#Big Tech Manipulation | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

deltamel · 2 months ago

Text

Big Man, Little Dignity

── MEMORISED ALL YOUR LINES, FANTASISE YOUR DEMISE. satoru is more likely to strip naked and stroll through tokyo tech like he owns the place—to risk a fine for public fucking indecency—than to submit, mind and body, to you. word count. 5.5k

CONTENT. MDNI. fem!dom!reader, manipulative!sub!gojo, (brief mention of reader having a cunt but otherwise no description), bratty sub gojo, manipulation, foot humping, degradation, light choking, no prior discussion of kinks or aftercare, toxic dynamic, existing relationship, friends with benefits, pwp

MEL'S NOTE: what began as a character study of manipulative!gojo devolved into sentencing him to come in the most deliciously humiliating way. title insp. is the namesake song by paramore. a massive thank you to my gorgeous beta @nyxomniax (nyx's ao3) <3

“I really don’t like your attitude.”

Although attitude is a crude euphemism—Satoru’s sharp gaze seems to penetrate even through his blindfold. If looks could kill, as the saying goes.

You sigh. Tonight was supposed to be a taunt, a challenge, a plea—all rolled into one tight, conniving quip that would snake its way around Satoru until the tips of his ears turned red where he knelt before you. You shouldn’t be surprised, really, at how your words roll off him, as though they’ve physically hit his Limitless and have slowed to the point of non-existence.

“Well,” he starts, petulant. “I really don’t like how long this is taking.”

You scoff, crossing one leg over the other as you lean further back into the cracked leather of the sofa you're sitting on. It creaks beneath you in protest.

“So how about we skip to the good part?” Satoru grins widely at you, utterly unashamed even as your eyes dip down to the hard outline tenting his uniform slacks.

You’re bored, you realise. Uninterested in acting out the same scene and reciting the same worn, tired script to a man who, to your knowledge, couldn’t give less of a shit if you were completely mute as you let him rut into you.

It is… strange.

Months of hushed, sweaty hook-ups flash through your mind, like some kind of slideshow that should be playing all of your favourite memories before you die. These are anything but; they’re a twisted amalgamation of simmering anger and bestial grunting way too close to your ear to be enjoyable.

Why had you let it get this far? Spin this far out of control?

“Oh sure, I have all day,” Satoru says, his voice laden with sarcasm. “Absolutely no rush whatsoever. Take your time, even!”

You press your lips together, unimpressed.

Shame burns through you like you are no more than bone-dry tinder unfortunate enough to be in its path. You wanted to lead tonight, to set the pace—and you believed forcing him to kneel at your feet and feeding him the command to behave would be sufficient. That he may finally take the bait. Naturally, you seem to have asked too much, and you’re utterly lost as to how you’ve deluded yourself into such a fictional image of him. One that is flushed and moaning and writhing beneath you. One that would beg you for more.

He’d never.

Satoru is more likely to strip naked and stroll through Tokyo Tech like he owns the place—to risk a fine for public fucking indecency—than to submit, mind and body, to you.

“Now, I may look the picture of youth, but if I’m sat on my knees any longer, we may have an issue when I finally fuck you.” He laughs, presumably imagining himself as a hobbled-sorcerer or something equally inane, hell-bent on clumsily thrusting into you. “And we can’t have that, can we? How will I satisfy that greedy cunt of yours?”

It’s an unconscious impulse as you kick hard at the centre of his chest, anger flaring at the hit to your own ego, only to be rebounded by Satoru’s Limitless. You never stood a chance.

“Fuck you, Satoru,” you snap. “I’ve never met anyone who loves the sound of their own voice as much as you do.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts, admonishment smeared over his face. “Ask nicely.”

Breathing out through your mouth, you try to summon the patience that seems to be rapidly eluding you the more Satoru talks.

“‘Ask nicely’,” you repeat blandly.

“Yep,” he says, emphasising the pop of the p at the end.

“Like how I ‘asked nicely’ for you to behave?”

“I wouldn’t say you ‘asked nicely’...” he trails off, looking askance as though he’s working hard to recall the memory from only five minutes prior. “More like demanded and expected that I, bearer of the Six Eyes, would obey.”

“Huh,” you tilt your head, “that’s funny. I’m pretty sure you’ve been demanding to fuck me.”

Satoru rolls his eyes, heaving a labouring sigh, as though you’d told him that his favourite coffee shop—the quaint, crumbling building a few blocks away from the school run by an elderly couple, that you’re near positive Satoru only frequents because he can bat his lashes and they will give him free coffee—has run out of the sugary atrocity he usually drinks.

“Did you miss,” he waves his arms down his body, presenting himself, “the bearer of the Six Eyes part of my sentence? That was pretty integral info.”

Wishing you were surprised at the lack of gravity he’s giving the situation doesn’t come easily. He’s always been like this, since as long as you’ve known him anyway; years of dropping ill-timed jokes and unbothered banter in the face of national threats and almost always imminent death. It’s illogical. And above that, it’s quite frankly insane. So why would you be the exception to his whims? Why would he afford you real concern when it proves no benefit to him? You could tear at those towering walls surrounding him, brick by brick, until your bare hands are broken and bloody and unrecognisable, yet there’d hardly be a dent big enough to warrant his attention.

Before you have a chance at spitting back any lacklustre rebuttal, he speaks over you.

“So let’s cut whatever bullshit you’re trying to pull. Honestly. What are you trying to achieve with me down here and you up— wait.” He perks up, likely seeing you anew from behind his blindfold as he rambles. “Was this all an elaborate plot to get me to eat you out? Because baby, I do not have to be on my knees to have you on yours. Why didn’t you ask sooner?”

You launch forward, sinking a hand deep into his unpigmented hair—allowing yourself only a split-second of astonishment that he allowed you to make contact with the real him, not his Limitless—before yanking him forward to unbalance him. That’s all it takes. One slip-up, intentional or not, and you use the momentum to force his face down into the floor between your feet, pressing his cheek against the rough grain of the wood. The connecting thunk is the most satisfying sound you’ve heard from Satoru all evening.

Against the dark wood below him, Satoru’s alabaster skin is downright ghostly. Stark and obvious in every way that Satoru is himself. It’s fitting, really. You savour the colour rushing to his cheeks, the strands of hair fallen over his blindfold, the blood welling in his lip where he must have bitten himself on impact. You want to taste it. To draw more than just blood from his lips.

The bounds of his Limitless do not protect him from himself, you think. How ironic.

Satoru’s chest stutters where he’s bent over awkwardly, still kneeling. His hands are trapped underneath him like he meant to stop his fall. You know he could have. So why didn’t he? And why is he letting you hold him down, making no effort to brush your hand from his hair or sit up as you watch him try to regulate his breathing?

Hell, he’s not even said a word. Quiet as a field mouse where he’s pressed down between your heeled shoes.

“You want to eat me out?” you murmur, leaning over your lap to study the side of his face in interest.

Satoru exhales sharply, and at first you think you might finally have him snared—a hunter’s high when the bullet rings loud and sharp in the air, the elation when their prey drops to the ground like a stone. But then he angles his head further to the side, twisting as though to catch your eye through the blindfold, and he smiles.

Smiles.

A scoff bursts from your throat before you can help it—an ugly sound, perfectly complementary to the resentful look smudged across your face.

Well.

You tried, at least. But it’s beyond clear that Satoru Gojo is a lost cause—a fool’s errand—and you are no such thing, not for him. No matter how much you desire to see his pale skin painted with deep red want as he pleads for your touch, pent-up and desperate, an orgasm withheld tenfold until he’s panting and whining, bucking his hips up to knock his dick uselessly against your leg—how he would tip his head back, baring the smooth, unmarked column of his neck for your teeth to sink into and… god.

Your imagination is painting cruel washes of colour over the pallid picture before you, and you bite your lip in frustration, yearning for some kind of restraint to resist being his fool. Shifting his knees slightly, Satoru hums thoughtfully and shatters the illusion your mind has conjured. The sound fills you with dread. Nothing good comes from his premeditated words.

“I’m not sure anymore…” he trails off. Does he sound breathless? No—he can’t, right? No. You’re the one who wants this. He’s just messing with you. “You’re being kind of mean to me.”

And now he’s pouting. The revered six-eyed sorcerer is pouting against the floorboards. You tighten your fingers in his hair, relishing how it makes him hiss at the sharp pricks of pain. Again you wonder, why hasn’t he put his Limitless back up?

The harsh treatment doesn't, however, stop him from barrelling forward.

“I have feelings you know! I’m not some sex doll you can push around however you like—although you’d probably love that, thinking about it now… you know, I can probably find a guy for you. I’m talking someone real shady. Under-the-table type of deals. All I have to do is put up one ad on Craigslist—’hot single in urgent need of a man who won’t talk back’—and the offers will come swarming in. It’ll be uncomfortable, but for you…” he laughs. “Just for you, I’ll bite the bullet if you’ll consider shelving this stunt indefinitely!”

His mouth is moving a thousand miles a minute, like it’s replaced his heart and is running to keep him alive. To pump the very blood around his body. You know he has it. Blood, that is. Your eyes flicker to the beads of it that are shifting on his lips as he speaks, hardly taking a breath between each sentence.

“Satoru,” you say, interrupting him impatiently. “Please shut the fuck up.”

He grins, all teeth. There’s a smear of red on them.

You stare down at him. “You’re insane.”

“Yeah,” Satoru breathes through the ugly smile. “Probably. That would explain why I’m still hard, even with a psycho bending me over.”

You can’t even wipe the indignant expression from your face if you try, because your brain latches onto the fact that Satoru is still hard, and runs with it despite your protests. You try to form some kind of barb, a cruel insult at least—but you’re fighting a losing, bloody battle of the highest dishonour with yourself. You know every offensive and defensive move in your arsenal, and so you are defeated, your traitorous brain attempting once more to make the man underneath you submit.

“I’m the psycho?” you prompt.

He hums, his cheek still against the floorboards. You wonder if you’d be able to feel the reverberations of it under the soles of your feet were you not wearing heels.

“Huh, maybe you’re right,” you say, levelling your eyebrows and veiling the trepidation buzzing behind your features. “Hands behind your back.”

Your words are plain, and you hold your breath as he mulls over the request. His fingers flexing and flagging on the floorboards where his hands are tucked beneath his torso.

Please.

One of his hands moves to brace himself on the floor and you can feel the heat pulse in your core, expectant and hopeful, only to be slaughtered as easily as a curse in the face of his boundless power when he slowly pushes himself upright. He doesn’t dislodge the tight grip you maintain on his hair and you don’t bother trying to keep him pinned. Satoru has evidently decided he’s done with your little display of dominance and you can’t overpower him. Even if you wish fervently to have the ability to do so.

“I’m good, actually,” he says. Matter-of-factly and in a tone so chipper you want to strangle him just to hear his words wobble and break from the sure path they’re on. “But thank you.”

The flush you can feel creeping up your cheeks is humiliating, degrading you impossibly further when Satoru simply watches you. His face is an expressionless mask. Frustration wraps itself around you, coiling until you can’t breathe and you use your hold in his hair to shove him. Your palm forces his head to the side like it may give you a reprieve, but when you hand drops, his head simply swings back to face you a moment later. Bright eyes stare at you impassively, as though he’s watching a bug crawling by his stupid, shiny shoes. Too small to care about. Not worth the effort to catch, nor kill.

“Fuck you,” you say. But there is no anger in it, not anymore. You’re deflated, and the level tone you try to uphold barely masks the hurt you feel trembling through your words.

You’ve been a fool, after all.

Months spent convincing yourself 'one day’, while deluding yourself over scenarios that could never be—because you’re, well… you’re you, and Gojo Satoru is the Six Eyes. You’ve been kicking up circles of dust running from that very notion since the first time you slept with him.

“Come on,” he broaches, voice light as he shifts back to sit on his haunches more comfortably. “You still going to let me hit?”

You are nothing to him. You know that now—the ember is glowing bright and burning through you, sacrificial in every right—and you will only be saved if you are cleansed of Satoru.

“I’m done,” you mumble, eyes shifting to drink in the Tokyo skyline from your apartment. Thousands of minuscule lights flicker, each a person tangled in their cobweb of life as insignificant as your own. “I can’t do this anymore, Satoru.”

It’s ironic, really, that now seems to be the moment you’ve finally stunned Satoru. His mouth opens but no quick quip or joking response comes forth. He closes it again. You can see it in your periphery—the blinking lights call your name as you let your gaze drift over each building, every life, and the sun dipping slowly behind them.

“Hey,” he starts, voice guarded. “I thought this was all part of our give and take.”

An apology? No. An excuse? Hardly.

Of course he wouldn’t debase himself with atonement; you aren’t worth that. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever heard Satoru apologise to anyone—not when he decimates acres of land fighting a curse, nor when he bumps into someone and knocks the coffee they held from their hand. Perhaps this should make you feel better, but it doesn’t. You inhale a deep breath.

“You take and take and take. There is no give with you— no—” you pause, eyes flitting over to Satoru but not lingering long enough to examine his expression before they drift back to the sunset. “I have nothing left to offer. You have wrung me dry.”

You don’t expect an immediate response. After all, when have you ever rejected his advances? When have you before had the courage to sever those threads trapping you both together? He may have a silver-tongue, but that does not mean he cannot falter.

“Okay.”

…okay?

Furrowing your eyebrows, you drag your attention to the man kneeling before you.

“Okay,” he repeats. “You want me to give or you leave.”

His tone is blunt, no trace of a question to be found where it should be. He’s got it wrong—as though reading the lines of your reaction backwards. Has Satoru ever tried to understand you?

“It’s not an ultimatum,” you say tiredly. “We’re done.”

We’re done.

You’ve never referred to what was going on between you and Satoru as we, and even as it rolls off your tongue, it feels strange; like an ill-fitting sheet with its seams stretched beyond repair just so that it may barely clutch onto the mattress. It feels fraudulent. But the words have been spoken and you cannot swallow them back.

“I can give.” Satoru implores, his large hands rest on his thighs, painting the very picture of composure.

“I don’t want what you offer.”

I want your submission.

You can’t say it, even now. Even with this goodbye between you forming the perfect stage for one last hurrah—an act he won’t forget. That he may even care about.

It won’t matter, you remind yourself.

The silence branches between you, pushing you further and further and further from Satoru with each passing second.

He won’t reply.

You have been his fool, through and through—played the part well enough one might think you’d been bred for such a role. Perhaps you do not want him to reply, because if he speaks, if he pushes, you don’t know what you will do—for better or worse. So, bringing your hands to the sofa underneath your thighs, you tense and begin to push yourself to stand—to leave—when Satoru moves all at once. Clumsy and disorganised in a way you’ve never seen from him before. Urgent in a way he never is. You pause.

Satoru shuffles forward on his knees, closer and closer, until he’s a hair’s breadth from your crossed legs. The peculiar twist of his mouth has your gut swooping, a foreboding feeling rising within you at the serious expression. The distrust must be plain across your face, but when you open your mouth to protest, he leans forward. Cautious, like the possibility of you striking him is a real one—like he wouldn’t just block you with his Limitless—and gently, he places his chin on your crossed knee.

You freeze, and the breath you were inhaling lodges in your throat.

A long, slender finger hooks under one side of his blindfold and lifts the corner up to reveal a wide, beseeching eye staring up at you. Your own widen in response. You’ve never seen him look like this before. He looks…

Harmless. Almost innocent.

