#Useless with tech first | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

riboism · 4 months ago

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she's my collar

》 pairing: assistant! k.ys x CEO! fem reader

》 wc: 5.3k

》 plot: For three years, Kang Yeosang was the quiet, obedient assistant to one of the most powerful women in tech—until she fired him with a cold, impersonal email. Drunk and furious, he confronts her at a bar, expecting to see the same ruthless CEO he once feared. Instead, he finds a woman exhausted by control, desperate to let someone else take over. Now, she’s offering him that power. Yeosang has spent years following orders—but can he step up and be the one giving them? And what happens when surrendering control turns into something neither of them can resist?

》 content: babygirl (2024) inspired, office sex, power dynamics, pet names (puppy), humiliation kink, submissive reader, face-fucking, shoe-grinding, cumplay, smut, comedy, this was written around Christmas time so it’s set around that time as well, also set in NYC

》 playlist: she's my collar- gorrilaz and kali uchis, leash- sky ferreira, crack baby- mitski, the perfect girl- mareux, closer- nine inch nails

Yeosang stared at his laptop screen, the faint glow of the monitor illuminating his face while all the color drained from it. His hands trembled slightly on the keyboard, his breathing growing shallow and uneven. Each word on the screen struck him like a dagger. He reread the message as if repetition might change its meaning.

Subject: Employment Termination

Dear Mr. Kang,

We regret to inform you that, due to recent budget cuts and ongoing concerns about your performance, we have made the difficult decision to terminate your employment with ChromaTech.

Please arrange to return all company property, including devices and ID badges, to our office as soon as possible. Alternatively, we can schedule a FedEx pickup from your home.

Your final paycheck will be processed and deposited later this week.

We appreciate your contributions to ChromaTech and wish you the best in your future endeavors.

Regards, HR

The words blurred together as Yeosang's vision clouded, his mind racing to make sense of it all. Performance concerns? He clenched his fists, trying to suppress the surge of humiliation and anger that coursed through him.

This wasn’t just a job to him—it was stability, routine, a cornerstone of the life he’d painstakingly built through hard work and commitment. Now it was gone, reduced to a cold, impersonal email that left no room for explanation, no chance to plead his case.

Yeosang let his head fall into his hands, the faint whir of the laptop's fan echoing in the room. It all felt surreal to him like he woke up to find the ground had shifted beneath his feet, leaving him dangling over a dark abyss.

He looked over at his digital calendar, every hour clogged up with reminders, appointments, and deadlines for the next month and a half, all completely useless now. For the first time in years, he had no idea what he was supposed to do next.

The rest of the day passed in a hazy blur. Yeosang drifted from room to room in his cramped East Village apartment, his gaze occasionally landing on the precarious stacks of Amazon boxes littering the floor. A pang of regret twisted in his chest. He’d splurged on gifts for his friends, family, and—most indulgently—himself during the holidays, telling himself it was fine to celebrate, that he deserved all the latest new tech and shiny sneakers. Now, staring at his dwindling savings, the extravagance felt like a slap in the face. Great timing.

After scheduling the FedEx pickup and stuffing his work belongings into a battered cardboard box, he tossed it into the corner, out of sight but never out of mind. Every motion felt mechanical, his thoughts distant and dulled. He couldn’t sit in this suffocating silence anymore, couldn’t let the reality of his situation consume him.

Tomorrow was Thursday. No work, no obligations. Now he had all the time in the world and no idea what to do with it.

Fuck it, he thought. If life wanted to kick him while he was down, then he’d kick back, even if it meant getting obliterated in the process. Grabbing his coat, he made a decision. Tonight, he wasn’t going to sit in his misery. He was going to hit the fanciest bar he could find and drink himself into oblivion, maybe even pick up a cute girl to take home. Consequences could wait until tomorrow.

⸻

Yeosang slouched over the bar counter, his cheek nearly pressed against the cool wood, looking more like he was napping than nursing a drink. The Manhattan in his hand felt cold, its amber glow reflecting faintly in his tired eyes. He swirled the liquid absently, his thoughts as muddled as the cocktail before him.

He regretted coming here. Liquor wasn’t his thing—he’d always avoided it, telling himself he needed to stay sharp for work. But the truth was simpler: alcohol made him sleepy. One drink, and he’d be nodding off like some human embodiment of the Sleepytime Bear. There’s no way any girl would want to go home with him like this.

And yet, here he was, sipping on a cocktail he’d never had before tonight, all in the name of free will. He’d picked it for no other reason than its price tag—it was one of the most expensive options on the menu. If he was going to spiral, why not spiral in style? The bitterness of the drink soured his tongue, but he kept sipping, his mind already drifting into that hazy, detached state where everything felt just a little less sharp, a little more bearable. It wasn’t the escape he thought it would be, but for now, it was enough.

Yeosang had served you diligently for almost three years, though to him, it felt more like a decade. When he first got the position as Executive Assistant, he’d been thrilled—not for the prestige or the title, but for the hefty paycheck that came with it. A corporate job was soul-crushing, sure, but at least it paid handsomely for the privilege of grinding you into dust.

For three years, he’d been your shadow. He made your coffee just the way you liked it, meticulously scheduled and rescheduled your endless meetings, and trailed after you as you tore through Midtown in your impossibly dainty heels. Somehow, your So Kate pumps made you walk faster than him, even in his worn-out tennis shoes.

He picked up your dry cleaning, planned your trips down to the minute, and waited bleary-eyed at baggage claim after grueling international flights to haul your overweight suitcases to your hotel room. He booked your dinner reservations at trendy restaurants, juggling waitlists and cancellations like a magician. He prepared your reports and presentation notes, answered your emails, your calls, your texts—every last trivial thing—so the only task left for you was to look polished in your Banana Republic pencil skirt and flash a pretty smile at investors.

To everyone else, you were the epitome of success—the poster child for Women in Tech. An Ivy League graduate at the helm of one of the country’s biggest tech companies, you embodied the impossible standard, all while maintaining a buzzing social life, and an aura of poise that never cracked, no matter how demanding the circumstances. While others juggled, you danced, balancing it all with a grace that seemed almost superhuman. To the outside world, you weren’t just successful—you were aspirational, the kind of woman others admired, envied, and tried to emulate. But to Yeosang, you were a full-time job, a 24/7 whirlwind that consumed everything in its path, leaving him wiped out and drained.

Performance concerns. He knew exactly what that meant.

It had been a few weeks ago, late at night. You were stressed, working overtime in your office, which, of course, meant he had to stay late too. The request wasn’t anything unusual—just your evening coffee: Colombian roast, vanilla creamer, a delicate dusting of cinnamon powder on top. Simple enough.

He’d handed the mug to you with both hands, careful not to spill a drop. Then he lingered, waiting for you to assign something else. But you barely looked up, waving him off with a flick of your fingers. As he turned to leave, his eyes caught your reflection in the glass doors.

That’s when he saw it.

A look of disgust twisted your features as you took a sip, your lips curling ever so slightly in disapproval.

The memory of it hit him like a slap. At first, he hadn’t understood. But back at his desk, it came rushing back, sharp as a pin in his chest. Peppermint mocha.

He’d grabbed the festive creamer that someone had left on the kitchen counter instead of the usual vanilla you liked. It wasn’t intentional—just an absent-minded mistake made after hours of exhaustion. But in your world, there were no small mistakes.

And now, sitting alone at the bar with his life upended, that one moment felt emblematic of everything.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t just the peppermint mocha creamer.

His nerves had always been his downfall, often betraying him in the form of small but noticeable mistakes. A double-booked meeting here, a forgotten reservation there—usually because he was too busy helping you pick out a new pair of Christian Louboutins for your Paris trip, or researching market pricing for an upcoming presentation. There was also that time he missed a few typos in a report you handed to the company heads, which earned him a withering glare in front of the whole boardroom.

But could you really blame him? You treated him like he had six arms, and the ability to teleport with the speed of light when in reality, he was just one man. No matter how hard he worked, it was never enough. If he meticulously completed every task you gave him, you’d point out the smallest flaw. If he preempted your needs, you’d call him presumptuous. Every win felt hollow because you’d always point out what could have been done better. Pleasing you was like chasing a mirage—no matter how close he got, the finish line kept moving farther away.

Still, one thing was certain: the peppermint mocha creamer had been the final straw. A small, almost insignificant mistake in the grand scheme of things, but for you, it had been enough to seal his fate.

Yeosang's ears perked up, his sluggish thoughts snapping into focus at the sound of a familiar voice. He froze, the glass of Manhattan halfway to his lips, as he scanned the dimly lit bar. And then he saw you.

You were tucked into the corner booth, surrounded by a few friends, with a pink cocktail in your hand. The faint hum of laughter carried over the low jazz music, and you looked so relaxed, so carefree. It was as if nothing had happened—as if his world hadn’t just imploded because of you.

A spark of anger flared in his chest, simmering, then growing hotter with each passing second. How could you? How could you throw him away so carelessly and then go out for drinks, laughing and clinking glasses like it was any other night?

The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. He’d done everything for you. Everything. He’d missed his niece’s first recital because you needed him to oversee a last-minute report. He’d skipped Thanksgiving with his family because you insisted on an "urgent" trip to Japan that turned out to be nothing more than a glorified shopping spree. His love life? Nonexistent. How could he have one when you were the only woman in his life, demanding every ounce of his time, energy, and attention?

And now, here you were, sipping cocktails without a care in the world. You didn’t even have the decency to tell him to his face why you let him go. The least you could’ve done was look him in the eye and explain yourself, to acknowledge the years he gave you, the sacrifices he made.

Yeosang clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around the glass in his hand. He felt the weight of all those buried resentments rising to the surface, demanding release. For the first time in three years, he wasn’t going to stay silent.

Yeosang drained the last of his Manhattan, the liquid fire burning its way down his throat as if fueling his decision. The warmth spread through his chest, blurring the sharp edges of his hesitation. When he saw your friends stand to leave, laughing as they hugged you goodbye, he seized the moment. The alcohol coursing through his veins muffled his nerves, and the simmering anger propelled him off the barstool.

He approached you with purpose, his heart pounding harder with each step. He’d imagined this confrontation in his head for hours, maybe even years. But when you looked up, your eyes narrowing in confusion, it all dissolved.

“Yeosang?” you said, your tone laced with surprise as you squinted at him. “What are you doing here?”

For a moment, he froze, caught in the trap of your gaze. Then, the words tumbled out before he could stop them, anger surging past his control.

“An email? Really?” Yeosang spat, his voice cutting through the low hum of the bar. His eyes were dark with anger, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might snap. “You couldn’t even— didn’t even have the decency to say it to my face? Are you that much of a coward?”

You stiffened, the weight of the bar patrons’ stares pressing down on you. You reached out toward him, your voice was soft but firm. “Hey, let’s calm down—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!“ he roared, his words slurring slightly, his stance wobbly from the alcohol. “Three years! I gave you three years of nonstop devotion, and I don’t even get a proper goodbye? No thank you, no explanation? Do you know how much shit I had to sacrifice for you?”

His voice cracked, his frustration spilling out with every word. “You love parading around with this ‘girlboss,’ fearless woman-in-tech image, but you’re just a scared little girl. Too scared to even look me in the eye and tell me what I did so wrong that you had to hide behind HR to fire me!”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you caught the awkward glances of nearby patrons, their murmured conversations stopping as they pretended not to eavesdrop. You pursed your lips, your patience snapping like a brittle thread. Grabbing his arm roughly, you dragged him out of the bar, ignoring his protests as the cold, snowy air hit both of you like a slap.

“You really wanna do this here?” you hissed, your voice low but sharp, cutting through the quiet of the empty street. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

Yeosang blinked at you, his anger simmering as he swayed on unsteady legs.

“You want to know why you were fired?” You stepped closer, staring him dead in the eye. “You’re a terrible listener. You fuck up my coffee order. You double-book meetings, forgot to confirm reservations, and just last month, you botched the presentation I needed for the board by misspelling half the client names. Do you know how humiliating that was for me?”

Your words hit him like gunshots, but you didn’t stop. “You don’t listen, Yeosang. You never pay attention to detail. I needed someone I could count on, someone who could make my life easier. I’m not asking for much. Instead, I got someone who left me to fix their mistakes half the time!”

Yeosang flinched at your words. But even as they sunk in, indignation burned in his chest. He didn’t believe he deserved this—not for the mistakes you listed, not for everything he had done for you.

He stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a mixture of defiance and pain. The cold outside nipped at your skin, but the heat of his breath against your face made you hyperaware of the tension between you.

“I listen,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You’re just impossible to please.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he didn’t let you.

“I double-booked your meeting one time because you refused to confirm your schedule with the finance group until the last minute. I misspelled the names on that report because the stupid intern—your intern—gave me an Excel sheet with half the names wrong. And reservations? You spring that shit on me while I’m busy walking your dog or picking up your overpriced $20 salad. And the coffee? The fucking coffee? Give me a break!”

His voice cracked with frustration, his breath coming faster now. “You act like I’m some incompetent idiot when all I ever did was clean up after your chaos. Do you know what it’s like working for someone who changes their mind every ten minutes, who expects you to read their mind and be three steps ahead all the time? No matter how much I did, no matter how fast or how perfectly, it was never enough for you! You are a soulless, narcissistic, she-devil, and you love making everyone around you miserable because nothing makes you happy!”

You were nose to nose with him now, the closeness electric and unnerving. Yeosang didn’t realize how close he had gotten until he could see every delicate detail of your face. But he didn’t back away. He didn’t want to.

For the first time, he felt taller, stronger, more in control. He wasn’t just the assistant trailing behind you, fetching your coffee and carrying your bags. Right now, you were the one looking up at him, your confidence faltering under the weight of his hard gaze.

Then, something shifted. His anger, which had been a roaring fire just moments ago, flickered and dimmed. His eyes dropped to your lips, noticing how you worried them slightly between your teeth. The cold had turned them soft, flushed red, quivering as though they couldn’t decide what to say next. He felt the heat in his chest start to dissipate.

“All I ever wanted was to please you, but you never gave me a chance” he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost soft. His words hung between you like a fragile thread, and he didn’t know whether to pull it tighter or let it snap.

His gaze met yours again, and for a brief moment, the tension shifted into something vulnerable. He remained where he stood, towering over you, suddenly feeling exposed, but the weight of his words lingered, heavy and unanswerable in the snowy silence.

You couldn’t explain it, but you liked this side of him. It was the first time you’d seen raw emotion in his face—anger, frustration, passion—it was fascinating. For as long as you’d known Yeosang, he had been quiet as a mouse, his replies clipped and deferential: Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am. Always composed, always distant, like a shadow that existed only to serve.

But now? Now he looked alive. His dark eyes burned with intensity, his lips still slightly parted from his impassioned outburst. You hated to admit it, but he looked almost…sexy? The sharp line of his jaw, the way his breath puffed in short bursts against the cold, the heat radiating off him even in the freezing air. And his voice—you liked how deep it gets when he’s mad. You liked it enough to disregard the she-devil comment. It almost delighted you. You liked being talked down to. Not enough people had the balls to do so.

“I can give you another chance…” The words slipped from your lips before you even realized you were speaking. Your tone was quieter, almost sultry, betraying the tug of something entirely outside good judgment. You had nothing but the liquor to blame. You tilted your head slightly, holding his gaze, the weight of your offer hanging heavy in the cold air.

“To please me, that is.”

His breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly before narrowing in confusion. The air between you crackled with tension, unspoken implications simmering beneath the surface. For a moment, you both just stood there, the snow falling softly around you, caught in an electric silence neither of you knew how to break.

After a moment of hesitation, Yeosang broke the silence. “Okay.”

⸻

"I'm not sure if I understand," Yeosang said slowly, blinking up at you. "Ma’am." The word left his lips instinctively, like muscle memory, but his voice was hesitant.

You sighed, shifting your weight against the desk, arms crossed. The two of you were alone in your office, the usual hum of the busy workday long gone. The only sound was the soft ticking of the wall clock and the faint buzz of the city outside.

He sat stiffly in your chair, the black leather cool against his back, making him even more uncomfortable. He didn't belong there—you both knew it. But this was an experiment, after all.

You tilted your head, your patience wearing thin. "It’s simple. I’m letting you be the boss today. You just have to tell me what to do, and I’ll do it." Your lips curled slightly. "And don’t call me Ma’am."

Yeosang swallowed, his getting throat dry. Power had never been something he craved. He had spent his life taking orders, following directions, and anticipating needs before they were spoken. Most people in tech burned out quickly, leaving to chase the dream of being in control, of being the one to give orders. That drive had never come to him. It wasn’t in his nature.

And yet, here you were, handing it to him.

