head. “What’s your name?”

You hesitated.

“...Y/N.”

“Toji,” he offered back. Like you hadn’t already figured that out. Like you hadn’t heard it whispered through every true crime article in the back of your mind since he walked in.

“I know.”

“Of course you do,” he smirked.

You pressed the gauze a little harder. He didn’t flinch.

“You’re not gonna tell me how this happened, are you?”

He shrugged with one arm. “What, ruin the mystery?”

You met his gaze. “I’m helping you. I deserve to know if I’m gonna die because of it.”

He leaned forward, slow, like he was tasting your fear—or maybe your stubbornness.

“You sure your pretty little head is ready for it?”

His voice was lower now.

Closer.

You didn’t realize how close he was until you were looking up, your faces barely inches apart—his head tilted, mouth near your cheek, green eyes dark and... amused. You could feel the heat off his body. The tension between your knees.

You could also feel your common sense shriveling up and dying a painful death.

Yakuza or not, Toji Fushiguro looks stupid good in pain.

The antiseptic stung.

You could tell—not because he flinched (he didn’t), but because his nostrils flared just slightly, and his jaw set tight like he’d been trained not to react.

Toji had the kind of pain tolerance that made you question if he even registered it as pain anymore.

You dipped the fresh cloth into warm water again, wrung it out, and continued dabbing around the wound, cleaning off the dried blood. Your face was calm, your movements delicate—but your mind was screaming. Not just because he was massive, shirt now fully lifted over his stomach, his tattooed side on full display like something out of a noir crime fantasy—

—but because he was talking.

“You ever do business with assholes who smile too much?” he muttered, voice low, head still tilted back against the wall.

“I work in a library,” you replied dryly, not looking up.

He snorted. “Yeah, well. I had a deal. Real clean. Fast in, fast out. Nothin’ loud.”

You pressed gauze to the cut gently. “Clearly that didn’t happen.”

“Bastards ganged up. Greedy little rats,” he said, voice gruffer now. “Didn’t like how I handled distribution. Thought they could jump me, take the product, pocket the cash.”

You swallowed.

Product. Cash. Blood.

“And this is what you chose?” you asked softly, eyes still on the wound. “That kind of life?”

There was a pause.

“I didn’t exactly get a PowerPoint presentation of options, sweetheart.”

You looked up at him, finally.

Toji looked down at you—really looked. His green eyes weren’t as sharp now, but there was a pull to them. Heat. Calculation. Curiosity.

“Why? You offerin’ a better one?” he asked, mouth tilted in a lazy smirk.

You pressed the bandage down a little too firmly.

“Maybe I’ll read you a brochure,” you muttered.

He laughed—quiet and deep in his chest, like it surprised even him.

When you finally finished bandaging the wound, you stood to your full height, brushing your skirt down and meeting his gaze once more. You didn’t say anything at first—just met him, face to face, stomach still fluttering at the ridiculous fact that you had just patched up a very wanted and very muscular yakuza in your storage room.

“All done,” you said softly.

Toji, like a menace, lifted his shirt again and looked at your work.

Neat. Tight. Clean.

He exhaled, impressed.

“Shit,” he murmured, “you really got hands on you, don’t you?”

You flushed.

“Don’t—start.”

“C’mon,” he teased, eyes dragging across your face slowly. “You gonna tell me no one’s called you pretty before?”

Your heart did an Olympic-level backflip.

“Please stop calling me that,” you mumbled, looking away.

“Why?” he grinned, stepping closer—just enough to make you feel the shift in space. “Pretty’s what you are.”

His hand didn’t touch you, but his voice wrapped around your neck like silk.

“You stitched me up like a pro. Looked real good doin’ it, too. All gentle in that little dress…”

Your eyes shot back to him. “Toji—”

“—Mmh,” he interrupted, voice velvet. “Say it again.”

“What?”

“My name. Like that.”

You opened your mouth to retort—but he leaned in before you could.

And kissed your cheek.

Not a brush. Not a thank-you peck.

A kiss.

Warm, slow, and low. Just next to your lips—his palm barely grazing your hip. His lips lingered like he wanted to leave something there.

He pulled back half an inch, enough for you to see the smug glint in his eyes.

“I owe you now.”

You were frozen. Still bent slightly forward, lips parted in shock. Heat rushed to your face so fast you felt dizzy.

A yakuza just kissed you, and not just any yakuza. Him.

He chuckled, shifting off the wall with a soft grunt, stretching his neck until it cracked, then rolling his shoulders and flexing his knuckles like he was about to fight God himself.

You watched, absolutely unable to stop fanning yourself with your own breath.

Toji walked to the door casually, glancing around like he hadn’t just threatened your sense of safety and sexual identity in the last ten minutes.

He paused at the threshold.

Glanced over his shoulder.

Smirked.

“‘m so hurt,” he rasped, voice like smoke, “you’re not beggin’ me to stay, pretty.”

And then—he winked.

“See you soon.”

The door shut behind him before you could even curse his name.

And you stood in the storage room, heart thudding like it wanted out of your chest.

Maybe Nobara had a point.

You were going to die alone in here.

You’ve been kissed by a yakuza once and now you’re a changed woman. Probably. Maybe. Shut up.

There were thirty-four books in the returns bin, alphabetized and logged.

The desk was polished. The register was balanced. Not a single overdue tab still hung.

So why—why—were you still gazing into the middle distance like your brain was buffering?

You blinked, snapped out of it, looked down at your own hands—then immediately brushed your fingers up against the edge of your cheek.

Right where he kissed you.

That voice again. Smooth. Dangerous. Too close.

“I owe you now.”

God.

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“This is so stupid,” you whispered to no one, glaring at the computer monitor like it betrayed you. “Get it together.”

Because you were not—repeat, not—the type of woman who fawned over criminals. You recycled. You alphabetized non-fiction by subject and subcategory. You owned slippers.

You were a sophisticated woman.

You had standards.

You did not—

“Looked real good doin’ it, too. All gentle in that little dress…”

You slapped your palm against the desk.

“NOPE.”

“—NOPE what?” came a voice behind you.

You jumped out of your chair like it had tried to electrocute you.

Nobara stood there, already halfway through the staff entrance, raising a perfect brow at you with her tote bag slung over one shoulder and her hair swept into a messy clip that still looked editorial.

She blinked once, then twice. “...You good?”

You cleared your throat and slapped on a tight smile.

“Yep! Totally. Normal. Great. Not hallucinating men or anything. Hi.”

Nobara stared at you for a long beat.

“Okay…” she said, “...I’m gonna pretend that wasn’t a sentence.”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

She stepped in, dropping her bag beside the returns counter. “By the way—Yuuji’s gonna be late. He got roped into helping the art class paint some giant wall thing.”

“Oh,” you said, blinking. “Right.”

“Yeah. Don’t know why they keep asking him. Kid can barely draw a straight line.”

You tried to smile. Tried to act normal.

And then—

“Y/N-san.”

You looked up.

Her face was blank.

Her gaze lowered.

“…Are you wearing a dress that’s above your knee?”

You felt your entire soul leave your body.

You looked down. Slowly. As if you’d somehow forgotten what you were wearing.

Oh. Right. The dress.

It wasn’t even that short. It was tasteful. Soft. A light fabric that hugged your figure just barely. The neckline was modest. The sleeves capped. But yes—

It ended mid-thigh.

And it was pink.

Not beige. Not navy. Not librarian-core. It was... flirty.

You swallowed.

“It’s hot,” you said defensively. “The forecast said humid. Plus ventilation back here sucks and—”

“—Is that perfume?”

“I ALWAYS wear perfume.”

“Ma’am, you smell like vanilla and intention.”

“I just wanted to try something different.”

“Did something happen?”

“What? No.”

Nobara squinted at you.

“You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not.”

“You reorganized the manga shelf by protagonist hair color.”

“That’s—functionally viable.”

“You alphabetized the tea packets in the staff lounge.”

“I was bored.”

“You’ve been whispering ‘Nope’ to yourself every ten minutes.”

You glared at her.

She crossed her arms and tilted her head.

“Who is he?” she asked plainly.

You froze. “Who—what—”

Nobara stepped closer, eyes narrowed like a hawk. “You’re glowing. You’re jumpy. You’re dressing like the main love interest in a K-drama. You’re not fooling anyone. Spill.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Rubbed your temples. Considered confession. Considered fleeing the country. Considered swearing her to secrecy and then lying anyway.

After several seconds, you took a long breath and said:

“...I don’t want to talk about it.”

Nobara gasped like you slapped her.

“YOU ABSOLUTE TEASE.”

“I swear—”

“Was he hot?”

Your face gave you away instantly.

“OH MY GOD,” she screamed, grabbing you by the shoulders. “HE WAS HOT??”

“Lower your voice!”

“IS THIS WHOLE ‘DRESS ABOVE THE KNEE’ THING FOR HIM??”

“I just—felt cute today!”

She stared at you.

You stared back.

A moment passed.

You flopped back into your chair, groaning into your hands.

Because deep down, under all the panic and guilt and confusion, one undeniable truth still lingered.

You liked it.

And somehow, you knew— He knew it too.

You weren’t expecting him. But your heart still leaped. Stupid.

It was cold in the basement—like always. The stone walls down there held onto the chill of fall like they hoarded it, refusing to give way to the heavy warmth of summer. The lights buzzed overhead, old and faint, and you moved slowly along the long wooden shelves—carefully.

These were the precious books. Rare copies. Out-of-print editions. A first edition Mishima with gold edging. A soft-leather-bound medical tome from 1890. A handwritten poetry book in a glass case that smelled like a grandfather’s attic.

You always did your rounds down here with both reverence and a quiet joy.

Today, though, your mind wasn’t on the books.

It was somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere more dangerous.

You traced your fingers along the spines, slowly heading toward the stairs again, your shift nearly over, when the sound of footsteps thudded faintly above you.

Then, a voice. Nobara’s.

“Y/N-san! Someone’s looking for you!”

Your heart dropped. Then soared. Then panicked.

Him?

Was it—

Your feet carried you faster than they should, thudding softly up the stairs, your breath catching in your throat like a dam about to break.

What was wrong with you? Were you seriously hoping he—

You were.

You hated it.

But you were.

Toji.

The way he smirked. His voice—low and playful and dangerous. The kiss on your cheek. The heat of his body so close you could feel your skin buzz beneath your dress.

You had replayed it in your head so many times now it was practically a daydream.

And now—he was here?

He came back?

You smiled. You were smiling, already smoothing your dress as you reached the top of the stairs, already preparing yourself, already crafting a joke or a quip or something to hide the fact that you’d been—

Not Toji.

Your smile dropped the second your eyes met the man by the door.

It wasn’t him.

It wasn’t him at all.

And something in your chest wilted. Heavy. Sharp.

Standing by the front desk—was Naoya.

You stopped walking.

He hadn’t noticed you yet. He was leaned on the edge of the counter, talking to Nobara about something, head slightly tilted, that smug expression on his face like he owned the building.

You used to know that look. You used to see it in the university halls, back when you were both younger and he thought he had charm. When he tried to flirt with you at study tables, at cafés, at late-night events—always smooth, always well-groomed, always sharp-tongued and just short of kind.

And now here he was. Hair slicked back as usual, designer shirt a little too fitted, one hand stuffed in his pocket. Polished. Presentable.

Your smile was long gone.

Nobara spotted you over his shoulder and nodded. “She’s right there.”

Naoya turned.

You took a slow breath and walked forward. Calm. Professional. Blank-faced.

“Naoya,” you said, polite.

“Y/N,” he said, that half-laugh in his voice, eyes already raking over you like he was looking for something to comment on. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

You gave a small smile. Neutral.

“Mm. It has.”

“I was nearby,” he said, waving a casual hand. “Thought I’d stop by. You still working yourself to death down here?”

“Still running this place like it won’t fall apart without me.”

He grinned. “Some things never change.”

You wanted to leave. Already, your shoulders felt tight. Already, you were too aware of how different he felt than the man you were expecting.

How strange that you’d wanted a yakuza to walk through the door. And how even stranger it was that when he didn’t, you felt… disappointed.

Naoya was still talking. His voice smooth, sure of itself. The kind of man who had never had to wonder if he was charming.

But you weren’t listening anymore.

Your mind drifted again—back to the storage room.

Back to green eyes. Bloodied hands. That voice.

“See you soon, pretty.”

And your fingers brushed your cheek again—absent, remembering.

You’d take the bleeding yakuza over this any day.

Naoya had always been like this.

The conversation had barely started, and already he was speaking with that effortless, overfed confidence that could only come from someone who had never been told no in his entire life.

“I gotta say,” he was rambling, “never thought you’d stay in something like this long-term. The library, I mean. Not exactly fast-paced, but you’ve always been good with quiet things, huh?”

You blinked.

“That’s one way to put it.”

“I mean—still!” he said, laughing like he hadn’t just insulted your entire career. “You always did have that… what do they call it—feminine touch? Everything soft and put together. Not like most girls now. All loud and aggressive.”

You smiled with your teeth.

Nobara, at your side behind the desk, slowly turned her head toward you like a wind-up toy.

You ignored her.

“I suppose you could say the library’s still a good fit for me,” you said lightly.

Naoya leaned a little closer. “Not that you don’t have options, though. You always were smart. You could’ve gone corporate. Or married rich,” he added, with a chuckle like he was the punchline.

Nobara coughed.

You pressed your lips together, praying for strength.

Naoya didn’t stop.

“Anyway, it's great you’ve kept it all together. I mean, you look good. Really good. Honestly surprised you’re still single. You are single, right?”

Nobara full-on snorted at that.

You didn’t respond, still holding your polite-librarian smile like a weapon.

Naoya, oblivious, pushed on. “Back in college, I remember telling the guys you’d be married by, like, twenty-five. You just had that energy—you know. Wifey material.”

Nobara leaned in beside you and whispered—without breaking eye contact:

“I hate this man.”

You whispered back without moving your lips: “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. I’m going to strangle him with a charging cable.”

“Nobara—”

“You deserve better. You could date a felon and I’d still root for you harder.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Naoya clapped his hands together suddenly. “Anyway! I should get going. I’ve got dinner with some of the guys. Real estate dinner. You know how it is.”

You nodded like you had a clue what that meant.

He grinned again, gaze skimming over you a little too long. “Really good seeing you, Y/N.”

“You too, Naoya,” you lied beautifully.

And just like that—he turned, adjusted his collar, and walked toward the exit with all the pomp of a man who thought he had left an impression.

The second the door closed behind him, you exhaled so hard it knocked your bangs loose.

Nobara slapped both palms on the desk and howled.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL WAS THAT?”

You cracked a smile, covering your face. “That was... college nostalgia gone wrong.”

“He called you quiet and soft like he was describing a teacup poodle.”

“He’s always been like that,” you muttered, dragging your palms down your face.

“He said wifey material, I almost punched him.”

“I handled it.”

“You deserve financial compensation.”

You laughed again, leaning against the desk. “Thank god it’s over.”

Nobara smirked. “So... any other ex-classmates I should be aware of?”

You snorted. “No. Just a real estate misogynists this week.”

She gasped. “Put that on your resume.”

He didn’t come back. You told yourself that. Over and over again. Until he did.

It was closing time again.

The city hummed low outside the library windows. Pale orange streetlights bled through the blinds in soft strips across the wood floor, and the overhead fluorescents clicked faintly like they were catching their breath. Another long day was done.

Nobara was packing up her bag, muttering darkly as she tightened the drawstrings.

“You’re late again tomorrow,” she snapped, “and I swear to god, I’m going to stuff that wall paintbrush down your throat, Itadori.”

Yuuji, still trying to untangle his earbuds, flinched.

“I said sorry! That mural was like three stories high!”

“You were at the snack stall.”

“That was after!”

“Still counts.”

You stood at the desk, keys already in your hand, letting the two of them bicker as usual. It was familiar. Background noise. Like the AC or the soft creak of the stairs. They always did this—and for once, you were grateful for it.

It distracted you.

From the disappointment.

He hadn’t come back.

You didn’t know why you expected him to. Why your ears pricked up at every footstep outside. Why you kept checking the security mirror by the front desk, hoping to see a flash of dark hair or green eyes or that stupid confident walk—

You swallowed.

What were you hoping for? That he’d show up again? Bleeding again? Half-dead again?

Flirting again?

It didn’t matter. Because he didn’t. And instead, you’d had to entertain Naoya.

God.

Life was a little cruel sometimes.

Nobara shouted a final “Good night!” as she and Yuuji clattered out the front door, still bickering.

The library fell quiet.

You sighed, heading toward a table near the middle of the main floor where two books had been left behind. Probably someone who thought they’d checked them in. You scooped them up, turning them in your hands.

One was a book on knife forging. The other—an old collection of translated yakuza memoirs.

Of course.

You snorted under your breath. “Funny.”

You headed toward their sections. Nonfiction, organized by criminal history. Your heels clicked quietly on the floorboards as you slid between the narrow aisles, the scent of aged paper and polished wood filling the air like incense.

You moved slower this time.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that reminded you that you were alone. That even the bickering was gone now. That the fluorescent lights buzzed a little too loud when you really listened.

You shelved the first book.

Then turned to place the second one.

Then—

Movement.

Behind you.

A brush of air. A shadow. Something big.

You turned.

Too late.

He was right there.

Towering.

The shelf hit your back.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t even breathe. Just stared—mouth parted, eyes wide, frozen in place like your body knew him before your brain caught up.

His hands weren’t caging you in. He didn’t need to.

His presence alone was doing it.

Close. Heavy. Heat radiating off his chest through his shirt, through your dress. You could smell rain and sweat and something smoky. He didn’t touch you, but his closeness pinned you tighter than any grip could.

He looked down.

You looked up.

Toji.

His green eyes didn’t smile—but something sharp gleamed behind them. His bangs were damp from the air outside, falling loose over his forehead. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared down at you like he had every right to be there. Like he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on you.

Your lips parted to say something—but no words came.

You couldn’t think.

His head tilted slightly.

Your heart hammered.

You were shocked. More than shocked. How was he even here? How had you not heard him come in? What did he want? Was he hurt again?

No. He didn’t look hurt.

He looked dangerous.

Dangerous in that whole way. Not bloody. Not desperate.

Intentional.

His eyes flicked from your lips to your cheek. You knew where. The place he’d kissed you. A slight smirk pulled at his mouth—just a twitch.

Then, his voice—low and sinful:

“Missed me?"

For a man who says he owes you, he sure acts like he owns the room.

You stayed pinned.

Not because he held you there—he hadn’t even touched you—but because your body didn’t quite remember how to move when he was this close. Every inch of space between you burned like a live wire, and Toji… Toji was standing like he had all the time in the world.

His mouth curled slightly, teasing.

You stared. And blinked.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Toji leaned back just slightly—not to give you room, no, just enough to really look at you. His gaze dropped down your body, slow and smooth, not in a disrespectful way, more like someone admiring something… just for themselves.

“I know what you were doing,” he said, voice low. “End of shift. Picking up stray books. Following your own damn routine like clockwork.”

Your brows lifted slightly.

“Stalking me now?” you asked, trying to sound unimpressed, even as your heart thundered in your ears.

He huffed something like a laugh and stepped just a little closer again, mouth brushing a smirk.

“Call it reconnaissance. Gotta know what I’m paying back.”

You shook your head, trying not to smile—but failing.

And then Toji added, like it was the most casual thing in the world:

“Oh—and sorry ‘bout my dumbass relative dropping by.”

You blinked again.

“Wait. Naoya?”

“Unfortunately,” he said, grinning. “Yeah. He’s one of them."

Your jaw dropped. “You’re related to that guy?!”

Toji tilted his head, looking deeply unbothered by the horror on your face.

“Distant. I don’t claim him.”

You snorted—loudly, before you could catch it. And Toji’s eyes lit up. He looked... pleased to have made you laugh. Like he liked the sound of it. Too much.

You straightened again, attempting to recover. “Still can’t believe it. Out of everyone in the world—Naoya.”

Toji looked at you again, slower this time. His voice dropped to something dark and warm.

“Still can’t believe you wore this.”

Your body stiffened slightly.

“What?”

He looked pointedly down. “This little thing. Dress like that, late at night, all alone in here? Might give a guy the wrong idea.”

You looked down too—at the hem brushing above your knee, your bare legs under soft lights—and your face immediately flushed.

“I—It’s not that short—”

“It’s short enough,” Toji muttered, almost under his breath. His eyes dragged along your legs. “Fuck. You’re lucky I’m not a worse man.”

Your heart pounded.

You swallowed. “Why are you here, Toji?”

He lifted a brow. “Still figuring that out.”

You blinked. “Figuring…?”

“What I’m gonna give you.”

You looked up at him, dumbfounded. “You don’t have to give me anything.”

Toji grinned again. “Yeah? That little kiss did it for you, huh?”

You opened your mouth, flustered—and then shrugged with a slightly bashful glare. “It wasn’t even on the lips.”

He smirked again, low and satisfied. “Didn’t need to be.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks hot. Your fingers fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, heart still refusing to slow down.

Toji leaned just a little closer, brushing his breath across your cheek again as he murmured,

“Can’t really come out during the day. Too many eyes. Too many assholes with nothing better to do than try to stab me.”

You turned toward him slightly. “That sounds… healthy.”

“I’ll try to come at night. If I can. Once I figure out what I owe you.”

You met his gaze, and for once—you didn’t flinch.

“…Alright,” you said quietly.

His expression softened just a hair. Something quiet passed between you—something not quite as sharp as before. Not lust. Not wit. Something that felt… almost like care.

Then, without a word, he leaned down once more—and pressed a soft, slow kiss to your cheek.

The same spot.

You didn’t move.

His mouth lingered, then left.

He didn’t say goodbye.

Didn’t explain where he’d come from.

Or how, even now, you didn’t hear him leave. Just the fading scent of him. Rain. Smoke. Warmth.

What you didn’t know—

—was that once he stepped out that door, one of his men—a man dressed like a night-shift courier—nodded discreetly at him from across the street.

Eyes always on you.

For the last three days, things had settled into a strange rhythm.

You’d be there, alone in the library at the close of another shift. Quiet. The sound of rain against the windows or a gust of wind sending a cool breeze across your skin. You’d finish your work—storing away books, cleaning up the desk, making sure everything was in its place. You didn’t mind the silence, and the stillness helped you think, helped you relax.

But then, just before you could slip into the hum of your thoughts and turn off the lights for the night, the door would open. And every time, just like clockwork, Toji would be there—stepping into the quiet space, the soft echo of his boots on the wooden floor the only sound.

He’d always have that same sharp, almost cocky smile on his face as he greeted you. Sometimes he’d just stand at the doorway, letting the air settle before walking toward the shelves. No need for fancy words. No need for pleasantries. Just the shared silence of two people in a room, sharing an unspoken understanding. He never let his presence overwhelm you—but it always did.

At first, you tried to keep up the casual distance—telling him about your day, ranting about some of the more absurd parts of your job, sharing bits of personal history. You didn’t expect him to care, but somehow—he did. It was funny. How, despite all the roughness of his exterior, his quiet listening made him stand out among the other men you’d met in your life.

Of course, his comments always carried a bit of edge, a lot of teasing, and there was always the lingering sense of tension. But those moments between the two of you weren’t about the danger or the dirty jokes. No, it was something more—it was a connection. A strange, unexpected bond.

And as the nights rolled on, Toji always left the same way: with a kiss to your cheek—soft but always laced with something deeper. It was a small thing. A fleeting gesture. But it always felt like more. Like he wasn’t just leaving the library—he was leaving something behind every time.

The office was nothing like the picture of a grand yakuza hideout you’d expect. It was rusted. Aesthetically raw and a bit grimy, the air thick with the smell of tobacco, ink, and something metallic. Old furniture. Unpolished. A small desk was piled with papers and phone bills, a half-empty glass of whiskey resting on a coaster.

This was Toji's world. No glittering gold or flashy decor. Just the bare essentials. A place for work and survival. A place where he could think and decide without too many distractions.

The walls were adorned with a couple of old, weathered portraits of men and women who looked like they’d been here far too long, watching the world change while staying the same.

And then, as expected, a man walked in. His face was lean, eyes sharp but tired. His dark hair was short, cropped close to the scalp, but he had a certain weight to him—like a man who knew exactly how far his influence could reach.

This was Suguru Geto, Toji’s trusted associate. A former ally of Toji, now walking the delicate line between the old days and whatever future they’d carve out for themselves.

He walked in, not bothering to knock.

“Everything’s going smoothly. As usual,” Suguru said, sounding indifferent as he took a seat across from Toji.

Toji grunted in response, taking a long drag of his cigarette and staring out the window. He didn’t say anything right away, the silence stretching out as Suguru settled in, flicking a few papers over on the desk.

Then, Suguru let out a sharp breath, flicking his gaze toward Toji. His tone shifted—becoming more pointed, more serious.

“You know, it’s getting dangerous,” Suguru said, his voice turning cold. “The rats from the east are making moves. Drugs, mostly. They’re pushing, and it's getting worse.”

Toji glanced over at him, but there was no real reaction. Suguru continued.

“They’re pushing hard, Toji. We’re not just talking about the low-level guys. They’re coming for us now. We gotta be careful.”

Toji leaned back in his chair, putting his cigarette out in the ashtray. His eyes didn’t leave Suguru’s.

“Mm. I know,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ve already got a few guys out checking on the perimeter. Nothing we can’t handle.”

Suguru’s face tightened. “That’s not the point. We’re talking about full-on war now. If we don’t start striking, we’re going to get caught.”

“I know,” Toji repeated, his voice a little more tense now. “We’ll handle it. Get me the list of their suppliers and I’ll make sure we have leverage.”

Suguru nodded, but before he could leave, he paused. His gaze slid over to the side where Toji’s desk was littered with papers and books. He followed the trail to the windowsill, where an open book rested in the dim light—one that was entirely out of place in Toji’s rough surroundings.

Toji caught Suguru's eye and followed his gaze.

“That book?” Suguru asked, raising an eyebrow.

Toji rubbed his face and let out a sigh. “Yeah. It’s… uh. It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” Suguru smirked, clearly unconvinced. “What’s that? A romance novel? One of those cheesy ones? Or maybe you’re a poetry man now, huh?”

Toji’s lips twitched slightly, but he didn’t respond to the jibe. Instead, he leaned forward, elbows on the desk, his voice suddenly serious.

“Yeah, well, don’t worry about that.” He glanced out the window, eyes darkening slightly. “I’m more concerned about something else.”

Suguru waited, arms crossed, before giving Toji a knowing look. “What’s that?”

Toji finally looked up at him. His gaze was sharp. Cold. But there was a hint of something… softer in his eyes that Suguru hadn’t seen in years.

“She’s dangerous,” Toji muttered, his voice low. “I didn’t expect her to be there. I was just looking for somewhere quiet. Somewhere no one could bother me. And then…”

Suguru’s lips quirked. “And then what? You found a pretty librarian in the middle of nowhere?”

Toji let out a frustrated grunt. “She wasn’t just pretty. She was different. I didn’t expect to see someone like that there. All soft, you know? Not… rough like me. I don’t know, Suguru, but I can’t get her outta my head.”

Suguru’s expression became a little more serious.

“Toji—” he warned, his voice low, “you’re a yakuza. You know what happens when you get attached. Anyone close to you becomes a target. Anything that touches you gets dragged into your shit.”

Toji’s eyes narrowed. He knew this. Knew the rules.

“I don’t need reminding, Suguru.”

Suguru raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just saying. It’s a little librarian, man. Think about it. If you’re gonna get that close, it’s gonna be hell for her.”

For a moment, Toji didn’t speak. The weight of the words hung in the air, and for the first time in a while, he felt a pull in his chest—something he couldn’t control.

His gaze flickered to the window once more. The quiet street below, rain still falling gently. Her face flashed in his mind.

“Yeah,” Toji finally said, his voice rough. “I know. But I can’t help it.”

The library was quiet. Far too quiet.

The kind of quiet that crawls under your skin and makes you question your thoughts, your decisions, your life. The lights flickered, casting long shadows across the rows of bookshelves. The evening had stretched on longer than usual, and Toji hadn’t shown up. The thought lingered like a weight in your chest, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t push it away.

You waited.

The clock ticked steadily—its hands creeping forward in a way that felt mocking. Your fingers tapped anxiously against the desk, but you weren’t looking at anything. Not really. Your gaze kept darting back to the door, every creak of the old wood, every gust of wind rattling the windows, making your heart jump just a little, even though you knew it was just the weather.

Where was he?

For the past week, you’d grown used to seeing him stand in the doorway, that familiar smirk on his lips, the lean, muscular build in his black compression shirt, his eyes scanning the room like he owned it. You’d grown used to the way he’d walk in, sit across from you, and listen to your ramblings about books, about life, about anything and everything. His teasing comments. His flirtation. Those lingering, soft kisses he left on your cheek before leaving.

But tonight… nothing.

It had been hours since you’d closed up the books, well past the time you should’ve left. You had work to do—another round of inventory, tidying up the shelves, reordering things—but you’d been waiting for him. Foolishly, you told yourself. Foolishly, because you couldn’t figure out if you were waiting for him to show up again just for the comfort of his presence or if it was something more.

What was wrong with you?

You scoffed at yourself, shaking your head. What was this? Why were you waiting? You had never been the type of woman to get so caught up in someone like this, especially not someone like him. Toji was a yakuza. The things he did, the world he lived in—nothing about it was safe.

You cursed under your breath, standing up abruptly from the desk. The sound echoed in the otherwise silent library. You glanced at the door once more, as if willing it to open and for Toji to walk through. But nothing happened.

“Get a grip,” you whispered to yourself, grabbing your coat from the back of the chair. The fabric was soft, heavy, a welcome warmth against the chill of the evening air. You buttoned it up, securing it tightly around your body as you made your way toward the exit.

You had never closed the library early before, but tonight felt like it was the right thing to do. A cold sense of realization settled over you.

You had been waiting for a man who had no place in your life.

A yakuza. A killer. Someone who played by rules you didn’t understand, in a world you didn’t belong to.

With one last glance around the room—everything still in place, just as it should be—you turned off the lights and locked the door behind you. The click of the lock sounded too final, like the end of a chapter you weren’t quite ready to close.

You stepped out onto the street.

The night was colder than usual, the kind of cold that wrapped around your body like a second skin. Your breath misted in front of you as you walked down the quiet street, the sounds of the small town settling for the night. The dim streetlights cast long shadows, the soft hum of the wind carrying the scent of rain that had just passed through.

The path home was familiar. You’d walked it every night for years, the little Japanese house nestled among the narrow streets and traditional homes of the town. Your neighborhood was small, and most of the people here knew each other by name.

But tonight, as you walked, something felt different.

You tried to shake the feeling off, but it stuck to you like the chill in the air. Your thoughts drifted back to Toji—his words, his teasing, his presence. What had you become? Someone who waited for a man like that? A dangerous man who wasn’t even here tonight?

The pace of your steps quickened as you reached the small, quiet street that led to your home. The houses here were old, but charming. You could already see the outline of your house at the end of the street—the soft glow of the porch light flickering like a welcome beacon.

You sighed in relief. The warmth of your little house, the quiet comfort of it, was a relief. At least here, you could forget about Toji for a little while.

But just as you were about to turn the corner toward your house, you heard it.

A slight noise.

A faint creak from behind you.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.

You froze, every muscle in your body tensing as you slowly turned your head.

And there he was.

A figure, emerging from the darkness, standing in the shadows. The man was tall, his face partially obscured by the night. You couldn’t see his expression, but you could feel the weight of his gaze. He was standing just a few feet away, close enough that you could hear the faint rustle of his clothing as he shifted his weight.

You instinctively reached for your phone in your pocket, but before you could pull it out, the man took a step closer. Your heart skipped a beat as you quickly turned your back to him, trying to walk faster.

And then it came—a sharp pressure against your back, cold steel pressed into your spine.

A knife.

