#drinking and sending/receiving asks

[clockwise-works]

I wanna thank yall for sending asks and humoring me last night lmaoooo. I certainly wanna do some more drinking and asks in the future cause that was fun. Maybe if people are interested we can get others involved, that'd be funny.

[vonspe]

Do you have a ko-fi or something where we can tip you for all the delight you bring to our days? :D

Nay

[fruity-legos]

Projecting my headaches to Nova cuz I can't suffer alone

[sixeyesonathiel]

told the nerd to film it and he exported inside me instead!

pairing — tech nerd!gojo x fem reader

synopsis : you crushed on him for months, watched him dodge every advance like you were malware. so you dressed up a little, played a little dumber—and now he’s got you spread out in pixels and moaning in surround sound. worst part? you kinda want him to do it again.

tags/cw — masturbation, degradation, praise kink, dacryphilia, marking, overstimulation, explicit language, filming, voyeurism, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, rough sex, dirty talk, power dynamics, obsession, lingerie, virgin weeb satoru, questionable but effective way of seducing ur crush. 13k wc, 18+ only, minors DNI.

a/n : plz don't nitpick about how a fashion vlog shouldn't be like that bc that's the point. toru doesn't know the difference because all he watches is 2d girls

the compressor’s peaking again.

satoru squints at the waveform, drags the threshold down two decibels, then listens back to the same three-second clip of voiceover for the tenth time. it’s a podcast intro, some wannabe influencer droning about mindfulness. he doesn’t care. he’s just here to make it sound less like it was recorded in a bathroom.

“sounds like shit,” he mutters, even though it’s clean. crisp. perfectly balanced.

it doesn’t feel right. nothing ever does. he tweaks the bitrate, checks the export codec, wonders if he should build a custom ffmpeg preset. maybe write a quick script to batch clean all future files—something to shave off a few milliseconds of his life. his fingers hover over the keyboard, itching for efficiency, for control.

ping.

discord overlay glows in the corner of his ultrawide monitor, a neon-green intrusion on his meticulously organized desktop. he freezes. the notification pulses like a heartbeat.

you.

he stares at it, lets it sit there like it’s radioactive. doesn’t even remember keeping you added. your username—something stupid with a heart emoji—feels like a splinter under his skin. he should’ve purged his contacts months ago, but here you are, slipping through the cracks of his digital fortress.

hey. remember when u edited our project? can u help me trim some vids pls…

his jaw tightens. of course you’d ask now, at 2 a.m., when he’s neck-deep in audio plugins and caffeine. his fingers hover over the keyboard, poised to dismiss you.

“no,” he types, then erases it.

“what kind of vids,” he tries, but deletes that too. too eager. too curious.

after a solid twenty-five seconds of overthinking, he finally sends:

i guess. send what you have.

he leans back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. his room is a cave of glowing screens and scattered energy drink cans, the hum of his overclocked pc the only sound besides his own shallow breathing. he shouldn’t care. you’re just another art student, another distraction. but his pulse betrays him, thudding a little too hard in his throat.

flashback.exe

he hated group projects. despised them. a bunch of useless art students in overpriced streetwear, trying to make films with no understanding of pacing or continuity.

they’d fumble with premiere pro like it was rocket science, leaving him to clean up their shaky cuts and mismatched audio tracks. he always ended up doing 90% of the work, and he preferred it that way. control was his god, and he worshipped it.

but you were different.

not better. just... a different kind of stupid.

you showed up late to the editing suite, glitter pens spilling out of your bag, heart stickers plastered on your water bottle like a middle schooler’s diary. you called the lav mic a “weird nipple thing” and giggled when he glared at you. once, you spilled your lip gloss on the soundboard, leaving a sticky pink smear he had to scrub off with isopropyl alcohol. another time, you asked if uploading to drive made your data heavier, and he almost threw you out.

but.

you let him do whatever he wanted.

you didn’t hover or micromanage. you just sat there, cross-legged on a swivel chair, watching him cut scenes like it was magic. you leaned over his shoulder, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your breath, your wide eyes reflecting the glow of the timeline.

“whoa... you made it feel like a real movie,” you whispered, like he’d just parted the red sea.

you smelled like something artificial. strawberries, maybe, or some overpriced body mist from a mall kiosk. your hair was always tied with a ribbon—pink, blue, sometimes yellow, always obnoxiously bright.

he didn’t care.

he told himself he didn’t.

but he remembered. every fucking detail.

the zip file lands in his downloads with an obnoxious ka-chunk, snapping him out of the memory. he doesn’t rush. just opens it like it’s any other favor, like his heart isn’t clawing at his ribcage. the folder name stares back at him: “pls help <3”

typical.

he clicks it open, expecting shaky iphone clips of cafes and shopping hauls. maybe some cringe tiktok dance you think is cute. he’s ready to hate it, to scoff at your lack of framing or shitty lighting.

but then—

you appear on screen.

not just appear. you perform.

you’re biting your lip, laughing into the lens like it’s your lover. wearing something stupidly short—a skirt that barely qualifies as fabric, hugging your thighs like it’s painted on. you spin around in front of your mirror, the camera catching every angle, every curve, like you’re being filmed for someone else. someone who’d appreciate it.

you pose. cock your head. giggle. the sound is loud, breathy, smiling when you speak. “do you think this is too short?” you ask, tugging the hem of your skirt, your fingers lingering just a second too long.

he blinks.

backs the video up three seconds.

watches again.

your laugh echoes through his headphones, a little distorted, a little too close. he pretends he’s checking the audio, tells himself it’s for sync, that he’s just doing his job. but his eyes are glued to the screen, to the way your skirt rides up as you twirl, to the flash of skin that makes his breath catch.

he watches again.

his mouth is dry, his tongue heavy against his teeth. your skirt flips up higher this time, and you gasp—like you’re surprised, like you didn’t mean to show that much. but you don’t stop filming. don’t cover up. just... laugh, a sound that curls around his spine and sinks into his gut.

he doesn’t even realize his hand is moving until it’s there, slipping under the waistband of his sweatpants. his fingers brush against himself, and he hisses, the contact sharp and sudden. he’s already half-hard, his body betraying him before his brain can catch up. the room feels too warm, the hum of his pc too loud, but he doesn’t care. he can’t care.

he rewinds the clip again, pauses on the frame where you’re mid-spin, your skirt flared just enough to show the curve of your ass. his hand wraps around his cock, slow at first, tentative, like he’s testing how far he’ll let himself go. the texture of his own skin is rough, familiar, but it’s not enough. not when it’s you on the screen, laughing like you know he’s watching, like you’re daring him to lose control.

he strokes himself, a tight, deliberate rhythm, his thumb brushing over the tip where he’s already leaking. the sensation jolts him, makes his hips twitch in the chair.

he imagines it’s your hand, your fingers—small, soft, probably clumsy, but eager. he pictures you kneeling between his legs, looking up at him with those wide eyes, your lips parted like they are in the video, glossy and pink and begging to be kissed. or more.

the video plays on. you’re bending over now, adjusting your hair in the mirror, your skirt riding up to expose the thin strip of your underwear. he groans, low and guttural, his hand moving faster.

the sound of your voice—teasing, playful—fills his headphones, and he closes his eyes for a moment, letting it wash over him. “do you think this is too short?” you say again, and he wants to answer, wants to growl that it’s perfect, that you’re perfect, that he’d rip it off you if he could.

his grip tightens, his strokes growing erratic. he’s not gentle with himself—never is. it’s all pressure and friction, chasing the edge as fast as he can.

his free hand fumbles with the mouse, scrubbing the timeline back to the moment you gasp, to the split-second flash of your thighs. he loops it, the clip stuttering in time with his breathing, with the slick sound of his hand working himself over. his cock throbs, hot and heavy, and he imagines it’s you—your warmth, your wetness, the way you’d probably whimper if he touched you like this.

he’s close. too close.

his vision blurs at the edges, his pulse hammering in his ears. he shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be jerking off to your stupid video like some desperate creep, but the shame only makes it worse, makes it sharper.

he pictures you catching him, walking in right now, seeing him with his pants down and his hand on his dick. would you laugh? would you blush? would you get on your knees and—

he comes with a choked gasp, his hips bucking up into his hand. it’s messy, spilling over his fingers, onto the hem of his shirt. his chest heaves, his head tilting back against the chair as the aftershocks ripple through him. your laugh loops in his headphones, oblivious to the wreck he’s become.

it’s filthy. it’s desperate.

ten minutes later, he’s cleaned himself up, his hands steady again as he trims the file like a good little editor. he cuts out the shaky parts, stabilizes the footage, adjusts the audio so your voice doesn’t clip. it’s clinical now, professional, like he didn’t just fall apart to the sight of you. he names it something sterile: “vlog_cut_1.mov.”

he exports it twice. once normally, for you. once... not. the second version is raw, unedited, every twirl and giggle preserved in crisp 4k. it gets copied to a different folder, buried in a directory labeled “shader_study_2022.” he tells himself it’s in case you need a re-edit. a backup. that’s all.

when you text back:

thank u!! lol i owe uuu :3

he stares at the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. his heart’s still racing, a faint tremor in his fingers.

he types “anytime :)” and erases it. sends:

np.

what he doesn’t say: he rewatched the part where you bend over six times. he had his dick in his hand by the second loop. he renamed the close-up to “test_render_asscloseup.mov” and hid it behind three layers of subfolders.

he doesn’t even like tiktok girls.

he’s into 2d, girls with big swords and bigger tits, drawn in sharp lines and impossible proportions. he once bought a dakimakura because the shipping came with a free pin, and it’s still shoved in his closet, one corner stained from a late-night mistake. real girls are messy, unpredictable, too much work. but now?

he’s thinking about the way your laugh dipped when you turned around, the way it caught in your throat like you were nervous. the way you looked into the lens like you knew someone was watching.

someone like him.

next day, you walk in like a fucking weapon.

pink fuzzy shrug, low-rise jeans that sit dangerously low on your hips, a sliver of stomach peeking out like it’s 2004. your hair’s up in a ribbon—pink, of course, swaying as you move. you’re all glitter and confidence, a walking distraction in a lecture hall full of tired students and flickering projectors.

he scoffs under his breath. “tacky.”

but his heart’s pounding, a traitor in his chest. his fingers twitch against the edge of his laptop, betraying the calm he’s trying to project. you slide into the seat two rows ahead and twist around, grinning like a cat, like you know something he doesn’t.

your eyes catch his for a split second, bright and teasing, and he forces himself to look away.

he opens his laptop, types random garbage into a terminal window—some half-baked python script he doesn’t even care about. he runs a fake compile just to feel busy, to drown out the way his blood is rushing too fast.

you lean over to whisper to the girl next to you, your laugh spilling out, loud and careless. your hair tosses, and he swears he catches the scent of your perfume drifting past in invisible waves. saccharine, overwhelming, like strawberries dipped in sugar syrup.

his brain short-circuits. he snaps his headphones on, the cord tangling in his haste. not to listen to music. not to block you out.

to replay your giggle.

he’d isolated the audio last night, cleaned it up with a high-pass filter, boosted the mids to make it crystal clear. exported it as a high-quality .wav, tucked it into a folder labeled “audio_ref.” he tells himself it’s for study, just good reference for future projects. but he loops it now, the sound of your laugh layered over faint lo-fi static he added for texture. it’s you, distilled into a three-second clip, filling his skull.

he closes his eyes and pretends you’re saying his name. satoru, you giggle, breathy and soft, like you’re leaning over his shoulder again, watching him work. satoru, you made it feel so real.

the lecture drones on, but he’s not listening. he’s lost in the rhythm of your voice, the way it dips and rises, the way it makes his skin feel too tight. he shifts in his seat, adjusts his hoodie, tries to ignore the heat pooling in his gut. he’s not supposed to want this. not supposed to want you.

but he does.

the thing about addiction is that it never announces itself.

no dramatic thunderclap. no internal monologue screaming, ah yes, now i am a pervert. it’s quiet. insidious. it sinks in like static, crackling at the edges of satoru’s brain until he’s not sure where his old self ends and this new, wretched version begins.

it’s not like he’s not already a pervert who gets off from pixels. this simply wasn’t his brand of perversion.

that night, he stayed up longer than he should’ve. stared at code for so long his ide crashed, the screen flickering to black as if it knew he was wasting his time. not that he got anything done. 

he just kept switching tabs—your final cut in vlc, some useless bash script in vscode he pretended to care about, then back to your video, the timeline frozen on that twirl, that gasp. his fingers shook when he closed the laptop, but sleep never came.

and now it’s the next day. mid-afternoon. the sun is doing that thing where it turns his apartment into a blinding box of heat and regret. his ac hums like an old man, wheezing against the sticky air. he’s sprawled in his chair, one leg slung over the armrest, staring at the ceiling fan like it might tell him how to stop.

ping.

another discord notification. he doesn’t even flinch this time. your username glows, and the filename attached makes his stomach do a weird little roll: “try-on2_raw.mov”. his eyes linger on the heart emoji you’ve tacked onto the message, like it’s a personal invitation.

hiii! ty for the last edit, ur a lifesaver <3 can u check and trim this one too? i’m trying smth new but idk if it works… lmk what u think pls!!

he clicks download. no hesitation. doesn’t even pretend to care anymore.

the file loads into his editing software like second nature, the premiere pro interface blooming across his screen. muscle memory. routine.

he’s done this a hundred times—except never like this, never with his pulse hammering in his throat and his mouth already dry.

the video starts the same way as the last—handheld, messy lighting, your voice trailing in from offscreen as you fiddle with the camera angle. no mic, of course not. just raw cam audio, unpolished, real, every breath and rustle amplified. he leans closer, like proximity to the screen will make it less dangerous.

“okay—wait, hold on,” you mutter, slightly out of breath. there’s a plastic rustle, fabric scraping skin, the light jingle of a zipper. he catches the sound of your nails tapping the digicam accidentally, a faint clack-clack that makes him picture your fingers, probably painted some ridiculous color, fumbling in that endearing way you do. 

“ugh… come on…” your voice drops, a frustrated huff, low and throaty. “mm—sorry! this one’s hard to pull up.”

then—zipper slides. metal on fabric, slow and deliberate, like it’s teasing him on purpose. you let out a sigh, long, slow, just a little too satisfied, like you’re savoring the release of pressure. the sound coils in his gut, tight and hot.

he freezes.

his mouse stays hovering over the playhead, the cursor trembling slightly. blood is already rushing south, his sweatpants tightening in a way he can’t ignore. his breath catches, shallow and sharp, and the worst part?

you giggle.

“probably got the wrong size,” you say, tugging the dress up higher. the hem catches on your thighs, rising indecently, the fabric clinging to your skin like it’s reluctant to let go. “don’t tell anyone i didn’t try it on in-store first.”

he swallows nothing. jaw tight. the room suddenly feels suffocating, the ac’s hum drowned out by the thud of his own pulse. your lip catches between your teeth, a flash of white against pink gloss, and the camera catches that too, lingers on it like it knows what it’s doing.

you glance at the lens, eyes half-lidded, like you’re waiting for approval, like you’re asking him directly—do you like this?

satoru’s fingers twitch.

one hand stays on the mouse, scrubbing the timeline back three seconds to hear that sigh again. the other hand moves before he can stop it, slipping under his waistband, brushing against the heat of his skin. he’s already hard, achingly so, the kind of hard that makes his head swim.

he wraps his fingers around himself, slow at first, testing, like he’s not sure he’s really doing this again. but the sound of your voice—breathy, teasing—loops in his headphones, and he’s gone.

he strokes himself, deliberate and tight, his grip almost punishing. the video plays on, and you’re stepping into frame now, the dress half-zipped, hugging your curves in a way that makes his throat burn. your thighs shift as you adjust the hem, and he imagines them under his hands, soft and warm, parting just for him.

his thumb swipes over the tip of his cock, slick with precum, and he groans, low and broken, the sound swallowed by the hum of his pc. he pictures your fingers instead, clumsy but eager, your nails grazing his skin as you try to keep up with his rhythm.

he’d guide you, show you how he likes it—fast, rough, no mercy.

you sigh again, and he speeds up, his hand moving in time with the rise and fall of your voice. “this one’s kinda tight,” you murmur, tugging at the neckline, and the fabric stretches, exposing the swell of your chest.

he wants to rip it off, wants to hear you gasp for real, not for the camera but for him. his strokes grow erratic, desperate, the slick sound of his hand filling the room, obscene and unstoppable.

he scrubs the timeline back again, pauses on the frame where your dress slips, where your underwear peeks out—a thin, lacy thing that makes his vision blur. he imagines pulling it aside, imagines the heat of you, the way you’d whimper if he pressed himself inside.

he’s close, too close, his hips twitching up into his hand. the video loops your giggle, that satisfied sigh, and he’s drowning in it, in you.

he pictures you catching him like this, walking into his apartment right now, seeing him with his pants down and his cock in his hand, flushed and leaking. would you laugh? would you blush? would you drop to your knees and let him finish on your lips, glossy and perfect and—

he comes with a muted groan, his head tipping back, eyes screwed shut as his release spills over his fingers, hot and messy. his breath shakes, a ragged exhale that leaves him hollow. the aftershocks pulse through him, and he slumps in his chair, the video still playing, your voice oblivious to the wreckage you’ve caused.

he pauses the frame. your mouth is mid-word, forming the shape of “oops,” lips parted just enough to make his chest ache. he wipes his hand on a paper towel from his desk, crumpled and stained from earlier sins. doesn’t look at himself. doesn’t think.

exports the file without touching a thing. names it “final_edit.mov.” then saves another copy, the raw footage, every sigh and rustle preserved. he names it “jesusfuckingchrist.mp4” and buries it in a folder labeled “misc_ref.”

he tries to normalize it.

“it’s just grading,” he mutters the next time he opens the project, the lie sour on his tongue. “just adjusting white balance.” but the playback bar hasn’t moved from your thighs. he doesn’t touch the colors. not really.

he zooms in under the excuse of checking “grain smoothing,” but it’s just your lip, caught between your teeth, your breath clipped at the edges like you’re holding back.

he tells himself he’s just learning.

every artist has their muse, right? except now he edits to your audio. he used to play podcasts, background noise to keep his brain from spiraling.

now? your breathing is layered into the timeline, a track he’s labeled “vox_ref.” he loops your laugh in reverse, lets it pan from left to right like it’s some surround sound experience.

“this is practice,” he whispers, dragging eq curves around nonsense, boosting the highs until your voice is sharp and intimate. “i’m experimenting with filters.”

right. filters. filters until your voice sounds like it’s right by his ear, like you’re whispering in bed, your breath warm against his skin. he plays a clip of you saying “do you like this one?” over and over, the words detached from context.

he doesn’t even care what you’re referring to anymore. he’s got that part memorized, the way your voice dips, soft and unsure, like you’re asking him to love you.

the next class is worse.

you walk past him in that fuzzy pink shrug thing, one sleeve slipping off your shoulder, and it’s like a bomb goes off in his chest. the fabric clings to you, soft and teasing, and he wants to grab it, pull it down, see how much skin you’ll let him have.

you lean down to plug your charger in, your jeans riding low—too low, the kind of low that makes him wonder how they’re even allowed on campus. he catches a glimpse of your underwear, a flash of lace, and his brain whites out.

he glares at his laptop, scoffs under his breath. “that outfit’s… desperate.” the word feels like a blade, sharp and mean, but it’s all he’s got to keep you at a distance.

your head tilts, innocent, eyes wide like you’re genuinely curious. “you think so?” you say it like you mean it, like you don’t already know the answer, like you haven’t watched your own footage and seen what he’s seen.

he shrugs, keeps scowling, doesn’t look at you. his fingers grip the edge of his laptop too hard, knuckles white. behind the screen, he’s got a paused frame of you licking lip gloss off your thumb, minimized in the corner. it’s been open since he got here.

his file structure is disintegrating. he used to name things with logic—timestamps, project codes, version numbers. now his desktop looks like a manifesto, a digital shrine to his unraveling. “vlog_tryon_final.mov.” “edit_3alt.mp4.” “fuckmeagain_laughcut.mov.” there’s a folder called “NOT work (unless)” that he doesn’t even open anymore, too afraid of what he’ll find.

he tries to draw a line, but it’s blurry. always blurry. he doesn’t know where the edit ends and obsession begins. when he dreams, he dreams about zippers—except they’re not zipzers. they’re your legs, parting slow and deliberate, your breath hitching as he pulls you closer.

a new text lights up his screen:

 hey! idk if the last one looks good… should i redo it? it felt kinda awkward lol sorry T_T

you sound insecure, unsure, your words dripping with that self-conscious charm that makes his chest hurt. he stares at the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard, his mind spiraling.

you don’t know, do you? you don’t know what you’re doing to him, how your voice alone is enough to make him hard again.

he types:

looks clean. don’t worry about it.

satoru watches the word clean sit there like a fucking lie. his dick twitches, traitor that it is.

he hates himself.

but he opens the raw file again. scrubs through, frame by frame, until he finds that timestamp—where you moan, soft and accidental, like you didn’t mean to let it slip. he watches it, his headphones sealing him in with the sound of you. he exports that single second, names it “moan_finalgodhelpme.mp4,” and tucks it away like a secret he’ll never confess.

the timeline sits open, your frozen frame staring back at him. he doesn’t close it. doesn’t want to.

it starts with static in his skull.

not the loud, electric kind that chokes you up or begs to be noticed. it’s quiet. a whir, like an old fan that never shuts off, humming behind his thoughts. when satoru drags his mouse across the screen and sees your name still on the folder, it buzzes—faint, familiar, a sickness with your scent.

he changes the name from “NOT work (unless)” to “ARCHIVE_21,” moves it to a different directory, pretends it’s work, or dead, or both. but the static doesn’t stop. it clings, sticky and warm, like your laugh looping in his headphones.

it doesn’t help.

not when he dreams in highlighter gloss and those half-bitten whines you make when stretching, your body arching just so. not when he wakes up rutting into damp sheets, mouthing your name like a damn prayer, his hips jerking against nothing. the shame burns, but it’s not enough to make him stop.

satoru’s trying.

really.

he takes up freelance gigs, edits wedding footage for some guy he hasn’t spoken to since second year. overlays cheesy filters, mutes the groom’s ugly laugh, syncs the vows to some overused acoustic track. it’s clean. respectable. sterile enough to make him itch, like he’s wearing someone else’s skin. but the folder’s still there, buried in his drive like it knows he’ll come back.

2:03 a.m.

his inbox pings, a sharp sound that cuts through the drone of his pc fans. your name lights up the screen, and his chest tightens before he even reads the message.

hiii satoru!! sorry for the late send, been sooo busy <3 can u take a look at this haul vid? i tried smth spicy but idk if it’s too much… lmk what u think pretty pls!!

march haul (raw).mp4

he knows he shouldn’t. there’s no logical reason, no business context, just the weight of your words—spicy, pretty pls—sinking into his gut. but his hands move on their own, clicking download, the progress bar filling like a fuse burning down.

click.

of course he does.

the video starts soft, your bedroom light diffused to a golden haze, casting shadows that dance across rumpled sheets. it looks like you’ve been tossing in them all day, the fabric creased and inviting.

you’re in lace—barely. something soft pink and flimsy, a slip of fabric that clings to your curves like it’s begging to be torn off.

your thigh’s out, one leg bent just enough to draw his eye, and the camera’s angled low, too low, like you meant to frame it this way.

“god, i hope this one fits…” your voice is breathy, a little strained, like you’re fighting the fabric. you adjust a strap, your fingers lingering on the lace, and your lip catches between your teeth, glossy and pink, a casual gesture that’s anything but. his breath stutters, a sharp inhale that burns his throat.