His fingers curled against the leather armrests as he searched for something—anything—to say, his mind wading through unfamiliar territory.

"Then what do I call you?" he asked finally, his voice quieter now.

You held his gaze, a small smirk playing at the corner of your lips.

"Anything you want."

Yeosang mulled over your words, his mind scrambling to process what was happening. Call you anything he wanted? Tell you to do whatever he wanted? It was the kind of fantasy teenage boys dreamed about, yet his mind was a complete blank.

You sighed, exasperated by his hesitation. "Can I give you a suggestion?" You asked, stepping closer.

He nodded, swallowing hard, the words still stuck in his throat.

You leaned in slightly, your voice dipping just enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand. "Ask me to get on my knees."

Yeosang's breath hitched. His mind latched onto the words, turning them over, considering. Then, slowly, he nodded in agreement.

You chuckled. "You have to say the words, Mr. Kang."

His ears burned. "Oh, right," he said quickly, his voice a little too high, a little too quick. He cleared his throat. "Get on your knees."

The words felt foreign and awkward, but the way you looked at him made something tighten in his chest.

Mr. Kang.

No one had ever called him that before. It was always Yeo, Yeosang, or, on occasion, the intern—his young face fooling half the office into thinking he was some college kid on summer break. But Mr. Kang…He liked the way it sounded coming from your lips.

He sat frozen, watching as you slowly sank to your knees in front of him, settling neatly between his legs. His breath hitched, his pulse hammering against his skin.

You looked up at him, eyes glinting with something—Desire? Amusement? He couldn’t tell, but whatever it was, it left him breathless.

You waited, patiently, expectantly, your lips slightly parted as if anticipating his next command. You almost looked like an obedient little puppy, so much so that he almost called you pup.

Yeosang exhaled sharply, gripping the leather armrests as his mind raced. He was supposed to be in control. Supposed to be giving the orders. But right now, sitting in your chair, watching you kneel before him, it felt like he was the one unraveling.

“Take off your shirt.”

He was getting comfortable now. He watched as you unbuttoned your top and discarded it to the side, leaving you only in your lacy black push-up bra. You placed your hands neatly over your lap, patiently awaiting his next request. Yeosang was stunned at how easily and effortlessly you followed his instruction, not showing a single sign of shame as you undressed in front of your junior. He wondered how far he could take it.

“Take that off too.”

You unhooked the back part of your bra and tossed it to the side with your blouse, your hands returning to your lap.

Yeosang let himself relax into your chair, eyes fixed over your soft and bare skin. He bit the skin around his thumb, drinking in your physique. He wanted to touch them, knead them, feel their weight in his hands, but he kept himself restrained. He was growing to like this game and wanted to see what else he could make you do.

He licked his lips, finally settling on his next request. “Come here.”

You scooted closer to him, your eyes now level with his clothed cock.

“Kiss it.”

Without hesitation, you leaned forward, letting your lips trail slow, deliberate kisses along the outline of his growing bulge. You could feel the firmness of his balls from beneath the thick fabric, the desire to see them making your core ache with need. Glancing up through your lashes, you took in the sight of Yeosang already succumbing to the pleasure, his body relaxing into the chair, eyes dark with lust. He was undeniably beautiful, every feature accentuated by the flush of arousal, and the thought of pushing him to the edge, of watching him cum, was a temptation you could hardly resist.

You began palming his cock, feeling it stiffen just under your touch. “Can I please take it out, Mr. Kang?” You asked in an airless and sultry voice which no doubt made Yeosang feel weak.

Yeosang gripped the leather armrests and nodded. “Go on.”

With glee, you unbuttoned his pants and fished out his throbbing cock, his skin feeling warm and tender as you gave it a few lazy strokes. You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his blushing tip, the sudden touch making him hiss from his seat.

You giggled softly at his reaction, continuing to leave a trail of kisses on the sides of his cock, your hand gripping at the base. He felt so hot and heavy in your hand, and you were growing impatient for a taste.

“Put it in your mouth.”

You eagerly fed him into your mouth, the weight on your tongue already making you dizzy. You salivated around his length, a few dribbles of drool rolling down his shaft. Yeosang could feel himself twitching inside you. The sight of his uptight boss with her mouth so full of his cock made his head spin, all the hesitations and apprehensions he had in the beginning now dissipating while a hunger took over him.

“Now suck it.”

You began sucking at his head, the thickness of his hard cock proving to be a challenge, so much so that you could only really take the tip in your mouth. You grabbed onto the base with both hands, bobbing and slurping him as his breathing grew more unsteady. When you looked back up at him with your big, puppy-dog eyes, you were delighted to see that same Yeosang from earlier—the one with fire in his eyes, with furrowed brows and a sharp tongue, throwing demands and names at you without hesitation. Gone was the quiet, obedient assistant who trailed behind you like a shadow. In his place sat a man who, for the first time, wasn’t afraid to take up space. And you liked it.

“Fuck,” He moaned, “That’s it, that’s a good puppy…take all of me in that dumb little mouth, yeah, just like that.”

You loved hearing him coach you, loved when he called you a dumb little puppy. You could feel your wetness leaking through your stockings, a need aching so strongly between your legs that you had no choice but to grind yourself over Yeosang’s new shoes, your slick wet juices glistening over the rubber soles.

Yeosang was so far gone now, his only purpose left being to chase his high. His hands gripped your strands tightly to hold you in place. Before you knew it, he was thrusting himself into you, his whole length pushing down into your throat with no warning. He set a brutal pace, fucking your mouth with no mercy, reveling in your wet gagging sounds as he makes use of your throat.

“Fuck, I love fucking this little mouth,” He panted, “Good little slut, gonna take my cum? Gonna swallow all my cum down your little throat, huh?”

Tears streamed down your face as he ruthlessly plowed into your mouth. Despite his roughness, your body trembled with need, your hips continuing to grind against his shoes, desperate for release. Your muffled moans vibrate around his shaft, spurring Yeosang on as he chases his pleasure.

Yeosang gripped your hair tightly, thrusting and plunging his hard cock deeper into your eager mouth. For years, he dealt with your nonstop nagging and bitching, and he had to admit it was nice to finally get you to shut up, with a mouth full of his cock no less. “This is what you like, huh? You like being put in your place? Like being a little fuck doll for me?”

He punctuated his words with harsh snaps of his hips. The term fuck doll was enough to send you over the edge. Your hips stilled, your core tightening as you came, your moans muffled by his hard cock. A devilish grin spread across his face as he playfully tapped the tip of his shoe against your swollen clit, the jolt of overstimulation sending shivers cascading through you. He relished in the sight of you laid bare in vulnerability, a stark contrast to the composed persona you typically wore. “Such a mess for me” He sighed, satisfied with your mascara-stained cheeks and reddened, slobbery lips. “So, so pretty…”

You grunted with each thrust, the tight clutch of your throat milking his cock deliciously. You looked up at him with pleading eyes, silently begging for his cum as you took everything he gave you. Your tongue danced along his shaft, massaging the sensitive underside as he fucked your face with wild abandon. You swallowed around him greedily, your throat convulsing along his length as you strived to please him.

With a final hard thrust, Yeosang buried himself deep into your warm mouth and let go, flooding your throat with ropes of his hot cum. His breath hitched, a deep, guttural sound of pleasure escaping him as his seed spilled and trickled from the corners of your lips. With firm hands, he held your head snugly against him, grinding against your face as he emptied himself, savoring the sight of you taking every fervent drop.

Your eyes brimmed with tears as you took him deeper, the bittersweet taste of his seed offering a strange satisfaction on your tongue. As you pulled away with a soft pop, Yeosang gently traced your lips with the tip of his cock, leaving a glistening trail of his pearly essence. You couldn't help but lick your lips in delight, a soft moan escaping you as you savored his flavor.

Yeosang felt like he could cum again from watching you grind your cum-drenched face on his cock. You were so desperate, so depraved, he almost couldn’t believe this was you. The same career-driven CEO he had dutifully served, the woman who made decisions with razor-sharp precision, who commanded everyone’s attention with a snap of her fingers—this was what you secretly craved? To be stripped of control? To be the one taking orders instead of giving them? Who knew that the woman he had once feared, the one who dictated his every move, secretly longed to be a mindless servant, void of responsibility, bound by nothing but the will of someone else?

You gazed up at him adoringly, drinking at the sight of his ruffled hair, his heaving chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. The rawness of him, unfiltered and unrestrained, filled you with a thrill you hadn’t felt in so long.

To serve someone else for once.

To be the one waiting, watching, hoping for approval.

To do so well for someone that it left them utterly speechless.

It was nearly midnight now, and you had a meeting at 7 AM. You should have stopped, should have called it a night, and sent him home. But how could you now? Not when your body was buzzing with anticipation, not when you craved more—more of his voice, more of his praise, more of him.

You wanted to keep going. To do more for him. To hear him call you his good little puppy again.

Slowly, you pushed back onto your heels, your wide, eager eyes locking with his.

“What would you like me to do now, Mr. Kang?”

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#kang yeosang fanfic #kang yeosang smut #yeosang smut #yeosang fanfic #kang yeosang x reader #yeosang x reader #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #my works: she’s my collar

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aardvaark · 3 months ago

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leverage rewatch: s1e1 "the nigerian job"

i love that nate’s very first line is threatening to punch this guy in the throat, said while day drinking alone in a bar. really sets the stage for how broken up he is at this moment.

on the opposite end, hardisons first line is insulting the tech for this heist lol. immediately clear this team is gonna be a problem (affectionate) for nate.

eliot’s first line is said to somehow both commend and mock hardison ("you’re not as useless as you look") and that is a pretty good look into their dynamic for the whole series lol.

hardison and parker’s very first on-screen interaction is hardison being enamored with her (and eliot teasing him about it) <3

hardison telling eliot "i don’t even know what you do" is a fun little line because it starts to show how much the team actually know about each other before this heist. like, nate knows a decent amount about all of them, and they know a bit about nate. but hardison knows nothing about eliot, and eliot’s (previously mentioned) first line also implies that if he does know anything about hardison, it’s probably not much either. im gonna elaborate on this in a separate post before i get off track lol.

parker’s first *mention* comes before she’s actually on screen, when nate is looking through the files of the team he’s gonna work with and says that "parker is insane". people have pointed this out a bunch of times before but this is a really perfect first mention of her because we will spend most of her arc throughout the series showing that this isn’t really true! by season five, she’ll get to finally "respond" to that introduction of hers - "they said i was crazy, but i never was. i never was". and it’s really interesting to see nate go from being the person who calls her insane to fully trusting her with leading the team when he’s gone.

i still think about the giant sheet of glass that parker lets fall to the ground in the first heist lol. are the people on the street okay

also love the "why the f-" [cut off] line that parker gets. i think that's the closest we get to one of the main characters saying fuck?

nate calling them children in the first episode. ironic for a guy who did NOT set out to be a father figure to these weird criminals who are gonna follow him around for the next five years.

parker being the one to introduce the chess metaphor my beloved <3 shes very perceptive! and she also just knows that "crime is fun" and nate's bound to enjoy it lol.

hospital scene from the extended pilot <3 how come eliot's chained to a chair instead of a bed like the rest of them? anyway, i wish more people watched the extended pilot because in the season 1 finale when eliot shoves the hard hat on hardison's head, you should know that he's getting petty revenge for when hardison shoved eliot's head into the roof of the cop car in this scene.

nate saying there's "payback, and if it goes right, a lot of money" for eliot and "a lot of money, and if it goes right, payback" for parker, he's got their (current) motivations nailed already.

parker and hardison being like "yeah sure lets go get whatever a 'sophie' is" vs eliot asking lol. but he also evidently follows regardless. yeah thats pretty much how nate's gonna be, sorry eliot, you'll get used to this.

i find nate and sophie's first scenes so sweet. he watches her terrible acting but from his expression you'd think she was gonna win an oscar. and when she sees him in that alley, she's trying to continue being the cool and mysterious femme fatale but she's clearly so happy underneath - he came and found her! he sought her out! he's playing her side now, and that changes everything! (and one day soon she'll realise - oh shit, this changes everything. but tonight she's just over the moon). i know they're very much not the fan favourites, but u gotta admit that their interactions in the pilot... chefs kiss!!

in the next scene at hardison's apartment, (btw, rip hardison's awesome pilot apartment which we never see again), sophie is dressed down and intently listening and taking notes which is fairly unusual for her. but not out of character necessarily - when she mentors parker in grifting later, she encourages parker to take handwritten notes.

"that's an odd thing for you to know" "that's an odd place for you to be" (eliot and sophie's lines). he picks up on her suspicious knowledge and she challenges him right back. and he immediately knows to only trust sophie about as far as he can throw her.

i wish we got to see a little of sophie meeting the others! but there's no time and it would be an unnecessary scene. i like that their introduction to sophie was her awful acting though, because that will always be their first impression - not of an incredible grifter, but of a much sillier and more genuine version of sophie than we otherwise see for most of season one.

parker laughing at hardison's joke is also adorable.

no comments on the eliot + nate pool table scene, because @laser-tripwires has already written an incredible analysis of that interaction here. :) !!

actually the only thing i will mention is eliot saying that they all know about nate's kid dying - that's very important. nate wouldn't want them to know his vulnerabilities. even if they just pity him... well to him, that might be worse.

eliot saying "incoming" about sophie walking over is also really funny to me. referring to her like she's something dangerous, and he's joking but he's not wrong!

okay where did sophie get the "black king, white knight" line from? she was not there when parker said that. maybe everyone speaks in chess metaphors in the leverage Crime World.

#lvgwatch25 #leverageposting #leverage #the nigerian job

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dcxdpdabbles · 5 months ago

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DC xDP Fanfi idea: The End and Beginning

It starts off simple. The Fentons move to a new universe once the AntiEcto-Acts are accepted worldwide. It was a problem when the USA enacted the laws, but convincing the rest of the world to follow suit left a bitter taste in their mouths.

It also made them feel highly useless.

Their youngest was a half-ghost, and after meeting the clone and alternative counterpart of said son, the Fentons family now were half of what the Acts claimed had no soul.

They could fight against the country and escape into the dead of night, but there was nowhere to hide when the whole planet hunted them. Unless you had a portal that could send you far away from the government dogs.

This was good because said dogs had managed to build their own portal. Nothing with Fenton Works tech, but it didn't seem to matter. They had a way into the Infinite Realms and planned on sending bombs through to vanquish the ghosts once and for all.

Clockwork had warned the planet's governing units, appearing in their skies and speaking every language.

"If you do this, then your world will end. Your world is a flip of ours. Without one or the other, everything will be destroyed."

His warning only further fueled their hate, and mods flooded the streets chanting for the bombs to be set off. It was like the whole world had lost their minds.

The Fentons cowered in their homes, trying desperately to get people to listen, but their words fell on deaf ears. Clockwork's reputation puts him in a challenging position. His natural dedication needed to remain neutral in any situation, but his soft spot for Danny made it hard to allow time to run its course.

In the end, he appeared before the Fentons with a message. "You must leave this world in one week. Everything will come to an end."

His warning had the group moving. They reached out to all their friends and extended family. Begging them to flee with them. Only Sam and Tucker arrived at their house on the last day, eyes puffy red, bags packed, and a daunting lack of their parents.

Clockwork sent them a ship. It looked like a glowing cruise ship, with wooden planks creaking and groaning as they climbed aboard. They were to pick a room and take shelter, understanding that once they sealed the door, they could not reopen it until they arrived.

The ship would travel at alarming speeds, protected from their timeline with Clockwork's power, but it would take everything the ghost had to keep them safe.

The final moment came, with the seven people pilling together in the largest room- The VIP balcony cabin. Sam, Tucker, and Danny held each other while sitting in front of the glass windows overlooking the fleeing ghosts- their world was also ending.

Maddie, Jack, Jazz, and Dani were in a pile on the bed, eyes shut tight and hugging each other with all their might. Tears rolled down their faces, but no one called it out. They were all mourning.

Dan stood to the side, arms crossed over his chest and leaning on the door. Despite not saying it out loud, they knew he wanted to guard it in case a ghost figured out the cruise was an escape pod. If a desperate enough ghost attempted to break through the door, their deal with Clockwork would be voided, and Dan would never allow it.

The moment came without warning. Multiple portals ripped open among the green skies. Through them, the Fentons could see cheering humans, treating the bombings like a giant festival. Fireworks, waving banners, music that thumped with glee- it made them all sick.

The first three bombs were set off. The Realms' reaction was just as instant, collapsing into itself as the humans' joys reached new levels of glee- until the holes warped into black holes, swallowing up the portal and the area around it.

One right after the other. Large glowing lights, then swirling darkness yanking everything into a quick, meaningless nothing. The humans were no longer cheering- now they were screaming. They were cowering.