Your breath caught in your throat as you froze, the icy tip of the blade threatening to push further into your flesh. The man was so close—his body just inches away from yours, the blade a clear threat.

“You’re quite a sight,” the man whispered, his voice low and gruff. He was close enough now that you could smell the faint scent of cologne mixed with something else—something sharper, like metal.

Your mind raced. What was happening? What did he want from you?

But then, as quickly as the threat appeared, the man’s voice softened. He pressed the knife a little harder, just enough to remind you of its existence, before he spoke again.

“You’re alone tonight.”

A strange shiver ran down your spine, and you felt the sudden, dangerous realization hit you—this was no random encounter. Whoever he was, he knew exactly what he was doing.

And worse, you didn’t know what the hell to do about it.

The man behind you was breathing heavily. His presence was suffocating, an oppressive force that stole all the air from the night. You could feel the cold steel of the knife still pressed against your back, just enough to send a shock of fear racing through your veins. Your breath hitched, and you froze, trying to steady your pulse, but panic was quickly taking over.

The knife didn’t budge, but his breath became more erratic. Your hands trembled, and your heart pounded wildly in your chest as the man’s presence pressed closer.

He chuckled darkly. “Think you can walk around here unscathed, princess?” The words were spat like venom, harsh and rough, and you could feel the mockery in his tone.

You tried to hold yourself together, trying to hold on to the fleeting sense of control. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You didn’t want to scream. You didn’t want to provoke him, but every part of your body was screaming for help.

With a sudden movement, his hand shot out, striking your cheek with a harsh slap.

The force of the hit sent you staggering sideways, your skin burning from the sting. You barely had time to react before the heel of his boot was driven into your stomach, knocking the wind out of you.

You gasped, hands clutching at your middle as the pain radiated outward, your knees buckling beneath you. The world spun, and the searing pain in your abdomen made everything feel dizzy and out of reach. Your vision blurred. The taste of blood was suddenly in your mouth—your lip cut from the force of the slap.

The man was muttering to himself, as though he was slowly getting more enraged, more unstable.

"You're just another piece of trash to me. But, hell, I like watching pretty things break."

His voice was unhinged, and the sound of it made your skin crawl. You tried to stand, your legs unsteady beneath you, but the fear that gripped your chest made you feel weak, vulnerable.

You could feel him raising the knife once more, ready to finish what he’d started.

Then, suddenly, a loud, sharp noise shattered the air—a gunshot.

You froze. Your heart skipped a beat.

The world tilted sideways. For a moment, your mind went blank. It was as though time had stopped. You felt the adrenaline surge in your bloodstream, but it wasn’t the kind you could control. It was the kind that made your limbs heavy, your body shaking.

And then, like a distant echo, the man who had been threatening you collapsed to the ground with a sickening thud.

You flinched, instinctively covering your ears, but the ringing of the gunshot still reverberated in your skull. The sound of the shot was still too fresh, too sharp. You could hear the blood rushing in your ears, but all you could do was kneel there, trembling.

Your hands were shaking uncontrollably. Your cheek burned where he slapped you. The cut on your lip stung every time you moved your mouth. The pain in your stomach was a heavy, nauseating pressure.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you glanced up, trying to understand what had just happened.

And then you saw him.

A man—dressed in dark, nondescript clothes—was standing over the body of the would-be assailant, his gun still smoking in the night air. His face was stoic, detached, as if he was used to this kind of violence.

“Stay down,” he commanded in a low, cold voice. You didn’t even have time to react as he crouched beside you, speaking into a phone. His words were low and urgent, but they barely registered in your dazed mind.

"She's alive," he muttered into the phone, his voice firm. "Get the car ready. We’re bringing her in."

You tried to speak, tried to move, but everything felt wrong. You were frozen, your body numb from the terror, from the shock of it all. Your entire body felt like it was shutting down, your limbs too heavy to move.

"Please," you whispered, barely able to get the words out. "What’s happening? Who are you?"

But before you could process anything, the man stepped back, his grip on your arm firm but not painful. His movements were smooth, practiced. Efficient.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, his tone too calm. “We’re just getting you out of here.”

You didn’t understand what was happening. You didn’t know who this man was or why he’d shot the other man, but your mind was spiraling. The pain in your stomach had spread, but you couldn’t even feel the bruise on your cheek anymore. All you felt was cold, dread, and the overwhelming pressure of what was about to happen.

You tried to gather yourself, but the shock was too much. Your body felt like it was shutting down, and you couldn’t stop shaking.

Another car pulled up, and the man helped you into the backseat, his grip firm on your arm. The lights were harsh as they shone down on you, and you felt a wave of nausea surge through you. You barely registered anything as the car doors slammed shut and the vehicle lurched forward.

You leaned against the seat, your face aching, your stomach still burning with pain. Your mind raced as you tried to piece together what had just happened. Had you been saved? Or had you just been dragged further into something darker, something far more dangerous?

Your breath caught in your throat, the weight of it all crashing down on you.

The car drove off into the night, the world outside passing by in a blur. You didn’t know where you were going. You didn’t know what was happening. But the only thing you knew for sure was that this wasn’t just some random attack.

This was his world. Toji’s world.

And you had just been pulled deeper into it.

The world outside the car blurred as it sped down winding roads, the headlights illuminating the darkness in brief flashes. The car’s interior was cold, and despite the warmth of the vehicle, your body was shivering, still in shock from everything that had happened. Every bump of the road made your stomach churn, and the pressure on your chest felt like it was suffocating you.

You tried to breathe, but it felt impossible. It wasn’t just the fear—it was the unknown. The feeling of being completely out of control. Of having no idea where you were going or why this was happening.

The car turned sharply and slowed to a stop, its tires crunching over gravel. For a brief moment, the silence in the car was deafening, the only sound your shallow breaths and the distant hum of the engine.

When the door opened, the same man who had been holding you earlier reached inside and pulled you out with practiced ease. He didn’t speak to you as he guided you through the front gates, his grip firm around your arm.

Your eyes scanned the surroundings—the first thing you noticed was that this place wasn’t as polished as you imagined a yakuza estate would be. The sprawling grounds were quiet, the kind of quiet that made your skin crawl. It wasn’t a grand estate with marble pillars or gold statues. It was more… subdued. The buildings were large but not ornate. They looked expensive, but not in an obvious way. There was an understated luxury about everything here, like it was designed to intimidate without trying too hard.

As you walked past several men standing near the entrance, you could hear the low murmur of voices, the clinking of bottles, and the occasional burst of laughter. They were laughing at something, some kind of inside joke, and their voices echoed against the cold, stone walls. You caught glimpses of their faces, some smiling, others with looks that told you they’d seen far too much in their lives. They wore dark suits—well-tailored but not overly flashy. Guns were tucked into holsters under their jackets, some visible, some hidden beneath layers.

Everything about this place felt wrong.

You couldn’t help the shiver that crawled down your spine.

One of the men, the same one who had brought you here, was still talking on his phone, his voice low but insistent. He was giving coordinates. A location. Something about a “cleaning crew.” You couldn’t catch all the words, but the tone in his voice made it clear that this was just another task. Another body to clean up. Yakuza things. It was all too familiar to them, all too casual.

As you were escorted through the halls, the realization began to hit you—this wasn’t just some random thug who had come after you. This was his world. This was Toji’s world. The one he had dragged you into without warning, without mercy.

You passed more men—some of them nodded at you, others didn’t even spare you a glance. Their eyes were too focused on the mission at hand, whatever that was. But they all had the same cold look in their eyes, a look that made you feel like you were the prey in a room full of predators.

The air smelled faintly of smoke, whiskey, and something metallic that made your stomach tighten in fear. You could feel the weight of the place pressing down on you, suffocating you.

Finally, you came to a stop in front of two large, double doors. The man who had been escorting you gave you a push, his hand firm on your back as he led you inside. Your heart was hammering in your chest, but you had no choice but to follow.

The doors opened with a heavy creak, revealing a large room. The walls were decorated with dark wood, thick carpets covering the floor. It was luxurious, but in a different way—a darker, more oppressive kind of luxury. The kind of place where power and danger were palpable in the air, where every piece of furniture, every art piece, was meant to make a statement.

And there he was.

Toji.

Standing in the middle of the room, his body leaned slightly against the desk in front of him. His broad shoulders and muscular build filled the space with an undeniable presence. He wasn’t sitting, and he wasn’t pacing. He was just there, waiting. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his posture was clear.

He had heard you coming.

He could feel the shift in the air, the energy of the room changing the moment you walked in. His sharp eyes snapped to you, taking you in with that same intensity he always had. But tonight, it was different. There was something in his gaze. Something deeper.

You stood there in the doorway, unsure of whether to step forward or turn and run.

You didn’t know what to do.

What could you do?

Your pulse was racing, the silence between you both thick and suffocating. He didn’t move. He just stood there, his gaze locked on you, his expression unreadable. The weight of the moment stretched out between you like a rope taut with tension, and for the first time, you realized just how dangerous it was to be in his world.

You swallowed hard, the taste of fear still in your mouth. You could hear the soft thud of your heart as it pounded in your chest. Your breath came in shallow gasps as you stood frozen in place, waiting for him to make the first move.

But Toji didn’t move.

He just watched you.

And in that moment, you knew something had changed between you.

This wasn’t just some game anymore.

This wasn’t just a chance encounter.

He was involved now.

And you?

You were in deeper than you ever thought possible.

The silence between you and Toji hung heavy, thick like smoke in the air. You stood in the room, your body still trembling from the fear and anger that had built up over the past hour. Every part of you wanted to scream, to cry, to throw something. But all you could do was stand there, fists clenched by your sides, staring at him.

Toji’s eyes softened slightly when he saw the bruises on your face—the handprint on your cheek and the cut on your lip. But there was no apology, no remorse in his expression. Instead, there was that same, familiar coolness.

He stepped toward you, his gaze never leaving yours. As he approached, he raised a hand, and for a moment, it seemed like he was going to touch the bruise on your cheek, to make sure you were okay. But when his fingers neared your skin, you jerked away, the anger flaring up inside you like wildfire.

“Don’t touch me.” You spat the words out, your voice trembling with fury. His hand paused mid-air, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t even seem phased.

He looked at you, confused, almost as if he didn’t understand why you were reacting this way. “What’s your problem?” he asked, his voice still low and calm, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions that were swirling inside you.

You stepped back, anger bubbling up like a pot left to boil over. Your chest heaved with the effort to contain it. "You fucking coward," you snarled, your words sharp and cutting. “You think I’m angry ‘cause you brought me here? No, I’m pissed off because you weren’t here when I needed you the most.”

Toji blinked, the confusion still etched on his face. His sharp eyes searched yours, and for a brief second, you could see the weight of the situation hit him—but only for a moment. It was clear: he hadn’t expected this kind of response from you. Toji was used to being the one in control, the one who decided what happened, when, and how. You weren’t playing along. You were making him feel something he wasn’t used to.

You were tired of the calm, cool demeanor that he always wore like armor. This man wasn’t some mythical creature, some untouchable gangster with an unshakable hold over everything and everyone. He was just a man. A man who let you get hurt.

Your chest tightened, and for a brief second, all you could think about was that moment. The man with the knife. The sound of the gunshot. The terror that surged through you. And Toji? Where the hell was he when you needed him? You didn’t care about his world, his rules, his so-called control.

He was right there, but he wasn’t there for you.

You felt a sharp pain in your throat as the words left your mouth. “I was scared. I thought I was gonna die tonight, and you—you weren’t even here.”

Toji didn’t say anything for a beat, and when he did, it was a soft exhale, like he’d come to some kind of realization. His gaze softened, but only slightly. “I repaid you already, didn’t I?” His voice was low, gravelly. “I saved your life, didn’t I? My men were watching you, making sure you were safe.”

The words struck you like a slap.

He had men watching you? That was his way of keeping you safe?

Your head spun as anger flared up again. The audacity of this man. You thought you had been wrong about him, but now, all you could feel was disgust.

The nerve on this guy. After everything he’d done, and what he hadn’t done, he had the fucking audacity to say that?

Your hand shot up before you could even think, and with a sharp crack, you punched him in the chest. Your fist landed with a dull thud, but it didn’t make him move an inch. He just stood there, his broad chest unmoving beneath the blow, like he hadn’t even felt it.

You were trembling with rage, your entire body on fire, and yet he was still as composed as ever. That pissed you off even more.

“You really think I’m gonna thank you for saving my life?” Your words came out like venom. “Fuck you, Toji. I didn’t ask for your help. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

Toji didn’t react to the punch. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even seem phased. Instead, he stared down at you with that same, unwavering gaze, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He took a step forward, his presence looming over you like a storm cloud about to break.

“You’re gonna get lost in this place, y’know.” His voice was smooth, low, and that trademark smirk of his returned, even as the tension between you crackled.

Your hands were shaking, but not from fear. It was from frustration. From anger. From all the emotions you were trying to bottle up but couldn’t.

“I don’t care.” The words spilled out before you could stop them. You took a deep breath, standing your ground despite the raging fire inside you. “I don’t care if I get lost. I don’t care if I never see you again. Just go, Toji. I’m not gonna sit around here and play your games.”

You turned away, your pulse thumping in your ears.

The night had settled in much colder than usual, the chill from outside creeping through the library’s large windows. The rain had been relentless, a soft tapping sound in the background of your thoughts as you sat behind the front desk. It had been two days since you had been dragged into that estate by Toji’s men, two days since he had saved you—if you could even call it that—and kissed your cheek like nothing was wrong. That man… Toji… you hated him. But, damn it, you couldn't stop thinking about him.

The way he had pressed you against the bookshelf, his smirk never wavering, even when your entire body was trembling. His voice, calm and unwavering, saying that you owed him now. That he would come back. He’d come back. And now, here you were, trying to forget him, trying to erase his touch from your mind.

But you couldn’t. How could you?

You weren’t that naïve. You knew you’d never see him the same way again. It wasn’t just the danger he brought with him, or the fact that he was a part of a world you didn’t belong to, a world you could never understand. It was him. The way he was, the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel even when you wanted nothing to do with him.

You shook your head, trying to shake the thoughts away.

But here you were, stuck in the library, your mind still swirling with everything that had happened.

You hadn’t meant to let things get to this point. You hadn’t meant to get involved with someone like him, and you certainly hadn’t meant to let him invade your life this much. But you couldn’t deny it anymore.

Fuck him.

That’s what you kept telling yourself as you stared at the clock. It was nearing 9 p.m., and Naoya had told you he’d pick you up right after your shift. You didn’t particularly want to go out with him, but you knew you needed to get your mind off everything that had happened. Naoya was persistent—too persistent, really—but you figured if he could give you a few hours of distraction, you might be able to get your life back in order, if only for a little while.

So, you pulled out a short, tight dress from the back of your closet, something you would never wear for work. You didn't like the idea of it at first, but something inside you urged you to just get out, to do something different. You didn’t want to be the same woman who had been held in that mansion, who had let herself get lost in thoughts of a yakuza.

You stared at yourself in the mirror as you applied a thin layer of makeup—just enough to hide the dark circles under your eyes. You brushed out your hair and let it fall loose around your shoulders. You didn’t recognize yourself anymore, not since that night. The woman in the mirror looked a little too sad, a little too tired.

But you’ll get through this.

You spritzed on a bit of perfume, just enough to make yourself feel a little more presentable, a little more you. And yet, as you inhaled the scent, something nagged at you. A memory. His scent. The warmth of his breath against your skin, the whisper of his lips, the feel of his body so close to yours. You cursed under your breath.

Your phone buzzed, pulling you from your thoughts.

Naoya was running late—surprise, surprise. You sighed, glancing at the clock again. At least you had time to breathe, to clear your mind, before dealing with him.

But as you waited, the night seemed to drag on, the clock ticking ever so slowly. You crossed the room and glanced out of the window. The rain had softened, but the chill still lingered, the kind that made you pull your coat tighter around your shoulders. Your fingers traced along the edges of your purse as you waited for Naoya’s call, your heart hammering in your chest for reasons you couldn’t explain.

You tried not to think about Toji.

But it was hard.

You were so caught up in your thoughts that you barely noticed the footsteps until they were right behind you.

A familiar creak of the door echoed in the silence. You froze.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and your eyes widened.

It was him. The door had opened, and there was no mistaking the silhouette standing in the doorway.

Toji.

For a split second, you didn’t know what to do. Your body was frozen in place, your pulse racing as you turned slowly toward the sound. He was standing there in the doorway, a dark figure, the glow of the outside streetlights casting shadows around him. He didn’t move, but you could feel his eyes on you. His gaze was heavy, sharp, and inescapable.

The tension that had been building inside of you suddenly surged, a familiar heat rushing to your face. Your heart beat in your chest, fast, too fast, and your skin tingled at the thought of him being here—right here. In your library. After everything that had happened.

You stood there, caught between fear and something else—something you couldn’t explain. You didn’t want to see him, you didn’t want to feel him, but there he was, taking up all the space in the room, as if he owned it.

And, damn it, he knew it.

The air between you was thick, heavy with unspoken words and the oppressive weight of his presence. Toji stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed in front of him, as though he owned the entire space. And, in a way, he probably did. His gaze never left you, his eyes dark and intense, like he was reading you with every flicker of his gaze.

“Getting ready for someone else, huh?” Toji’s voice cut through the silence, smooth and seductive, every word carefully chosen, like he was toying with you. "You look beautiful, though." His eyes lingered on you in a way that made your breath hitch. There was no shame in the way he looked at you, no pretense. He was blunt. Direct. And it felt like a physical weight pressing down on you, like the temperature in the room had just risen by ten degrees.

Your heart raced. The words he’d just spoken—the way he made them sound—made something stir inside you. You knew you should be mad. You should be angry at him for showing up like this, for making everything more complicated. But damn it, you couldn’t help it. He was Toji. He was tall, commanding, and impossible to ignore. And it pissed you off that you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

“I don’t need you here,” you said, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. “You figured out what you owed me, so why are you still here?” Your voice was shaky despite your attempts to sound confident, but you couldn't hide the nervousness crawling under your skin. You took a deep breath and stepped away from the desk, crossing the room toward the towering bookshelves.

You needed space. You needed distance from him. But of course, Toji wasn’t going to let you have that. Not when he could see the way you were affected, even if you were pretending otherwise.

“Come on, baby…” His voice was low now, dripping with that casual confidence that you hated and loved all at once. "You're really mad about that?" He followed you, his heavy footsteps soft against the floor, but his presence was everywhere. You could feel him getting closer, feel the heat of his body like an unseen flame licking at your skin.

You ignored him at first, fingers running along the spines of books, as if they could somehow provide the answers to the mess he’d created. But every time you reached for one, the movement felt too forced, too... calculated. He was distracting you. You knew it. He knew it. You hated that he knew.

“Stop following me.” You said it with as much authority as you could muster, but the irritation in your voice betrayed you. You were tense, wound up, ready to explode.

But he didn’t stop. Of course, he didn’t. Toji was never one to take a step back.

"Make me," Toji purred from behind you, his voice an intoxicating mix of amusement and something darker—something predatory. His words were like a physical caress, his voice sliding under your skin in a way you couldn’t ignore.

Something inside you snapped. You spun around, facing him head-on, your fists clenched at your sides. “You shouldn’t be here. You don’t get to do this—this game of yours. I told you I don’t need you.” The words came out more forcefully than you intended, but your anger flared again. You didn’t want to admit that he had gotten under your skin.

Toji tilted his head slightly, watching you like he was studying a puzzle. A slow, predatory smile spread across his lips. He was enjoying this. You could see it in his eyes. He was savoring every second of your frustration.

Before you could react, Toji moved. He crossed the distance between you in two strides, his large frame towering over you. Before you knew it, you were pressed against the shelf, the books digging into your back as he pinned you there with the sheer force of his presence. You gasped at the suddenness of it, the pressure of his body against yours, his breath warm against your ear.

“Listen, baby,” he said, his voice now a husky whisper, right against your ear. “I’m not here to play games. But I don’t think you really want me to leave, do you?”

Your pulse thundered in your ears as you felt his hand come up to rest on the shelf beside your head, his fingers brushing against the wood just inches from your face. His other hand slid to your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress. You couldn’t breathe. He was so close. Too close.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” Toji murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Tell me you don’t want me.”

The heat of his body radiated against yours, making it impossible to think straight. You felt his breath against your neck, his scent overwhelming your senses. He was teasing you, pushing you to the brink, but you couldn’t find the strength to push him away. Everything about him—his voice, his presence—was pulling you in. Even the anger you felt was starting to burn out, leaving only that raw, needy desire that you couldn’t suppress.

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to speak. “You… you’re so insufferable,” you whispered, though you knew it was a lie. The truth was, you wanted him. But you were too proud to admit it. Too scared of what it meant.

Toji’s smirk deepened. His thumb brushed across your waist, a touch so light, so deliberate, that it sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes never left yours, and in that moment, you could see the dark amusement, the satisfaction of having you right where he wanted you.

“Tell me I’m wrong, then,” he challenged softly, his lips inches from yours, the heat of his breath mixing with yours. "Come on, pretty. Tell me I'm wrong."

Your lips parted as you searched his eyes, your chest heaving with the breath you couldn’t take. For a split second, you were almost afraid to speak, afraid to let him know the truth. But before you could say anything, Toji closed the gap.

His lips were on yours, claiming you in an instant, with a kiss that was as hot and possessive as everything he had ever said. It was raw, desperate, and full of intent, the kind of kiss that left you breathless and dizzy. He didn’t give you a chance to pull away, his hand gripping your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. His other hand cupped the back of your head, tilting it just enough to deepen the kiss.

Everything else disappeared. There was no library, no shelves, no frustration. There was only him. And you.

Toji’s kiss was everything you had been trying to resist, everything you knew you shouldn’t want. But in that moment, you didn’t care. You were already lost.

You were done pretending.

He slammed you back into the shelf with a thud that sent books shivering from their spines. His mouth crushed yours, hot and furious, stealing every breath you’d saved for arguing. One hand gripped your jaw. The other slid down — greedy — to cup your breast over the thin fabric of your dress.

“You wanna forget about me?” he growled between kisses, yanking the neckline down to expose you. “Is that it, sweetheart? Thought a pretty little dress and some other man’s attention would help you erase me?”

His mouth descended, teeth grazing your neck, tongue hot and slick as he devoured the skin he once claimed. You gasped when he bit down lightly at your pulse, his hands roaming, kneading, possessive and rough.

“Toji—”

“You’re mine,” he snarled against your throat, dragging your leg up around his waist before dropping to his knees. Toji Fushiguro on his knees. A sight hell itself couldn’t imagine.

He tossed your panties to the floor with a low whistle. “Fuck, this pussy missed me, didn’t it? Look at her,” he groaned, spreading you open with a thumb. “All dressed up for another man but dripping for me.”

Your back hit the bookshelf hard as he hoisted one of your legs over his shoulder, tongue flicking against your clit with a slow, devastating pace. His tongue was hot. Hungry. Each stroke was wickedly precise — drawing shapes only a sinner could spell.

You moaned his name, breath hitching as your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking. His eyes flicked up, dark and amused.

“You try to fuckin’ forget about me but your body’s got no loyalty, sweetheart.”

He dove back in — deeper, tongue curling inside you, groaning against your heat like it was the only thing keeping him alive. He gripped your thighs like a man possessed, dragging you closer, messier, wetter.

The shelf behind you rattled, a book falling with a loud thud, but neither of you cared.

He slid two fingers inside, crooking them just right, his mouth still latched to your clit. “You gonna cum on my tongue while that smug bastard’s running late?” he smirked against you, voice hoarse and thick. “You think he could make you feel this fucked out? You think he could have you shaking like this, baby?”

You couldn’t even respond. Your vision blurred, hips twitching, thighs quivering around his head. He groaned when you tugged harder on his hair, the vibration sending you straight to the edge—

“Toji, I—fuck—Toji!”

Your orgasm slammed into you like a freight train, hard and fast, his name a chant from your lips as your body trembled against the shelf. He didn’t stop. Not until you were gasping, breathless, legs like jelly.

And then he stood, fingers wet, mouth glistening.

“Still think I’m forgettable, baby?” he rasped, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, smirking as he leaned into your ear.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget how to spell his name.”

Your breath was still shaky, your thighs slick and trembling from the orgasm he pulled out of you like a fucking symphony — loud, messy, unforgettable.

Toji stood over you now, towering, broad chest rising with each heavy breath. The way he looked down at you? Like you were prey. Owned. His.

He wiped his mouth with his thumb, then sucked the taste of you off it with a slow groan. “Mmm. You taste like you missed me,” he muttered, voice thick with desire, gravel and hunger soaked into every word.

You were dizzy — from the high, from him — but there was one thing clearer than anything else in that moment: you needed more.

So you sank to your knees. Right there. Between the stacks of the classics section. Dust and forgotten titles above you, sin between you.

Toji’s dark brow cocked, smug as sin. “Oh? Look at you,” he murmured, voice low like a growl. “Pretty thing just can’t get enough, huh?”

Your fingers reached for his belt, unbuckling it slowly, teasingly, but he didn’t have the patience. He let out a dark chuckle and shoved his pants down for you, underwear and all, his cock springing free — thick, veiny, already hard and heavy.

“Open up, baby,” he said, tapping the tip against your lips. “You wear that tight little dress for another man, but now you're on your knees for me. What would that bastard Naoya say if he saw you like this? Huh?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You were too busy wrapping your lips around the thick, hot length of him, eyes fluttering shut as his scent hit your nose — musk, cologne, and just a hint of smoke and danger.

“Fuuuuck,” Toji groaned, tilting his head back slightly, one large hand immediately sinking into your hair, gripping. “That’s it, sweetheart. Goddamn, that mouth was made for me.”

You bobbed your head slowly at first, sucking, tongue swirling around the head, feeling him twitch against your tongue as you sank deeper. The stretch of him was obscene, your jaw already sore, but the way he moaned — the way he looked down at you like you were his salvation — made it worth it.

His other hand caressed your cheek, thumb brushing your jaw. Then, without warning, his hips rolled forward. He thrust into your mouth — shallow, careful at first — then a little deeper, a little filthier.

“You take me so well,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “That bastard wouldn’t know what to do with a mouth like yours.”

He looked down at you — eyes half-lidded, pupils blown wide, lips parted. “Fuck, I could cum just watching you look up at me like that…”

You moaned around him — vibrations that made his hips jerk. His grip in your hair tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to let you know he was holding back.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful like this,” he murmured, brushing your hair back from your face to watch your lips stretch around his cock. “All that sass earlier, all that attitude — and now? Just my good little slut on her knees.”

You gagged just a little as he hit the back of your throat, and Toji groaned deep — the kind of sound that made your thighs press together again despite the orgasm you just had.

“Shit—gonna make me lose it,” he breathed, pulling back for a second to look at the mess you made of him. Your lips were wet, spit trailing down your chin, eyes glassy. “Goddamn.”

He cupped your jaw, smeared his thumb over your lips, then shoved his cock back into your mouth with a growl. “Not done yet, baby. You wanted more — take it.”

You did. Willingly. Obediently. Loving every second.

Your hands braced on his thighs as he fucked into your mouth now, slow but filthy. “This mouth belongs to me,” he grunted. “You hear me? Doesn’t matter who you say yes to. This right here? Mine.”

And you wanted it to be. Every part of you.

You moaned again, feeling him twitch, his abs flexing as his head fell back and his voice dropped into something feral.

“Fuck—‘m close. Wanna paint that pretty face, sweetheart. Want you dripping in me when he shows up. Let him see who you really belong to.”

You moaned again, looking up at him through lashes wet with tears from the stretch. He swore loudly, pulled out just in time and—

Hot ropes of cum hit your lips, your tongue, your cheek. It was filthy. Messy. Possessive.

And you loved it.

He breathed hard above you, still staring down at the mess he made of you, eyes dark with something primal. “There you go. Look at you,” he murmured, brushing some of it off your cheek with his thumb and pressing it into your mouth. “Taste me. Good fuckin’ girl.”

You sucked it off his thumb, chest rising, lips swollen, completely ruined.

But Toji?

Toji smirked down at you, cock still half-hard, a dangerous glint in his eye. “We’re not done, sweetheart.”

The shelves were cold beneath your palms, wood biting into your skin as you tried to breathe — tried to think — but everything in your body screamed for one thing:

More of him.

Toji didn’t even give you time to wipe the cum off your chin. He had you turned around, bent over the damn shelf like a girl in some late-night fantasy, your hands struggling to find purchase on the wood while he stood behind you, big and burning and starving.

“Bend that ass for me, sweetheart,” he growled, gripping your waist hard enough to bruise as he hiked your dress up over your hips. “You let that fuckin’ dress hug your ass for him?”

His palm smacked across your cheek — not your face, the other one — and you gasped, a moan curling from your lips like a prayer.

“Too fuckin’ bad,” he hissed. “This ass belongs to me.”

You felt the thick head of his cock sliding through your folds — teasing, soaking, coated in your slick — and you whimpered, legs shaking already from anticipation. But he just kept grinding, letting you feel every inch before he even gave it to you.

“Fucking dripping,” he muttered, like he couldn’t believe it. “You gonna take all of me, baby? You remember how fuckin’ big I am?”

You nodded frantically, voice gone, knees weak.

He leaned in close, his massive body draped over your back, breath hot against your ear. “Then say it,” he growled. “Tell me how big I am.”

You whined, arching your back, desperate. “T-Toji… you’re—fuck—you’re too big, I can’t—”

He cut you off with a deep thrust.

Your cry echoed through the library, sinful and sharp, as the air was punched from your lungs.

“Ohhh fuck,” you gasped, nearly collapsing over the shelf as your fingers clawed at the edge. “Toji—!”

“That’s it,” he groaned, dragging out slowly, letting you feel every ridge, every vein. “This pussy’s so fucking tight, baby… trying to squeeze the life outta me.”

He grabbed your hips with both hands, pulling you back onto him as he thrust again — hard. The sound of skin slapping echoed like thunder in the quiet space.

And Toji? He was fucking gone.

“God, I missed this pussy,” he grunted. “You think anyone else can stretch you like this? Huh? You think any other man can stuff this perfect little cunt the way I do?”

You were a mess — bent over the shelf, hair clinging to your face, tears in your eyes from the intensity. One of your shoes had slipped off. Your dress was around your waist. You didn’t care.

All you could feel was him.

His cock was thick — almost too much — and every thrust had your walls fluttering, your legs trembling, your body begging for more even as it struggled to take it.

He slid a hand up your back, palm pressing between your shoulders, forcing your chest to the shelf as he pounded into you from behind.

“Look at you,” he groaned, eyes glued to the way his cock disappeared into you over and over. “Gripping the shelf like your life depends on it. That tight little pussy can’t get enough, huh?”

He slapped your ass again, harder, and the sting only made the heat grow worse between your legs.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say you’re mine.”

“I—I’m yours,” you sobbed, cheek pressed to the cool wood, barely able to speak.

“Louder.”

“I’M YOURS, TOJI.”

“Fucking right you are.”

He was breathless now, grunting with every thrust, his rhythm faster, rougher. He was losing it — drunk off the feel of you, the sound of your whimpers, the way you clenched around him like your body was molded just for him.

“You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ good, baby,” he rasped, dragging his fingers down your spine. “This pussy… fuck… I could stay buried in you for hours.”

Your legs buckled again, body going limp, but he caught you — big arms locking around your waist, pulling you back to him so your spine arched and your ass met his hips with every sharp snap.

“Too much?” he smirked, licking the shell of your ear.

You whimpered. “N-No—don’t stop—please—!”

He chuckled. Low. Dark. Filthy.

“Didn’t plan to, sweetheart.”

But then… he pulled out.

You cried out at the sudden emptiness, turning to look at him with wide, teary eyes.

Toji’s jaw clenched, sweat beading at his temple. His cock twitched, thick and glistening, standing proud as he looked down at you with a possessive gleam in his eye.

“Turn around,” he ordered, voice rough. “Lay back. Legs open. I wanna see this pretty face while I fuck you stupid.”