“oops, sorry—too much cleavage?” you laugh, not to yourself but at him.

he knows it.

his cock knows it, twitching against the seam of his sweatpants. the screen shakes as you set the camera on something unsteady—a stack of books, maybe—and it rocks just as you turn around, hips swaying, your ass hugged by that tiny thong, the lace cutting into your skin like a claim. you glance back over your shoulder, smirk poised like a dagger, eyes glinting in the soft light.

“i bet you’d pause right here, wouldn’t you?”

he does.

the video cuts mid-breath, and he doesn’t hear the silence. he’s frozen, hand halfway down, brain wiped clean. the frame lingers on your ass, the curve of it framed by lace, and his mouth is dry, his pulse hammering so loud it drowns out the static.

ping.

march haul (real).mp4

oops. wrong send lol. this is the real one!

his screen is still painted with the freeze-frame of your ass. his dick’s straining so hard it aches, a dull throb that makes him shift in his chair. he doesn’t respond, doesn’t move for a full minute, just stares at the message, the word oops taunting him. then—

he saves both files. drags them into “ARCHIVE_21” with a trembling cursor, his fingers clumsy on the trackpad. he opens the raw one again, slower this time, one hand on his lap, the other fisting his sheets until the fabric creaks.

you’re back on screen, adjusting the strap again, your laugh curling through his headphones like smoke. his hand slips under his waistband, and he’s already leaking, the tip slick and sensitive as he grips himself.

he strokes slow, deliberate, savoring the friction, but his mind’s elsewhere—on the hentai he’s spent years jerking off to, the doujins with dog-eared pages and cum-stained corners.

he pictures you like those girls, bent over and begging, your lace thong pushed to the side as he fucks you from behind, your moans louder, needier, than anything you’ve let slip on camera.

he imagines pinning you to those rumpled sheets, your thighs trembling under his hands, your ass bouncing with every thrust. no teasing giggles, no coy glances—just you, fucked out and whimpering, his name on your lips as he buries himself deep, so deep you can’t think.

his hand speeds up, the slick sound obscene in the quiet of his room. he scrubs the timeline back, pauses on the moment you turn, your smirk sharp and knowing.

he wants to wipe it off, wants to fuck you until you’re too wrecked to smile, until you’re clawing at the sheets and sobbing his name. he imagines your cunt, tight and wet, gripping him as he pounds into you, the lace of your thong rubbing raw against his skin.

it’s not enough to watch you anymore, not enough to stroke himself to your voice—he wants to ruin you, wants to feel you break under him, wants to make you his in a way those 2d girls never could.

he cums with a low, breathy whisper of your name, his hips jerking up into his hand. it’s intense, almost painful, spilling over his fingers and onto the hem of his shirt.

his chest heaves, his vision blurring as he slumps back, the video still playing, your laugh oblivious to the mess he’s become. he opens it again, doesn’t touch himself this time—just watches, memorizes, eyes glassy and mouth parted.

at one point, he swears he moans with you, a soft sound that slips out unbidden, his body betraying him even when he’s spent. when he edits the “real” file, he’s a machine. no stutters, no slips, just sharp keystrokes and surgical cuts, trimming shaky frames and boosting your voice until it’s crisp.

the guilt claws at him, a dull ache in his chest, but it only makes the next orgasm worse—and better. he exports it, names it “haul_march_final.mov,” and saves the raw file to a new subfolder: “stills_ref.” he doesn’t name the second copy. doesn’t need to. it’s just for him.

he plays it cool in class. “wow. another fit straight outta your grandma’s closet,” he scoffs as you pass, voice dripping with mockery, lips curling into something lazy and mean.

but his gaze flickers—just once, low and quick, like he’s checking for danger. and there it is. a flash of soft pink lace against the curve of your thigh as you shift your bag higher up your shoulder. just a sliver. deliberate.

he knows that lace. knows it from the raw footage, from the way it hugged your skin under golden light. his smirk falters for half a second, a crack in his armor.

you turn your head, slow as syrup, and smile at him over your shoulder. it’s airy, innocent, ditzy enough to play dumb, poisonous enough to feel like a threat. “mm? that bad, huh?” your voice is light, but your eyes linger a moment too long, sharp and knowing, like you’re peeling him open.

you take your seat two rows away, crossing one leg over the other with careful grace. your skirt rides up, just enough to show the edge of that lace again, and your fingers toy absentmindedly with the hem, brushing the fabric like it’s a game.

he doesn’t blink.

he knows what’s under that skirt, knows the way that lace bites into your skin when you move just like that. he’s seen it in soft lighting, tangled with shadows and sighs. he knows, and you know, and neither of you say a word.

he can’t breathe.

his hand trembles as he grips his pen, scrawling nonsense on the corner of his notes—random numbers, jagged lines, anything to keep his fingers busy.

someone’s asking a question about identity and performance, something about how we present ourselves versus how we wish to be perceived, and satoru’s already halfway to standing.

“sorry. washroom.” his voice cracks halfway through the lie, too sharp, too rushed.

satoru stumbles into the men’s room like he’s escaping a crime scene, the door clicking shut behind him. palm flat against cold tile, forehead pressed to the inside of his wrist, he tries to breathe, tries to think of anything else—code, deadlines, the wedding edit he’s behind on.

but it’s you.

always you. your smile, your laugh, the lace peeking out like a taunt.

he’s already hard, already leaking, the front of his jeans tight and unforgiving. he fumbles with the button, shoves them down just enough, and grips himself, his hand shaking as he strokes.

he closes his eyes and sees you—not the you in class, not the you playing dumb, but the you from his fantasies, the you he’s built from hentai panels and late-night desperation. he imagines you on your knees, lace thong pulled down, your cunt glistening as he fucks you against the bathroom sink.

no giggles, no teasing—just raw, desperate need, your moans echoing off the tiles as he slams into you, his hands bruising your hips, your body arching to take him deeper.

he wants you messy, wants you marked, wants to fill you until you’re dripping, until you’re his in a way that’s permanent.

he strokes faster, his breath hitching, his teeth sinking into his knuckles to muffle the groan clawing up his throat. he cums hard, too fast, his knees buckling as it spills over his hand, hot and shameful. he shakes, gasping, his forehead slick against the tile, and thinks of lace. thinks of lip gloss. thinks of your voice saying “oops” like it’s a sin.

it doesn’t take long for his desktop to become an altar.

the background’s still you, a freeze-frame from the first video, your lip gloss shimmering and fingers caught mid-twist in your hair. he tells himself it’s temporary, just a visual reference.

it’s been three weeks.

folders on folders: “hauls > favs > zoom_ins > stills > pantyshots.” “audio_samples > moan_loop > breath_only.wav.” “color tests > gloss_ref > lips.png.”

some nights, he replays a single frame just to watch your mouth form the word “fuck,” slows it down, isolates the syllables, pretends you’re saying his name instead.

the worst part?

you’re still pretending nothing’s changed. still calling them “favors,” still sending content like it’s work, like it’s nothing.

but your outfits are shorter, your giggles stick to the air longer, your eyes linger like you’re testing something. and when you purr, “you’re sooo good at this, satoru,” with that saccharine lilt, your voice curling around his name like a caress, he bites the inside of his cheek just to keep quiet. fists the sheets at night and prays.

he moans your name in the dark, face hot with shame, and hates how much he wants you to hear it.

satoru’s become sleep-deprived, dark smudges nesting beneath his eyes like fingerprints left behind by guilt or obsession or both. he wears his glasses more lately, less out of need and more as a buffer between him and the world—between him and you.

the lenses catch the glow of his new triple-monitor setup, a sleek beast he told himself was for coding, for editing, for multitasking. not for keeping your videos looping on the side monitor while he pretends to work on the main one. not for that at all.

your folder’s pinned in quick access, a permanent fixture in his file explorer. he keeps it open in the background at all times, a digital pulse that hums alongside his pc fans. second nature now, like breathing or wanting. not unlike a shrine.

in class, he pretends to take notes, his stylus scratching nonsense on his tablet. he’s not. he’s watching a gif on his phone, hidden under the desk—a loop of your tongue dragging slow across lip gloss, eyes soft with focus like you’re painting yourself pretty just for him. the gif’s only three seconds, but he’s memorized every frame, every flicker of your lashes. his thumb swipes to replay it, again, again, until his vision blurs.

ctrl+shift+eject brain.exe.

three days pass, and you haven’t messaged. he checks your chat thread more than he breathes—opens, closes, re-opens, scrolling through your old texts like they’ll reveal something new. every flicker of hope is a false start, a phantom ping that makes his chest lurch. he’s pathetic, he knows it, but knowing doesn’t stop the itch.

then:

ping.

april haul (suits).mov

hii satoru!! new haul vid for u to check <3 tried some swimsuits this time, hope it’s not too boring to trim hehe. lmk what u think!!”

he nearly drops his phone, his thumb smudging the screen as he fumbles to download. his new setup hums to life, the main monitor flashing with code he hasn’t touched in hours, the side monitor already open to your folder.

he drags the file into premiere, the timeline blooming across the screen, but his eyes are on the raw video, already playing on the right monitor, your voice spilling through his headphones like honey.

the video’s different this time. the camera’s lower, like it’s been left on a desk or shelf, pointing slightly upward to frame you from your knees to just above your head. your bed makes a cozy blur in the background, sheets tangled like an invitation.

you’re in a bikini top that isn’t trying very hard to stay on, thin strings knotted loosely at your neck and back, the fabric barely containing you. “mmm. does this scream summer, or slut?” you giggle, feigned innocence like frosting over heat, your voice curling around the words like you know exactly what they’ll do to him.

you play with the strings at your chest, tugging, adjusting, your fingers brushing the swell of your breasts. then, softer, breathier, to the lens: “baby, help me pick…”

baby.

it breaks him all over again, a crack that runs straight through his chest. his cock twitches, already hard, straining against his boxers.

everything after that gets softer, lazier, dangerous in how intimate it feels. there’s no performative energy now—just casual, candid seduction, your movements slow, like you’re not hurrying for anyone. like you know exactly who’s watching and how long he’ll linger.

when you shrug a dress off your shoulders, you sigh, the sound catching in your throat. when you twist to adjust a strap, you hum, low and absentminded. and when you struggle with a clasp at your back, your fingers fumbling, you moan—soft, unintentional, a sound that slips out like it surprised even you.

satoru’s thumb slams the spacebar, pausing the video, rewinding three seconds to hear it again. he watches the way your lips part, the way your brows twitch, the way your body shifts like you’re chasing the sensation.

he’s already leaking, his boxers damp as he shoves them down, his hand wrapping around himself. the side monitor loops the raw footage, your moan playing over and over, while the main monitor holds the paused frame of your parted lips. he strokes slow at first, his grip tight, his thumb swiping over the tip where he’s slick and sensitive.

his mind slips to the doujins he’s hoarded, the hentai he’s spent years chasing—the girls with flushed cheeks and desperate eyes, fucked raw and begging for more. but now it’s you, not some inked fantasy, and it’s so much filthier.

he imagines you sprawled across your bed, that bikini top ripped off, your thighs spread wide as he fucks you deep, relentless, your cunt clenching around him as you sob his name. no teasing, no giggles—just you, wrecked and dripping, your nails clawing his back as he takes you again and again, each thrust harder, messier, until you’re nothing but his.

his hand speeds up, the slick sound loud in his room, mixing with your looped moan. he wants you pinned beneath him, wants to feel you squirm, wants to fuck you until the bed creaks and your voice breaks, until you’re begging like those hentai girls, your glossed lips trembling as you say his name—satoru, please, more.

he imagines filling you, his cum leaking down your thighs, your body marked by him in ways he can’t unsee. it’s not enough to watch, not enough to stroke—he wants to own you, wants to make you his in every way those 2d fantasies taught him to crave.

he cums hard, forehead pressed to his desk, a low groan tearing from his throat as it spills over his hand, his keyboard, the edge of his new setup. his breath is ragged, like he’s run a marathon, his glasses fogging slightly as he gasps.

the side monitor still plays, your voice oblivious, your moan looping like a hymn. he doesn’t stop the video, just slumps back, spent and shaking, and watches again, his hand twitching like it’s not done.

it doesn’t take long for his room to reek of sweat and sin.

he edits shirtless now, sometimes in boxers, always hard, always leaking. every file’s renamed with trembling hands: “wifey_take7.mov.” “wifey_raw.mp4.”

he syncs your sighs to his lo-fi playlist, turns it into a lullaby, falls asleep to the sound of your breath. sometimes he slows your voice just to hear “baby” dragged out into velvet, makes gifs of your hands skimming your hips, kisses the screen when he’s drunk enough to forget shame.

you, on the other hand, don’t break character.

in class, you chew your pen and lean forward, the arch of your spine exact, your cleavage subtle—barely a tease, just enough to make his throat tighten. he looks away with a clenched jaw, adjusts himself under the desk, twice, his jeans unforgiving.

you whisper to a friend and giggle, and he lipreads, thinks he sees the words “can’t wait,” but maybe he’s hallucinating, maybe not. it doesn’t matter.

he starts responding to the clips aloud.

“fuck yes, that one.” “spin again, baby.” sometimes he mumbles your name like a prayer, sometimes he chokes it into his pillow. every orgasm has your name carved into it, a brand he can’t erase.

one night, he opens a file to edit, drags it into premiere, but he doesn’t touch it. just watches, headphones in, barely breathing. not a content creator now, not a student, not even a man—just a creature of need, and you his ritual, his muse, his goddess.

the screen shows you adjusting the straps of a silky babydoll, the lighting warm, your thighs bare, half-tucked under you as you sit prettily at the edge of your bed.

“okay, so this one’s… like, totally giving ‘come to bed’ energy, right?” you giggle, voice light, teeth sinking into your glossed lip as you bounce once, soft and natural, the fabric barely covering your chest.

satoru groans low in his throat, not even trying to hide it. “it’s giving bend over,” he mutters, lips twitching, his side monitor looping the raw footage, his main screen frozen on your smile. “fuck, look at you…”

you reach behind you, struggle with the clasp, wiggle your shoulders like you’re teasing whoever’s behind the camera. “oof. that’s tight… should i size up?” a breathy laugh follows, your sigh melting into it.

he licks his lips, your audio crystal-clear in his headphones. you’re right there, talking to him. “nah, baby,” he croons, eyes fixed on the curve of your spine as you turn. “tight’s perfect. keeps the goods in place.”

you blow a kiss at the lens. “hope you’re not bored yet,” you say with a wink. “i saved the cutest for last…”

you bend off-frame, your ass peeking just above the edge of the bed, round and inviting in cotton panties with lace trim, and when you rise again, your hands hold something sheer and tiny. “tadaaa,” you whisper, eyes glinting with mischief. “this one’s for my favorite viewer.”

00:05:46—satoru slams the shortcut, timestamp saved. a second later, he screenshots, then again, then again, frame by frame, until he finds the exact one where your lip’s caught between your teeth and your ass is still halfway in the air.

“fucking perfect,” he mutters, breath uneven. he pulls the image up on his main screen, zooms in, sharpens it, runs it through noise reduction. the side monitor loops the raw video, your voice sweet and teasing, while the right monitor plays a gif of your earlier moan, your lips parted in that soft, accidental sound.

his hand’s already moving, shoving his boxers down, his cock springing free, hard and leaking like it’s been waiting for this. 

he grips himself, rough and urgent, no pretense of patience. the new setup’s perfect—your video on the side, his code on the main screen like he’s working, but it’s all you, every pixel, every sound.

he strokes in time with your giggle, his eyes flicking between the gif of your moan and the screenshot of your ass, his mind spiraling into the filthiest corners of his hentai-soaked brain.

he imagines you on that bed, face down, ass up, the babydoll hiked to your waist as he fucks you so hard the headboard cracks. he wants you screaming, wants your cunt pulsing around him, wants to pull your hair and make you look at him as he fills you, over and over, until you’re a mess, until you’re his completely.

his strokes are frantic, his breath hitching, his hips bucking into his hand. he pictures you tied to the bed, like that one doujin he read last month, your wrists bound with those same bikini strings, your thighs trembling as he fucks you through one orgasm into the next.

he wants to cum inside you, wants to watch it drip out, wants to push it back in with his fingers and make you lick them clean. it’s not enough to jerk off anymore, not enough to dream—he wants to break you, wants to make you real, wants to fuck you until you’re as addicted to him as he is to you.

he cums with a choked growl, his head tipping back, glasses slipping down his nose as it spills over his hand, his desk, the sticky mess splattering his keyboard.

he’s shaking, gasping, his chest heaving as the side monitor loops your voice, your “baby” purring like a mantra. his wrist’s sticky, his room a haze of sweat and shame, but he doesn’t care. he’s not even really here.

you’re everywhere now—three monitors, three altars, your image burned into his retinas. he’d worship on his knees if you asked.

the next day, another file:

april haul (closeups).mp4

sorry! idk if this one’s helpful but i liked the shots hehe

he doesn’t unzip his pants. doesn’t need to. he’s already throbbing from the inside out, his body reacting to your name alone. he clicks, watches, kneels, and whispers your name like a benediction, the static in his skull louder than ever.

it starts with a ping.

innocuous. a single pixel shift on the main monitor mid-code, just as satoru’s debugging a script for a deadline he already missed. his side monitor hums with your last video, paused on that frame where your lip’s caught between your teeth, and the third monitor’s open to a half-finished render he hasn’t touched in days. he glances lazily at the notification, expecting another reminder from suguru to shower or eat—

but no. it’s you.

hey… do u do filming too?

his fingers freeze. heart jams, a dull thud in his chest. the cursor blinks, waiting, mocking. he doesn’t think. doesn’t breathe. his glasses slip down his nose, and he doesn’t fix them. the words burn into his retinas, and his cock twitches before he can process why.

yeah. totally. what kind of shoot?

he sends it, his thumb trembling over the enter key. no reply. not for five whole minutes. the wait is a crucifixion, each second stretching into eternity. he keeps opening and closing the chat, rereading your words like they might shift into something dirtier, something more.

his triple-monitor setup glows, your frozen frame on the side monitor staring at him, lips parted, eyes glinting. he’s already leaking in his pants, a damp spot spreading against his thigh.

then:

just a casual thing. home setup. come over?

he reads it twice. three times. his breath catches, sharp and shallow, like he’s been punched. come over. your dorm. your space. he’s hard, achingly so, his boxers tight and unforgiving. he doesn’t reply, just slams his laptop shut, grabs his camera bag, and stumbles out the door.

he shows up twenty minutes later, barely remembered to wear deodorant, definitely forgot his dignity. his high-end sony alpha mirrorless—loaded with a lens that costs more than most people’s rent—bounces against his chest as he knocks. his palms are slick, his glasses fogging slightly from the heat of his own nerves.

you open the door with a giggle, wrapped in a pastel pink robe that might as well be air. it clings to the curve of your waist, parts at the thigh, revealing soft skin that makes his throat burn. your hair’s still damp, sticking to your collarbones, and the scent of vanilla lotion hits him like a drug. “thanks for coming! i’m kinda nervous…”

he wants to bark out same, but his jaw locks. he swallows instead, the motion too loud in his ears. “no problem.” his voice is gravel, like he’s choking on his own want. he steps inside, and your dorm swallows him whole—warm, cutesy, a pastel fever dream of plush throw pillows, fairy lights, and a pink velvet couch that looks too soft, too inviting.

he’s already imagining you bent over it, your robe hiked up, your moans echoing off the walls. it smells like you sprayed your strawberry perfume over every surface, dizzying, suffocating. his glasses fog again.

he sets up the tripod with shaking hands, the sony’s weight grounding him just enough to keep from falling apart. you bounce around the living room, humming, fluffing pillows on the couch, fixing your gloss in a heart-shaped mirror propped against a shelf.

“does this lighting make me look washed out?” you ask, stepping back, tilting your head. then you bend to adjust a lamp, and your robe parts just enough to reveal the gentle curve of your ass, bare except for a sliver of lace.

he sees. pretends he didn’t. fumbles the lens cap, twice, the plastic clattering to the floor. his face burns, but he keeps his eyes on the camera, adjusting settings he doesn’t need to touch.

you brush past him again and again, your bare arm glancing his, silk whispering across his knuckles when you pass. he smells shampoo in the air, thick and sweet, and it’s you, all you, sinking into his lungs. “you nervous?” you tease, voice light, a giggle curling at the edges.

he scoffs, wiping his palm against his jeans, the denim rough against his slick skin. “pfft. nah. i’ve filmed worse.” a lie, bold and brittle, his voice too tight to sell it.

“worse than me?” you pout, stepping closer, close enough that he can feel the warmth of your breath. “ouch.”

“i didn’t say that.” his voice cracks, a hairline fracture. he’s too aware of you, of the way your robe slips an inch, of the way your eyes glint like you’re playing with him.

you tilt your head, wide-eyed, all fake innocence. “sooo… you have filmed pretty girls before?”

he falters, breath stuttering in his chest. he’s a virgin, hasn’t touched a girl in years, hasn’t wanted to—not when hentai’s been enough, when doujins have been his only lovers. but you’re real, and you’re here, and you’re breaking him.

“no one like you,” he says, unfiltered, raw, the words slipping out before he can stop them.

your lips curl, slow and sweet, a smile that says i know. “hm. figured.”

you disappear into your bedroom for a few minutes, the door clicking shut. he pretends to adjust the white balance, tweaking settings on the sony that are already perfect, but really he’s staring at the door like it owes him salvation.

his cock’s throbbing, a dull ache that won’t quit, and he shifts, trying to ease the pressure. the living room feels too small, the pink couch too soft, the fairy lights too intimate. he’s imagining you sprawled across that couch, your robe gone, your thighs spread, his camera capturing every gasp.

the door opens. you emerge. lingerie set, pale and sheer, a mini skirt that barely qualifies, lip gloss freshly reapplied. you look like a doll, saccharine and sinful, every curve a taunt. “can you help me zip this?” you turn, bare back exposed, the zipper halfway up, your spine a perfect line that begs to be touched.

he steps forward, too close, his exhale brushing your shoulder. his fingers graze your skin—soft, warm, real—and you shiver, a small, deliberate tremor. he pulls the zipper up with trembling hands, the metal catching once, his breathing uneven. the distance between you shatters into nothing, the air thick with static.

“you’re doing this on purpose,” he rasps, low in your ear, his voice rough with want.

“doing what?” you whisper, fake innocence thick as honey, your head tilting just enough to catch his eye.

you look back at him, lashes fluttering, lips parted, glossy and pink. he breaks.

“fuck.”

he grabs you, his hands rough on your hips, your mouths crashing together—teeth, tongue, gasps. your lip gloss smears against his cheek, sweet and sticky, and he groans into the kiss, devouring you.

you moan into his mouth, legs wrapping around his hips as he lifts you onto the counter, the edge biting into your thighs. you’re silk and heat and sin beneath his hands, and he’s forgotten everything else—his camera, his code, his shame. only you exist now.

you feel his hard-on through his jeans, pressed against your thighs, and he’s panting, his breath stuttering against your skin as he kisses down your jaw, your neck, the ridge of your spine. his mouth is everywhere, like he’s starved, like he’s trying to memorize you with his tongue.

his glasses slip down, and he grins against your collarbone. “need to get a better look,” he mutters, a flimsy excuse to lean closer, until the fog of his breath warms your skin. he bites your collarbone, hard, groaning when he leaves a mark. “wanna see that in playback.”

he drops to his knees without hesitation, a virgin’s worship, reverence born from years of hentai and nothing else. his fingers dig into your thighs, spreading them wide, and he groans like he’s just found salvation. he runs his tongue along the inner part first, slow and teasing, so close to the lace of your panties but not touching what you want.

you try to close your legs, but he forces them open, his grip bruising, his mouth finding the wet spot through the fabric. “fuck, you’re soaked,” he growls, voice muffled, his tongue dragging heavy and slow, the lace rough against your clit. “been wet for me this whole time, huh? fuckin’ tease.”

you whimper, hips bucking, and he moans into you, the vibration making you gasp. he licks through the panties, relentless, his glasses slipping halfway down his nose but he doesn’t care.