And then, as if you’re not preoccupied worrying over whether in the time you were looking out the window, Satoru had been somehow possessed, he speaks.

“This is what you want, right?” His voice is so soft. “You want control.”

He’s demented. There’s no other explanation. Not as to why he’s kneeling in front of you like an entirely different person. Not as to why his tone and his stupidly big eyes have heat rushing to meet you like it never left. How does he know? All this time you believed him to be oblivious, he’s—

You have underestimated him. Again. He knew.

“You want me to beg,” he continues, his eye glued to yours. “To ask to touch you. To come.”

The leather sofa creaks underneath your fingers, where they curl nervously into the material.

“I…” you trail off, unsure as to what you’re even trying to say—what you even want to say.

The heat from his chin is leaching through your trousers, penetrating the layer of fabric and you fear it may scald your skin, marring it permanently. You can smell his cologne. He doesn’t let you breathe before uprooting your entire world—destroying the threads woven through you both that have kept you safe, that have kept him happy.

“Please,” he breathes. Breathes, not whines, because if Satoru Gojo just propped his chin on your knee, looked up at you with his pleading, blue eyes, and whined, you really would be convinced he’d been possessed.

The wave of heat that washes over you is so filthy you barely have the forethought to worry if Satoru can feel it radiating from you as you screw your eyes shut against it. Against his exposed eye and its analysing stare.

“Please.”

You choke on a sound at the back of your throat, scrabbling to keep it inside you. To not allow him to stoke the burgeoning fire threatening to engulf you. The smoke is thick and blinding. Why it has taken you near leaving for him to play along with a desire he’s clearly known about for god only knows how long baffles you.

You can’t think straight.

It’s like any semblance of logical, rational thought has fled you to safer grounds, abandoning you to deal with the consequences of your desires alone as though it’s what you deserve. Perhaps you do. Wanting to grind Satoru, a man who holds Six Eyes and the most powerful sorcerer the Earth has ever encountered, into mere dust beneath your heel cannot possibly be normal.

Gradually, as unassuming as the approaching tide, a sick curiosity calls out: would he let you? The urge to answer that question commandeers your mind, screaming and hollering for attention that you can’t help but grant it because… what if he does? Months of yearning for this very scenario are ploughing through your defences like they are no more than reeds swaying in a breeze. Is Satoru offering you a chance for the control you have been desperate for? What if this is it? Your one and only opportunity. A test.

Take the leap or never know.

Perhaps by permitting yourself to finally release the perverted desire—that which has simmered higher and higher each time you slept together—you may develop an addiction with no prospect of your next fix. But the screaming is reaching its peak—loud and distracting and you can’t think around the blaring curiosity to taste it regardless; to ruin your palette once and for all; to at least know. So you open your eyes again and unclench one of your fists from the leather sofa, raising it slowly, cautiously, to cup the side of his face and stroke your thumb over his cheekbone. Only then do you look into his eye.

“Okay,” you say, voice soft. Re-emboldened, you test the boundaries again. “Are you going to behave?”

Satoru leans his weight into your hand, so lightly you may not have noticed if your world hadn’t narrowed down to the sorcerer before you. He swallows before he speaks.

“Yes,” he breathes, shifting on his knees and pulling his bottom lip between his teeth before he lets it pop back out, slick and shiny with his spit. You can feel your heart thundering like a brewing storm in your chest. “I’ll behave for you.”

A switch has flipped. Satory hasn’t been this agreeable in any of the long years you’ve suffered his acquaintance, and you feel lightheaded knowing you may be the first person to see him like this. You nod, trying to disguise the way you shiver at the realisation.

“Hands behind your back.”

The blindfold slips back over his eye when he lets go of it, and you would mourn the loss of eye contact if not for how he immediately obeys. The pliancy sends you reeling. You want to see. Are his hands clenched? Relaxed? Fidgeting? But you stay. The novelty of your situation isn’t lost on you—the things you want to do to him are so great in number that it’s overwhelming. You’ve had practice, however; you’ve imagined Satoru like this enough times you may well have thought through every possibility as to how this night could go. You don’t hesitate.

“Good.”

He swallows.

Feeling suspicious would probably be a smart idea, one that would prepare you for the rug he may pull out from under your feet. Because the possibility that his actions are a means to an end or a new opportunity to laugh in your face before he flips you over and ploughs into you—like his submission was a mere hallucination—is real. But you can’t quite bring yourself to commit to the feeling for more than a few seconds before there’s an itch under your skin telling you to touch. Your other hand joins to cup his face, and you tilt his head away from your knee until his throat is entirely bared. His blindfolded eyes study the drab ceiling above you both.

“So pretty,” you mumble, eyes tracing the long line of his pale neck.

You want to lean forward and bite, but the night is young. There will be time. You do not have to rush something so precious. You must savour this like a woman on death row with her final meal.

Satoru’s mouth drops open slightly, baring his teeth, and you can see his chest rising and falling fast. Intrigued to test a hypothesis you’ve held close to your heart for months, you dip your thumbs down below his jaw and dig them into the soft skin there. He releases a breathy sort of ‘hah’ at the sensation, shifting again on his knees. You press harder, the skin turning white beneath your thumbs. His pulse is pounding, but it’s not enough—you want to hear him. Releasing the pressure, you study the irritated pink that frames two deep nail marks on either edge of his jaw.

Ever so slowly, your palms cup his nape and you drag your thumb nails down either side of his windpipe, hard enough to leave two trailing scratch marks. Satoru muffles a surprised noise that tapers off when your thumbs come to rest at the base of his throat, your hands collaring him.

Squeezing your hands against the base of his throat, you listen to how his breath chokes off at the pressure. The tip of his ears begin to redden as you hold his breath between two states. His mouth drops open further, desperate. You let go and listen to how he heaves in a deep breath before releasing it, controlled in an attempt to level his breathing. To keep the spots dotting his vision at bay. You can see the tears clumping at his lash line—a response no one can control in the face of being choked—but fuck, the power rush you feel as you study the tears threatening to spill over is hedonistic.

Slipping your fingers back up the sides of his neck, his jaw, his cheeks, you hook your thumbs underneath his blindfold and tug it off, dropping it on the ground by your feet. He doesn’t protest, eyes fluttering open. Leaning back in your chair, you sever the contact between you. After a few seconds, he drops his head down and looks at you, making a confused sound in the back of his throat.

“Why’d you stop?” he asks.

Is his voice hoarse, or is that your imagination?

No.

His voice is hoarse—rough with a desire you’ve instilled into him.

You quirk an eyebrow and Satoru flushes in response, eyes darting around where you sit. Wordlessly, you uncross your legs, stretching one out until your foot rests against his thigh.

“You don’t want something…” You drag the toe of your shoe up the inseam of his slacks, voice low. “More?”

“I…” Satoru swallows. “Yes.”

Lifting your foot, you press the point of your heel into the meat of his thigh, hard enough you’re sure the pressure must be uncomfortable. He doesn’t do more than clench his jaw. Your lips purse and you nod silently, content to wait.

The lull stretches between you, thick and sticky like sap gathering at the wound of a tree.

“Uhm,” he starts warily, “please?”

The corner of your lip twitches.

“Can you touch me?” he asks, voice firmer now at your reaction. “Please?”

Satoru sighs in relief when you remove your heel from his thigh, but the calm is quickly shattered when your leg extends further, the ball of your heeled-foot coming to rest on his cock as you press gently against it.

“Ow,” he gasps, but he doesn’t sound very pained at all. In fact, the red flush creeping across his nose bridge is all-too incriminating. You smile.

Running your fingers through your hair, you push it back from your face before straightening your barely-wrinkled clothes, steadfastly focusing your attention on anything but the man in front of you. It doesn’t take long for Satoru to squirm, and you only increase the pressure of your foot in response. He makes a strangled noise through his clenched jaw.

“I don’t know what you’re waiting for,” you say, tapping your nails on your thigh impatiently.

Satoru’s bright eyes flick between your own curiously. When you don’t say anything further, he lifts his hips into your foot slowly, watching you. A breath escapes him at the pressure. His eyebrows scrunch up in concentration and he reaches out a big hand to wrap around the back of your calf, forcing your foot forward as he begins to gently roll his hips. You let him—the effort is not yours to expend.

“Surely you can do better than this?” you ask when he continues his cautious, slow thrusts, voice bored.

He huffs, eyes flitting up to meet yours before focusing back on where the bright lacquer of your heel meets his dark slacks, and the arousal slowly bleeding through. The hand clutching your calf is uncomfortably warm, yet the tightening fingers and low moans on every thrust command your attention.

“To think that I’ve let you fuck me,” you say through a sigh.

Satoru bristles beneath you but the stutter of his hips gives him away. These cruel words you spill are a means of catharsis, months of bitterness rotted down to pure acidity—never would you have guessed he’d enjoy the taste.

“This is as humiliating for you as it is for me, Satoru.”

You’re lying—of course you’re lying. You would wear Satoru’s humiliation like a second skin if such a scientific feat were possible; something so intrinsically tied to your body it may never be taken from you. Satoru huffs a strained laugh, feigning indifference as though it could fool you.

“I’d hope— it is—” he says between pants.

Leaning further back on the chair, you spread your other leg, tracking how Satoru’s other hand is curled tight into a fist atop his thigh. Blood pools in his cheeks, infecting his face like a virus he can’t fight.

“Bearer of the Six Eyes,” you drawl, letting the words hang in the air between his pants before you continue, “humping my foot like a dog.”

“Haah— shut— up—” he spits between each sticky press of his crotch against your shoe, fingers digging into your calf painfully in punishment.

It’s filthy—the way his thighs strain in his slacks as he moves; the way his baby hairs stick to his forehead; the way Satoru bites his lip to contain his noises.

“Why have you resisted this for so long?”

Satoru doesn’t answer, doesn’t even seem to acknowledge that you’ve asked him a question and your ego bruises. He’s too caught up in the chase of his high to bear you a second thought. You dig your foot into his cock cruelly.

Ignore me now.

“Oh fuck—” he gasps, his movements stuttering underneath you. “Ah— you’re— mean—”

You take in his reaction, humming. A moment passes before you deign to reply.

“I’m being mean?” you pout. “You seem to be enjoying it, though.”

Satoru moans aloud, harsh and tortured. You dig your foot in again just to hear his voice catch in his throat. The pace of his hips is frantic now, and he uncurls his fist, splaying it out on the wooden floor behind him so that he can roll into your foot faster, harder. Satoru’s head tips back at the new angle and he pants, open-mouthed, into the air. Barely-there moans escape on every exhale. You watch with fascination.

“You’re close, huh?” you tease, all-too pleased when Satoru nods his head rapidly.

“Yes— ah— yes.” His voice is thin and torn. Glassy eyes watch you carefully when he tips his head back down and you hum in recognition.

“I want you to say ‘thank you’ when you come.”

Satoru’s eyes flare wide, but he doesn’t protest. If anything, the roll of his hips grows unforgiving, his pace quick and punishing as he drives himself to the edge he’s so desperate for—the one that you’ve granted him. Enraptured, you increase the pressure on his cock, trapping it harder against his pelvis. Satoru groans as he ruts against your foot. The trembling wracking his body worsens, and he squeezes his eyes shut when his back bows towards you.

“Thank you,” he keens, mouth dropping open as he comes, hips still quietly rolling against your foot as he rides it out. “Thank you, thank you, haah— thank you, oh— thank—”

Leaning forward, you press your finger into his open mouth and pet it across his tongue to quiet him. His eyes flutter open to take in your dangerous grin.

Satoru is finally human like this. Mortal, even. Skin flushed and damp. Breaths coming short and fast. At last, you can reach him. Hooking your finger into his cheek, you drag him closer before he has a chance to calm, until you can feel the warmth of his feverish-panting on your chin.

“You’re welcome, Satoru.”

thank you for reading, reblogs are always super appreciated if you enjoyed! <3

✦ masterlist ✦ ao3 ✦

#mel writes #big man little dignity #s. gojo brainworms #sub jjk #sub gojo #sub gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #dom reader #sub character #fem reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo satoru x you

1K notes · View notes

zhelin-thames · 6 months ago

Text

A Second Mystery Texter

Masterpost

Jason was sprawled on the couch in his safe house, phone in hand, casually texting Danny. Their conversations had become oddly entertaining for Jason, who enjoyed poking fun at the kid’s dramatic descriptions of ghostly chaos and the soap opera-worthy antics of this “Plasmius” guy.

Jason: So let me get this straight. This guy tried to clone you... and the clone ended up being a teenage girl who sees herself as your sister?

Danny: Yup. That’s Dani with an “i.” She’s great, though. Way less annoying than Plasmius.

Jason: Your life is so weird, kid. And this is coming from someone who’s been dunked in a Lazarus Pit.

Danny: Tell me about it. At least you don’t have to deal with green glowing homework.

Jason chuckled at Danny’s response, completely unaware that Tim had entered the room and was now leaning over his shoulder, curious about the smirk on Jason’s face.

“Who are you texting?” Tim asked, startling Jason.

Jason locked his phone and glared at his younger brother. “None of your business.”

“Come on,” Tim said, plopping down on the armrest. “You’re actually smiling. That’s rare. Who’s the unlucky person stuck dealing with you?”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Just a kid who texted me by mistake. He’s dealing with some ghostly billionaire nonsense, and it’s hilarious.”

Tim’s interest was immediately piqued. “Ghostly billionaire nonsense? That doesn’t sound like your usual crowd. Let me see.”

Jason pulled his phone away. “No.”

Tim smirked. “Fine. I’ll figure it out myself.”

Jason sighed, knowing Tim wouldn’t let it go. Sure enough, an hour later, Tim’s phone buzzed with a new number.

Tim: Hi, is this Danny?

Danny squinted at the unfamiliar number.

Danny: Who’s asking?

Tim: I’m a friend of Jason’s. He mentioned your situation, and I got curious. I’m Tim.

Danny groaned. Great, another Bat-person.

Danny: Okay, hi, Tim. Why are you texting me?

Tim: I heard you’re dealing with some supernatural problems, and I wanted to help. Or at least get more details. Jason’s not exactly a reliable narrator.

Danny sighed, already regretting this.

Danny: Supernatural stuff is my thing. I’ve got it handled.

Tim: Sure, but you could always use a second opinion, right? I’m great with tech, research, and problem-solving. Plus, I’ve seen some weird stuff myself.

Danny hesitated. He wasn’t used to people offering help, and he didn’t know if he wanted another vigilante involved in his life.

Danny: Fine. What do you want to know?

Tim grinned as he began typing.

Over the next few days, Danny found himself juggling texts from both Jason and Tim. Jason was the sarcastic big-brother type, constantly making jokes about Danny’s weird life, while Tim bombarded him with questions about ghost science, ectoplasm, and portals.

One night, as Danny lay in bed, his phone buzzed again.

Tim: Quick question: Have you ever dealt with a ghost that manipulated tech?

Danny: Yeah. Why?

Tim: Just wondering. If one showed up in Gotham, what would you recommend?

Danny frowned, sitting up.

Danny: Wait. Is there a ghost in Gotham right now?

Jason: Tim, what the hell are you doing?

Tim: Expanding our resources. Danny’s clearly experienced.

Danny: Guys, what’s going on?!

Jason sighed, grabbing his phone.

Jason: Don’t worry, kid. If anything shows up here, we’ll handle it.

Danny: Yeah, no. If it’s ghost stuff, you call me. Don’t mess with things you don’t understand.