The library floor was cool against your back. Dust clung to the hem of your dress. The tall shelves surrounded you like towering shadows, like they were hiding your sin from the world — but nothing could hide you from him.

Toji’s body hovered over yours, all heat and muscle and controlled fury. One hand gripped your thigh, holding your leg open like it was his right. His cock pushed inside again, slow, devastating, like he had nowhere else to be but here, splitting you open inch by inch.

“Don’t look away,” he murmured.

You couldn’t. His eyes — dark, quiet, consuming — pinned you to the floor harder than his weight ever could.

“You look too damn pretty like this.”

Your moan broke between clenched teeth, legs trembling as he rolled his hips deeper, slower.

“You weren’t supposed to be here tonight,” you whispered.

“I didn’t plan to be,” he said simply, not stopping. “But then you put on this dress… and said yes to him.”

He didn’t even say Naoya’s name. He didn’t need to.

“I wasn’t gonna show up.” Another thrust. Deeper. “But the thought of him looking at you like this? Talking to you like he deserves you?”

He clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring. “I couldn’t stomach it.”

Your head tipped back, hand gripping the back of his neck. “Toji—”

Buzz. Buzz.

The sound cut through the tension, sharp and intrusive. Your phone lit up near the mess of your bag.

You froze.

Toji didn’t.

He stilled inside you, reached for the phone, and glanced at the screen.

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face.

“Naoya,” he muttered, voice flat. “Of course.”

You panicked. “Don’t—”

But he answered.

He didn’t pull out. He didn’t stop. He just leaned down, set the phone next to your ear, and said nothing.

And then — he started to move again.

Slow, deep thrusts that had you choking on your own breath.

“Y/n?”

Naoya’s voice crackled through the speaker, too loud in this sacred, shameful moment.

“Where are you? I’m outside… it looks like the library’s locked. Are you okay?”

You whimpered, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood as Toji’s cock dragged in and out of you with surgical precision.

His head dipped to your shoulder, voice low. “Be quiet,” he whispered, not mocking — warning. “Don’t give him anything.”

You nodded desperately, hand covering your mouth.

“I’ve been knocking for like ten minutes—” Naoya kept talking. “It doesn’t even look like anyone’s inside.”

Toji looked down at you, sweat at his brow, lips parted just slightly as he watched your body shake under his.

Still so quiet.

Still so deep inside you.

“You’re not gonna answer him?” he asked, voice like a quiet bruise. “Not even gonna tell him you changed your mind?”

You could barely breathe.

Toji’s eyes never left yours as he rolled his hips forward with one hard thrust.

Your moan cracked out, small but real.

“Y/n?” Naoya’s voice sharpened. “You okay?”

Your lips parted, trying to form words, but your throat locked up. Toji’s hand curled around the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek, gentle — so gentle — as if to mock the way he was breaking you from the inside out.

And then, without looking away, he picked up the phone.

“You should go home.”

Silence. Then—

“Toji?”

A pause.

“Yeah,” Toji said calmly. “She’s busy.”

Another thrust. Hard. Your gasp punched the air.

“What the fuck—”

Toji hung up.

No smirk. No insult. Just a quiet shake of his head as he tossed the phone aside like it was trash.

“You always talk about not wanting this life,” he murmured, eyes heavy as he leaned over you again. “But your body keeps saying otherwise.”

You trembled beneath him, legs twitching, cunt soaked and stretched, your moans spilling freely now, raw and shameless.

“You wanted him to be gentle, huh?” Toji whispered, mouth brushing your temple. “You thought maybe if you dressed nice, smiled soft, you’d forget what it feels like to be ruined.”

His thrusts sped up, hips snapping against you with a force that sent echoes between the shelves.

“You were never gonna let him touch you.”

His voice turned breathless, raw with something deeper.

“You were always gonna end up right here.”

You wrapped your arms around him, nails dragging down his back, too far gone to fight.

He kissed your neck once — slow, reverent — before pulling out.

You whimpered, aching from the loss.

Toji grabbed your waist, lifted you gently, and flipped you over onto your stomach, guiding you up onto your knees.

“Hold onto something,” he muttered, voice hoarse, eyes burning.

“Why?”

He slid back inside with one hard thrust that made the shelf in front of you rattle.

“Because I’m not done.”

The library was unusually quiet.

Not because it was empty — it wasn’t. Nobara was restocking the new arrivals shelf with a scowl. Yuuji was sneakily eating chips behind the desk like you didn’t see him. But it was quiet because you were quiet.

You stood by the checkout counter, trying to look composed. Professional. Normal.

But your lower back ached, your thighs still felt like jelly, and every time you moved, you remembered the sound of your moans echoing between those tall wooden shelves.

And of course, right on cue—

ding-a-ling

The little bell above the door rang.

You looked up — and froze.

There he was.

Toji Fushiguro.

Wearing a black button-up (the sleeves rolled to his elbows, naturally), tattoos on full display. One hand in his pocket. And the other?

Holding a bouquet.

Not just any bouquet. One of those overly wrapped, overly expensive, one-hand-could-barely-carry-it type of bouquets.

Toji looked… pissed.

Like he couldn’t believe he was standing there holding them. Like he’d tried to not come here and ended up in front of the library anyway.

And when his eyes met yours?

They softened.

Just a little.

“You gonna come get ‘em,” he muttered, “or am I standing here like a goddamn idiot all day?”

You blinked. Stared at the flowers.

Then— “...are those peonies?” you said, suspicious.

He shrugged. “Lady said they meant somethin’ about apologies. Or romance. Whatever.”

You smiled despite yourself, cheeks warm. “You… brought me flowers?”

Toji muttered something under his breath.

“What was that?” you asked.

“I said don’t make it a thing.”

But then—

“WAIT.”

Yuuji’s voice pierced the heavens from across the room.

He stood slowly behind the counter, eyes wide, a chip half-hanging out of his mouth. Nobara emerged from the shelves at full speed, her stare deadly.

“Oh my god,” she said. “You’re the guy.”

“What guy?” Yuuji asked, still stunned.

“The guy. The one who made her wear short dresses.”

Toji raised an eyebrow. “You two always this nosy?”

“Yes,” they said in sync.

Your hand slapped to your face. “I’m so sorry, Toji—”

But he didn’t look mad. In fact, his lips curled into that slow, wicked little grin — the one that always came before trouble.

“Didn’t know I had competition,” he said, stepping forward, placing the bouquet gently on your desk… before slipping a hand around your waist, palm splaying against your lower back.

You jolted. “Toji—!”

But he just leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “Relax, sweetheart. Just saying hi.”

Nobara’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god. Is he grabbing your ass?!”

“Can’t help it,” Toji said, unbothered. “It’s a good ass.”

“Sir this is a public institution—” Yuuji started, half-horrified, half-impressed.

Toji just smirked and kissed your cheek. Lingering. Hot. Too hot.

“Don’t work too late,” he muttered low, voice dark and soft. “Unless you want another late-night visit.”

Your face burned. Your knees nearly gave.

And then he turned on his heel and walked out — leaving behind the faint smell of cologne, cigarette smoke, and wild, unspeakable memories between the shelves.

The door shut.

Silence.

You blinked.

Yuuji blinked.

Nobara slowly turned to you and said:

“…You’re so getting railed on that desk tonight, aren’t you?”

You said nothing.

But the bouquet wasn’t the only thing he left you with.

Your lips still tingled from the ghost of his kiss.

And somewhere deep inside?

You were already looking forward to closing hours.

dividers by, @cafekitsune

4K notes · View notes

starryeyed-apple · 2 months ago

Text

birthday indulgences

the kiss we silently swore never to talk about again...

summary: years ago, on your birthday, you & caleb shared a forbidden moment. it isn't until his birthday that all those hidden desires are finally indulged in.

★pairing: caleb x fem!reader ★wc: 3.5k ★content: fluff & smut. drunk first kiss & grinding in the memory, caleb panics, a tiny bit of angst. sloppy makeouts, spit kink, dry humping, coming in pants, desperate & subby caleb, overstimulation. caleb calls reader pipsqueak, baby, honey and love. reader calls caleb baby. ★a/n: I love that theory that the kiss they don't talk about happened when they were younger, and then I thought ooo I could do a parallel with this. it was supposed to be sweet and it turned smutty, but it's still sweet. I'll probably do a more intimate version of their first time once his card is out! ★masterlist ★read on ao3

You couldn't believe you had actually gotten Caleb to go along with your plan.

When you'd told him you needed a break from your college campus, and that you wanted to go out and get drunk in Skyhaven for your birthday, he was already nodding along on the video call.

"Alright, pipsqueak," he agreed with a grin. "I'll tag along and take care of you. Gotta make sure you're staying hydrated."

"No, no, no." You shook your head, grinning wickedly when he cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy. "You're going with me."

He arches an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Uhh, earth to pipsqueak, did you not hear what I just said? I am going—"

"Nooo," you interrupt, wagging your finger. "You're going drinking with me."

He'd sputtered, complained and argued all he wanted, but he had agreed to every one of your terms by the time you hung up the call.

And here you were, tipsy and laying back on the floor of his Aerospace Academy assigned studio apartment, watching the ceiling fan spin while you both giggled over something you can't quite remember.

You glance over at where Caleb's sprawled out beside you, smiling at the happy, hazy look in his eyes that surely matches your own. It was impossible to see him ever completely loosen up, and this was the best birthday gift you could've asked for.

Then your thoughts immediately take a different direction when he licks his lips.

They're too dry. You know because you'd jokingly held him down as you swiped your own chapstick across them countless times.

And you'd caught him running his thumb over his cracked bottom lip, tongue darting out across the lingering taste of you when he thought you weren't looking.

Your whole face feels too hot suddenly, blood rushing so fast through your ears that you can't even hear the idle sounds of Skyhaven late at night that drift up through the cracked window.

You wonder what it would be like to kiss someone.

To have their lips press to yours, all tentative and sweet. To know that liking them wasn't in vain, that hoping they felt the same way wasn't just a daydream you'd kept hidden for years. To see the adoration in their eyes when they pull back and caress your cheek.

Purple eyes with an orange sheen.

You wonder what it would be like to kiss Caleb.

"Caleb," you whine, watching the dopey smile grow on his face at your voice. "Am I too old to have never been kissed?"

Caleb's eyes widen, flashing to yours.

"I—" he blinks rapidly, and you giggle at the rare occasion of having caught him completely off guard. "What?"

"Kiss-ing," you draw out, tapping your lips with each letter you spell out for him, "k-i-s-s-i-n-g."

Caleb watches each tap with rapt attention, so captivated that his own lips slowly part. A bit of drool collects at the corner of them, and your vision goes hazy before he quickly looks away.

"Oh." He sounds breathless, clearing his throat to steady his voice. "Uh, I dunno, pipsqueak. I mean, I'm older than you and I've never kissed anyone. Is that weird?"

He gives a little laugh, but you hear the stiff edge to it, can see the uncertainty haunting the façade of his easy expression.

"Really?" you roll over onto you stomach, propping your chin onto your palms.

Your legs kick behind you, and he glances at you and away again.

After a stretch of awkward silence, he turns onto his side, meeting your gaze.

"I mean, yeah," he mutters, shrugging one shoulder. "Why would I?"

You look down at his never-been-kissed lips, feeling your blood rush to your head when he bites them.

Your eyes dart back down, watching his necklace brush against the floor from the angle he lays at.

"Sooo…you've never wanted to kiss anybody?" you ask, trying to seem casual, even as your fingers fidget with the hem of his shirt when he shifts closer.

"I didn't say that," Caleb mutters, and you go rigid.

"Oh."

You flop back onto your back, glaring up at the ceiling fan before he can notice how your brows have pinched, your mouth pressed into a firm line.

"Pips?" Caleb pokes at your cheek, and you pout, turning on your side away from him. "What's got you all frowny-faced?"

"Nothing," you bite out, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Uh-huuuh."

He pokes at your back, then your side, until his fingers are lightly tickling at your ribs. You giggle, kicking your feet out at him.

"Caleb, stooop," you whine, pushing back at him as he tries to tug you back over to face him.

"C'mon, pips," he teases, pinching your waist, and you squeak. "Why won't you look at me?"

Flipping over to smack him, you accuse with totally justified, totally sober and coherent anger, "I'm mad at you, dummy!"

He blinks, and you try and not melt at how cute he looks like this—drunk and flushed, with those big confused puppy dog eyes.

"Why?"

Instead of answering him directly, you ask, "Was it the girl in your chemistry class?"

"The—" Caleb blinks again, shifting back in surprise. "What?"

"That you wanted to kiss sooo badly." You frown, crossing your arms again. "The one who copied off your homework, and you were too nice to stop her. Or was it the guy who always tried to beat your track record?"

"Pips—"

"Or the cheerleader captain? Or is it somebody at university, huh? Are you sneaking around making googly eyes at the other pilots?"

"Oh, quit it." Caleb rolls his eyes, rubbing a hand over his forehead with an unamused huff. "I didn't want to kiss any of them. I don't want to."

"Then who?" You push yourself up, and he sits up to match your restless energy. He always rises to that familiar challenge in your eyes, pulling when you push. "Who exactly is just so damn special that you're still saving that kiss for them?"

Caleb's eyes flash, and he leans up and over you until his large frame is surrounding you completely.

"Maybe it's someone I like with a bratty mouth," he snaps, gently pinching your lips shut between calloused fingers.

Your wide eyes meet his blazing ones, and you both freeze.

His fingers loosen on your lips, and your lashes flutter.

He watches your eyes dilate, then looks down to where he gingerly brushes his fingers along the seam of your lips, his breath audibly hitching when they part for him.

Caleb's lids fall heavy over his darkening gaze. Your breath speeds up in your chest. He looks from your lips to your eyes, then back down to your lips again.

And when you glance down at his own mouth, you're both crashing into each other.

Your first kiss with your childhood friend, your best friend, was anything but the magical one you had just been daydreaming about.

This was sloppy and needy, all tongue and spit and teeth. Years of emotion you didn't know how to unpack began to unravel at the seams, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into you as you fall back onto the floor.

Neither of you knew what you were doing, only that you were desperate for more. His hands grab at your waist, slipping down to your thighs briefly, and snapping back up when he realized what he was touching.

Then his arms are wrapping around you, corded muscles tightening to hold you close to him as you squirm from all the years of pent up tension.

Your lips meet his again and again, needy sounds filling the air. His own spit dribbles down your chin as Caleb licks into your mouth and moans against your tongue.

Your foot trails up his leg, wrapping around his calf, and he mindlessly grabs at it, hoisting it up until it was wrapping securely around his hip. The fabric of your skirt rides up, and you jolt when you feel the growing bulge in his jeans rub against the thin fabric of your dampening panties.

The sensation is brief, then harder, until you're rolling against each other in a delirious haze of desperation.

He's mumbling something incoherent into your lips, teeth sinking into the soft flesh until you feel it start to break, and you moan his name.

Caleb jerks back, eyes wide and pupils swallowing all the purple except for the thinnest ring around the edge. His chest heaves, kiss-swollen lips forming soundless words.

Lips swollen from your kisses.

You whine, reaching for him as he begins to panic, de-tangling himself from you.

"No," you beg, trying to tug him back as he gently pulls your grabbing hands away. "No no no—"

"Pips, you're—" his voice is ragged, and he sucks in a deep breath.

His eyes are wild, darting around at everything but you, even as he tugs your skirt back down around your waist. His cheeks blaze red when he steals another quick look at the ruined panties underneath, the soaked fabric with a lacy band, before he turns away in shame.

"You're drunk," he breathes, shaking his head sharply.

"I'm not—"

"I'm drunk." Caleb laughs, disbelief coating the sound, long fingers running through his hair until it's sticking up in all directions. "Shit. Fuck. This wasn't—this wasn't supposed to happen—"

Your body begins to defensively curl inwards, and you blink quickly to try and keep the sudden sting of tears at bay.

Caleb finally dares a glance back at you, going from flushed to shockingly pale in seconds.

"No, no, pipsqueak—"

"No, it's fine," you sniff, pushing yourself up and scooting back against the floor. "I get it. You…you didn't want it to be me. I get it."

"No, no no no," he keeps mumbling the word the entire time you're moving away, and suddenly Caleb's on his hands and knees, crawling after you with those big, sad puppy dog eyes. "No, pips, that's not what I meant—"

"It's fine, Caleb."

"It's not fine," he insists, resting the side of his cheek against the top of your knees. His eyes are wide and wet, begging for you to just look at him. "You heard what I said. Who I said. Who I…wanted."

His voice gets impossibly quiet, and Caleb's honest gaze begs for your attention.

But you're too fixated by the dark indentation your teeth had left in his lips, the shine on them that could've been your saliva or his.

"It's just not a good idea, pips," he whispers, and you flinch, followed by his own grimace. "Shit, no, that sounded bad. It's just because—"

He stops, shaking his head, palm covering his face.

"I can't think straight," he mumbles, peeking at you through his fingers. With a sigh, he drops his hand onto your knee, rubbing gentle circles into your skin. His voice is so gentle, so Caleb, but it still grates at your sensitive nerves right now. "I think we both just need to sleep this off. We'll talk about it later, okay?"

You sniff, still not meeting his eyes completely.

"No, we wont," you mumble, even as you let yourself be gently directed towards his bed.

He's silent as he helps you prepare for sleep, even as he moves to sleep on his little couch, opting for his long legs to cramp up on the furniture instead of cuddling with you. The tension radiates off him at your accusation—because he knows you're right.

"We'll never talk about it again."

But here you are, years later, in the same situation as before.

You're both sober this time. You're older, maybe wiser, and scarred from being torn apart before coming back together.

But the way Caleb looks at you has never changed. Like you hung the stars in the sky, like you were the moon the sun chased with every morning.

He doesn't shy away when you look at him just the same. He doesn't pull back now, doesn't keep his longing locked away when your thumb brushes his lips, collecting the residue of the candy you'd fed him.

You wanted today to be a special birthday for him. You wanted to give him everything he'd ever wanted.

"Remember when you kissed me?" you breathe, and his eyes flash in surprise at what you'd silently sworn to never speak of again, beautiful lashes fluttering at your exhale across his lips. "On my birthday?"

He laughs, a little quiet huff of air, and his shock melts to something knowing. Something you'd both always known, deep down.

"You kissed me," he accuses, all low and sultry in his teasing, and you shiver.

You smile, your thumb caressing the corner of his lips.

It didn't matter who had kissed who anymore, who pulled back from who. You'd still ended up where you both belonged.

Caleb gazes up at you, awestruck when your eyes darken.

"Then you knew I wanted it," you whisper, nose bumping against his. "So why did you stop?"

You lean in slowly, giving him a moment to pull away if he still wanted to, if he still needed time. He'd given you all the time in the world, after all. You'd happily wait for him, too.

But then Caleb's lips are on yours, and everything finally feels right.

He tastes like sour lemon candy, and you whine, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth. He moans, fingers digging into your hips.

"Fuck me," he groans under his breath, and you laugh between the kisses that heat up between you.

"If you insist," you murmur, smirking into his mouth when his hips jerk up into yours.

The whimper that leaves his lips is quiet and needy, and you eagerly swallow it down.

"Don't tease me like that, baby," Caleb rasps, and your own hips roll in his lap at that low huskiness to his voice.

His hands tighten on your hips, stilling you. You pause, wondering if you'd taken it too far.

But then he's directing you, pulling your legs around to straddle him completely. He guides you into a deeper roll, and you both moan.

You sink down onto him with slow grinds, the hem of your dress hiding just how quickly your panties were getting wet. In the rosy haze of growing pleasure, you wonder how long it'll take to soak that erection he's been sporting since you walked in the room.

"Didn't even try and hide how hard you were when I came in," you whisper into your languid, sensual kissing. "Did you?"

Caleb's hand slips down, cupping your ass easily in his rough palm and long fingers. You moan when he squeezes it, followed by a squeak of surprise at his gentle, experimental smack to it.

"You can't talk like that, pips," he pants, head tilting back against the couch. His voice is that delicious shade of darkness when he adds, "God, you can't make those sounds either. I won't last long if you do."

His eyes are hazy as he watches you lean down, kissing along the elegant slope of his neck. You stop at the harsh bobbing of his Adam's apple when he gulps, and your teeth graze along it, humming at the moan you feel vibrate there.

"I've thought about that kiss for years," Caleb gasps, hand sliding up your back to keep you pressed to him. His hips lazily roll up into yours, his eyes rolling back into his head when he suddenly bucks up once. "Every time I—"

He cuts himself off, biting at his already swollen lips with a blush.

You smile, devious in your intent, and his mouth falls open when your hidden possessive streak unfolds.

"Every time you—" you leave your question hanging, letting the way you begin to bounce in his lap be the answer.

"You—" Caleb chokes, gripping your hips.

His eyes glue to the motion of your hips flexing under your dress, ass coming up and smacking back down against the strength of his large thighs. You feel him twitch through his jeans, and you moan along with him.

"F-fuck," he groans, mouth hanging open, the tip of his tongue falling out.

You lean forward, collecting the saliva in your mouth. Realizing what you're doing, Caleb tilts his head up and sticks his tongue out, eyes wide and dilated.

You let your spit pool onto his tongue, and he takes it eagerly, swallowing it down with a whine and a thrust of his hips.

"I've thought about it, too," you breathe, and his lidded eyes flicker between your face and where you're shamelessly humping him. "Every single time. Even when I'm not trying to. But when I'm touching myself—"

"Oh fuck—"

"And I'm trying to come, all I can think about is how warm you were and your spit in my mouth—"

"B-baby," Caleb stutters, his head lolling to the side, unfocused eyes fluttering and rolling back in his head with each dry slap and grind of your hips against his. "Please, please—"

"I always think of kissing you when I'm coming—"

"Coming," Caleb gasps, and you think he's just mindlessly repeating you until you notice how rigid he's gotten, completely still and flushed bright red as he moans, "oh, fuck, I'm coming—"

And you can feel it, the sticky warmth flooding into the front of his jeans, seeping into you as you gasp. You grind down against his throbbing cock underneath the stifling fabric, wishing you were taking every drop of his cum instead, not letting a bit of it go to waste.

Caleb whines, crying out softly as you roll your hips, and you swallow every pretty sound with hot kisses until your clothed clit catches on his ruined jeans just right.

"Oh fuck, there—" you gasp, lips messily attached to his. You feel the tears of pleasure and overstimulation streaming down his face as he bucks up into you still. "Caleb, Caleb—"

"Come," he begs, and your eyes meet his. Your hips falter at the unadulterated affection there before you speed up, breath hitching when you feel yourself being to crest over into mind-numbing pleasure. "Come for me, honey, please come for me love please—"

Your eyes pinch shut, and you cry out for him when the orgasm hits you all at once, all your limbs seizing up as you convulse in his lap.

"Oh fuck there, there it is," Caleb grunts, grabbing at your trembling thighs under your dress, moaning when he feels your slick that had dripped down them. "You're coming, you're actually coming—"

Your pussy flutters and tightens in your soaked panties, and you moan, wondering what it would have felt like if you had had the foresight to tug his cock out of his pants, if your precious Caleb had filled you up before you came around him.

Next time, you think in a haze, giggling breathlessly when you realize there was an endless number of next times now.

Caleb's lips meet yours, and you meet each kiss as they slow into something lazy and content. He keeps leaning closer and closer to you, his hand cupping the back of your head, protecting you when you both end up weakly tumbling to the ground, and you laugh.

Your eyes are warm and shining with joy when you look up at him, pulling him down for another kiss, and another, because they were all yours now. Every kiss, every moment.

It was the same messy meeting of tongue and spit and teeth from that unspoken moment years ago, except this time, he wouldn't pull away.

"When do we get to do that again?" you gasp, and he laughs too, bright and happy and maybe, finally at some semblance of peace.

"Whenever you want it," Caleb hums, pulling back to kiss the tip of your nose, then your cheekbone, your eyelashes, all the way up to your temple and back down to your lips again.

"Well," you start, grinning as your loop your arms around his neck. He smiles down at you in befuddled admiration, like he couldn't believe you were really here. "You're the birthday boy."

There's a subtle shift in his eyes, suddenly shining with vulnerability when he asks, "But you want it?"

"Oh," you whisper, brushing at the leftover tears that cling to his long lashes. You kiss them when his eyes shut, your nose nuzzling against his.

Dummy, you think fondly. Worried you didn't want any more when you just had the best orgasm of your life, just from dry humping his lap.

When you'd been dreaming of doing this for years. When you would've been happy if all he wanted was just a kiss.

But his post-nut shyness was sweet, even if coupled with that deep-rooted fear that when he closed his eyes, you'd disappear. And your heart was too full of love not to reassure him.

So you banished the shadows that haunted the corners of his mind with another gentle kiss, pressing all your love for him into it.

"Of course I want it, Caleb," you murmur, smiling up at him. "You're all I've ever wanted."

He sighs, his lips meeting yours in another kiss. This one is unhurried, an intimate promise between you.

"Happy birthday, baby," you whisper, and he smiles.

#caleb x reader #caleb x mc #caleb x you #caleb smut #caleb x reader smut #lads caleb #lads caleb smut #lads caleb x reader #lads fanfic #lads caleb x you #lads caleb x mc #lads x reader #love and deepspace

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humanjarvis · 3 months ago

Text

a closer look

synopsis: every time you try to take your relationship to the next level, you always shy away at the last second. lucky for you, dr. zayne has a solution!

tags: inexperienced reader & zayne, soft dom zayne, reader fears penetration at first, zayne sets up a surgical camera so she can watch him finger her, vaginal fingering (duh), “anatomy” “lesson,” praise, “good girl,” improper use of hospital assets pairing: zayne x fem reader word count: 2.3k

a/n: this came to me in a dream. enjoy

“Have I given you reason to be afraid of me?” Zayne asks you softly, attentive gaze trailing down your stiff body.

“N-no!” you blurt, thrusting your hands out in mortification. “You haven’t, I swear you haven’t. This is just…new to me.”

“Me as well,” he retreats from above you, moving back on the sofa to give you breathing room.

Just moments ago, you’d been writhing under him needily, his tongue plunging into your eager mouth as you groped each other with abandon. Spurred on by your initial pleas, he’d dared to take it further this time—further than either of you had ever been. But as his hand had traveled down your body, dipping just the slightest bit inside your panties, you’d gone rigid. Zayne, ever aware of your reactions, had stopped his movements immediately, looking seekingly into your eyes for answers. Unfortunately for him, once that cautious hazel gaze had found yours, you’d squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment.

“It’s nothing that you did, Zayne,” you sigh as you sit up, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “I know you’d never hurt me. I’m just…scared.”

“Of?” he asks softly, and the way his kind face is void of any judgment makes you want to extract your brain and beat it for denying you the chance to feel him.

Another sigh escapes you as you gather your thoughts. “What if it hurts?” you wonder shyly, fiddling with your clammy hands. “I always imagined it’d hurt. And there’s never…been…anything there, outside of medical stuff. That’s the only thing I have to compare it to.”

Nodding along patiently, Zayne extends a hand to you, pulling you to him when you accept it gratefully. “I’m sorry that you’re frightened, but I understand your hesitation. I’m content to just hold you in my arms, if you’ll let me. As long as it takes, I’ll wait for you.”

“No, I-I want to. With you, soon. That’s the problem—I’ll think I’m ready, but then the second we get close, I freeze up. I just don’t know what to expect, and that scares me.”

Humming contemplatively, Zayne laces your fingers together. “I think I can help with that.”

The usually bustling corridors of Akso Hospital are eerily quiet at night.

Hurrying through them as if a ghost will jump out at any second, you scour the door plaques for room 429.

I’ll be finishing up early today. If you’re able, can you meet me at the hospital this evening? Room 429, Zayne had messaged you hours ago. And with no other plans and a lingering sense of guilt that you know he’d disapprove of, you’d agreed almost instantly.

Combating pangs of confusion—he never asked you here at night, outside of official events—you don’t realize you’ve scurried past the door until the room numbers grow too high. Backtracking briskly, you tap the wood with two soft knocks before a calm “Come in!” beckons you inside.

Room 429 is a standard hospital room—a large examination table, a sink and cabinets, and two simple chairs. At the small table near the back of the room—much humbler than the sleek standing desk in his office, you note perplexedly—Zayne sits, pen in hand, leafing through an endless stack of paperwork. Why did he move his office here for the night?

“Great, you’re here,” he says, setting his pen atop a thick packet. “Take a seat.”

“Um, okay,” you mumble obediently, heading toward one of the navy guest chairs.

“Not there,” he calls.

Turning to face him, you catch the way his eyes shift to the examination table. “Is this some kind of impromptu appointment?” you ask, his secrecy filling you with stubbornness.

Zayne rises from the rolling chair that’s too small for him, crossing the room in measured strides. “Not a sanctioned one.”

Before you can ask what he means, his hands are wrapping around your waist, lifting you up to deposit you on the soft table padding.

“Hey!” you squeak, surprised but not fighting him. “What is all this? I had my annual checkup a couple weeks ago, I’ll have you know. And I won’t be your guinea pig, either.”

Zayne tsks with amusement. As he presses a button, a large black mount lowers from the ceiling, its sturdy hooks securing a small silver device. Another button, and the device’s tiny red light flicks on.

And suddenly, your reflection stares back at you from a monitor on the opposite wall.

Anticipating your interrogation, Zayne speaks before you can. “This is a high-definition surgical instrument. It’s used to help us see the body during minor procedures.”

You blink at him quizzically. “So…a camera?”

“Yes. A camera. Repurposed for…recreational matters,” he quips with a slight upturn of his lips.

“You should know your own body,” he continues gently. “Exploring yourself—whether with or without me—is your right. And after last night, I figured…perhaps being able to see my actions as they happen would assuage some of your fears.”

“You…when did you have time to…?” you trail off, staring up at him in wonder.

“I believe I told you I finished my work early today. This was the reason,” he reveals. Even with you perched on the examination table, Zayne’s imposing height exceeds yours. His assurance is a warm blanket as he stands beside you, resting a large palm on your bent knee. “I’d like to help you explore yourself now. Will you allow me to?”

With a heavy gulp—more from anticipation than nerves, you realize—you nod your consent meekly.

“I don’t know what that means, darling. Can you give me words?”

“Yes,” you exhale shakily. “Help me. Please.”

Smiling softly, pride flashing across his face, he leans in to kiss you sweetly. Then, reaching up to bring the camera closer, he angles it toward your lower body. On the far wall, the feed is dangerously close to revealing what lies beneath your skirt.

“I’ll raise this,” he says, lifting the fabric with care. “And these…will need to come off,” he eyes you, gesturing to your thin cotton panties.

For a moment, you debate removing them yourself. But if this was about overcoming fears….

“Can you do it, Dr. Zayne? I wouldn’t want to get in the way,” you whisper coyly.

His eyes widen as he pauses. Then, collecting himself, he inches his hands forward to tug at the sides of your panties, sliding them down with precision. “Of course,” he says softly. “I’ll take care of you.”

As he sets his eyes on your naked cunt for the first time, Zayne shows admirable restraint, looking away after only a few tense seconds. Some hypocritical, eager-to-please part of you would almost be offended, if not for his tells: his quickened blinks, heavy breaths, and fidgeting fingers.

“I’ll get started now,” he exhales, voice husky with veiled desire. “You’re free to stop me at any time.”

And as you gaze at him with trust and only a little bit of fear, Zayne begins.

“This is your pelvic bone,” he gestures slowly. “It supports your body weight.”

The warmth of someone else’s hand on your bare hip is a foreign feeling. Foreign, but not bad, you decide, relaxing under his touch.

“The mons pubis,” he continues, hands ghosting over the mound beneath your belly.

“And this,” he murmurs, spreading your folds carefully, “is your pretty little pussy.”

The word—in here, from him, in reference to you—is so scandalous it makes you gasp. You try desperately to avoid his gaze, eyes flitting across the room in panicked arousal, but you don’t find the reprieve you’re looking for.