“you taste better than i dreamed,” he says, his voice hoarse, hentai dialogue spilling out like it’s natural. he sucks at the fabric, tongue pressing harder, and you’re trembling, your hands fisting his hair as you grind against his face. he’s messy, desperate, his moans louder than yours, like he’s the one about to cum. you do, hard, a cry tearing from your throat as you shudder against his mouth, and he doesn’t stop, lapping at the soaked lace like it’s his last meal.

he presses his cheek to your thigh, sticky and glistening, looking up at you with glassy eyes. “first one’s mine,” he says, grinding his hips into the floor, his jeans tight with his own need. you don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it. he spreads you open with his fingers, peeling the panties aside, watching your hole twitch with a hunger that makes his mouth water.

“look at that,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice dripping with awe. “fuckin’ perfect.” he slides two fingers in, slow at first, then deeper, curling them just right, like he’s memorized every doujin panel that showed him how. “shit—i’ve seen this in hentai but it’s better. fuck, it’s real.”

his fingers pump, slick and steady, and you’re moaning, head thrown back, the counter digging into your hips. he adds a third, stretching you, his free hand jerking himself through his jeans, matching the pace of his fingers inside you. “so tight, baby. you’re gonna feel so good around my cock.”

he spits on your pussy, a quick, filthy gesture, his eyes locked on yours as it drips down. “they never show that part right in hentai. had to test it myself.” you moan, loud and broken, and he moans louder, his fingers slipping out with a wet squelch. he licks them clean, slow, eyes fluttering shut like he’s savoring you. “fuck—want it all.”

he stands, trembling, his jeans tented painfully. “can i?” his voice is small, almost pleading, a crack in his bravado. you nod, and he fumbles with his belt, shoving his jeans down just enough. he lines himself up, his cock thick and leaking, the tip brushing your entrance. “you’re so warm—holy shit—you’re squeezing me—fuck—”

he slides in, slow at first, gasping as you take him, your cunt tight and slick around him. he’s a virgin, but he knows this, knows the rhythm from years of jerking off to scenes just like this. he freezes, trying not to cum, his glasses fogging as he pants. you clench down, deliberate, and he slaps your thigh, a quick, sharp sting that earns him a whine.

“don’t—fuck, don’t do that yet.”

he pulls out, just to slam back in, harder, the counter creaking under you. his rhythm’s sloppy, desperate, but he finds it, each thrust deeper, rougher. “look at you,” he growls, his voice pure filth, hentai dialogue spilling free. “taking my cock like a good little slut. you love this, don’t you? fuckin’ made for me.” he licks the tears running down your cheek, his tongue hot and greedy. “crying already? baby, i’m not even close to done.”

you moan his name, and he loses it, his thrusts turning frantic, messy, like he’s trying to ruin you. “film it. show me what you see,” you gasp, and he fumbles for his phone, almost dropping it with how hard he’s shaking.

the camera app opens in a blur of fingers, then steadies, the lens catching you spread wide beneath him, thighs trembling, pussy stuffed full of his cock. he holds it there, watching the way you flutter around him, his breath ragged. “watch this later and see how ruined you look, baby,” he pants, voice hoarse, wild.

he leans in, still recording, whispering filth against your ear. “that’s right. take it. cry for me. i want you loud.” his other hand drags the mic closer, the sony’s external recorder capturing every slick thrust, every broken sob, every wet squelch, loud and obscene.

he fucks you harder, the counter shaking, your tits bouncing with each thrust. “gonna fuck you on every piece of furniture in here,” he growls, his voice low, unhinged. “that couch? gonna bend you over it. that table? gonna spread you wide. your bed? gonna fill you till you’re screaming.”

you clench around him, and he groans, his hips stuttering. “fuck, you like that? you want me to wreck you everywhere, don’t you?” you nod, gasping, and he slaps your thigh again, harder, leaving a red mark. “say it, baby. tell me you want it.”

“i want it,” you whimper, voice breaking, and he grins, feral, his thrusts turning punishing. you cum again, a shuddering mess, your cry echoing in the mic as your cunt pulses around him, slick dripping down your thighs. he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, his cock throbbing as he fucks you through it.

“gonna fill you up,” he pants, his voice cracking, hentai fantasies spilling out. “gonna cum so deep you’ll feel me for days. you want that, don’t you? want my cum dripping out of you?”

you nod, moaning, and he loses it, slamming into you one last time as he cums, a guttural groan tearing from his throat. it’s hot, messy, spilling inside you, and he keeps thrusting, shallow and desperate, like he’s trying to push it deeper.

satoru doesn’t stop.

in fact, he lifts you, his arms wrapping under your thighs like you’re weightless, his cock still buried inside you, slick and pulsing. your head lolls against his shoulder, your breath hot against his neck, and he groans, low and guttural, as he carries you toward your bedroom.

the air shifts as he crosses the threshold, your perfume hitting him harder here—floral and sugary, the same scent that clings to your pillow, your wrist, your everything. it’s thicker in this room, curling around him like a trap, and he kicks the door shut behind him, the click loud in the quiet.

he pushes you toward the vanity, your back meeting the cool glass of the mirror with a soft thud. he bends you over it, slow and deliberate, his hands guiding your hips until your cheek presses against the surface, your breath fogging the reflection.

“look at you,” he groans, angling his phone to capture the scene—your flushed face, your glossed lips parted, your eyes half-lidded in the mirror as you whine in embarassment.

“pretty little thing, still trying to act innocent.” his voice is rough, edged with hunger, and he shifts his hips, thrusting shallowly, keeping you pinned, reaching for your lip gloss.

you mumble something, a weak protest or plea, but he shuts it up with a swipe of your lip gloss across your mouth, his hand trembling as he paints your lips pink, the applicator slick and messy.

“perfect,” he says, pulling back just enough to admire the shine, the way it catches the light. then he pushes in again, deeper, and you both moan, the sound mingling in the air, caught by the sony’s mic still recording from the tripod in the corner.

he kisses you messily—gloss smearing, lips hungry, teeth clashing as he grinds his hips, slow and torturous, never breaking the rhythm. the camera stays on, the phone propped against a perfume bottle, capturing every gasp, every shudder.

“taste so fuckin’ good,” he mutters against your mouth, his tongue chasing the sticky sweetness. “gonna kiss you till you’re dripping everywhere.”

satoru lays you on the bed next, gentle but urgent, his hands shaking as he props his phone against a stack of books on your nightstand, the camera app open, framing you perfectly—your body sprawled across the pastel sheets, thighs parted, lingerie barely clinging to your skin, the sheer fabric of your top stretched tight over your chest, the mini skirt hiked up to expose the lace of your panties.

he climbs over you, his glasses slipping down his nose, and pushes your legs up, hooking them over his shoulders, the angle forcing you open, vulnerable.

“fuck, you feel like heaven,” he says, voice cracking, almost reverent, as he slides back inside you, slow and deep, the heat of you pulling a groan from his throat. “i’m never gonna stop, baby.”

each thrust is deliberate, his hips rolling to hit that spot that makes you arch, your nails raking down his arms, leaving red trails he’ll stare at later.

he kisses you through it, his mouth sloppy and desperate, swallowing your moans like they’re his lifeline. the bed creaks under you, the fairy lights casting a soft glow over your tear-streaked face, and he’s lost in it, in the way you clench around him, so tight it’s like you’re made for him.

“so fuckin’ perfect,” he pants, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot and uneven. “taking my cock like you were born for it.”

he tugs at the straps of your lingerie top, pulling it down until your tits spill free, the sheer fabric catching under them, and he groans, his mouth latching onto a nipple, sucking hard until you whimper, your hips bucking against him.

but it doesn’t last—he needs more, needs to see you break in ways he’s only imagined in the dark of his room, his hand on his cock and your videos on loop.

he pulls out, his dick slick and throbbing, and grabs your hips, flipping you with a low grunt. he drags you up by the waist, positioning you on your knees, your ass high, your face pressed into the sheets, the skirt still bunched around your hips. his hand slides up your spine, pushing your chest down, arching you just right, and he yanks the lace panties to the side, not bothering to take them off.

“this is what you get for teasing me all these days,” he growls, his voice unhinged, as he lines himself up and thrusts in, hard and deep, the slap of skin sharp in the quiet room.

you whimper, muffled against the pillow, and he fucks harder, each thrust rocking you forward, the bedframe rattling, your moans spilling free despite the fabric. his phone’s still recording, propped precariously, catching every angle—your arched back, your trembling thighs, the way his cock disappears into you with every brutal snap of his hips.

“look at that pussy,” he says, his free hand gripping your ass, spreading you open for the camera. “so greedy, swallowing me whole. you love this, don’t you?” he tugs your hair, pulling your head back, forcing your cries to echo. “louder, baby. let the whole fuckin’ dorm hear you.”

he slows, just to torment you, his hips grinding deep, making you squirm, your overstimulated body shaking under him. you’re teary, sobs catching in your throat, but he doesn’t care—he wants you loud, wants you broken. he leans down, his chest pressed to your back, and bites your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark.

“cry for me,” he whispers, his voice rough, his hand slipping around to pinch your nipple, twisting until you gasp. “wanna hear you fall apart.” he pulls out, leaving you empty, and you whine, a desperate, keening sound that makes him smirk.

“patience, princess,” he mocks, slapping your ass lightly, the sting making you clench around nothing.

satoru guides you up, turning you to face him, and pushes you back onto the bed, climbing over you. “wanna see you ride me,” he says, lying back against the headboard, his hands gripping your hips as you straddle him. he tugs the skirt off completely, tossing it aside, leaving you in just the stretched-out lingerie top and soaked panties.

“bounce,” he growls, his eyes locked on where you sink down onto him, slow and deliberate, your cunt stretching around him as you take him inch by inch. “show the camera how you fuck me.”

his phone’s angled to catch it all—your tits bouncing, still half-caught in the sheer fabric, your thighs trembling, the way you gasp every time you drop down, taking him to the hilt.

you move, your hips rolling, your hands braced on his chest, and he’s sweating, his glasses slipping, his breath ragged. he doesn’t let you slow, his hands lifting you, slamming you back down, making you take him deeper. “that’s it,” he says, voice hoarse, his fingers digging into your ass, leaving bruises. “fuck yourself on my cock. show me how bad you need it.”

you’re sobbing now, tears streaming down your cheeks, but you keep going, your moans loud and broken, your body shaking from the overstimulation. he reaches up, ripping the lingerie top off completely, the fabric tearing with a sharp sound, and gropes your tits, squeezing hard, his thumbs brushing your nipples until you shudder.

“these are mine now,” he says, his voice pure filth. “gonna mark ‘em up so you can’t hide.”

he’s close, too close, but he’s not done.

he pushes you off, gentle but firm, and stands, pulling you with him toward the full-length mirror by your closet. he spins you, pressing your chest to the glass, your hands splaying against it, your tear-streaked reflection staring back.

he kicks your legs apart, his cock nudging your entrance, and slides in, slow and deep, his breath hot against your ear. “look at you,” he says, his lips brushing your neck, his hands caging you against the mirror. “look at my cock ruining your pussy.”

he thrusts, slow at first, watching your reflection—your tears, your drool, your gloss-smeared lips, the way your body shakes with every snap of his hips. “you wanted a nerd? this nerd’s gonna fuckin’ break you.”

he fucks you harder, the mirror rattling, your moans bouncing off the walls, loud enough to wake the neighbors. “so fuckin’ pretty,” he pants, one hand slipping to your clit, rubbing messy, relentless circles. “gonna cum all over my cock, aren’t you? gonna make a mess for me?”

you nod, sobbing, your body trembling, and he slaps your ass, the sting sharp, making you clench around him. “say it, baby. tell me you’re mine.”

“i’m yours,” you gasp, voice breaking, tears streaming, and he cums with a raw groan, spilling inside you, hot and thick, his hips stuttering as he rides it out.

he doesn’t pull out, doesn’t stop, his cock still hard, still twitching as he fucks his cum deeper, the slick sound obscene. “not done,” he mutters, his glasses fogged, his voice wrecked. “gonna make you cum again.”

he keeps going, relentless, his thrusts slower but deeper, each one pushing his cum back inside, making you shake. his fingers on your clit are merciless, circling fast, and you’re oversensitive, your body convulsing, your moans turning to desperate cries. “satoru—fuck—too much—” you sob.

he only slaps your thigh, sharp and stinging, and leans in, his lips grazing your ear. “too much? nah, princess, you can take it. wanna feel you squirt for me.”

he angles his hips, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, and you’re gone, your body locking up as you cum, a gush of wet heat soaking his cock, dripping down your thighs, pooling on the floor. he groans, loud and broken, his hips jerking as he cums again, another hot rush filling you, spilling out around him.

“fuck—look at that mess,” he pants, his hand smearing the slick between your legs, rubbing it into your skin. “all for me.”

but he’s not done. he pulls you back to the bed, laying you on your side, one leg hooked over his arm as he slides back in, his cock still hard, slick with your cum and his. “one more,” he begs, his voice cracking, his glasses crooked. “gimme one more, baby. need to feel you again.”

he thrusts slow, deep, his hand slipping between your legs to tease your oversensitive clit, and you’re crying, tears streaming, your body shaking from the intensity. he bites your neck, leaving marks, and whispers, “love it when you cry for me. so fuckin’ loud, just how i like it.”

he shifts, rolling you onto your stomach, keeping you pinned as he fucks you into the mattress, his hand pressing your face into the sheets. “gonna cum all over you,” he growls, his thrusts turning sloppy, desperate. “gonna fill you up till you’re leaking me for days.”

you cum again, a shuddering, broken mess, your sobs muffled against the pillow, your body convulsing as you squirt again, weaker but still enough to soak the sheets. he cums with you, a third time, his groan hoarse, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you, the mess dripping out, pooling under you.

“fuck—baby—” he gasps, his voice wrecked, his body shaking as he collapses against you, his glasses falling off completely, clattering to the floor.

“mine now,” he whispers, hoarse and ruined, his forehead pressed to your back, his breath hot and uneven. “you’re mine now.”

you nod, too spent to speak, your body limp, your reflection in the mirror a blur of tears and gloss and him, the phone still recording every ragged breath, every whispered “fuck” as he pulls you closer, not letting go.

but then silence swells, heavy and slow, filling the room like a fog. the air’s thick with the aftermath—sweat, cum, and the lingering sweetness of your perfume, still clinging to the sheets, to him.

satoru’s hands tremble where they hold you, one slipping down to fumble with his phone, stopping the recording with a clumsy tap, the other pressing flat against your stomach, grounding him, grounding you. your breaths are too loud, ragged and uneven, syncing in the quiet like a metronome.

he leans away slightly, just enough to grab a towel from the edge of your bed, awkward in the afterglow like he just realized he desecrated a temple. his glasses are gone, lost somewhere in the mess of sheets, and his hair’s a disaster, sticking to his forehead, damp with sweat.

“shit,” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper, too quiet for the boy who was growling filth ten minutes ago. “did i—i mean. that wasn’t too much, right?” there’s a crack in his tone, a flicker of panic, like he’s replaying every thrust, every slap, every sobbed moan he pulled from you.

you don’t answer at first, too dazed, too wrung out, your body still humming from the overstimulation, your thighs sticky and trembling.

your silence makes him spiral.

“fuck, i knew it. i pushed too hard. i got carried away—i was recording—fuck—i didn’t even ask—” his words tumble out, frantic, his hand raking through his hair as he sits up, eyes wide, searching your face for any sign of regret.

you turn to face him, slow and sore, your cheek pillowed against your arm, the motion making your body ache in the best way. your eyes are still wet, lashes clumped with tears, lips kiss-bruised and sticky with half-worn gloss, swollen from his teeth. you stare at him—this boy, this dork, with his mussed-up hair and the panicked look of someone who just lived out a lifelong fantasy and now doesn’t know what to do with it.

“i’m okay,” you say, your voice shredded, raw from screaming his name. “jesus, i’m so okay.”

he exhales, a shaky rush of air, like he’s been holding it in for hours. he collapses back against you, burying his face in your neck, his lips brushing the bite mark he left earlier. “fuck, you scared me,” he mumbles, his voice muffled, warm against your skin. then, quieter, almost unhinged: “we just speedran my entire hentai folder.”

you laugh, a weak, breathy sound that bubbles up despite the ache in your ribs. “i know.”

“i didn’t even know i could,” he says, his voice small, like he’s confessing a sin. “i haven’t even done that in vr.”

you snort, the sound catching in your throat. “nerd.”

he groans, but it’s not annoyed—it’s mortified, the kind of sound that comes from knowing he’s exposed himself completely. “i’m never gonna recover from this. i glossed you like a fuckin’ bratz doll. i glossed you.” his hand gestures vaguely at your lips, still shiny and smeared, and you laugh again, the sound softer now, your body too tired for anything more.

you roll over fully, tugging him down into the blankets with you, the pastel sheets tangling around your legs. he follows like a kicked puppy, his head resting on your chest, his breath warm against your skin. you can feel his heart still racing, his body still trembling from the high.

“i just,” you mumble, your voice barely audible, “wanted you to notice me. back during the group project, you never looked at me. just your laptop. even when i wore that stupid short skirt.”

he goes silent, his fingers pausing where they’re tracing lazy circles on your hip. then, in a voice so small it barely carries: “…you wore that for me?”

you nod, your cheek brushing his hair.

he lets out the tiniest, most violated gasp, like you’ve just rewritten his entire reality. “i thought you were just one of those girls who always looked hot. like, default setting.” his voice cracks on the last word, and you can’t help the teasing smile that tugs at your lips.

“no,” you say, your tone playful despite the exhaustion. “i was trying to seduce the dumbass with the mecha desktop background.”

he muffles a sob into your chest, half-laugh, half-groan, his arms tightening around you. “i love mecha…” he says, like it’s the most tragic thing in the world, and you hum, stroking his hair, your fingers catching in the sweaty strands.

“i know.”

a long pause settles over you, the kind that feels like it could stretch forever. the fairy lights twinkle softly, casting shadows across the room, and your perfume lingers, mixing with the musk of sex. his breathing slows, but he doesn’t let go, his body still pressed to yours like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

then he lifts his head, his eyes serious, stripped of the wild edge they had before. “can i… hold you properly? not like—y’know—breeding press. like, real holding.” his cheeks flush, like he’s embarrassed to admit he wants something soft after all that.

“you already folded me in half like a love letter,” you whisper, but you shift into his arms anyway, letting him pull you close. he wraps around you, tight, needy, his hands trembling like he’s still processing you’re real, not just pixels on a screen. his hold is desperate, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you, every curve, every soft inch, in case this never happens again.

“don’t make fun of me,” he says, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “i think my crush on you just speedran into obsession.” there’s a rawness to it, a confession that feels too big for the quiet, but it lands soft, like he’s finally letting it out.

“you’re the one who begged for one more while crying into my shoulder,” you tease, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

“stop,” he groans, burying his face deeper, his arms tightening like he could squeeze the embarrassment out of himself. “i’m gonna die.”

you press a kiss to his forehead, slow and deliberate, your lips lingering on his sweaty skin. “you’re not gonna die,” you say, your tone soft but firm. “you’re gonna eat me out on friday and wear your glasses while you do it.”

he whimpers, a pathetic, needy sound, his hips twitching involuntarily against your thigh. “say less,” he mumbles, his voice wrecked, but there’s a spark in it, like you’ve just lit something in him again. you giggle, wrapping your leg around his waist, pulling him closer, your skin sticking to his in the humid air.

and in the quiet, as you’re both drifting off—sore, sticky, still catching your breath—he says it again. not ruined this time, not even possessive. just low. certain. like he’s already planning his next sin.

“mine.”

you don’t answer. just smile into the pillow, heart pounding. because maybe you are. and maybe you’ll let him prove it again.

especially once he finds out what cosplay you ordered last week.

friday’s going to be filthy.

[simpforboys]

let me b-a-n-g baby

rafe cameron x fem!virgin reader

summary: “she told you she celibate, but she told me i can nail her shit” - nle choppa

warnings: smut, loss of virginity, dirty talk, reader seems sweet and innocent but is secretly dirty, dom!rafe, sub!reader, oral (m + f receiving), unprotected piv sex, a spank, creampie, slight breeding kink, daddy kink, cheating, reader has a boyfriend that is not rafe, degrading, praise, cursing, celibacy but not specified why

obv this is based on gang baby by nle choppa

God, you drove Rafe fucking crazy.

Wearing those skirts that were normal length around your family, but hiked up to barely cover your ass around him.

Whenever Rafe would see you with your boyfriend, you always seemed so uninterested, giving him looks with your pretty eyes.

He just wanted you so bad.

You currently stood in Rafe’s living room as he threw a party, one of his lavish ones that everyone in Figure 8 knew about.

Sipping on whatever little drink was handed to you at the beginning of the party, your boyfriend, Miles, spewed on and on and on about some side project at work.

“Good job, baby.” You hummed, not paying attention, eyes locked on Rafe’s icy blue ones.

Rafe was smirking at you, drinking a glass of scotch on the rocks as he noticed you not even paying your poor boyfriend any ounce of attention.

“Y/n.”

You snapped your gaze back over to Miles.

“Hm?” you hummed.

“I think I’m gonna head back home, you coming?” Miles asked sweetly.

Miles was genuinely an okay-ish boyfriend. He obviously cared, the two of you had been together for three months.

But when you first got with him and told him you were waiting til marriage, it set some kind of tension in the relationship.

“No, I’m gonna stay. I’ll get a ride home, though. promise.”

You felt Miles give your kiss a soft cheek, patting your knee as he stood up to leave.

As soon as he was gone, a familiar voice loomed over you. “not desperate to leave with your boyfriend?”

You glanced up, making eye contact with Rafe as he towered over your sitting position. You swallowed, licking your lips.

“The party isn’t over yet, is it?”

Rafe smirked at your response, taking the last sip of his scotch as he moved to sit in the seat that was previously occupied by Miles.

You had spoken to Rafe multiple times before, always seeing him at events.

“You’re not wearing your little skirt?” Rafe hummed, his eyes trailing your form.

You crossed one leg over the other, heart pounding at his intimidating gaze.

“Decided on wearing some jeans… ‘s too cold at night for a skirt.”

Rafe didn’t respond, not bothering to hide the fact he was blatantly checking you out. But he always did that.

“You don’t seem very into your boyfriend.”

Your eyes widened as he randomly called you out. Face feeling warm, you broke eye contact with him.

“I don’t think he’s very into me,” you murmured back, feeling suddenly shy.

“Yeah? How come?”

Rafe leaned closer, his large, veiny hand coming to rest on your knee. Goosebumps erupted on your skin from the contact, and you were grateful you decided to wear jeans to cover them.

“Told him I’m celibate on our third date… been a little awkward ever since,” you admit softly.

Rafe was shocked, but he masked it well. His eyes widened a little at your confession, those soft wrinkles tightening a little on his forehead.

“You practice celibacy?” Rafe hums, his thumb running along your knee still. No way this girl who hikes her damn skirts up so much to show him her ass was celibate.