Tim: Good to know. Can I ask about your portal tech next?

Danny groaned. This was going to be a long friendship.

1K notes · View notes

therealistjuggernaut · 5 months ago

Text

0 notes

pikabelle · 2 months ago

Text

Amir Backstory Details For Those That Want it

Grew up in a small town called Amberstone near Furnace Flats on the west coast of Libertatia. Furnace Flats was a big tech startup area.

Parents were together, but argued in front of him often. His father ran a restaurant that Amir helped at while growing up. Amir got into tech because he would tinker in the back during slow hours to fend off boredom.

Mother was emotionally abusive and controlling, and would guilt trip him over things. He had a better relationship with his father.

He thinks vampires are hot.

His favourite comic book character is a femme fatale called The Countessa.

He secretly thinks Viktor is hot and thinks his abs are sexy (but still hates him).

He thinks that Quincy is "pretty".

He refers to bisexuality as "having multiple lines open at the buffet".

He went to college and had a roommate who would have LOUD sex despite knowing Amir could hear it.

He has a massive sweet tooth, and loves ice cream sundaes. He adds a lot of strange toppings to his sundaes that most people find to be anywhere from excessive to horrifying.

He's struggled with crippling ADHD his entire life. At some point he took medication for it, but stopped because because he thought they "sometimes worked, but made everything else much worse". Because of his ADHD, he faced a fair bit of descrimination, and he didn't have any close friends until the Hex.

He has dated in the past, and is not a virgin, but he's never told anyone he loves them before the drifter.

He gave Albrecht the reactor specs because he was scared of him, and because Albrecht manipulated him by saying that he would be saving the world. Albrecht's advanced technology appeared to be almost like magic to Amir, and he was scared of what he could do.

He originally took the job at the power plant because it paid well and he wanted to impress a girl he knew with money. However, he was only an intern. He never saw the girl again after taking the job.

[Heavy Conjecture] Given his position as an intern and the qualifications he would need to become a technician, i estimate that as of 1999 he is roughly 24 years old. This is a very loose estimate based on modern minimum requirements for such a position, and requirements for someone from the year 1999 were likely very different.

#warframe #amir beckett

417 notes · View notes

catboybiologist · 3 months ago

Text

Many billionaires in tech bros warn about the dangerous of AI. It's pretty obviously not because of any legitimate concern that AI will take over. But why do they keep saying stuff like this then? Why do we keep on having this still fear of some kind of singularity style event that leads to machine takeover?

The possibility of a self-sufficient AI taking over in our lifetimes is... Basically nothing, if I'm being honest. I'm not an expert by any means, I've used ai powered tools in my biology research, and I'm somewhat familiar with both the limits and possibility of what current models have to offer.

I'm starting to think that the reason why billionaires in particular try to prop this fear up is because it distracts from the actual danger of ai: the fact that billionaires and tech mega corporations have access to data, processing power, and proprietary algorithms to manipulate information on mass and control the flow of human behavior. To an extent, AI models are a black box. But the companies making them still have control over what inputs they receive for training and analysis, what kind of outputs they generate, and what they have access to. They're still code. Just some of the logic is built on statistics from large datasets instead of being manually coded.

The more billionaires make AI fear seem like a science fiction concept related to conciousness, the more they can absolve themselves in the eyes of public from this. The sheer scale of the large model statistics they're using, as well as the scope of surveillance that led to this point, are plain to see, and I think that the companies responsible are trying to play a big distraction game.

Hell, we can see this in the very use of the term artificial intelligence. Obviously, what we call artificial intelligence is nothing like science fiction style AI. Terms like large statistics, large models, and hell, even just machine learning are far less hyperbolic about what these models are actually doing.

I don't know if your average Middle class tech bro is actively perpetuating this same thing consciously, but I think the reason why it's such an attractive idea for them is because it subtly inflates their ego. By treating AI as a mystical act of the creation, as trending towards sapience or consciousness, if modern AI is just the infant form of something grand, they get to feel more important about their role in the course of society. Admitting the actual use and the actual power of current artificial intelligence means admitting to themselves that they have been a tool of mega corporations and billionaires, and that they are not actually a major player in human evolution. None of us are, but it's tech bro arrogance that insists they must be.

Do most tech bros think this way? Not really. Most are just complict neolibs that don't think too hard about the consequences of their actions. But for the subset that do actually think this way, this arrogance is pretty core to their thinking.

Obviously this isn't really something I can prove, this is just my suspicion from interacting with a fair number of techbros and people outside of CS alike.

449 notes · View notes

blorbohunter · 5 months ago

Text

couldn’t sleep last night thinking about how caleb would react to hearing about your N109 excursions.

the shock and horror that his accident led you to put yourself at such risk just to find answers. into the territory of such a dark and evil man. how much time had you spent there? what did you have to do for information? to stay alive?

then he learns about your actual dynamic with sylus. whether that’s by him putting together that the luxurious gifts left at your doorstep only signed with “-S” aren’t from a fruit vendor

or maybe it clicks when sylus drops by your place unannounced, feigning ignorance about your guest’s presence but clearly there to make sure caleb knows just how familiar he is with your apartment and casual touches.

like holy shit what is your relationship with him if you’re willing to overlook everything he’s done?? to go against your association’s orders to report anything you hear about him and arrest him on sight? not only are you not trying to turn him in, you’re welcoming him into your home. sending him articles and memes that remind you of him. wearing clothes he picks for you. staying up late to talk to him at night. are you really willing to put your career on the line to have him in your life? the career that made you decide not to follow caleb to skyhaven for college?

was he manipulating you? using some kind of brainwashing? if Ever had toring chips, who’s to say Onychinus hasn’t figured it out, too? or at least stolen the tech?

maybe this was some kind of mission? to get in close with the big bad leader for information? to assassinate him? the thought of you being thrown out to the wolves for the hunter’s association made his stomach lurch.

were you a gold digger? maybe you liked the expensive gifts and lavish dinners. you didn’t grow up with a father figure; maybe you were looking for respite in the arms of some rich daddy type and you seized the opportunity. it hurt to think about you needing the comfort of another man, to even possibly use your body for a comfortable life. caleb should be the one to provide for you without you lifting a finger.

he’ll bounce around different conspiracies, choosing whichever one keeps him from spiraling any further. but it’s hard to ignore the blush and smile that a simple text from sylus brings out of you. and the way sylus looks at you: with reverence, patience, gentleness, and… love. he looks at you like he loves you. and nothing makes caleb feel sicker than that.

for some reason, you don’t care about the kind of man sylus is. and as much as that scares caleb, it also gives him hope. that one day maybe he could tell you everything he did, finally share some of the burden of his actions, and you could know him as completely as he knew you. that a day will come where he could show you his bloodied hands and you’d love him anyway. but he had to get that cocky asshole out of your life first. you only had room for one monster in your heart, and caleb would make sure it’s him.

—

i have so many more thoughts about this but i just needed to let some of it out. i apologize for my stream of consciousness style, i was furiously typing in the waiting room of my dentist office 😬

486 notes · View notes

cupcakeslushie · 1 year ago

Text

NEW AU MASTERPOST!

Hello everyone! Here's a shiny new masterpost for my page!

Frequently asked questions (brushes, program I use, ect)

Patreon || Ko-Fi || Commisions [closed]||

My Art tag for all my art

My DTIYS!

NOTE! None of my AUs are based of existing fanfic! They are only created from my own artwork and replies to asks!

EMPYREAN WEEPING AU (EW AU)

My biggest Rise AU Where the boys were raised separately. Donnie stayed in Draxum's care. While Splinter lost Leo and Mikey-Leo going to the Foot Clan, and Mikey to Big Mama, only able to keep Raphael from getting taken.

Warnings: Child abuse ranging from straight-up torture and manipulation to neglect, experimentation, mental illness. Please be mindful, and see each post for specific tags

Feral Leo AU

My Feral Leo Au in which time in the Prison Dimension moved much faster for Leo. By the time the boys can get him out, Leo has spent three years alone with the Krang, and doesn't even recognize them.

Warnings: Torture, Unspecified eating disorder, mental health issues, dehumanization, torture, body horror, brainwashing

Kendratello AU

Kendra kidnaps Donnie. Using some fancy mysterious tech, she messes with his memories of his family and brainwashes him into thinking he's better off being by her side.

WARNINGS: brainwashing, ableism, dubious consent/implied SA, abuse, unspecified eating disorders, obsession, mental breaks.

-READ AT YOUR OWN RISK OR BLOCK THE "KENDRATELLO AU" TAG-

Donnie Brainworm AU (hard hiatus)

Karai lures Donnie into her trap first in the Fourfold Trap, but what if she used the extra time to implant him with a brainworm? The brothers have to try to race against a ticking clock to save a brother who now hates them.

Warnings: Warnings: brainwashing, neglect/abuse (not real, but perceived as the truth)

*just a note, this AU hasn't been updated since Jan 2024 and will probably not be updated for some time still, if at all. I hate to say never because I could get a burst of inspiration tomorrow, but just something to be aware of before you click!

#rottmnt #ask slushie #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #separated au #rottmnt separated au #feral leo au #kendratello au #slushie masterpost #rottmnt au masterpost

2K notes · View notes

astra-ravana · 9 months ago

Text

Types Of Witchcraft

Note: These are general/basic explanations of different classes of magick/witchcraft. Practitioners can fall into multiple or none of these categories. Ultimately, only an individual can choose their labels.

Green: Utilizing greenery/plants/herbs/flowers in herbal/nature magick, such as creating blends of different plants or primarily using herbs in spellwork. May keep a garden and take great pride in their workings/connection to the earth and nature.

Hedge/Shamanic: A type of magick that's more oriented towards spirit work, Otherworld and astral travel, dream work, spiritual power and healing. May work with psychedelic/psychotropic/toxic plants and fungi as spiritual tools (ie: flying ointments/teas made from amanita muscaria or datura)

Sea: A type of magick derived from materials/abstract ideas involving the ocean world. Sea magick is worked using various items from as well as one's own connection to the sea and its creatures.

Storm: Magick that is worked by combining one's own energy with the energy of the weather, most commonly storms. Storm witches may have practices such as collecting storm water or snow, "whistling up" or manipulating winds, or performing rituals during severe weather.

Hearth/Kitchen: Magick performed through kitchen craft and/or mundane tasks/crafts around the home or for loved ones. Typically worked daily through food, herbal mixtures, crafting, decorating, and hobbies. May also work with the Fae/elements/nature.

Tea: Those who drink tea, make their own tea mixtures, or enjoy blending herbal remedies and often use reading tea leaves as their form of divination.

Urban: For those who live in or prefer an urban setting/lifestyle. Magick that is worked in densely populated areas and big cities, without some of the seemingly "traditional" aspects of witchcraft.

Tech: Magick that is skillfully worked through technology. A tech witch might cast spells/do divinatory readings on the internet, use magick based apps/programs, or keep a digital grimoire/library.

Elemental: Magick that is worked by honoring/acknowledging all 4/5 elements (Fire, Air, Water, Earth, and/or Spirit). Elementalists may dedicate part of their alter to each element and call upon them during rituals/spells. Conversely, they may choose to focus on only one element changing the designation to either fire, air, water or earth witchcraft.

Fae/Faerie: The magick of those who work and commune with the Fae. Faerie witches may do rituals/spells around the Fae, ask favors of them, have regular communication sessions, and leave them offerings. The Fae are very unpredictable and strong but, with time and respect, they share their magick with special individuals.

Infernal: A system of spirit work/magick that revolves around Infernal spirits/entities, such as demons, djinn, or other spirits of a chaotic alignment. This practice requires a surprising amount of shadow work and dismantling of oppressive religious systems. They may summon demons, perform rituals/spells with them, make deals, or take them up as magickal familiars.

Necromancy: The practice of seeking the assistance of, summoning, communication, and diving through the dead. Practitioners may frequent cemetaries/burial grounds/haunted locations and perform magick and spiritual/divinatory readings there. Often employ the use of pendulums, dowsing rods, talking boards, black mirrors, grave dirt, and bones.

Draconian: Draconian magick is a practice that involves engaging with dragons as powerful forces and allies in spiritual practice. It can include rituals, symbolism, and techniques to connect with dragons, and may be used for empowerment, healing, and spiritual growth.

Chaos: A type of magick utilizing new, non-traditional, and unorthodox methods. It is a highly individualistic practice that draws from many magickal disciplines (eclecticism).

Blood/Sanguine: A very potent class of magick that includes the use of one's own blood or that of another in powerful rituals/spells.

Sigil/Art: The use of sigils, symbols, glyphs, runes, or artwork infused with will and intention. This practice is vast, versatile, and diverse with each practioner producing truly unique results.

Lunar: Lunar magick is the practice of performing rituals during the different phases of the Moon to bring about physical or psychological change. They may honor/worship the Moon, do moonlight rituals, or make moon waters. Conversely, one could work with the Sun in much the same fashion.

Cosmic/Celestial: Magick that incorporates the stars and planets. Astrology is a dominant force in their lives and witchcraft and they consider the placement of celestial bodies before doing a working.

Crystal: Incorporation of crystals/stones in one's magickal practice. May make crystal grids, include them in their spells, use them in energy work, meditation, or for Reiki healing.

Glamour: Glamour magick is an enchantment type that adjusts or changes your outward appearance, or people's perception of your outward appearance and can include the enchanting of jewelry, clothing, and even makeup for magickal purposes.

Shadow: Magick with a focus on the elements of darkness and shadow. May practice umbrakinesis (shadow manipulation), magickal subterfuge and illusion, and feel at peace, and even practice, in pitch black darkness

Are there any you feel I should have included? Please let me know! I'd love to expand this list. :)

538 notes · View notes

houseofaegon · 19 days ago

Text

ENCHANTRESS ╱ BOB REYNOLDS SERIES

✷ ─── +18 MINORS DNI 𓏲 ◟ ♡ ˖ ࣪ emotional trauma, mentions of death/grief, witchcraft, blood magic, violence, necromancy, ritual magic, body horror (mechanical corpses), mental manipulation, emotional intensity and tension, supernatural possession, canon-typical violence, found family themes, bucky being a big brother, psychological instability (enchantress/void dynamic), unspoken desire, sexual tension (non-explicit), battle trauma.

✷ ─── AUTHOR'S NOTE. i cooked served and ate yall!!! damn okay chapter 2 came fassssstttttt im so excited and so inspired to write arabella and bob omg ughhh i love my babies. my soul probably left my body while writing this chapter because wtf just happened!! i'm sick. i want void so bad and i'm so obsessed with the whole enchantress x void dynamic filled with sexual tension and obsession and need. and yet they still haven't even touched each other. i'm crying. i'm pacing. i'm shaking with anticipation and anxiety. all of the above. we're already deep into the spiritual feral monsterfucker territory and i fear it's only gonna get worse from here. void is obsessed with enchantress, and i am obsessed with them both. i'm unwell. grab your tea, your candles, your crystals because it's about to get darker and hungrier. more chapters coming soon!! i love you all smm and thank you for letting me being unhinged and insane and always cheering for what i write. i appreciate you all so so so so damn much. thank you for reading and giving this unhinged little series a chance. love always, bri.

✷ ─── ENCHANTRESS SERIES. chapter one: beauty in tragedy. chapter two: the devil you know. chapter three: the witch. chapter four: moonlit waters. chapter five: divine hunger. chapter six: to burn & be burned. chapter seven: of teeth & tenderness. chapter eight: bound by blood. chapter nine: ashes between us. chapter ten: salt in the wound. chapter eleven: blood moon. chapter twelve: whispers in the dark. chapter thirteen: the witch and the void.