Because on that far wall, looking back at you tauntingly, is the velvety skin of your most private part, glistening with your growing desire.

Snapping you out of your staring contest, Zayne taps the flesh of your thigh twice. “Open, please. Wider.”

Swallowing thickly, you oblige.

“Good,” he praises, tracing your exposed entrance with an elongated index finger. “This is where I’ll touch you. Is that alright?”

Through heavy drags of air, you forget his earlier instructions, nodding quickly as your answer. When all he does is lift a brow, a teasing smirk playing on his lips, you hazily remember his request. “Yes,” you whimper apologetically. “It’s alright.”

“Well, then. Suck,” he orders simply, holding his finger to your mouth.

The command startles you at first. But as you look between the man beside you and the far wall, recalling how frustrated you’d been with your fears last night, you part your lips slightly. Just enough for him to enter.

Timidly, you circle your tongue around him, coating his finger in your saliva. Once he deems it wet enough, he taps your thigh again, and you release him with a soft pop.

With half-lidded eyes, Zayne hums his approval, pushing closer to you to angle the digit at your entrance. “Hold onto me if you need to,” he whispers, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder.

And then, his finger sinks inside you.

It’s one thing to feel the tension. To clench as a light, unfamiliar pressure pushes firmly inside your heat, claiming the untraversed territory with every inch.

But as the discomfort subsides and you open your eyes, seeing it unfold is something else entirely.

On the large screen, Zayne’s slender finger pumps in and out of you slowly, impactfully. With every exit, your pulsing pink walls hug his retreating digit, begging him to stay. And when he grants their request, every thrust back inside has them clamping around his finger, as if barring him from leaving them lonely.

Watching with rapt attention, Zayne splits his focus between the monitor and you, gauging your expression for signs of discomfort.

But as your body melts with newfound pleasure, you sigh softly along to the rhythm of his pumps, eyeing the way he breaches your wetness with wanton intrigue.

The way he disappears inside you, giving his body to yours…you want to kiss him. You need to kiss him. But the moment you lift your gaze to his lips, licking your own as you lean in, Zayne moves his face just out of reach.

“No,” he murmurs his denial, stroking your walls with added vigor as he turns your face back toward the screen. “Don’t get distracted.”

Grumbling your disappointment, you allow his hypnotic movements to recapture your attention. But before long, you’re curling into his touch. “Can you…m-more?” you pant, risking a longing glance up at him.

“More?” Zayne repeats, slowing his pace to a deep probe that makes you writhe in impatience. “Is that something you can handle?”

“Yes,” you cry, clutching his pristine lab coat. “Can handle it, if it’s you.”

He hums contentedly. And a split second later, another long finger joins the first.

Eyes glued to the screen, you see the intrusion before you feel it: his thick, united digits headed straight for your core. As he prods at the small opening, advances met with quivering resistance, you almost think you’ve asked for more than you can take. But as slick dribbles out of your squelching hole to welcome him, the fluid dulls the stretching sensation, and your fluttering cunt sucks him in greedily.

A loud, lewd moan has you arching erratically, and Zayne wraps a strong arm around your lower back to support you.

“How does it feel?” he murmurs between steady pumps. “Are you still frightened?”

“No,” you mewl ardently. “It’s good. You’re good. But I…” you pause, racking your fuzzy brain for the right words.

“You what, my love?”

“I can’t…I don’t think I can…like this…” you trail off with an embarrassed whine, hoping he understands your babbling.

“Mm,” he nods sympathetically. “It’s natural that you can’t come from this alone. What a good girl you are for telling me.”

With his free hand, Zayne leans forward to adjust the camera, centering it over your glistening cunt. Once satisfied, he flexes his thumb to rest gently on the twitching bundle above your entrance. “You know what this is, don’t you, darling?”

“Clit,” you breathe, the word leaving you in a garbled gasp thanks to the shocks of his feather-light touch.

“That’s right,” he praises, kissing your temple while his fingers scissor lazily inside you. “This is how you’ll finish.”

As your voices fade, room filling with the wet sploshes of your tightening walls, the force of his thumb grows heavier on your clit. You almost squeal as the pressure increases, instinctively lifting your hips out of the camera frame—to which Zayne firmly pushes you back down.

“Watch,” he commands sternly. “So you’ll know how to do the same when I’m away.”

Curling his other fingers inside you, Zayne rolls his thumb in devastating circles, grinding so deeply against your nub that it greets you with spasmic, greedy twitches on the monitor. For a moment, his movements are mesmerizing, his thumb drawing patterns on your clit in time with his measured pumps. But as he slips out his index finger to pinch your aching bud, the gushing slick heralding your release is the last thing you see before your eyes screw shut from ecstasy.

As you writhe against him with thankful sobs, Zayne’s movements slow before stopping altogether. “It’s alright,” he shushes you. “Let it take you. You look beautiful like this.”

And in the comfort of his reassurance, those sobs turn into quiet, blissful moans.

You’re not sure how he does it—the sink and paper towels are on the other side of the room—but when you open your eyes, Zayne’s hands are clean.

“I’m very proud of you,” he says gently, wiping a stray tear from your eye. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” you mumble, nuzzling into his palm. “You were right. Seeing it, knowing what you were doing…it did help,” you finish shyly.

“I’m glad. And in that case,” he adds, tapping the camera appreciatively, “I’ll ask around about the cost of installation in my home office.”

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littledes1re · 11 days ago

Text

Cherry pie

Pairing: Oldman!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: After countless dates with a boy, you know that next time you’re going to sleep with him. But you’re way too inexperienced. So what better way is there than showing up at Joel Miller’s door with cherry pie in hand, and asking if he’s willing to help you out?

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut, oldman!joel, dom!joel, both reader and Joel are kinda unhinged, slight pervy!joel, tiny bit of mean!joel but he is a softie, cheating (also not? bc reader is not together with that boy), inexperienced!reader, girthy age gap! (61 and 24), praise kink, slight degradation, breeding kink (?), oral m!receiving, pinv, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, fingering, riding, size kink, outbreak, tiny bit of thigh riding

A/N: oh my gosh that old, dirty man is back at it again. I missed him, I hope yall did too😌

Your fingers tapped nervously on the plate beneath the cherry pie. The sweet scent was almost unbearable, but giving up wasn’t an option—not after that time you spent searching for ingredients outside of Jackson.

The sun dipped low behind the trees and it was nearly evening. The timing was perfect for some pie, and you were sure Joel would love it.

His house sat on the quieter edge of Jackson, marked by a ‘Miller’ mailbox, a wooden porch, and a dried-out garden. (You couldn’t blame him though, he was working way too hard to keep up with his garden.)

Three knocks.

“Hi.” You greeted him, a smile tugging on your lips. His eyebrows quickly furrowed—just as you know him. Joel looked exhausted. His green flannel dirty, hair messy and dirt stained boots. He just came back from work.

“Whatcha doin’, girl?” His voice hoarse, deep. Sending shivers down your spine.

And you knew this was a bad idea. Heck, asking Joel—your mentor, your teacher and someone who took care of you countless times—to show you how to give someone a blowjob was embarrassing.

But you didn’t know how else to learn. You were way too inexperienced—no enough friends to ask, no porn, no education in this town.

And after your last time, having to interrupt a heavy make out session with that one boy who works at the day care, you needed desperate help for next time.

“Bought you cherry pie.”

His eyes lingered over the pie for a moment, then landed on your body—following the curve of your skin up and down, lingering far too long on the red crop top you were wearing.

“Made me pie, eh? It’s cold outside. Come on in.” He opened his door wide, a hand coming to the small of your back and letting you in—lingering a bit longer than usual.

From the inside, his house was cosier—the last bits of sunlight spilling from the windows, painting everything into a golden haze. His furniture, old and rugged like him, was scattered with soft pillows and a few photos here and there. And of course, his beloved wooden carved animals, carefully crafted, sat in every corner, quietly collecting dust.

You carefully place the pie on his kitchen counter, nervously biting the inside of your cheek.

Joel already pulls out two forks, one for you and one for him. “Now what do we have here.”

You knew he adored your pies. Sometimes you’d bake him two or even three, and he’d devour every last bite—but only after he’d done something in return. Whether it was fixing something around your apartment or bringing you something from patrol, there was always a little exchange involved.

“What’s the matter with you? Why the face?” he asks, and your heart leaps, suddenly remembering why you came. He already took a generous bite of cherry pie, a smear of filling resting messily at the corner of his mouth.

“Just—uhm. Can you do me a little favor?”

“A favor? Should’ve known. Y’never bring that old man pie without wanting any favors.”

You giggle quietly, also taking a bite of pie.

“What is it this time, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart.

The first time he called you that was when you were together on patrol. He taught you how to use a sniper, his hand landing gently on your shoulder, squeezing softly when you did well. Or when you helped him fix your light—tools in your hand, his voice calling you a good girl when you handed him the right ones.

Or when he had you creaming around his fingers. After giving him his pie, quietly, on your couch. Leaving small kisses on your neck, the other hand rubbing your nipples through your shirt, telling you how good you are for him.

And a ‘this can’t happen again.’ leaving you with wanting more.

So, you weren’t sure if you were here because of that boy or because of Joel. Because, admittedly, you have been aching for his touch since then.

“Cat got ya tongue?” He interrupts your thoughts with a quick snap of fingers. “My back is fuckin’ killing me. Let’s sit down on the couch, then you can tell me about that little favour of yours.”

Before you can answer him, he pulls out two plates, carefully puts one slice for you and two slices for himself, and then walks to his living room with them.

You take a deep breath.

Walking into the living room, you see him sitting there—already one of the slices gone—as he starts on the other. You gently make your way to him, sitting down next to him. He takes his fork with pie and brings it to your mouth, making you giggle and take it, a coo leaving his lips.

“C’mon, say it,” he urges, nudging you. Your mind spins with all the ways this could end.

Either he’ll react well—just as you know him—and help you, or he’ll make you leave his house and never contact him again.

You start, “So there is a boy.” And you can see him clenching his jaw tight, fork leaving his hand as his eyebrows furrow.

“That so?”

“Mhm. And I—I don’t know how to ask you this but—“

You look down, your fingers fidgeting with each other, heart thudding in your chest like it’s about to break out.

“Spit it out, kid.” He sighs, sets the plate down, and turns his body toward you—making it now impossibly more difficult for you.

“I—I want to do things with him. But i’m kinda too inexperienced.” Your cheek heat up while you’re talking, your gaze falls down not wanting to look into his disturbed face. The air in the room now feeling impossibly thick.

After an awkward silence you peak up to Joel, who is just looking at you. You can’t tell if it’s disbelief or disgust. Or maybe something in between.

“Jesus christ, girl.” He mutters out. “And what do you want me to do? Hold your hand while you’re getting dicked down?”

Your eyes widen, a gasp leaving your lips at his wording.

“Oh my god—no, no. That’s not what I meant.” Well, what you meant might be just a little bit worse than what he interpreted it as.

“Just—ya know…maybe show me how to give a blo—“

“Nah.” He interrupts you swiftly, shaking his head. “Not happenin’”

You sigh, defeated. Not only did you feel embarrassed, but you probably just ruined your almost perfect relationship with him. Joel took a pillow, mumbling something under his breath, and placed it over his lap. Your eyes perked up at that—he was hard. And he was trying to hide it.

“B-but, you also showed me something else the other time. Wouldn’t be that the same?”

He sighs. “Baby, you ain’t comin’ here dressed like that, bringing me cherry pie and asking me to give you sex ed.”

“Y’know I ain’t got anyone else.” You pout—maybe that’ll help. “And besides, you told me to come to you whenever I needed something right?”

“Christ,” he groans, rubbing his forehead. “Just can tell you how it’s done, yea? Nothin’ more.”

You hesitate. Hearing it out loud would be more awkward than him simply showing you. His eyes leave no room for choice, so you give a small nod.

“Comin’ here asking me how to blow someone.” He shakes his head, in disbelief.

“Heyyy, Joel—I don’t know how else to learn okey? I don’t want to embarrass myself.” You whine.

“S’fine.” He grumbles under his breath, sitting up straight. “Y’start by teasing.”

His eyes land on your tits.

“Show ‘em. Every boy will appreciate it.”

Your cheeks flush red.

“Then you get on those pretty knees. Take it out, give it some love.”

You ask, curious. “How do I give it some love?”

“Can’t serve everything on a silver spoon can I?” Grumpy, annoyed—making you amused. The pout from earlier starts to form again, you give him a pleading look.

He sighs once again. “Give kisses first. From top to bottom. Stroke gently.” And you notice how the tip of his ears are red.

“And the rest is pretty much self explanatory, ain’t it sweetheart?”

You look at him, the curiosity not letting up. As if you had no clue of the world, wanting him to explain it to you in every single detail. And you were so amused at how flushed and annoyed he was getting.

“God damn, girl. Open them lips, wrap them around and go up and down.”

“How fast?”

“Just how fast that person likes.” He shruggs.

“How do I know how fast that person likes it?” And it’s laughable at how dumb you were making yourself seem, but seeing him grip the pillow over his crotch tighter, his cheeks flushed and sweat dripping from his forehead—it was worth every single second.

“I let my girls know when I gather their hair in my palm and push them faster down.”

Your breath hitches, his girls.

“Then I buck my hips into their mouth,” he continues.

All this time, you thought Joel was a miserable, lonely man with no relationships whatsoever. Embarrassment washes over you as you think about how you believed you were the only one he liked—and that when he fingered you, you were special. You came here to get educated—no, you came here to seduce him. And that was the plain truth.

“Got that in your pretty little head?” He asks you, suddenly pinching your chin between his fingers and making you look at him.

You wanted him to push your head down and buck his hips against you.

“Not really.”

“You’re getting on my last nerves.” He grumbles before putting the pillow away and revealing his bulge. Your eyes land on it, as he zips down his pants, looking at you. His eyes darkening.

“C’mon. That brain of yours had to take some sort of information, right?”

His eyes land on your tits.

You quickly nod, pushing your crop top up quicky, revealing your breasts to him. You hear a groan leaving his chest, then a chuckle.

“Good, that’s what I like to see.” His hand finds your chest, fingers squeezing, then pinching your nipple. “Now what do we do?”

“Get on my knees.”

“Atta girl. Get on those knees.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice when you slide down the couch and kneel in front of his bulge. Nodding, he gently pulls his hard one out of his boxers.

You almost start to drool at the sight.

He was so big. And he was pulsing. Red mushroom head, precum dribbling from the slit and decorated with veins from bottom to top.

“Now, what did we say?” He asks, his hand gently pumping himself up and down, while your eyes follow.

“Give it some love.”

Your hands shakily grab his cock, looking small compared to his length. Stroking up and down, looking up to him with doe eyes and placing kisses on every inch while you listen to Joels groans.

“That’s it.” He gathers your hair into his palm, forming a loose ponytail to keep it from falling in your face. “A man should always do this, yea? Not let you do all the work.”

Your cheeks heat up again, his eyes lock into yours as you nod. There was a warmth spreading inside your panties. You had already difficulties taking his fingers last time, you wonder how it’ll be if you took his cock.

“Wanna take him into my mouth.” You mumble.

He coos. “‘course ya do. C’mon then. Show me how good you listened.”

“Up and down.” You nod. “Hm, up and down, that’s right.” He answers.

You open your lips, hand gently stroking up and down his dick. Slowly, you wrap your mouth around his tip, hearing him shudder in response.

You try different things out. Swirling around, getting deeper, pulling out and giving small kitten licks. All the while Joel groans your name, and without noticing, your ponytail wrapped in his fist, he moves your head—slow, deliberate—up and down his length.

“Just like that. Y’learning fast.”

The pleasure in your abdomen getting unbearable. You feel yourself soaking through your panties as you start grinding your hips against the heel of your foot.

“Would ya look at that.” He chuckles, his hand going faster.

And as Joel’s movements get messier, he dives your head down until a gag rises sharp in your throat. You cough, and he pulls out quickly, watching your face closely.

“Deep breaths, deep breaths, baby.” He carefully tries to calm you down, and while you try to breath normal again, he starts apologising: “I’m sorry, sweetheart. That should’ve not happen. Got too lost in the pleasure.”

“S’okey.” You smile lazily to him, drool hanging from the sides of your face, lips swollen red. You looked too beautiful for your own damn good right now. And Joel wants nothing more to take you right then and there.

“I think that’s enough for today. You already learned how to use your mouth. I’m sure you’ll do good.”

Disappointment washes down your face. You sit there looking up to him with pleading eyes. The throbbing in your cunt unbearable and the urge to take care of him way too big.

He slips the edge of his shirt over his thumb and brushes the drool from your mouth, slow and careful.

“Pretty girl. You let that boy treat you well, yea? Or else.” He mumbles, but your eyes are only on his wet, aching cock.

The boy was forgotten, and Joel could see it in your hazy, fucked-out eyes. You were needy—needy to be touched—and he wished he could just take you, right on his couch. But he made that mistake once. He couldn’t let it happen again.

You move before you even realize it, climbing onto his lap and settling on one of his thighs. His hard cock grazes your skin, and he takes his time looking at you—your lips, your tits.

“Oh angel, we can’t.” A breath leaves his mouth.

You lean in and start kissing him—his cheek, his neck—fingers stroking through his hair as you suckle on his collarbones. His hands find your waist, gripping tight. One hand cups your breast, pinching your nipple. And before you even realize it, your hips are grinding against his thigh.

“Why?” You ask, laying your head against his chest, moving your hips in a slow rhythm.

“I would ruin you.” He answers, “And people in this town would kill us.”

“But you’re just teachin’ me something. Nobody has to know.”

A groan leaves his lips when your hands wrap around his cock, gently stroking up and down.

“That so?”

“Hm”, you nod. “Y’still need to teach me how to take cock.”

“Jesus christ, sweetheart. When did ya get so bold, huh?”

And you want to say ‘when you left me with aching for more’ but you don’t. Instead, you focus on the pleasures building in your tummy. Grinding harder against the rough fabric of his jeans, and a whimper slipping from your lips.

Suddenly, Joel mumbles a “fuck it,” then follows with, “Pull your pants and panties down. Now.” He demands it—and you do just that, standing up and tugging everything down.

“But you ain’t gonna complain if it hurts.” His hands pull you back into his lap, making you sit down again. “All this begging and then complaining about it hurting would be pathetic, girl.”

“C’mere. You’re wet enough.” One hand touches your folds, the other holding his cock. You buckle up, his tip gliding over your folds as you release a breath.

You gently and slowly, sink down.

“Easy, easy, babygirl.” He helps you. Squeezing your hips and guiding you through. A cry leaving your lips when you fully sit down. His length stretching you, touching places you’ve never even felt before.

“S’big, yea? That’s a mans cock, baby. Not gonna gave that much satisfaction when you ride that boy.”

Your head falls to his shoulder, biting down, clenching on his cock. “So big.” A whimper falling from your lips.

“Oh I know, I know.” He whispers. “But you’ll take it, baby. Still need to teach you, don’t I?” He says it playfully. Joel knows the boy is long gone from your mind—and that you came here for one thing: to get fucked by him. There’s no denying it.

He shifts underneath you, gripping you by your thighs and thrusts two times up, leaving you breathless.

“Good?”

“Mhm. More.” And he doesn’t need to hear that twice. He starts giving you quick thrusts, altering between deep and slow, while your moans fill the room.

Your hands grip his shirt, looking at him, his eyebrows furrowed, concentrating, rough breaths leaving his mouth. Tits start to bounce up and down, while he pumps in and out of your squelching cunt.

“Ain’t the one I used to be, girl—help that old man, will you? Start moving your hips.” He groans.

Your body almost limb from the pleasure, starts moving at his request. Going up and down, circling. His hands guiding you, helping you. Biting your lips, whines filling the quiet room and as Joels body suddenly shudders, you feel it.

His cum pumping you. Spurt after spurt, filling you to the brim.

You whimper, looking down, seeing drops of cum escaping your pussy.

“Oh, that’s a good girl.” He coos. “Tightest fuckin’ cunt i’ve ever had. Made me cum in no time.”

And you’re still aching for more.

“Could’ve just go to him.” You shrug. “He would’ve at least lasted longer.”

Joel looks at you with widen eyes. The relief after his orgasm completely gone, his cheeks and the tip of his ears flushing red. Not with shame or embarrassment.

But anger.

Without a word, he grabs your hips and forces you down onto the couch beside him. Your eyes widen, hands clutching his neck as he looms over you.

“Joel, what are you doing?” You ask, with no answer. Instead, he spreads your legs and grabs his cock.

He glances down, noticing he’s still soft. After a few frustrated strokes, he mutters, “God dammit.”

You giggle.

“Find that funny, huh?” He asks and you can’t even answer before he fills you with two of his fingers, a yelp leaving your lips. “Still got my fingers, baby.”

“Joel..” You squeeze your eyes shut when he curls them, his thick fingers going in and out of you.

“M’right here, angel. Y’think that boy of yours can reach those spots huh?”

And the spots he reaches are indescribable. Your mouth falls open when he hits your g-spot over and over again. Your legs start to shake, as you feel yourself getting close.

“Look at that, y’let me cum in you so well.” He whispers, looking at the ring of sperm build around his fingers whenever he pulls them out of your cunt.

“Joeljoeljoel.” With that you clench down his fingers, hips bucking, tummy clenching, you come around his fingers with a big cry.

Before you can even come down, he’s filling you again—his cock sliding in. The stretch feels good this time, and you clutch his shoulders as he murmurs your name. Your sensitive walls tighten around him, his length still a bit soft but just firm enough to push deep.

“Takin’ it so so good, baby.” He gently whispers in your ear. His lips latch into your neck, kissing and biting. Your moans start to fill the room again, as his thrusts begin in a quick rhythm.

“Feels good, feels so good.” You whimper, and squirm around. “I know it does, I know. That boy may last longer, but he won’t give you a reason for your pussy to be swollen red.” He looks down at your cunt while saying, a thumb landing on your clit.

You can’t even listen to him as the pleasure grows in your tummy once again. “M’gonna cum, please.”

“Good, c’mon then.”

His thumb speeds up at your clit, your leg falls from the couch because of the hard thrusts. Your hands grip impossibly tight to his shoulders.

“Gonna fill you up again, show this whole town who you belong to, yea?” Your eyes get wide at that, making him chuckle. His thrusts growing sloppier and sloppier.

“Joel, please.”

“Shh, s’okey. Cum with me, baby.” And you do.

You let go. This time, it’s harder than any orgasm you’ve ever had. Your mouth falls open, silent, as Joel gives you two more hard thrusts before spilling inside you—filling you up again, his release dripping onto the couch beneath you.

He kisses your temple, your nose, your forehead while you come down. His breathing is still hard and deep just like yours, softly coming down from the hard orgasms you two just had.

He pulls out, sits up slightly and watches as his cum oozes out of you.

“Christ, all filled up aren’t you?” His fingers wander to your slit, then he gathers the cum that drips out of your hole and pushes it in with two of his fingers.

With all the exhaustion, you can only whimper.

He thrusts them in and out, thumb gently landing on your clit, just slightly grazing it and making you shudder because of the sensitivity.

“No boy, yea? You’re mine. And if that takes, that’ll prove it.” He looks at you, furrowed eyebrows. And you nod your head softly, limbs to weak to function as you lay on his couch filled to the brim while his fingers are still working inside of you.

The next orgasm rolls in quietly, soft and fleeting—just enough to leave you relaxed and sleepy. Joel lets out a quiet chuckle, then pulls you close by the waist and shoulder. You nestle your head against his shoulder, and he kisses your forehead with quiet affection.

“God damn, y’need to bring me more often pie, sweetheart.”

😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 just need that old man so bad…

Taglist: @vickie5446 @a-goose-on-mars @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @keseqna @shivispunk @kyloispunk @marisemonteiroo @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @lovelystrawberrysblog @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner @millersweetheart @wildthyng @armandispunk

#joel miller #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #tlou #joel miller tlou #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #hbo tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfic

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tonycries · 1 year ago

Text

Can't Touch Me (Like Gojo) - G.S.

Synopsis. In which intentionally making your fríend-with-benefíts jealous ends up with more benefits than you’d think.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, FWḂ! Gojo, slight Sukuna x reader, rough VERY jealous séx, Satoru goes feraI omg, unprotected, FWḂ-to-lovers, thígh riding, fíngering, creampíe, overstím, spítting, implied thréesome, he’s a bit mean and possessive, swearing.

Word count. 4.8k

A/N. Heheh, hoping y’all have a lovely week coming up <3

“-n’ there’s this really great café downtown with those cupcakes you like-”

“Toru.”

“-I’ll get ya some for that kick you need after a lecture with Yaga. Speaking of Yaga-”

“Toru-”

“-he’s the one in need of a kick. I swear, that man gave me a B on my presentation just because I caught him in the middle of his interpretive dance routine-”

“Satoru!”

At this, Satoru pauses in the middle of buckling up his jeans to throw a grave nod your way. “I know, right?” Promptly sauntering over to pick up his t-shirt from where it had been thrown onto your bedroom floor, “It gave me nightmares for a few days, too. Which is why we should go to that café tomorrow and then…”

You roll your eyes - partially out of frustration, partially out of necessity to rip your stare away from those sculpted shoulders on display. Decorated in angry, red scratches running down, down, down. Somehow, you manage to grit out, “Satoru I have a uh- date.”

And ah, was it a sight to behold - because, perhaps for the first time in the twenty-something years that Gojo Satoru has wreaked havoc on this planet, he’s stunned into silence.

Still very groggy from sleep, still very sinfully shirtless standing at the foot of your bed. His kiss-bitten lips fall slack as you plow on, “And it’s just- I can’t make it tomorrow night because he invited me to his party.”

Party? This was the first time you canceled one of your…appointments with your friend-with-benefits - and it was for some party? Satoru could do parties, too - much better ones than this loser, he’s sure. Ones that would actually warrant you bailing on him.

Shaking away the strange thoughts ringing in his mind, he spits, “Who?” Just about all he could get out now.

Whoever he was - it was true about the parties. Why would you want to waste any time going to something like that when Satoru was the one known for them on campus. Him and Suku-

“It’s Sukuna.”

“Oh.”

---

It was stupid - it was ridiculous. And you don’t know why Sukuna ever agreed to this scheme, but here you were, glued to his side like his favorite lil’ plaything for the night.

“What?” you shout for the nth time tonight, scooting closer on the couch. And you see his lips move, yet, to your frustration - despite being seated so flush against you - no sound comes out of them.

Whatever they say about Sukuna and Satoru’s parties were true - and then some. Because right now, it was so loud you could barely hear yourself think, let alone whatever Sukuna was talking about. Heaving out a sigh, you get ready to give up and suggest joining the thrumming dance floor - before, a large, soft hand glides down to your waist.

Fingers digging into the plush of your hips as Sukuna yanks you easily to plop down onto his waiting lap. Thighs strong and steady underneath yours, meeting your surprised gaze with his smug one, “This better?”

His hot breath fans the shell of your ear, sending traitorous shivers running along your spine - all the way down to where Sukuna was resting hand right above where your tight dress was hiking up.

Involuntarily, you find yourself nodding along, “Y-yeah. Much better.”

“Good.”

Fuck, you could feel each and every rumble of his broad chest against yours as he continues the conversation like nothing happened. The faint tap! tap! tap! of Sukuna’s fingers drumming on your squirming hips to the beat of the pounding music.

And it’s really hard to forget where you are, yet it hits you like a semi-truck - five of them, in fact - when his dark eyes widen at something over your shoulders. The steady beat of his fingers halting abruptly, “Oh?”

You knew what that look meant - knew who it meant. Because, really, there was only ever one person that could command as much attention in such a hazy, packed campus party.

Dipping your head, you hastily ask, “Is he looking over at us?”

To which Sukuna finally tears his gaze away, amusement and something else so dark swirling behind his gaze when he grabs the back of your throat. Whispering against the skin, “More than looking, pretty. Satoru’s planning my funeral and dancing on my grave already.” Moving up, voice dropping to a low, low whisper, “All according to plan, of course. N’ I think…” You jolt as he bites down on your earlobe, hard. “-that we should give him a lil’ show, hm?”

You bite back a soft moan, palms smoothing over Sukuna’s pecs to steady yourself. “And just what did you have in mind?”

“A little bit of this.” he grins, eyes flickering over behind you. “A little bit of that. And some of-” Sukuna chuckles at the way you’re so responsive underneath his touch, bucking when he gives your ass a tight squeeze. Tracing right up, up, up the middle of your spine, “-this.” Lips just inches away from yours now, close. “And you get him as a new boyfriend, and I get killed for taking what I can’t have.”

You feel something soft - fleeting.

And then immediately Sukuna’s pulling away, those lips that were just barely one yours curling up into such a sly smirk, “Yo, Satoru.”

You stiffen at the name - and the burning hole being stared into your back right now - whipping your head around to be met face-to-face with a towering Satoru. Brows furrowed, biceps rippling when he crosses his arms, lips drawn tight as he hisses through his teeth, “Seems the two of you are having a lot of fun.”

Oh, were you thankful for Sukuna’s sharp mouth right about now. Because while you’re still sitting there with your mouth stupidly agape, he muses, “Mhm, a lot of fun.” Thumbing your face back towards him, “Isn’t that right, pretty?”

Fuck, those were fighting words, ones that had Satoru looming closer - practically sandwiching you between the two men.

“I’m sure she can speak for herself.” he snaps back, slender fingers circling your wrist. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“I dunno, Toru.” And, well, maybe you were an idiot. Maybe you were a mastermind, because you only bat your lashes up at Satoru so deceivingly innocently. “Kuna here-” relishing in the way he flinches at the nickname, “-was jus’ telling me how great of a boyfriend he’d be. Right?”

The other man nods, “Since this pretty lil’ thing is single, thought I might as well take a shot.”

“Please.” Satoru was pulling you closer against him now, irritated huffs prickling waves of goosebumps across your skin. Words venomous, “Some boyfriend he’d be. I’m sure he’d do nothing other than give you weak dick and bore you to death.”

Sukuna scoffs, “Right, because yours is so much better?”

“You really think you have what it takes to satisfy this lil’ minx?”

Both men were gritting their teeth, trapping you between them. People were starting to stare now - some even pulling their phones out to start recording in case of a fight. And before the argument could escalate until that point, you catch Sukuna’s eye. Cutting off whatever next retort was on the tip of his tongue with a short, subtle shake of your head.

“Well then…” he instead purrs, grinning as if he was in on some inside joke between the two of you - on purpose, of course, just to watch Satoru’s eyes grow harder. “Guess if I’m ‘boring her to death’ then you-” Sukuna gives you a little push, nudging you towards Satoru’s chest. “-can teach her all about fun.”

Before you can react, two strong arms are looping your waist, helping you stand up - and pulling you clean off of Sukuna’s lap.

You’re hit with Satoru’s expensive, heady cologne - and his chest against your back, rock-hard, chest thumping wildly. You blink up at that uncharacteristically clenched jaw, “Toru?”

Now, you’ve seen him moody, you’ve seen him irritated - but never to this extent. Positively fuming, teeth grit, jolting at the mere sound of your voice as if his whole body was hit with a wave of electricity. Like some hidden, primal part of himself was being poked so dangerously awake when you softly intertwine your fingers with his. All gentle against his almost bruising hold, you question, “Are you alri-”

You don’t get to finish the question, because all it takes is another slow, leering grin flashed at you from Sukuna before Satoru mutters, gravelly. “Excuse us, then. I must have a talk with my woman.”

Starting to walk in long, fast strides upstairs - with you all stumbling and trying to keep up behind him.

Urgent. Dangerous.

“Extra room’s unlocked, you two!” you hear Sukuna call out after the both of you. And the last sight you see of him is when he mouths a silent “You’re welcome.”. One hand flashing you a thumbs up, the other adjusting the crotch of his pants. “Have fun.”

Satoru only clicks his tongue, moving very purposefully towards where Sukuna’s bedroom was instead.