“I try to, yeah.”

“Try to?” Rafe questioned, a small smirk curling on his lips.

“Guess it depends on how horny the person makes me,” you blurt out, feeling your face immensely warm from your admission and the cocky grin Rafe gave you, you sank back into your seat.

“Oh, pretty girl. You tellin’ me your boyfriend doesn’t get you all worked up? Doesn’t know how to make you all needy?” Rafe cooed.

Oh god.

His voice was enough to send shivers down your spine and a throb in your clit.

Rafe took your lack of response as something good, his self-assured smirk still plastered on his sexy face.

“I… uh… don’t really know how to answer that,” you murmur shyly.

“Mhm. How about I take you somewhere more private? Can’t hear your sweet voice surrounded by all these people,” he suggests.

You knew it wasn’t a good idea, no way in hell was following Rafe Cameron to a private bedroom ever a good idea.

He currently had your plush thighs over his shoulders, fingers digging into the sheets, noises escaping your mouth as he ate your cunt as if he was starving.

His eyes were locked onto your face, watching how with every delicious swirl of his tongue against your clit, it contorted up in pleasure.

“That feel good, pretty girl?”

All you could do was mumble something incoherent, the pleasure completely new and overwhelming to you.

Miles hadn’t offered to eat you out, despite you sucking his dick once. You were fine doing other sexual things, just not penetration, as that was what you wanted to wait for.

But when Rafe’s long fingers slid into your soaked hole, the idea of penetration was driving you insane.

“Clenchin’ around my fingers so much… never had someone pleasure this sweet pussy?” Rafe murmurs, sucking on your clit.

“no… fuck, Rafe,” you gasped.

Rafe had that stupid cocky smirk on his face as he purposely hummed around your clit, the vibration making your body twitch.

“I can tell, baby. So turned on but still so tight… you gonna let daddy put his dick in here?”

Your brain was so fuzzy, the coil in your stomach tightening as the pleasure started to get overwhelmingly good.

Rafe just chuckled against your cunt, watching as you came undone on his mouth and fingers.

Panting for breath, you were out of it for a good minute. No one else had ever made you orgasm, only used to your own fingers or a vibrator every now and then.

The tall man pulled away from your cunt, unbuckling his belt and tugging down his pants and boxer briefs.

“Taste so good, baby.” Rafe leaned forward, connecting his lips to yours in an attempt to pull you back down to earth.

“Mhmm, Ray…”

“Yeah? What do you need?” Rafe smirks.

You lifted your head, finally looking at his dick. Eyes widening a little, mouth growing a little damper with drool.

He was big and thick. A pretty mushroom tip that was leaking precum, two prominent veins that ran along the whole shaft.

“Can I suck your dick?” you mumbled.

“What was that? Speak up, pretty girl. Tell Daddy what you want.”

Of course, Rafe heard you, he was just an asshole.

“Can I suck your dick, daddy? Please?” you asked a little louder, staring up at him with your pretty eyes.

“Good girl, askin’ so sweetly for daddy. You gonna let me fuck this mouth?” He placed a large hand on the side of your head, guiding you over to the side of the bed.

You lay on your stomach in front of him, eyes still locked onto the leaking tip.

“Open your mouth.”

Wasting no time, your mouth dropped open, a small lick being delivered to swipe off his arousal.

The little noise he breathed was enough to give you more encouragement, slowly wrapping your lips around the head.

“Relax that throat f’me… good girl.”

He slowly guided your head down more of his base, tears pricking your eyes. he was bigger and thicker than Miles, again, giving you a whole new experience.

He threw his head back slightly, a soft moan leaving him. You took your hand up, starting to stroke whatever couldn’t fit.

His hold on your head never released, but he stopped guiding you. As badly as he wanted to just hold your head still so he can ram his cock in and out of your mouth, he knew he had to be patient, as you were a virgin.

“Mhm, yeah. Suck that cock, pretty girl. You’re so fuckin’ naughty, huh? Lettin’ daddy eat your sweet pussy and now you’re suckin’ his dick. What would your boyfriend say?”

You would never admit this, but his words were spurring you on. Just the idea of being in Rafe’s room, having only talked to him a few times, both of you doing oral on each other, while your boyfriend sat at home.

Obviously, you couldn’t respond. Not when he was beginning to buck his greedy, sculpted hips into your mouth, making you choke on his dick.

You bobbed your head, eagerly trying to please him as your manicured hand stroked the bottom of his shaft.

"Fuck, where'd you learn to suck dick, hm? You secretly a slut?"

Rafe leaned over onto the bed, delivering a harsh slap to your ass. His forward motion caused his cock to slide deeper into your tight throat, his balls tensing.

He was going to cum sooner than he wanted to, but he slowly stopped caring. Not when a pretty girl like you was sucking him off so desperately.

"You gonna swallow my load? Drink it all down like a good fuckin' whore?" He grunted, his hand starting to guide you again.

Spit was dribbling down your chin, small gags leaving your dirty mouth as he choked you on his member.

You took your left hand and began to gently massage his balls, feeling the way they tensed up, signaling he was close.

He twitched in your mouth, sexy, deep grunts leaving his filthy mouth.

"Shit, take my cum."

Hot spurts of semen slid down your throat, the sensation and taste of it weird, but not disgusting. You swallowed it down like a shot, gasping and panting for air when he finally released your head from his crotch.

"You look like a cheap whore, spit and cum dripping down your chin. But you love it, huh? Bet that little cunt is just throbbin', desperate for this cock."

A small whimper escaped your mouth involuntarily. He was right, and you hated it.

"Want daddy to take that sweet virginity?" He cooed, watching as you laid on your back and spread your thighs, showing him your leaking cunt.

A guilty shiver ran down your blood, the idea of Rafe Cameron, someone who you had barely any romantic involvement with, taking your virginity instead of your boyfriend or future husband.

But the way his throbbing cock was staring at you, hovering over your aching clit, the idea of just saying fuck it was stronger.

"Ray?"

"What, baby?"

"Can you... nail my pussy? Fuck me hard?" You asked softly, staring up at him with those fucking eyes that drove him insane.

"Yeah? You want daddy to break this cunt in? What about your boyfriend?" He snickered, loving how needy you looked for him.

"He can't please me like you can, please, daddy. Want you to take my virginity, don't wanna wait til marriage." You were pleading pathetically.

His smirk was downright evil as he slowly slid his leaking tip up and down your drenched lips, making sure to tease your clit nice and slow.

"You're not as sweet and innocent as you make it out to be, hm? You're just a desperate cock-whore for daddy."

Another small whine escaped your lips at his degradation, clit throbbing with need.

"Please... need you s'bad."

He leaned down to gently capture your lips in his, although it slowly became more rough as he dominated your tongue and mouth.

He began to gently slide the tip into your leaking hole, the sensation making you gasp into his mouth.

"Relax f'me, yeah?" He murmured, sucking hickeys onto your throat as he began to slide further in.

Desperate fingers dug into his muscular back, eyes squeezed shut as he stretched you out. Luckily, you were soaked, so it was easy for him.

"Feel so good, stretchin' you out on my cock. You're not celibate, huh? Just wanted to wait for daddy."

A soft moan left your throat, feeling him suddenly stop moving. Your chest rose and fell as you gasped for breath, trying to relax enough to make it feel good for yourself and him.

"Rafe, fuck..."

"I know, sweet girl. 'm fully in, just loosen up f'me so I can show this little pussy what 's been missing," he cooed.

It took a few moments, but you finally felt him start to push his hips in and out. Your painted toes curled as he continued to press kisses to your neck, getting sloppy the quicker his sculpted body moved.

"Takin' this dick so well, this pussy was made f'me, yeah?"

You nodded your head, brain fuzzy from the sensation and his naughty words. Rafe fucking Cameron was taking your virginity, inflating his already high ego.

He brought a calloused thumb down to rub your hardened clit, your legs tightening around him at the added pleasure.

"That's it... let daddy claim this needy cunt. Your boyfriend is gonna be so mad, huh? Knowing you're Rafe Cameron's bitch now."

Your walls fluttered around him at his words, a low groan leaving his lips.

"feels so good, daddy," you whined.

He just hummed, his skilled hips rolling roughly into yours, the added pleasure of his thumb on your clit was only driving you closer to the edge of release.

"You gonna cum f'me? You gonna cum on daddy's dick while he takes your slutty virginity?"

"Yes, yes -- shit."

Your orgasm hit you hard, your body shaking as the coil in your tummy snapped. Eyes squeezed shut, walls clenching around his twitching shaft.

"Good girl, good girl. You want daddy to cum in this needy cunt? Give you a baby to remember your first time?"

An embarrassing sound escaped you, head nodding quickly. If you were able to think rationally, you would have said fuck no.

But his body was so warm, his grip was so tight, his thrusts were so rough yet deep, you just begged.

"Please, Ray? Please fuck a baby into me?"

He grunted at your pleading, voice so sweet, how could he refuse?

His hips snapped quickly against yours, grunts and filthy words being poured out from his mouth as he chased his release.

Finally, you felt him twitching, and the new sensation of his cum coating your vaginal walls instead of your throat made you whimper.

"Fuck..." he gasped.

All you could do was pull him down into another sloppy, breathy kiss. Lips smashed together, tongues brushing and fighting.

He rolled over onto his back when he disconnected your swollen lips from his, a big, calloused hand caressing your hip.

"How was that?" He asked softly, a tone you had never heard from him before.

"Really good," you nodded, still out of breath.

He hummed, letting you rest for a moment.

"C'mere, pretty girl."

He guided you onto his lap, still caressing your hip with one hand, the other going to grope your left boob.

"Daddy's gonna teach you how to ride dick now."

Your eyes widened slightly, knowing you were in for a long night.

[deathofacupid]

r/ HOW TO BABY-TRAP YOUR FRIENDS-WITH-BENEFITS ROOMMATE!

I'M A BAD MAN, I DO WHAT I CAN! — if you were to ask them, it's not their fault. it's not their fault you're practically a goddess, ethereal, really. the thing is, though, you didn't do relationships, just didn't have a reason to. you'd always preferred the no-strings-attached, the clean simplicity. ah, well, they'll give you a reason.

★ satoru gojo, suguru geto, kento nanami, choso kamo, toji fushiguro, ryomen sukuna.

warnings — well, báby-trápping. obsessive, pathetic, yearning men. pórn following, barely, a plot. áfab!reader. óverstimulatión, dégrading, dúmbification, sqúirting, breedíng. age gaps. chóking, óral (m/f receiving). fíngeríng. dóm!characters. nón-con/dúb-con. use of alćohol. unprótected séx. lying, manipulation. out-of-character, i guess. ...not toji abandoning megumi, just to go off and have another kid. 3.5k+ words!

(呪術廻戦) : note — concept based off of @indiewritesxoxo's work (luv u bae <33), divider credits to @cafekitsune.

★ SATORU GOJO

"oh, c'mon," he coos, a pout framing his lips, but his eyes tell a different story. "jus' wanna feel you. i promise i'll pull out." satoru's hovering above you, tapping his slick, throbbing tip against your clit, sending a jolt of electricity through your core.

"satoru, no," you say, trying to keep your voice steady, but the heat radiating off him is making your resolve crumble. he's right there, so close, and your body is screaming for him.

"baby, i promise," satoru pleads. he pleads. he's pleading. are you supposed to just, like, say no?

you tug your bottom lip between your teeth, arms still wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. he lowers himself, capturing your mouth in a deep, wet kiss, his tongue exploring your depths with a possessive urgency.

"you have to. you can't cum inside, okay?" you warn, giving in, though your voice is thick with desire. he was clearly adamant about this, refusing to budge. if this was going to go down his way, you'd rather it happen quick.

"yeah, yeah," satoru says, waving you off dismissively, his attention already focused on the prize. the second you give him the go-ahead, he's lining himself up between your thighs, his cock throbbing at your entrance. slowly, deliberately, he pushes himself inside, groaning as he stretches you.

you moan, digging your nails into his back, the sharp sting a welcome sensation. no matter how many times you fuck him, you won't ever get used to his size. satoru fills you completely, the snugness of your wet cunt a tight, hot embrace.

"y— you take me s'good, pretty thing." his voice is gravelly and low, as he looses himself to your wet heat.

the pace increases, his thrusts becoming deeper and harder, each stroke a raw, animalistic possession. you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut, your body arching beneath him.

satoru can feel himself getting closer, can feel the way his abdomen tightens, the telltale signs of his release. you can feel him getting closer too, with the way his thrusts grow shaky, and lose their rhythm.

"ngh, wait," you whimper, it's a lazy thought, on the tip of your tongue, but with the way he's got you all dumbed-down, you can't find the strength to push them out.

"shh," he grunts, pressing sloppy kisses to the side of your neck. "s'fine, just — fuck, we'll get you a plan-b, or s— some shit."

you protest weakly, but it's lost in the wave of pleasure washing over you. it's not like you could do more if you wanted (do you even want to?), because you're climaxing first, convulsing around his cock, sucking him in. he follows soon after, thick ropes of cum flooding you, filling you completely.

and, if he was "getting" you that plan-b tomorrow, anyways, he might as well fuck his seed in deeper, right?

★ SUGURU GETO

the tang of cheap vodka clings to you, the bitterness sharp on his tongue. friday night. finally, a chance to unwind.

"not drinking?" you slur, the buzz already softening the edges of the world for you.

"i did," he breathes, his teeth dragging a wet, sucking trail up the side of your neck. he knows the mark he's leaving will bloom into a dark bruise by morning.

you try to form a coherent question, but the insistent throb between your legs steals your focus, a desperate, undeniable ache for him.

and he has drunk. enough to dull the edges of his conscience, a low hum of justification thrumming beneath his skin. you're practically melting into the couch, head lolling, lips slack and damp, a familiar, flushed heat creeping up your chest. suguru isn't inebriated like you are, but… he's something like that.

so, he isn't doing anything wrong, right?

no, of course not.

you moan, a needy sound that vibrates against his chest, your hands fisting in his shirt, tugging him closer. "f— fuck, just put it in already, suguru, please," you whimper, the words thick with desire and drink. his fingers slide down, parting the wet folds of your vulva, one thumb pressing insistently against your swollen clit.

suguru chuckles, "since you're begging so nicely." the slick, engorged head of his cock, dark red and leaking pre-cum, nudges against your slick entrance, catching on the delicate hood. he isn't in the mood for foreplay, not really. he wants to be buried inside you, now.

besides, it's not like you need it.

with a deliberate slide, he pushes into your tight heat. you gasp, a surprised sound that tightens your grip on him.

your wet cunt clenches around his length, milking him with each involuntary spasm. a guttural groan tears from his throat. your hands tangle in his hair, nails lightly scraping his scalp in that way he fucking loves.

"oh, fuck, princess," he bites out, his voice thick with lust. "easy, you're gonna swallow me whole."

"i— i'm trying," you whimper, your body arching slightly as you try to accommodate the sheer size of him stretching you open.

suguru pauses, giving you a scant second to adjust, his selfishness overriding any real concern for your comfort. he wants you stretched, tight, around his cock.

slowly, he withdraws, not quite all the way, the sudden coolness making you whimper, before thrusting back in, deeper this time. "goddamn, so fucking tight."

you're stretched taut, every muscle in your body clenching around him. his pace quickens, his hips slamming against yours with a wet, smacking sound.

"sugu!" you cry out, your voice raw and breathy. shit, he thinks, his cock throbbing harder, you sound like a fucking angel when you say my name like that.

like it's the only word left in your drunken vocabulary. and with his cock filling you so completely, blurring the edges of your already drunken mind, it probably is.

you cum first, a shuddering wave that rips through your body, your back arching off the couch. moans, wet and desperate, spill from your parted lips — his favorite sound in the world.

he's right behind you, the frantic clenching of your muscles pushing him closer to the edge. he knows he should pull out, the thought flickers through his mind, a habitual safety measure.

but he doesn't.

his orgasm rips through him, a violent shudder that locks his jaw. he comes, deep and hot, his thick, white seed flooding your insides, painting the walls of your cunt.

you're too far gone, too lost in the aftershocks of your own climax and the lingering haze of alcohol, to register the subtle change, the lack of resistance.

and if you aren't saying anything, his mind reasons, why should he?

★ KENTO NANAMI

"shit, darling, you're so tight f'me," kento groans, bucking his hips into you. his breath hitches, a sheen of sweat coating his skin. blonde hair is plastered to his forehead, and he's covered in sticky lipgloss from your mouth.

but, fuck, he's never looked so good.

your eyes hit the back of your head, tears trailing down your cheeks, and he kisses them away.

his pace is cruel, heavy balls hitting your ass, with every thrust. "k— ken," you whimper, stretching out his name. he doesn't miss, not even a goddamn millimeter, that thick, insistent head slamming directly into your sweet spot with every vicious grind of his hips.

kento's on the edge of sanity. this is pure, unadulterated bliss. this is how it's meant to be – your slick heat engulfing him completely, no flimsy rubber barrier between.

he wants to bury himself so deep he hits bone, to feel those tight, wet walls clench and spasm around his cock until he fucking explodes. and the knowledge that he's the only son of a bitch who can make you come undone like this?

it's a goddamn aphrodisiac.

you're stretched wide, impaled, filled so completely it feels like you might tear. your slick little cunt is working overtime, desperately trying to accommodate his thick length and the violent force of his thrusts. his slams are sloppy, given an impending release.

"do you— do you even know what you do to me?" he asks, and you think it's rhetorical. not that you could in answer, save for anything but nonsensical babbles.

he's surprised he's even made it this long, raw in you, without cumming already. you're like a little toy for kento, utterly helpless and deliciously broken beneath him, and the sight of it — your flushed skin, your parted lips, the way your body bucks and trembles — sends a fresh wave of white-hot lust surging through him.

beautiful, that would be his choice word. gorgeous. heavenly. a taste of gold, honey-sweet on his tongue. and, that taste? incredibly deep, to the point where the world itself lost richness.

"please, ah, please," you whine, unsure, yourself, what you're asking for. less? more? either way, he doesn't give you much of a choice, his thick, throbbing cock continuing its relentless, brutal assault on your soaked, aching pussy.

he grips the headboard so hard his knuckles are stark white, the old wood groaning and splintering under his white-knuckled grip. oh, fucking christ.

what have you done to him? how in the goddamn hell is he ever going to go back to vanilla, wrapped-up sex after this primal, skin-on-skin connection?

"c— cum inside," you moan, wrapping your legs around his waist.

his heart stops, he swears it. he wasn't expecting you to say that, not at all. he's driving his cock into you with a brutal, bone-jarring speed that he knows will leave you deliciously sore and gloriously immobile for days. "fuck, yeah? you want that?"

"yeah, yeah, i'm— i'm on the pill," you gasp, the words a breathless, desperate affirmation.

and, well, who is he to deny the love of his life? you were on a pill, after all. it just wasn't what you thought it was. on the bright side, his switcheroo left you with a good intake of vitamin d.

★ CHOSO KAMO

choso's not thinking about it, not really. not when you're riding him like this, your wet heat gripping him, squeezing him dry. especially not when he feels you clench around his cock, those little spasms that make his vision blur.

he'd tried the nice way, the pathetic puppy-dog eyes. begged you to just skip the rubber this once. but you were firm, always so fucking responsible. "condom, choso." like it was a goddamn negotiation.

so, if you trace it back, this isn't on him. those pinprick holes in the wrapper of the condom? definitely not him. nope, not a chance.

he's not thinking about it because in his head, it's already done. it's a family, right? that's the end goal. just you and him, and a couple of little ones running around. twins.

he pictures it sometimes, a little girl with your stubborn streak, a boy with his quiet intensity. he'd love them both, messy and loud and his.

his family. the thought slams into him as you grind down, your slick folds rubbing against him. he's not even fully inside his head anymore, just the raw, animal urge.

you'd be a fucking incredible mother, he knows it. the way you care for that stupid houseplant, the way you fuss over him when he's got a headache.

choso's breath hitches, his fingers digging into the slick skin of your waist, holding on for dear life. your tits bounce with each ride, nipples hard and pink, your head thrown back, a guttural moan escaping your throat.

nothing. nothing beats this. "fuck," he grunts, eyes rolling back in his head. he's lost track of time, of everything but the wet friction, the desperate clench of your muscles. "don't fucking stop," he begs, his voice thick and rough.

"'m not gonna," you pant, your hips bucking against his rhythm.

choso grips your thighs tighter, like if he loosens his hold, you'll vanish. "shit… i think… fuck, i'm close."

"cho— oh, god, me too!" just as your orgasm hits, that tight, shuddering squeeze, he flips you over, his heavy body looming above you.

he keeps fucking you, driving deep as your cries turn into whimpers, your body convulsing around his cock. you're slick with sweat and tears, overstimulated, trying to push him off, but he just keeps pounding.

tears spill down your temples, soaking into the pillow. another sob rips from your throat. good. more wetness. more of him going in. you feel another knot building. works for him, he'll plant his seed deep, twice the load now.

he already loves you. this is his clumsy, fucked-up way of showing it. of making you his. you'll understand, someday.

★ TOJI FUSHIGURO

"there aren't any left," toji shrugs, gesturing with a lazy flick of his wrist towards the empty drawer.

"what the fuck do you mean, 'none left'?" you ask, your brow furrowing. "i swear i just bought a new box!"

he clicks his tongue, a familiar sound of his nonchalance. "gone. nada. zip."

"no, but— there can't be none. what about your wallet? you used to carry a bunch around everywhere, right?"

"don't need to anymore, do i? got you now, ma," he grins, a flash of something predatory in his eyes, followed by a low chuckle that rumbles in his chest.

"look at that. slut reformed," you scoff, though a hint of a smile plays on your lips. "well, then, go take a cold shower."

"what?" he groans, the sound laced with genuine displeasure. "c'mon, just let me—"

"absolutely fucking not. there's no way in hell i'm letting you hit it raw."

"it's just sex, though," he argues, a petulant edge to his voice.

"yeah, sure, 'just sex' — unprotected — that'll leave you knee-deep in diapers," you mutter, rolling your eyes.

"wouldn't be the worst thing," he mumbles, the words a low rumble just beneath your ear.

"what'd you say?" you ask, shifting on his lap, your position suddenly more precarious. his hands tighten on your waist, anchoring you there.

"nothin'. doll, i'll make it worth your goddamn while," he says, his voice dropping to a husky drawl that sends a shiver down your spine.

"no," you say, a weak protest as you try to squirm away, the heat suddenly rising between your thighs. "i'm serious, toji."

"i'm dead serious, too, sweetheart. i know you're soaked for me," he teases, his fingers digging slightly into your hips, a possessive and undeniably tantalizing move.

"toji," you whine, your voice losing some of its firmness, "go get condoms, and then—"

"tch. ain't got the patience for that shit right now."

"there's a gas station, like, a block away, if your dick's about to explode."

"or, you just sit back, spread those pretty legs, and let the pill do its damn job."

"no. it's not one-hundred percent, you idiot."

"for fuck's sake," he grumbles, the playful tone vanishing as he suddenly flips you over with strength, pinning your wrists above your head against the mattress.

"toji!" you gasp, a mix of surprise and a thrill you don't want to admit. "foul play, you bastard. foul game."

his thick head nudges against your slick folds, a wet, insistent pressure that makes you suck in a sharp breath. "don't think your pretty little head too much about it," he growls, his voice full with lust.

he shoves into you, a raw, stretching sensation that makes you cry out. "fucking… ahhh," he groans, the lone sound primal.