But there was nowhere left to run.

Clockwork appeared in front of the trio, smiling sadly at them as multiple cracks appeared on his being. He mouths a sentence, placing one broken hand on the glass, and then pushes the ship away. At a speed that is more light than movement, the Fentons and their guests rush away, watching with horrified eyes as Clockwork breaks apart completely.

He vanishes into dust that gets absorbed into a black hole. Dan and Danny's noise is gutted, ripped from somewhere deep in their cores.

The cruise crumbles around the pressure of the push. Wooden pieces are shaken off the ship, shattering from the effort to keep itself together, and fall into the void as they watch, unsure of Clockwork's power, which would be enough to withstand the breaking of a timeline. Soon, only their room remains; even that, it starts to show glowing green cracks on the wall.

Dan glares at them, never hating something as much as the sight of them, while his family and kid brother's friends start to sob. Suddenly, everything comes to a stop.

Or rather, a large being made entirely of light, taking the shape of a human man, catches their cabin. They all stumble, thrown from their positions as the glowing white human shape brings them to its large face. It's like looking into a marble statute with no distinctive face, only the barest of outlines that could count as a face.

"You bear Clockwork's mark, but he is not with you," The being says, blinking its large eye into the window. The swirling red of its pupils baths the humans and ghosts as they stare back open jaws. "How curious"

"Who are you!?" Dan demands, stepping away from the door. "How did you survive the destruction of the timeline?!"

The being eye's dim. "Clockwork is dead then. I told him I would welcome him into my realms, but he chose to send his kin instead. What a sentimental fool."

Dan's human features melt away, and his ghost forms burst from an explosion of flames. "Who are you!?"

"Your kind calls me Speed Force." It replies after a movement, sounding slightly amused, "And I grant you sanctuary as a favor to an old lover. Live well."

With a snap of its fingers, the group vanishes into a bright light, appearing in the middle of a blue sky. Gentle clouds float around, spread out like a mist. It a daunting change from the darkness and the screams.

The group gawks at the sight before gravity reaches up to grasp the broken remains of the cruise ship within its claws. It rips from them the sky, sending them into a downward spiral.

Dan's flames are smothered out as he desperately reaches for it "I can't go, ghost!"

"Me either," Dani screams, clinging hard to Maddie.

"Speed Froce took our powers." Danny realizes, clutching Sam and Tucker closer. "Everyone brace for impact!"

They hit the ground hard and flung around like rag dolls as the last of Clockwork's powers desperately tried to shield them. The glowing green cracks quickly spread until they resemble spider webs.

They hit the ground with a loud bang, sliding through a few layers of dirt. The group is flung against the wall, Dan grunting in pain when Sam slams against him from the force.

Ultimately, the wood can't hold itself together, and it shatters just as it crumbles to a stop. They all land with pain and cries against the hard ground, in a pile of limbs and confusion.

"Oh my," A woman says, standing on her porch overlooking the Fentons. Beside her is a wide-eyed man, one steaming mug in his hold. "Pa, I think I need to put more coffee. We have guests."

Above the couple is a wooden sign with faded but beloved letters. It reads Kent Farm.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #The End and the Beginning #Part 1 #Clockwork sacerfice himself for them #Every blackhole was once a timeline #Pa and Ma kent were just having morning coffee #Speed Force is a being #Who loved Clockwork #Angst #Humans never listen until it's too late #Dan and Dani are part of the Fentons #everlasting trio

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queeniewithabeanie · 5 months ago

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The Malfunctions

Dpxdc Prompt #9

Ectoplasm and electricity didn't mix well.

More specifically, Danny's ectoplasm and electricity didn't mix well.

There were of course ways that the two could interact or else half of the Fenton Tech wouldn't work and Technus' powers would be completely useless. The only reason Danny's ecto specifically didn't really interact well with electricity was well, because of the way he died.

Interacting with the stuff that killed him apparently caused his ecto to have a visceral reaction. It didn't mean that Danny couldn't touch things that ran on electricity. It just meant that if he did his brain would go into fight-or-flight mode immediately and being a ghost he was now permanently wired to fight.

That was fine with Danny, majority of the tech he interacted with was trying to kill him and would've put him in fight mode anyway. What Danny didn't realize was with any non-ecto contaminated tech, it was put in fight-or-flight mode as well.

Too bad he had no reason to know this before moving into Gotham with a family that practically ran on tech.

Tim was going crazy and no it didn't have anything to do with the fact he hadn't slept in two days or the insane villains roaming the streets. No, really, he was going crazy because every piece of Bat-tech had suddenly decided to malfunction.

The worst of the bunch was Dick's escrima sticks and the communicators. The escrima sticks were sending out electricity when they were turned off and were more volatile than ever. The communicators would send out a constant stream of static.

Of course every other piece of tech was malfuntioning too, but those seemed to be what went first and worst. Bat-tech wasn't perfect, but there was no way a virus could've effected all their gear. In fact, there was no sign of a virus of any kind.

Tim had checked, and checked again, and had Babs cross-check (her tech seemed to be working fine, but Tim had to drop by the clocktower himself to talk to her. The communicator problem was quite inconvenient), and even allowed any siblings of his that wanted to to try and discover what was wrong.

There had been no big battle before everything stopped working, but there was an event that occurred right around when the tech started malfunctioning. The Waynes had a new addition, another kid to add to their family that didn't know of their... extracurriculars.

Or at least hadn't been told about them.

Everything was wrong in the Bat-cave and Daniel Fenton was suspect #1.

#danny and electricity have beef #neither side is winning #neither side even realizes they are fighting #tim is going to s t r e s s about this one #dpxdc #dpxdc prompt #danny fenton #tim drake #queenie-prompts

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heartsfromia · 5 months ago

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critical inquiry — l. jihoon

pairing: non-idol! jihoon x reader

word count: 6,018

genre: fluff, workplace romance, reader isnt tech-savvy, jihoon kinda gives loser (endearing) energy

warnings: valorant (jk), profanities, proofreader? i hardly know her

author's notes: get me an IT guy like jihoon y'all, also idk i struggle when writing in mainly the guy's pov bro i cannot think like a man, can they be pathetic, yearning beings? idk bro

Lee Jihoon loved one thing about his job—working from home. With enough people in his team to cover tasks both from the office and at home, they're given the option to work either and Jihoon always picks home, time after time.

Until today, when Jihoon had received a message that his Work-From-Office buddy would be taking time off work for the next week because his grandfather fell ill, and he was asked to go back home for the time being.

“Only a week, Jihoon, and I swear you can go back to your PC set and slippers,” Wonwoo had reassured him, but it still wasn’t enough, “I’ll even help you rank up to Ascendant 3.”

So, that was how Jihoon found himself waking up at seven and taking public transportation to the office because his car was at his parent’s, and honestly, he wasn’t close with anyone to the point where he’d ask for a lift.

During the entire trip on his first day back to the office, he cursed the corporate slave routine. To think that before social distancing, that we would wake up at the crack of dawn to beat traffic or the commuter rush, go to a job that we’re not even sure we enjoy (spoiler: we don’t), and then have to go through that same rush and traffic when going home, only to sleep and reset the routine for the next day. As an IT support member, being in the office was the most useless and time-consuming thing. The Wi-Fi at his office is crap, the computers are old and laggy because the company doesn’t want to invest in better quality technology, and the team leaders are always breathing down your neck—but, hey, at least they compensate those that choose to come to the office.

One thing that Jihoon was grateful from the pandemic was the normalization of working from home. Having the option to attend the 10AM meeting, waking up at exactly 9:50 AM—clocking in—then joining the Zoom meeting without having to shower, change out of your pajamas, or even get out of the bed was something that was too good to be true. Alas, it happened, and he had been thriving and taking advantage of his Work From Anywhere policy in his company. Granted, he is only able to continuously work from home as long as there were two team members working from office, and luckily enough, that condition was met for the past six months

“This is new,” Hansol quipped when he spotted Jihoon signing at the entrance of the office. “Ah, Wonwoo is taking time off, right?”

“Yeah,” Jihoon muttered, most of his face hidden under a mask and cap, with his eyes peeking through the lenses of his glasses. “Do you think there’s coffee in the kitchen?”

“Obviously,” Hansol chuckles, finding the question obsurd. Can you blame Jihoon? The ceiling in the entrance of the building is almost falling apart from mold forming because of rain, and their computer to clock in was an old ASUS model from 2014 that can only function on a LAN cable—which is why its only purpose in this marketing agency was for signing in.

Sometimes Jihoon even wonders how the company can last for the past decade with its cheap ways.

He made his way to the second floor where the pantry, and overall kitchen was placed, making himself a cup of coffee before climbing the next step of stairs to the IT room—the main base for programmers and the support team. Another thing he hated about working from the office was the fact that the AC in his office just never seems to function. It’s the middle of summer, the city is going through a massive heatwave, and here, in his company placed in the smack middle of the city, they have a policy to not let the AC go anywhere under 23°C.

At least, when he is in the comforts of his own home, he can have the AC go as low as it can get, all while still in his pajamas, and could even multitask with Valorant opened in another tab.

“Oh, Jihoon, you’re switching with Wonwoo, right?” Jeonghan asked, turning in his chair and pushing his glasses up above his head.

“Yeah, I am, where does he usually sit?” Jeonghan taps the desk on his left, and watched as Jihoon got settled, a glint in his eyes that the younger one spotted. “What?”

“Did Wonwoo tell you anything?”

“Other than keeping my Google chat opened, nothing really,” he responded.

“You’ll be handling his division, too, right?” Jihoon nodded. “The Marketing team.” Rather than a question, Jeonghan confirmed the division, and once again, Jihoon nodded. A crease formed between his eyebrows, unsure of what his senior was referring to, and the latter noticed, chuckling at his puzzled expression. “You’ll see.”

It’s too early to understand what he means. Usually, he’d still be asleep right now if he were at home, especially since there aren’t any meetings he needs to attend today, he could’ve slept until three minutes before he required to clock in. He wasn’t use to having to be on work-mode even with ten minutes before his shift officially starts.

God, I miss working from home.

The first few hours into the shift was tedious. Since the company is a small PR agency, as a member of the in-house IT team, he’s required to wear multiple hats and take on various tasks. Unfortunately, since he is replacing Wonwoo for the time being, he’ll be taking on the task of Website management and ensuring that the Marketing team didn’t have any issues, as well as any technical issues the team might face, which is inevitable as their equipment is, as mentioned, crap quality. Every day Jihoon wonders why he claims to resign from the place but never does.

“Let’s grab lunch across the street,” Jeonghan invited Jihoon once the clock had struck twelve, signaling lunch time for all employees. Jihoon was about to agree and turn his computer to sleep mode when a ding! notified a message had come in. He rose a hand, indicating for his senior to wait a moment as he checked the message. He hadn’t received any complaints during the first half of the day from the team he was in charge of so this was a bit unusually for him.

It was a message from you.

Y/N: Afternoon, Jihoon. This is Y/N, and I’m new from Saerom’s team. Y/N: I was told by Wonwoo that he’s currently on PTA, and to message you instead. I have an issue with my Google Analytics account, I’m currently logged out and usually Wonwoo helps me with that because I haven’t been given my password (it’s been two weeks I’ve started 😅). Y/N: Can you help me with this?

“Who’s that?” Jeonghan ducked down, looking over Jihoon’s shoulder as he read the message, then a chuckle left his lips. “Ah… it’s Y/N, she’s a new, and struggles with a lot of the tech things—you’ll be meeting with her a lot.”

“She’s bad with tech and chose to be a social media specialist?”

“Ironic, huh?” Jeonghan laughs. “But she means well, even though she sucks with tech, she has good ideas and already has a viral TikTok video for one of our clients.”

“And she says she hasn’t been given her passwords? Aren’t we supposed to give it to them when they start?”

“Yeah, but usually they don’t ever log out, only she has that case,” he explains, the corner of his mouth lifting before he pats his junior’s shoulder reassuringly. “Just head on over there and help her, it doesn’t take more than ten minutes.”

Jihoon heaved a sigh, reluctant to help because of how tedious and unnecessary and easily avoidable this problem would’ve been if she’d had her hands on her account passwords.

Jihoon: Lee Saerom’s team? Y/N: Yes Jihoon: Alright, wait a minute Jihoon: On my way

“Are you dining in or taking away?” Jihoon asked Jeonghan, while he wrote down the password for your account on a sticky note.

“Dining in.”

“I’ll meet you there then.” With that, Jihoon tossed his cap off and trudged down to the second floor where Saerom’s team should be located. Since it was lunch time, most of the office space was empty, with only the office boy who was busy sweeping the floors from the aftermath of earlier today. He found the main room for the Marketing team fairly quickly, and didn’t have to look far for you as you were the only one in the room, seated in front of your computer, shoulders stiff and hands placed on your lap as if you were starting your first day.

Immediately upon hearing the creaking of the door, your eyes met above the desks and monitors, and for a brief second, Jihoon paused—almost shell-shocked as to finding someone like you working in a rundown company such as this.

“Y/N?” Jihoon called out, just making sure despite the obvious newbie aura that wafted around you.

“Yes… Are you Jihoon? The one covering for Wonwoo?” He nodded, and you were almost sure he’d say something to follow up to prevent an air of awkward silence from appearing between the two of you. He did not. Instead, he barely uttered anything as he approached your desk. You didn’t hesitate to push away with your chair to let him take the reigns and input your account. How you were able to stay logged out of the account and not have said anything earlier was unbeknown to him. You had been finishing up last week’s reports, but had only moved on to Google Analytics just twenty minutes ago. You’d usually have your account still logged in, always clicking the Remember me, however, to your surprise, you were logged out.

“This is your password.” Jihoon handed you the sticky note. “If you need any more help, you can just message me—Wonwoo is on leave for the next week.”

“A-alright.” Maybe it was the way he carried himself that intimidated you. Or the fact that he never made any attempt at small talk, thus, a tense and awkward air floated in the space between you two. Maybe it was his tone, lacking the usually bounce you’d usually hear from Wonwoo as he explained the mechanics of Hootsuite.

It is definitely his aura, it’s ice cold, you couldn’t help but think and maybe when he wasn’t looking, you’d shiver. “Thank you,” you uttered, and with a stiff smile, he nodded and left the room without anything further, leaving you to finish the last half of your report alone.

If you need any more help, you can just message me.

And that’s how it started, a back and forth of at least twice a day since that first exchange between you and Jihoon. At first, you had to introduce yourself again, despite the fact you were using Google Chats and your name was clearly displayed. After a brief introduction, you explained the problem at hand, then after a minute or two came Jihoon’s go-to reply.

Alright, wait a minute.

On my way.

The first couple of times, you almost thought it was an automated response he had somehow coded every time someone messaged him. Maybe he had set it so that after a couple of messages from the sender, it would trigger the short response from his end, however, you learnt that it was just purely him when your own messages grew shorter and shorter.

So, short to the point that this was your most recent exchange:

Y/N: Jihoon :( Jihoon: On my way

Thus, it became almost a routine for the two of you. Jihoon didn’t have any complaints, despite Jeonghan’s claims that the junior would usually complain from having to go back and forth, ascending and descending the same set of stairs more times than he should be. “Aren’t you tired?” Jeonghan had asked on Thursday after Jihoon had returned from helping you with the extension cord for the presentation you had scheduled the afternoon.

Jihoon merely shrugged. “I barely get to exercise with coming in.” Of course, as Jeonghan has been working with Jihoon since he started, he could tell the guy was bluffing, hiding whatever his true intention was behind his nonchalant facade, but he never said anything. Sooner or later the truth will come to light.

Jeonghan wasn’t the only that could tell that was a different air hanging around the avid-WFH-over-WFO tech employee, and whatever gossip that surrounded him managed to reach the ears of the guy he was covering for as the two got into a game of Valorant Thursday evening. As the two waited for a match to be found, Wonwoo informed him that his grandfather was feeling better and could be released from the hospital by Saturday morning.

“Oh, that’s good to hear, glad he’s doing alright,” Jihoon offered, although a bit half-hearted as he was eating his dinner by his desk at the same time.

“Yeah, and by Monday you can return to your world of working from anywhere,” Wonwoo said, a deep chuckle echoing on his end. “And by anywhere, I mean, literally just your room.”

“Nah, it’s fine, I can come in to the office next week,” Jihoon replied without thinking twice, then realized what he said and added, “you can make sure your granddad’s fine.” He internally sighed, believing he made a good save. However, a dead silence hung in the Discord call, even after the loud ‘Match found’ reverberated, breaking the silence for a second.

“What did you say?”

“What?” Jihoon tried to play dumb, then added, “I’m playing Gekko,” to change the subject.