“Woah- Toru, slow down.” you yelp, out of breath at his ruthless pace. But of course, since this is Satoru, he won’t have it any way other than stopping immediately in his tracks. Turning briefly around to you - only to wrap two arms around your waist, throwing you so easily over his shoulder like some ragdoll. Large palms tugging down the hem of your ass as he continues walking. “Y-you’re so-”

So what? Mean? Jealous? Playing right into your hands?

You don’t even know - nor do you really care, because Satoru finally reaches his destination.

“Fuck- here.” he spits.

Slam!

The door is flung open so hard it almost rattles off its hinges - and you aren’t faring any better. Because no sooner has Satoru stepped inside, he’s throwing you onto the king-sized bed in the middle of the room.

The mattress dips as he slowly makes his way up to you, your legs quiver at how much he just looked like a man starved - eyes half-lidded and crazed, hair ruffled. Having finally found a full meal in years. Darkly eyeing down the way you’re splayed out like such a slut on the mattress, dress hiking up with each bounce at the sheer force of his throw.

“So-” Satoru’s fingers reach out to lazily unbuckle the straps of your heels. Lingering much more than necessary. “-got anything to say?”

You bite your lower lip, holding back a delighted grin while his hands dance up your thigh to fiddle with that garter you knew he’d love. Slow. Agonizingly slow. Cocking your head in faux-confusion, “Hmm, like what?”

“Oh I dunno.” Satoru muses, saccharine sweet. And oh you could tell by his tone that he didn’t like that - didn’t want to like it. Running his fingers feather-light all the way down your legs to fling that useless garter onto the floor. “How about a ‘oh I’m so sorry, Toru, for bailing on you and acting like such a slut with the biggest asshole on campus jus’ to rile you up.’”

You bristle at his mockingly high tone, oh yeah, your plan worked - hell, maybe too well.

Teeth clenched, you hiss, “Well what are you gonna do about it, Toru?” Jutting your chin in defiance, “You’re not even my boyfriend. Maybe he jus’ fucks me better than you.”

“Say that again.”

Fuck, it takes you a second to even recognise his voice as your familiar friend-with-benefits. So jagged and raw.

And yet, you’re still running your mouth - so close to his. Too close. “Maybe he jus’ fucks me be-”

Now, usually you were the one that’d shut up Satoru mid-sentence - this time, however, he’s the one crashing his lips against yours. Swallowing the rest of that sentence in such a messy clash of teeth, and spit, and desperation.

Pulling ever-so-slightly on your glossy lower lip with his teeth, “Say it again, sweetheart.”

Oh, you knew you shouldn’t. Not one bit. But you do it anyway, letting out a muffled, “He f-”

And again. And again and again and-

Each and every time Satoru’s kissing away your mean little words, a large hang coming up around your throat to thumb apart your lips further. “Open.” he hisses against your mouth, so angry.

It’s as if on autopilot when you do, bruised lips sagging open. Leaving the perfect lil’ opening for Satoru to spit onto your lolling tongue, once. Twice. Thrice. Until your bleary eyes are snapping open, whining against Satoru’s iron-hold fist when you pathetically try to pull away in embarrassment.

Because shit, let it be known that Gojo Satoru has perfect aim - except for when it comes to you. Letting the steady strip of spit splatter against the side of your mouth, gliding his thumb to smear it all over your lips.

“How cute.” Satoru coos, eyes hooded. He gives your pouty mouth a final, chaste peck, sucking softly on your bottom lip. Chuckling, “Makin’ me almost forget you were locking lips with some other bitch earlier.”

And Satoru has the audacity to laugh - laugh - hoarse, and humorless at the way your jaw drops open in disbelief. Humming into your throat, “Yer right, though, m’not your boyfriend.” He leaves little bite marks down your racing pulse, your collarbone, your tits spilling out of your sinful dress. Eyes just devouring you through his long lashes, “But that doesn’t make you any less mine.”

Sitting back on the mattress, all it takes him is a simple tug on your hips to seat you so prettily on his lap. Your legs trembling around his thick thighs, gasping at the feeling of something so rock-hard right under your clothed pussy.

“Since ya like riding thighs so much, sweetheart-” Bunching your dress up at your hips, gripping your waist - tight. “-let’s see how you like mine.”

“What- oh ngh- fuck-” you’re gasping when he just starts dragging your sloppy hips down his thigh. Long, harsh movements that don’t even ease you into it.

“Shit.” Satoru groans at the feeling of your cunt drooling, seeping into his skin already. He’s angling his head to spy on the heavenly view - hooking a finger around your drenched panties. “This damn thing is-” Pulling - tearing. “-in the way.”

You’re gasping when Satoru pulls back to look at you with a content grin, dangling the flimsy fabric around his finger like a badge of honor. “You’re- ngh- buying me a new one.”

“Oh, anything for you.” he’s grazing his teeth along your earlobe, fingers finding their way back on your hips to grind them on his thigh, back and forth. Up and down up and down up and- “Or is that what you wanted me to say?”

And shit Satoru is so mean with the way he gives your ass a sharp smack! Pulling your whiny face closer, grinning sternly against your lips. “Why don’t you ask that new boytoy of yours to buy you some, huh?”

“B-but-”

“B-b-but-” he mocks, bouncing his knees up and down to get you to slide your cunt down his long thighs faster. Puffy folds spreading so shamefully open - so shamefully good. “You were so happy being such a slut for him before, right?” Just goading on your poor self to huff and puff in a way that made his cock twitch wildly. “So why are you here? With me?”

You’re stubbornly keeping your lips sealed shut to keep yourself from crying out - and oh, Satoru didn’t like that. Almost as much as he didn’t like seeing you giving those beautiful heart-eyes at some other bastard.

“Oh? Playing shy now?” Smack! “What happened to the slut from earlier, huh?” Bouncing his knee faster. The pads of his long fingers sting into your skin, sure to leave bruises for him to admire later - and for some people to take note of. Pulling - drawing your cunt to hump him like a bitch in heat. “Tha’s alright, pretty. I get it.”

And Satoru - mean, mean Satoru - waits until your features soften in relief, almost letting out a sigh - before dipping a hand down to brush a thumb at your pretty clit. Hard. “Guess I’ll jus’ have to bring her out.”

“Oh- fuck fuck fuck-” you mewl, nails digging into Satoru’s shoulders when he starts to draw frenzied, methodical little circles on your throbbing clit. “S’too- good- oh my god-”

“‘Toru’ works jus’ fine, sweetheart.”

But oh for how confident Satoru was talking you into insanity, he can’t help but gape in wonder down below him, awe-struck with how sloppy you were. He could see you sweet sweet juices trailing down his palm, that glossy sheen on his thigh. “You’re so dripping wet, pretty. Who’re you this wet for? Me or-” Satoru’s free hand comes up to squish your cheeks together into an embarrassing pout, turning your head to the adjacent wall, where Sukuna had a framed photograph of himself - because of course he did. “-him?”

Fuck, Satoru can’t even be mad at the way he feels your cunt clench in surprise - because the feeling is so heavenly. His pretty girl, getting off on just his thigh.

Hips stuttering as you move faster - sloppier. So, so filthily all the way from around his knee just till where you could feel the curve of his massive erection.

He doesn’t even have to move your hips for you anymore - you’re moving as if on instinct at this point. And it makes him smirk, “Heh, such a slutty lil’ thing aren’t ya? Gettin’ off on my thigh?” Feeling you push your hips down hard - so hard. Pelvis desperately trying to hit all your sweet spots, “N’ who’s thigh are you riding right now?”

It’s all you can do to manage out a whimpering “Y-you.”

But, of course, that wasn’t enough. And Satoru’s only quirking his fingers just enough on your clit to make you cry out loud. “Yeah tha’s more like it. Louder now - who’s thigh are you riding right now?”

“You-”

“N’ who got you this fucking wet?”

You cry out when Satoru angles his leg up ever-so-slightly to watch gravity slide you faster down his thigh. Clit catching so fucking obscenely along the fabric of his pants. Ruthless.

“F-fuck you, Toru!”

“Mhmmm, thought so.” His hot tongue darts out to catch those big, fat tears rolling down your cheeks at the unforgiving stimulation. Muscled thighs burning lightly now - faster - fingers so erratic. Only getting even more so. “Cuz you’re mine aren’t ya?”

You cum so hard - violent, even - that you don’t realize when you are. Just that you’re letting out a broken sob of Satoru’s name while he toys so relentlessly with your clit through your high.

Flashes of white in your vision, your heartbeat in your ears. So good that you’re almost tearing apart his button-up to shreds, hips jerky and sensitive as you your sloppy cunt gushes all over Satoru’s thigh. And, fuck, you’ve never felt so much like such a slut than when you look down to catch the glossy coating all over it.

One that Satoru swipes thumb at - pooling the syrupy slick on his fingerpad before bringing up to his pretty pink lips and-

Pop!

“Mmm.” He groans, muffled. “Fuck, you’re so sweet - could taste you forever.” Eyes rolling to the back of his head at your addictive taste, “Almost makes me forget that you didn’t answer my last question.”

And you don’t know what you’re reeling more from - the way that Satoru throws you around so easily, pushing you back until you’re splayed out against the plush mattress, shaky legs on his shoulders, arms around his neck. Or from the realization that shit, you’d been too busy losing your absolute sanity to answer his question.

“I- I didn’t hear.” you make up an excuse, heels digging into the muscles of Satoru’s shoulders now. “I’m yours, Tor-”

“Now now, don’t try that with me, sweetheart.” Satoru cuts off your flurry of apologies, kissing softly at the ankle beside his neck while he pulls off your dress and bra. You didn’t need those, anyway. “Guess I just hafta prove it to ya, right?”

And fuck was he well and fully intent on proving it to you. Because the words are barely out of his mouth before he’s peeling down his drenched pants - and those unnecessary boxers right along with it, too.

Satoru hisses when his painfully hard erection smacks against those toned abs, smearing precum in a small, filthy little pool. So so angry with the need to be inside your tight pussy - to prove to you from the inside out that you were his.

“Ya like what you see?” he notices your fixed stare at his cock. Greedily following the precum beading at his fat, red head, making its way between Satoru’s prominent veins. To those tufts of white way down, down, down- “Hey there.” You’re startled out of your little reverie by two wet fingers being snapped in your face, “As flattered as I am, this is actually my favorite part.”

And fuck you could see why it was.

Because it felt so sinful to watch with bated breath at the way Satoru fists his swollen cock, gliding his weeping tip between your swollen folds. Letting your pretty pussy slobber all over him. Up and down. Again. And again. Teasing.

“P-please, Toru-” you whine around the fifth time he’s “accidentally” nudging at your poor clit. Hips bucking up in need for more more more- “Enough teasing, jus’ wan’ you ngh- inside me.”

To Satoru, no sweeter words have been spoken. But he still manages to curl his lips into a leering smirk at your fucked-out, needy self. “Funny. Coming from someone who shit- pretty, you’re pussy’s trynna suck me up - who couldn’t wait to bail on me tonight for some other hah- jerk.” He presses his thick tip down on your clit, on purpose. “Would’ve fucked you ngh- real nicely, tonight, y’know? What a shame.”

You can only watch when he draws his hips back, lining up right with your sloppy hole. “What a shame m’gonna ah- fuck you like the slut you are right now.”

It’s all that’s said before he’s pushing in - to your snug cunt, to your fucking lungs it felt like.

“Oh- oh fuck, Toru-” you keen, back arching off the bed at the stretch. Satoru’s girth was rubbing up against your gummy walls and stretching them out so good. All the way until all you could feel was the rapid thump! thump! thump! of his throbbing cock pushing between your legs. “God, s’too big-”

“No no no, you don’t get to say that.” Satoru spits into your open mouth, hips jutting forward like some animal in short, shallow grinds to bully himself deeper. “You don’t get to fuck- ngh- act all coy when you brought this upon yourself.” His words come out faster - more slurred. Falling out faster and faster as his hips do, “Not when you decided t-to act like a lil’ slut hah- n’ guess what?”

Whether it was a rhetorical question or not - you weren’t sure. All you know is that you’re mewling up tearily at such a feral Satoru, “W-what?”

To which he only smiles against your lips, hips suddenly going still. Dangerously still. “N’ that means m’gonna fuck you like one.”

Before you can even react, he’s pushing in all in one go. Fuck, it never got easier even after so long.

“Oh- fuck I can’t take it- all-” you cry helplessly as he keeps pushing past that first ring of resistance. The curve of his cock massaging all those hidden sweet spots inside while he keeps splitting you apart deeper and deeper - not daring to even slow down. Not until Satoru’s well satisfied with the kiss of your bruised cervix against his thick head ,heavy balls smacking against your marked-up ass.

“See? Knew you could take it, you always do.”

And then he’s moving - not with the slow, persistent determination from before, no. Satoru was so animalistic, bouncing you unapologetically on the mattress.

Hands keeping your hips still to let him ram his entire cock inside your tight pussy. Over and over and-

“Still don’t think you’re not- fuck- mine, sweetheart?” Satoru runs a hand through his hair to see you better, to drink in the sight of your puffy folds bulging around his cock. Struggling to take in each mean thrust, “Because this seems ngh- reeeeal convincing that you are.”

You scrunch your brows in a pathetic plea, “I-I am yours, Toru- ngh-”

But he only brings his ear closer, “What was th-that? Didn’t hah- hear you-” Hands pushing apart your legs until they burned at the stretch. Until you were so shamefully on display for him, “You hah- need more convincing? Oh, I see.”

“I don’t! Oh- T-ngh”

It’s all you can do to let out teary, broken moans when Satoru rolls his hips harder. So carefully practiced with the way he locates your sweet spot easily.

“Yeah? You hah- like that?” he groans, words punctuated by a deep, harsh thrust. All hitting the bulls-eye each and every time. “Like me f-fuckin’ you like you’re mine?”

At this point, you’re scrambling at the damp sheets, the headrest, Satoru’s shoulders - just anything and everything to hold onto whatever’s left of your sanity - which seemed to be slipping away with each press of Satoru’s head against your g-spot.

But it still wasn’t enough.

Languidly, he brings a hand over to pinch your ravaged clit between two fingers. Having you whine so prettily with each roll of his fingertips. “Answer the question, pretty.”

“Yes!” you gasp, feet kicking at the sheer overstimulation. “I love it- ngh shit shit shit- I love it, Toru- love it so much.”

Shit, you might’ve just broken him.

Because while you may have thought that this answer would calm your Satoru down a bit - it only made him snap. Eyes widening, hips stuttering, swollen lips falling into such a fucked-out oh! - he looked like an absolute wreck.

Letting out a low, throaty groan of, “Oh fuck, you’re gonna be the ngh- death of me.” With this, he’s pressing his sweaty forehead onto yours, breaths coming out in feverish little puffs that match his merciless cadence. “Wish they could fuck- see you like this.” Ramming inside you harder - meaner. Giving your clit a light smack! before he starts playing with it once more. “I’d ah- fuck you in front of all those losers that think they have a chance just to show off how good you are f’me. Because you’re fuck fuck fuck- my good girl, right?”

You nod as much as you can, head just spinning with each brush of Satoru’s dick against your sensitive spots. Fingers twirling at your clit just as dizzyingly. Letting your slick glisten all over his wrist - his painfully squeezing balls - all the way up to his abs with how hard he was fucking into your tight pussy.

The both of you were getting so sloppy now. No care or concern for the party still raging on outside, not when your gummy walls were sucking up Satoru’s aching cock like that.

“No one ngh- can fuck you like this.” Satoru sucks on your lower lip. Ragged, like it pained him to keep talking, but he couldn’t stop anyway. “No one.” Milking you harder and harder like he was high off your sweet moans. More desperate - depraved. “Cuz m’yours.”

And he repeats that - into your lips, into your forehead, down your neck - over and over while you cum so fucking hard all on his swollen cock. Plushy walls squeezing so tight that it was almost difficult to fuck you through your high.

Ripping out strangled, raspy groans with each clench of your slutty cunt, “N’ you’re mine.” You think your vision gets hazy through your climax, and the only thing you can hear are those obscene squelches and Satoru’s voice. Like a mantra, “You’re mine- you’re mine you’re mine you’re mine- fuck you’re mine.”

Not straying too far behind, Satoru cums and he thinks he sees the pearly gates of heaven - with you, such an angel.

So sweetly whining into his ear when he’s painting your walls white, pumping rope after rope of thick, hot cum into your awaiting pussy.

Blinking back his vision only to eye the way it overspills, dribbling down your slit with each harsh ram of his hips.

“Wan’ go again-” Satoru groans. Only fucking his seed deeper and deeper and oh- he didn’t want to stop. Didn’t think he could stop with the way you were bringing out each and every single last drop like it was delicious. “F-fuck I needa go again. Swee-”

SLAM!

“Woah, seems the two of you are having a looota fun.”

Still not pulling out, both you and Satoru scramble to cover yourselves up with Sukuna’s now-soaked sheets. Well, mainly cover you up, for Satoru had no shame in staring the other man down. Scoffing out, “The fuck are you fuck- don’ squeeze me so hard, pretty- the fuck are you here for?”

“It’s my room, n’ I had a feeling you’d be here.” Sukuna lets the door shut so agonizingly slow, flashing the two of you a lazy, devilish grin. “Besides - this is my date, after all.”

A/N. Plagiarism of work not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #tonywrites #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader

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screampied · 1 year ago

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✩ㅤ cw. fem! reader, size difference, choking, size kinks, unprotected, dirty talk, praise, full nelson, mdni.

play fighting with suguru which later turns into him having you in a full nelson.

“awww, c’mon. don’t tap out on me now, sweetheart,” he purrs against the soft shell of your ear, hearing you sweetly gasp at the gaping barrage he creates with his thick cock. just a few moments ago—you were on top of him and now you were being stuffed full, legs dangling and weakly being held hostage while a beefy arm of his slings around your throat. your body collapses backward as you’re just idly bouncing on his lap, feeling each of his bulky muscles flex and twitch behind you. “biiiig stretch, fuck there we go. mhm, my baby’s all nice ‘n flexible.” he gruffs, peppering a few sultry kisses near the open curvature of your neck. you moan, feeling the secure grasp of his broad hands move from its original placement, gluing under the cracks of your thighs.

he’s got you in such a risqué position, your body continues to jostle against his, feeling his carved hard abs rub off against your skin. “ngh, suguru,” you squawk, and your hooded eyes peer down at yourself taking him in fully. his base had a pretty sheeny tan, resuming to pump in and out of you, already blissfully bottoming out. you felt him everywhere—and he’s just holding you upright with two burly arms, locking his arms under your plush pretty thighs. “ ‘m gonna cum again, fuck.”

with a husky snicker, he deepens his thrusts against you by moving his hands toward your rickety hips. a cunning simper spreads against his lips before he ghosts a few silvery slick fingers down your sopping wet slit. “well yeah, with a weak pussy like this, bet you are. you poor thing.”

your jaw couldn’t help but loosely hang itself open as he’s just ruthlessly lodged inside of your cunt, creeping a swollen fat thumb near your puffy hood to toy and flick with it some more.

his touch to you was like electricity, and you were very much on the verge of breaking. he was so thick — insanely thick, geto’s pearly poking crownhead mercilessly drags in and out of your pasty walls and you recognize the delicious curve of his dick all too well.

your moans grow even louder, so loud that it’s bouncing against the paper thin walls whilst the sharp slaps of skin create shivers all throughout your body. “fuck, more. put me in a chokehold, sugu.”

“dirty girl,” he grunts, his hefty base starting to slather up with sappy juices from your slick heat. a big brawny arm curls around your neck again and he presses a chaste kiss toward your cheek.

“my, you really shouldn’t say such things, y’know,” and as you’re still taking his cock, you feel his free hand grab near one of your breasts. he gives it a nice squeeze before focusing his attention back towards your neck, hearing your cute exasperated gasps. licking against your ear, he lowly whispers, making you slightly turn your neck to face his feral sly eyes. “i could just snap you in half if i really wanted to. all i gotta do ‘s jus add a little pressure like this ‘n . . my doll’s gonna be all broken and we can’t have that, huh.”

sweet sweet whimpers spill from your lips as his arm still remains wrapped around your throat. he makes sure it’s a safe hold, giving you a few frisky squeezes here and there just to hear you whine for more.

he’s so beefy. through your glossy doe peripherals, you could visibly see his veins pop out through his skin. you felt your pussy throb once you start to imagine all the times he goes to the gym alone, all the times he’s lifting weights.

if anything though, you wanted him to be lifting you instead.

“nothin’ to say? aw, pity,” his gravelly voice lowers, and you’re brought back to harsh reality once his palm swats against your ass. you bite down on your tongue in attempt to suppress your incoming lewd whimper but it still comes out. “fuck, always so warm f’ me, god,” and his grip against your neck loosens. the pits of your tummy tense and coil up as your clammy thighs continue to tweak and spasm from his sharp thrusts. so deep. every few seconds, he’d pull your legs up or drag them further apart just to hear you gasp.

you’re almost marveled by the fact that such an obscene position even exists. your legs could barely stand and if it wasn’t for the help of his hands, you’d be screwed.

“s- sugu—ah!” you whine, feeling his bulbous head ram its way against your convulsing g-spot. he knows that spot like the back of his hand, the cute bumpy texture that never fails to present himself around his angered tip. shaggy long tresses of black hair tickle near the nape of your neck as you fall back. “fuck fuck fuuuck,” you loudly snivel, digging your nails into his meaty thigh. once he hits it, he keeps hitting it until your cute voice strains itself out. he’s still practically got you folded as you’re trying to ride out your euphoric orgasm. the bed devastatingly dips inward from the crushing masses of weight piling on top of it.

“there we go, that’s my sloppy girl,” he coos in a raspy tone. geto’s pitching his voice against your ear as he speaks and oh, his words a mere raunchy whisper. he hears your talkative cunt squelch out, faint strings of syrupy slick forming a little plash around his weighty base. geto holds your hips firmly, showering the crook of your neck with a plethora of balmy kisses as your body ruts and shakes.

“good girl, listen to how nasty you always sound for me,” he hums, sneaking his stubby fingers back down towards your weeping wet cunt, maneuvering a few circles near your drooling slit. “i know, i know,” he talks over your enraptured shrills, and he then gives your pussy a patting spank. you moan, falling back against his sweaty chest and a trail of his curly chest hair titillates against the center of your back. “this is a lot more fun then wrestling, isn’t it, sweetheart?”

“y- yeah,” you swallow, and he teasingly wraps a stocky bicep around your neck again. he’s still merrily buried inside of your gummy walls, feeling you writhe around his lap and he chuckles. you’re panting, full lungs desperately trying to gather up any amounts of air that it could before you exhale. “again, sugu.”

with a purring hum, he lifts you back up, trying to pull your leg over your shoulder. “hm, fine. but keep up. ‘m not gonna go easy on ya this time,” and he gives your dribbling sensitive clit another playful pat. “and ‘m certainly not gonna go easy on her either. but, i’ll try not to break you too bad this time princess, no promises.”

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ilikeevilblondes · 6 months ago

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Breaststroke

18+ MDNI!

Summary: Joel, single dad extraordinaire, is struggling to teach his daughter how to swim. You end up teaching Sarah over the course of a few weekly swimming classes. One fortunate day, Joel accidentally stumbles upon a rather intimate situation involving you in the shower rooms after hours. He’s about to leave, but right before he can, he hears his own name spilling out in a desperate moan from your lips.

TL;DR: It’s more fun to stay in the YMCA (shower rooms) (because that’s where Joel fucks you.)

W.C: ~7.7k

Warnings: Singledad!Joel x swimmingteacher!reader, softdom!joel, accidental voyeurism, mutual masturbation, blowjobs, praise, fingering, unprotected p-in-v, shower sex, pull out and pray, implied age gap, Joel’s got that daddy humour (no outbreak!)

Note: waiter! waiter! some plot with my porn, please! sorry, you freaks, mama had to stretch the narrative before the rawdogging. and sorry for the late upload, the flu was not gucci. hope y'all enjoy as always, though! and if you got any reqs, feel free to send them my way 🤓

@pedrospurplerain

According to HealthyChildren.org, most children in America begin to learn how to swim by their fourth birthday. Basic abilities like floating and treading water can be ingrained in their motor skills at that point, and by the ripe age of five or six, most children will have been able to freestyle across any urine-defiled public pool.

Joel sighed as he watched his five-year-old angel scream and hiss at the local YMCA pool, refusing even to dip a toe into the chlorinated abyss.

“Sarah, pumpkin, you’re not a cat.” He sighed, pinching his curved nose bridge.

Sarah merely shot him a dirty look, the dirtiest a toddler could muster. She crossed her arms over her chest, the bright orange inflatable armbands around her upper arms squeaking as she did so.

“I don’t wanna go in there, daddy.” Sarah humphed.

Joel shook his head, looking up at her from where he sat in the shallow area of the gym’s pool. His little treasure, bless her heart, was stubbornly standing over the ledge and peering down at him with both fear and unwavering defiance.

“Y’gotta, pumpkin.” Joel ran a hand through his wet hair.

Of all the dads in the world, Joel would not say he was among the worst percentile. He certainly tried his best to do anything and provide everything for his little girl; working as many shifts as he could to pay for her school (his kid somehow, thankfully, didn’t get his brains and was starting first grade ahead of schedule), moving into a ‘nicer’ neighbourhood, and spoiling her with all the stuffed toys and lego sets her little heart desired.

Being a single dad wasn’t easy, to put it simply. Joel would’ve thought, owing to karmic nonsense, the universe could have been a bit nicer to him for the measly crime of forgetting to teach his daughter how to swim. But there he was, staring up at a child more hydrophobic than a rabies survivor.

“Can we go home, Daddy? Please?” Sarah stomped her little foot down onto the tiled floor.

“We will, sugar, I promise. Just, not until you at least try to step down here.”

Sarah shook her head wildly.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” She said, more decisively.

“Says who?” Joel raised a dark brow.

“Me.”

“Remind me again, pumpkin, are you the adult or the child in this relationship?”

“You’re the one in the kiddie side of the pool, Daddy.” Sarah giggled, revealing a toothy grin.

Joel sighed through a smile. God, this kid was too smart for him. She was gonna be the death of him.

Mumbling something to the effect of ‘smartass’ under his breath, Joel treaded to the end and hoisted himself up, towering over his three-foot-nothing daughter and dripping chlorine-infected water down onto the ground.

“You wanna switch places?” He crossed his arms over his broad, bare chest, nodding his head toward the pool.

“Nope!” Sarah smiled.

Joel was about to give up for the day and take his troublemaker home only to return the next weekend, when he suddenly felt a tentative finger tap his shoulder.

He whipped around to see a girl, much younger than him—and much shorter, too, dressed in the standard red lifeguard one-piece uniform.

“Sorry to intrude,” You began, biting your lip. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”

Joel blinked, not realising he had to reply to your remark like a normal fucking human would. Instead, he opted for the less popular, uncivilised caveman method of furrowing his brows and blinking madly.

He was too distracted by the way your swimsuit clung tightly over your body. Too mesmerised by the droplets of water sliding in slow motion down your curves. Not to mention that disarmingly pretty smile of yours.

God, he’d been too single for too long.

“Hello!” The reason for his singleness beamed up at you and waddled closer. “I’m Sarah.”

Your smile stretched wider as you bent down to meet her eye level and introduce yourself in return. Sarah repeated your name back to you delightedly, like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

After making a comment about how ‘cool’ her floaters were, you straightened up and met Joel’s coffee-brown gaze.

“Anyway.” You absentmindedly tucked a stray piece of wet hair behind your ear. “Um, well, I overheard your situation. And, uh, just wanted to let you know that the gym hosts free introductory swimming lessons every Saturday afternoon. I teach the classes, actually, and you and your daughter are more than welcome to come, mister…?”

By some miracle, Joel was able to move his mouth and properly communicate this time.

“Miller. Joel Miller.” He managed to say without so much as a stutter, smiling politely at you and sticking out a hand.

You took his hand in yours and shook it.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Miller-Joel-Miller. That Italian?” Your laugh was a sweet sound and, at risk of being completely predictable, music to his ears.

“The only Italian in me, sweetheart, is from the canned ravioli we had for lunch today.” Joel chuckled. “And we’d be more than happy to come, wouldn’t we, Sarah?”

To punctuate his claim, he flashed Sarah a look.

A frown cut into her soft features, but she relented.

“Yes, we would.” Sarah sighed dejectedly.

“Great! Um. Here’s the flier.” You produced a colourful leaflet and held it out to Joel. He took it. “It has the times and details and, uh, that’s my phone number on the bottom, there.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Joel pocketed it. “We’ll be there.”

“I look forward to seeing you two then.” You smiled again.

Joel would’ve fallen to his knees if you had stayed longer with that damn smile of yours. But you turned around to speedwalk towards the other side of the pool, blowing your whistle and reprimanding a bunch of teenagers running across the slippery poolside.

And if he thought the front of you was stunning, he was quickly shown that your back view was just as providing.

“You’re staring,” Sarah observed, tugging at his arm.

Joel cleared his throat.

“Let’s go home, pumpkin.” He ruffled her hair, much to a fit of giggles, and led his daughter away from the outdoor pool.

—-------

Saturday afternoon did not come quickly enough.

After a week of late nights spent finishing drywall and early mornings making Sarah’s lunch—because there was no way in hell she was going to eat whatever junk-filled shit the American school system provided in cafeterias—Joel was tired, to say the least.

By three o’clock sharp, he had arrived at the pool with his daughter dressed to the nines in a robot-themed swimsuit and bright green goggles that suctioned so hard into her little face that she looked wide-eyed and cartoonish.

And when four o’clock had rolled around, Joel was happy to report that his daughter had finally worked up the nerve to get in the pool. With your help (and some floppy-haired assistant coach), Sarah had also managed to do some basic swimming manoeuvres without clinging to the side for dear life and frothing at the mouth.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Joel approached you after the session had officially ended, and Sarah was dried off and warm. “Just wanted to thank you. And, uh, Coach Bryan for, you know…”

“No thanks necessary, Mr Miller.” You winked, then bent down to Sarah, who stood beside her father. “You did great, Sarah. Really.”

Sarah smiled sheepishly. Joel chuckled at her bashful demeanour and ruffled her hair affectionately.

“Same time next week, Coach?” He asked.

“Yes, sir.” You saluted him and walked off toward the shower rooms, a towel around your shoulders and a spring to your step.

Joel shook his head, smiling, and took Sarah home in a better mood than he had been that morning.

—-

Joel quickly learned that the swimming lessons were beneficial to both him and his daughter. Sarah was speedily conquering her fear of water, and Joel was… well, Joel spent a lot of time talking to you when you weren’t in the pool. And afterwards, too, when the rest of the kids had already left and there were no other parents to chat your ear off.

“You’re taking a gap year?” Joel mused after one particularly smooth sailing session, taking off his sunglasses and hanging them on the hem of his shirt.

“Yep. Just taking a break after college so I can figure out what I wanna do in life.” You shrugged. “Is being a contractor any fun?”

“Well, sweetheart, I doubt you’d like it very much.” Joel smiled, glueing his eyes to yours with steely resolve.

He was not going to look down at your body this time. He was not going to ogle the tight fit of your one-piece. He was better than the average man.

Besides, you were definitely too young for him. Possibly even young enough to be his daughter. You’d likely recoil in disgust and horror and, possibly, contact the local authorities to capture him, the creepy older man, if he were to ever make a move.

“Eh. I was open to the idea.” You laughed, shaking your head. “But I guess it’s dominated by big, strong hunks like you, huh?”

“I mean, I—” Joel began, but cut himself off upon realising what you had just said.

He blinked. Did you just flirt with him?

As if sensing that Joel was getting somewhere other than friendly banter with her swimming teacher, Sarah jogged up to the two of you.

“Daddy, I’m hungry. Let’s go home!” She pulled at his wrist.

Joel cleared his throat, offered you a quick goodbye, and led his daughter outside back to their car.