"s— shit!" you cry, your hips bucking involuntarily as you try to accommodate his size. the sheets twist beneath you as you writhe, the initial discomfort quickly morphing into a desperate, needy ache. coherent thoughts dissolve, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of him filling you completely.

he feels thicker, rougher, more. every thrust is deeper, more insistent, and the friction ignites a fire in your core. when he finally comes, it's a guttural sound ripped from his throat, his body shuddering against yours as he spills his seed deep inside.

as for the full box of condoms, he'll just make sure he takes out the trash, before you get to it.

★ RYOMEN SUKUNA

funny as fuck, he thinks, watching the way your breath hitches, how your eyes are already glazed over with lust and exhaustion. he hasn't even started yet, and you're practically begging. a slow, cruel smile spreads across his face as he takes in the flushed heat creeping up your neck. his own cock throbs, anticipating the tight squeeze.

"you look good like that," he informs you, his voice a low, gravelly purr, his gaze raking over your exposed skin. "all undone for me."

"'kuna," you whine again, a desperate sound that barely forms a word. you lift your hips off the bed, a small, frantic movement that screams for release.

he's right there, the hard ridge of his cock pressing against your slick walls, but he remains frustratingly still, savoring your desperation.

he reaches out, his knuckles grazing your damp cheek, a possessive, almost taunting touch. he watches the way your pupils dilate, the frantic pulse in your throat. he enjoys this, the power he holds in this moment.

finally, with a sigh that sounds almost bored, he decides to grant your silent plea. he braces his hands on either side of your head and thrusts into you, a deep, forceful slide that makes you gasp.

you're so tight, so wet, and for a fleeting second, the intensity of your grip makes him think he might just lose it right there.

"shit, brat," he grits out, his breath hot against your ear. "can feel you milking me already. fucking needy, aren't you?" he pauses, letting you writhe beneath him. "beg for it."

"i— please, 'kuna… fuck…" your words are broken, barely coherent.

his hand drops lower, his fingers splaying across your throat, his thumb pressing just hard enough to restrict your breathing, a subtle reminder of his control.

his other hand clamps possessively onto your breast, his thumb and forefinger pinching your nipple through the thin fabric, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from you. your head thrashes against the pillow, a choked sound rising in your throat, a mixture of pain and pleasure.

with each deliberate, grinding thrust into your slick cunt, he feels the knot in his gut tighten, the edge drawing closer. he can feel you too, the frantic clenching of your inner muscles mirroring his own rising tension. your nails dig into his shoulders, your body arching with each deep stroke.

just as his senses overload, just as his control threatens to shatter, he pulls out with a harsh sound, the slick head of his cock glistening in the dim light.

he snatches the condom, ripping it off with a swift, almost violent motion. your eyes fly open, confusion and a flicker of protest in their depths. but before you can utter a word, he slams back into you, burying himself even deeper, raw and unprotected.

he feels the shudder rip through his body, his jaw clenching as he orgasms. he's cumming, hot and thick, flooding your insides, marking you in a way that goes beyond the physical.

he feels the desperate contractions of your own climax still gripping him, a final, exquisite torture.

he collapses against you, his weight heavy, his breath ragged. he can feel the slick warmth of his seed mingling with your own wetness. he doesn't say a word, doesn't need to.

the act itself is his declaration. you're his now, in a way you can't deny. and there's not a goddamn thing you can do about it.

❛ all works belong to deathofacupid, do not steal/plagiarize/repost. ❜

[valalice]

BLINDS WIDE OPEN .ᐟ ft. stalker!caitvi

ꮼ summary. you've unknowingly attracted the attention of piltover's finest, and now they'll do anything to make sure you're theirs. ( inspired by 'she' by tyler, the created ft. frank ocean )

warnings. dark content. fem!reader. reader isn't specified to be from piltover or zaun. stalking. slightly nsfw. established caitvi. allusions to murder but could also be just them scaring off said person. possessive!caitvi. abuse of power (on cait's part). commander!cait. unsolicited note & gift sending. staged meeting/slight savior complexes. pet names (r!receiving : darling, pretty girl, little bird, dear). reader is painfully oblivious. vouyerism. vi takes pictures of reader without her consent. pantie stealing & sniffing & alluded usage of stolen panties. wc. 2.3k

m.list. | arcane m.list.

‣ their little obsession starts out innocent. you're just a civilian, blending into the crowd around you, just another person going about their routine. but to caitlyn and vi you stood out. they didn't actively seek you out, you just happened to also be in the same places as they were at times, and they couldn't complain about that. often moving or forgetting what they were doing to see (follow) you a little longer.

‣ they agree that they've never been so sure about something before. you allure them in, like a flower temping a honey bee. someone so sweet, with such beauty that want, need you. they begin calling your theirs from then on.

‣ it turned sour when once again, out of coincidence you were in the same vicinity as vi, the pink haired woman quickly taking notice of you, her fingers hooking into her hood to pull it over and cover herself as she keeps a sweet distance behind you. not too far and not too close. the bustling streets get rowdier and vi gets thrown around a bit, picking up her pace and ramming her shoulder into who gets close to her, so she doesn't get whisked off into the frown and loses you. she groans when out of nowhere a brutish man blocks her view, putting her scuffed hand on his arm, mumbling something out about needing somewhere to be (a lie), and just within those few moments of vi’s watchful eye on you you've presumably arrived at your destination, a restaurant. she sighs and takes post near by, but as quickly as she was resting, slumped against some wall, her posture straightens out. fist fighting at her side, her teeth begging to grind, hard enough she'd snap her jaw off. you've met up with a woman, and said woman has her hands on you, pulling you into a hug. a glare bores into the mystery woman's head. if vi had glared any harder she's sure beams would've shot out her eyes and straight into her head.

‣ since then, the couple had made sure to purposely watch you. no more coincidences or hopeful wishes that they'd see you a few times out of their week. now they see you every chance they can get. and at this point they're getting bolder, more risky with how they watch you. inching closer and closer into your space as they follow you just to get a whiff of your shampoo, or perfume. going into the same places as you instead of watching from outside. frequenting the same places you frequent and learning your favorites, caitlyn has gone as far, as asking for the same drink as you one time when she was standing behind you in a small cafe. they're even begin starting to work out your relationships with people, keeping tabs on them too. and oh, you haven't seen that one friend in awhile.

‣ caitlyn begins to abuse her power as commander to find and dig through your findings. memorizing your stats; height, weight, hair color, eye color, blood type, ect. she got caught once snooping through your files by a subordinate and quickly sorted herself out, clearing her throat out and making up some lie about needing a file on a stillwater escapee. waving your file at them and briskly walking past them saying that she’ll be in her office, when she's really taking that file home with her.

‣ they’d even begin sending you notes and gifts. notes that read along the lines as “you look beautiful today.” “loved the new hairstyle, did it just for us?” “one day you'll see that you were made for us.” and the gifts are usually items they'd watch you eye in shops or things they'd think you'd like based off of your other preferences, like clothing, books, a new bag, that expensive new technology device you've been saving up for since your old one broke, and of course the classic flowers and chocolate. and they can't lie when they're hurt whenever you come home or open your door to one of their notes or gifts that you have a horrified look on your face, frantically looking around to see you could've given it to you, and vi in particular is hurt whenever she watches you throw out the chocolates she picked for you.

‣ despite all of this, they still have yet to formally meet you, although they're sure you know of them. but they can't simply introduce themselves, they have to make it look natural. accidental and like you needed them. they've learned your entire routine just for a moment like this.

you had just finished up grocery shopping. the sun was just finishing up with rising fully within the sky. you enjoyed going first thing when the store opens to dismiss the morning rush that happens by the time you're bagging your items and leaving. as you're making your way home, your head peeks from over the brown paper bags in your arms to watch where you're walking.

it's quick and sudden, the catch of something on your foot. knowing what's next, so you close your eyes preparing for impact against the ground. at least your groceries will cushion your fall, but not without ruining them underneath your weight.

except you don't and your body stays slanted still at a degree. peeking an eye open you're met with a pink haired woman, she looks familiar, but you can't put your finger on her name. you're reminded of the groceries in your arms from the crinkle of the bags, and they feel lighter in your arms. her hands are placed over your groceries, and there's also a pair of hands on you, but on your waist? who's the person behind you?

“are you alright?” the woman in front of you asks, her voice is low and comforting.

it happens swifty, the woman in front and the person behind you working to place you back upright on your feet. and you're dazed when she also takes most of the bags from your arms.

“she asked you a question, darling.” you twist around at the sound of a new voice, the person from behind you presume, and it's. . . british? upon turning around you're met with the fall figure of commander kiramman, and on instinct you're standing a little straighter.

“c—commander kiramman,” you splutter out. “i’m, uh, i’m okay.” looking down you adjust the bags in your arms, just for caitlyn to swoop down and take them in her arms, and within them, the bags no longer look as big as they did in your arms. “thank you, for, em, catching me from falling to my doom.” you let out a light laugh at the end, trying to make light of your embarrassing situation and to ignore that you're flushed, thankful for the cool morning air against the warmth of your sizzling body.

“it's no problem, really. we hate to see a pretty girl get hurt.” the pink woman smiles. oh! that's when it clicks.

“you're vi!” you enthuse, feeling a sense of pride that you were able to remember her name, you knew she seemed familiar. feeling a little silly it didn't click sooner since she's so recognizable.

“i am,” her smile grows. “and you already know caitlyn.”

it feels like a game as you bounce your head from one woman to the other, but now your attention lies on caitlyn. “no more calling me commander kiramman. no need for formalities, you can just call me caitlyn.” she hums, correcting her name for you.

yet your wide eyes stay strained up at her, “but would it not be respectful to call you commander?”

caitlyn’s exterior remains collected, only vi catching the way cait’s eye slightly twitches, your worries for calling her by her correct title is cute and sends a jolt straight to her cunt.

“like i said, no need for that. calling me caitlyn is perfectly respectful. alright, little bird?”

they both refrain from voicing their distaste of your nod at cait’s words.

it's quiet for a moment, the three of you just looking between each other and you realize both of them still have your groceries in their arms. “oh! i can take my groceries now.”

they both look at you like you'd just grown another head from your neck.

“don't be silly. you should've seen how looked trying to carry all of these bags—”

cait cuts vi off, “you looked comically cute.”

a part of you doesn't really know how to take that they thought you looked funny trying to carry your groceries, but at least they thought you were cute. “i normally don't have that many bags,” that was something they already knew. “but today they had some great deals i couldn't pass up on.” oh, gee, they wonder who tipped off the owner to have such deals.

“well that's great, dear. but what we're trying to get at is that, we want to assist you with your groceries.” caitlyn clarifies, eyes flickering down to her girlfriend.

“so, we’ll carry them. keeping you from stumbling by trying to balance it all in your arms. and you show us the way to your place.” vi finishes, although they already knew the route to your home with their eyes closed.

this isn't something that you'd agree to, but it's vi and commander kiramman, or caitlyn, and that automatically makes you trust them. agreeing to their offering and placing yourself ahead, beginning to walk your way home, and they follow, missing the way they wickedly smile at each as they just perfectly wormed their way into your life.

‣ since meeting you they've become even further unhinged. while caitlyn has duties that distract her from her habits of watching you, vi has complete free will to watch you whenever she'd like. her favorite is when cait is working late, instead of being alone at the estate, she’ll take post at a spot close to you place, to her it's the perfect spot, having a view into your home, able to see as you go from room to room, even your bedroom. both you and her are thankful that your windows don't really point anywhere, so you're comfortable enough to keep you blinds open most of the time and vi is able to watch as you leisure around, cook, clean, when you're fresh from a shower, still damp and drying off your body with your towel. she's seen it all, she's seen you all, in your most vulnerable state when you touch yourself, fingers trailing between your pretty thighs to play with your cunt. vi wishes she could hear the gasp, whines, and moans of pleasure that fall from your lips, but right now the best she can do is capture pictures.

bonus

‣ they're both desperate for you, the run ins, pictures, files, watching you isn't getting them what they need. but they both know that it isn't time to act just yet. so, cait request for vi to break into your home one night, a night they know you'll be out with some friends, to steal a few pairs of your panties. something small that'll take the edge off for a little while. luckily it had been a warm few days and a window in your bedroom was cracked, so vi welcomed herself in as she slid the window open wider so she could slip in. already having the layout of your bedroom memorized as she makes her way to your dresser, opening the first drawer to behold where you keep your socks, bras, and panties. she diligently scours through the stacks of panties, making sure to keep them all nice and tidy as you had them, picking out a few pairs that she and cait would like, mostly cotton, until she got to the bottom of the stacks where you kept your lace panties. she can only imagine that you got them for her and cait to look all pretty when they finally take you. there's a pretty lavender pair, it makes her wet thinking about you wearing them. vi brings them up to her nose, eyes rolling back as she sniffs the fabric, you've worn them before she can tell, they smell of you and your detergent. feeling a high, she promptly stuffs the various pairs of panties in her pockets and exits her way from your bedroom, leaving everything as it was when she came in. caitlyn and her will make great use of them.

and just a few days later cait gets a call from you, the exchange of numbers occurring that morning they helped you with your groceries. “what is it, darling. tell me.”

“it’s—” you pause, rethinking if you should've even called. “it's embarrassing, but i’m scared.” you whisper.

“i ensure you i’ve heard my fair share of things while on the job.”

“promise you won't laugh or call me crazy?”

“i promise.”

you sigh, gathering courage. “i have a stalker, or stalkers. i really don't know but they refer to themselves as 'us' and 'we' a lot.”

caitlyn leans back in her office chair, “oh, darling. i’m sorry to hear that.” faux concern is ridden in her tone. “have they been doing anything to you?” she already knows the answer to that, this is normally the time she'd take out her note pad and pen to make note of the report, but there's no need for that.

“yes. i feel foolish to not think much of it at first, i thought it would just fizzle out over time. but the notes, the gifts, they've gotten odder. and now—” you stop yourself.

“and now?”

you bite your lip, your heartbeat beats rapidly in your chest, it's loud bangs rattling throughout your body. “i think they've taken some of my panties.” you whisper that also, embarrassed to have to admit that.

caitlyn smirks against the phone. oh, you have no idea.

[shy9-29]

I actually need a two faced jake where at school hes a sore loser versus when he’s alone with yn—complete menace. Biggest cocky flirt out there. At first, yn didn’t know much about jake until he bent her over and fucked the living shit outta her. I’m just down bad for Jake ok.

Two Faced, One Heart: Who is Sim Jake?

심재윤 x reader

୨ৎ Two versions of Jake Sim—one the shy, clumsy boy who spills his coffee at school, the other the filthy-mouthed menace who had you shaking in his lap just hours before class—and somehow, you’re hopelessly addicted to both. ✉️ wc. 13.1k ⋆˙⟡ ⚠️ warnings : oral (both received), begging, teasing, cream pie, minor slut shamming, bullying, pet names, making out, swearing, harsh language, haur pulling, unprotected sex

📝: thats so fucking hot omg? I need jake so bad rn it’s not even funny

mndi · req open

———

The words come out before you can stop them.

“Do you think I could get Jake to fall for me?”

Your friends stare at you like you just confessed to having a crush on the cafeteria salad bar.

“Jake Sim?” Min gapes. “The guy who thanked the printer for working?” Jisoo raises a brow. “His Instagram only has twelve followers. Twelve. One of them is his dog’s account.” You try not to laugh. “Okay, but he’s kind of… sweet?” Min scoffs. “He wears socks with sandals.” You shrug. “Maybe I like that.” You don’t tell them that two nights ago, Jake had you bent over your tiny dorm desk, fingers tangled in your hair, voice low and smug in your ear while you struggled to stay quiet. Because no one would believe you.

Not when the Jake they know fumbles over his words in group projects and blushes when people look at him too long.

But you’ve seen the other side. The one who locks his door with a click and flips like a switch. You see him again the next day in class, right on time as always. Same oversized hoodie, same messy hair. He sits two rows behind you and doesn’t say a word.

You don’t look at him. Not really. But you feel him watching you. The weight of his stare pressed between your shoulder blades. Like he knows exactly what you’re thinking about. Then, when you stand to leave, he brushes past you. Just a little too close. His fingers graze the small of your back—light, subtle, hidden. But it sends heat shooting down your spine. You catch up to him by the vending machines, just outside the library. He’s pretending to debate between orange juice and sparkling water.

You stop beside him. “Healthy choices.” Jake doesn’t look at you. “You wore that lip gloss again.” Your lips curve. “Maybe I like the flavor.” He reaches forward, selects a drink without thinking, and pays. His voice drops, just loud enough for you to hear. “I like it better off my tongue.” Your breath hitches. A pair of students walk past, one of them waving vaguely in Jake’s direction. He nods back with that usual shy smile, all harmless and mild-mannered.

The second they’re gone, his hand brushes against yours, fingers curling briefly around yours before letting go. You’re not sure your heart knows how to keep a steady rhythm around him anymore.

You didn’t know when it started—maybe it was the way Jake always sat in the back of class, quiet and unassuming. Or the fact that, every time you glanced at him, he never seemed to notice. He’d scribble in his notebook, the only sound in the room his pencil moving across the paper. You thought he was weird at first. Too quiet. Too in the background. The kind of person everyone else ignored. But there was something about him you couldn’t shake. The way his glasses would slide down his nose when he concentrated, or how he always wore the same hoodie, despite the weather.

The first time you spoke to him was after class. Your notes were mixed up, and you needed help with something—so you took a deep breath, made your way to him, and asked.

He looked up, startled. His cheeks went pink, and he mumbled something about being “kind of bad at explaining things,” but he agreed to help. That’s how it started. He was awkward. Shy. And he was perfect. You thought about him more than you should have, even as your friends teased you about how he was “just a soft loser” or “too quiet to ever be interesting.” But something about the way he treated you—how he never rushed you, never pushed, always listened—had you intrigued.

Then, the texts started coming. Small things at first—like a picture of a puppy he saw that reminded him of you. Or a random meme about books you both liked. They came at odd times, too. Late at night. In the middle of the day. And you found yourself looking forward to them, even though you knew he wasn’t exactly the “popular” guy at school.

One night, after a study session that stretched long into the evening, you both found yourselves alone in the library. It was just the two of you, the quiet hum of fluorescent lights above, the scent of paper and coffee between you. He looked at you like he wanted to say something, but he never did. Instead, he helped you pack up your things, careful not to touch you too much, but his fingers brushed yours when he handed you your coat. You thought you imagined it, the little spark that shot through your hand, but the way his eyes flicked to yours said otherwise.

“Uh, good night,” he mumbled, voice hushed. You smiled, feeling your heartbeat in your throat. “Good night, Jake.” You didn’t know it then, but that would be the night it all started to shift.

The next few weeks were a blur of fleeting glances, stolen moments. You’d catch him looking at you in class, only for him to quickly look away. Sometimes, he’d find reasons to walk the same path as you, his steps light, as if testing the water between you. And each time, the air between you would grow heavier, electric, like something unsaid was hanging in the space between your words. It wasn’t until one rainy afternoon that things finally tipped over the edge. You were on your way to the library when you spotted him standing under the awning of a building, looking at his phone. His hoodie was pulled up over his head, and he seemed to be oblivious to the fact that the rain was starting to soak through the sleeves.

“Jake!” you called out, jogging over to him. “You’re gonna get soaked.” He looked up in surprise. “Oh, uh… I was just trying to figure out when the rain’s supposed to stop.” He smiled sheepishly. “I should’ve checked the forecast before heading out.” You shook your head, already pulling your umbrella out. “Come on. You’re coming with me.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You’re not standing out here getting drenched. You’re walking me to the library.”

He hesitated, then smiled, a soft, shy grin. “Okay.”

You shared the umbrella, walking side by side. The world outside was blurred by the rain, everything muted except for the sound of your shoes on the pavement and the occasional brush of his elbow against yours. It felt casual, but something about it—something about him—made your heart race in a way you couldn’t explain.

When you reached the library, you both stood under the awning for a second, the warmth of the building just inside. You were both still close, the air between you thick with unspoken things.

And that was when it happened.

Without saying a word, Jake leaned in just enough to let his breath ghost against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “If I walked you to class every day, would you still act like I’m invisible?” he whispered.

Your heart skipped, and you didn’t know how to respond. You didn’t know what to say, or what he was really offering. But you knew, in that moment, everything between you had shifted.

And you weren’t sure you were ready for it.

But you wanted to be.

You’d never seen Jake without his glasses.

The guy everyone knew—shy, reserved, a little awkward—was always framed by those round lenses. It was part of his quiet charm, the way they softened his features, how he hid behind them like a shield. No one really saw the guy underneath, the guy who barely made waves, who faded into the background of every class.

Until today.

You hadn’t expected this when you got the text. “Roommate’s out. You wanna come over?”

It wasn’t anything crazy. It could be a quiet hangout, maybe some late-night studying. But there was a strange feeling building in your stomach, something telling you that tonight might be different.

When you knocked on Jake’s door, you barely had time to brace yourself before it swung open.

And there he was.

Jake, standing there, no glasses. He was wearing contacts, and the difference hit you immediately. His eyes, normally hidden behind lenses, were now wide open, sharp, clear. They looked darker somehow, and for the first time, you saw something in them that wasn’t there before. Confidence. A kind of intensity that threw you off guard.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice smooth, low—nothing like the awkward, stuttering Jake you were used to.

“Hi,” you replied, unsure of what to say, suddenly aware of how close he was standing.

Jake stepped aside, letting you into the room. You took a quick look around—same dorm, but the vibe was different. The room was tidier than you expected, clean, almost meticulous. No clutter, no random piles of clothes or books. It felt… like a space where Jake had control, where things were on his terms.

“You can sit wherever,” Jake said, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. His posture was relaxed, but there was an edge to it now, something about the way he stood that was different from the usual quiet guy you saw on campus.

You sat on the edge of his bed, but you didn’t know where to look. His eyes were still on you, and the way he watched you made the air between you feel thick, charged.

He took his time, like he wasn’t in any rush. “You didn’t expect this, did you?” Jake’s voice was quieter now, almost like he was daring you to admit it.

You shifted slightly, trying to act casual, but it was hard. “No. I didn’t think you’d be like this.”

He smiled, but it wasn’t the kind of shy, soft smile you were used to. It was different. “Like what?”

You hesitated, but then shrugged. “I don’t know. More… sure of yourself. Less… nervous.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, and there was a flash of something dark in his eyes. “You think I’m nervous?”

You nodded slowly, testing him. “Yeah. I mean, you’ve always been… kind of quiet.”

Jake took a step closer, his expression unreadable now, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m not shy. Just don’t feel the need to put on a show for anyone. And I don’t think you’re stupid enough to believe I’m some clueless guy.”

You stayed silent, suddenly aware of how close he was now, how his presence filled up the space between you.

He was different tonight. No hesitation. No awkward stutter. Just… Jake. But the version of him that you never saw—sharp, self-assured, and unbothered by anything or anyone around him.

“Want to see how different I am?” he asked, his voice lowering, the question hanging in the air.

You barely had time to process before his fingers brushed your arm, the simple touch making your heart race. And just like that, you realized you weren’t ready for the change that was happening between you—but you were already in too deep to turn back.

You weren’t sure what you expected when you agreed to come over, but it wasn’t this.

Jake leaned against the wall in front of you, and for the first time, you felt a shift in the way he held himself, like there was something between you that wasn’t there before. His gaze didn’t flicker away from yours, and his posture was different. He was comfortable—too comfortable, and it made the room feel smaller, hotter.

You opened your mouth to say something, but Jake beat you to it, his voice low and steady. “You don’t look at me the same way you used to.”

Your chest tightened. “What do you mean?”