Life in the Watchtower was easy.

Or maybe Arabella just made it look that way.

Two weeks in, and she was already barefoot in the hallways, leaving salt trails behind her like breadcrumbs. Crystals littered every windowsill and shelf. Vinyls spun on her old record player each morning, Fleetwood Mac echoing through the tower as she cooked breakfast barefoot—black silk robe, bedhead curls, and a wooden spoon in her hand like a wand.

The lights stopped flickering when she passed. The air smelled like herbs and something sweeter. The walls stopped groaning. Dead plants came back to life.

It wasn't magic.

Or maybe it was.

She adapted faster than Bucky ever thought she would.

He’d built her a room the day she arrived—no questions, no ceremony. Just like Tony had done years ago. It wasn’t as high-tech, but it was safe. Warded. Quiet. Full of windows and her favorite things. And it felt just the same.

Felt like home.

Arabella had looked at it once, eyes shining just slightly, and said, “You remembered the salt in the corners.”

And Bucky had replied, “Of course I did.”

Because he did remember. All of it.

The way she couldn’t sleep without her crystals arranged just so. The smell of her cleansing incense, like pine and burnt clove. The soft hum of her chants in the dark, the way she muttered in Spanish when she was half-dreaming.

She slipped back into his world like she’d never left.

Yelena adored her.

Of course she did.

From the first day, they were chaos and fire, two halves of the same wicked coin. They sparred in the gym, Arabella casting misdirection charms mid-fight while Yelena laughed and tackled her anyway.

They had a running tally written in chalk on the kitchen wall. Yelena: 6. Arabella: 7. The last win was a draw, after they both ended up hexed, bruised, and breathless with laughter.

At night, they painted each other’s nails in wine-dark colors and gossiped in three languages. They danced barefoot on the roof under the moon, music blasting, hips swaying, Arabella’s dark hair catching the light like smoke.

“You’re my favorite war crime,” Yelena whispered one night, drunk on cheap vodka and found sisterhood.

“Right back at you,” Arabella replied, clinking their glasses together.

Ava was different. Quieter. Sharper. But not distant. She didn’t speak much—but with Arabella, she sat.

They trained together in silence, matched in precision and grace. Arabella stitched protective sigils into Ava’s gloves and never mentioned it. Ava slipped her protein bars and flowers in return and said, once, quietly, “Your presence is... grounding.”

Arabella had smiled, slow and soft. “So is yours.”

Sometimes they sat on the balcony together, watching the sun rise. Neither said a word. Neither needed to.

Alexei was absurd and endearing.

He doted on her like a second daughter—called her "my little shadow witch" and brought her strange, wonderful gifts from his past: pocket knives with history, books with blood-stained corners, a hand-painted flask from the Soviet years.

He taught her how to shoot with antique pistols even though she didn’t need to.

She taught him how to ward his whiskey with a hangover charm.

Once, she asked him why he always brought her things.

“Because daughters should have gifts,” he said with a shrug. “And you? You are special. You are mine now.”

She’d laughed and hugged him, just long enough to make him sniffle and pretend it was allergies.

Walker surprised her.

Not because he was charming. Because, honestly, he wasn't. He was irritating, loud, too rigid, always a little bit out of sync with her energy.

But there was something… earnest beneath it. Something human.

They argued constantly.

She called him Walmart Captain America or Walker-Red-Flag. He called her Witchypoo in retaliation. But there was a rhythm to it. A low hum of mutual tolerance that slowly grew into something more.

She read his tarot one night after he muttered something about not believing in “that bullshit.”

The next morning, he left an extra cup of coffee on the table for her. Black. Just how she liked it.

He still groaned when she walked into a room.

But he always walked in after her.

And then, there was Bob.

Bob Reynolds, who barely spoke above a whisper.

Bob, who watched her like he was trying not to fall apart. Like he already had.

He was quiet. Almost scared of her at first—not in a way that made her bristle, but in a way that made her ache. He looked at her like he knew she could destroy him.

And he kept showing up anyway.

Bob started coming to her room after midnight.

He started sitting with her at night. Quietly. Without words. She’d be pulling her tarot cards under the moonlight, charging her crystals on the sill, Stevie Nicks humming in the background—and Bob would just be there, reading a book in her chair.

Sometimes he fell asleep on her couch. Curled up like he was afraid he’d take up too much space. She never told him to leave. He never asked to stay. They didn’t talk about it.

But he started bringing his own mug for her tea. Started asking her what the cards meant when she shuffled them slow, eyes half-lidded with sleep.

He never touched her. Never tried. But he looked at her like she was something holy. Like she was the only thing in the world that made sense.

And the Enchantress?

She whispered. Not in hunger. Not in warning. But in awe.

“He sees us.”

Arabella didn’t answer. She never did. But she felt it—deep in her bones, under her skin, in the quiet hum of her breath when Bob looked up from his book and met her eyes.

There was no fear there. Not anymore. Just… recognition.

Like they were made of the same broken thing.

And when he fell asleep on her couch, breath even and hands unclenched, she watched the rise and fall of his chest and whispered ancient words beneath her breath—not to keep him out.

But to keep him safe.

One night he broke the quiet.

“What does it mean,” he asked softly, “when—when the uh, cards keeps showing up upside down?”

Arabella didn’t look up. She was lighting a candle. Her fingers moved with purpose.

“It depends on the card,” she murmured. “But usually? It means something’s resisting.”

Bob swallowed.

She glanced up then, sharp and knowing. “Are you resisting, Bob?”

He didn’t answer. But inside his mind, The Void stirred.

“She’s not afraid of you,” it whispered. “She’d let us in.”

Bob’s breath hitched.

Arabella tilted her head. “You okay?”

He nodded once. Too fast.

She smirked. “Liar.”

The Void purred.

“She’s ours,” it whispered slowly. “Let me speak to her. Just once. Let me see how much her darkness glows.”

Bob gritted his teeth. Looked away.

Arabella didn’t press. She just reached out and gently placed a crystal in his palm—warm from her skin.

“For when it gets too loud,” she said.

Bob didn’t let go. Not for a long time.

Three months had already passed, and life seemed easier for Arabella. The kind of ease that came slowly, after years of unrest. The kind that settled in her bones like warm tea and candlelight.

She still walked barefoot through the halls. Still lined doorways with salt. Still played Fleetwood Mac on her record player every morning like it was a ritual—because it was. Still danced under the moonlight like no one was watching, even though Bob always did. She laughed more. Slept better. She was healing, quietly, completely.

But The Enchantress never slept. She whispered, always. A constant thrum beneath Arabella’s skin. Like wind at the back of her neck.

And every time Bob walked into a room—every time his eyes found hers across the kitchen, across the training mat, across the quiet of her candlelit room...

The Enchantress screamed. Not in pain. Not in rage. In want.

“He carries so much darkness and pain in him,” she hissed. “Let me taste it.”

Arabella had kept her buried. Chained beneath crystal grids and ancestral spellwork. But Bob made everything crack open. Bob felt like her. And the Enchantress was starting to see freedom.

Not to destroy him.

To touch him.

To speak to the Void and be spoken to in return.

It was warm in the kitchen. Sunlight spilled across the floor, soft and golden, washing over the table where the team had gathered.

Arabella was humming under her breath, barefoot and wrapped in a black silk robe that fell off one shoulder. Her hair was a halo of curls, her eyes half-lidded with sleep. A record played in the background—Stevie, again.

The table was loud.

Yelena was trying to argue that vodka counted as a breakfast food while simultaneously sneaking bacon off Alexei’s plate.

Walker rolled his eyes. “You people are unhinged.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Ava muttered, sipping her coffee.

Alexei grinned over his mug. “In Russia, we ate meat for breakfast. And sometimes men.”

“Okay, Hannibal,” Yelena shot back.

“Enough,” Bucky said, laughing into his cup. “Let the witch serve the food in peace.”

Arabella smirked as she walked over with a plate of pancakes—perfect, golden, stacked high, topped with warm berries.

Then—she stopped.

Her body went still mid-step.

The plate slipped from her hands. Fell. Shattered against the tile at her feet like a crack in the world. Syrup and fruit and ceramic scattered across the floor.

Silence slammed into the room.

Bucky shot to his feet. “Bells?”

She didn’t answer.

Her eyes glazed—then turned black for the briefest second. A flicker. A flash.

“Arabella.” His voice sharpened. “What’s wrong? Bells, talk to me.”

She blinked slowly. Her voice was barely a breath. “There’s something happening.”

Yelena was on her feet. “Bella—?”

But Arabella was already moving.

She crossed the room like she was sleepwalking—barefoot across shards of porcelain, bleeding but unaware. Her eyes locked on the console in the corner.

The tower’s tech wasn’t hers—but her fingers moved like it was. Smooth. Instinctive. Like the codes were written in her blood.

“Arabella,” Ava said, voice tight. “What are you doing?”

"You're bleeding," Bucky whispered.

She didn’t answer.

Everyone followed—hovering behind her as screens lit up, one by one. Her eyes flickered, scanning feeds, fingers dancing like she wasn’t even thinking.

And then—

The screen froze.

And her heart dropped.

Security footage from an old, sealed-off subway station. Flickering light. Smoke curling from the stone. Runes—her runes—scratched into metal. Twisting. Burning.

And in the far corner—machines.

Half-dead. Half-alive.

Stirring.

Moving.

“Oh my god,” she whispered.

Yelena grabbed her arm. “What is that?”

Arabella stepped back, hand pressed to her lips.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream.

But her voice was hollow when she said, “They’re using dark magic. Twisting it.”

Her pulse thudded through the room like a war drum.

Bucky looked at her. “What do we do?”

Arabella turned toward him slowly. Her eyes still rimmed in black. “We stop it,” she said. Her voice was calm.

But the floor beneath her feet had already begun to hum.

The energy was different now. The warmth of the kitchen was gone—snuffed out by what Arabella had seen. What she felt. The shattered plate still lay back on the floor, forgotten. Everyone filed into the briefing room in silence. Even Yelena, usually muttering curses under her breath, said nothing.

Arabella stood at the head of the room now. Not Bucky. Not this time.

The screen behind her glowed—static-edged footage looping in jagged, grainy frames. The subway station. The runes. The machines.

Her runes.

Bucky leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed. His gaze never left her.

“Tell us,” he said.

Arabella’s jaw was tight. Her hands didn’t shake—but her voice was colder than it had been in months.

“There’s an old network of sealed tunnels under Brooklyn,” she began. “The MTA shut them down decades ago. No access. No cameras. But something got in.”

She clicked the screen forward.

Close-up footage. A sigil burned into metal. Corrupted lines of spellwork. Smoke curling in unnatural shapes.

“This isn’t just tech. It’s necrotic magic—dark, ancient, and bound to blood.” She looked up. “My blood.”

The room went still.

“They’re using resurrection rites. The same one's I learned from my grandmother. Something’s trying to merge death magic with..."

She hesitated. Her hands hovered above the console, fingers trembling.

“Merge it with what, Bells?” Bucky asked gently, stepping forward.

She swallowed. And then she clicked one more frame forward. The screen froze.

A metallic body, half-rebuilt, cables woven through bone, its chestplate still glowing with a dull, rust-colored arc reactor.

Stamped in silver, unmistakable:

Stark Industries.

Arabella’s mouth parted. Her eyes filled instantly. A sharp breath caught in her throat, and her knees wobbled slightly. She reached for the table like it might hold her up. She stared.

At the logo.

At what it meant.

At what it was

And what it wasn’t.

“They’re using his work,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Tony’s work. They’re—he’s gone, and they’re using what he built to… to raise the dead.”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

“I spent years learning how to put spirits to rest. How to honor them. And they’re using his code to trap them. Trap the souls of the dead. To force them back into metal and ash like—like it’s a tool. Like it’s not sacred.”

She shook her head.

“It’s not just my magic,” she breathed. “It’s his name. His legacy. They’re twisting everything.”

Bucky moved without hesitation. He reached out, gently rested a hand on her back. Didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.

Arabella didn’t cry—not fully. But her shoulders trembled.

And when she finally looked up, her eyes were dark. Not black, not yet.

But close.

“I’m going down there,” she said, voice low. “And I’m burning it to the fucking ground.”

The silence held like breath.

Arabella stood in front of the screen, her shoulders squared, her hands still shaking. Not from fear. But from rage. The kind of fury that lived in bone and had the power to crush them. The kind passed down through the blood of women who had always been told their power was too much.

“We’re going with you,” Bucky said, his voice stern.

Arabella blinked. Her mouth parted. “No,” she said, voice hoarse. “You don’t understand. This magic—it’s not meant for you. It’s old. It’s dark. It’s not made for you.”

She turned to face them all. Her eyes shimmered, rimmed with black. “It wants to hurt. It feeds on what you love. You step into that circle unprotected and it will devour you. I’m the only one who can walk into that circle and survive it. Alone.”

Bucky’s expression didn’t change. His voice didn’t waver.

“You’re not going in alone, Bella.”

She exhaled, sharp. “Bucky—”

“No.” He stepped forward. Firm. Grounded. “We’re a team. A family. And family sticks together.”

Arabella opened her mouth—but Yelena cut in before she could speak.

“You think I’m going to let you crawl into hell without me? Bitch, please.” She crossed her arms. “If you die and I’m not there, I’m going to hex your ghost. Badly.”

Alexei nodded solemnly. “I will bring vodka and blessed grenades.”

Ava’s voice was soft. “I'm in."

Walker looked like he wanted to protest. Arabella raised an eyebrow.

He immediately nodded. “I’ll… drive.”

Arabella almost laughed. Almost.

Then—he stepped forward.

Bob.

He didn’t speak at first. Just moved, slow and deliberate, until he stood beside her—close, but not too close. Not touching. Never touching.

Arabella didn’t turn her head, but she felt him like a second heartbeat. The weight of him. The pull. The thrum of his power bleeding into the air between them, brushing against her skin like smoke.

Too close.

Inside her chest, The Enchantress stirred.

“He’s here,” she purred, velvet-smooth and low. “Let me taste his darkness.”

Arabella’s breath caught. She held herself still, fingers curling tight at her sides. If she reached out, even a fraction of an inch, she knew she wouldn’t stop. She knew the Enchantress would rise with want, not war.

And in the stillness between them, The Void whispered inside Bob’s mind.

“She burns. I want to feel how hot.”

He didn’t move either. Not even a breath out of rhythm. But his jaw clenched, his eyes locked on something distant, her, and his hands flexed once like they ached to lift and couldn’t.

"I'm going with you. You can't do this alone," Bob whispered.

Arabella didn’t answer at first. Couldn’t. The words hung between them like smoke, like a spell half-cast and waiting.

She exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the glowing screen. Her jaw clenched. Her voice, when it came, was barely a whisper. “You don’t understand what this kind of magic does, Bob.”

Inside her chest, the Enchantress curled tighter, more awake than ever.

“Let him come,” she whispered. “Let him see what I can do with a god in my hands.”

Arabella blinked hard. Shut her eyes. Shut the voice out.

“I’m still coming with you,” he whispered. The Void stretched just beneath the surface of him like it recognized her.

And Arabella, after a beat, nodded. Just once. She didn’t say thank you. She didn’t say don’t.