—-

“I promise it’s funny.” Bryan nudged your shoulder, giving you a very indiscreet once-over.

Joel was shamelessly eavesdropping on your post-lesson conversation as he towelled Sarah’s unruly hair nearby. Not to be nosy, of course, just to find out whether he was your boyfriend or not. Out of pure curiosity, really. No ulterior motive whatsoever…

“I somehow doubt that.” You hummed, no amusement evident in your unimpressed tone.

“Okay, so, there’s this ginger, a brunette, and a blonde—”

“I’ll stop you right there, Bryan, is the punchline, by any chance, ‘breaststroke’?”

“Well, shit.” Bryan sighed.

Joel chuckled to himself, giving Sarah one last tousle with the towel before settling it over her shoulders.

He concluded you either hated your boyfriend, or he wasn’t your boyfriend at all.

Joel preferred the second option.

—-

“I’m just getting some water. You okay with the kids?” You pulled yourself out of the pool, glancing at Bryan.

“Yep. All good here,” He called back.

With a nod, you draped your towel over your shoulders and made your way towards the deck chair that held your things.

It seemed that the heavens were smiling on you that day, too, because none other than Mr Miller himself occupied the chair beside yours.

And what a sight he was.

Sun-bathing, his sunglasses resting over closed eyes, and his broad, bare, tanned chest exposed to all.

“Having fun there, Mr Miller?” You smiled, taking a seat on your chair, bringing your water bottle to your lips.

Joel lowered his sunglasses and very discreetly let his gaze travel down your body.

You bit back a grin. He always thought he was so subtle.

“Absolutely, coach. Need to set a timer, though, or I’ll end up medium well-done.” Joel sat up, facing you.

You snorted at his dad-humour.

“Tan looks great.” You commented, wiping your brow with your towel.

“You think?” Joel smiled, reaching for the can of soda on his side table and taking a sip. “Thank you very much, sweetheart.”

“No problem at all, Mr Miller.” You licked your lips, your gaze momentarily caught on his … form-fitting trunks. “Well, I better get back to it.”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t want to keep your boyfriend waiting.” He pushed his sunglasses back up his aquiline nose.

“My—oh! Oh. Bryan? No. Ew,” You held back a gag. “No. No. God, no.”

Joel chuckled.

“I think you may need one more ‘no’ to prove your point there, darlin’.”

“No.” You played along. “Him and I are strictly friends. Besides, he isn’t my type.”

“He isn’t?”

“I like my men like I like my cheese.” You shrugged, standing up.

“Don’t say smelly.” Joel laughed.

You opened your mouth but decided to leave your preferences shrouded in mystery as you began walking off.

Well, until you threw him a look over your shoulder, catching him in the act of staring at your ass, but pretending not to notice.

“Aged.”

Joel choked on nothing while you innocently walked away like you hadn’t just made a heavily suggestive remark.

—-

“Daddy? Can I go talk to Amanda for a second?” Sarah asked, her gaze flickering over to a plait-wearing blonde girl nearby.

“Yeah, okay, sugar. Be quick, though. Tommy’s coming over soon.” Joel squeezed her shoulder before letting her run off, her wet flip-flops squeaking against the tiled poolside as she approached her friend.

Joel shook his head and smiled. He was so proud of his girl for overcoming her phobia. Maybe he needed to treat her to ice-cream one of these days–

“Hi, Mr Miller.”

After craning his head, Joel found you standing behind him. Bright-eyed and wearing that same, impossibly tight, lifeguard swimsuit. Thank God for nylon.

“Hey, coach.” Joel offered you a lopsided grin.

“I just wanted to say, I’ve been really impressed with your daughter over these past few weeks.”

“She’s a fast learner.” Joel moved beside you, still facing Sarah and her little friend but keeping his eyes trained on you. “Unlike me.”

“Does she get it from your wife, then…?”

Joel couldn’t shake his head faster. “No wife.”

And there went his eyes, dragging down your slightly wet body. Christ, it was like you jumped straight out of a Baywatch episode—keep it together, Miller!

“Oh.” You coughed. “So that’s why all the moms flock around you.”

Joel let out a short laugh. “I think you’re exaggerating, sweetheart.”

You took a quick glimpse at the hoard of middle-aged women unabashedly staring at the wide-shouldered man next to you before returning your sights to the wide-shouldered man himself.

“I don’t think I am.” Your lips pulled upward in a small smile. “Well, anyway. Just wanted to catch you before our final lesson next week.”

“Our final lesson’s next week?” Joel sputtered out, sounding way less calm and collected than he had intended.

“Yeah. Unless you want to learn how to swim, too.”

“I think I’m all covered in that department, darlin’.” Joel smiled. “But thank you. For everything. I know this whole shindig is free, but I just wish there was some way I could repay you.”

You clicked your tongue and, if Joel caught that correctly, lowered your voice.

“I’m sure we can find some way for you to pay me back, Mr Miller.” You said innocently, but your half-lidded eyes told another story.

Before he could so much as utter out the first syllable of a reply, Sarah came darting back.

“Okay, Daddy, let’s go!” She took her father by the hand and spared you a glance. “Bye, coach!”

Joel tried to hide both his shock from your very obvious innuendo as well as his disappointment from his daughter’s very poor timing.

He rubbed a hand down the lower half of his face and nodded at his daughter. “Let’s go then, pumpkin.” He gripped her hand and turned to you with a slightly dazed smile. “I’ll see you next week, sweetheart.”

“That you will, Mr Miller.” With a quick wink, you spun around on your heel and made your way toward the shower rooms.

—-

As fate would have it, barely half an hour later, Joel found himself sighing unhappily and looking down at his daughter as he attempted to contain his frustrations.

“We just got home—what do you mean, you left your goggles at the pool?” Joel said through a deep exhale.

“Sorry, Daddy, I didn’t mean to forget them.” Sarah shuffled her feet, her eyes locked on the floor in front of her and her fingers twisting the bottom of her t-shirt.

Tommy stuck his head out from the kitchen, one hand clutching a can of Bud Light and the other braced on the doorframe.

“Yeah, Joel, she didn’t mean to.” He piped in, unhelpfully.

“Shut up, Tommy,” Joel grumbled, shooting him a quick glare.

His brother just smirked and took a sip of his beer.

Joel sighed and turned back to Sarah, pinching his nose bridge. “Look, pumpkin, it’s fine. I’ll just drive back to the pool and get ‘em for you, okay?”

Sarah frowned. “Will you be back in time for dinner?”

“Yeah, Joel, you better be. You’re the one making it.” Tommy let out a dramatic huff.

Joel ignored him.

“Won’t take but a hot minute.” Joel ruffled Sarah’s unruly curls and pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head before turning away toward the front door.

“Say ‘hi’ to sweetheart for me, if you see her!” Sarah smiled up at him.

Joel paused mid-step, his shoes halfway on.

“Hi to who, now?” Tommy leaned closer.

“That ain’t her name, pumpkin.” Joel chose not to look directly at Tommy as he huffed out another sigh and yanked his shoes fully on.

“Ain’t that what you call her, though?”

“Now, who are you callin’ ‘sweetheart’, Joel Miller?” Tommy wore a shit-eating grin on his face.

Joel decidedly ignored him, believing it to be the best course of action.

“Watch my kid, Tommy!” He called as he stepped out of the house.

—--

The pool area was mostly deserted by the time Joel returned to it, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the lengthy stretch of lane-roped waters.

Joel walked a slow lap around the perimeter of the pool, scanning the tiles and lounge chairs and the lone lifeguard tower for any sign of Sarah’s goggles.

Nothing.

Turning around, Joel’s eyes landed on the entrance to the womens’ locker rooms. He huffed out a heavy sigh, running his hand through his grey-flecked hair. He would have preferred to not snoop in there in fear of startling any lingering guests, but he decided that there wouldn’t be anyone this close to closing time on a Sunday and, moreover, didn’t want to come home empty-handed and disappoint his daughter.

So, on he went.

The locker rooms were quiet when he tentatively stepped inside, the scent of chlorine and cheap soap clinging to the air.

Fortunately, it seemed that he was the only one in its vicinity.

And, even more fortunately, Joel immediately spotted Sarah’s bright green goggles lying by its lonesome on a bench near the showers.

Gotcha.

He was ready to make a beeline for them and head quickly home, but upon taking a few steps forward, Joel’s ears caught the distant sound of a shower running.

Turning his head toward the source of the splashing sounds, Joel’s eyes immediately noticed a swimsuit hanging precariously off the shower curtain rod.

But not just any swimsuit. It was a red one-piece with what appeared to be ‘lifeguard’ in bold, along the front.

It was your swimsuit.

You were in the shower.

Joel pursed his lips. Just his fucking luck. Of course, the inappropriately young girl he tried not fantasising about for weeks was the only other person there.

Mentally chastising himself for even entering the locker rooms in the first place, Joel pivoted sharply and began making his way toward the exit.

He didn’t get very far, though, because, after two intentionally light steps, he heard his own name drifting from the steaming shower.

“Joel…”

He stiffened. Evidently, he was caught. He’d have to apologise profusely and somehow testify that he was not, in fact, a perverted Peeping Tom—

“Joel,” You sighed, followed by … shit, was that a moan?

And at that moment, Joel realised that, alongside the splashing of water echoing from the stall, there was the unmistakable clap and squelch of—

“Joel! Oh… fuck,” Your breathy moan carried easily down the short hall.

You were fucking yourself to the thought of him.

Shit, shit, shit.

If Joel were a better man, he would already be in his car, driving home. He would have forgotten this encounter had ever occurred, tucked it deep into the depths of his mind, granted you a curt farewell for the final lesson the coming week, and proceeded to never see you again.

But Joel wasn’t a better man.

Judging by how quickly his dick came to life to rest, half-hard, against his thigh in his swim trunks, Joel was an awful person.

Well, he couldn’t come home nursing a semi, now could he?

Yeah. Reaching down to pull his throbbing cock out of his waistband was the right thing to do.

At least, that’s what he told himself as he leaned against a corner and slowly slid his fist down his stiffening length.

“Joel! Fuck, your cock feels so good!” Your pitchy whine floated down the room, amplified by the generosity of the tile acoustics.

Joel’s dick twitched in his hand.

Out of habit, he tightened his grip around his base and fucked up into his fist, squeezing his eyes shut and pretending it was your tight cunt he was jutting in and out of.

And it wasn’t hard to pretend, either. What with the sinful noises you were making a few stalls away, and the desperate pleas of ‘that’s it, Joel, fuck me harder!’

With pearls of precum dribbling down his tip and smearing along his hand with each thrust, Joel felt himself near his release. Judging by the increasingly airy quality of your whines, you were facing the same predicament.

Joel continued to fuck his fist, picturing you in various filthy scenarios.

You, slowly wrapping your dainty hand around his hard-on and eagerly taking over.

You, on your knees, choking on his cock.

You, tits smushed against tile as Joel fucked you with reckless abandon under the hot torrents of the showerhead.

Ramming brutally into your greedy fucking pussy, watching as his come-soaked dick disappeared in and out of your tight channel—

“Fuck!” Joel cursed aloud after a particularly enthusiastic thrust.

Suddenly, the water stopped. So did your noises.

Joel stilled. Oh, shit.

“Hello?” Came your voice, meekly. “Is … Is someone there?”

As silently as he could, Joel released his hold on his cock and carefully tucked himself back in his trunks.

Shit. What was he going to do?

Almost immediately after he regained his decency, the shower curtain slid halfway open with a faint metallic rattle, and you cautiously peered out, hiding most of your body behind the vinyl barrier.

“...Mr Miller?” You said, uncertainly, as if half-convinced he was some kind of dreamlike apparition.

Joel cleared his throat and took an instinctive step back.

“Uh—yeah. Just, uh… goggles. Sarah’s goggles.” He stuttered, holding them up weakly. “Her goggles. She left them here. The goggles.”

“Well, thank god you clarified that.” You smacked your lips, a sarcastic bite to your tone. The snarkiness soon faded from your expression once you added, with knitted brows, “you’re in the womens’ showers.”

“Yeah, I—” Joel winced. “I know.”

Silence.

After a moment or two, you opened your mouth to say something else, but the words died in your throat as your eyes fell on Joel’s trunks.

More specifically, the raging bulge making itself known in his lap.

“You’re hard.” You stated, your cheeks flushing a pretty shade of pink.

Joel’s eyes shot wide open. He glanced down, too, and sure enough, he was hard. It was almost as if he was fucking his hand to the thought of you only moments before. Oh, wait, that’s because he was!

To preserve the last shred of dignity in Joel’s inexecusably shameful body, he threw his hands over his groin and attempted to stammer out a valid excuse.

“Sorry, sweetheart—” No, he wasn’t. “—I, um… well, you see, I…”

Your eyes found the faint traces of precum on his right hand.

“Were you … jerking off to me in the shower?”

Yes, yes, he was.

“Frankly, darlin’, I think the better question here is, were you jerking off to me in the shower?” Joel coughed.

Your eyes trailed over his body, lingering again on where he covered his hard-on.

“I was.” Your stare found his. “Your turn, Mr Miller.”

Joel sucked in a breath through his teeth. There was definitely no backing out now.

He nodded slowly. Reprehensibly.

Shame churned within him as he desperately wished for the ground to open up at his feet and swallow him whole, possibly even spitting him back out into the fiery pits of hell where he so clearly belonged after what he had done. Unfortunately for him, the earth, indifferent to his suffering, remained stubbornly solid beneath him, leaving him stranded in his own mortification.

“Look, sweetheart, I can’t express how sorry I—lord almighty.”

Instead of letting him scramble to finish whatever bullshit he was cooking up, you decided to pull the shower curtain all the way back.

Joel gulped, taking in your newly-exposed bare body, from the soft curve of your breasts to the thickness of your thighs to the seam of your … fuck, to the seam of the same pussy you were probably fingering just moments before; glazed in glistening beads of water under the cool fluorescent lights.

You were fucking gorgeous.

So gorgeous, in fact, that Joel felt his cock fully spring to life at the sight of you, standing naked and dripping-wet from the rain of showerhead.

“Let me… let me help you out.” You bit your lower lip, your eyes hazy.

“H-Help me out?” Joel breathed, staggering backward, his hands still persevering to conserve his modesty.

You slowly approached him, stopping when any semblance of personal space was lost, and dropped down to your knees.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

Joel heard himself swallow.

“Don’t you want this, Mr Miller?” You looked up at him, your eyes pleading and almost doll-like from that angle.

While waiting for his response, your hands softly wrapped themselves around his, guiding them away from his lap to meet his tenting swim trunks head-on.

Joel, meanwhile, was busy trying to convince himself this wet dream of a situation was really happening whilst simultaneously refraining from spending his load in his trunks, because the vision of you, bare and waiting patiently on your knees, looked downright sinful.

“Doesn’t matter if I do.” Joel shook his head slowly, not registering the fact that his grip on the goggles loosened to a point where they fell to the floor in a dull clatter. “This… this is wrong.”

“The way I see it,” You hummed, your hands finding gentle purchase on his hips. “I’m naked. And already wet. And you’re…”

Your eyes flickered down to his bulge and wet your lips. Upon seeing this, Joel’s breath hitched in his throat.

“Ain’t there some—some rule against, I don’t know, a coach fraternising with a parent in this way?” Joel furrowed his brows, distractedly taking your chin in his hands and tilting your head upwards.

“No.” You eagerly let him direct you, moving at his will.

“You sure?”

“Positive.” The corners of your mouth pulled up in a small smile.

“What if someone comes—yeah, fuck it, I ain’t gonna keep pretending like I don’t want this.” Joel shook his head, his eyes dragging over you unabashedly.

“Oh yeah?” Your smile only widened.

“Go on then, darlin’.” Joel purred, his voice a low and rough timbre, his eyes overtaken with want. “What was it you said a while ago…? Help me out.”

With his less-than-reluctant approval, you tossed him another heart-stuttering wink, slipped your fingers past his waistband, and pulled him out.

And, fuck, you were not disappointed.

Joel was big, to say the least; in both length and girth, and you may have felt your cunt quivering at the mere thought of the possibility of taking him inside you later, but you were quickly overtaken by need upon seeing the drops of precum spilling from of his head.

With a hand wrapped around his base, you stuck your tongue out to lick a stripe up his length, tasting the salt of his skin and his arousal.

At your actions, Joel inhaled a sharp breath.

“You gonna finish what you started now?” Joel mused from above you, closing a fist around your grip on his cock and bringing it closer to your parted lips. He gently tapped your cheek with his free hand. “Open up for me, sweetheart.”

And you gladly did so, taking his tip into your mouth and swirling your tongue around his head like a fucking lolipop.

“Fuck,” Joel gritted his teeth, tossing his head back against the wall.

Taking his expletive as a sign to continue, you proceeded to hollow your cheeks and take his length deeper, as deep as physically possible without making you choke.

“That all you can take?” Joel tutted, caressing your cheek.

Much to your determined efforts, you only managed to fit a little more than half of him in your mouth. Because, fuck, was he big.

You whined around his cock in response.

“Shh,” Joel murmured. “‘S okay. ‘S okay, sweetheart.”

His deep brown gaze met yours, and for a second, you could have mistaken the emotion swimming in his eyes as affection.

“Nice and slow, hm?” Joel said through a satisfied exhale, his brows furrowed at the sensation of being enveloped by the warmth of your mouth.

His fingers threaded through your hair, coming to grasp at your roots, but remained stationary, waiting for you to make the first move.

You looked up at him through your eyelashes and held that eye contact as you began moving your head back and forth. Seeing his eyes briefly flutter in pleasure, you flattened your tongue against the underside of his cock, feeling it twitch as you continued your movements.

“Fuck, sweetheart. That’s it.” His grip in your hair tightened.

You started to bob your head up and down at a quicker pace as you sucked him greedily, your hand moving in deft strokes along the stretch of his length your mouth couldn’t entertain.

Joel cursed under his breath and guided you on and off his cock in a steady rhythm as he fisted your hair.

And, fuck, he let himself thrust into your mouth once or twice, but upon hearing you gag, resolved to let you take charge of the speed entirely.

“Sorry sweetheart,” Joel breathed. “Sounded pretty chokin’ on my cock, but I guess I went too far, hm?” He sighed, caressing your cheek again.

You moaned with his cock heavy on your tongue, signalling your eagerness to die of asphyxiation from a fucking blowjob, and begun to take him even further into your mouth, feeling his head touch the back of your throat.

“Shit, darlin’.” Joel groaned. “That’s a good girl. Taking it so well.”

A strangled sound escaped from your otherwise occupied throat as you continued to deepthroat a man old enough to be your father.

Truly realising the situation you found yourself in, you felt a needy sensation thrum from in between your legs. Whilst continuing to bob your head around his cock, your hand went to trail down your front and relieve some of that tension you ached to be rid of, rubbing your clit furiously.

“Oh, my poor girl.” Joel cooed, seeing this. “Come on, now. Up you get,” He gently pulled you off his cock (wincing at the loss of your mouth) and up to stand in front of him.

“Not good?” You breathed, resting a hand on his chest while his hands settled on either side of your waist.

“No, sweetheart, it was very good.” Joel dipped his head down so his mouth was less than an inch away from yours, every word releasing as a warm breath against your lips.

And then he leaned down to capture your mouth in a desperate, hungry, horribly sloppy kiss, licking into you and no doubt tasting his own arousal on your tongue.

You didn’t even register he was walking you backward until your back hit the shower wall.

“Just wanna fuck you now,” Joel mumbled, his half-lidded stare drifted down your bare form before flickering back up to meet your eyes.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” You smirked, pulling him back into another frenzied kiss.

Joel smiled against your lips.

“So mouthy,” He tutted in that authoritative, paternal voice you’ve heard him use before, in between eager kisses. “I’d like to teach you a lesson, sweetheart, but I’m afraid I’m too fuckin’ impatient myself right now.”

At the sound of that, you clenched your thighs together.

The slant of his mouth trailed down your jaw to your neck, sucking and biting at your wet skin, humming in pleasure as he did so. Simultaneously, his big, calloused hand made their way from your waist down to your lower abdomen, and lower, still, until you felt his fingers ghost over your slick entrance.

You gasped.

“Mr Miller–”

“‘Joel’, darlin’. It’s ‘Joel.’” He mumbled against your neck, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin. “Heard you moanin’ it in here a while ago, I’m fairly certain you know how to pronounce it.”

“Joel,” You obliged, biting your lower lip as you felt Joel’s fingers meander nearer to your core.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“You don’t have to… you know,” You glanced down in between both your bodies.

Joel followed your gaze and saw his own fingers hovering close to your aching mound.

“Think I do.” He clicked his tongue. “Need to get ya ready. Wouldn’t wanna hurt that pretty pussy of yours when I… well, to put it bluntly, darlin’, I don’t wanna hurt your pretty pussy when I’m fuckin’ you in a little bit.”

“Oh,” You breathed.

“Yeah,” Joel hummed, nudging your cheek with his nose. “That sound good to you, sweetheart?”

You nodded almost too avidly.

“Good,” Joel sighed, his fingers skimming over your aching cunt and just barely dipping inside your folds. “Just relax, darlin’. I gotcha.”

That was the last of the preamble before you felt one of his fingers slip inside, dragging up and down against your walls.

Normally, if left to your own devices, you were barely satisfied with a singular digit of your own. But here you were, gasping and clenching around just his middle finger.

Content with your reaction, Joel kissed your neck and slipped another finger to crook alongside the first in an even rhythm that began to spark a familiar warmth in your gut.

“There we go.” He mumbled against your skin.

“Fuck,” You whispered as you felt his thumb settle on your clit.

You felt Joel smile against your pulse point. And then, with his other big hand, he gently held your face and titled it to the side to pepper kisses along your jaw.

“You can take another, can’t you? Yeah, you can.” Joel hummed, and before you could respond, you felt a third finger slip inside, stretching you wider.

Your eyes squeezed shut as Joel’s fingers curled inside you at a faster rhythm while his thumb graciously swiped at your clit.

Blood pounded in your ears. Your breathing shallowed. You were so, so close.

“Joel, please…”

“Please what? C’mon, baby, use your words like a big girl.”

His fingers only sped up, dragging against your walls so deliciously and filling you better than your own hand could have ever done.

You inhaled.

“Please don’t s-stop.” Your breath hitched in your throat. “I’m so close.”

“You wanna come for me? ‘S that it?” Joel cooed, his breath warm against your skin and right beside your ear.

“Please,”

“Come for me then, sweetheart. Let me hear you,”

With a scream of his name, your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, sending you into a light-headed bliss as you clutched his big upper arms.

His fingers only began to slow once your cunt stopped pulsing rapidly around him, and when you caught your breath again, he tenderly slipped them out.

“Made a mess of my fingers, huh?” He mumbled, staring down at how his hand glistened with your arousal.

You felt your cheeks redden.

“I’m sorry–”

“Don’t fucking be,”

And you watched as Joel stuck a finger in his mouth and sucked your slick off it like it was a world-class dessert.

“That was hot,” Was your breathless response.

Intelligent.

“Oh yeah?” The corner of his lips tugged upward as his eyes danced from your own to your parted lips.

“Yeah,”

A soft, low laugh rumbled in his throat.

“Come here,” Joel sighed, placing a hand on the small of your back and another on the side of your face, leaning down to devour your lips in another messy kiss.

His tongue slid inside your mouth as if starved, licking against your tongue and letting you taste your own pleasure. All while the hand on your face brought you closer and gently stroked the curve of your cheek.

After a few moments, Joel broke the kiss almost regretfully.

He barely pulled away, his lips closely within reach of yours, and his breath mingling with your own as he spoke in a deep, gruff rasp.

“You still want this, sweetheart?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

Joel smirked. “A simple ‘yes’ would’ve sufficed.”

Before you could form a response to his slightly snarky remark, your breath was stolen from you at the sight of Joel tugging down his trunks fully and stepping out of them.

Glancing down, you found that he was still incredibly hard. Almost painfully, by the look of how his cock practically bounced up to his navel. Clearly, your recent oral assistance did nothing to tame the lust in his body.

Joel crowded you up against the wall once more, his tall frame easily looming over yours. One of his big hands went to caress your jawline, angling your head up toward him, and the other went to your thigh, wrapping your leg around his waist.

“Been a while for me.” He sighed, a hint of embarrassment peeking through his tone. “You tell me if I get … carried away, yeah?”

Instinctively, you hung your arms around his wide shoulders, bringing him even closer.

“Yes, sir.” Your lips quirked upward.

“Good girl,” He hummed, his thumb absently running along your bottom lip.

Then, the hand cupping your face went to guide his aching dick to notch against your entrance, sliding against your wet mound.

And, with a shaky inhale slipping past his lips, he sheathed himself inside you.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Joel muttered lowly.

You let out a whine at the feeling.

Despite being barely halfway in, Joel was already proving to be more than sufficient, especially from the way your velvety walls were already pulsing wildly around his length.

“I know, I know, I know,” Joel sighed, his thumb caressing where he held a grip on your thigh. “‘S okay, sweetheart. Shh, you can take it.”

In response, you nodded.

And Joel drove himself the entire way, balls-deep, his greying pubic hair tickling the inside of your upper thighs. He gasped in your ear at the feeling of the first full thrust and at the sensation of your channel clamping desperately around him.

He filled you up so fucking well.

“You doin’ okay? Hm?” He mumbled, leaving lazy, aimless kisses along your neck.

“Need more.”

“Oh? She wants more, huh?” He smirked against your skin. “That what you were imaginin’ in the shower?”

“Y-Yeah,” You whispered.

“Flirtin’ with me for weeks now, and here you are bein’ all shy.” Joel tsked. “Don’t worry, you’ll get more, darlin’.”

Joel began sawing in and out of you at a relaxed pace, letting out low groans of satisfaction.

With every sloppy thrust, you heard the distant wet thud of your back against the shower tiles, sounding in a steady rhythm. But, despite each measured roll of his hips sending white-hot shivers throughout your throbbing cunt, you found yourself dangerously craving even more.

“Harder.”

“Harder?” Joel hummed coyly.

“Joel,” You whined.

“Careful what you wish for, sweetheart,” Joel mumbled against the corner of your mouth.

You only realised you were moaning obscenely loud when the echo had bounced around the room, and Joel was muttering something encouragingly into your skin.

“That’s it. Y’sound real fuckin’ pretty.”

Joel’s thrusts had picked up the pace. The only sound competing with the volume of your moans were the crude wet slaps of his body against yours.

Slap, slap, slap.

You thanked your lucky stars the shower rooms were deserted after the swimming lessons, because you were sure even if someone happened to walk in on you two fucking like wild rabbits, you wouldn’t let him stop.

And some part of you knew that he wouldn’t want to, either. Not with the way he was breathing airy curses beside your ear and mumbling about how ‘fuckin’ tight’ you were and other such filthy ramblings.

After a particularly harsh thrust, you felt his pace falter and his dick twitch against your walls.

“Fuck,” He whispered sharply.

Out of the blue, Joel pulled out, leaving your slick mound vacant for a heartbeat or two before he spun you around roughly, forcing you to brace yourself against the wall.

And, not long after, he fed you the entirety of his cock again in one deep thrust.

“Joel!” You gasped.

Your hands, stretched out in front of you and anchored against the wall, scrambled to find a grip on the smooth, slippery surface.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He said from somewhere behind you, beginning to ram into you at a brutal pace as he held you in place with an iron grip on your hips. “Needed—fuck… Needed this.”

With your tits pressed against the tiles and his length kissing your cervix after every drag against your pulsing walls, your vision began to blur and your lower gut began to flutter.

You were very fucking close.

As if reading your mind, one of Joel’s hands trailed from your hip to your front, sliding down until he brushed your clit. And then he began rubbing the sensitive nub in sloppy semi-circle motions, tutting sweet words as you whined nonsensical syllables.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let me hear you,” He cooed soothingly.

You let out a pitchy whine, “feels so good.”

“That right?” Joel mumbled distractedly, using a rough hand on your neck to turn your head toward him despite the awkward angle, and claimed your lips hungrily, licking desperately into your mouth as if it was the last thing he’d ever do, and letting out hoarse noises of appreciation as he did so.

His hips continued to jut into you, setting an erratic, jerky pace.

Slap. Slap-slap. Slap. Slap-slap-slap.

You arched back against him and unintentionally broke the kiss when the overflowing pleasure spiked incredibly high.

“J-Joel,” You breathed.

The man, who was single-mindedly pistoning in and out of your splayed legs, hummed a sound of acknowledgment in response, his warm breath ghosting over your cheek.

“Joel, I’m close,” You whispered, the heat of both your bodies meeting where your back leaned against his front.

“Are you?” He replied almost casually.

His fingers only sped in their motions, swiping at your clit almost feverishly as he continued to rut animalistically into you; each thrust stretching your aching cunt impossibly wide and oh so easily finding your cervix—

“Fuck!” Your chest tightened.

“Ask for it.” Joel’s gentle yet commanding tone nearly made your knees buckle.

That, and the manic force at which he was fucking into you.

Slap–slap-slap-slap—

“Go on, baby. Ask.” His nose nudged at the side of your face, breathing in your scent as he tutted lowly, “hate to see you all worked up like this.”

“Shit—please! Can I come, please?” You acquiesced.

You felt the muscles of his rugged face pull up in a small smile against your cheek and his dick twitch inside your tight walls, sending shivers down your spine.

“Be a good girl and come for me then, sweetheart,” Joel said in between strained breaths. “Come all over my cock, I gotcha.”

Your climax came rippling over your whole body, a prolonged resonance that sent you into the territory of overstimulation—much more powerful than your first orgasm—as neither his fingers nor his cock slowed down in their frenzied pursuits.

So, there you were, chanting his name like a prayer and clenching tightly around his relentless length.

When the fluttering of your cunt subsided, Joel hurriedly pulled out and wrapped a hand around his throbbing cock, fucking up into his fist frantically and cursing under his breath. You all but folded against the wall as you felt his loss, sticking your ass out and waiting for the inevitable.

Soon, his breath caught in his throat, and you felt hot ropes of his come spill over your back.

“Shit.” Joel sighed, gently rubbing along your sides.

He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder once he recollected himself a few moments after, still softly trailing his hands up and down as both of your breaths evened.

“You okay over there, sweetheart?”

You nodded weakly, unable to voice your satisfaction with your brains all fucked out.

Joel huffed a short laugh. “C’mon, I’ll clean you up.”

Somewhere behind you, the shower handle groaned with a faint squeak. A dull clunk followed, and then, with a sudden rush, water erupted from the showerhead, dousing the two of you in a sputtering cascade.

Gently, Joel tugged you away from the wall to stand directly under the jet of water, softly helping you wash away any reminders of your reckless impropriety.

He pressed reverent kisses along your jaw, down your neck, and around your collarbone as you got cleaned up.

There was no hidden, lustful agenda to this, as far as you could tell. You assumed it was either a result of his years of fatherhood or some testament to his overall caring nature, but either way, you weren’t complaining. You happily let your eyes fall closed as sheets of warm water streamed down your body, all while Joel’s lips tentatively found yours, then your neck, and his strong hands moved along your body.

“Um…” Joel began after he had turned off the shower, looking at you with his big, soft eyes. “I know this is the completely wrong order of things, but would you like to–”

“Yes.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You didn’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“Were you gonna ask me out on a date?”

“Yeah,” Joel laughed bashfully. "Is that... is that okay?"

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, and rising on your tiptoes to meet his lips in a lazy kiss.

“The answer’s yes.” You mumbled without breaking away for too long.

You felt Joel smile against your lips.

#joel miller smut #joel miller #smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #pedrohub #the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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0bticeo · 6 months ago

Text

mark grayson | boyfriend material

summary:

“boxers? as boyfriend material?”

you shrug, your movements stifled from your position between his legs, your cheek pressing up against his thigh. you shift a little, the pleats of the oversized tee you’ve stolen from him somehow having gotten stuck under his leg.