“Did you just say you’re willing to leave the comforts of your own home to work from office?” Wonwoo asked again, clearly twisting Jihoon’s words causing him to roll his eyes. His colleague then added, in a faux tone of panic, “The end of the world is nearing, isn’t it?”

“Shut up and pick your damn agent.”

“Are you even Jihoon right now?”

Jihoon defended himself, “I can want to work from office from time-to-time, you know?” Wonwoo was exaggerating, wanting to work from office is tiring, but nothing is more boring than working alone with only a dumb FPS game there to entertain you every time you’re free. Admittedly, he found working while being surrounded with other people was enjoyable—he wasn’t a social butterfly, didn’t make an effort to start a conversation by the coffee machine either, but it was… nice being around others every now and then. Humans are meant to be social creatures, after all.

“You have been working from home ever since probation had ended, which was literally two years ago, Jihoon,” Wonwoo reiterated, “you have been working from home since.”

“That’s not true.” He frowned, the comment caught him off guard and he almost started the round with buying any abilities. “I worked three days last October.”

“Which was, what? Nine month ago?” He couldn’t rebuttal that. It’s common knowledge among his peers that he despises working from office—Jihoon knows that, too. It’s just that this week has changed his mind. People can change their mind. “I have to bribe you with Valorant just so you come to company dinners, and now you want to willingly cover me for another week? For free?”

An irritated groan shook his chest as his character died on screen. “Damn it—” He pushed to talk, “90 on Reyna.” He fell back into his chair with a sigh, annoyed that Wonwoo was ruining his focus on the game—it was supposed to be his rank up to Ascendant 3. “Okay, and what’s your point?”

Jihoon swears he could hear the guy smirk. “I know.”

“You’re being annoying, you’re distracting me.”

Wonwoo paid no mind to his complaints, hitting clean headshots on the enemy but the spike detonated causing them to lose the round. Despite that, Wonwoo kept his cool as he continued to taunt his colleague. “Vernon told me about your round trips to and from the Marketing team.” He was definitely grinning now. "The problem is, I know Saerom’s team don’t usually need any help from IT support—at least, not to the point to where you need to go there twice a day.”

Jihoon cursed under his breath as he, once again, misses his utility and gets killed barely ten seconds into the round. This time he doesn’t even bother to communicate with his team, in fear of his voice shaking in anticipation of Wonwoo’s suspicions. “Except for one person,” his peer begins, letting the silence drag between the two as he focused on the game, getting three kills in a row, winning the round for them. Then Wonwoo asks, Jihoon picturing a shit-eating grin on his damned face. “Y/N’s cute, isn’t she?”

“I’m forfeiting.” Jihoon presses slash then F, to which it was denied, their teammates sending in question marks in response. Wonwoo’s burst out laughing at Jihoon’s ‘missclicked sorry’ reply. “Focus on the game—if I derank, it’s on you.”

Wonwoo’s laughter only grew louder, letting himself have the last word. “Jihoon enjoying working from office wasn’t on my 2024 bingo.”

Neither was it on Jihoon’s because he never enjoys working from office. Whatever friendly and social air that was present the previous week wasn’t present now as he finds himself at the wrath of the Operation’s team manager.

“I was on a call with Miyoung and she told me she couldn’t access their website, Jihoon,” Eunkwang scolded, his greying brows forming deep crevices disguised as wrinkles between his eyebrows and across the length of his forehead. “You’re supposed to be on top of this—she couldn’t access it the whole weekend, Jihoon, what happened? We’ve never faced this problem before.” Yes they have, Jihoon recalled, it happens when you run an agency that barely gathers clients and doesn’t really care enough to provide quality platform options, either, but of course Eunkwang says the same argument. Talk about selective amnesia.

“I don’t care how long it takes for you to fix it—” Might take half an hour, could’ve dealt with it within the time you’re yelling at me but I’ll shut up, Jihoon bitterly thought but kept his lips pressed in a tight line. “I want it done until Miyoung calls to confirm.”

Once he was sure the old man was done projecting his anger, Jihoon bowed his head, uttering, “Understood.” He turned his body to climb up the stairs to the third floor, grumbling to himself how this wouldn’t have happened if he worked at home because he wouldn’t be tired from commuting and socializing during the weekends and could monitor the websites every now and then. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case because he was tired, and he is still tired, he hates working in the office, he doesn’t even know why he agree to go for another week, he could’ve been at home and in a Valorant Swiftplay by now—

“Jihoon?” He turned to find you, standing by the door of your team’s room, a timid look on your face. Something had happened, he could see it written all over your soft features as you eyed him wordlessly. Without saying anything, he followed you towards your desk, where you idly by your computer with pursed lips and furrowed brows.

The dreaded blue screen. It had only reached 15% and didn’t seem to budge even after three minutes of watching it.

“For God’s sake,” Jihoon cursed under his breath, however, it was loud enough for you to hear it and the unusual sharpness in his tone caused you to jump slightly, your heart beginning to race in your chest as his face contorted into frustration. “How did you manage to get stuck like this?”

“I-I don’t know.” God, you hated it when you started stuttering. It always made you look stupid and helpless. You inhaled a quick breath, hoping it would help calm the nerves that seemed to climb the more you avoided his intense gaze. “I was coming back from my break and turned it on, and it did this… I didn’t do anything, I swear…” If your lack of technological capabilities looked pitiful to Jihoon, your inability of forming a coherent and sensible answer was the cherry on top. “I’m really sorry.”

Upon seeing her stricken face, Jihoon inhaled a deep breath, letting his tensed shoulders fall. “No, Y/N, I should be sorry. I’m taking my anger out on you, you just needed help.” He glances back at your monitor, heaving another sigh. “Just leave it, it should be able to restart on its own, but if it doesn’t, just tell me.”

“Alright…” Would it be even more pathetic to say you were fighting away tears? You had to turn your head a bit, angling away from Jihoon so your hair fell to cover your face enough for him to not notice your obvious internal battle with letting your emotions take over. “I’m really sorry I keep bothering you with not being tech-savvy.”

An ache thumped in his chest hearing your apology, sounding defeated. “It’s fine, Y/N,” he tried to reassure you, but he knew damn well the damaged was done and whatever unspoken agreement to two of you had, had gone. Jihoon knew he was terrible with people, but he really messed up with ruining it with you—the one person that made coming into work, commuting back and forth, and facing nagging higher-ups, the least bit bearable.

It didn’t seem to register in him how bad the damage was until he got through the day without any messages from you. Even Jeonghan was surprised as the day was coming to a close. “Y/N didn’t come in?”

“She did,” Jihoon mumbled.

“And she didn’t need any help?” He only shrugged, trying to hide his own bewilderment. Did his words strike you that much? He decided to message you, just in case you were reluctant to ask him for help.

Jihoon: Y/N Jihoon: Everything alright?

He waited on the edge of his seat, his heart skipping a beat when you began typing back.

Y/N: Yes, everything’s fine ^__^

Everything was, in fact, not fine.

Not only did your computer take almost an hour to restart after the dreaded blue screen, whatever the computer had gone through during said hour had your accounts logged out, and you, being clumsy, misplaced the sticky note that Jihoon gave you, forcing you to borrow someone else’s computer to pull up the Instagram analytics. Fortunately, most of your inputted data was still available from before your break, it was still a hassle to transfer the data from your colleague’s computer to your own, and because, once again, you are tech-savvy, you didn’t know any shortcut. You had to turn to Google, open up YouTube tutorials on Excel shortcuts, consuming almost an hour of your day trying to learn everything from scratch.

But you promised yourself you wouldn’t bother him with any measly problems if Google already had a solution.

Even it meant running into the risk of never seeing him again.

Two days had passed. It was Wednesday and Jihoon was ready to pack up and head back to his old life of working from the comforts of his bedroom. Two days without his favourite snacks. Two days without his functioning PC that he paid hundreds, probably thousands of dollars to build. Two days without his fast Wi-Fi that was optimal for a quick ranked game.

And two days without the usual ping of his Google Chat, the room with you now collecting dust as the last message exchanged was his check-in on Monday.

Now Wednesday’s work day comes to an end without your plea for technological aid. You’re genuinely the only thing in this bleak, rundown, cheap company that makes the work worthwhile, Jihoon couldn’t help but think to himself on the train back home.

Was it pathetic of him to think of you as a reason to wake up in the morning, fight the morning rush and sit through eight hours of blank staring at a computer screen if it means he can get a glimpse of you every now and then when he goes down to get another fix of shitty coffee? The two of you only officially met last week after all, and yet, he has grown drawn to you, attached even, finding the brief sight of you as you sat by your desk, an ever-so-present clueless look to your face as you try to remember how to VLOOKUP the third time. He finds endearing, so endearing that his heart aches and his days grow grey when he hasn’t seen you yet.

Has he always been one to fall so quick for someone?

Would it be even more pathetic for him to fear that feeling? Mind you, he has never left the house unless bribed to, social interactions were scarce aside from the call outs to teammates in his ranked games, and even then, he never bothered to make small talk with the people he’d temporarily need to rank up. Was he a bit too deprived of social interactions that meeting you overwhelmed him to the point of creating a false sense of falling in l—

“Wonwoo, when are you coming back?” This time the two weren’t in a game of Valorant. Thank God, Wonwoo had thought when Jihoon asked to get on a Discord call. The latter had dinner prepared and was watching Big Bang Theory while on the call, but his head wasn’t focused on neither the ramen nor the TV show. “Can we switch back soon?”

“What happened to your willingness to go to the office?” Again, that damned smirk was noticeable in the way he spoke, but Jihoon needed to keep his cool.

“Changed my mind.”

“How come?”

“Sick and tired of being in the direct line of shot for Eunkwang’s spit when he yells at me,” he half-lied. He had to wash his face after that meeting, to the point he used the strawberry-scented hand soap to make sure he couldn’t feel the droplets on his skin.

“Oh yeah, Jeonghan told me.” A pause. “Sorry that happened to you, but it’s just Eunkwang, his ammunition is making you work overtime every now and then.”

“I just don’t want to deal with him every now and then, much rather read him yell in the group chats than in real life.”

There was a longer pause now, Jihoon’s eyes glanced at his second monitor just to make sure his friend didn’t disconnect. Then, Wonwoo spoke up, tone matter-of-factly and the shit-eating grin heard clearly. “Vernon tells me you haven’t been to the Marketing room in a bit.”

“Vernon you piece of shit snitch,” Jihoon cursed under his breath, but obviously his microphone caught it, Wonwoo throwing his head back in laughter.

“I’m guessing the Tech-Illiterate hasn’t been asking for your help?”

“Y/N,” Jihoon corrected, not liking the term used—even if it did fit you.

“Hey, there are a lot of tech-illiterate people in our company,” Wonwoo pointed out, then added, “so I guess you admit it then, you’re thinking of her.”

His eyes roll far back, he gets a mild ache in his temples. “Fine yeah,” he admits with a defeated sigh, “she doesn’t need any more help from me so why should I even bother to go to the office?”

“For work, Jihoon,” he says casually. “I mean, you get compensation to come to work. Extra money.”

“I’m already rich enough,” he responds, clearly dodging.

“Then why work?”

“I’m bored.”

“You piss me off.” Wonwoo’s comment successfully makes Jihoon chuckle. “I hope Y/N becomes so tech-savvy that she doesn’t need your help anymore, and you will never see her again.”

“Asshole,” he hisses and disconnects from the call immediately, Wonwoo’s words pushed to the back of his head as he finished his ramen and closed the TV show, opening Valorant for a quick game to relieve the stress built up for the day.

Unfortunately, once he laid on his bed, eyes stuck on the ceiling, his peers’ words returned tenfold, echoing a sickening mantra in his head. What if you do end up learning how to do your job with little to no help, technology-wise? It’s hard for the guy to admit (and a tad bit dramatic), but he truly did feel like his entire being has lighten since meeting you.

Maybe he is deprived of social interaction, and you were the fix he needed, but didn’t want it to be temporary. He wanted to know everything about you, the reason why you struggle with technology and remembering passwords and working different Google suites. He wanted to know why you chose this line of work, why this shitty company, and why hadn’t he met you before.

He wanted to know more about you, and he doesn’t want to ruin the chances of being able to do so.

Although it might be pathetic of him to feel so strongly over someone he only met the previous week, he knew this would be a missed opportunity to not get to know you better, that it would become his biggest regret and he didn’t want his leaving the comforts of his WFA routine be for nothing.

So, he had a plan. A bit of a cheesy, cliché of a plan, but a plan and he lost sleep wondering if it’ll work or not.

As he entered the office, his mind kept replaying what he needed to do. It was simple, he just needed to wait for you to reach out to him, ask for help with an issue and it should be smooth-sailing from there, all depends on your answer, of course, but that was something he could worry about later.

Phase one starts with you and your uncooperative computer.

Jihoon waited, eyes glancing between tabs where his Google Chat was opened, looking at the bottom right corner of his computer at the time, watching the time tick by and still no ping from you. But that was okay, it was only two hours into this gloomy Thursday, there was still a whole seven hours before he could truly panic.

So he waited more.

And more.

He waited until he couldn’t wait, and time was running out. Eyes shifted towards the clock: 16.39.

Less than thirty minutes until the work day, and tomorrow is Friday, and he needed to get this done today because if he didn’t then, it’ll mess up his plan for tomorrow (which depends on your answer, too, if you say ‘yes’ then there’s another plan for that, but if you say ‘no’ then Wonwoo was already back in the city so he could cover for Jihoon while the latter wallows).

“Fuck it,” Jihoon mutters as he pushes himself up out of his chair, causing everyone else in the room jumps and turns to his desk, only to see him already out the door and rushing down the stairs.

“Go get her, man,” Jeonghan utters, loud enough for everyone to chime along with him.

With long strides and quick steps down to your floor, everyone Jihoon seemed to past knew he was a man on a mission—a man on a mission for you. He tries to ignore the mild chills that rose up his spine at that thought. He might be pathetic sometimes, but he likes to believe he can be quite the cheesy romantic, despite what his friends might say.

As expected, since it had been a slow day, a lot of staff had clocked out early, their jobs for the day done and all ready to end the work week. However, you were still by your desk, focused on the task at hand, only two of your coworkers in the room with you, but even they were mindlessly playing with their Excel sheets, waiting for the clock to strike five.

When he stood close enough to you, he saw that you weren’t focused on a task, instead on a game of Minesweepers. He watched you win a game, pursing his lips and nodding, visibly impressed. Sensing a present, you turned around and jumped slightly. “Jihoon… Hi.”

“Hey, Y/N,” he greets back with a stiff smile. “Is everything alright?”

A brief look of confusion passed your face, glancing between him and your computer, before nodding, “Yeah, everything’s fine.” And it was. You got through your day just fine, nothing needed to be troubleshooted, or restarted. You didn’t panic, other than when you forget to send a file to Saerom, but everything—technology-wise—was fine.

“Really? I got a notification on my computer that there was something wrong with yours,” Jihoon lied through his teeth. He didn’t, but he needed you away from your computer so he has ample time to put his plan in motion. His statement caused your brows to furrow together, genuinely confused because you didn’t receive any notification from your own computer, shouldn’t that be the case? Unless you did, and you didn’t noticed because you were too focused on your Minesweeper game.

“Oh…”

“Yeah…” Jihoon rubbed a nonexistent itch at the back of his neck. “Are you done with your work? It might take a bit for me to check it.”

“Oh yeah, I’m done for the day,” you said, then to the clock above the door. “I didn’t realize it was almost five.”

If you could hear anything right now, it would be the pounding beat of his heart against his chest as he tries to formulate an excuse to get you off the computer. “It won’t take more than ten minutes, though, Y/N.”

“Alright, I’m just going to fill my water bottle and clean up while you deal with it.” With a stern nod, Jihoon watched as you stood and walked out the room. Once outside, he took his spot and started his plan.

Recalling the steps he saw on Google, opening Notepad as he pulled out the sticky note where he wrote the code beforehand, typing it in and inserting the necessary message. Once he had saved it, he tested it once, and almost yelled out in triumph when it worked, displaying a fake error message.

“What’s the problem, Jihoon?” You approached him, bottle filled to the top with water. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, you just…” He stood from his chair, gesturing for you to sit. He leaned down, keeping one hand on the back of your chair as the other guided you. “You just need to click that, it’s to install a… an update… Yeah, an update.”

“This one? The ‘Critical Inquiry’ one?” Jihoon hummed in response and watched with sweaty hands and a racing heart as you clicked it, an error message popping up on your screen.

Is this how IT guys flirt? The blood in your face travelled the distance to your cheeks, a bright pink beneath the glow of your skin as you tried suppressing your smile, Jihoon’s way of asking you out so unconventional, so out of the blue, so unique, that you couldn’t help but mentally applaud him, this was a new way you’d been asked out.