She said, “Then stay behind me.”

And prayed to everything she knew that he would.

The tunnels beneath Brooklyn were colder than they sould have been, not the kind of cold you could feel on your skin, but the kind that settled into bone and memory. Haunted. Like a nightmare. The air was thick with rot and cooper, and the deeper they went, the more the city above felt like a distant dream.

Ava and Yelena took point, flashlights flickering across crumbling tile and twisted metal, weapons steady. Bucky and Walker kept a slow, even pace behind them, eyes always moving, always watching. Arabella hung back with Bob, her steps silent. She didn't speak. She couldn't. The walls were already whispering.

They’d passed the third tunnel junction when Bucky turned his head just slightly, enough to glance back, voice low. “You sure you wanna do this?”

Arabella didn’t even blink. “I’m the only one who can.” Her voice carried, calm and sharp, no room for argument.

The further they went, the worse it got. The walls began to hum—not with electricity, but with something else. Something dark. Something old. The kind of hum that lived in ritual circles and the mouths of the dead. Arabella’s fingers twitched at her sides, power prickling just beneath her skin. Her breath shortened as she walked, every step dragging her deeper into the echo of magic that felt too much like her own.

Bob shifted beside her, breath stuttering, his hands flexing open and closed. He didn’t say anything, but she felt it—his power swelling beneath the surface like a wave waiting to crash. And then came the sound. Not footsteps. Not breathing. Scraping.

They didn’t have time to react before the tunnel erupted around them—metal shrieking, bone cracking, a dozen bodies dropping from the shadows like meat puppets sewn together with cable and magic. They moved wrong—jagged, broken—eyes glowing red, limbs clicking as if trying to remember how to be human.

Yelena cursed under her breath, blade already drawn, her voice snapping out like a gunshot.

“Well, shit.” Ava phased just in time to avoid a clawed hand, her body flickering with static as she reappeared behind it, driving a blade into the base of its neck.

"What the fuck—" Walker muttered, firing his gun. It did absolutely nothing.

Bucky barked out orders, trying to pull them back, keep the team together, but they were splitting—forced apart by sheer chaos.

Arabella didn’t move.

She walked into the center of it all, slow, deliberate, untouched by the panic around her. One of the creatures lunged and froze midair, stopped by a sudden, invisible force—its body cracking in place like glass. Her voice was quiet. Almost kind.

“Enchantress.”

It wasn’t just a name. It was a summoning.

Her eyes flicked black, her pupils blown wide, and the transformation rolled through her like a flood. Her body straightened, her hair lifted in a wind that didn’t exist, her lips curled into something that was not a smile but close enough to frighten. Glowing sigils ignited across her skin—runes carved into flesh, ancient and burning.

The Enchantress rose with her breath, her voice shifting into something layered, rich, older than anything alive in that tunnel. She didn’t blink as the corpses charged again.

She lifted her hand and whispered in Spanish, a language soaked in blood and moonlight. “Your magic doesn't belong here. Give it back to the earth were it came from."

The wave of enemies collapsed like dominos, falling with a sound like wet bone and shattering metal. One screamed, high and broken, before bursting into smoke. Another reached for her and disintegrated mid-motion. Enchantress didn’t flinch. She smiled.

Bob staggered back a step, eyes locked on her, chest heaving like he couldn’t quite breathe. Inside his head, the Void surged awake, not angry, not violent—fascinated.

“She’s like us,” it whispered. “No—she’s better. She was born like this.”

His hands sparked with light, gold bleeding to black, his vision dimming at the edges. The storm within him pulsed, and he reached toward it, toward her, even if his hands never left his sides.

Enchantress turned her head, eyes glowing black. She looked at him and smiled.

Enchantress didn’t speak, but Bob heard her anyway.

“I see you. I see what's inside you. The darkness. Let me taste it.”

And inside him, the Void growled in response.

“Take it. I want to see what you’ll become when you touch me.”

The words weren’t said aloud, but Enchantress heard them. Felt them.

Her smile deepened, slow and sharp, and she tilted her head like a cat watching prey twitch.

“Oh,” she purred, voice a syrupy echo only he could hear, “you’re going to beg for it.”

And Bob, shaking from the inside out, didn’t dare say a word.

Bucky moved, boots crunching over scorched stone and broken machines as the smoke settled. His voice was low, careful. “Bells, come back to me.”

But she didn’t move.

She was still standing in the center of the carnage, still Enchantress, still glowing faintly with that ancient, seductive light. Her eyes, black as ink, weren’t on him—they were still locked on Bob. Fixed. Fascinated. Her mouth was curved, wicked and slow. The runes on her skin pulsed like a heartbeat.

“She doesn’t want to come back,” the Enchantress whispered, gaze still locked on the man who hadn’t moved, who looked like he was barely breathing.

Bucky stepped closer, steadier now. He’d done this before—held her through magic comas, pulled her back from the edge more times than he could count—but this was different.

She’d never resisted.

Not like this.

“Arabella,” he said again, firmer this time, closer now. “It’s me. It’s Bucky. Come on, baby witch. Don’t make me beg.”

The Enchantress tilted her head, almost curious, but didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch. She was too deep in it, too close to something she hadn’t felt before, and Bucky’s chest twisted.

He took another step. “Bells. Come back.”

And then—Bob moved.

One slow, shaking step forward. Not threatening. Not demanding. His voice was rough and low. “Bring her back.”

Her eyes flickered. Just slightly. The light dimmed.

The Enchantress blinked, and for a moment, there was something soft behind her expression—like a memory. Like regret. She looked at Bob as if she were memorizing him, and then she smiled. It was all teeth and hunger and something ancient and beautiful. Her lips parted, breath curling in the air between them.

“Next time, I’ll let you touch me.”

And then she collapsed.

Bucky was already moving, catching her before she hit the floor. Her body went slack in his arms, her head falling against his chest, her breath shallow but steady. He crouched with her, cradling her like he’d done too many times before.

“Bells,” he whispered, brushing her hair back from her face, “hey, come on—look at me.”

Her eyelids fluttered. A soft groan slipped from her throat. “What… happened?”

“You stopped it,” Bucky murmured, voice rough around the edges. “You brought it down. You did good.” Her lashes trembled, her eyes opening slowly, brown again. Human again. But tired. So tired.

Behind them, Bob stood frozen, hands still trembling at his sides, gold and black flickering faintly beneath his skin. His throat was dry. His pulse too loud. He couldn’t move—not yet. Not when the echo of her magic still clung to the air like perfume and fire, not when her voice—her other voice—still rang like a bell behind his eyes. He could still feel her. Like a storm on the edge of touch.

And then, deep in his mind, the Void stirred.

It didn’t roar. It didn’t rage.

It purred.

“You brought her back. Why?”

A pause. A shiver up his spine.

“I would’ve let her stay. She wanted to stay. She wanted us.”

Bob swallowed, jaw tight.

The Void curled around him like a shadow, low and amused.

“You’re lying to yourself, Robert. You want her too. The way she sees you. The way she smiled.”

Bob clenched his fists. Didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

But he didn’t deny it either.

And the Void laughed—soft and satisfied.

“Next time, you won’t send her away.”

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐅𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐍 © 2025. DO NOT STEAL, REPOST, OR COPY THIS STORY TO TUMBLR, WATTPAD, AO3, OR ANY OTHER PLATFORM. Moodboards and graphics made by @houseofaegon DO NOT repost or reuse without credit. chain divider by @cursed-carmine

♱ ˖ ࣪ . taglist: @the-a-word-2214 @favestxrboy @uraesthete @abbysbenchpr @sammystarswrite @pey2618 @qardasngan @lunaoieoie @orithyia-eriphyle @amatiswayland @madzzz6958 @all-by-myself98 @dark-silhouette @ghost-ghost-13 @wyvernthekriger @gayfiretruck @watermeezer @lvmxla @novausstuff @mommymilkers0526 @natureartisian @feralgoblinbabe @misaki-evans @uracowboylikemee @sxlsvv @stillinracooncity @deltamel (if you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know in the comments. love, bri.)

153 notes · View notes

helslastangel · 11 months ago

Text

MASTERLIST&MORE ❀˚₊

Hey! 🪷

I’m Luna (she/her), a fiction writer, poet, chart reader, and part-time agent of chaos. I am a Virgo Sun, Capricorn Moon, and Leo Rising, which means I give solid advice that I promptly forget and never follow myself.

I moonlight as a certified pain the ass by day and write poetry and fiction over at @antih3roine by night.

Astrology’s been my #1 hyperfixation for over 15 years, and this blog is where I put all the unfiltered, poetic, petty, or possibly cursed things I’ve noticed about placements, synastry, and the celestial beans that we are.

You'll see non-astrology posts from time to time. Sometimes, I yap just to yap. I got fifty tabs open in my phone and brain at all times. ENTP skill issue. Thank you for your patience 😘

This masterlist includes:

🌌 Synastry breakdowns (some helpful, some hostile)

🕷️ Random astro observations

🌸 Planet, sign, and asteroid lore

🧠 Neurodivergent musings

> 📍Current Status:

Deciding whether I'm a girly girl or an honorary boy today.

Virgo ☀️ ☆ Capricorn 🌙 ☆ Leo 🌄 ☆ Scorpio ♀️

❀˚₊ a few of my favorite tumblr peeps ♡

@bijoutarot 》 @blueskiestarot 》 @eternalpisces 》 @elysiansparadise 》 @harmoonix 》 @inaccuratelybiblicalangel 》 @karmicbitchastro 》 @learnastrowallura 》 @lilianne-tarot》 @mxrcurysb1tch 》 @sagittariusmarz 》 @starryastrologysworld 》 @tarotbyjam24 》 @thetarotyapper

❀˚₊ don't forget to follow & support ☆

A few (of many) synastry aspects for attraction ❤️

Blaming my personality on my parents' placements 🤡

Capricorn moons aren't emotional 🤔

Dating a Scorpio rising 🦂

Frenemy & FWB synastry aspects 💥

How would you describe yourself using your big 3? 🤔

I have (multiple) obsessions, and they're gay af 🌈

Indicators of Androgeny in Astrology

I put Pisces men in rice 🍚

Meet my musical idols (and their big 5s) 🎤

Placements that need to know everything 🧠

Placements that enjoy dark humor 💀

Synastry in my personal connections 💕

The signs as past situationships 🚫 😮‍💨

What the enneagram types want you to know 📝

What the signs struggle with on a daily basis 😔

Why synastry doesn't work without your birth time ⏰️

You may be attracted to foreigners if ✈️

Zodiac Tech Support 🖥

More posts >

Random Placement Observations

Random Observations #1

Random Observations #2

Random Observations #3

Random Observations #4

Random Observations #5

Random Observations #6

Random Observations #7

Random Observations #8

Random Observations #9

Random Observations #10

^_^

Mini Observations #1

Mini Observations #2

Mini Observations #3

Mini Observations #4

Mini Observations #5

Mini Observations #6 🔞🌶

Mini Observations #7

About Water Sign Junos

Asteroid Observations

Aries Juno Observations ♈️ 🐏

Aquarius Juno Observations ♒️ 🏺

Cancer Juno Observations ♋️ 🦀

Capricorn Juno Observations ♑️ 🐐

Chiron Conjunct Lilith Synastry 🖤

Chiron in 7H synastry (poem) 🥀

Gemini Juno Observations ♊️ 👬

Leo Juno Observations ♌️ 🦁

Libra Juno Observations ♎️ ⚖️

Lilith Conjunct Ascendant in Friendship Synastry

Pisces Juno Observations ♓️ 🐟

Scorpio Juno Observations ♏️ 🦂

Sagittarius Juno Observations ♐️ 🏹

Taurus Juno Observations ♉️ 🐂

Virgo Juno Observations ♍️ 💃🏽

Virgos, this is for you ♍️

Vesta in the Signs

Your core desires, according to Chiron 🖤

Your deepest fears according to Chiron 🖤

Your hidden fear according to Black Moon Lilith 🌚

Your ideal self-care routine according to Ceres 🌸

Aquarius in 8th House

Capricorn in 7th House

Capricorn stellium in the 12th house

Compatibility Observations: Capricorn Moon

Compatibility Observations: Sagittarius Moon

Dominant 1st House/Ascendant

How you enjoy yourself according to the 5th House

How to be ethically manipulative by sun, moon, & ascendant

How you relieve stress, according to Mars

How you speak according to Mercury, pt. 1 - Earth

How you speak according to Mercury, pt. 2 - Fire

Libra mars men, Gemini mars women, Sag mars enbies

Mars in 1H & 7H Synastry: From My Experiences 🔞 🌶

Moon Conj. Venus/Moon Trine Ascendant Synastry 🔞🌶

Moon Sign Observations

My Darling Aries ♈️

My Darling Taurus ♉️

My Darling Geminis ♊️

My Darling Cancers ♋️

My Darling Leos ♌️

My Darling Virgos ♍️

My Darling Scorpios ♏️

Neptune (2H) Sextile North Node (4H) 📧

Pisces in the Houses

Pluto Conjunct Lilith Natal

Sagittarius in 6th House

Same sign ascendant pairs as friends 🔞🌶

Scorpio in 5th House

Sun & Moon Observations

Sun sign pairs that work in relationships

Venus Conjunct Ascendant Synastry 💕

What makes the planets feel insecure

What Saturn fears most in the houses

What you need according to your moon sign

What you want to do according to Mars

Your best matches according to moon sign

Your eyes according to your chart ruler

Your good and bad sides according to your Big 3

Your lowest priorities according to empty houses

Your main area of focus according to the planets

Your most likely health issues according to the signs

Your most vulnerable areas according to the signs

Your empty houses in astrology

𓆩♡𓆪

Thank you for stopping by ♡

#masterlist #astrology tumblr #helslastangel #astrology blog #astrology #astrology observations #astrology notes

642 notes · View notes

jakescapes · 5 months ago

Text

𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖'𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨. (𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 1)

pairing: stalker!jake x reader (f)

synopsis: It all started when you met Jake Sim—the campus golden boy everyone adored. Charming, new, and impossible to resist, you quickly become his obsession. But as you fall deeper into his world, you realize the person you're falling for isn’t who he appears to be. And soon, you're trapped in a game you never agreed to play.

warnings: stalking, brief kissing in public, big tit reader, jake is kinda weird, panty sniffing, masturbation (m), light manipulation(?), part 1 is really not that bad tho, lmk if there are any more!

word count: 10.6k

author's note: so like i kinda hate this ㅠㅠ and i wasnt gonna make it into separate parts but i just wanna test the waters with this and see how much attention this will get first if that makes sense. also first time actually writing smut so idk if it sounds awkward, but pls give me any criticism you think needed! ty >.<

part two

now playing: mind games by sickick

-------------------------

It all started when you met Jake Sim. He was the campus guy—popular with the girls, adored by the professors, the kind of person everyone gravitated towards, but still had the kind, innocent, and nerdy element to him. If there was a charity event, Jake was organizing it. If someone had tech problems, Jake was fixing them. He had this effortless way of making you feel like you were the center of the world when he spoke to you.

You weren't immune to it, either. As a new freshman, you’d heard his name long before you met him. So when you found yourself at a party a month into your first semester trying not to look out of place, Jake was the last person you expected to notice you.

You weren’t even supposed to be at that party. Crowded rooms filled with loud music and drunk strangers weren’t exactly your thing, but your new friend/roommate Ava insisted. She was the kind of girl who thrived in any social setting, the life of the party, effortlessly magnetic, something you learned the first day you moved in with her.