His smirk deepened. “You’re looking at me like you’re seeing me for the first time. Like I’m not just the quiet guy in the back of class.”

You tried to ignore the way his words made your pulse pick up speed. He was right, and it unsettled you more than you wanted to admit. The Jake you knew was always reserved, always hiding behind his quiet act. But the Jake in front of you now? He was different. More sure of himself. More… commanding.

Before you could find the right words, Jake pushed off the wall and closed the distance between you. He didn’t touch you at first, but you could feel the heat coming off him. You took a shallow breath, the air between you thick with tension.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

You shook your head, but you could feel the unease building in your stomach, creeping up your chest. It wasn’t nerves—it was something else. Something new. Something dangerous.

He seemed to sense it, that tiny shift in your energy, and it made him lean in closer. “You can admit it,” he whispered. “I won’t bite.”

Your lips parted slightly at the sound of his voice, thick and low. There was nothing innocent about him now. You could see it clearly. This wasn’t the guy who stumbled over his words or blushed at the slightest attention. This was a version of Jake you hadn’t been prepared for.

And now that you were seeing him—really seeing him—you weren’t sure you wanted to turn away.

Jake’s hand came up to touch your chin, his thumb brushing over your skin with purpose. He tilted your head slightly, studying you like you were a puzzle he was dying to solve. His touch was slow, deliberate, and it made every nerve in your body stand on edge.

“Do you like this?” he asked softly, his thumb tracing along your jawline. “Do you like seeing me like this?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you found yourself staring at him, watching how his eyes flickered with something darker, something that made your heart race in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“I don’t know,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jake’s smirk only grew, and before you could react, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t a soft kiss, the kind you were used to. It wasn’t gentle or cautious. No, this was different. This was hungry. It was messy. He kissed you like he’d been waiting for this moment, like he couldn’t wait any longer. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, his lips parting against yours as if he was trying to steal every breath from your lungs.

You let him. You let him pull you in, let him show you what he was capable of when there was no one around to see it.

When he pulled away, just enough to let you catch your breath, his eyes never left yours. There was something predatory in his gaze now, something that made your pulse race.

“You’ve been looking at me for a while,” Jake murmured, his breath warm against your lips. “You never thought I could be like this, did you?”

You swallowed hard, your mind scrambling for something to say, but all that came out was a shaky breath.

Jake smiled, that same smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll show you just how different I can be.”

And that was when you realized—there was no going back now.

Jake’s lips hovered just inches from yours, his breath mixing with yours, the tension in the air making every nerve in your body feel alive. His eyes were locked onto yours, and you could see the way he was waiting for you—waiting for you to decide how far you wanted to go, how far you were willing to let things shift.

You had never seen him like this. The quiet guy you knew had been replaced by someone far more confident, far more intense. His hand was still resting at the back of your neck, and the way his thumb traced small circles against your skin sent a shiver down your spine.

He didn’t kiss you again right away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying you, watching for any sign of hesitation, any sign that you weren’t ready. His thumb grazed your jaw again, this time a little firmer, almost as if he was marking his territory, making sure you knew he was in control now.

And then, without warning, he pressed his lips against yours again—but this time, the kiss was slower. It was deeper, more deliberate, as if he was savoring it. His other hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the heat of his body against yours.

You tried to breathe, but it was hard. It felt like the world was closing in around you, leaving only the two of you in that small, charged space. You couldn’t focus on anything except the way his lips moved against yours, the way his hands shifted, each touch sparking a new wave of heat in your body.

He pulled away just enough to speak, his voice low, gravelly. “I told you… I’m not the guy you thought I was.”

You nodded, your throat tight, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. You could barely process what was happening. Everything about this felt different, so different from anything you’d imagined. The shy, awkward Jake had been replaced by someone who wasn’t afraid to take what he wanted.

His lips trailed down to your neck, and the soft press of his mouth against your skin made your breath catch in your throat. He moved slowly, deliberately, his hands never straying far from you. The warmth of his touch spread through you, and you felt your body responding in ways you hadn’t expected.

“Jake,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper as his lips traced along your collarbone.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with something primal. “Tell me what you want baby?” His voice was barely audible, but it cut through the fog in your mind.

You didn’t know how to answer, not with words. You had never been this close to him, not like this, not with the air crackling between you like it was about to catch fire. The way the pet name slipped so easily from his mouth made your pussy clench around nothing. But the look in his eyes, the intensity of his gaze, made something stir inside you.

Without thinking, you leaned in again, your lips pressing against his. This time, there was no hesitation. You kissed him back, a little harder this time, both groaning into the kiss as if you were trying to prove something—prove that you were ready for whatever came next.

Jake didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands slid lower, around your waist, pulling you even closer. You felt the heat of his body against yours, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His hands were firm, confident as they explored the curve of your back, the tension in your muscles, the way your body responded to him. 

Every inch of space between you seemed to vanish, and soon there was nothing but the heat, the closeness, and the feeling of his hands on your skin.

For the first time, you weren’t sure if you were in control anymore—or if you ever had been.

Jake pulled away from the kiss, his breath ragged as he looked at you with that same intense gaze. There was something in his eyes—an unspoken challenge, a promise of something you couldn’t quite yet name. You could feel the tension building, heavy in the air between you, thickening with each second that passed.

He reached up slowly, his fingers brushing the collar of his shirt, and your heart skipped a beat as he pulled it over his head, revealing the smooth skin of his chest. The movement was casual, effortless, like he’d done it a thousand times before. His muscles shifted under his skin, the soft light of the room catching the contours of his body, and it was like everything about him felt real now—far more than you ever thought.

You couldn’t help but stare, your gaze tracing over the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. There was no trace of the shy, reserved guy from before. Instead, he stood there—bare, exposed—looking at you with a calm confidence that made your pulse race.

Jake didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His eyes spoke volumes as they flickered to yours, waiting for you to respond, to make the next move.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you took in the sight of him, suddenly feeling a shift, a hunger building within you that mirrored his own. It was a quiet power, a tension you could feel in your very bones.

Jake’s eyes never left yours as you stood there, frozen for a moment. The air felt thick, charged, as if time had slowed down, and the weight of his gaze made everything around you fade into the background.

He stepped toward you, his chest still bare, his body moving with a kind of fluid confidence that made your pulse spike. Each step he took seemed to make the space between you shrink, until you were once again within inches of him. He didn’t rush. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were savoring every moment.

“Do you want this?” he asked, his voice low, steady. The question hung in the air, but there was no hesitation in his tone—only the calm certainty of someone who knew exactly what they wanted.

Your throat tightened, and you nodded, though words seemed impossible to find. The only sound in the room was the quickening rhythm of your breath, mingling with his.

Jake’s hand reached for the hem of your shirt, his fingers grazing your skin as he lifted it, gently pulling it over your head. You let him, your heart pounding in your chest, your skin heating under his touch. He didn’t rush, his hands tracing the curves of your body with careful attention, like he was memorizing every inch of you.

When your shirt finally joined his on the floor, he stepped back slightly to take you in, his gaze sweeping over your exposed skin. His eyes darkened further, a look of quiet admiration in them, but there was something else there too—something predatory, possessive.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, the words low but full of meaning.

You could barely process what was happening, but the way he said it—like he was claiming you, and yet somehow honoring you at the same time—made your chest tighten. His hands were at your waist now, pulling you closer again, and his lips found the curve of your neck. He kissed you there softly, his mouth warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

As he kissed you, his hands moved lower, slowly, deliberately, until he was holding you, guiding you gently toward his bed. There was no rush, no urgency—just the feel of his strong hands, the weight of his body against yours, and the soft pressure of his lips as they trailed down to your collarbone.

Jake was taking his time, savoring the moments. He wanted you—he was showing you that much, but he was also letting you see a side of him that no one else got to experience.

And as he lowered you onto the bed, his lips never leaving your skin, you felt a kind of surrender that you couldn’t explain. He was confident, sure of every move he made. But so were you.

This was new. You were new.

Jake’s lips found the delicate curve of your neck, and you inhaled sharply as a wave of warmth flooded your body. His kisses were slow, teasing, each one leaving a faint, tingling trail on your skin. You could feel his breath against you, warm and steady, as he placed soft, lingering kisses along the sensitive spot beneath your ear.

His hands, still resting on your waist, tightened their grip slightly, pulling you closer to him. Every movement was deliberate, purposeful, as if he was in no rush to get anywhere, wanting to savor every moment.

“You’re such a good girl,” Jake murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough. The words sent a shiver down your spine, stirring something deep inside you. His praise, soft yet commanding, made your heart race even faster, the air between you growing thick with desire.

You couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped your lips, your body reacting to the way his voice made you feel—like you were exactly where you needed to be, like you were his.

Jake smiled against your neck, the words lingering in the air. “So good for me,” he whispered, his lips brushing the spot again. You could feel the confidence in his words, the way he was claiming the moment, claiming you. The heat that had been building between you both was undeniable now, and you knew, without a doubt, that this was no longer the shy, quiet guy from school.

This was Jake. The Jake who knew exactly what he wanted—and wasn’t afraid to take it.

The room felt smaller now, even with the space around you. The air was thick with a quiet tension, a sense of something inevitable hanging between you two. Jake was no longer standing across from you, maintaining that careful distance. He was close—too close—and it was clear that neither of you wanted to back away.

You could feel the pull of him, an invisible force that seemed to draw you in, making it impossible to ignore the heat that had been simmering between you both. You’d known this feeling, this desire, had been building for weeks. But now it was no longer just something you could push aside, something you could pretend wasn’t there.

“Do you trust me?” Jake’s voice was soft, but there was a weight to it, a seriousness that sent a ripple of excitement through you. He was close now, his chest nearly brushing yours, and the way he spoke made it clear he wasn’t just asking out of curiosity.

You nodded, unable to find your voice for a moment, the words lost in the heat of the moment. Jake smiled—genuine, a little wicked—and his hand reached out to guide you toward the desk.

The desk that had become a symbol of something you didn’t even fully understand yet. He placed his hands on your hips, his touch firm but not rough, leading you with careful, deliberate steps. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the edge of the desk against the back of your knees.

He stopped, his lips grazing the side of your neck as he whispered, “Stay still for me baby.”

There was an undeniable force in the way he held you, a promise in his words. Your pulse raced as your hands rested against the cool surface of the desk. The room was suddenly quieter, the sounds of your breaths louder than anything else.

Jake stood behind you, his chest pressed against your back. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his breath ghosted over your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. There was a certain thrill in knowing that he was completely in control, that he was in charge.

His hands moved with purpose, sliding from your hips up your sides, lingering over the curve of your waist, tracing slow circles over your ribs. You wanted to press back against him, to feel the weight of him against you, but something kept you still, some tiny shred of self-control.

Jake's hands moved higher, fingers trailing over your collarbone, and you couldn't help the soft gasp that escaped your lips. His touch was firm, possessive, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. You wanted to arch into him, to feel the weight of his body against yours, but you kept your hips planted against the desk, fighting the urge.

Jake's lips traced a path down your neck, and you could feel the smile on his face as he spoke, his voice low and rough. "You're doing so well for me," he murmured.

The words slipped out before you could stop them, your voice shaky and desperate, "I need to feel you-need your cock."

You could feel him smirk against your skin, his hands tracing slow, teasing circles over your hips. "You that desperate, you slut?" he scoffed, his words like a taunt, a challenge.

Jake's words sent heat coursing through your veins, the sound of your own whimpering catching you off guard. It was a sound of desperation, of need, and it betrayed a vulnerability you hadn't meant to show.

But he heard it. Of course he did. He was so close to you, his body pressed against yours, and there were no more secrets between you.

You could feel the anticipation building, the air around you thick with tension. Jake's hands moved with purpose, tugging at your skirt, and it came down in a swift motion, pooling around your ankles. He took a step back, giving you space, and for a moment, you were left standing in just your underwear.

Jake's eyes darkened as he watched you, the desire in his gaze unmistakable. He moved closer again, crowding you against the desk, and you could feel the heat radiating off his bare skin, the way it made your skin prickle with anticipation.

You looked back to see Jake stroking his already leaking cock, letting out a low groan in the process. You could feel a smirk form on his lips as he shoves your panties aside. “Jesus yn, you’re dripping.” His words brought a throbbing sensation to your pussy, a desperate whimper leaving your mouth. “Jake…please,” you begged. “I need to feel you.” The heat in your body was almost unbearable now, your words little more than a ragged breath as you plead with him, "Fuck, Jake." It was like all the thoughts had slipped away from you, replaced by a pulsing need.

Jake didn't hesitate. He was still gripping your hip with one hand, his other wrapping around your waist as he pulled you back against him. There was no more waiting, no more teasing. He was hard and ready, and you could feel it pressed against you, and you were slick and wanting, and you couldn't take it any longer.

With a low, guttural groan, Jake slammed his cock inside your soaked cunt in one motion, causing you both to let out the filthiest sound. 

“fuck, look at you,” jake groaned quietly, fingers spreading your ass apart. “such a filthy little thing, huh? letting me use that pussy mouth like it’s all you’re good for.”

his hand is tangled in your hair now, not tugging—just resting there, warm and heavy, like a crown you’ve earned. you try to stay quiet, knowing that the building has thin walls, spit pooling and dripping down your chin as your rhythm falters under the weight of his words. “Jake, it feels go good—“

“quiet,” he snaps softly, and your lashes flutter as you obey.

good. obedient. ruined.

“that’s it, baby. show me how good you are at taking my cock,” he says, voice almost tender if not for the filth of it. “can’t even breathe right, but you don’t care, do you? you love it too much. love being my perfect little toy.”

you whimper around him, and it makes his hips stutter. his thighs tense.

his control cracks just a little.

“god, you’re so good for me. fuck, baby—so fucking perfect.”

he grits his teeth, hand tightening just slightly in your hair. “no one else gets to see you like this. no one else can. only me.”

your jaw aches. your throat burns. but still, you don’t stop. “this pussy is made for me,” he continued, throwing his head back. “Fucking made for me yn.”

Jake was losing control, his words coming out in sharp breaths. He'd never spoken to you like this before, never so openly, so shamelessly filthy. Your mind was reeling, the sensations overwhelming as he took what he wanted from you, his words only fueling your own desire.

“J-Jake- too much.” you whisper cry to him. He giggles a bit, only looking at you the whole time. “And you love it.” he grabs onto your waist gently. 

You help fuck yourself on him a bit faster and he lets out a groan. “You’re so tight around me.. y/n..” he thinks he hasn’t stretched you out enough beforehand. “We can.. do it..” you say, already out of breath.

You spread your legs a bit more, releasing a bit of tension on him. You succeed taking on his big cock, whilst using his shoulders as handles. “You’re taking it so good..” he whispers. You go faster at his praises.

He’s been stretching you out for a while now, and it definitely got easier over time. The slight discomfort turned into satisfying pleasure for you. His swollen tip hits your g-spot every single time, making you want to cum right there. However, he’s been wanting to finish ever since you started. You feel so good wrapped around him he’s surprised he hasn’t let out any further moan yet. 

His hips move faster again, getting closer to cumming again. Your puffy cunt is crying at this point, while you let out a slight moan with every thrust. You keep going for a bit before, before rolling your eyes back to cum. “I’m— gonna… I… oh m… Jake..” you struggle. 

You don’t get to say anything—your body gives out before your voice can even catch up. Your thighs tremble around him, and you’re a mess in his lap, clinging to him like he’s the only thing grounding you. The sound you let out is raw, louder than before, and Jake just leans back in his chair, watching you fall apart with that smug, wrecked grin of his.

His hands tighten around your waist, keeping you moving even as your body begs for mercy. He’s not letting go—not yet.

“You’re not done,” he mutters low against your throat, lips brushing your skin. “Not until I say so.”

You try to respond, but it’s all heat and haze now. Your chest presses against his as your head drops to his shoulder, and he doesn’t stop—he guides you through every slow grind, every twitch of your body that draws another gasp from your lips. His voice is rough, breathless, right in your ear.

Then his body jerks beneath you, and the way he holds you after—tight, possessive—tells you everything you need to know. His hand slides up your back as you both sit there, the room thick with the aftermath, your bodies still tangled.

You think it’s over. You think maybe now he’ll let you breathe.

But then his grip shifts, and he pulls you right back down onto him, your body jolting at the sudden contact.

A gasp leaves you, and his laugh—low and dangerous—rumbles against your collarbone. “Still so sensitive,” he teases, brushing your hair back as he presses a kiss just below your ear. “Thought you could handle me.”

Your arms drape around his neck again, head buried against his skin, and all you can do is hold on. You kiss the sweat-slicked curve of his jaw, trying to catch your breath while he stays buried deep, unmoving, content to just keep you there—full, overwhelmed, and completely his.

And with one hand still steady on your hip, Jake casually slides his chair back toward his desk, like it’s just another night—like you’re not still trembling on top of him.

Just before he grabs his headset, he whispers, “You should hear yourself.”

By the time you got back to class Monday morning, it was like nothing had ever happened. Or at least, that’s how Jake made it seem.

There he was, slouched in his usual seat at the back of the lecture hall, hoodie half-zipped, glasses perched slightly crooked on the bridge of his nose. He was typing away at his laptop like he hadn’t just had you moaning his name into the crook of his neck two nights ago, skin flushed, bodies tangled.

He glanced up as you walked in. His eyes found yours for a second too long—and then he looked away, pretending to be distracted by something on his screen. You swore you saw the corner of his mouth twitch, like he was fighting a smile.

You took your seat a few rows ahead of him, and a minute later, you felt the faintest buzzin your pocket.

“I had fun.”

You turned around. He was staring at his laptop like he hadn’t just texted you that. Like he hadn’t just ruined you on that same voice he used to answer class questions with a stutter.

Jake was still quiet in public, still awkward. He still pushed up his glasses too often and knocked over his water bottle when reaching for his pen. But now, there was a glint in his eyes every time he looked at you. A silent smugness. A private joke only the two of you knew the punchline to.

And when your professor called on him to answer a question, and he stumbled over the words “data structure,” turning slightly pink, you thought—no one else in this room had a clue. No one knew that he’d whispered “stay still for me” against your skin like a command. That the same clumsy guy blushing in front of the class had told you with a dark smirk, “such a good girl, you took me so well.”

You looked over your shoulder again. Jake met your eyes, and this time, he didn’t look away. Just popped a piece of gum into his mouth, chewing slow, gaze steady. And then he winked.

You almost dropped your pen.

You tried to keep it to yourself—you really did. But your friends had spent the last ten minutes at your table giggling over Jake like he was some weird cryptid.

“I checked his Instagram again,” Yuna said, sipping her iced coffee. “He lost a follower. And he posted a blurry picture of a squirrel once.”

“Do you think he even knows how to use Instagram?” Soojin added, snorting. “He gives off ‘my mom made this account for me’ energy.”

You bit your lip, trying not to smile too hard.

“What?” Yuna asked, eyes narrowing at you. “Why are you smiling like that? Don’t tell me you actually think he’s hot.”

“I don’t think he’s hot,” you said slowly, stirring your drink.

They leaned in.

You sighed, leaning back in your seat, glancing over your shoulder out of habit.

“Okay,” you whispered. “This doesn’t leave this table.”

Yuna and Soojin practically vibrated with anticipation.

“I went to his dorm,” you started, voice low. “A few nights ago. His roommate was gone. And he wasn’t wearing glasses. He had contacts in. And he—” you hesitated, heartbeat picking up. “He was acting completely differnt. And we kinda.. you know.”

Yuna let out a dramatic gasp. “No way.”

Soojin cackled. “Shut up. Jake? Jake Sim and y/n fucked?”

You nodded slowly, lips twitching.

“And?” Yuna prompted. “And? What, did he trip over his desk accidentally slip his dick into you?”

You hesitated. “We, uh… no…”

Both of their jaws dropped—and then they burst into laughter.

“No, no, you’re joking,” Soojin said, leaning into Yuna for support. “Jake? Jake had you—what, bent over his gaming chair while his twelve Instagram followers cheered him on?”

“I’m serious,” you said, laughing despite yourself. “He’s not—he’s not how you think he is. Not when we’re alone.”

“Okay, now you’re just making it sound like he’s Batman,” Yuna snorted. “By day, he’s a bio major with a screen protector on his calculator. By night—”

“Hey.” A voice cut in behind you.

You froze.

Yuna’s eyes widened.

Soojin slapped a hand over her mouth.

You turned your head slowly—Jake was standing there, tray in hand, his expression unreadable. His glasses were on, hoodie loose, hair a little messy like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“Hi,” he said, voice calm, like he hadn’t just caught you mid-confession.

You blinked up at him. “Jake.”

He looked at your friends, then back at you. “You forgot your charger last night.”

He placed it next to your drink, eyes flicking down to your hand for half a second.

“Thanks,” you said, voice quiet.

Jake gave you a lazy smile—barely there, but you knew it. You knew that look now. He turned, walked away like nothing happened, headphones already around his neck.

You turned back to your friends.

Their mouths were hanging open.

“…You’re not joking,” Yuna said flatly.

“I told you,” you whispered, trying—and failing—to hide the grin pulling at your lips.

Your friends were still frozen, processing, as Jake walked off toward the other end of the café like he hadn’t just detonated a bomb and left you to deal with the aftermath. He didn’t look back, but the slow, smug drag of his steps made it very clear—he knew exactly what he was doing.

“I…” Yuna blinked. “Was that your charger?”

You nodded, sipping your drink to hide your smirk.

Soojin finally found her voice. “Did he say last night?”

You nodded again, this time a little slower.

Both of them let out the most synchronized gasps you’d ever heard in your life.

“Girl,” Yuna whispered, leaning across the table like she was afraid someone would overhear, “what the hell is going on? That’s not even—Jake? Like, Jake Sim? He’s—he’s a meme. We literally made a Bingo card of the number of times he trips in the hallway!”

“Yeah,” you said, unable to stop the warmth in your cheeks. “And apparently, he’s also capable of blowing my back out while explaining the difference between RAM and ROM.”

Soojin shrieked. “Stop!”

You were laughing now, the kind that bubbles up and won’t stop. It was ridiculous. All of it. And yet, every time you thought about the way he kissed you—like he knew what he was doing, like he’d been waiting for the right moment to show you—you felt your knees threaten to give out.

“Okay,” Yuna said, gripping your arm. “So, wait. Is he, like… your boyfriend now? Or is this just an elite phase?”

You opened your mouth—then closed it again.

You hadn’t even thought that far.

Jake hadn’t said anything official. No labels. No talks. Just quiet texts. A stolen charger. A wink in lecture. And the memory of him whispering in your ear, voice low and breathless, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“I don’t know,” you admitted honestly. “But I don’t think this is just a one-time thing.”

At that exact moment, your phone buzzed again.

“also, I meant every word I said to you”

Your head snapped up. Across the room, Jake was seated with his laptop open, headset slung around his neck, biting into a sandwich like the most innocent man alive.

Your stomach flipped.

This menace. This liar. This actor.

Your thumbs hovered over the screen, a mix of embarrassment and fondness curling in your chest.

“you’re actually evil”

“i hate you”

“i hate that i don’t hate you”

A beat passed.

“you’re cute when you fluster. wanna come over after chem?”

Your friends didn’t even need to ask who you were texting. They saw your face and groaned in unison.

And for once, you didn’t even deny it.

Jake was a master of the double life. You didn’t know how he did it, but it was like he could flip a switch whenever he stepped foot in the hallways of the university.

In class? A complete disaster.