“What’s your option?” Jihoon asked, his voice so clearly on edge as he anticipated your answer, for a second even worried you’d decline then he’d be forced to return to his hermit habits and hide his embarrassment.

All that tension, no matter how hard he tried to hide it behind a nonchalant façade, was visible to you and gosh, he is so cute.

You sent him a smile, turning back to your computer wordlessly, letting your choice speak. Your cursor hovered towards the options, for a second too long it hovered over ‘No’, Jihoon’s breath hitching in his throat before his heart skipped a beat as the cursor moved and you clicked your mouse right on ‘Yes’.

The two of you stared at each other, a warmth in your eyes, and brightness in his, sharing a knowing smile before he uttered with the confidence he mustered between the panic.

“I’ll pick up at eight then, Y/N.”

433 notes · View notes

dollfacefantasy · 3 months ago

Text

THE LUCKY ONES ♡

pairing: satoru gojo x fem!reader x naoya zen'in

summary: after he disrespects you at a party, you and satoru teach naoya a little lesson in manners.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, threesome, p in v, oral sex (m + f receiving), misogyny, humiliation kink, orgasm delay/denial

a/n: comm for @nexysworld!! reblogs & comments are always appreciated <3

Lanterns lined the stone pathway leading to the main hall of Jujutsu High. The decorated lights dangled from the trees and swayed in the light wind blowing across Jujutsu Tech’s courtyard. Naoya had never been to the Tokyo campus. His eyes scanned the decorations before taking in the large building before him. Swaths of people hovered around the entrance. He supposed the higher-ups wanted to make a big deal out of this event. It wasn’t every day that the three families struck a deal like they had last week.

Despite the joy plastered on the faces of everyone around him, his expression remained neutral. He walked in silence next to his father. In a way, he was excited. This was the first event he would be attending not as the son of Naobito, but instead, as the future leader of the Zen’in Clan. And future leaders didn’t walk around with goofy smiles or a lot of pep in their step. They stayed cool and calm, projected their strength through their presence alone. Naobito had done as much for Naoya’s entire life, so that was how the younger man planned on acting tonight.

The delicate hum of string music drifted through the air from the building ahead. It grew louder as they approached, though the chatter of sorcerers sprinkled all around drowned it out a decent amount.

A small group of students lingered near the main doors of the place. Naoya kept his golden eyes straight ahead. He hoped that because they were already outside that meant they would be leaving soon. That way he wouldn’t have to talk to his useless cousins. While he’d normally relish a chance to taunt the twins, soon-to-be clan heads didn’t engage in petty squabbles like that.

Naobito crossed the threshold into the party first, and Naoya followed right after. The lights inside burned brighter than the muted ones outdoors. Gatherings of people circled around tables set up throughout the place. They laughed and talked over plates of lavish food and glasses of expensive drinks.

There was also a bar set up to the side of the room. Even though it wasn’t the main attraction by any means, Naobito locked onto it after only a few seconds.

“If you need anything, you know where I’ll be,” he said with a grin, not even looking in Naoya’s direction before taking off the other way.

Grimacing at his father’s pathetic display, he crossed his arms. Not that he would admit it, but Naoya felt a little lost standing all by himself at the front of this event. He recognized a lot of these people, but he’d never spoken to them. His father was the one who was supposed to help weave him into the social fabric of this place. Everyone knew Naobito, and there was always something to talk about with the reigning head of the clan.

Naoya, on the other hand, took a few steps forward and honestly felt like he might be invisible. At home, people looked when he entered a room. They stood at attention and recognized the greatness that was their future patriarch.

Here no one spared him a glance.

He scratched at his elbow and continued on into the main part of the room where most of the people had conglomerated. At the very least, he could grab some food and figure out what to do from there. He slithered around statuesque men and women with cold eyes.

The glare on his face grew more severe as all of them failed to acknowledge him. He was above every last one, and he knew it. They just couldn’t see that yet.

When he finally reached a clear spot near the railing of a large staircase, he heard a laugh that rang familiar to him. Turning his head, he spotted the source standing a few feet up on the landing. He wasn’t hard to find. Standing at six foot three put Satoru Gojo above most of the other heads in the crowd. And even though he hadn’t seen him in nearly a decade, Naoya recognized those snowy white locks right away.

A small smile bloomed across his face despite himself. Finally, he’d found someone here on his level. He stifled the look of happiness before rounding the bannister and making his way up the couple steps that separated them.

“Satoru,” he called out.

The other man paused his conversation to find who wanted his attention. A dark scrap of cloth covered his eyes now. Even with it there, Naoya could still picture the cerulean irises that lie beneath. They were impossible to forget. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so pure in color before or since.

He couldn’t see Satoru’s pupils either, but he felt them fixate on his form when the other man finally stopped the search for who had spoken his name. A second went by before his lips quirked up another inch.

“Naoya, right?” he asked in return.

Now the smile was truly gone from the younger sorcerer’s face.

Right?

Why was he asking ‘right’ like he wasn’t sure? Like he didn’t remember Naoya. He was the future head of the fucking Zen’in Clan for Heaven’s sake. He’d spoken to Satoru before. He’d asked him questions about leading a clan and holding that kind of power. He wasn’t just someone you let slip from your memory like a background actor you still didn’t know the name of after seeing them over and over again in movies.

He’d admired Satoru, but clearly, the sentiment had been one-sided.

Instead of pitching a fit though, he maintained his composure like a clan head should.

“Of course,” he scoffed.

Satoru didn’t seem to take offense to the irritation in his tone. He just chuckled and shrugged.

“Sorry. Took me a second. You look pretty different,” he said.

A plume of heat rose to Naoya’s cheeks. He could only hope it didn’t show through his skin in a light tint of pink. While he wanted to continue to ruminate over this perceived injustice, he realized Satoru was right. Back when they’d seen each other last during his early days as head of the Gojo Clan, Naoya didn’t have all the piercings he now wore. His hair had been its natural inky black rather than the harsh blonde that covered his locks now. In the same way that he took a moment to recognize himself in old photos, Satoru needed a second to recall the man he probably hadn’t thought of in almost ten years.

However, the more irrational part of Naoya still felt like he should’ve known anyways.

“So do you,” he huffed. “You look older.”

That brought a laugh from Satoru. “Right,” he responded, clearly nothing but amused at the quip.

In truth, Naoya meant what he said. He just didn’t mean it as an insult. Satoru didn’t look old at all. He just looked older. Over the eight or nine years since he used to stop by the estate for talks with Naobito, he’d grown into his features. Back then, he appeared gangly, like his body had been made a size too big. He walked around on his skinny legs with exaggerated confidence. His large hands always seemed like they didn’t know whether to droop by his sides or stay shoved in his pockets.

Naoya remembered watching him strut by from the edges of the gardens. He couldn’t believe that was who everyone called the strongest. A guy whose pants didn’t even seem to fit him right. There was no way someone wearing trousers that left their deathly pale ankles in full view was considered king of the Jujutsu world.

But as he stood before him now, Satoru looked like the god everyone described him to be. His giant stature was accentuated by healthy amounts of muscle mass. Instead of lingering around with an awkward hunch, he kept his shoulders back. His chest puffed outwards, and his arms rested naturally by his hips. The violet suit he wore hung on his body without an imperfection in sight. It covered everything it should. Maybe even covered a little too much.

“Well how are you? I didn’t know you were coming tonight. What’s it been? Ten years?” Satoru asked, pulling the younger man from his thoughts.

“Something like that… I’m great, actually. You probably already know, but I’m head of the Hei. And I’m going to be head of the clan soon,” Naoya said.

Satoru’s brows rose a bit, but not with genuine surprise. “Soon, huh? Does Naobito know that?” he teased.

Naoya sneered, curling his lip like a provoked dog. “Of course he does. I’m his heir. That’s why he brought me here tonight. To learn how to associate with all of you,” he spat. “What is it that you do now? You’re a teacher, right?”

“Something like that,” Satoru answered, his own expression cocky as ever. He took a few seconds to just stare at the Zen’in before him. “You look different, Naoya, but you really haven’t changed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped. He had changed. He’d changed a lot in the years since he was eighteen. Back then he was an adult by age, but now he was a man in the truest sense of the word.

Before Satoru could explain his comment, a smaller hand wrapped around his bicep. The faint touch pulled his attention away from the conversation, and his body shifted to reveal who he’d been talking to previously.

You came into Naoya’s view. Some woman he’d never seen. Like everyone else in this place, you were shorter than the head of the Gojo Clan. Your eyes gazed up at the honored one with a bright twinkle of admiration.

Naoya watched, expecting Satoru to dismiss you or even reprimand you for interrupting a conversation you had no place in. But that didn’t happen. Instead, the taller man smiled at you. He took your hand and pulled you closer, tucking you under his long arm against his side. The deep purple of his suit jacket complemented the lilac silk of your dress. For a moment, it almost looked as though the two of you were a couple…

“Naoya, there’s someone I should introduce you to,” he started.

“Is this your wife?” he interrupted immediately. He didn’t see any rings, but that would explain why Satoru was being so lenient with you. He thought better of the strongest sorcerer, yet to Naoya’s absolute dismay, he knew that most non-Zen’in men didn’t make an effort to control their women.

Satoru laughed at that assumption while you gave a timid smile and stood up a little straighter.

“No, not my wife. She may keep me in line like one, but officially, she’s my assistant. She just started working at the school. Yaga thought I needed some help with organization and that she needed a little extra instruction on her cursed energy,” he explained before shrugging. “Marriage or not, I guess we are kind of a match made in heaven.”

Naoya rolled his eyes at that. “Please. I doubt any divine being would pair you with a woman. Let alone one so below your status.”

Your features scrunched with indignation, and for the first time since arriving, Naoya felt in his element. Though he still couldn’t believe you actually worked at the school. You didn’t look like a sorcerer. You looked like a piece of arm-candy. Your shiny dress was too tight and revealing for an employee of the school. Your hair was too styled and pretty for anyone who wanted to be taken seriously. Really, your face was just too cute for a life of combat.

Despite your reaction to the words, Satoru remained composed. “The rest of the world doesn’t live by the Zen’in Clan’s backward rules, Naoya. While you’re here, you’ll speak about everyone with respect,” he said, cool as could be.

And that really lit Naoya’s fire. Not only was Satoru going to let you interrupt and masquerade as someone worth anything, he was going to defend you? He gritted his teeth and stared down the two of you.

“She hasn’t done anything to earn my respect,” he seethed, fist clenched.

“You’re not giving her the chance to. How is she supposed to earn your respect when you’ve already decided she doesn’t deserve it?” he asked.

The question left Naoya without an answer. Humiliation began to cloud his mind as he scrambled for a defense. He knew he was right. You didn’t deserve his respect by virtue of the very way you were acting. You could earn it by behaving how you were meant to, subservient and deferential. AKA looking pretty while standing silently by Satoru’s side.

However, he knew saying that would only worsen Satoru’s opinion of him, and as much as he disagreed with him on his treatment of the opposite sex, he still wanted his fellow clan head’s favor.

Luckily, Satoru saved him from stewing in his embarrassment any longer. “How about you try starting over?” he offered.

It was a gesture of compromise, but it only mortified Naoya further. Satoru was only one year older than him, yet he was speaking like he would to a misbehaving child. There was no other way out though, so he reluctantly nodded.

“There we go,” Satoru praised. He then spoke your name and title like it was the true beginning of the conversation. Naoya had been right. He’d never heard of you before.

You stuck out your hand with a cordial smile. “Pleased to meet you,” you said as if he hadn’t insulted you only a minute ago.

Seeing your outstretched limb nearly sent a wave of nausea through Naoya. The two of you really expected him to shake a woman’s hand. To act as though you were his equal.

He paused and hesitated, but the weight of the six eyes compelled him to grasp your palm and give it a shake.

“I’m sure you are,” he said.

He gripped your hand as hard as he could, wishing he could break every bone beneath the smooth flesh. The smallest semblance of pain flickered in your eye, but you continued the shake just as long as he did. Part of him wished for you to cry out. To look towards Satoru for help, desperation swirling in your eyes as you realized you needed someone superior to save you.

But instead, the only subject of Satoru’s attention was Naoya. He watched as the younger man loosened his grip on you and allowed the interaction to end.

“Good boy,” he teased, “See how much better things are when you play nice?”

Obviously, it was meant to be a joke, but the words stoked the flames inside Naoya in a totally different way than before. Now the heat radiating in his chest didn’t come from anger, but rather something less ugly. The warmth that crawled up his neck and spread across his cheeks felt less harsh. It was something much sweeter.

“Whatever,” he grumbled and looked away in an effort to conceal his blush.

From the lofted walkway nearby, a deep voice called out for Satoru. The three of you looked toward it in sync, finding Masamichi Yaga waving for the white-haired sorcerer.

“Looks like I’m needed elsewhere. You two behave yourselves. I don’t want to be breaking up any fights later,” Satoru teased, patting you on the head before walking away.

Naoya stared at you so hard it seemed as though he was trying to burrow a hole in your head with his gaze alone. Why did YOU get the parting inside joke? Why did you get the friendly end of the warning while Naoya was left excluded? You were an assistant. Barely even a sorcerer, yet Satoru acted as though he respected you more. Ridiculous.

Once he had departed and begun his ascent to Yaga, you returned your focus to Naoya.

“So now that Naobito plans on working with the other families in a larger capacity, do you think you’ll be involved with the schools more? Maybe not here but in Kyoto?” you asked.

The question wasn’t backhanded or manipulative. Your eyes didn’t reflect with condescension or arrogance. It seemed as though you were genuinely trying to start over. To give Naoya the benefit of the doubt. To believe he could overcome the attitude that had been instilled in him since he learned to read. You spoke with a genuine effort to connect with this man who had so disregarded you.

Unfortunately, it was an effort he had no interest in.

Brushing you off with a wave of his hand, he started after Satoru. “Don’t speak to me unless it’s to ask if I want a drink,” he spat in parting, leaving you staring at his back in disbelief.

He kept his distance, taking the steps at an even pace to project the image of nonchalance. Satoru’s back was to him now, so it wasn’t like he would see. But he still wanted to avoid anyone thinking he was clingy. Or needy. Or desperate.

By the time he reached the top of the stairs, Satoru had already integrated with the group of higher-ups who summoned him. Naoya wondered what they could be talking about. It couldn’t be anything too important or else they would have asked for him too. But it didn’t look like anything fun either as Satoru’s plush pink lips rested in a bored line.

The blonde sorcerer stuck to walking along the railing that overlooked the lower level of the party. He played it off like he was just wandering, getting a better view of everything that was happening. But his peripheral kept Satoru in his line of sight at all times.

He wanted so badly to interject and be included in whatever matters all of them were discussing. These were the leaders of the Jujutsu world. The people who made all the decisions. It was a conversation he deserved to be a part of.

They probably wrote the Zen’ins off on instinct, and he couldn’t really blame them with how Naobito was currently downstairs drinking himself blind. But he could show them that would all be changing soon if only they’d give him the chance. The Zen’ins would be strong once again. With him at the head, they’d have power and influence. Under his rule, they’d be a part of this world along with the other families. Him and Satoru, side by side could lead their clans into this new generation of Jujutsu and leave his father and company in the dust where they belonged.

In the midst of outlining this mental manifesto, he caught the end of the nearby conversation. Satoru turned away from the gaggle of old men, his shoulders relaxing slightly with the freedom. Naoya turned too. He faced the opposite direction and grabbed onto the wooden bannister. Hopefully Satoru wouldn’t suspect he’d been doing exactly what he had been, watching in envy.

Only a couple of seconds passed before he felt a hand clap over his shoulder. Satoru then followed, sliding into his left field of vision.

“You stalking me or something?” he quipped. “Thought I left you downstairs with my right hand.”

Naoya rolled his eyes, but he kept his tone neutral. “I got bored. I’ve never been here before. I thought I’d look around a bit and get to know the place better.”

“And you planned on doing that by lingering around me?” he smirked.

“No, I- I’m not lingering around you. I just-” he defended, shooting a glare towards Satoru.

Oh, how Naoya hated this. How was it so easy for this man to twist things around and tie people into knots using only his words? It was horrible, like constantly walking into verbal traps he didn’t even know were set. Talking with Satoru meant accepting this constant feeling of embarrassment in his belly, coming to terms with the fact that every word he spoke amused the strongest sorcerer.

“It’s ok. It’s kind of funny. Reminds me of when we were younger. You used to trail after me when I’d visit the estate, ask me tons of questions and watch my every move. Felt like I was being studied,” he laughed.

“I did not ‘trail after you.’ You make me sound like a dog or something. I just wanted to talk to you because I knew we’d be rulers of our clans at the same time one day,” he responded, calming down a little at Satoru’s lenience with him.