With her status as an upperclassman, she knew everyone worth knowing and had declared that you had to go to the “first party of the year” because it was “going to be epic.” So, naturally, she dragged you along.

Now you were nursing a watered-down drink in the corner of a house that smelled like cheap beer and vanilla-scented candles. Ava stood beside you, casually pointing out all the people she deemed “important”—guys and girls she seemed to have endless stories about, whether those memories were good, bad, or in between.

“Oh!” she said suddenly, nudging you with her elbow. “That’s Jake Sim over there. Real nice guy, everybody loves him.”

You followed her gaze across the room. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, talking to a group of people who seemed completely captivated by whatever he was saying. Even from a distance, it was easy to see why. He had that kind of face—sharp jawline, warm smile, the perfect amount of confidence in the way he carried himself. His dark hair pushed back slightly over his forehead, like it had been styled that way on purpose.

You nodded without saying anything.

“You know,” Ava smirked, “I feel like he’s been eyeing you across the room for a while.”

You blinked, startled. “No he hasn’t.”

“Oh, he has. He’s doing that thing guys do where they pretend to listen to the conversation but keep glancing at you like you’re the main event.”

And who’s to say you weren’t the main event? Sure, this was your first official college party and the atmosphere felt a little out of your comfort zone, but it’s not like you spent your whole life as some awkward wallflower. You’re hot and you have what it takes to make men gawk and stop to stare at you on the streets. Even if you were oblivious about it. Even if you didn’t care. Plus you were a new, young face to the campus. And what do college boys with raging hormones love more than some new, hot, fresh meat?

You rolled your eyes, trying to brush it off. I mean, yeah, Jake was cute, but you weren’t going to entertain the idea of him eye fucking you across the room from your very tipsy friend who definitely should take it slow with the alcohol. You came here to accompany your friend, not for some popular boy. And that’s what you were going to do. At least that’s what you told yourself.

You couldn’t help sneaking another glance in his direction. Sure enough, his eyes met yours for probably the hundredth time that night. Your breath caught for half a second as he smiled. Not a quick, polite one, but the kind of cocky and sly smile that made it seem like he knew something you didn’t.

“See?” Ava whispered, “Told you.” Before you could argue, Jake excused himself from his group of drunk friends and started making his way towards you. Your instinct was to bolt, but Ava was quick to grab your arm, holding you in place. “Oh my god, he’s coming over here.”

“Shut up. Don’t make it weird,” you hissed under your breath.

“Me? Never,” she said, but the mischievous glint in her eyes told a different story.

Jake stopped a few feet away, holding a red solo cup in one hand, the other casually tucked into his pocket. “Hey,” he said, his voice so smooth but unassuming that for a second you didn’t know if he was talking to you or Ava, until his eyes eventually met yours. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Jake.”

You hesitated for a moment, your throat dry. But Ava on the other hand, ever the social butterfly, was already beaming with her response. “This is _____. She’s a freshman. And she’s my new roomie.”

“Ah,” Jake said, his smile widening as he held out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Freshie huh? Welcome to the chaos. If you ever need a hand settling in, don’t hesitate to ask. I know Ava over here wasn’t exactly the most put-together during her freshman year,” he playfully teased.

Ava rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah yeah, whatever,” she replied in defeat. You could tell they shared some history together, though the details weren’t something you cared to uncover at the moment.

You shook his hand, feeling his strong grip and his overwhelming gaze. “Thanks,” you managed to mumble, your voice quieter than you intended.

Ava, clearly delighted, nudged you again before stepping back. “I’m going to find another drink. You two have fun.” She shot you a not so discreet wink, one Jake clearly noticed. He responded with a low, undeniably attractive chuckle that stirred something inside you, something you knew you shouldn’t be feeling.

And just like that, she was gone, leaving you alone with him.

Jake tilted his head slightly, studying you with an intensity that made you want to fidget. “So, what do you think of the party?”

“It’s… loud.”

He chuckled and you awkwardly laughed in return. “Yeah, not really my scene either,” he admitted. “I was actually about to head out. Want to join me? I know a quieter place where we can talk.”

You hesitated, something about his directness caught you off guard. You’d been in similar situations like this before—situations where boys had tried to talk you into following them to their rooms and the like. Now, you weren’t inexperienced when it came to men, but a one night stand with someone you’ve been conversing with for about 45 seconds didn’t seem like something you were interested in at the moment. But that wasn’t what Jake was implying. You could tell he wasn’t like other guys in the past, the ones who were all too eager to make their intentions clear. There was something different about the way he carried himself.

And something different, there definitely was. But we’ll get to that part later.

Jake was patiently waiting for your response while you contemplated. You looked up at him and he smiled again, that disarming, perfect smile, and for a moment, you forgot why you were even questioning it.

“Sure,” you replied, not realizing then that this was the moment that everything in your life would change.

------------------------------

“So,” you asked, glancing out the window at the quiet streets passing by, “where are we?”

Jake gave you a sideways glance, his hand relaxed on the wheel. “Just a spot I like. It’s nice to get away from all the noise sometimes, don’t you think?” His voice was warm, almost teasing, like he already knew you’d agree.

You nodded, leaning back in your seat. “Yeah, I guess.” The party had been a bit much for your taste, and the idea of some quiet didn’t sound half bad. “Do you come here a lot?”

“Not really, I usually only bring people I actually want to talk to.”

Your cheeks warmed at that, and you looked down at your hands, fumbling with the hem of your dress. “Well, that’s nice of you.”

He chuckled softly. “It’s not about being nice. You just seemed different. Thought it might be worth getting to know you better.”

His words caught you off guard, not knowing whether to take it as a compliment or not, but the way he said them felt so genuine, so effortlessly charming, that you couldn’t help but smile. “Different how?”

He shrugged, his eyes flickering to you briefly before returning to the road. “You’re not like everyone else. You’re not trying too hard, you’re just… you. It’s refreshing.”

Even though it sounded so cliché, he wasn’t lying. But it’s not like you were trying to be different. I mean, it wasn’t hard for someone like you to stand out from a crowd of drunk girls, definitely trusting their tiny tops and micro shorts way more than they should, especially at a college party, basking in the attention of young, hungry men. But maybe that’s what they wanted. Maybe they want the recognition, the attention. You don’t. Not because you couldn’t pull it off—you could—but you didn’t care to. You weren’t there for the feeling of lingering eyes on you, and that was obvious to anyone paying close enough attention. And Jake paid attention. Oh, he did for sure. The moment you walked in the room, he noticed the way you carried yourself, not chasing the spotlight like others. And also mostly because you weren’t trying to whore yourself out at every given moment like everyone else, girl or guy. But it intrigued him, igniting a flicker of curiosity and a peculiar intent that he’d never felt before in the back of his mind.

You let out a soft laugh, unsure of how to respond. “Well, thanks, I guess.”

Jake’s grin widened. “Don’t mention it.”

As the car slowed and he turned down a quiet street, you realized you weren’t sure where you were, but the thought barely lingered. Something about the way he spoke made it hard to think too much. It felt easy, almost natural, to trust him. And that was the scariest part.

------------------------------

The door clicked shut behind you, and before you even had a chance to set your bag down, Ava was already perched on her bed, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“So,” she grinned, tucking her legs under her, “how was it?”

“How was what?” you asked, feigning oblivion as you dropped your bag onto your chair.

Your roommate groaned dramatically, sitting up straighter on her bed. “The date! You leave me in the middle of a party that you were supposed to be my date for, with the most popular guy on campus!”

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. “It wasn’t a date. We just… hung out.” You tried your best to sound indifferent, but Ava was already grinning.

“Whatever it was, tell me!” she demanded, practically bouncing on her bed.

“It was... nice,” you replied, trying to sound casual as you kicked off your shoes.

“Nice? That’s all I’m getting? Did you guys talk? Do anything?”

“No, we didn’t do anything. And I didn’t want to anyway. He was very respectful.”

“Of course he was,” Ava said, throwing her hands up like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, it’s Jake we’re talking about here. The guy’s practically perfect. Teachers love him, girls worship him, and he still manages to have this whole humble, good guy image.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Exactly. Nothing shocking there.”

“Still, I just had a feeling he’d be different with you.”

You froze for a second, glancing at her. “Different? Why?”

“Because I’ve seen how he is with other girls. Trust me, they throw themselves at him all the time, and he’s always so polite about it, but he never seems interested. He doesn’t make the first move. Ever.” She shrugged, as if it were no big deal. “But tonight? He came straight for you.”

You shrugged back, brushing her comment off with a small laugh. “I think you’re reading too much into it. He was just being nice.”

Ava raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but she didn’t push further. And you? You kept brushing it off, like you always did.

------------------------------

As you walked back into your shared living room after your nightly shower and routine in the bathroom, you glanced over at Ava. “Hey, by the way, what did Jake mean earlier? You know, when he said you ‘weren’t the most put-together’ during your freshman year?”

She just snorts, clearly unbothered by the memory. “Oh, that. Yeah, I was kind of a hot mess back then. Partied a lot, made some questionable choices. But, hey, isn’t that what college is for?”

You chuckled. Makes complete sense, honestly. “I was just curious. For a second, I thought maybe you two had a thing or something.”

“A thing? Well… kind of.”

Your head snapped up.

She shrugged casually, like she was recounting a minor detail. “There was this one party my freshman year. We were playing spin the bottle, and it landed on Jake. So, yeah, we kissed. Or, well, made out. But it only happened once.”

You blinked, not sure how to respond. “Oh. Uh, okay.”

“It wasn’t a big deal, I swear. It was years ago, and neither of us cared enough to make it weird. It’s not like it’s awkward or anything now. We don’t even bring it up.”

You nodded slowly, trying to process the new information. “Got it. Not jealous or anything,” you muttered, mostly to yourself, though the thought does linger for a second. It’s not like you had any claims on Jake, but… still.

“Good. Because honestly, you and Jake? Totally different vibe. I think it’s cute.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your water bottle to avoid letting the conversation stretch any further.

------------------------------

A few days later, Jake was leaned back against the couch in his apartment, a half-empty can of soda resting loosely in his hand. His friends were scattered across the room, voices bouncing off the walls as they talked about the usual—classes, campus drama, upcoming events—but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

“So, what’s with you?” Jay, his closest friend, asked, nudging him with his foot from across the coffee table.

Jake blinked, realizing he’d been quiet for too long. “What?”

“You’ve been zoning out for the past five minutes. Let me guess, girl troubles?”

That got the attention of the others. “Girl troubles? Jake Sim?” Sunghoon chimed in, laughing. “Yeah, right.”

Jake shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant, but the small, almost imperceptible grin tugging at his lips gave him away. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s totally like that,” Jay teased. “C’mon, spill.”

He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “Her name’s _____. I met her at that party the other night.”

“Wait, the one you ditched us for?”

Jake just chuckled and nodded, his gaze dropping to the can in his hand. “Yeah. Her.”

Then Jay let out a low whistle. “Damn, guess I never expected you to be the one to take the lead for once.”

“It’s not about that,” Jake said quickly. “She’s just different. She doesn’t try to stand out, but she does. I don’t know, man. She’s—” He stopped himself, shaking his head with a faint chuckle. “Forget it.”

“No, no, keep going,” Sunghoon pressed, leaning forward. “You’re actually into her, aren’t you?”

Jake didn’t respond, but the way his jaw tensed and his eyes flicked away said enough.

“Wow, well, I mean, good for you, dude. She’s gorgeous. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if half the guys on campus are already trying to get her attention.” Jay implied.

That comment sent an unexpected pang through Jake’s chest. He tried to dismiss it, but the thought lingered, other guys noticing you, talking to you, maybe even flirting with you.

“She doesn’t seem like the type to fall for just anyone,” Jake said, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.

“True,” Sunghoon agreed. “But still. She’s new, she’s pretty, and she’s got that whole ‘mystery girl’ vibe going on. Trust me, people are going to notice her.”

Jake forced a laugh, but the unease was already settling in the back of his mind. You didn’t seem like the type to entertain random guys, but the idea of someone else getting too close to you didn’t sit right with him.

The thought stayed with him long after his friends had moved on to another topic. It wasn’t jealousy, he told himself. It was just concern. You were new to campus, probably still finding your footing, and he didn’t want anyone to take advantage of that.

He told himself it was harmless as the idea began to form in his mind. Just checking in on you, making sure you were okay. Not in an overbearing way, of course. You wouldn’t even know. It was just the right thing to do.

And if it gave him peace of mind? Well, that was just a bonus.

That night, Jake sat hunched in front of his glowing PC screen, the only light in his room casting long shadows across his walls. His fingers hovered over the keyboard with an eager sort of precision, scrolling through page after page. What was he looking for? You. Only you.

It wasn’t like him, spending hours like this, completely absorbed in something he couldn’t explain. But there was something about you that was different. Like an itch he couldn’t ignore, let alone resist scratching.

Finding your Instagram hadn’t taken long. A couple of clicks here, a mutual tag there, and suddenly your whole world was laid out before him. Your name. Your face. Your posts. From there, it was a rabbit hole he couldn’t help but dive into. Facebook? Found it. Tumblr? Found it. Pinterest? Of course. Each new profile unlocked a little piece of you, a puzzle he was determined to solve.

Hours passed, and Jake found himself digging deeper, further back into your life than he had any business going. He paused on a blurry group photo from high school, his eyes immediately locking onto you. Awkward braces, a side ponytail, and a shy smile that tugged at something strange in his chest. He chuckled softly to himself, his lips curving into a grin.

“Cute.”

The realization of how long he’d been doing this emerged at the edge of his mind, but he was quick to brush it off. I mean, who doesn’t do this? Everyone stalks their crush. It’s not weird. It’s normal. He was just curious. That’s all.

And yet, even as he closed out one tab and opened another, Jake couldn’t shake the nagging sense that this wasn’t enough. The photos, the posts, the snippets of your life he was piecing together, they still felt distant, impersonal. He wanted more. Needed more.

His hand hovered over the mouse for a moment before he opened Instagram again, pulling up your most recent story. You were out earlier with a friend, walking with a coffee in hand, the city bustling in the background. It was mundane, ordinary. But to him, it was fascinating.

You were almost like an unsolved case to him. Every photo, every caption, every comment was a clue, something to dissect and overanalyze. The way you angled your head in selfies, the way you always seemed to wear rings on your right hand. Did that mean something? Maybe it was just a habit, or maybe it wasn’t. He didn’t know, but the not knowing made him dig deeper. Each little detail was like a breadcrumb leading him further down a path he couldn’t stop following.

It boosted him. Every new discovery sent a thrill rushing through him, like solving the next piece of a complex puzzle. The high school photos, the forgotten Pinterest boards filled with dreamy quotes and wedding décor. He was piecing together a version of you even you didn’t know you’d left behind.

The rational part of him, however, it was there. Buried somewhere, trying to surface, to remind him that this wasn’t normal, that this wasn’t healthy. But the excitement, the adrenaline of knowing so much about you, drowned it out every time. You were fascinating. You were beautiful. And you didn’t even know it, but by leaving that party with him that one night, you were letting him into your world.

It felt intimate. Special. Like he was uncovering the real you, the one hidden behind the edited photos and casual captions. And Jake? Jake couldn’t get enough.

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes flickering to the clock. It was late. Too late to still be sitting here. But he didn’t care. You were under his skin now, in his mind, in his every thought.