The shy, bumbling guy you’d always seen—his glasses slipping down his nose, tripping over his own feet as he made his way to his desk. He’d stammer when he spoke to the professor, barely making eye contact with anyone, and was always the first to look down at his phone when group discussions came up. The Jake everyone saw was awkward, quiet, and somehow endearing in his nerdy way. The one who sat by himself in the cafeteria, fiddling with his notebook, hoping no one would notice him.

And yet, you knew. You knew there was something more beneath that awkward exterior. Something darker, something confident. You’d seen it for yourself, just two nights ago. The quiet guy who barely spoke a word in class had turned into a completely different person behind closed doors.

But here, in the hallway, between classes, you wouldn’t have been able to guess that same Jake was the one who had you shivering under his touch, whispering praises into your ear like he owned you.

You were walking past his usual spot in the library when you caught him fumbling with a stack of books, his face scrunched up in concentration. He didn’t notice you at first, too focused on his task. But when he looked up, the usual blush crept up his neck, and his mouth opened, but no words came out.

“Hi,” you said casually, a teasing grin tugging at the corner of your mouth. “You need help with those?”

He gave a nervous laugh, adjusting his glasses and dropping the books onto the table like his hands suddenly didn’t know how to hold them anymore. “Uh, yeah, no, I—um, I got it. Thanks, though.”

You could barely contain your laughter. Here he was, this guy who had literally whispered praises in your ear only days ago, looking like a total mess in front of you. He couldn’t even manage eye contact without turning an embarrassing shade of pink.

“So,” you said, leaning against the bookshelf beside him, your arms casually crossed. “You been doing any more squirrel photography lately?”

Jake froze, his face flushing deeper. “Uh, n-no,” he stammered, grabbing his books a little too quickly. “I— I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It was like watching a completely different person. Gone was the guy who had held you close, kissed you with authority. Gone was the guy who made you forget everything when his lips were on your neck. Now, he was just a bumbling mess, avoiding your eyes, looking everywhere but at you.

“You’re so weird,” you teased lightly. “You know, I’ve been wondering… is it really the glasses, or is it the awkwardness? Which one is the real you?”

Jake opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He just looked at you, a mixture of embarrassment and—was that a hint of guilt? Like he had a secret he didn’t want anyone to know.

“Never mind,” you said with a smirk, walking away from him. “Keep up the good work, loser.”

You could feel him watching you, probably frozen in place, but you didn’t care. It was almost unbelievable how different he could act when it was just the two of you alone in a room. The guy who couldn’t make it through a simple conversation in public had turned into the man who made you forget your own name when he had his hands on you.

But for now, all you could do was shake your head and laugh, marveling at how Jake was pulling off his double life—completely clueless and completely in control, all at once.

The cafeteria went silent the moment you walked past your usual table and headed straight for his.

Jake was sitting alone, as usual—tray of barely-touched food in front of him, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands like he was trying to disappear into himself. He was hunched over his phone, earbuds in, completely unaware of the social earthquake that was about to hit.

You plopped down across from him without warning.

His head snapped up. He blinked, startled. “Wh—uh… hey?”

Conversations around you dipped, and you could feel the whispers starting. Not subtle ones either. Real, full-body turns. Eyes darting. Forks pausing mid-air. People whispering you’re joking, is that Y/N? and she’s sitting with him?

You just smiled, opening your drink like this was the most normal thing in the world. “Relax,” you said, lowering your voice and leaning forward just a little. “You’re acting like I just declared war on the entire social order.”

He pushed his glasses up and blinked a few times. “You… you don’t usually—uh, sit here.”

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’. “But today I felt like sitting with my favorite academic weapon slash secret menace.”

Jake choked on his water.

You grinned. “Also, I think I’ve figured you out.”

He swallowed hard. “F-Figured me out?”

“Yup.” You tilted your head at him, keeping your voice low and teasing. “I think your glasses are what activate your awkward personality. Like a switch. You wear them? Jake the human embodiment of a shy turtle. You take them off? Boom. Total menace.”

His ears turned pink. He scratched the back of his neck, trying to look casual but failing completely. “They’re prescription…”

“And yet they’re also your disguise,” you smirked.

Around you, the buzz of conversation slowly picked back up. Everyone was still sneaking glances, but they were getting bored now that you weren’t making out on the table or confessing your love with a boombox overhead. One by one, people returned to their own lunches.

And that’s when he looked up at you—and really looked.

The second your audience was gone, the timid act melted off his face like it had never existed. His back straightened. His expression shifted, eyes sharpening just a little, mouth tugging into that familiar slow smirk that made your stomach flip.

“You like the glasses?” he asked, voice lower now, smooth and lazy.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden switch.

He leaned forward on his elbows, gaze steady and annoyingly smug. “You think that’s what keeps me from bending you over this table right now?”

You nearly choked on your drink.

“There’s the menace,” you muttered, eyes narrowing as your pulse spiked.

Jake smiled like he’d just won something. “You came to my table, remember?”

“And now I’m questioning everything.”

He laughed under his breath, picking up a fry from his tray and tossing it into his mouth like he had all the time in the world.

“Too late,” he said, chewing. “You already made your choice. Better hope no one figures out what I look like without the glasses.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you threatening me?”

He grinned. “I’m warning you.”

And just like that, he went back to sipping his water, glasses slipping again, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. Back to harmless, quiet Jake.

But you knew better now.

So did he.

You were two seconds away from dragging Jake by the collar.

He sat stiffly next to you on the couch, surrounded by your friends, looking like someone who’d just been dropped into a completely foreign dimension. His hoodie was zipped all the way up to his neck, hands tucked into his sleeves, legs pressed together like he was trying to take up the least amount of space possible.

Your friends were trying. God bless them, they were.

“So, Jake,” Yuna said, passing him a slice of pizza. “What are you majoring in again?”

Jake blinked. “Um. Bio.”

Silence.

Soojin tried to jump in. “Cool! Are you doing like, pre-med or something?”

Jake stared at the pizza in his lap like it personally offended him. “No.”

You gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs. He flinched. “I, uh… I just like cells.”

More silence.

You shot him a look.

Jake gave a weak smile. “Cells are nice.”

You excused yourself to the kitchen before your soul could physically leave your body from secondhand embarrassment. Jake followed, like a lost puppy—but once the two of you were out of earshot, you whirled on him.

“Are you serious right now?”

Jake blinked innocently. “What?”

“You’re acting like a scared freshman at their first club meeting. Can you just…” You groaned, tugging him by the sleeve. “Be normal. Be you. The you that had me on my knees last weekend.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You want me to flirt with your friends?”

You narrowed your eyes. “I want you to act like you’re not a socially-anxious squirrel.”

He leaned against the counter with a little too much confidence now. “Babe, I already got what I wanted. I don’t need to charm your friends.”

You stepped closer, lowering your voice. “If you keep acting like a brick wall, I swear to god I’m not giving you head again.”

Jake blinked.

Then he straightened.

“You wouldn’t.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

There was a moment of silence. He stared at you like you’d just ripped the moon from the sky and thrown it in his face.

And then—he sighed dramatically. “Fine.”

You watched him walk back into the living room, a defeated slump in his shoulders. But right before he sat down again, he glanced back at you and mouthed, rude.

You just smiled sweetly.

You watched him march right back into the living room like a man on a mission. No hoodie shielding his face, no sleeves hiding his hands—Jake dropped onto the couch next to Yuna like he belonged there. Like he hadn’t just been threatening to pretend he didn’t know the English language five minutes ago.

“So,” he said casually, draping one arm along the back of the couch. “Y/N tells me you guys stalked my Instagram.”

Your head snapped up.

Yuna blinked, caught. “W-What?”

Jake smirked. “Twelve followers and still managed to bag your friend. Pretty impressive, right?”

Your jaw dropped.

Soojin choked on her drink.

Yuna looked like she’d just short-circuited.

“I mean, I don’t post thirst traps or anything,” Jake continued, tone light but clearly enjoying himself. “Y/n says I should.”

You were frozen. You hadn’t even known he could talk in complete sentences around your friends, let alone roast them.

He glanced at you mid-sentence, lips twitching. “What? You said be normal.”

“This is not what I meant by normal,” you hissed under your breath.

Jake only smiled wider.

“I mean,” he said louder now, eyes gleaming, “Y/N didn’t really stand a chance. She was obsessed with me from the moment she saw me trip over a recycling bin.”

You stared at him, half-horrified, half-impressed. The duality of this man was actually insane.

“You’re the worst,” you muttered, but your voice was shaking with barely contained laughter.

He leaned back on the couch, one leg crossed over the other like he’d been doing this all his life. “I prefer ‘underrated.’”

Soojin blinked at you, stunned. “Is this the same Jake?”

“Sadly,” you deadpanned.

Jake stretched his arms overhead, smirking like he’d just won something. “Told you. Glasses on—loser. Glasses off?” He looked at you over the rim of his drink. “Problem.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

Because he was right.

The conversation shifted, but Jake didn’t shrink back like he normally would. In fact, he leaned in. Tossed out a few sarcastic remarks, made a joke about the weird guy in your chem lecture, and even stole a fry off Yuna’s plate like he’d known her for years.

You sat there stunned, barely able to process the whiplash of it all.

At one point, Soojin gave you a look—eyebrows raised, lips parted like girl…—and you just blinked back, equally bewildered.

Jake caught the exchange, of course. He always did. He leaned over toward you, his voice dropping low, just for you to hear.

“Still mad at me?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You didn’t look at him. “You’re skating on very thin ice.”

He chuckled softly. “You threatening me again?”

You smirked, finally glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “I don’t threaten, Jake. I warn.”

That seemed to only encourage him. “You know I love when you talk like that.”

You elbowed him under the table, but he didn’t even flinch—just grinned like the menace he was.

Eventually, your friends began packing up their things, saying goodbye, and heading out one by one. Jake stayed close beside you, still riding the high of finally breaking his “awkward loner” act in public.

As the room cleared, he bumped your shoulder lightly. “So… did I do good?”

You stared at him. “You did too good.”

He raised a brow, amused. “Jealous?”

“No,” you scoffed, gathering your stuff. “More like terrified of the monster I just unleashed.”

Jake slung his bag over his shoulder, his grin never fading. “Told you. You’re the one who wanted me to be social. You made this happen.”

You paused at the doorway, giving him a long look. “You’re still not getting head tonight.”

He laughed, following close behind you. “Liar.”

God help you—he was right again.

Jake walked you back to your dorm with a bounce in his step, like he hadn’t just caused a minor social earthquake in your friend group. You kept glancing over at him, trying to find even a trace of the shy, fumbling version of him your friends had always known—but nope. Gone. Completely replaced by this smug, way-too-proud-of-himself creature strutting beside you like he’d just won an Oscar.

“You seriously said ‘bagged your friend,’” you muttered, shaking your head.

Jake shrugged, completely unapologetic. “I was being honest.”

“You’re impossible.”

He smirked, leaning closer so his shoulder bumped yours. “But you love me anyway.”

Your heart did a weird little skip, but you masked it with a scoff. “Mm, debatable.”

He laughed, but you could tell he noticed the way your ears flushed. Jake always noticed. Which made it all the more dangerous when he decided to push.

“You sure?” he said lowly, glancing at you sideways. “Because if I remember correctly, few nights ago you were practically begging—”

You slapped a hand over his mouth before he could finish. “Don’t you dare say that sentence out loud.”

Jake’s laughter vibrated against your palm, and he licked it just to be annoying.

“Jake!”

“What?” he said, completely unbothered, mouth curling into that damn smile again. “I’m just saying, you seemed pretty in love with me when you were—”

“I swear to god, I won’t let you cum tonight.”

He grinned. “Still wouldn’t change what happened on my desk.”

You groaned, unlocking your door and stepping inside, not even bothering to push him out. He followed like he lived there, already dropping his bag on your floor and toeing off his shoes.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” you muttered, tossing your jacket on the chair, “but I kinda miss socially awkward Jake.”

Jake leaned against your desk—the very one he had completely ruined you on—crossing his arms with a smug tilt of his head.

“I’ll bring him back next time we’re around your friends,” he said sweetly. “Wouldn’t want to scare anyone.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re the worst.”

He took a slow step toward you. “And yet…”

You backed up until the backs of your knees hit your bed. Jake caged you in without touching you, just that cocky little smirk inches from your mouth.

“…you keep letting me in.”

Your breath hitched.

You hated how right he was.

He didn’t even have to touch you—just standing there, close enough to fog up your brain, was enough to make your breath catch. That same smug little smirk tugged at the corner of his lips like he knew. (And he did. He always did.)

You crossed your arms, trying to look unaffected. “We’re not doing anything tonight.”

Jake tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Didn’t say we were.”

“You were thinking it.”

He grinned. “Can’t a guy hang out with his girlfriend without being accused of crimes?”

You blinked. “Your what?”

Jake froze for half a second—just enough to catch it—then played it off with a shrug, looking entirely too casual. “You. My girlfriend.”

“Jake,” you said slowly, “we haven’t even been on a date yet.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Okay, and?”

You stared at him.

He held your gaze, deadpan. “We’ve had sex on your desk.”

Your mouth opened, then shut again. He just kept going.

“I’ve had my tongue in you. Multiple times. You think a coffee date is gonna make it moreofficial?”

You smacked his shoulder, cheeks burning. “You’re insane.”

Jake smiled, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. “You’re stuck with me now. Might as well give me the title.”

You rolled your eyes, but your hands found the hem of his hoodie anyway, fingers curling there.

“This better not mean I have to start posting you on my story.”

“Oh no,” he teased. “Anything but that.”

You sighed. “Fine. One date. But you’re planning it.”

Jake smirked, already way too pleased with himself. “Good. I was gonna make you fall in love with me anyway.”

It became… a problem.

First it was your friends catching you two making out in the library stacks. Then it was the quad. Then the empty art building stairwell. At one point, Yuna dramatically threatened to carry a spray bottle in her bag just to spritz you both like misbehaving cats.

You tried to tone it down. Really. But Jake had this stupid, unfair ability to get under your skin with just one look. One whisper. One brush of his hand against your lower back when no one was watching.

And then there was the incident. The one no one dared to speak about—but everyone knew.

You’d followed Jake into the men’s washroom between lectures, heart pounding, brain nowhere near your upcoming lab. One minute you were teasing him red, leaking tip with minor kitty licks, the next—A very unfortunate and traumatized TA walked in at the exact wrong time.

To this day, you’re not sure who was more horrified: you, Jake, or the TA who immediately did a full 180 and walked straight back out without a word.

Jake couldn’t stop laughing. You couldn’t show your face in that building for a week.

Now every time you pass that hallway, he leans in with a whisper and a smug, “Wanna relive the glory days?”

You elbow him. Hard. But your ears still burn.

Because the worst part? You absolutely do.

You hadn’t even had a chance to settle into the cozy atmosphere of a movie night with Jake, Sunghoon, and Sunoo before everything went to hell.

It was supposed to be a simple night. You, Jake, and his friends, chilling on the couch, watching some random movie Sunghoon picked out after a few too many awkward silences. You’d been mentally preparing yourself for this, maybe even looking forward to getting to know his friends better. You’d heard so much about them, and Sunoo had been sending you memes for weeks now, always so sweet and teasing.

But instead of a normal movie night, you ended up on Jake’s lap with your lips pressed to his, unable to hold back as he slipped his hands beneath your hoodie. Your fingers were tangled in his hair, and you completely forgot about the stupid film Sunghoon had started. All that mattered was the heat building between you and Jake, the sound of his breath against your mouth, the way he was slowly getting bolder, moving his lips to your neck—

And then, the unmistakable sound of a throat clearing from across the room.

You froze, eyes widening, and pulled back from Jake just as Sunghoon and Sunoo exchanged awkward glances.

“Well,” Sunghoon said, adjusting his glasses with a little too much casualness, “This is… an interesting way to start a movie night.”

You sat up quickly, heart racing. “We—uh, we weren’t—”

Sunoo cut you off with a laugh that had a slightly knowing edge to it. “Don’t worry, I’ve seen worse. But wow, didn’t think I’d be walking in on this so soon.”

You could feel your face heating up, but Jake, the menace, only smirked, his arm still casually draped around you. “I was just showing her how comfortable the couch is. Isn’t it nice, babe?”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow at that, glancing between you two. “Comfortable, huh? Good to know.”

Sunoo chuckled. “I guess I’m glad we finally got a front-row seat to Jake’s ‘split personality.’” His voice dropped to an exaggerated whisper, adding, “Who knew the shy, awkward guy could get so… intense.”

You looked at Jake, whose eyes were practically glowing with mischief. You knew exactly what that meant.

“I told you guys,” Jake said, sliding his fingers through your hair, his voice low and smooth. “She’s got me wrapped around her finger. Not just with the whole ‘studious boyfriend’ act.”

Sunghoon chuckled and shook his head. “I’m just here for the popcorn, but whatever you guys are doing, you’re definitely ruining the vibe of the movie.”

You swore you could feel the heat radiating from your face, but Jake was entirely too smug, his hand never leaving your waist. “Movie’s overrated anyway,” he said with a wink. “Better company right here.”

The tension in the room was palpable, but somehow, you knew this was just the beginning. Jake wasn’t about to stop teasing you in front of his friends, and now they definitely knew what he was like when he wasn’t playing the quiet, shy guy.

It had been exactly one month since you and Jake made things official, and somewhere along the way, he had somehow charmed all your friends.

Yuna, especially.

What started off as teasing glances and snarky comments turned into him greeting her with “What’s up, my other girl?” in front of literally everyone—like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You’d laughed the first time. Sort of.

The second time, your smile was tight.

By the third, you didn’t even look at him. Just turned around, grabbed your bag, and left without a word. The silence that followed was deafening.

He texted. Called. Showed up at your dorm with snacks, guilty puppy-dog eyes, and one of your hoodies you’d accidentally left at his place.

You didn’t budge.

Not when he spammed you with voice memos or when he got Sunoo to send you dramatic apologies on his behalf. Not even when Yuna told you that Jake had asked herhow to fix it, which was ironic in the most painful way possible.

A week passed. You were starting to miss him—his touch, his stupid jokes, the way he looked at you like you hung stars in his sky—but you were petty, and prideful, and notabout to forgive him over something as dumb as a nickname that made your stomach twist.

But Jake knew you. And Jake never lost.

The night you finally gave in, he showed up to your dorm without a word, eyes dark, hands careful. He didn’t ask if he could stay. Just got down on his knees, pulled you to the edge of the bed, and showed you how sorry he was.

You didn’t even realize your fingers were tangled in his hair, hips shaking as he flicked your clit around with his tongue, breath caught somewhere between a moan and a sob.

By the time he looked up, lips swollen, pupils blown wide, your legs were trembling and you couldn’t remember what planet you were on.

“Still mad at me?” he asked, voice hoarse, a little smug, but mostly sincere.

You tried to speak, failed. All you could do was blink down at him.

He kissed the inside of your thigh. “Good. Because you’re my only girl.”

And yeah—he won. Again.

The next morning, Jake acted like nothing happened.

He was sprawled across your tiny dorm bed, hair a mess, hoodie half-off his shoulder, munching on the cereal you kept strictly for late-night study stress. Like he hadn’t just given you an out-of-body experience twelve hours ago.

You stood at the mirror brushing your hair, shooting him a look through the reflection. “You’re really just gonna sit there like you didn’t have me literally sobbing last night?”

Jake grinned around a spoonful of cereal. “I figured you forgave me when you couldn’t feel your legs after.”

You tossed a hair tie at him. He dodged, laughing.

“You’re lucky I didn’t call you a cab,” you said, turning back around.

“I am lucky,” he said, voice lower now, more serious, “but not just for that.”

You paused. Met his eyes.

Jake set the bowl aside and stood up, crossing the room to wrap his arms around your waist from behind. His chin rested on your shoulder, voice soft. “I’m sorry for the Yuna thing. I thought I was being funny. I didn’t realize it hurt you.”

You didn’t respond right away. He held you tighter.

“You know I only want you, right?”

You nodded, finally. “You’re still an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “But I’m your idiot.”

You rolled your eyes, but leaned into him anyway, the tension finally melting.

Later that day, Yuna raised an eyebrow as you walked into the café together, hand-in-hand with Jake.

“Back from the dead?” she teased.

Jake smirked. “Had to perform a little resurrection.”

You buried your face in your drink. Yuna just laughed.

“Oh god,” she muttered. “Don’t tell me it was head.”

Jake shot her a look. “Mind-blowing head.”

You choked.

“Please stop speaking,” you begged.

Jake just kissed your cheek and pulled you closer.

You really were doomed.

You’d completely forgotten your parents were in town until you got the text while Jake was still whispering absolute filth into your ear in the café line.

[Mom]: Just landed. So excited to see you, sweetie! Brunch tomorrow? Bring your boyfriend!

You choked on your iced americano so violently Jake had to pat your back.

“Everything okay?” he asked, smirking like he already knew it wasn’t.

You turned your phone around to show him the message.

He blinked. “Wait. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Like—your parents tomorrow?”

“Yes, Jake. My parents. Brunch. You. Me. And them.”

He stared at you for a full three seconds, then grinned. “I’ve already got the button-up shirt in mind.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re way too calm about this.”

“I’m amazing with parents.”

“You’re amazing at pretending to be someone’s quiet, innocent boyfriend. That’s not the same.”

Jake leaned in, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Don’t worry, baby. They’ll love me.”

“You’re gonna wear your glasses, right?”

“Obviously.”

“Act like you’ve never touched me.”

“Sweetheart, I’ll act like I don’t even know what a woman is.”

You snorted, already stressed. “This is going to be a disaster.”

Jake pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Nah. I’m gonna charm them. Just like I charmed you.”

You turned to give him a look. “You charmed me by blowing my back out in a library storage room, Jake.”

“Exactly,” he said, way too proud.

You groaned.

Tomorrow could not come fast—or end—soon enough.

The next morning, Jake showed up ten minutes early to your dorm, looking like he’d walked straight out of a K-drama.

Crisp white button-up, hair brushed neatly off his forehead, his glasses perfectly in place—he even brought your mom’s favorite pastries, like he’d been studying your family’s group chat for weeks.

“You look…” You blinked, slowly dragging your gaze down his outfit. “So well-behaved.”

Jake smirked, tucking the pastry box under one arm and reaching for your hand. “Don’t worry. I left the demon version of me in your sheets.”

You nearly tripped on the way out the door.

Your parents were already waiting at the little brunch spot downtown, and as soon as your mom saw you, she lit up—then caught sight of Jake behind you and blinked like she was seeing a puppy dressed in a tuxedo.

“This is Jake?” she asked, already halfway through hugging him. “You’re even cuter than she said!”

Jake laughed, soft and shy, adjusting his glasses. “Thank you, ma’am. It’s really nice to meet you.”

You sat stiffly across from them, fully prepared for the absolute chaos that was surely coming, but Jake? He played the role like he’d been training for it all his life.

He complimented your mom’s earrings. Asked your dad smart, boring questions about work. Even waited until you were done speaking before cutting into his food.

It was unsettling.

“Jake’s in my organic chem lecture,” you said at one point, trying to keep the conversation neutral.

“Oh, is he any good?” your dad asked.

Jake smiled bashfully. “She usually tutors me, actually. I’m a bit hopeless when it comes to chemistry.”

You almost choked on your orange juice.

Your mom beamed. “I love that. I always told her she’d be such a good teacher.”

Jake nodded sincerely, resting his hand on your knee under the table, subtle and grounding. “She’s been teaching me a lot.”

Your stomach flipped for a very different reason.

By the end of brunch, your mom was begging him to come over for dinner “next time we visit,” and your dad gave him a shoulder pat like he’d just been accepted into the family.

As soon as you were out of earshot, walking back toward campus, you smacked his arm. “You manipulative little bitch!”