“Heh. Yeah. Even back then you made it sound like Naobito was only days away from keeling over and leaving the whole thing to you,” he said.

That brought a slight frown to Naoya’s lips. He had been pining for leadership for all that time. For a second it made sense to him why he was left out. Why would the higher-ups take him seriously when it seemed like Naobito would never actually die? Why would they bother wasting their time with a potential leader who may never even come to fruition?

His grip around the railing tightened as his jaw clenched. “It doesn’t hurt to be prepared. Not all of us were lucky like you. Born with enough power to be seen as the leader even as a child,” Naoya huffed.

“Really? Lucky? That’s what you think of me?” Satoru chuckled, a hint of bitterness lacing the sound.

Naoya’s golden eyes looked him over from the side. “Yes. You are lucky. You get to do whatever you want-”

Now it was Satoru’s turn to interject.

“You get to do whatever you want. Do you think anybody could just waltz in here and insult a grade one sorcerer with no consequences? Could they follow me around like a pouty kid because no one else will pay any attention to them?” he asked. “You’re lucky, Naoya. You get the promise of power without any of the responsibility.”

None of the words came out with true anger, and that might have been the worst part. Satoru wasn’t passionate about this. He wasn’t enraged or furious. He couldn’t even work up a scowl for Naoya. It was like he was stating simple facts.

“Like you have so much responsibility. You have an assistant! You’re supposed to be the strongest of us all, but you need a woman to help you with your work. Pathetic,” he spat.

Satoru looked unimpressed by his assessment, but before he could respond, his phone rang. Retrieving it from his jacket’s interior pocket, he glanced at the screen and scanned the caller ID.

“Ah, no fun. I have to take this. I guess we’ll have to finish our conversation later,” he said, not waiting for Naoya’s response to turn away.

He headed over to the other side of the hallway and slipped through a sliding door. Naoya remained in place, hands still locked onto the wooden rail in front of him. Waves of heated anger rolled off of him. His mood didn’t cool off any in the face of Satoru’s dismissal.

He stared down at the rest of the party in disgust. The other guests galavanted around, talking and laughing like they didn’t have a care in the world. He hated them all.

One day there wouldn’t be a person in this room who didn’t know the name Naoya Zen’in. One day they’d vie for a chance to have his attention. He may never garner enough power to surpass Satoru, but he’d wield enough influence to provide some healthy competition.

Now, he realized Naobito probably had the right idea in keeping the other families at arm’s length.

As he thought of his father, he wondered if the old man was still working his way through the party’s liquor supply. He glanced towards the bar, expecting to see Naobito throwing another glass back by himself, but instead, he found you sitting near his father.

It might have been ok if you didn’t look so pleasant. The sight of you resigned to numbing the sting of his demeaning words with booze probably would’ve made him happy. Your misery could have alleviated him of the humiliation Satoru had just inflicted upon him. But no. You sat one stool away from Naobito with a pretty smile spread across your face, nodding along to whatever bullshit he was feeding you.

In that moment so much fucking rage filled Naoya, he thought actual flames might erupt from his head.

He let go of the structure in front of him and started towards the stairs without a second thought. Going down he took them two at a time, bumping shoulders and brushing past everyone else without so much as a nod. None of them deserved an apology anyway.

As he crossed the floor, his mind operated on autopilot, motivated by nothing but the urge to destroy. All he wanted right now was to wound you. To tear you apart and leave you tattered in humiliated shreds.

“If your plan is to sleep your way to the top of a clan, you’d be much better off trying to get into bed with me,” he called when he was finally in range. He walked up to the bar, standing only a couple feet from you and his father.

The pair of you turned upon hearing the words. Confusion etched across your face. Obviously, you didn’t think he could be talking to you, but with the way Naoya stared into your eyes like they were mini-bullseyes, it was hard to believe he was speaking to anyone else.

“What? What are you talking about?” you asked.

“You can act innocent all you want to, but I know what you’re doing. Playing ‘assistant’ for Satoru, acting like you really care at all about anything my father has to say-” he began his list of accusations.

Naobito rolled his eyes at the display. He didn’t look confused at all. Simply unamused. “Will you give it a rest? For God’s sake, you always gotta bitch about something…” he grumbled before taking another swig of his drink.

“I wasn’t-” you tried to defend yourself simultaneously. But Naoya didn’t give you the time to say more.

“You were. And I can’t fault you. What are you to do? It’s not like you can get an advantage over any of us with actual skill,” he continued. “I’m just pointing out that your aim is off. I’m the one who will rule the Zen’in Clan in the long run. You shouldn’t bother with my drunken father who won’t remember your name come sunrise.”

“Shut yer trap already, Naoya. If she was getting into bed with anyone, she’d pick the guy she works for. The one already in power,” Naobito cut in again, attempting to silence his son.

“I’m not trying to sleep with anyone!” you finally declared. Swiveling around on your stool, you stand up to face Naoya. “I was being polite, which is what you’re supposed to do at things like these. Not sulk around and throw a fit cause people don’t wanna kiss your ass just for existing.”

“Liar. You don’t fool me. Unlike my father, batting your eyes won’t work on me. Showing yourself off in this thing won’t either,” he said, hooking his fingers beneath one of the straps of your dress and giving the thin material a tug.

Fury blazed through your eyes at the contact. You smacked his wrist away hard, the clap of skin on skin slashing through the background noise of happy chatter and pleasant music. Naobito had turned back to his drink again in irritation, but the attention of people nearby began to drift to the both of you.

“Don’t touch me,” you told him without any room for argument.

But he only smirked at you. This was helping him feel better; as if he was siphoning all of his own anger into you instead. He couldn’t work up any true passion from Satoru. Maybe you could be the next best thing.

Ignoring your command, he reached for your face and swept the bow of his index finger down your jawline.

“Women, such emotional creatures,” he tutted.

You slapped his hand away again. “What is your problem? We were just talking, and it had nothing to do with you.”

“It’s my clan, so it’s my business,” he retorted and stepped closer to you, letting the height difference between your frames show. He wasn’t as tall as Satoru, but he was still taller than you and that was enough for him.

To your credit, you didn’t back down. You continued to glare at him without letting his physical advantage intimidate you. “It’s not your clan. You don’t actually control anything.”

“I have more power now than you ever will,” he replied. “You’re Satoru’s little lap dog. You sit behind him and make sure he can do all the things you wish they’d let you try for yourself.”

“Are you really this desperate for attention? Or is it jealousy or something?” you snapped. “Someone actually wants my help. Satoru likes having me around. He chooses to teach me things. No one has ever chosen to be around you in your entire life. Everything you have is because your daddy gave it to you.”

That actually stung a little bit. Naoya suppressed his wince, and instead pursed his lips. A small part of him was exhilarated by the challenge your words brought, but he couldn’t let you win.

“Deflection, deflection, deflection. You know the only way for a woman to get anywhere in this world is to spread her legs. And you clearly lack the training to be a proper wife, so you’re trying the next best thing. I mean, being a slut comes so naturally to you, doesn’t it?”

Unlike him, you didn’t hide the sneer that came to your face. “You don’t even know me! How can you-” you started on the brink of exploding.

“I don’t have to know you to know the truth,” he spoke over you. “I’m just saying that if you plan on whoring yourself out, you should make sure you’re getting on your knees for the right man.”

You raised your hand for some kind of attack - maybe something with your technique, maybe a simple slap. Either way, he put a stop to it by grabbing your wrist with the force he wanted to use earlier. A hiss of pain slid from between your lips, and a surge of heat flooded the pit of his belly.

“You’re actually kind of pretty looking up at me like this. I wouldn’t mind being the one to show you how to behave,” he said in a lower tone.

“That’s enough.”

The cool sound of Satoru’s voice brought everything to a screeching halt. Not only did any other words die in Naoya’s throat, but the entire party seemed quieter, commanded into order by Satoru’s firm statement. His words came out even more monotonous than they’d been upstairs. A rare occasion where he spoke without any teasing or affection in his tone.

The assist from the other sorcerer didn’t pull your eyes out of your hateful stare, but Naoya’s head whipped around to look at him. There Satoru stood, arms folded across his chest like a disappointed parent.

Naoya blinked at him, unsure of what to do. He didn’t want to back down. Not with a small crowd onlooking this confrontation. But he didn’t want to cause more of a scene either. He was never one to start fights he knew he would lose.

“Let go of her,” Satoru spoke again at the lack of response. He walked closer to the pair of you, tightening the scope of the drama so less people would feel inclined to watch. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Me?” Naoya sputtered, maintaining his tight grip on you. His full focus landed on Satoru now. “This entire thing is an embarrassment. What are we even celebrating? A deal that I’ll be sure to undo as soon as I’m head of the clan?”

“That’s what you’re pretending to be upset about? You hate that people are… having fun at a party? You’re mad that they’re not already planning for the hypothetical day where you undo it all?” Satoru asked. A hint of mocking returned to his words as another bid to get people less interested.

“It’s not a hypothetical. It’s going to happen whether you or anyone here likes it or not,” he seethed.

“Sure, sure. But my assistant has nothing to do with that, so like I said, take your hands off of her,” he said.

“She was disrespecting me,” Naoya defended. “I said one thing to her, and she talked back.”

“Isn’t that how a conversation’s supposed to work? One person speaks, and then the other talks back…” Satoru said, his mocking no longer hidden.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it! She was out of line. Trying to tell me how I should act.”

“Well when you’re insulting her, I would say that’s within her right.”

Naoya narrowed his eyes. While he knew he was exaggerating a bit, he didn’t expect Satoru to accuse him so readily. He thought he hadn’t heard most of the conversation, if any. But you hadn’t piped up to deny his words either, almost as if you knew Satoru would take your side no matter what.

“I wasn’t insulting her. I was correcting her behavior. I was offering her some advice. That’s within my right,” he said coolly. “If you were any good at training her, I wouldn’t have to. She would know not to talk to her betters like that.”

“Her better?” Satoru laughed. He shook his head and took a couple steps closer. “You two are the same rank. You have basically the same position. What gives you the idea that you’re in any way her superior?”

It was a challenge. A dare for him to say what he truly meant, what Satoru had already told him to let go. Naoya ground his teeth together while glaring at that smug smile. Either option felt like losing. One was backing down, the other was walking into a trap. But he supposed there was no honor in giving up, so he kept going in pursuit of an honorable demise.

“I’m the heir to the Zen’in Clan. I’m better than some mouthy little bitch who thinks she knows everything because she sucks the strongest sorcerer’s cock for a living,” he spat.

That seemed to be your breaking point. This time around you didn’t wait for Satoru to handle it. Instead, you stomped on Naoya’s foot with your pointy heel. Hard.

He cried out at the sudden burst of pain and dropped your wrist in an instant. He stumbled back, giving you the opportunity to swing at him with your elbow. Even off balance, he managed to block the attack. It didn’t dissuade you any though. You lunged at him like a feral animal, only stopped by one of Satoru’s arms slipping around your waist.

“Mouthy? I’m mouthy? You’re the one who’s been yapping the whole night!” you snapped.

Satoru didn’t use much force with you. Truthfully, he had no interest in protecting Naoya from violence at your hands. His only interest was in minimizing the scuffle. He didn’t want to get any shit for this later.

He kept his hold around your waist, waiting until you settled enough to nudge you to his side.

“Keep your cool. Don’t do something that’ll get you in trouble with the higher-ups,” he instructed.

Naoya watched on with a scowl on his face. “Finally, you put a leash on her.”

“Only so I can deal with you myself. Figure you’ll go easier this way,” he shrugged.

Before Naoya could even get out a question to clarify what that meant, Satoru reached forward and cupped the back of his neck, leading him away like one would a disobedient puppy. While it was probably easier than if you had tried, he still struggled. His feet floundered against the floor as his arms flailed to try and peel the other man’s hand off. Naoya was strong, but it didn’t matter. Even with a forceful tug, Satoru’s hand stayed firmly clasped around him.

“What are you doing? Let go,” he said, trying to sound as masculine as he could while pleading for mercy.

“So you don’t like it when people grab you to show you your place, huh? Funny,” Satoru said.

Naoya’s cheeks burned a furious shade of crimson. How many times did he have to point out that comparisons between you and himself were moot because of one stark difference?

It seemed as though every set of eyes in the building were on the pair of them as Satoru forced him towards the exit. To make it look even a degree less humiliating, he tried to take a swipe at the other sorcerer like you had to him, but Satoru dodged it with ease, only adding to the frustration.

As they approached the door, he attempted one final time to get the advantage. He stuck his leg out to the side, hoping to trip the other man. If he could bring him to the ground, he could gain the upperhand. Satoru possessed more strength, but Naoya could counteract that with speed.

But all of that was irrelevant because he only slightly stumbled. The move did seem to actually irritate him though. His jaw clenched and he jerked Naoya by the neck before shoving the side exit door open with his shoulder.

The night air cooled Naoya’s flushed skin the second he was dragged out onto the stone. It seemed easier to breathe out here. The music and chatter alike had become muffled behind the walls and shutting doors. But to his dismay, as those sounds became more distant, another followed behind him and Satoru.

A pair of heels clicked against the hard ground in rapid succession. He tried spinning around to get at you. Without a crowd, he didn’t have to hide behind the veneer of civility. He didn’t have to grab and insult. He could go after you like he wanted.

“You really are like a fucking pet, following your master wherever he goes,” he snapped.

Unfortunately for him, he didn’t get anywhere close to striking you. And also without the surveillance of onlookers, Satoru didn’t have to be polite. He flung Naoya forward, sending him crashing to the ground and into some stone fencing a few feet away.

“You’ve humiliated yourself enough for one night, don’t you think?” he asked.

Naoya winced against the sturdy structure, rubbing the back of his neck as if to get any remnants of Satoru off. He glared up at the other man who now towered above him like this. The sight sent a weird rush through him. A twisted, nausea-infused version of the heat that boiled inside him when he grabbed you.

“I gave you a warning. I thought I showed you that your night would be easier if you played nice,” Satoru said coolly. “You think anyone in there wants to deal with your shit? Your own fucking father couldn’t be bothered to take a break from the booze to tell you to cool it.”

“Because he knew I was right-”

“Because he knew you were acting like a spoiled brat and that other people could shut you up just as easy,” Satoru corrected. “I mean really. Your sixteen year old cousin has more maturity than you.”

The mention of Maki inflamed him more than anything else. He launched off the fence behind him, seeking to grab the skinny leg in front of him and wrangle the other man onto the pavement. But before he could, Satoru raised his foot and knocked it into Naoya’s shoulder. The contact sent him back into the rock with a thud.

Shaking his head, Satoru crouched so he was at Naoya’s level. “You’re lucky all I did was take you out of there. I could have done so much worse, taught you a real lesson.”

Naoya rolled his eyes and turned his head away. He refused to accept defeat even with no path to victory remaining. But only seconds later, those long, pale fingers grab his jaw, tugging his face back in line.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” Satoru said. As if to make that easier, his other fingers rose to the blindfold on his face. A digit hooked beneath the scrap of cloth and tugged it up to rest on his head. The purple fabric pressed against his silky locks of hair, pushing them back out of his face.

A chill went through Naoya’s entire body at the sight of those piercing eyes. The bright blue irises glowed in the moonlight casting down from above. They completed Satoru’s face. They made him look human. But they also made him seem that much more terrifying. With his eyes exposed, his emotions became so much more accessible. That little blindfold’s adjustment exposed the frustration that had been building.

“You were struggling back there. You wanted to fight, yeah?” Satoru continued as the pads of his fingers dug into Naoya’s fleshy cheeks. “I should’ve let you. I should have let you think you had a chance at proving any kind of point, only to put you on the ground in front of everyone. I should’ve let you hear how tough that shit sounded coming from someone pinned underneath me.”

“You wouldn’t have won so easily. You think I’m the arrogant one, but-” he started to defend himself before being cut short.

“But look at you,” he replied, tightening his grasp. It felt as though he was mimicking the strength Naoya used on your wrist. “You think you’d have a shot? Look how easily I got you out here. You’re pitching a fit about this, but I could’ve done worse than that. I should have. I should’ve made you really apologize. To her. In front of everyone.”

“Satoru…” you said, your own voice much softer than before. It almost sounded like a gentle plea. Like you were telling him he didn’t need to ruin the rest of the night with something so dire. Like you didn’t want him to go too far. You stepped a few paces closer, your leg now inches from his side.

But he didn’t ease up any.

The hard stare. The uncompromising tone. The dull pain radiating in his cheeks. All while you watched on in pity. It was all starting to increase that sickening warmth in his stomach.

“I would never apologize to a woman,” he maintained.