And he convinced himself, once again, that this was fine. Perfectly fine. He was just looking. There's nothing wrong with looking.

Right?

He didn’t notice it yet, but he was crossing a line he didn’t realize he was already standing over.

------------------------------

It was a perfectly normal Saturday afternoon. You were at the local grocery store, a basket in hand as you roamed the aisles, debating between two different brands of pasta. The store was buzzing with life. Kids whining for candy, parents arguing over coupons, the hum of soft pop music barely audible over the chatter.

You were zoning out, staring at the shelves, when a familiar voice startled you.

“Hey, fancy seeing you here.”

You turned sharply, and there he was. Jake. Dressed in a simple hoodie and jeans, he looked casual and relaxed, the epitome of “guy next door.”

“Oh. Hey, Jake. What’re you doing here?”

“Grocery shopping, same as you,” he said with a grin. “Though I’ll admit, I didn’t expect to run into you.”

You smiled politely, feeling a little awkward. “Yeah, small world.” And it was then that you realized Jake wasn’t holding a basket or a grocery cart at all. You glanced down at your own, practically overflowing with items, while he stood there empty handed. Maybe he had stopped by to grab something quick.

He glanced at the shelves, his eyes scanning the items before landing back on you. “Pasta night?”

You held up the two boxes in your hands. “Debating between these two. Any recommendations?”

He stepped closer, pretending to study the boxes like it was a life or death decision. “Well, this brand’s sauce clings better,” he said, pointing to one, “but this one’s texture is nicer. Depends on what you’re going for.”

“I didn’t know you were a pasta expert.”

He grinned. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

And for some reason, that stuck with you. You had this feeling that he was being truthful, but not in a good way. Like there was more to that statement than he was letting on, something hidden beneath the surface. A part of you couldn’t ignore the unease creeping up your spine, but his smile was so convincing, that you pushed the thought aside. Maybe you were overthinking it.

You shook your head, putting one box back and dropping the other into your basket. “Good to know. Maybe next time I’ll consult you for my grocery list.”

He chuckled, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than felt necessary. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The two of you ended up walking through the aisles together, Jake casually slipping into conversation as if this wasn’t entirely coincidental. He asked you about your week, made jokes about the odd products on the shelves, and even recommended a snack or two that he claimed was “life changing.”

It was easy to forget the awkwardness at first, Jake was good at that. He made people feel comfortable, like you were the only person in the room, even if it was just a crowded grocery store.

But as the conversation went on, little things started to feel… off.

Like how he seemed to know exactly what aisle you were heading to next, always a step ahead, grabbing things you hadn’t even noticed. Or how he mentioned a specific brand of matcha you liked, something you didn’t recall ever telling him.

Or when you turned to grab a few more things, and you noticed Jake picking up items—fruits, snacks, even the same brand of shampoo you had chosen—things that seemed oddly familiar to what you were already grabbing. You glanced back down at your basket to where you noticed Jake running out of room, even in his big arms, that he had casually started to place some of his items in your basket, almost absentmindedly.

At first, it was just a few, but then his arms began to overflow with more things. You couldn’t help but notice how he seemed to be running out of room. His hands were awkwardly balancing a few cans, some fruit, and the bottle of shampoo, all piled up like a small tower. It was kind of cute.

"Uh, you might want to grab a basket," you said, eyeing the growing pile in his arms. "I don’t think you’ll fit everything."

Jake looked down at his arms, then back at you with a slight laugh. “Oh, right. Thanks for the reminder.”

He glanced around awkwardly, like it hadn’t even occurred to him.

I mean that was kind of weird, right? The thought lingered, but you brushed it off as you continued your shopping.

And then there was the moment at checkout.

You were unloading your basket onto the conveyor belt when Jake casually reached for the same brand of chocolate you’d grabbed earlier, dropping it into his basket with a small smile.

“What?” he asked when he noticed your raised brow. “You have good taste.”

It was harmless. But the way he casually mirrored your actions, not just then, but from the moment you saw him in the store, you’ve noticed how it seems like he’s not just casually shopping, but actively observing you and somehow always knows what your next move is.

Maybe you’re just being paranoid. It’s getting late after all, the sun is beginning to set and here you are, with a guy you don’t really know all that well. Of course you’re going to be a little on edge. It’s just womanly instincts.

But as you walked out of the store, bags in hand, and saw him heading in the same direction as you—despite you being certain he lived on the other side of campus—that faint unease crept back in.

“Need help carrying those?” he offered, gesturing to your bags.

You shook your head quickly. “No, I’m good. Thanks, though.”

He nodded, still smiling. “Alright. See you around, then.”

And as you started walking away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that his gaze lingered just a little too long, like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to pounce on their prey. It was subtle, but the intensity of his stare made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, even as his smile never wavered. You tried to dismiss it, telling yourself it was probably just your imagination running wild. After all, it’s Jake. Everyone loves him.

------------------------------

"So, Jake asked about you," Ava said casually as she applied her mascara, sitting across the room.

"Wait, what?" you asked, sitting up from your bed. It was 7 a.m. in the morning, and you had just been jolted awake by your roommate’s loud music blasting from the bathroom a few minutes ago.

"Yeah, said something about how he wants to ask you out. Take you on a real nice date. Then end it off with spreading your legs in the back of his car."

You froze, your heart racing in your chest. “Wait, what.”

Your silence was then followed by laughter. "Oh my god! I’m joking!"

You let out a huge sigh of relief, but then you playfully shot her a look. "Ava, do not play with me like that." But honestly, you were kind of serious too.

She shot you a grin, clearly amused. "Oh, come on, you’re so easy to mess with. But seriously, you know you wished I wasn’t joking.”

You rolled your eyes at Ava’s teasing and went back to scrolling on your phone. “Yeah, okay,” you muttered, not giving it much thought.

“He did actually say something about asking you out, though.”

You paused, glancing up at her again. “Are you messing with me?”

She swore up and down, looking completely sincere. “No, I’m telling you the truth. He said he wanted to take you out for a nice date. That’s what he told me.”

“I still don’t buy it.”

“I swear on everything, I’m not lying!” Ava’s voice was insistent now. “So what’s the deal? You gonna go?”

You hesitated, unsure. “I don’t know…”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Ava scoffed, clearly frustrated. “Girl, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Every girl wants a night out with Jake. You’d be crazy not to go.”

You chewed on your lip, contemplating her words. It's not that you wouldn't enjoy going out with Jake, it's just that something about him still unsettled you. You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but there were moments where the way he looked at you, or the way he seemed to know a little too much about you, made you feel like you were under a microscope. It wasn’t overly creepy, but there was an underlying tension that you couldn’t ignore.

Still, you couldn’t deny that you liked his company. He was charming, funny, and his attention was flattering, sometimes even a little intoxicating. But you weren’t sure if it was just his charm that kept you second guessing those little moments that made you feel unsure

“It’s not like that. I mean… he’s nice, and he’s funny, and I enjoy being around him. But, I don’t know. Sometimes, I just feel kind of weird around him. Like, there’s something about him that makes me feel uneasy. It’s like… something’s off.”

Ava tilted her head, unimpressed. “You’re being paranoid. Honestly, I never feel that way around him. He’s always been chill, and I’m sure he’s just trying to make a move on you. Stop second guessing it, okay?”

You sighed, but Ava wasn’t having it. She was determined to get you to say yes.

And honestly speaking, a part of you wanted to get to know him more too. He definitely knew how to make a girl laugh, and he was great at contributing to conversations. There was an ease to the way he spoke, like he was genuinely interested in whatever you had to say. And you couldn't deny that there was a certain chemistry between you two. He was charming, effortlessly so, and that smile of his? It melted you every time.

You were sure he was a great kisser too. I mean, those plump lips of his didn’t look like they lied. They were always so close, so inviting. The thought of it made your pulse quicken a little, despite yourself.

So, why not let yourself live a little? Everyone around you was practically begging you to take the plunge. Ava was begging you to go and she knows him better then you do, so when she means he's no harm, she can't be lying. You could use a night of fun, a little excitement. It didn’t have to be anything more than that. After all, he was just a guy. It wasn’t like you were doing anything wrong by saying yes, right?

So a few days later, when you saw Jake waiting outside of your class and finally asked you on a date, you had no reason to say no.

------------------------------

So here you were. At the edge of a nice lake surrounded by a cute park. Jake beside you, rambling on about some random topic that, honestly, you weren’t even sure you were fully listening to. He had a way of talking, of keeping the conversation flowing smoothly, making it feel like you were the only two people in the world. His voice was soft, relaxed, and as he gestured with his hands, you couldn’t help but watch the way his muscles flexed under the sleeves of his shirt.

You'd almost forgotten why you were so nervous about meeting up with Jake in the first place. The whole thing felt so natural now, so effortless. His laugh was contagious, his stories engaging, and his presence so easy to enjoy. As the sun started to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over everything, you found yourself laughing more than you had in weeks, the worries and uncertainties slipping away.

“So,” you said casually, glancing over at him, “what exactly are you majoring in, by the way?”

“I’m in engineering. Tech stuff.” He shrugged like it was no big deal, but you could tell by his tone that he took pride in it. “It’s all about computers, networks, systems, you know? It comes in pretty handy,” he added with a sly wink.

“Handy?”

He chuckled softly. “Yeah. I mean, you never know when a little extra knowledge can be useful. You’d be surprised at how helpful it is until you need it,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly as if implying something more, but before you could react, he eventually changed the subject.

You two wandered the park, your footsteps light, side by side, as you talked about everything and nothing. The air was crisp and refreshing, and the sounds of the nearby water and chirping birds only added to the peaceful vibe. The awkward tension you'd felt in previous encounters with Jake was now a distant memory.

But as the sky darkened, and the park became quieter, something shifted between the two of you. It wasn’t anything obvious, but there was this electricity in the air that hadn’t been there before. It was like everything had led to this moment.

You both stopped by the water, your shoes crunching against the gravel path as you looked out over the lake. The soft waves lapping at the shore reflected the dimming sky, and for a moment, the world around you felt suspended in time. Jake leaned a little closer, his arm brushing against yours as he turned to face you.

"I’m glad we did this," he murmured, his voice soft, almost too sincere.

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the summer evening air. "Me too."

And then, without warning, Jake’s hand cupped your cheek, and he kissed you. It was gentle at first, just a soft press of lips, and it shocked you definitely, but you melted into it, letting go of any lingering hesitation. His lips were warm, his touch delicate, and for that brief moment, you forgot about everything—forgot about the nagging thoughts that had been chasing you all day.

But then, suddenly, the kiss deepened. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss turned more urgent, more demanding. His lips were now on yours with an intensity that surprised you, and before you knew it, you were pressed up against him, his body a solid wall against yours. His hand gripped your hips so tight that it sent your mind into a frenzy as he groaned loudly against your lips.

You pulled away for a split second, your heart racing. "Jake... we’re in public," you whispered, your voice shaking slightly.

But he didn’t stop. Instead, he kissed you even harder and took this opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth, his hands now reaching further and further down your waist, pulling you towards him. The world around you felt blurry, as if you were floating in a bubble of his touch, and for a moment, you forgot where you were, who you were with—forgot about everything except him.

But then reality came crashing back in seconds. You broke free from the kiss, taking a step back, your breath coming fast. "Jake," you said, voice shaky, "we’re outside. There are other people around." You glanced around nervously, your eyes darting over the now dark park, thankful that no one was nearby but still aware that you were far from alone.

Jake just looked at you, his expression still soft but with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "Oh, sorry. I’ve just been really wanting to do that," he said casually, like it was no big deal.

You weren’t sure how to feel about his nonchalance, but you tried to dismiss it, even though a knot formed in your stomach. "Right," you muttered, taking a breath to calm yourself.

For a moment, the air between you both felt charged, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe things were moving faster than you were ready for. But as Jake stepped back with a small grin, his eyes still warm, you felt yourself ease back into the moment, convincing yourself it was just him being... well, Jake. Charming, spontaneous, and maybe a little bit too eager.

So, when he grabbed you by the arm with a playful grin and said, “Come on, I know this great dessert place,” practically dragging you along with him, you told yourself this was just Jake’s way of showing he cared. You told yourself there was no harm in it. Jake was just spirited, maybe a little intense, but in a charming way. That’s all it was.

The rest of the night went smoothly enough, or at least it seemed like it. You talked and laughed some more, and by the time Jake dropped you off in front of your apartment, you found yourself in a bit of a daze. The streetlights cast long shadows, but all you could focus on was the lingering feeling from earlier. The kiss—the intensity of it, the way he didn’t seem to care about where he was or who might see. You’d been caught up in the moment, but now that it was over, that uneasy knot was back in your stomach.

"Thanks for tonight," you said, your voice a little quieter than you intended as you unbuckled your seatbelt.

Jake turned to look at you, his eyes soft, almost too sincere. "Anytime. Let me know when you want to do this again."

"Yeah, I will." You hesitated for a second, unsure if you should say more, but then the words just seemed to evaporate. Instead, you opened the door, stepping out and giving him a small wave as you walked up to your apartment.

As you entered the building, your thoughts kept circling back to that kiss, to his lack of concern about where you were or who might be watching. You’d had fun, no doubt, but there was a part of you that couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

You tried to push the thoughts aside, telling yourself you were overthinking it. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he was just that kind of guy. But the unease in your chest only grew heavier as you walked to your room, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you were starting to see him for who he really was.

------------------------------

You and Jake had started hanging out more and more after that date, and you couldn't deny it, you were falling for him more than you expected. Sure, sometimes he did stuff that made you question things, but he wasn’t perfect. So what?

Today, you were studying for some upcoming exams at the school library. The space was quiet, and even though you were focused on your work, you enjoyed having him there. Jake had brought you both coffee and snacks, and the atmosphere felt warm and cozy. You were sitting across from each other, the constant clicking of keyboards the only sound in the otherwise still room. It was a perfect setting, relaxed, comfortable, and you found his presence quite calming. It only felt natural.

“One sec, I’ll be right back. I have to use the bathroom,” you announced, getting up from your chair.

Jake didn’t say anything and just nodded, his eyes still glued to his screen, focused on whatever was on his laptop. But as soon as your back was turned and you were walking away, Jake’s attention shifted.

His eyes landed on your bag, which was slung over the back of the chair next to where you were just sitting a few moments ago. The handle of your tote peeked out from the side, and something shiny caught his eye. It was your keyring. The familiar silver glint of your room key sat half-hidden inside your bag. You must’ve forgotten to tuck it deeper, but it was unmistakable.

Jake’s gaze lingered on it for a moment longer than usual. He looked around, ensuring no one was watching, before reaching over with careful fingers. The motion was almost imperceptible, but he slid the key out of your bag, letting them rest lightly in his palm. He checked the surrounding area once again. No one was looking.

His pulse quickened just a little, the thrill of the action sinking in. You were gone, out of sight, leaving him with this small window of opportunity.

He looked at the keys. They weren’t just any keys—they were a way in.

Jake sat there for a moment, the keys tucked securely in his pocket, a sense of satisfaction bubbling in his chest. He knew it was a little risky, but it was too perfect to pass up.

He glanced around again, making sure no one had seen. This wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment decision—he’d considered this before, the idea quietly simmering in the back of his mind.

He’d thought about sneaking into your room before, just out of curiosity (or so he told himself). But he never quite figured out how he’d do it without raising suspicion. The idea had first occurred to him a while back when he submitted a 3D-printed model of a robot for his tech project. It wasn’t just a cool demonstration of precision, it was proof of how easy it would be to replicate almost anything if he had the right dimensions.