“what? you can’t tell me these-” a gesture towards his boxers, the ones you’re currently wearing “- aren’t the type of stuff a hypothetical girlfriend would steal.”

tags: mlw, aged up a little (early 20's), idiots to lovers, pwp, mark is adorable, pining, sexual tension, making out, fingering, edging, marking, biting, loss of virginity, use of the pull out method (wrap it before you tap it), mark is down bad and so is reader, no y/n, lowercase intended.

there’s a ringing in your ear. nagging, persistent, strident little thing. everything is too loud, too much. you’re overwhelmed, maybe. there’s a metallic taste on your tongue, and your shoulders ache, skin too warm under the tight leather of your catsuit.

movement to your right. invincible, landing next to you, his hand steady on your shoulder. you lean back against him, panting, just the time for the taste of blood in your mouth to recede, for you to breathe-

a commotion.

your head tilts in its direction, your weary gaze hidden by your domino mask. journalists. it’s almost funny, how they swarm scenes of wreckage, flies drawn to a burning carcass. ruins stretch around you. the wounded are under the GDA’s care. you wonder what the fuck cecil was thinking, sending a team as uncoordinated as the new guardians of the globe on the field. you barely work for him, and neither does invincible, yet-

here you are, stumbling down a pile of rubble, invincible’s grip steadying you.

“you okay?” he breathes.

you know he can hear the erratic drum of your heartbeat. smell the blood dripping down your split lip.

“i’m fine. really.”

a flash. a journalist. tall, sharply dressed in a black tailored suit, with a cute pencil skirt, long red hair falling graciously on the long slope of her neck. striking green eyes. the embodiment of the office siren, coming straight at you to sing her pretty song and coax the filthiest gossip out of you.

you share a look with invincible and watch as his lips curl into an exasperated smile.

and so it begins. lights, camera, action!

“my age?”

you frown a little, titling your head to the side. besides you, mark - invincible - snickers. you can almost hear the words. like a cute little puppy. insulting. you’re more of a cat person.

you grin, two fingers tapping your chin.

“that’s classified.”

the journalist in front of you - twenty something, almost made your jaw drop and did cause you to get slammed into a nearby wall by the lizard league, because wow - groans, green eyes rolling playfully.

“come on, shadow,” she grins, extending her mic a little more. she’s close enough for you to grip her arm and disarm- relax. civilian. “you can’t leave us hanging! we barely know you!”

that’s the point. the voice in your head sounds oddly like cecil. done with this shit, done with life, done with this conversation. but the GDA can and will be up your ass if you unleash a PR disaster, so you humour her.

“and i don’t even have your name, hun’.”

a little blush creeps up her cheeks. your smile widens a little, sharp in all ways it shouldn’t. besides you, invincible rolls his eyes, exasperatedly fond.

“meg.”

“ooh, pretty name. right, ask me anything.”

she seizes you up. you, clad in a catsuit so dark it looks like it’s absorbing the very daylight. you, hip cocked to the side, gloved fingers tapping at your hip bone. the way the lapels of your coat brush the bloodied ground, dripping red. invincible at your side, lazily leaning on your shoulder. you, swatting at him with a tired grin because blood on leather is a pain to clean up.

meg pulls out her phone. you lean forward a little, intrigued, and catch a glimpse of what appears to be a list of questions.

“are you aware you have a fanbase?”

you exchange a glance with invincible. you may not see the soft melted brown of his eyes, but you know there’s a little spark of mischief beneath his mask.

“oh?”

“yeah, you guys are as popular as teen team, if not more. how do you feel about them? any gossip you want to share?”

a pointed look. between rex’s… explosive relationship with eve and… well, his other relationship… relationships? with dupli-kate, you’d be stuck here for a while. you settle for a lesser evil. gotta throw a bone or two to the press. makes for nice trivia for fan books.

“robot recently discovered that he has a fondness for junk food.”

“yep, he’s been pretty unsettled by it.”

meg stares at you with a pointed look. no juicy drama. both of you refuse to play the game. infuriating but understandable. she checks her watch, grimaces.

“shit, gotta wrap this up. ugh, if i had it my way, the two of you would answer the web’s most searched questions.” her gaze snaps back to you, green eyes rooting you in place. “the two of you work incredibly well together. what’s a usual mission like?”

it’s a relatively innocent question. you describe it, invincible occasionally chiming in, still leaning on your shoulder, hovering a little above the ground for comfort. (a flash. you staring up at mark after a mission as he pulls off his mask, feet a few inches off the ground. flying just… feels natural, y’know?)

usually, you get to the scene, assess the situation, neutralise the villain of the day and rescue those caught in the crossfire. get in, punch some people, get out. try not to have a heart attack when you watch invincible getting the shit beaten out of him by aliens/wizards/mafiosi/clones/dragons. cradle his face after a mission while scolding him because that was reckless, you idiot.

meg hums, perfectly manicured finger scrolling down on her screen, on the lookout for the next juicy question. her lips split in a slow grin.

“no… longer missions? undercover missions?”

oh, you should’ve seen this coming from a mile away. there’s a little curl to her lips, the sweet professional smile bordering on something more cutting. invincible laughs. you feel the vibration of it seep under your skin, percolating straight to your heart. you think you’re getting a little warmer, the summer sun high above you.

you think invincible’s blinding you with how wide he’s smiling.

“we’re superheroes. not spies.”

she hums, steps closer, fingers lightly trailing over the fabric of your coat.

“people have noticed this little number.”

“oh, yeah, it’s fairly new.”

meg looks up from her phone and smirks.

“we have a question from inviciboyfan25: is it boyfriend material?”

undeterred, you lean a little closer, until all the camera can see is the sharp edge of your smile.

“too heavy for that. the real deal? boxers and oversized tee. unparalleled.”

a smack at the back of your head. you let out a little yelp, your phone landing flat on your chin, cradling the sore spot with a pout.

“what was that for?”

mark glares at you, holding up his phone. on it, images of your encounter with that cute journalist three hours ago. he’s got a bandaid on his cheek, another one on his nose, both of them pink with hello kitty patterns.

he’s frowning. you gaze up to the small crease between his eyebrows and wonder how to smooth it away. you boop his nose instead, giggling when his frown deepens. he swats your hand.

“boxers? as boyfriend material?”

“what? you can’t tell me these-” a gesture towards his boxers, the ones you’re currently wearing “- aren’t the type of stuff a hypothetical girlfriend would steal.”

he groans, leaning back on his pillow. his fingers close on the sleeve of your (his) shirt, the one with seance dog proudly taking off, all heroic blues and reds.

“but why?”

you grin up at him, scooting a little closer.

“because it’s comfy. and smells like you.”

you’re delighted when you watch the blush blossom on his cheeks, all soft pink awkwardness. he averts his gaze, turning his attention back to the video on his phone. you shrug and grab a nearby comic - seance dog, again, because markus sebastian grayson totally isn’t seance dog’s biggest fan. nope. doesn’t have every collectible on earth.

you’ve juuust started to get invested in the plot, something about a meteor shower the loyal hero must stop to protect billions from dying, when mark groans again, his hand leaving the sleeve of your t-shirt to cover his eyes.

“dramatic much?”

a muffled groan. you cup your ear, the back of your hand brushing his thigh, the corded muscle of it tensing by a fraction under your skin.

“sorry, what was that?”

“people are dogs. just… look at the comments!”

you lean back further into him, craning your neck.

“if you’re not planning on reading some out loud, at least lower your damn phone before i break my neck.”

he complies with a grumble, arms framing your head as he holds up his phone for you to see the comments. your eyes widen upon seeing the amount of views under the video.

“one million? you’ve got to be kidding me.”

you scroll down the comment section, the heat of mark seeping into you, your index near his thumb. progressively, your eyebrows raise. something like giddiness takes hold of your heart. people are dogs. you see it all, from people commenting on how sick that coat is, to complaints about property damage, to-

“no way. ‘i just know they be fucking nasty?!’ ”

“that’s one of the tamest ones. someone wrote a literal fanfiction in there.”

you look up at him, neck craned back. mark swears he’s never seen a sight as endearing as this one. you, snuggled up against him, drowning in his favourite shirt, so close he’s freely running his fingers over your shoulder, thumb occasionally creeping up your trapezius.

“you are not shaming fanfiction on my watch, grayson.”

“it’s about us!”

you poke his thigh. he twitches uncomfortably.

“like you haven’t read at least one.”

he flicks your forehead. you squeal, grinning wide.

“you can’t prove anything.”

a pointed look.

“fine. yes, i have. it’s… i don’t know. weird.”

you turn around, flipping on your belly, palms cradling your cheek as you look up at him. his breath hitches in his throat. you’re playing with the hem of his shirt absently, nails lightly scratching the navy fabric, the back of your fingers a light pressure on his adonis belt. you narrow your eyes, and he’s able to make out each individual lashes fanning your cheeks.

there, in the quiet light of melting sunset, molten golds and pinks frame the edges of your face. he wants to cradle your cheek. he wants to trace the slope of your nose like you do his, down to your split lip, still swollen from that bastard king lizard punching you in the face. he wants-

“you do know invincible shadow is a thing, right?”

he blinks back to reality.

“uh? like a ship name?”

you nod, still fiddling with the hem of his shirt. despite the cool air breezing in past his open window, heat creeps up his neck. his fingers flex in the sheets, nails digging in the cotton threads - egyptian cotton, because dad knows a guy who owes him a favour or two and you don’t say no to omni-man anyway.

“yeah. a ship name. super popular too. crazy, right?”

right. right. like you’re totally not molding your body to his. he can feel you, down to the bone, pressing against him, skin impossibly soft, lightly smelling of his own laundry detergent, something barely there because viltrumite senses are sharp. he feels the pounding of your heart in his throat, the way your lips part, tongue darting out to wet them.

“yeah,” he mumbles, voice a little choked. “crazy.”

and fuck, where’s his bravado? fighting alongside you as invincible, when all you can see of each other are smiling, grinning, bloodied mouths, blood drip dripping down chins, is easy.

he thinks you might as well be a part of him, with how the two of you move around each other like you know what the other thinks. he has your six, you have his. his fists back you up at the slightest inconvenience, your shadows ripple whenever someone gets so much as an inch closer to him.

it’s easy. when he snatches you by the waist after a mission, pressing you close enough to inhale the marrow of you without burying his nose in your hair - doesn’t need to. viltrumite senses are sharp, y’know.

when he zooms insides the drive thru and orders your favourite - that one greasy cheeseburger with french fries. when you remind him for the nth time that, first of all, there’s no way these qualify as fries. this is mcdonald's, for christ’s sake. second, fries are belgian, and- and that’s no reason to steal your fries, dammit!

it’s easy, being with you. when you’re sitting together, shoulder to shoulder on the edge of a skyscraper, your head lolling on his shoulder because you get sleepy once the adrenaline dies down.

it’s easy. he thinks he’s going to die of a heart attack, with how fast it’s beating. here lies markus sebastian grayson, killed because his best friend is too beautiful for this world and sent him into damn cardiac arrest.

the day melts away. you don’t talk anymore, just bask in each other’s presence, his hand in your hair, your cheek a little beside his knee. his thumb brushes a fading bruise on your cheek bone and he winces in sympathy.

your fingertips run over his knuckles, finding them bruised and torn. you want to press your lips to them. you want to cradle him against you and never let go, because hero work may suck, and his civilian friends may not understand what he goes through every day, getting bloody and beaten and worn down down down, but you’re here.

“so they ship us, huh?” mark mumbles.

“mm.”

“crazy.”

you snort.

“i already said that, dummy.”

he flicks your forehead.

“m’not dumb.”

“are too!”

“that is not true.”

“please, you’re like. the embodiment of the jock stereotype. the kind jock, of course.”

he rolls his eyes, ruffling your hair, ignoring your soft cry of protest because it’s hair day, nooo don’t mess it up!

“i’ll have you know, i have more than decent grades.”

“they’ve been slipping ever since you started out as invincible, though.”

“ouch.”

you chuckle.

“you do have the physique though.”

“yeah, whateve- ow!”

he looks down at you incredulously. did you just… bite his thigh?

your teeth press against the corded muscle, bone over tender skin, a hint of warmth from your breath, and he thinks he’s dying. everything is too hot. too fucking hot, nevermind that it’s the middle of autumn and the air is getting colder and colder.

shit. he sees the imprint of you in his skin. his hips shift uncomfortably. your tongue laps at the bitemark, soothingly. it’s almost tender, the softness of your tongue against him, scorchingly intimate.

your eyes meet his. time stops. he’s only aware of the metronome beat of his heart and your own - fuck, he can hear your heart, the way the blood rushes south. he lets out a shuddering sigh, and almost moans when he smells it. your arousal.

something snaps.

you’re kissing up his thigh, lips a lover’s breeze over his skin, the dips and curves of his muscles. you feel him gasp more than you hear it, when you put your mouth to him through his briefs, pressing soft little kisses to his bulge.

his fingers cup the back of your neck, weave through your hair, a gentle pressure, desperately trying to keep his strength under control. he could crush you like he did with komodo dragon, brain matter staining his fingers, drip drip dripping down to the ground. he doesn’t.

he doesn’t, yet you can feel him strain against the weight of his desire, tensing beneath you, breath shallow and wanting. you nip at his thigh again, a gentle press of tender teeth. he shivers, legs parting for you.

you nuzzle against him, feel the sheer heat of him against your cheek, like the warmth of a blazing sun. you want to melt into him until you don’t know where you start and where he ends.

“w-wait,” he groans.

heat pools between your legs, and it’s hot, and - and his hand cups your face and he pulls you in until finally, he’s kissing you. it’s soft. a brush of his lips against yours, until you’re melting against him, arching into him because his hand - broad and calloused and heavy - is cupping your breast.

he pulls you close before you can react, lips brushing yours again and again until you’re not sure you can breathe without him. your nose brushes his. your eyes open and you meet his, dark pools of molten desire.

“hey, you.”

“hey.”

he grins, something a little soft, a little shy. you inch closer and bite back a soft whimper when the motion has your core grinding down against his hardening cock. it strikes you, then. the thin edge you’re walking. he’s your friend. you can still back away. pull away, mumble something about your mama calling you - and it’s quite the walk, so you should go home-

fuck it.

you trace the shape of his abs, nails digging in his skin, and he arches into you, hips bucking up, desperate for friction. you’re dizzy. dizzy with him, with the way his hands encircle your hips, with the way his fingers dig into you, grinding you down on him with barely controlled strength.

“mark-” you gasp.

it’s not enough. doesn’t matter, there’s too much fabric between you, you’re not close enough, you need him in you, you need him to make himself at home between your ribs and burrow himself there, bloody and viscous and yours.

he cups your cheek, thumb brushing against the plush of your lower lip, gaze impossibly soft.

“have you ever… ?”

you flush a little.

“n-no.”

he pecks your nose, your forehead, your eyelids.

“s’okay. lemme make you feel good…”

he pins you down, fingers slipping under your shirt until he pulls it off you, discards it in the corner of his room. he runs his fingers up your side, brushing against your bruised ribs, lips ghosting the contusion, knees bracketing your hips. you shiver, lips parting in a soft sigh of his name. he grins down at you, a little soft, a little feral, a white flash of too-sharp teeth.

“so, so pretty…” he mumbles, mouthing at your neck, teeth dragging up, up, up, until-

until you let out the softest whimper. he grins against your skin, nipping at your neck, his breath burning brands on that soft spot under your ear. his hands roam your body, trailing lower and lower, dipping past the waistband of your boxers.

“so wet,” he moans, and he sounds as wrecked as he’s making you feel.

his touch is tentative, you can feel the trembling of his fingers as they brush against you, lightly dipping between your folds, almost.. almost petting you. your hips grind against his hand, your own fingers wrapping around his wrist to get him to please, please more-

he tuts, pinning your arm to the side.

“no, no, no, lemme- just relax, i need- please, i want to make you feel good-”

you bring up your other arm willingly for him to keep pressed against his pillow, fingers flexing against your wrist in an unbreakable grip. your thighs part for him and you desperately try not to moan, because- fuck, because his dad may be home, you think, and what if you’re too loud, what if-

he curls his fingers - so pretty and slender and long - and you keen, back arching off the bed. he laughs at that, something breathless and teasing, claiming your lips for himself again and again and again, swallowing your moans. his tongue coaxes your lips open and he lets out a low growl as he finally gets to taste you.

you think he made you come. you’re not sure. you’re panting. there’s a ringing in your ear. everything is too loud, too much. you’re overwhelmed, maybe. there’s a metallic taste on your tongue - he bit you - there’s a ringing in your ear, and everything is too much-

mark worries his lip between his teeth, tugging down your boxers, fumbling a little, eager, so very eager to taste you, to make you feel as good as you do him.

you’re squirming in his grip, you realise, distantly, as you try to press closer to him, breasts brushing tantalizingly against the fabric of his shirt and-

“what’s wrong?

“i need- please let me touch you, mark.”

he blinks, a little owlishly.

“you- yeah, yeah okay-”

he lets go of your wrists and your hands slip under his shirt, nails raking down his chest, a thumb teasing his nipple and he groans, panting hot against your neck. his hips rut against yours, mindlessly, each thrusts having you biting your lips because the friction is just too much and- and he’s cupping your breasts, mouthing at them.

“ah!”

“too much?”

your breath catches in your throat. he’s looking up at you, chin resting on your chest, a lazy smirk on his lips, one long finger lazily trailing around your nipple, thumb flicking at it. and fuck, the way he looks at you, eyes dark and wanting, like you’re the most precious thing in the universe…

“fuck me.”

he raises an eyebrow.

“are you su- mn...”

you pull him to you, hands cupping his cheeks, kissing him like he’s the very air you breathe. the earth rotates around the sun. the sky appears blue to the human eye. you’re in love with mark grayson.

he knows, you think. with the way you whisper soft praises against his ear, with the way your fingers thread through the baby hairs on his nape. he knows.

he takes it slow. leans back on his heels, taking off his shirt. the moon is kind to him, silver light hiding in the dips of his collarbones, draping the sharpness of his chest, his abs, rippling down his arms, to the edge of the veins curling around his inner wrist.

you trace the shape of him, your touch reverent. he guides you, leading your hand from his chest, from the strong beat of his heart, to his adonis belt. you think you’re dying with how dizzy you feel, your thighs desperately pressed together for some friction.

your fingers wrap around the base of him and you let out a strangled sound. he’s big. he-

“fuck, you’re never gonna fit-”

he laughs at that.

“wanna bet?”

you groan.

“you’re horrible. you’re not the one getting nine inches of your crush-”

his eyes widen. you flush, mortified, eyes darting away, your grip on him faltering. gently, he tilts your head back towards him.

“yeah?”

you nod.

“yeah.”

he pecks your lips, gentle.

“me too.”

he eases you into it. takes you apart, bit by bit, until you’re dripping for him, babbling an incoherent mess of his name as his fingers spread you open, knuckle deep in you. when he lines himself up with you, leaking tip dragging against your entrance, he groans, low and deep and primal in a way that makes your core throb with need.

a damn tease is what he is, with the way he barely slides in you, tip sliding against your cunt with wet, sloppy little sounds, lightly brushing against your clit in a way that has you biting back a desperate little whine. he pants.

“need- fuck, baby i need you, please lemme-”

“yeah, yeah mark, just-”

your words die on your tongue when he slowly pushes himself into you, holding your thighs apart. he bites his lip at the sight. you, spread wide under him, chest littered with love bites, lips parted as you whisper his name. you, nails digging in his shoulder blades until you draw blood, begging him to please, please get closer. he spreads you open, thumbs holding your folds apart, watching as your walls flutter against him, as you drip down his length, slick and filthy.

“please, move,” you whisper. “i can take it, i need-”

“yeah? you need me?”

“mn.”

he smiles at that, a happy little lopsided smile, as he slowly starts thrusting into you, biting back a groan at how tight you are.

“shit, baby-”

he pulls you up, hand cupping the back of your neck as he plunders your mouth, lightly suckling on your tongue. he’s everywhere, hands reaching for you, pulling you closer, and closer, until your chest is flush to him and he’s fucking himself into you with reckless abandon, hips snapping against yours.

and what else can you do but take it? but wrap your arms around his neck and pull yourself closer, nipping at his earlobe, the vein jutting out of his neck. but let your nails dig in his back and feel his muscles ripple with contained strength - and fuck, if the thought of him holding back for your sake doesn’t make you wetter.

“m’gonna cum, mark-”

he grins at that, something like a broken chuckle escaping his kiss swollen lips. he tilts your head back, one hand on your hip as he drills himself in you, the other under your chin.

“yeah? gonna cum for me, baby?”

you nod, heat burning across your cheeks, your chest, your core. he hums, hand pressing against your abdomen, where he can feel himself move in you. satisfaction flashes in his gaze, at having you this full of him. (at having you.)

“good girl.”

that does it for you. you come apart, face buried in the crook of his neck, choking on his name. there’s that ringing in your ear. you think you hear him chuckle. you do know that he slides out of you, leaving you empty, hollow, and you reach for him with a soft whine of protest. he leads your hand to his leaking cock, guiding you, hips stuttering towards you as you pump his length, until he cums, thick ropes of it landing on his stomach, on your hand.

everything is still. he reaches for the tissues on the nightstand and cleans the slick mess between your thigh, something like longing on his face. his eyes meet yours, and you feel heat creep up your neck, gaze darting away from his, stuck on the way he wipes away his cum, abs rippling under the crumpled tissues.

“what?” you mumble.

“next time, i’ll eat you out.”

you let out something like an undignified squeal, burying your face in your hands. he laughs. strokes your cheek, lowering you down on the mattress, cradling you against him. he pulls the covers over you, a hand on your hip, the other lacing with yours.

“feel okay?”

you smile, a little sleepy, nuzzling against him, pressing a soft kiss to the hello kitty bandaid on his nose.

“mn.” you let your finger trail down the slope of his nose. “love you.”

he gives you a closed-eye smile, and you think you’ve met your sun.

“love you too.”

#obticeo writes #invincible show #invincible smut #invincible x reader #invincible x y/n #invincible x you #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x y/n #mark grayson smut #invincible series #invincible season 3

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enhaflixer · 6 months ago

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HARD HOURS - Enhypens reaction when you ask them a sexual question

cw: Explicit mentions, choking, spanking, spitting, dirty talk, shower sex, anything else? wc 8.2K TL: @ziiao @beariegyu @naurwayyyyy @ijustwannareadstuff20 @somuchdard @ddolleri @jinnibug AN: HEY YALL KINDA CRAZY BUT THIS WHAT IM BACK WITH, my fav was jungwons for surrrreeee but pls lemme know who's you liked the most in the comments! this is the post to this ask!

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠

Heeseung was sprawled out on the couch, completely locked into his game, fingers tapping furiously at the controller as the sounds of gunfire and explosions filled the room. His brows were furrowed, his jaw set in focus. You could tell by the way his leg bounced slightly that he was fully immersed—until you sat beside him and nudged his thigh.

“Hee?” you murmured sweetly.

“Mm-hmm,” he responded absently, eyes never leaving the screen.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, babe. Just give me a sec,” he murmured, dodging an in-game attack and letting out a satisfied laugh when his opponent went down.

You crossed your arms, tilting your head. “It’s a deep question.”

“Okay,” he said, distracted, “Gimme one more—” He froze as soon as the words fully registered. His head turned slowly, one brow arching in mild suspicion. “Wait. What?”

“It’s a philosophical question,” you continued, fighting back a smile.

“Philosophical,” he repeated dryly. He paused the game, setting the controller on his lap as he gave you a long, unreadable look. “What kind of philosophical question? Like, the meaning of life or something?”

You bit your lip, doing your best to keep a straight face. “Not exactly. It’s about… choking.”

Heeseung blinked. His fingers twitched against the controller. “Choking,” he repeated, his voice suddenly much lower. “Like, uh… the kink?”

“Mhm,” you confirmed, stretching out your legs like this was a casual conversation. “I’ve been thinking about why people like it. Is it about trust? Control? Or maybe something more primal?”

Heeseung stared at you. Then he sighed, dragging a hand down his face before leaning back against the couch. “Are you serious?”

You shrugged. “I think it’s an interesting topic.”

“I was literally about to beat that level,” he muttered, pointing at the paused screen. “And you want me to sit here and analyze the philosophy of choking?”

“Well, you can still play,” you teased, nudging his arm. “I can talk while you game.”

He gave you a long, unimpressed look before picking up the controller again. “You’re insane,” he muttered.

“Think about it,” you continued, grinning at how flustered he was. “Why do we want to give up control like that? What does it say about our trust in each other?”

Heeseung groaned, pausing the game again and dropping the controller onto his lap. “You’re seriously not going to stop until I answer, are you?”

“Nope,” you said brightly, leaning closer to him.

His eyes closed briefly as he let out another sigh. When he opened them again, there was a glint of amusement in his gaze. “Fine,” he muttered, setting the controller aside completely. “If you want to talk about trust and control or whatever, I guess we can do that. But just remember—you brought this on yourself.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward, and despite his initial exasperation, you could tell he was starting to enjoy this. He leaned toward you, resting his forearm on his knee, and smirked. “Alright, philosopher. Let’s hear it.”

You blinked, slightly taken aback by his sudden shift in attitude. “Wait—are you actually interested now?”

Heeseung’s smirk grew. “No,” he said flatly, crossing his arms, “but you’re clearly not gonna let this go. So go ahead, hit me with your big philosophical choking theory.”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh at how serious he looked. “Okay, well, I think it’s not just about the physical act, you know? It’s about trust. You’re giving someone that much control over you, and you have to fully trust them not to hurt you. That’s kind of beautiful, don’t you think?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Beautiful?”

You shrugged. “Yeah. It’s like a dance—one person leads, the other follows, but only because they trust that the other person knows exactly when to stop. It’s not just primal. It’s… intimate.”

Heeseung snorted. “Intimate,” he repeated, shaking his head. “You’re really turning choking into some kind of love poem?”

“I’m just saying!” you protested, throwing up your hands. “It’s more than just physical. Don’t you ever think about why we’re into the things we’re into?”

He let out a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, not really. I just figured you liked it rough sometimes.”

You couldn’t help but grin at how casually he said it. “Well, yeah, but it’s not just that. It’s the trust. The dynamic. That feeling of giving up control in a safe way. Don’t you ever think about what that means?”

Heeseung looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a dramatic groan, he reached for his controller again. “I think it means I’m never gonna get to finish this game if you keep talking.”

You laughed, lightly swatting his arm. “You’re such a dork.”

“And you’re overthinking everything,” he shot back, though there was no real bite in his tone. “But fine. If it means that much to you…” He paused, his gaze flickering down to your lips before he leaned in closer, just barely brushing against you. His voice dropped slightly as he added, “Maybe I’ll show you exactly what trust feels like later.”

Your breath hitched, the teasing smirk on his face making your pulse race.

He pulled back quickly, though, laughing as he turned back to his game. “But only if you let me beat this level first.”

Heeseung’s fingers lingered against your jaw, his thumb moving in slow, deliberate circles along your cheekbone. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, flickered over your face, lingering on your parted lips. He was watching—reading you—taking in every shaky breath, every nervous flick of your gaze, every small movement that gave you away.

“You like this, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice lower now, a velvety, teasing hum. His lips hovered just inches from yours, and you could feel his breath ghosting over your skin. Close, but not close enough.

Your pulse jumped. He wasn’t even touching you properly yet, and somehow, he had you completely at his mercy. “You’re the one making me wait,” you managed to whisper, though your voice lacked the teasing edge you intended.

Heeseung chuckled softly, the sound deep and knowing. His grip tightened slightly, his fingers sliding down the column of your neck, grazing your collarbone before settling just above your waist. He held you there, his touch grounding but unhurried—like he was savoring the anticipation, like he knew exactly how worked up you were and was in no rush to give you what you wanted.

“That’s because I like seeing you like this,” he admitted, his tone smooth and unbothered, yet threaded with something darker. “All needy. Barely keeping it together.” His thumb dipped slightly, brushing against the waistband of your shorts before retreating—just enough to make you twitch under his touch.

Your breath hitched, and his smirk grew.

“You keep talking about trust,” Heeseung continued, his fingers toying lazily with the fabric at your hip. His movements were slow, agonizingly slow, as if daring you to break first. “But you already know you trust me.”

Your body leaned into him instinctively, searching for more, but his grip tightened just enough to hold you still. “Then prove it,” he whispered against your jaw, his lips finally making contact. “Let me do everything.”

The words sent a shiver through you.

His mouth moved down, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, his tongue tracing the faintest heat against your skin before he pulled back—leaving you aching for more. His other hand slid under the hem of your shirt, fingertips grazing over your ribs before drifting lower. Every touch was calculated, purposeful. Just enough to make your stomach tighten, just enough to make you want to beg.

But you didn’t. Not yet.

Instead, you dug your fingers into his shoulders, holding onto him as if he were the only thing tethering you to reality. Heeseung chuckled again, the sound vibrating against your throat.

“You’re holding on so tight,” he murmured, his voice dipping even lower. His lips hovered just beneath your ear. “Afraid I’ll let go?”

You swallowed hard. “No,” you whispered.

His teeth grazed the sensitive spot on your neck, just barely. “Then stop thinking,” he ordered softly. “Just let me take care of you.”

Your breath came quicker now, your body already burning with anticipation. And Heeseung—Heeseung could feel it.

His smirk deepened as he pulled back slightly, dark eyes flickering over your face. He was still taking his time, still making you wait. His fingers skimmed lower, trailing along the waistband of your shorts once more before slipping underneath.

You gasped softly, your fingers tightening against his skin.

Heeseung grinned, satisfied. “That’s better,” he murmured. “Now let’s see just how much you really trust me.”

And then, finally—finally—he gave you exactly what you needed.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠

Jay was so patient with you.

Your husband spoiled you endlessly, let you crawl into his lap whenever you wanted, kissed you lazily even when he was exhausted, and held you close like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. But tonight? Tonight, he was actually trying to work.

You should’ve let him.

But then, you didn’t.

Instead, you climbed into his lap without warning, straddling him like it was the most natural thing in the world. He froze immediately, hands still hovering over his MIDI keyboard, his body going stiff beneath you.

You could feel his exhale against your neck. Slow, steady, knowing.

“…Bored?” he asked finally, his voice warm but very clearly suspicious.

You hummed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Not really. Just wanted to sit here.”

Jay let out a slow suffering sigh, but his hands settled on your waist instinctively. “Baby, you know I’m—”

“Can I ask you something?” you interrupted, tilting your head.

His fingers drummed absentmindedly against your back. “Okay…” He gave you a very skeptical look. “Is it normal?”

You pursed your lips, pretending to think. “I’d say so.”

Jay narrowed his eyes slightly, still not trusting you one bit. “Go on.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his jaw before whispering, “Why do you think I like sitting on your face so much?”

Jay’s entire body locked up.

His grip on your waist tightened immediately. His lips parted slightly, his pupils dilating as his brain fully shut down.He blinked once. Twice.

“…What?”

You smirked. “Do you think it’s about power? Like, I like being in control? Or do you think it’s more about trust?”

Jay just kept blinking.

You could see the exact moment his brain tried and failed to process what you had just said. His brows furrowed slightly, his jaw tensing.

“…Are we really having this conversation right now?”

You grinned. “Yes.”

Jay let out the deepest sigh, dragging a hand down his face. “I—what? Why?”

“Because it’s an interesting question.”

His hands slid down to your hips, gripping firmly. “Baby, I was literally working. And you just decided now was the best time to talk about why you like—”

“It’s psychology, Jay.” You lifted your hips slightly before settling back down, just enough to feel the way his breath hitched beneath you.

Jay’s fingers flexed, hard. His grip on you tightened instantly. His jaw clenched, visibly trying to keep it together.

“…You’re actually insane,” he muttered.

“But you love me,” you teased, shifting slightly again.

Jay inhaled sharply, his patience visibly wearing thin. “Okay,” he muttered, voice lower now. “You want an answer?”

You nodded, biting back a smirk.