Now you rolled your eyes, clearly regretting that you’d tried to intervene at all. You folded your arms across the satin material of your dress and looked at Naoya with distaste.

“Oh, you think so?” Satoru said, a faint smirk pulling at his lips. “You don’t think I could make you?”

And for a second, it felt like everything stopped. All the nearby crickets went silent. The breeze didn’t blow. Naoya’s heart stopped beating. He knew it was meant as a threat. A warning of violence if he didn’t comply. But with Satoru’s mouth so close, with his breath fanning onto his face, with his eyes looking into his very soul, it came across as a much more convincing method of persuasion.

As much as he tried to fight it, heat pooled in his belly and clustered in his lap. He could feel the appendage between his legs stiffening up a little.

Satoru caught the slightly widening eyes and hitched breath. His own brows furrowed in confusion for a moment.

“What? What’s that look for?” he asked. “You know I could.”

Naoya didn’t answer. Instead, he tried to think of the words that would make up one. In the bout of silence, your hand drifted forward and tugged Satoru’s blindfold the rest of the way off. You twisted the piece of material, wrapping it around your own wrist before running your fingers through his now loose strands of ghostly hair.

It made it worse in a way. Your touch looked so soft, so caring. Adoring and reverent. Almost loving but definitely familiar. It was a touch he craved.

“Nothing…” he said, swallowing to mask the dryness of his throat. “I’m just tired of your lecturing.”

“Really? You’ve been so desperate for attention the whole night, but now that you have it, it’s not good enough?” Satoru mocked. His voice came out a little lower than before, slightly breathier. It also didn’t help at all.

Suddenly you laughed. Both of the men’s heads snapped in your direction.

“He likes the attention,” you giggled, biting your lip as you grinned down at Satoru.

Both men remained bewildered for a few moments more, but Naoya caught onto your meaning first. He’d hoped it wasn’t visible or noticeable; though, that was proven unrealistic. You nodded towards his lap, guiding Satoru’s vision to the semi-hard bulge straining against his pants.

His brows raised for a second, and then a chuckle came from his lips. Naoya’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. From the way it felt, he’d bet the red tint glowed like a night light out here.

“You really like the idea of me forcing you, huh?” Satoru teased.

“Shut up,” Naoya said, though it came out closer to a plea.

“This is why you’re so miserable, you know. Maybe if you dropped the attitude, you could get a pretty girl to help you relax,” he mocked. You continued to snicker along to his words in the background, only making them sting all the more.

“I don’t need a girl. Women bring nothing but weakness,” he said. But his words came out less confident than earlier.

“I don’t think you could be any weaker than you are right now,” you simpered. “You’d probably cum in your pants from just this.”

You reached forward with your other hand to touch his hair as you’d done to Satoru. Your soft fingertips just barely grazed his scalp before he wrenched away like they were coated in acid. It only made you laugh more.

He glared at you, but his attention soon snapped back to the man in front of him. Satoru loosened his grip on Naoya’s jaw before skimming his thumb over his bottom lip. It felt soothing. A small method of quelling his anger.

“If you needed help with women, you could’ve just called me up. I would’ve helped you,” he taunted.

“Yeah, right,” Naoya scoffed on instinct before correcting himself. “I don’t need any help with that.”

“Mmmm, you definitely do. The stuff you say, all that anger you have towards them for just existing… those aren’t real panty-droppers,” he continued. “But you’re good looking. You’re sharp. You’re rich. It wouldn’t be so hard for you if you put in some real effort, Naoya.”

Satoru finally let go of his face, but not without patting his cheek. He then stood up again next to you. His arm swooped behind you, wrapping around the curve in your waist and pulling you to stand in front of him.

“It’s really not that hard. All it takes is some soft touches, sweet eyes, some sappy words,” he crooned while lowering his lips to your neck. “Isn’t that right, honey?”

His hands swept up and down your sides and settled on your hips while his mouth parted to lay some warm kisses on your skin. The only answer that came out of you was a delicate little moan. You took your bottom lip between your teeth again as your eyes fluttered.

Confusion slapped itself across Naoya’s face before angry realization dawned on him. He peeled himself off the ground, dusting some dirt off his clothes.

“So she is sleeping with you,” he hissed.

“Well… we don’t do much sleeping when we’re alone,” Satoru joked, his blue eyes flitting up from your neck. “It’s a good way to blow off steam after missions. Like I’m saying, you should give it a try.”

“I was right!” he seethed. “That’s the only reason you’re putting on this whole show. You gotta show your little whore that she’s more than that. She won’t keep spreading her legs if she knows you don’t respect her.”

Smooth as could be, Satoru slid around so that you were tucked to his side rather than pressed against his front.

“You know, it’s really hard to take you seriously when you still have a boner poking through your pants,” Satoru mocked.

That was all the humiliation Naoya could stomach.

“I’m leaving,” he muttered, stomping past the pair of you with his eyes cast down and his face hot as a glowing ember.

But before he could get far, Satoru’s hand grabbed his wrist. He pulled him back in front of you two.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he dismissed. Even with his firm grip, his voice wasn’t menacing.

His fingertips trailed up Naoya’s arm, making the flesh break out into tiny bumps. They dragged up to his shoulder, coasted across his collarbone, before wrapping around his throat. With a little tug, he inched him closer.

“You think I’m putting on a show, right? Well I should at least get you to apologize then,” Satoru hummed.

He stared into Naoya’s golden eyes. His thumb smoothed back and forth across his neck, ghosting over the strong thump of his pulse.

“I’m not apologizing,” Naoya maintained.

“You really want me to force you?” he grinned.

“Satoru, I’m not-” he started, attempting to brush off the hand around his neck.

But Satoru kept his hold tight and pulled their faces even closer together. Naoya’s eyes widened as he felt an eruption of butterflies in his belly.

“Not even if I offer a little reward for it?” he purred.

Naoya nearly choked at the implication. His pupils scanned over Satoru’s face, trying to detect any signs of a joke or a trap. But he couldn’t find any. He then looked to you, to see if you would recoil at the suggestion. Only, there you stood, gazing up at Satoru like he was a statue to worship. Your fingers ran up and down the hem of his suit jacket.

“Don’t look at her. She’s not gonna help you,” Satoru teased. “She already doesn’t like you, and she can be just as bad as me. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, resting your cheek against his chest as you watched. Your voice oozed out smoother than before, almost a little dreamy. You were getting turned on too.

Satoru’s smile only spread further. “She’s like a cat sometimes, loves playing with mice.”

“I’m not a mouse,” Naoya denied.

“No? Then be a man and admit you were wrong. That’s the price of entry. Otherwise, you can try your luck in there again. See if anyone else will throw you out,” he said, letting go of the other man’s face.

His lips pursed. The very idea went against his entire being. “I wasn’t wrong.”

“No? Then at least say you’re sorry for being a dick and causing a scene,” Satoru said.

A few seconds passed. He folded his arms over his chest as his face settled into more of a pout. He really, really did not want to claim to be wrong. But he also didn’t want to be left at this stuffy party while you and Satoru went off together to who-knows-where to do who-knows-what.

“I didn’t mean for you to get so… angry at what I said…” he tried.

“That’s not an apology,” you frowned.

He rolled his eyes, about to grumble some words about how ungrateful you were, but Satoru stepped in.

“Be patient, baby. It’s a start, yeah? You can pull some more out of him in a little while,” Satoru teased, ducking down to peck your cheek.

You squirmed at the sudden smack of affection, but it did ease you up. “Whatever,” you huffed as you nestled back into his side.

“Don’t expect any more. I’m not gonna say it again,” Naoya corrected.

“Sure you won’t,” Satoru said.

“I won’t.”

“Mhm, mhm. I believe you,” he nodded, his canines sparkling under the moonlight. “But you are gonna come with us, right?”

“I guess…” he said, looking away. He tried his best to act casual, like he could take this or leave it. Like he wasn’t gonna have to jerk off behind some bushes if he ended up being left behind.

But neither of you did anything so cruel. Instead Satoru gave the collar of his shirt a little tug. “Good boy. Just follow along, and we’ll get you that reward I was talking about,” he praised.

With that, the two of you turned around and started walking away from the main building. Swallowing hard, Naoya followed as instructed and trudged along a few paces behind you.

By the time the three of you had made it back to Satoru’s quarter’s, Naoya felt his heart beating like it wanted to leap from his throat. What had been awkward reservation had morphed into full on anxiety.

Especially now that he sat at the end of the king sized bed, watching you and Satoru make out.

The two of you stood a few feet away. Your hands cupped his cheeks while he worked on sliding the straps of your dress down. He could hear the puffs of your breath, the ragged sighs as your body grew hotter and the pressure between your hips began to make you squirm.

Your mouth glided down onto Satoru’s throat, coaxing a groan from his lips. His head fell back and rolled to the side so that his lidded eyes landed on Naoya’s bored form. A lazy smile spread across his face.

“What’re you pouting for? You had no problem inserting yourself before,” he said.

In contrast to his previous attitude, Naoya didn’t snap or snarl. He didn’t even roll his eyes or huff. Now that you and Satoru had let loose, things were different. There was no mask to hide feelings behind. In this room, everything was laid bare. He didn’t know how to reconcile with that.

“I…” he tried to think of something sharp to say, but nothing was coming out.

“Get over here,” Satoru said with a wave of his hand, saving him from his own failing vocabulary.

As if possessed, Naoya found himself rising off the luxurious mattress. He stepped towards the pair of you. His legs felt as though they might dissolve and leave him crumpled up on the floor in a pathetic heap. A small puddle that would remain dormant while you and Satoru simply stepped over him and got on with things as usual.

But nothing so dramatic happened. He made it to your sides and stood there for a moment. Satoru chuckled lowly before grabbing a fistful of his shirt.

“See? You do need my help,” he teased.

Before Naoya could even think of replying, the hand latched onto his top tugged hard, yanking him closer. His eyes widened as his lips crashed into Satoru. It was weird, almost unsettling at first. He was too cognizant of how wet his lips were, probably with your saliva. They were too squishy too. Too soft on his own.

After a few seconds though, the initial shock wore off. Satoru’s mouth moved, parting against his own. He sucked on Naoya’s lips. His tongue swiped over the skin in a small teasing stroke. Just like that, Naoya was melting into the sensation. He was stepping closer and leaning in, looking for more.

In no time, his nose was bumping Satoru’s and soft moans were trickling from his lips. His hand came up to hook over Satoru’s bicep. It was a way to get more contact, but it was also a method of balance to ensure he wasn’t going to faint.

It was as if all the repressed need that had shrouded him for so long was blossoming into a beautiful meadow of desire. The ache for attention, the desperation for care; it didn’t feel so ugly anymore. It felt vibrant and sweet. Like if the warmth he felt earlier on the balcony was given a doubled dosage of steroids.

Satoru reciprocated the enthusiasm while still managing to hold you close and encourage your efforts on his neck. After a few kisses more, he pulled back. His lips gleamed now. A soft dusky pink coated his cheeks while the black of his pupils blew so wide it nearly masked the blue of his irises.

His fingers came up, wiping a fleck of drool off Naoya’s chin.

“You know, I always liked you. Back then… you had so much potential. I thought you’d leave the rest of that clan in the dust. Shame you turned out to be such a brat,” he panted.

A surge of something close to panic washed over Naoya. Right now, he wanted- no, he needed Satoru to like him.

“But you said I hadn’t changed,” he said.

Satoru smirked at the clear yearning written all over his face. “You haven’t. But being a brat isn’t as cute as it was all those years ago.”

“It’s annoying now,” you mumbled as you pulled off Satoru’s neck and looked up at the both of them.

Naoya’s expression instantly soured. His hand came up to shove your head, but Satoru grabbed his wrist, flexing his fingers around the limb as a reminder of his strength.

“Be nice,” he said. “You’re running out of warnings.”

Naoya sputtered almost petulantly. “She’s the one who said it. You didn’t say anything to her-”

“Quiet,” Satoru commanded softly. “You’re gonna try to behave yourself right now, or you won’t get anything, alright?”

“Alright,” Naoya agreed quietly. He looked down. Accepting defeat was easier if he didn’t have to look at you as he did it.

“Atta boy,” Satoru praised. “Now I want you to kiss her.”

Naoya’s head rose back up, eyes wary. With a quiet chuckle and gentle nudge, Satoru guided him to stand behind you. Looking over your shoulder, your eyes met with his golden ones. For the first time, he didn’t feel automatic disdain. He took a second to look at you. Really look at you. His eyes ran over the curve of your nose and the fullness of your cheeks down to your silken lips.

“Are you gonna stare all-” you started to ask, but he cut you off. Not with an insult this time. Instead he used his own lips.

The kisses weren’t rough or mean. He actually put in a little effort. His hands settled on your waist while your free one came up to tangle in his bleached locks.

Satoru looked on. The approval in his eyes was palpable. “Look at you two…” he cooed playfully. “Getting along so well for me.”

He ducked back in to attach his lips to your neck. Naoya could feel your body relax backwards against him. As you moaned into his mouth, he groaned at your fingers twisting and playing with the dark ends of his hair.

His lips fell from your own and pecked over your jaw to the opposite side of your neck. With each man laving over one side of your throat, the three of you stumbled over towards Satoru’s king sized bed. On the way there, you kicked your heels off, leaving them discarded on the plush gray rug covering the floor.

Both of them sat down first. You stood before them, chest puffing with heavy breaths and eyes lidded with your desire. Naoya still held your waist while Satoru finished removing your dress.

The thin lavender straps descended your arms before the entire garment pooled around your ankles. Naoya sucked in a quiet breath as his eyes drank in every detail of your figure. He tried to look ambivalent, as if he’d possibly seen better. But the one girl he had fumbled through sex with a few years ago didn’t make him feel anything like this. His cock swelled to full hardness in his trousers as his hands gripped your hips with a little extra firmness.

Satoru didn’t have such a reaction, obviously having seen your body more than a few times. He was more focused on the now-exposed lacy lingerie. His fingertips dragged over the frilled material lining your breasts. Your nipple pebbled beneath the fabric in response, practically calling out for his digit to venture further.

“You know these are my favorite,” he murmured, skimming his hands along the border of the bralette.

You nodded, shifting on the balls of your feet slightly. “Wanted to give you a little surprise.”

He chuckled at the coy nature with which you spoke and then leaned in to plant a kiss on your sternum.

“Lucky for you, I think Naoya likes it too. Don’t you?” he asked and glanced over at the other man.

Words of praise tangled into knots in his throat. Only a weird sound of agreement made it out before he managed a nod of his own and then a quiet “Yeah, it’s nice.”

“Nice?” Satoru repeated, scooting closer. “Is this what nice does to you?”

His palm slid into Naoya’s lap, cupping his bulge with a firm squeeze. An embarrassing whine burst from his lips, his pelvis bucking up into the sensation on instinct.

Satoru laughed softly as he leaned in. He pecked Naoya’s soft lips, planting a few gentle kisses on his pout. His mouth moved to the corner of those lips, then onto his sharp jawline.

“You know, maybe your problem isn’t getting girls… maybe the trouble starts once you already got ‘em hooked,” Satoru teased. “Is that why you’re so angry all the time? Did you cum too early with the first one? Blow your load before she could even get you outta your pants?”

A shaky breath left Naoya. That burning inside was making it hard to register or respond to anything. He pulled back, giving his best shot at a glare.

“No. I didn’t. My first time was fine. We-”

Satoru, not interested in the actual story, ground the heel of his palm down onto the rigid length. A symphony of needy whimpers from Naoya cut his own words short. His head fell onto Satoru’s shoulder while he thumbed at the tip of the shaft through the material of his pants.

“You sure about that? Maybe she made fun of you for all these cute noises then, huh?” he murmured.

Before Naoya could offer up another legitimate answer, he kissed him again. He swallowed up all logic and reason, replacing it with the pure passion blazing between them.

Meanwhile, you unhooked your bra and let it fall to the ground with your party dress. Your panties went next, kicked to the side as well. Both men could see in their peripheral vision that you were now fully nude.

Naoya reached out for your wrist, his greed becoming more pronounced amidst the fog of his lust. He tugged you forward and then gave another yank in the direction of the floor, clearly expecting you would drop to your knees. But Satoru put a stop to it by grabbing your other forearm.

Retreating from the other man’s mouth, he grinned. “You’re crazy if you think she’s getting on her knees for you,” he breathed.

“Wha-what?” he stuttered.

“You’re still making it up to her. You wouldn’t even say sorry, but you expect her to suck your dick? Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Satoru tutted.

He guided you to sit at his other side while placing a hand on Naoya’s shoulder.

“You’re gonna be the one on your knees for now,” he said with a solid pull.