Now, with your keys in his possession, that idle thought from a while ago clicked into place. The perfect way to turn a passing fantasy into something tangible.

It wasn’t like it would be hard to replicate the keys. After all, he was an engineering major. He had the skills. The tools. The knowledge. With the advanced tech available to him, specifically his access to the 3D printers in the lab, replicating those keys would be a breeze. The thought was almost laughable. No one would be the wiser.

The more he thought about it, the more the plan excited him. He could “find” the real key after he made the spare, casually give it back to you later, and look like the hero. The savior. You’d think he was just looking out for you, a kind guy who happened to stumble across your lost key. The hero who went the extra mile to return something precious.

And you’d never know he’d taken it in the first place. Hell, you might even think it was a sweet gesture.

A small, almost smug smile crept onto his face as he imagined it. He liked the idea of being the guy who could fix everything for you, who could always be the one to make things right. In your eyes, he'd be the one who cared, who was always there for you, just the kind of guy you'd want to be with.

The plan felt so natural, so flawless. He didn’t even feel guilty. It was for you, after all. It wasn’t like he was doing anything wrong. Just helping you out in the best way possible. It would only bring him closer to you, make you appreciate him even more.

You came back from the bathroom a few minutes later, the library air still cool and comforting as you settled back into your seat. Lost in your own thoughts, you picked up where you left off in your study notes. The soft clicking of your laptop keys and the rustling of paper were the only sounds filling the space between you and Jake. It wasn’t until you stood up to gather your things, ready to head out, that you noticed something was off.

You dug through your bag, feeling around for your keys, the ones you’d left in there earlier. But they weren’t there.

You froze for a second, your eyes scanning the table and the chair you’d been sitting in. It was only then that you realized they weren’t in your bag at all.

“What?” you muttered, frowning as you scanned the surface of the table. “Where did I put my keys? Jake, have you seen them?”

He was already standing up and grabbing his things by the time, pausing for a second and giving you a slight shrug. “No, haven’t seen them,” he said, as he put on his best “confused” face, sounding completely genuine. “You’re sure you put them in there?”

You nodded, trying not to panic. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Well, if they’re not in your bag, maybe you forgot to bring them. They’re probably somewhere in your room still. I’m sure they’ll turn up.”

There was a little panic in your voice as you started to shuffle through your things. “But I could’ve sworn I left them right here…”

“You don’t have a backup key or something?”

You sighed, realizing you hadn’t thought this through. “No. It’s fine though, Ava’s home. She can let me in. I’ll just buy a new one later.”

Jake smiled a little wider, his mind already running through possibilities, but he kept his tone light. “Alright, guess that works.”

You still seemed a little confused, but the moment passed. You dropped the subject and started talking about something else while you two were getting ready to leave. But Jake could tell—you were distracted now, just a little bit. He’d planted the seed. Maybe you’d brush it off, or maybe you wouldn’t. Either way, he was confident it would only matter if he wanted it to.

When you both walked out of the library building, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the campus, Jake slipped his bag over his shoulder and turned to you with an easy smile.

“So, I think I’m going to head home and get some rest,” Jake said.

You nodded, still rummaging through your bag, trying to keep your mind off the missing keys. “Yeah, same. I’ll probably head home too.”

"Sure thing. Have a good night."

“Night.”

Then you walked away, completely unaware of the keys now nestled in his pocket, Jake’s expression shifted. That easygoing smile lingered, but there was a sharpness in his eyes, a focus. He wasn’t heading home, not yet, anyway.

Instead, he made his way across campus to the engineering building. The hallways were mostly empty at this hour, the hum of the fluorescent lights echoing faintly. Jake swiped his student ID at the lab room door, stepping inside to the familiar scent of metal and machinery. The quiet whir of the 3D printers waiting in the corner greeted him, and he felt a surge of anticipation.

Pulling your keys out of his pocket, he set them down on the workstation. His fingers worked intently with great focus as he measured and scanned the key, inputting the data into the design software. The model on the screen was precise, the ridges and cuts an exact match to the original.

As the printer came to life, Jake leaned back in his chair, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. By the time the printer finished its work, the replica key was indistinguishable from the original. Jake inspected it carefully, his mind already running through how he’d “find” your keys and return them to you, playing the part of the helpful friend. You’d never suspect a thing.

Pocketing both the original and the replica, Jake left the lab, the grin still lingering on his face as he made his way home.

------------------------------

The next day, Jake managed to find you after class. “Hey, look what I found at the bottom of my laptop bag,” he said, holding up your keys with a triumphant smile.

Your eyes lit up as you recognized them. “Oh my god, no way.”

“Yeah, guess you must’ve accidentally dropped them into my bag instead of yours. Good thing I noticed before it got buried under all my stuff.”

You let out a relieved sigh, taking the keys from him. “Seriously, you’re a lifesaver. I was about to go buy a new one.”

Jake chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Well, glad I could spare you the hassle. So… are you free today? Thought maybe we could grab some food or something.”

You gave him an apologetic smile. “Oh, sorry. Me and Ava already made plans. We’re going shopping downtown, actually.”

For a brief second, Jake’s expression faltered, feeling disappointed. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh, no worries. You two have fun.”

He hesitated for a moment, then added, “What time are you heading out? Just curious.”

“Uh, probably around noon,” you said, shrugging.

“I see. Cool. Anyway, have fun. Maybe we can hang out later this week.”

You smiled and nodded before heading off, completely unaware of the shift in Jake’s demeanor as you walked away. If you were going to be gone for hours, that left him with the perfect opportunity.

------------------------------

Jake’s heart raced as he stood in front of your door. This was it. He had thought about this moment so many times in his mind, playing out every detail, and now, with your absence leaving him a window of opportunity, he was finally here. Now, he couldn’t shake the feeling of excitement mixed with a strange sense of calm. It was a risk for sure, he knew that, but for some reason, the thought of being in your space, of having access to the things that were uniquely yours, felt almost...right.

You had just left with Ava, heading to the subway station. He knew because he was watching. He had to be sure you were completely gone before he made any moves. But now, he could finally do what he had been waiting to do for so long.

Slowly, he pulled the replica key from his pocket, his fingers trembling with a mixture of excitement and disbelief. He aligned it with the lock and turned it, the soft click echoing in the silence. It was almost euphoric. The moment his ears caught the sound, he felt his breath catch in his throat. The sound of success, of having everything perfectly fall into place.

Jake breathed a sigh of relief, though he couldn’t place why. Was it the thrill of it all, the forbidden nature of what he was doing, or just the satisfaction of knowing he had outsmarted you? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that his body was finally moving, his heart pounding as he pushed the door open ever so slowly, just a crack. Then the gap widened just a bit until it fully swung open, and it revealed your shared apartment, the space you inhabited. His eyes scanned the layout, taking in the unfamiliar sights, the small and intimate details that made this place unmistakably yours.

It was small but cozy, with a cluttered bookshelf lining one wall and a comfy couch facing a tv. A coffee table sat in the middle, a few magazines scattered on top, and beside it, a worn-out rug that had clearly seen better days. The kitchen area was visible in the corner, neat but not pristine, just lived in enough to feel real. He could see the faint light coming in from the windows, the sun still high, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor. And then, one of the bedroom doors was slightly ajar—he couldn't help but notice it. Could that door be yours?

Just the thought of going into your room made the region below in his pants twitch. But he could get to that in a moment.

He stood frozen, his gaze sweeping across your private sanctuary. He could hardly believe it. This was your space, your life, and he had made it.

His thoughts swirled in a hazy mix of excitement, guilt, and something darker. He knew he had to move quickly. You’d be back before long. So, he manned up and finally took a step inside. His feet felt heavy, like they were sinking into the floor as he closed the door behind him with a soft click.

Jake froze again. The weight of what he’d just done settled on him in that brief moment of stillness. But then, just as quickly, the urge to explore, to be a part of your world, surged forward. He stepped further into the living room, his hand brushing along the arm of your couch, lingering as though he could feel the traces of you still there.

He looked around, breathing in the air, and a small smile tugged at his lips. This was his opportunity. This was his chance to get even closer to you, to understand you in ways you’d never suspect. He wanted to leave his mark here, in this space where you were supposed to feel safe and in control.

His eyes drifted to the small table beside the window, a few personal items scattered across it. There he saw some books you had mentioned reading in past conversations with him.

He looked even further. Soft blankets littered the couch as Jake bent down to smell them. Some didn’t smell like you, him inferring they were mostly used by Ava. But the others smelled so strong he felt like you were practically there beside him. He spent a good while just inhaling the aroma of you, reminiscing the scent, until he finally snapped out of it.

Jake’s gaze shifted toward the bedroom doors again, but this time he didn’t linger. He hastily made his way over to them. There were two doors across from each other, and Jake’s heart picked up speed as he walked toward the one on the right. He opened it slowly, his breath catching as he stepped inside. The room felt familiar, but not quite right. He scanned the walls, noting the framed photos of Ava and a few other girls, laughing and posing together, but no sign of you. The realization hit him: this wasn’t your room.

Without hesitation, he moved to the door on the left, his mind racing with anticipation. As he pushed it open, a wave of relief washed over him. This was it. This was the space that had been calling to him in the back of his mind, the space that felt like it was meant to be his, even though he hadn't been invited.

Your room.

The first thing he noticed was the soft glow from a string of fairy lights hanging across the ceiling. The room was cozy, warm, comforting, even. A faint scent of pumpkin spice lingered in the air, almost like it was designed just for you. His gaze swept across the space, taking in the details with a sharp, almost clinical eye. There was a bed pushed against the far wall, with a soft, pastel comforter neatly arranged, and a small desk cluttered with books, papers, and a laptop. He rummaged through them, but was careful enough not to make it seem like your stuff was being messed with. There were assignments, drawings you made, and a few other things, but ultimately, he started to get uninterested.

So he got up and delved further into your room, heart hammering in his chest, as he moved to your dresser, glancing at the things you had left behind—lip balm, a few stray earrings, a bottle of perfume. His fingers lingered over the objects, each one feeling like a piece of you that he could claim.

Jake could feel the weight of it—the tension, the thrill—this was more than just curiosity now. This was ownership. It was like stepping into your world and realizing, for the first time, that he could be a part of it in ways no one else could. No one else was here. No one else had access like he did.

He opened every single drawer of your dresser, inspecting every single article of clothing you owned. Including the ones he’d seen you wear frequently and ones you’ve seemingly barely touched. He noted your dark grey hoodie that you seemed to live in basically, but also noticed your more scandalous and sexy pieces, wondering why you never put those on for him in the past? One by one, he searched through your dresser from top to bottom. Then he reached the last and final drawer and as he was sliding it open, it never dawned on him what clothes it would occupy until it was fully opened.

Panties. Tons and tons of panties.

Jake froze.

He just sat there, staring.

And staring.

But as much as he enjoyed looking, he was eventually slowly reaching in the pile of stacked underwear and grabbing as many as he could.

He brought them up to his face, inhaling the foreign scents of your undergarments. These were obviously your clean pile, but Jake was so focused on what he possessed in the moment, he didn't seem to care. But then, a familiar throbbing in his jeans began to emerge at this point, however, he was still too focused on the many pieces of fabric in full display right below his very own eyes. He then began to look around more. He noticed most of them were thongs. Some cotton, some laced. Some had cute patterns on them; bows, for example. And some were more mature, with dark red or black lacy fabric.

There were bras too. He didn't ignore those.

Now, one thing about you is that you know how to cover yourself up, especially in the upcoming colder seasons. So, when Jake saw your bras tucked away in the back of the drawer and pulled one out, you could say he was shocked at the least, to see it was pretty much big enough to be at least a C cup.

This realization made his cock even more excited, now to the point where he couldn't hold himself back any longer. Jake then immediately unbuckled his jeans as fast as he could, ripping off the buttons in seconds, until he shoved his pants down, right under his ass where he could finally access his poor, frustrated dick, in desperate need of attention.

He pulled it out of his boxer briefs in haste and groaned at the sight. It was red. Angry red, and bulging out in full length already, right in front of him. He gripped it tightly and let out a hiss in pain. But it was a good pain.

His eyes trailed down from the bottom all the way to the top, noticing his veins protruding out even more than they usually do.

Sure, he's jerked off to the thought of you (or pictures of you) countless times before. But now, that he's here—in your room—with full and complete access to your bras and panties, his dick simply just can't take it.

But it will. Jake needs it to.

So, he started moving his hand up and down slowly at first, getting used to this new uncomfortable feeling, until his cock finally calmed down. Jake threw his head back, eyes shutting tight, mouth open in a silent moan. He tried imagining in his head what you would like wearing just your bra and panties. What would you wear for the first time with him? Would you put on something sexy and alluring? Or would you go more cute and innocent? All the thoughts were turning him on too much.

He looked back down at your drawer and spotted a laced baby pink thong peeking out through the bottom of the pile. With no hesitation, Jake immediately grabbed it, looping it onto his dick while he continued to jerk himself off.

The now added friction of the cloth made his cock even harder at this point, which he didn't know was even possible. But after minutes (that seemed like hours), his hand began to grow tired and cramped up, trying so had to release, yet subconsciously edging himself every time he was about to. With a groan full of exhaustion, he momentarily stopped, giving his hand a quick break. He let out a short gasp of air, panting with adrenaline.

But when he glanced down to his still very hard and throbbing cock with your cute little panties wrapped around it, he grabbed it again, this time even harsher.

"Come on, come on," he muttered to himself, frustrated, with furrowed eyebrows. He shut his eyes tight again, imagining himself pounding into your tiny little cunt. He wondered if you wouldn't be able to take it—the thought of you struggling to fit it in all the way. He liked that idea a lot. He would kiss your forehead, tell you he would go slow. And then he would ram himself into you, giving you no time to adjust.

But then he wondered if maybe you'd surprise him, and turn out to be a cock slut, riding it so well, like a beast. He groaned at the thought of it, speeding up his hand even more, gripping his cock even harder. The idea of you bouncing relentlessly, not giving his dick a break until he came inside of you, which sounded just too good to be true. Would you grab your big ass tits and squeeze them right in front of his face? Would they bounce uncontrollably as you rode him like there was no tomorrow?

"Yeah, just like that. Don't stop," he basically whispered to himself in bliss, his imagination getting the best of him. "Fuck, I'm so close baby," he whimpered.

And just like that, he was coming undone. Right then and there, unleashing his load onto your carpeted floor with seemingly, no care in the world.

He laid there, panting out of exhaustion. After he caught his breath, he smiled to himself, a dark, satisfied grin that tugged at the corners of his lips.

He could hear the faint sound of traffic outside, the world continuing without a clue about what he was doing inside these walls. His fingers traced over your cum filled panties once more, and grabbing more from your drawer, each item feeling like a new possibility—a piece of you he could add to his collection.

For a moment, he couldn't shake the feeling of victory. It was as if the world was his, and everything he'd been waiting for was finally within his grasp.

But just as the saying goes, good things never last. And just as quickly as the euphoria had flooded him, the sound of your front door squeaking open shattered the calm, and his eyes widened in fear.

#enha x reader #jake fanfic #jake sim smut #enhypen #jake sim fic #jake sim #jake fic #jake hard thoughts #jake hard hours #jake x reader #sim jake #sim jake amut #jake sim smau #yandere jake sim #stalker yandere

226 notes · View notes