His fingers traced slow, lazy circles against your hips. “I think,” he murmured, his tone dipping into something dangerous, “you like it because you know I’d stay there for hours if you let me.”

Your breath hitched.

Jay’s smirk deepened, his hands gripping tighter now. “Because you like having me at your mercy. Because you like seeing me fall apart underneath you.”

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

He leaned in, his lips just barely brushing against yours. “But if you wanna talk about trust,” he whispered, “then let’s test it.”

Before you could react, he rolled his hips up into you.

A sharp gasp left your lips as the friction sent a rush of heat straight to your stomach. Jay’s smirk didn’t fade. If anything, it grew as his hands guided you—slow, lazy movements, just enough to tease.

“Still wanna keep talking?” he asked, voice all silk and sin.

You barely managed to swallow. “I—”

He rolled up again, his grip tightening.

You whimpered.

Jay chuckled, leaning in until his lips brushed against your ear. “That’s what I thought.”

His hands guided you over him again, the friction sparking a dangerous kind of heat between your legs, your thighs trembling slightly as you gripped his shoulders. You could feel everything. The way he fit against you perfectly, the heat of his body radiating through the thin layers between you.

Jay’s lips brushed your jaw, his voice a low murmur. “I want you to feel it.”

You barely managed a reply before he rocked you down against him again, harder this time. A choked moan left your lips, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your body already burning.

Jay’s hands didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down.

His lips curled against your ear. “See?” he whispered. “You don’t even need my mouth to fall apart.”

You let out a desperate, broken noise, gripping onto him as your stomach coiled tighter and tighter, the slow, deliberate grind of his hips sending waves of heat through you.

“You wanted to talk about trust?” Jay muttered. “Then trust me. Let go.”

And then, he pushed up into you just right.

Your body gave in instantly, the sharp, overwhelming pleasure ripping through you too fast to stop. You trembled in his arms, your breath catching, your nails biting into his skin as you came right there, just from the way he moved you.

Jay let out a low groan, his hands gripping your waist as he kept you steady through it, watching you come undone in his lap.

And when you finally slumped against his chest, shaky and breathless, he just chuckled, his voice filled with pure satisfaction.

“That,” he murmured, lips pressing against your temple, “is the real answer to your question.”

𝐒𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧

Jake was completely at peace.

Sprawled across the couch, his laptop open in front of him, he was deep into some ridiculously long YouTube documentary about deep-sea fishing. His head was resting comfortably against the couch cushions, his arm draped lazily over the backrest, the other settled comfortably around your waist. You were leaning into his chest, tucked perfectly against him, the warmth of his body pressing into yours as he absentmindedly traced slow, light circles over your stomach.

It was comfortable. Domestic.

It was also about to be completely ruined.

He hadn’t even realized what he had done, how carelessly he had set himself up for failure, until it was far too late. Because when you walked in, when you settled so easily into his lap, nuzzling into him like you belonged there, he greeted you without thinking.

“Hi, my angel.”

The moment the words left his lips, his entire body tensed.

The realization hit him immediately.

A slow, creeping pause settled between you, as if even the air had stilled. His fingers froze mid-trace against your stomach. His breath hitched, sharp and slow, and you—you little menace—smiled. Sweetly.

Jake blinked once. Then twice. He swallowed hard, his grip on you tightening slightly. His brain was already trying to calculate how to undo his mistake, how to steer this moment back into something safe.

But it was too late.

His breath came slower now, more measured, more cautious. “Wait…” he murmured, his voice tinged with immediate regret.

You tilted your head up, still smiling. “Can I ask you something?”

Jake let out a slow, suffering sigh. “Oh, here we go.”

You ignored him, shifting slightly in his lap, settling in closer. “Why do you think dirty talk is so powerful?” you asked, your tone almost innocent. “Do you think it’s more about power dynamics? Or is it psychological?”

Jake’s entire body locked up.

Every single part of him—his hands, his breath, the subtle rise and fall of his chest—all of it stopped.

Like a deer caught in headlights, his fingers, which had been resting lazily on your stomach, stiffened completely. His jaw went tight. His chest barely moved.

Then, after a long, long moment of absolute silence, he sucked in a slow, sharp inhale.

His head tilted back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if asking the universe why it had forsaken him.His hands dragged down his face, his frustration so tangible you could almost taste it.

“…What the fuck.”

You giggled. “It’s a valid question.”

Jake turned his head so slowly it was almost painful, his eyes narrowed in pure disbelief. “No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s fucking not.”

Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, gripping your waist like he was trying to ground himself. “Baby,” he said, his voice so strained, “I was watching a fishing video.”

“And now we’re talking about something even more interesting,” you chirped, shifting in his lap just slightly.

Jake’s fingers flexed instantly. His grip on your waist tightened.

He exhaled through his nose again, sharper this time. “You are actually the worst,” he muttered, his jaw clenching.

You grabbed his hand, lifting it to your lips.

Jake immediately stopped breathing.

You kissed his fingertips softly, the warmth of your lips pressing against his skin before slowly, purposefully, slipping two of them into your mouth.

Sucking.

Jake let out a low, shaky breath. His entire body tensed.

His hand, which had been resting casually on your stomach just seconds ago, was now twitching in your grasp, his fingers pressing lightly against your tongue, his pulse quickening beneath your fingertips.

“…What are you doing?” he asked, voice dangerously lower.

You pulled his fingers out with a soft pop, tilting your head. “Getting them wet.”

Jake’s pupils dilated instantly.

His breath hitched as he swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His entire system was malfunctioning.

“For what?” he finally croaked, voice hoarse.

You guided his hand back down, slipping it beneath your waistband.

Jake’s breath hitched violently.

“Oh, fuck.”

His fingers twitched, and his entire body went rigid.

You turned your head slightly, your lips brushing his jaw. “Go on, Jakey.”

Jake let out a low, shaky exhale. “You are—” He cut himself off, sucking in a breath.

Then, after a second of pure hesitation, his fingers finally moved.

A soft whimper escaped you, and Jake lost it.

His arm tightened around your waist, his lips brushing against your temple. “You wanna talk about power?” he whispered. “Let’s test it.”

His fingers pressed deeper, teasing, purposeful, unhurried. He was taking his time, dragging the moment out just to see how long you could last.

Your hips jerked slightly, seeking more, but Jake just chuckled darkly.

“Patience, angel,” he murmured, so smug. “Since you wanted a full analysis, I think it’s only fair I take my time.”

His fingers dipped lower, spreading you apart as he dragged his touch through your slick. His movements were infuriatingly slow, feather-light strokes that had your thighs tensing instantly.

Jake hummed, his breath warm against your ear. “Shit, baby. You’re already this wet? Just from that?”

You bit your lip, breathing uneven.

His fingers stilled. “Use your words.”

You swallowed hard. “Y-yeah, Jakey.”

Jake let out a low groan, his lips pressing to the side of your neck. “Fuck. I should’ve known. My needy girl just loves being talked to, huh?”

You nodded quickly.

Jake chuckled darkly, his fingers suddenly pressing deeper, rubbing slow, deliberate circles.

Your breath hitched, your legs tensing.

“You’re so easy to ruin,” he muttered, his tone filled with pure, filthy amusement.

His fingers picked up the pace, dipping inside you before pressing back up to rub exactly where you needed. Your hips jerked helplessly, a soft moan spilling from your lips as you gripped his arm for support.

Jake smirked. “Oh, you love this, don’t you?”

And then, he ruined you.

His fingers pressed deep, rubbing fast, relentless, filthy, perfect. His free hand tightened around your stomach, holding you down against him as you squirmed helplessly.

Jake groaned, his voice low and pleased. “That’s it, angel,” he murmured. “Just like that. Let me feel you.”

Your stomach tightened as the pleasure crashed over you too fast to stop.

And when it was over, when you were spent and shaking in his arms, Jake just smirked, bringing his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean.

“Philosophy lesson’s over, angel,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Now you’re just mine.”

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧

Sunghoon had one simple goal: take a shower, relax, and get some goddamn peace.

But no. That was never an option when it came to you.

The second you waltzed into the bathroom, planted yourself on the closed toilet lid, and smirked up at him like you had something evil brewing in that brain of yours, he should’ve just turned around and walked straight out.

But instead, he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as he peeled off his shirt, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He should’ve ignored you.

But then—

“Babe, have I told you that you look suuuuuuper sexy right now?”

His fingers froze mid-motion on the waistband of his sweatpants. His entire body stiffened. Slowly, too slowly, he turned to look at you, his jaw already clenching.

He squinted, suspicious. “What do you want?”

You gasped, so dramatically, placing a hand over your chest like you were some old-timey actress in distress. “Why do you assume I want something?”

Sunghoon exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. He knew you. He knew exactly where this was going.

Your grin widened. “Can I ask you something?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “No.”

“You haven’t even heard it yet!” you pouted.

Another sigh. "Fine. What?"

You tilted your head, studying him like he was a puzzle you were trying to solve.

And then—you ruined his entire night.

"Why do you think I like it so much when you fuck me in the shower?"

Silence.

A long, painful, unbearable silence.

Sunghoon just stood there, blinking, processing, trying to comprehend the absolute nonsense you had just said.

Then, without a single word, he turned to the shower wall and banged his head against the tile.

"Are you fucking serious?"

You burst into laughter, delighted. "What? It's a valid question!"

His jaw clenched. His fists curled at his sides. He inhaled deeply, through his nose, struggling for self-restraint.

His patience was hanging by a thread.

“Why,” he muttered, voice painfully flat, "why the fuck would you ask me that right now?"

You shrugged, still grinning. “Just curious.”

His eyes narrowed. “No, you’re not. You’re trying to start shit.”

You giggled. “I’m not! I just think it’s interesting.”

Sunghoon dragged a hand through his hair, his muscles tensing, his biceps flexing slightly in frustration. “I hate you .”

"No, you don't," you chimed, voice way too smug.

Sunghoon tilted his head back against the tile, exhaling sharply, as if praying for patience.

And then, you made it worse.

You stretched, arching your back slightly, batting your lashes up at him, letting the steam from the running shower kiss your skin.

"You're so dense sometimes," you teased, voice syrupy-sweet, laced with pure mischief.

Sunghoon’s head snapped toward you instantly.

His eyes darkened. His fingers twitched.

You smirked. "Maybe I just want you to fuck me in the shower."

That was it.

That was the final straw.

Sunghoon full-body froze.

For a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe.

And then, his patience snapped.

In two quick strides, he was in front of you, gripping your wrist and yanking you up onto your feet. His other hand grasped the back of your neck, tilting your head up until your breath hitched.

His eyes? Dark. Sharp. Absolutely wrecked.

His thumb brushed along your jaw, teasing, firm, unforgiving.

"Say that again."

Your stomach flipped violently.

His grip on your waist tightened.

You smirked. "Maybe I just want you to f—"

You never got to finish your sentence.

Sunghoon grabbed you, lifted you effortlessly, and carried you straight into the shower.

Your scream of protest barely made it out before the water crashed over both of you, drenching you instantly.

And then—

"WAIT—LET ME TAKE MY BRA OFF FIRST!"

Sunghoon froze.

His grip on your thighs tightened slightly.

Then, slowly—so painfully slowly—he lifted his head, staring at you like you had just spoken a completely different language.

“…What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You whined, struggling in his grip, water dripping down your face. "Hoon, it's new! I don't wanna get it wet!"

Sunghoon let out the most exasperated laugh, shaking his head like he was physically restraining himself from throwing his head back in frustration.

"Baby. It’s just a bra.”

Your jaw dropped. "It is NOT just a bra!"

Sunghoon groaned, tilting his head back, breathing deeply like he was trying to find the strength to not completely combust.

Then, after a beat, his grip on you changed.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he muttered, voice darker now, rougher, wrecked beyond belief.

Then, before you could even react, his mouth latched onto your collarbone, biting, teasing.

Your protest turned into a sharp gasp.

His hands slid up your soaked body, fingers hooking under the bra straps, dragging them down, his teeth grazing against your skin.

And then, he sucked.

Hard.

Your breath hitched violently, your back arching instinctively.

Sunghoon groaned against you, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud, teasing, tugging. His grip tightened, pressing you further into the tile.

"You're whining about a bra, but you're already falling apart," he muttered against your skin.

Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, legs trembling in his grasp. "H-Hoon—"

He grinned against your skin, completely in control now, completely in his element.

He licked a slow stripe over your nipple, sucking it into his mouth again.

Then, with a groan that sent heat pooling between your thighs, he sighed against your skin.

His mouth was fixated on your chest, his hands squeezing, kneading, his lips sucking bruises into your soft skin. His teeth scraped lightly, tongue flicking, mouth warm and wet as he groaned against your body.

His grip on your thighs tightened, pressing you further into the cool tile, the contrast of heat and cold making your breath hitch. He was obsessed, hyper-focused, like he was trying to commit every inch of you to memory.

And then—you ruined him all over again.

Between sharp gasps and breathy whimpers, you let out a teasing, mock-thoughtful hum.

"Hoon… if you had to choose, my tits or me… which one?"

Sunghoon’s movements completely stopped.

His teeth grazed over your nipple, pausing mid-bite. His fingers flexed against your waist, gripping you tighter. His breath stalled.

Then—so, so slowly—he lifted his head.

Water dripped from his soaked hair, running down his sharp jaw, over his kiss-swollen lips, and down the defined slope of his collarbones. His eyes flickered up, meeting yours—dark, dazed, completely wrecked.

And then, he let out the most exasperated groan of his life.

"Are you actually insane?"

You giggled, wiggling slightly in his grasp. “It’s a simple question.”

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you in place. He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes.

And then—just to make you suffer, he exhaled slowly, dragging his hands over your curves, squeezing your waist, before moving right back up to your chest.

His thumb brushed over your nipple lazily, teasing, deliberate. Then, he leaned in again, mouth hovering right over your skin, his breath warm, smirking against you.

"Hmm," he murmured, mock considering. "That’s actually a really hard choice, baby…"

Your stomach flipped violently.

He tilted his head, exhaling sharply through his nose, like he was really thinking about it. "I mean," he continued, squeezing your breasts again, licking a slow, teasing stripe over the sensitive skin, "on one hand, your tits are literally perfect."

His tongue flicked over your nipple, making your breath stutter.

"So soft, so fucking pretty, fit right in my hands," he groaned, his voice dropping lower, hungrier.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders. "Hoon—"

"But," he interrupted, grinning against your skin, pressing another wet, open-mouthed kiss, his teeth nipping at the skin right above your breast.

"You’re also really cute."

You snorted, shoving at his shoulder. "Really cute? That’s the best you’ve got?"

Sunghoon grinned, squeezing your thighs tighter. "I’m literally worshiping you in the shower, and you’re worried about my choice of words?"

You huffed. "You didn’t answer the question."

Sunghoon pulled back slightly, tilting his head, mock-considering again. Then, with zero shame, he muttered, "Honestly? …I might have to choose the tits."

Your jaw dropped. “HOON!”

He broke instantly, laughing against your skin, his grip on you tightening as you squirmed against him.

"I’m kidding, I’m kidding!" he choked out between laughs, pressing hot, teasing kisses back over your chest, dragging his tongue across every inch of skin he could reach.

Then, as he pulled you even closer, mouth ghosting over your ear, voice dripping with amusement and something darker, something heavier, he murmured—

"Don’t worry, baby."

He nipped at your earlobe, grinning against your skin.

"I’d never survive without you."

And then, he sank back down, lips wrapping around your nipple again, sucking deep and slow, like he was tasting something addictive.

This time, he looked up while he did it.

His big, dark eyes locked onto yours, wide and intense, watching every tiny shift in your expression. The moment your lips parted on a shaky moan, his grip tightened on your waist, his tongue flicking deliberately against the peak before closing his lips around it again, sucking harder.

His eyes never left your face.

Every time you gasped, every time your brows furrowed slightly in pleasure, he noticed. His breath came out faster, rougher, his pupils blown wide as if he was getting off on watching you unravel.

He pulled off with a wet pop, lips pink and glossy, tongue swiping over them as he tilted his head.

“Fuck.”

His voice was wrecked. Raspy. So deep it sent a sharp pulse straight through your core.

“You look so pretty when I do that,” he murmured.

His mouth was right back on you, sucking even harder, his eyes heavy-lidded, unwavering.

His fingers kneaded your other breast, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers, his hips pressing forward, pinning you completely against the tile.

The look on his face was pure hunger.

"I swear, I could do this forever, baby."

His voice was low, hoarse, slurred around his next breath. His thumb brushed over your nipple, teasingly slow. His lips pressed soft, wet kisses down the swell of your breast, dragging his teeth slightly as he went.

And then, as if the realization just hit him, he let out a soft groan, his head dropping briefly against your chest.

"God, I hate you," he muttered, his breath warm against your skin.

You let out a breathless laugh. "Yeah?"

Sunghoon lifted his head, grinning slightly, but his eyes were still dark, still drunk off you.

Then, with zero hesitation, he leaned down, kissing between your breasts, nipping lightly at your skin, before whispering—

"But I love your tits. I can’t live without them."

𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐨

Sunoo was thrilled.

Not because of the movie playing on his laptop, not because he had finally gotten comfortable on the couch with his oversized blanket. No.

He was thrilled because you had just turned to him, eyes glinting with curiosity, and asked—

“Why do you think I like being praised so much?”

Sunoo blinked once.

Then, his entire face lit up.

“Oh, finally! A topic I actually care about!”

You snorted immediately. “What does that mean?”

Sunoo sat up straight, pulling the blanket off his shoulders like he was preparing for a TED Talk. “It means I have thoughts.”

Your lips twitched. “You’ve thought about this before?”

"Obviously." His tone was borderline offended. “Baby, do you realize how much you fish for compliments? If I don’t tell you you’re pretty at least three times a day, you start getting restless.”

You gasped, scandalized. “I do NOT!”

Sunoo arched a brow.

You pouted. “…Maybe a little.”

He grinned, smug. “See? And that’s why I already have a theory.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Alright, genius. Enlighten me.”

Sunoo’s eyes practically sparkled.

“It’s because you like validation, but not just any validation—you like earned validation.”

Your brows furrowed. “Go on.”

Sunoo tilted his head, clearly enjoying this way too much. “See, if I tell you you’re beautiful just because, you’ll accept it—but if I tell you that you’re beautiful because you just made me lose my mind in bed? That’s what gets you going.”

You froze.

Sunoo smirked immediately. “Ohhh, I’m right, aren’t I?”

You swallowed. “…Continue.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice turning softer, smoother. “You don’t just want to hear that you’re good at something—you want proof. You want me to tell you how good you are, how perfect you are, while I’m literally falling apart because of you.”

Your entire body felt like it was heating up.

Sunoo’s eyes gleamed. “You want to be the best. You want to feel like you’re irreplaceable.”

You bit your lip, suddenly very aware of how close he was getting.

And then, as if he was reading your mind, he smiled sweetly, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“You like being praised because you like knowing you’re ruining me.”

Your breath hitched.

And Sunoo caught it immediately.

His smirk turned positively sinful. “See? I told you I was right.”

You swallowed, trying to recover, but the knowing glint in his eyes had you spiraling. “Okay, fine. Maybe you have a point.”

Sunoo grinned, entirely too satisfied.

Then, just to push you further, he tilted his head, watching you closely. “Do you want me to prove it?”

Your entire body shivered.

And that was all the confirmation he needed.

Sunoo was still sitting, his posture perfectly relaxed, but his eyes? His eyes told a different story. They were dark, glinting with something sharp, something playful, something completely devastating.

And you?

You were fully spiraling.

Your breath hitched, barely noticeable, but Sunoo caught it immediately. His lips twitched into the softest smirk, like he was already celebrating his victory.

Then, with the slowest, most deliberate movement possible, he reached forward, his fingers brushing against your chin, tilting your face up slightly.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he mused, voice velvety smooth, teasing.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. “I—I’m just…” You swallowed. “Thinking.”

Sunoo smirked. “Mm. Thinking.”

And then, without warning, he closed the space between you.

The first kiss was soft, teasing, just a hint of pressure. Just enough to make your breath stutter.

But then?

Then he tilted his head slightly, deepening it—just barely.

And that was your first mistake.

Because the second your body melted into him, the second your fingers gripped onto his sweater slightly, he smiled into the kiss—fully in control, fully aware of the power he had over you.

His hand slid up your jaw, fingers pressing lightly at the hinge, guiding you into the kiss the way he wanted.

Slow. Controlled. Completely devastating.

When he finally pulled back slightly, his lips were already kiss-swollen, his breath uneven.

But his eyes?

Smug. So, so smug.

“You like it when I take my time, don’t you?” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

Your stomach flipped violently.

Sunoo grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

And then, before you could even respond, he was on you again.

This time, no hesitation, no teasing.

Just deep, soul-stealing kisses, his lips moving against yours slow and deliberate, as if he was savoring every second.

His free hand slid down, gripping your waist, pulling you closer, until you were practically pressed against him.

You let out a soft, breathless sound, and that was all it took.

Sunoo groaned softly against your lips, his fingers tightening on your waist as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss even further.

His tongue traced along your bottom lip, slow, unhurried, teasing, and when you gasped softly, he swallowed the sound immediately, taking full control of the kiss.

And just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he pulled away—just barely, just enough to make you chase his lips.

His breath fanned against your mouth, his lips grazing yours as he whispered—

“See, baby?”

His fingers slid along your jaw, tilting your chin up slightly, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You love it when I praise you.”

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧

It had been one of those weeks. Jungwon was exhausted, and all he wanted was a night of uninterrupted sleep. But you had other plans.

You’d been tossing and turning beside him for nearly half an hour, sighing loudly, shifting closer and closer as if waiting for him to acknowledge you. He didn’t. He stayed still, kept his eyes shut, and prayed you’d get tired and fall asleep.

Instead, you whispered, “Jungwon?”

He ignored you.

“Jungwon,” you tried again, your voice sweet and teasing.

A sharp sigh escaped him, and finally, he muttered, “What.”

You smiled, pressing yourself closer. “Can we talk about something?”

“No,” he said flatly, eyes still closed.

“But it’s important.”

“It’s never important.” His voice was calm, but there was a sharp edge to it.

“You don’t even know what it is yet,” you said, undeterred.

Jungwon opened his eyes just enough to glare at you. His expression was entirely unamused, but the annoyance in his face was matched with a weariness that made his sharp tone almost flat. “Fine,” he muttered. “What is it?”

You bit your lip, trailing your fingers lightly over his stomach. “It’s about sex.”

He stilled, his hand twitching against the blanket. “…What about it.”

“I’ve been thinking,” you said, drawing out your words as you brushed your nails down his chest, “about why I always want you to fuck me until I cry.”

His jaw clenched, his body going rigid. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Then, with an exaggerated exhale, he rolled over and faced the wall.

You gasped. “Oh my God. You’re actually ignoring me?”

“Yes.”

“But I need you.”

“You always need me.”

“And you love it.”

Jungwon let out the heaviest sigh you’d ever heard. After another moment of silence, he rolled onto his back again, dragging a hand down his face. His eyes were half-lidded, heavy with exhaustion and exasperation.

“You have no self-control,” he muttered.

You grinned. “Mhm.”

He shook his head. “No, because let’s really talk about this. You’re constantly like this. Always touching me, always saying things like that. Do you have any idea how impossible you make my life?”

You giggled softly, your fingers moving lower. “I do.”

“That wasn’t a compliment,” he said, narrowing his eyes at you.

“But you love me.”

“…Unfortunately.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience hanging by a thread. “I have been told I have a very high sex drive, but baby, I do not have the facilities to go three times a day. I have things to do. I need sleep. I need to—”

His voice cut off mid-sentence as he noticed where your hand had gone. His gaze dropped, and his lips parted slightly as he registered the slow, deliberate circles you were making against yourself.

“Are you seriously doing that right now?” he asked, his voice low and clipped.

You smirked, letting out a soft moan. “Mhm.”

Jungwon’s jaw tightened. His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and pulling it away. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, his voice quiet and controlled. “You really have no shame, do you?”

His free hand trailed down to your thigh, pausing just at the edge of your hip. “You’ve made my life difficult every single day this week. And now you’re doing this.” His fingers brushed against you lightly, making you shiver. “Fine. If you’re going to be this much of a problem, then count every single time you’ve made things harder for me.”

“Count?” you repeated, your breath catching.

“Count,” he ordered, his voice calm but firm. He paused just long enough for you to hesitate before delivering a sharp slap against your center.

You gasped, your back arching slightly at the sudden sting.

“One,” you murmured, your voice unsteady.

Jungwon hummed softly, satisfied. “Good. Now keep going. Let’s start with Monday—when you woke me up two hours early because you were ‘bored.’ I told you to wait until I was actually awake, but you just wouldn’t stop until I gave in.”

Another slap.

“Two.”

“Tuesday,” he continued, his voice still low and even, though his grip on your wrist remained firm. “I had a meeting, and you climbed onto my lap, whispering in my ear, making it impossible to focus. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

The slap that followed was harder this time, the sharp sound echoing through the room.

“Three.”

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady on you. “Wednesday. I was trying to work, and you walked in wearing that shirt you know drives me insane. You didn’t even have a reason—just stood there, stretching, pretending not to notice what it did to me.”

Another slap, this one leaving you breathless.

“Four.”

“Thursday,” Jungwon continued, his tone remaining measured. “I came home late, exhausted, ready to collapse. But you were waiting in bed, saying you couldn’t sleep, that you missed me, that you needed me—like I didn’t have the right to rest after a long day.”

The next slap made you whimper, and you barely managed to whisper the number.

“Five.”

“And Friday,” he said, his voice calm and thoughtful, as though he were simply recounting facts. “You walked in while I was on the phone, saying the filthiest things in my ear, completely throwing me off.”

Another slap, another gasp, another quiet number.

“Six.”

Jungwon smirked faintly, his expression unreadable as he leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. “Six times,” he murmured. “Six times this week you’ve pushed me too far. I wonder how many more it’ll take before you finally learn.”

And then, without warning, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your neck before he parted them. A single strand of saliva dripped from his mouth, landing directly where his hand had just been. The warmth of it sent a shiver through you, and your thighs instinctively shifted.

Jungwon watched your reaction, his gaze dark. “You don’t listen,” he muttered, his thumb moving to spread the wetness over your heated skin. “But that’s fine. I’ll just have to remind you again.”

With that, he leaned down further, his mouth finding its way to your skin. His lips pressed lightly, his tongue dragging along the sensitive area. And when he finally took you in his mouth, the warmth, the pressure—it was too much. Your breathing quickened, your hands clenching the sheets as he worked, his actions slow, deliberate, and relentless.

Jungwon pulled back slightly, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. He glanced up at you, his expression still composed, though his eyes burned with intensity. “You’ll count properly next time,” he said quietly, his tone steady, “or we’ll just keep going until you do.”

𝐍𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐤𝐢

The private court was quiet, except for the sound of sneakers skidding across the pavement, the steady rhythm of the basketball bouncing, and the occasional swoosh of a perfect shot hitting the net.

It was almost peaceful.

Almost.

Because you were bored out of your mind.

At first, you had been entertained—watching Riki drip with sweat, his muscles flexing subtly under his shirt, his jaw clenched in focus as he moved effortlessly across the court. You could’ve sat there for hours.

But now?

Now you were kicking at the pavement, sprawling yourself dramatically across the bench, watching him ignore you like it was his job.

You sighed loudly. "Ni-ki."

“Mmm.” He didn’t even glance at you, lining up another shot.

You huffed. "I’m bored."

“Okay,” he said, still not looking.

Your eye twitched. “That’s it?”

He smirked slightly, dribbling the ball lazily. “What do you want me to do? Call the circus to entertain you?”

“I don’t know,” you grumbled, watching as he effortlessly sunk another shot before catching the ball again.

Riki finally turned, spinning the ball in his hands, giving you the laziest grin. “You literally begged to come watch me play.”

“Yeah, because I thought you'd be entertaining,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Instead, I’m just sitting here, staring at you running around in circles.”

He grinned. “So basically, you just like watching me be hot.”

You snorted. “I mean… yeah.”

Riki’s smirk widened. “I knew it.”

You rolled your eyes, but then, an idea hit you.

A terrible, wonderful, completely deranged idea.

“Actually,” you started, stretching your arms above your head, watching him carefully, “I have a question.”

Riki blinked, dribbling absently. "Why do I feel like this is about to be something weird?"

You ignored him. “Why do you think I like it so much when you spit in my mouth?”

Silence.

Riki’s hands literally stopped moving. The ball bounced off his foot and rolled away.

Very, very slowly, he turned to stare at you, expression completely blank.

“…I’m sorry?”

You grinned. “Like, psychologically. What do you think it means?”

His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

Nothing came out.

You waited. Smiling. Expectant.

Riki exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

You gasped, mock-offended. “That’s rude! It’s a normal question!”

“That is not a normal question!” He threw his hands up, fully spiraling now. “Who the hell sits courtside, watches their boyfriend play basketball, and then just—just casually wonders about the deeper meaning of spit kinks?!”

You shrugged, completely unbothered. “I just think it’s interesting.”

Riki rubbed his temples like you were giving him a migraine. “Jesus Christ.”

Then, after a long pause, he squinted at you. “…So, do you actually want an answer?”

You grinned. “Obviously.”

Riki groaned, shaking his head. "You're actually insane."

But then—he actually thought about it.

“…Okay, fine.” He crossed his arms, looking at you like you were a science experiment. "You like being spit in because you’re gross."

You rolled your eyes. "Okay, Mr. Psychology Degree."

He smirked. "No, seriously. It’s the ownership thing, isn’t it? It’s about control. You like it because it’s filthy and degrading, and that’s what gets you off."

Your stomach flipped violently.

Riki caught it immediately.

His grin widened. "Ohhh, that’s totally it."

You crossed your arms, trying to play it cool. “I—maybe. Continue.”

He tilted his head, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “It’s primal, isn’t it? Something about me doing something so demeaning, but you still loving it. Like you’d take anything I give you.”

Your thighs pressed together involuntarily.

And of course, Riki saw.

His smirk turned wicked.

"You like it," he murmured, stepping forward, bouncing the basketball once before letting it roll away.

Your back straightened. “I never said that.”

"You didn’t have to," he said smoothly.

Then, before you could react, he grabbed your wrist, yanking you up from the bench effortlessly.

You let out a surprised squeak, your hands instinctively pressing against his chest.

"Riki—"

"Shh," he murmured, backing you up until your spine hit the court wall.

Your pulse skyrocketed.

His arms caged you in, his body pressed just barely against yours, not touching but close enough that you could feel his warmth.

"So," he mused, tilting his head, his eyes flicking between yours. "You like it when I’m in control, huh?"

Your breath caught.

Riki grinned, teasing. "What was that thing you said earlier? You like it when I spit in your mouth?"

Your face burned. "I didn’t say I liked it—"

"Oh, no, no, baby," he murmured, leaning in, lips ghosting over yours, breath hot and sweet. "You love it."

You whimpered.

Riki’s grin widened. "Should I prove it?"

Your stomach flipped so hard you nearly collapsed.

And before you could answer, his hand tilted your chin up, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

His eyes darkened, lips parting slightly as he ran his thumb along your tongue.

"Open," he murmured.

And when you did?

He spat, slow, deliberate, watching with parted lips as it slid over your tongue.

And then, just to make it worse, he whispered—

"Swallow, baby."

Your head spun.

And before you could even process what was happening, his lips crashed against yours.

The kiss was hot, messy, completely unhinged.

His hands slid down, gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him, until you were trapped between his body and the cold wall of the private court.

You gasped softly, and Riki swallowed the sound immediately, deepening the kiss just enough to make your legs weak.

"See?" he muttered against your lips, his voice dripping with amusement.

"You just like letting me win."

Then, with zero hesitation, his hands slipped lower, gripping your thighs.

And before you could say another word, he lifted you effortlessly, pinning you against the wall completely.

The feeling of his hot breath against your neck, the firm press of his body against yours, the way he had you completely at his mercy. It all proved his

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