Naoya toppled from the edge of the mattress onto the wooden planks at Satoru’s feet. They were hard against his knees, but the sight of Satoru above him softened the blow. You were already lifting his shirt, peeling it from his toned form. Once the garment was discarded, Naoya truly felt like the heavens had opened. Like he’d seen God himself gazing down at him.

Of course, Satoru’s physique was as expected - muscular, fit, sculpted. But knowing something and bearing witness to it are two separate things. Seeing Satoru’s smooth skin and ripped torso stole the breath from Naoya’s lungs. He had to remember to keep his mouth closed so he wouldn’t drool.

And to make matters worse, your nimble fingers went to his fly next. You tugged the zipper on his pants open, and he boosted his hips, giving the clearance for you to shove the fabric down his legs. His v-line came into view first. That sparse happy trail starting at his navel thickened up the farther South it went, leading to a swath of snowy white hair at the base of his thick cock.

Satoru’s long fingers came to wrap around the veiny shaft. The digits curled around his length and gave it a few good strokes, beckoning it to fill out completely. He relished the way Naoya’s pupils bounced in sync with each motion.

“I’ve been putting up with your shit all night too. Think you should suck my dick as a real apology while I get her warmed up for yours,” he said.

“You want me to-”

“Suck it,” Satoru finished with a smirk. “C’mon. You got a big mouth. I’m sure you can take it.”

He gawked at it for a few more seconds but then tentatively scooted in. There was really no point in resisting now. His lust overpowered his pride, and he wrapped his fingers around Satoru’s cock, feeling the pulsating warmth in his grasp. He stroked it a couple times, almost in an exploratory way, like he couldn’t believe it was real.

Without having to be told, he took the tip into his mouth. His tongue gently flicked at the silken head. Satoru sighed up above. His posture relaxed, and you leaned in closer. Your hand smoothed over Naoya’s hair as he took more into his mouth. This time he didn’t pull away. He let you pet him while he tasted the essence of Satoru’s skin.

His hand stayed wrapped around what wouldn’t fit in his mouth so far. He bobbed back and forth, letting his saliva coat the length.

“Fuck…” Satoru breathed, his white lashes fluttering. “You look so much better like this, with your mouth full instead of doing all that bitching and moaning.”

The words didn’t get to him this time, not while his brain was fully focused on the task of pleasuring the strongest sorcerer. He shut his eyes and kept sucking on him. His lips caressed over the ridge, across the veins towards the base. He wanted to take more, to go all the way, but the urge to gag was already tickling the back of his throat.

Maybe you could see that ambition on his face. Or maybe you still held a grudge from earlier. Either way, your hand slid to the back of his head and pushed. You didn’t shove, but you were firm with your move to get him to take more of Satoru’s cock down his throat.

Some words came garbled out around the length, totally incoherent to you or Satoru. But it didn’t matter because they were then replaced by a whine. You smiled at the little noises, tugging on his hair. His head slid nearly all the way till his nose nestled against those coarse white hairs. A gag rolled through his body. Strings of saliva seeped from his mouth.

You giggled at the sight, dragging him back and then sliding him down till he was bracing himself on Satoru’s thighs.

“Be nice,” he chastised affectionately, guiding your hand off Naoya’s hair.

The two of you kissed while the man between his legs came up for air again. He receded onto his haunches and sucked in a few breaths. His head had nearly begun to spin from the reduced amount of oxygen.

“He was the one being mean to me earlier,” you said softly against Satoru’s lips.

“Hmmm… I guess he was… Are you saying you deserve a little reward for putting up with that?” he asked.

“Maybe…” you said, brushing a lock of white hair out of his face.

He broke out into a smile at the affectionate touch. “I think I can manage that,” he said.

His hand reached out for Naoya’s hair and tugged his face against his cock again. “I didn’t tell you to stop,” he teased.

He laid back on the bed, patting your hip for you to climb up. You swung your leg over his abdomen to straddle his chest. But he didn’t wait for you to readjust yourself. Grabbing the backs of your thighs, he dragged you up so that your cunt hovered above his face.

“You know what to do, princess,” he said.

And you did. While Satoru taught you tons of tricks about Jujutsu, he’d also trained you in a few other arenas as well. You lowered yourself and let your head fall back in bliss as his tongue swiped over your pussy.

Naoya’s eyes widened as he suckled on the head of Satoru’s cock. He’d never seen anything like this spare some cheesy pornos, but those always looked fake. This was real. The way you rocked your hips on his mouth, the sounds of sucking and slurping from between your legs, the sight of your flesh dimpling under Satoru’s strong fingers - all of that was very much real.

He sucked at a much more leisurely pace now that the both of you weren’t watching his every move. It gave him the added awareness he needed to observe the action in front of him.

You yelped as Satoru sucked on your clit nice and hard. Your hips jerked, and your hands flew to his hair to grip the soft tresses. He groaned against your cunt at the sensation, his own hips bucking into Naoya’s mouth a bit.

With all of you connected like this, it was easy to get lost in the hazy atmosphere of euphoria. Nothing had to exist right now besides the three people in this room. There was nothing to worry about, nothing to do except make each other feel good.

In no time at all, you’re ready to cum. Satoru had seemingly inhuman stamina and discipline that meant he was faring ok, but you, on the other hand, were getting ready to burst. Both men could tell from how pitchy your moans were getting and how erratic your movements became.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. ‘Toru, ‘Toruuuu,” you whined. “I’m gonna- I’m gonna cum.”

“Mhm, that’s right, pretty girl. Let it all out for me. Be a good girl and cum,” he coaxed lazily between laps at your entrance. His tongue worked its way inside, fucking into you as you started to reach the high.

You squeaked and basically doubled over, your body spasming with the ecstasy his tongue brought you.

Naoya let his mouth slip off of Satoru’s length so he could just watch. He sat there in awe as your body shuddered atop the head below. It was like a flame dancing in a strong gust of wind. He couldn’t remember ever seeing something so raw. When he’d been with that girl a couple years ago, nothing like that happened. She moaned off and on until he came and then they laid there in silence.

She certainly didn’t squeal when overstimulation started to set in like you did. She didn’t leap off to the safety of the headboard with a big goofy smile on her face either. He didn’t follow, crawling over her and peppering her face with kisses like he saw Satoru do just now.

He could feel himself leaking inside his pants as he watched the two of you. He wanted that. If only to prove to himself that he was capable of it, he wanted to experience something like that.

Rising from the ground, he made quick work of his shirt and tossed it to the side with your discarded clothes. He then pulled his pants off, letting his cock spring free.

“Eager for your turn, huh?” Satoru asked, a knowing look on his face.

“I’m just tired of kneeling,” he said with a shrug.

Neither of you believed that, but you didn’t press. Instead, Satoru patted the open space next to him on the mattress.

“Come lie down,” he instructed.

His brows furrowed, yet he didn’t risk the path of resistance. Instead, he followed Satoru’s instructions and rolled over onto his back.

“Why does she get to be on top?” he grumbled.

Satoru laughed. “You’re about to get laid, and you’re still complaining?”

At the same time, you made your way to Naoya and straddled him just as you’d done to the other man before. Only this time, your pussy sat a few inches up from his flushed, leaky cock.

“I get to be on top cause I wanna be. You’ll do this my way or not at all,” you told him simply.

Normally, he would have objected to your attitude or tried to flip you over anyways, but right now he was laser focused on the tiny gap between you two. His chest shuddered with every rise and fall. All of his muscles tingled in anticipation. He swore he felt actual electricity when you planted your hands on the firm muscles in his chest.

He expected you to get to work. A quick slide inside and then some bouncing. But you didn’t do that. You brought your hips down and dragged your soaked folds over his length at an agonizingly slow pace.

A strangled groan fell from his lips as his head tilted back against the pillows. You worked your cunt back and forth on him, coating his cock with your slick. His eyes drooped while your velvety flesh brushed against him over and over and over.

He had to bite his lip to stay composed. The last thing he wanted to do was finish before you’d really started. He grabbed your hips hard, but despite his hold, you maintained control of the pace. Every time you’d boost yourself up, he thought you’d finally let him in. But every single time, you slid right back down and left him out in the cold.

“Fuck, stop teasing,” he pleaded.

“I’m not. I’m warming up,” you defended. But the expression on your face clued him in to the fact that your innocence was feigned.

“It’s not nice to rush a lady, Naoya,” Satoru added from where he laid propped on his elbow next to the both of you.

Naoya shot him a look, but it lost all malice when he saw how Satoru lazily jerked his cock to the show in front of him. Heat flared inside him. He had to shut his eyes to keep a handle on himself.

And it was then that you lifted yourself up and sunk down on him.

He moaned, his back arching off the bed. You giggled as your ass made contact with his thighs. Time stood still as you did. Both of you just got used to the feeling of him inside your pussy. You swiveled your hips slightly, bringing some whimpers out of him.

Leaning forward, you stroked his cheek. “You don’t seem to have a problem with me being above you anymore,” you cooed.

His eyes opened again before rolling back. You looked like a fucking angel above him. The dim light of Satoru’s room cast shadows over your body that contoured you like a work of art. Your eyes, nowhere near as bright as Satoru’s, struck him all the same. Even your voice sounded like that of a siren’s.

Naoya remembered the last and only time he had sex as mediocre. It felt good. Definitely not bad. Something he would do to pass the time for sure. But he never understood the pull it seemed to have over other men. The way they would let themselves be ruled by it.

Now he did. With every twitch of your tight, warm walls around his shaft, he became increasingly convinced that he would let you ruin his life to feel like this for only a few minutes more.

“Please-” he begged, his voice cracking, “Please move. Fuck, I can’t take it…”

“Awww, you said please all on your own. I think he’s learning, Satoru,” you crooned. But you did indulge him by beginning to ride, and that was all he could ask for.

“I knew he’d come around. You make a pretty convincing case,” Satoru agreed, still languidly stroking himself.

While you started off slow, you began picking up speed pretty fast. You moved like you were on a mission. With every bounce, you had a goal in mind.

It felt good to you, sure. You’d moan or let out a little mewl every so often. But for Naoya, if his noises were anything to go off of, he was in some version of paradise. His face looked almost dazed. He couldn’t get one syllable out without his voice breaking, and everything he did manage to say was some incoherent whine or an expletive. His fingers stayed locked onto your waist, holding on for dear life as you rode him with everything you had.

“I think you like being beneath me,” you purred, placing one of your hands on his throat. “You talk a big game, but that’s only cause you’re so desperate for someone to prove you wrong, huh?”

He nodded without even thinking about it. At the moment, he’d agree to damn near anything you said if it meant you would just keep going.

You had him.

Shifting around, you repositioned so that your feet were planted on the mattress next to each of his hips. You kept rising and falling, taking his cock to the hilt. But at this angle, you could get him so much deeper. You felt it right away, but so did he. His hips bucked up as he whimpered again.

His hands actually started to offer some help now. They kept you stable and balanced while making sure you maintained a steady pace. You continued to thrust yourself on him while accepting the assist.

“Fuck. Oh fuck. Fuck me, fuck me, keep fucking me,” he babbled.

“Yeah? Are you getting close, baby?” you asked.

From the side, Satoru couldn’t take just watching anymore. He swooped in to kiss at Naoya’s neck. “Look at you. So fucking pussydrunk. Are you gonna cum, pretty boy?” he asked lowly.

The added attention shot him so much closer to release. He nodded, teeth digging into his bottom lip so hard he thought he might draw blood.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum,” he whimpered like a broken record.

His cock kicked inside you. His balls drew up. His muscles tensed. Every part of him was ready for that sweet relief.

But then you pulled off.

You rose up just a little too high and popped his dick right out of you.

He cried out like he was in pain, his hips bucking and thrusting into the air fruitlessly. His eyes snapped open. The golden irises swirled like vicious tornadoes of anger and humiliation and raw need.

“You little fucking-”

“What’s that?” you asked, cocking your head to the side playfully.

He stopped himself short, his features contorting into a look of frustration before melting down to desperation instead. “Why?” he whimpered.

“Cause I want you to say sorry,” you said.

His eyes widened as if you were insane. Inside, his pride clawed at him, telling him to push you right off of him and storm out. But on his stomach, his cock wept for release. It glowed red and shimmered with a combination of your juices.

In the end, the tangible option won out.

“I’m sorry, ok? There,” he said.

“For what?” you prodded.

“For everything,” he answered, practically pouting.

“Not good enough. Say it like you mean it, say exactly what you’re sorry for,” you ordered.

“Fuck, ok. I’m sorry for calling you a whore. And a slut. And a bitch. And anything else. I’m sorry for saying you sucked Satoru’s dick. I’m sorry for grabbing you. I’m sorry for saying you should get me a drink or whatever. I’m just sorry, ok? Please, I’m so sorry. I… I was wrong,” he whimpered.

Reaching down, you grabbed his length and guided it back to your entrance. You slowly sank down as you had before.

“Keep going,” you said.

Instant relief flooded him as your cunt embraced him yet again. Release would have to build up again, but at least it wasn’t unattainable. And he’d do anything to keep it that way.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whimpered as you bounced up and down on him.

You went hard and fast now. Relentless in your pursuit of pleasure. Satoru kept kissing his neck, bringing more noises out amongst the slew of apologies.

Your legs started to wobble as you hit the high yourself, but somehow you managed to keep yourself upright. You threw your head back and screwed your eyes shut, letting that intense pleasure wash over you for the second time.

Naoya was much in the same boat. His heels dug into the mattress as release finally overtook him. No longer did his hands just serve to balance you. They actively pulled you down, gave him the leverage he needed to slam up into your cunt.

You both rode out the waves together until melting down into a boneless heap. You slid off of him and rolled to the side, resting your head on his bicep. He laid there, completely still for a moment. His chest heaved as he caught his breath.

“You two did so good. I’m so proud,” Satoru crooned mockingly from the same spot.

Each of your heads lazily turned in that direction to find the strongest sorcerer smiling at the two of you with his cock, still fully-hard, in his hand.

“But don’t you think you’re forgetting about something?” he asked teasingly.

The two of you were absolutely spent by this point, but in both of you, the adoration for Satoru ran deeper than physical exhaustion. You dragged your body to lie between his thighs first, and then Naoya came behind you.

Your fingers curled around the shaft before you planted a lazy kiss on the head. You began tracing the veins with your tongue from base to tip.

Naoya watched you for a moment before bringing his lips to the top. He suckled on the head for a moment, letting the precum smear on his lips. His golden eyes gazed up at Satoru. He watched as he softly moaned.

Both of Satoru’s hands came to pet your heads. “See what happens when you behave, Naoya?” he teased. “You two make such a good team.”

Naoya rolled his eyes, but he didn’t disagree. He kept at work on the shiny tip of Satoru’s length. After a few more laps of your tongue, you drifted up there too. Your lips brushed his own. The soft skin grazed by as each of you lavished attention upon the cock between you.

It felt good.

So Naoya went for it again. He kissed you with Satoru at the site of your connection. And then he did it again and again.

The sight of you two making out around a piece of him was what drove him to the edge. He couldn’t hold on after seeing that. His fingers clutched the bedding beneath him while his head lolled back between his shoulders.

Pearly ropes of cum fired from Satoru. Some spurted onto your hand, more landed on Naoya’s cheek. Satoru let out a groan as he drained himself. He wasn’t as reactive as the two of you, but the look on his face made his enjoyment undisputed.

When he seemingly finished, you reached over to the bedside table to grab some kleenex. You wiped the mess from your hand and Satoru’s belly, and then with a fresh one, tended to Naoya’s face. For a second, you would have sworn his eyes looked a little softer, less harsh than they usually were.

After the three of you were taken care of, you curled up to Satoru’s side. Naoya observed the closeness between the two of you. The unspoken intimacy that he had no part in.

He made his way towards the end of the bed, planning on putting himself back together and then hightailing it out of here. But before he could, Satoru’s fingers wrapped around his wrist again.

“Where are you going? Now that you’re not acting like a total jackass, you wanna leave?” he asked.

Naoya paused. He still hadn’t returned to his normal self. He didn’t have a snappy reply or an insult to hurl at the two of you.

“Oh… I thought… I thought you would want me to leave,” he said.

“Please, what do you take me for? I’m not the hit it and quit it type,” Satoru teased.

It was a stupid joke, but it made things less tense between everyone. Hesitantly, Naoya eased back up towards the top of the bed, taking up the side of Satoru you didn’t occupy.

You watched him as he did. He half-expected you to protest him staying. He’d probably do that if he was in your place. Wouldn’t the ultimate satisfaction come from demeaning the person who’d tried to do exactly that to you?

But you didn’t. You didn’t utter a mean word as he let his body rest against Satoru’s. Instead, you reached over and tucked a piece of two-toned hair behind his ear.

And he let you.

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