Jake grinned, holding up the box of leftover pastries like a trophy. “They love me.”

“You were lying through your teeth!”

Jake shrugged. “It’s not lying if I really do think you’re amazing at teaching me things. Like patience. Self-control.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re a menace.”

“And yet,” he said, stepping in close, voice low in your ear, “your mom just called me boyfriend material.”

You shoved him. “You are never seeing my parents again.”

“Sure, baby. You tell yourself that.”

And yeah, fine—he was boyfriend material. Just not the kind your parents had any idea about.

That night, you laid in bed scrolling through your messages while Jake sat cross-legged at the foot, shamelessly eating the last of the leftover pastries your mom had insisted he take.

Your phone buzzed again.

[Mom]: He’s adorable. Polite, smart, and that accent?? Keeper.

You rolled your eyes so hard your soul almost left your body.

Jake leaned over your shoulder. “What’d she say now?”

You turned the screen toward him. He read it, then bit into a croissant like he’d just won a championship.

“I am polite. And smart. And my voice is sexy, apparently.”

You deadpanned. “You’re a literal demon. With glasses.”

Jake leaned down and nuzzled against your neck with the fakest innocence he could muster. “You weren’t saying that when I was—”

You slapped a hand over his mouth. “No. My mom said ‘keeper.’ Don’t make me reevaluate.”

He laughed into your palm, biting it lightly before you yanked it back. He flopped onto the bed beside you, stretching out with a satisfied sigh like he’d just wrapped up a performance of a lifetime.

“I could get used to this,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded. “Winning over your friends, seducing your parents…”

“Manipulating the entire population,” you muttered.

Jake turned his head, smirking. “But only for you.”

You tried not to melt. You really did. But then he pulled you down beside him, arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you into the warm curve of his body.

“You know,” he whispered, voice dropping back into that cocky, devastating register, “your parents think I’m this sweet, respectful, glasses-wearing boyfriend who can’t even pass chem without your help.”

You blinked up at him, breath catching.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “And they’ll never know what their daughter sounds like when she’s underneath me, begging.”

You slapped his chest with a muffled laugh, face buried in his shirt. “You’re the worst.”

Jake just grinned against your temple.

“I’m yours.”

The next morning, Jake was already pulling on his hoodie, his bags—stuffed with random clothes, books, and a few things that had slowly found their way into your dorm—strewn across your floor.

You sat up in bed, the lingering warmth of his body beside you still making your heart flutter. It had become a regular thing now—Jake staying over, bringing more of his things each time, settling into a routine that felt strangely comfortable. It was a mixture of affection and chaos, and you loved every minute of it.

“You should’ve just left your stuff here last night,” you teased, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “Could’ve saved us the trouble.”

Jake smirked, looking up from rummaging through his backpack. “Don’t want to seem too comfortable too soon, babe. You know, I’ve still got that mysterious ‘bad boy’ act to keep up.”

You rolled your eyes. “Uh-huh. Sure. That’s what you’re going for.”

He shot you a wink, tossing a hoodie at you. “Anyway, can’t let the world see the ‘good boy’ too much, can I?”

He was back to his cocky self, the guy who showed up to school acting like the confident, teasing Jake you had come to know, and honestly, you couldn’t help but smile at how effortlessly he flipped between his personas.

You both left the dorm and started the walk to campus, his hand in yours, the usual mix of comfortable silence and random teasing that filled your daily routines.

Just as you were about to walk up the steps to your building, Jake, always the graceful disaster, tripped on the stairs and sent his coffee flying across the sidewalk.

“Are you serious?” you asked, blinking in disbelief.

Jake stood there for a second, coffee splattered all over his hoodie and the ground beneath him, looking utterly stunned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You couldn’t stop laughing. “Every time. I swear to god, you’re like a walking disaster.”

Jake turned to you, the faintest blush coloring his cheeks as he scratched the back of his neck, trying to play it off. “I meant to do that. Just making sure everyone’s paying attention.”

“Yeah, you definitely got their attention, Jake,” you teased. “Don’t worry, I’m sure everyone saw your epic performance.”

He shot you a grin, wiping at his clothes like it would make a difference. “I’m not a loser. I’m just… trying to get a reaction.”

“And you definitely got one,” you snorted, taking his hand and leading him inside.

Even though he tried to play it off as cool, the truth was, you were starting to see a side of Jake that was a little more… normal than you first expected.

And as ridiculous as the whole thing was, there was something about it—the balance of confident teasing and hilarious clumsiness—that felt right.

At least, for you and him, it did.

You nudged him with your elbow. “You gonna be okay, or do I need to get you another one before you wither away in front of me?”

Jake groaned dramatically. “I needed that caffeine. My whole personality relies on it.”

You laughed as you pushed open the lecture hall doors. “Your personality is currently soaked into your hoodie.”

Unfortunately for Jake, your shared class had already started to fill up. A few people looked up as you both walked in—him with wet coffee splatter down his front, you trying not to laugh loud enough for the whole room to hear.

“Is that Jake Sim?” someone whispered behind you.

You heard a snort. “Why does he look like someone’s intern who just got fired?”

Jake sat down beside you with a huff, dropping his bag and whispering, “This is the most humbling morning of my life.”

You rached over, wiped a little splatter off his sleeve, and leaned close. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He blinked at you, caught off guard. “Wait. You think I’m cute even like this?”

You grinned. “I think you’re cute especially like this.”

Jake slumped in his chair, defeated but amused. “I’m literally a walking split personality. Demon boyfriend at night, clumsy nerd by morning. This isn’t sustainable.”

“You say that like I’m not completely obsessed with both versions.”

He paused, looking at you with that soft, wide-eyed gaze he got when you caught him off guard.

“Yeah?” he said, quieter this time.

You nodded, bumping your knee against his. “Yeah.”

Jake smiled down at his ruined coffee cup.

“Still not over the fact I tripped in front of like thirty people though,” he muttered, and you snorted so loud the row in front of you turned around.

At least now, everyone knew—Jake Sim might’ve been a quiet loser to the rest of the campus, but to you?

He was everything.

perm taglist: @kristynaaah @firstclassjaylee @chvconn3 @wonzzziezzzz @sheseung @blvengene @gvtdoll @a3r4-for3ver @sunghoon-cam @luvksnn @aaaaarmiiiiin @blckorchidd @gyulune @marimariiisblog @pinknjm @bloomiize

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ❞

❝ WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU FAKE DATE SATORU GOJO WITH REAL FEELINGS? ❞

✧ pairing: satoru gojo x sorcerer!reader

✧ summary: you can't help but say yes when your longtime crush asks you to be his fake girlfriend for a year to get the gojo clan to stop arranging marriage proposals for him. but little did you know, he would be doing both of you a favor.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, fluff, reader is the same age as gojo, set during s1 of jjk, fake dating hijinks, drunk! gojo, jealous! reader + gojo, implied satosugu (sorta, i see it more in a soulmate way, whether its platonic or romantic), switch! gojo, oral (f + m), deepthroating, handjob (m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, naoya makes an appearance, gojo clan elders suck, gojo's made up clan responsibilities,

✧ wc: 16,043

✧ for my 2k celebration event: item 6 has been sold to @chuluoyi and an anon!

“C’mon, you don’t know until you try, sweetheart,” 

You run at your temples, you didn’t need to feel burgeoning ache of a headache forming to know it was coming — but you knew it would whenever you met with this blue eyed idiot, “Satoru, the last time you said that, you nearly got me killed,” you didn’t care to re-live him sending you on a mission meant for him to take a grade 1 one curse, only to end up fighting two other grade 2 curses along with it. 

You were lucky you made it by the skin of your teeth — and lucky that Shoko woke up when you showed up at her door, half dead. 

“And this time, there’s no risk of death,” he grins, stirring his sugary drink that counts more as sugar than a drink, “that shows great personal growth, don’t ya think?” 

“I think this conversation shows that just because you’re the strongest doesn’t mean you have an ounce of common sense,” you mutter, as you sip at your drink of choice, “Gojo, I can’t marry you — for one, there would be a risk of death — yours,” 

“Eh you wouldn’t be able to kill me — you’re far too—“ and you raise an eyebrow, daring him to finish that sentence, “kind,” 

You rolled your eyes, “One of the traits you’re looking for in your future partner?” 

“The thing is, you wouldn’t have to marry me at all — it would be a big sham!” He said with a thumbs up, as if that made it any better at all, “just for a couple weeks so I can fool the Gojo Clan into complacency and to stop the search for my future spouse — you’d be sparing the hundreds, no thousands, of possible candidates from facing the burden of my rejection,” 

“And I suppose the fact that the clan would get off your back is just a fringe benefit?” You sigh, “Gojo, why don’t you just tell them you don’t want to get married?” 

“I’ve tried — but the stubborn old geezers won’t budge — I’m caught between a rock and a hard place — and you know me,” his lips curl, “I’m a lover, not a fighter,” 

Yup, you have a headache now. 

“What would we have to do to convince them we were together?” 

Why were you considering this? 

“Dates, a few public outings, meeting the geezers because they would insist, and you would need to show your face around the clan compound,” he lists off, sipping at his drink, “there may be other things, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” You may jump off a bridge by the time this is over and done with, “what do you say?” 

“I have two questions,” and he leaned back in his chair, back and forth, impatience personified, “how long would we have to do it?” You didn’t want to be stuck in this arrangement for an undisclosed amount of time, but the second question was far more important, “ And why me?” 

“Three months, maybe longer,” you gape at him, “I can pay you?” you raise an eyebrow, “I will pay you,” you sigh, “and choosing you was easy because—“ 

“If you make some sort of joke about me being single, I don’t care if you have infinity, I’ll find a way to murder you,” you grumble. 

“Because you’re a sorcerer, you’re from a minor clan — so you’re an acceptable choice, and I trust you — you’re one of my closest friends,” he adds, for once his words are deprived of any humor. 

And that answer was…almost worse than the joke. The word “friend” stuck in your side like a thorn you could never pull out, festering and growing until it had become a part of you — that ached only when you thought of it. 

Your feelings for him, they were still there? You thought you had discarded them years ago, thought it was safe for you to move back to Tokyo from Kyoto, thought you had finally left that childhood crush behind — dead and buried — but here it was, still stubbornly clinging to life. 

And now it would thrive with new roots, stems, leaves, and buds if you agreed to this. 

He said your name, “Well?” 

He remains as inscrutable as always, But you could never say no to him, could you? “Okay, fine,” it would also help you out in the form of another problem of Naoya Zenin who had been nothing but persistent since you came back…but you didn’t want to dwell on that. Your eyes find Gojo’s again — as they always did. 

It was why you had left for Kyoto in the first place. 

“Is this really necessary?” you grumbled, as the servants that served the Gojo clan fussed over your clothes — it was a traditional kimono in the colors of your clan — a deep indigo, embroidered with white koi fish that swam along the fabric, embroidered with waves. You supposed you were only grateful that Gojo didn’t leave you to get dressed yourself. 

Gojo watched as they adjusted the obi around your waist, and your eyes remained fixed ahead, but your gaze couldn’t help but wander to him. Satoru Gojo was always unfairly gorgeous — there was a reason people fawned over him even when he had just rolled out of bed without even a once over at his appearance — but those same people probably would have passed out if they saw him as he was now. 

His formal wear was a sky blue — the same as his eyes, a coat draped over his shoulders and loose trousers of snow white that was a nod to hair of the same color. His hair remained unkempt as it always was. 

“Gonna change into that but not comb your hair?” You remark, and he smirks, running a hand through his hair. 

“Well I think if I start being too well behaved, they’ll know it’s fake,” and the word sticks in your chest like a dagger between the ribs, as the servants finally finish with your clothes, and you sigh. 

You straighten yourself, looking at yourself in the mirror, “How is it only been a couple hours and I’m already exhausted?” 

“The suffocating grip of old geezers and their backwards traditions would do that to you,” but his eyes linger on you, “but lucky for you sweetheart, it seems to suit you,” 

“Do you have to call me that?” You murmur, cheeks warming, as you pretend to busy yourself with adjusting your clothes in the mirror. 

“You have to get used to it,” his footsteps draw closer, heart battering against your ribcage as he does — surely, it would break free of its bony cage by the end of this, as he slides a shiny pendant around your neck — a sliver infinity with a singular small blue gem glinting in the middle — “after all, you are mine now, aren’t you?” 

“Gojo, this is—“ 

“Satoru,” he reminds you, as his fingers brush against your neck as he clasps the necklace, “how will it look if someone overhears you calling me by my last name in private?” And your fingers brush against the necklace, toying with the pendant as you positioned it properly, “do you like it? I had it made especially,” 

Especially — the lack of ‘for you,’ stuck out to you, as you force a smile on your lips, “it’s perfect — it will definitely sell the act,” and your eyes can’t find his as he adjusts his sunglasses, “I’m surprised you’re not wearing your blindfold,” you turn to face him, “doesn’t it drain you not to wear it?” 

“I can wear sunglasses sometimes — usually I get strange looks if I wear a blindfold in normal society — and here,” he pulls off the glasses as his cerulean irises seem to pierce your very form, “it reminds these old men who holds the cards here,” it was already hard enough for you to meet Gojo’s gaze as it was, it always felt as if he could stare right through you — and now, it felt as it your entire soul was beholden to him, “and as a bonus,” he draws close again, as he holds out his hand for your own. You resist the urge to bite your lip, inside giving your hand as he wished, and he lifts to his lips, before tilting his head to press the back of his hand to your cheek, “now I can look at my beautiful girlfriend unobstructed by these pesky eye coverings,” 

You scoff, “You always have something to say, don’t you?” As you try and fail to move your hand away, “Gojo—“ 

“A good escort should never let their lady walk in without their hand being held, don’t you think?” And you sigh, as he leads you out of the frying pan and into the fire  — you only hoped you wouldn’t be burned — your eyes sliding to Gojo again, fingers toying with the fabric over your chest — in more than one way. 

“So you’ve gotten yourself a partner, eh, boy?” the elderly man sits with his eyes closed as he sips his tea, steam rolling off the surface in droves, but he seemed unbothered by the heat — perhaps because of the steam coming out of his ears, “I’m shocked,” you kept your gaze down, only had greeting him upon entering — stating your name and clan, before kneeling beside Satoru on a cushion. 

“Shocked that someone like me could ever find my match? I know I’m truly one of a kind,” lips curled in that smirk that seemed to annoy almost everyone Satoru Gojo knew — including you — but no one showed the level of irritation that this man showed. 

Gojo may be the head of the Gojo clan — but you supposed there were still people he had to answer too, if only due to age and tradition — the two very things Gojo hated the most. 

“Why bother respecting those for aging when they haven’t done anything for me to respect?” he had said flippantly to Yaga one day during a lesson, “I rather die young than live to the age of these old coots without accomplishing a damn thing,” and then Yaga firmly smacked Gojo on the head right after, for disrespecting Gakuganji during the sister school exchange event. 

And you had a feeling this meeting was about to go as well as that class did. 

“Is this serious? Have you proposed?” and you have to keep a straight face, but your cheeks burn. 

“Now, don’t embarrass me and my girlfriend,” his fingers intertwined with yours, “but this is serious — she’s the only woman I want to marry — and I’ll do anything to accomplish that,” he leans forward with a smile, squeezing your hand, “because I love her, and I only will ever love her,” 

His gaze slides from Gojo to you, eyes boring into your skull, “and do you feel the same?” 

You never have been one for lying — lying was an uncomfortable feeling that twisted and turned in your stomach like questionable leftovers that you took a gamble on eating, ones that wanted to come out the same way it went in. But you had learned with time because sometimes it was necessary for a sorcerer to lie, and when it was between telling a lie or dying, you’re forced to become quite adept at things you hate. 

And you had learned, as you meet his hardened look, the best lies had some truth ingrained in them. 

“I do, Satoru and I went to Jujutsu Tech together, and he’s the only man I ever loved,” perhaps it was too much truth, as you forced your voice to be steady, “he’s frustrating, irritating, full of himself—“ 

“You don’t have to be that honest—“ Satoru grumbled. 

“But he’s also selfless, unendingly kind, a great teacher, and a good person, maybe even the best person I know,” you can’t bear to look at Satoru, “and he’s the only man I want to call my husband,” 

The silence lingers in the room for a moment before the old man grunts, “I’ll believe it when I see it,” 

“What kind of answer was that?” You asked as Satoru walked you back to the room, his fingers still laced with yours. 

“It means we have to make him believe it — but he’ll at least stop arranging these meetings for me with prospectives,” 

You raise an eyebrow, “and what will make him believe it?” 

He smirks, as he tugs you a little closer, fingers under your chin, “I could kiss you right now, might sell the act,” 

“No one can see us,” 

“Someone’s always watching,” he murmurs, leaning far too close as your breath catches, eyes widening before they flutter shut and you wait. But instead his lips brush your forehead, followed by a flick, “gotcha,” 

Your eyes snap open in a glare, “Gojo!” And he’s cackling. 

“Satoru,” he corrects, as his hand leaves yours as he opens the sliding door to the room, “you coming?” 

You pout, rubbing your forehead, as you brush past him — this was going to be a long few weeks. 

“Why do I even have to go to this?” You were being led through a bustling mall, his arm around your waist, as if to prevent you from escaping (good idea). Your lips twisted in a grimace, you allowed him to drag you along, knowing him, he would carry you over his shoulder without a hint of shame (you don’t think he even contained the word shame in his own vernacular), “can’t you go and wear a ring and go by yourself?” 

“A ring is not as good as having you on my arm now is it?” he bumps you with his hip, “plus, we’re not engaged yet, unless this is a proposal,” he raises an eyebrow, and your cheeks burn. 

“Shut up, I’d never propose to you,” he laughs, but it’s almost strained.

“Never propose to me like that right? Because I deserve a better proposal than that,” he sighs, leading you into a store, “come on, we have to find you a nice outfit for the wedding,” 

You glance at the store, your jaw dropping, “Gojo, this store is so expensive, I can’t afford this—“ 

He lowers his sunglasses just to show you that he’s rolling his eyes, “Who said you’re paying, Princess?” You stare at him, slack jawed, while a salesperson comes up to the two of you — though she’s clearly only interested in one of you. 

“Hi, what can I help you with finding today?” her lips curled in a smile, as she twirled a strand of her around her fingers, “I’d be more than happy to assist you,” her gaze completely fixed on Gojo, without the slightest hint of acknowledgment for you to spare. 

You bite back a scowl, plastering on a fake smile, as you lean into Gojo, “My boyfriend is looking to buy me an outfit for a wedding we’re attending — baby, could you tell her what style you want me to wear?” 

Gojo glances at you, a flicker of surprise that is quickly covered up by a smirk, his arm tightening around your waist, “Yes, I have to make sure my sweetheart is looking her best — so can you please find these styles of dresses for me?” You can’t help the smile on your lips as the salesperson shuffles away, lips a thin line rather than the grin she once had. 

“Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” Gojo chuckles, and you roll your eyes, hoping your expression didn’t give your heart away, the feelings you had stuffed into a crevice of your chest that threatened to burst. 

So you choose to turn it on him instead, as you meet his gaze with a small smirk, “I don’t like people taking what’s mine,” 

But he only takes it in stride, only as Gojo can, “I’m yours, huh?” 

You shrug, choosing to hurt yourself rather than let him do it, “at least for the next two to three months,” and your gaze snaps away and looks to the saleswoman as she comes back with a selection, “if you get to choose my dress, I get to choose a suit for you, deal?” 

Gojo raises an eyebrow, but smiles, “Anything for you, princess.” 

“You just wanted to see me model for you, didn’t you?” Gojo emerges from the changing room in a black button down and white suit coat with a matching white tie — as he tilts his head, “I would say my best suit is my birthday suit,” and you grimace, “oh c’mon, it was a good joke, although—“ 

“Don’t say it’s true,” you lean back, phone in hand as you snap a picture as you did for the last three, “I love to see that self confidence of yours has grown into full blown arrogance,” 

“How can I not be arrogant when I see you snapping pictures of me?” He crosses his arms, the fabric taut and straining over his chest, the top button undone, showing off the adam’s apple that bobs in his throat, “it’s definitely a step up from when you ignored me,” 

You snap from your thoughts, “When did I ignore you?” 

“When we graduated Jujutsu Tech, you’d spend time with Nanami or spend a weekend with Shoko, but whenever I was around, you wouldn’t even reply to a text,” your eyes fall to the floor, chewing your lip, “it wasn’t always like that — I thought we were close,”

It was true — but it wasn’t because you hated him. It was the opposite. You had tried to be his friend, but the more you were his friend, the more it hurt — hurt to see him smile at you like everyone else, hurt to see him with his eyes on the one he wanted, and with his arm around Suguru. 

And you really didn’t hate Suguru —  it was the opposite really — you thought they were perfect, a person who grounded him, made him a better person, and with a much tighter grip on reality than Gojo did — perhaps too tight. Too tight that it shattered apart in his hands, the pieces too far gone to pick out — and too far gone to save him. 

You tried to be there for him — knock on his door when you knew he was home and force him to shower while you and Shoko cleaned up his room. You stayed even when Shoko had long left, holding his hand as he hid his tears from you with his back turned, and you didn’t admit you could hear his nearly silent tears. But eventually, it turned into movie nights, meals shared, and even grocery runs. 

And it became harder and harder to hide how you felt — each minute spent with him was another drop in a bucket that was already overflowing to begin with. At first it had been a crush — an unattainable crush that you were happy to leave at just that. But eventually, it became so much more — you had fallen in love with him, when you really shouldn’t have. Because he didn’t need a partner — he needed a friend. 

“Gojo, I didn’t ignore you—“ 

“I’ve called you sweetheart, did your number change and then magically change back when you came back to Tokyo?” 

But once he had pulled himself together, you were graduating and you requested to be put in Kyoto — your excuse being you were tired being in the city — but to Satoru, you gave no excuse, you quietly left without a word. Because you were really tired of having your heart broken — so you needed space, and you were willing to do anything to get it. 

“Gojo, I didn’t really talk much to Nanami or Shoko when I left either, I just needed space—“ 

“Space from what?” You sighed, parting your lips when his phone rings. He checks it before taking it, “another mission? Yeah, I can leave tonight,” you bit your lip, “send Ijichi to take me to the airport. Yeah, ok,” and he hangs up, “we’ll have to cut this short. I have to go overseas,” 

“How long will you be gone?” 

“Probably just a few days. I’ll be back soon,” you bite your lip, and he tilts his head, “you worried about me, Princess?” 

You flush, opening and closing your mouth, “I am,” and he blinks, seemingly surprised, “come back safe. Text me to let me know when you land,” 

His lips curl, as he ruffles your hair, “I will — and I’ll be back soon enough. Promise,” and he pauses, “you want a souvenir?” 

“You don’t have to—“ 

“I want to,” he cuts you off, and your cheeks warm. 

And just then, he gets a text, “Ijichi Is almost here. I’ll have him drop you back first,” and he turns to change out of his clothes.

“Satoru,” you catch him by the sleeve, and he pauses, “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you after all of that. It had nothing to do with you, there was just a lot going on—“ he says your name, but you shake your head, “but it won’t happen again, I promise,”

“Good,” he steps back into the changing room, a grin on his lips, “I wouldn’t let you get away this time anyway, sweetheart.” 

“Gojo?” You say again, and he tilts his head, “get the indigo suit,” 

He grins, “and you have good taste, well, of course you do,” he holds the door open, “I am your boyfriend after all.” 

And the door of the fitting room swings shut, and you hope he’s not looking at you, as your cheeks burn, your heart squeezing in spite of every thought of your mind telling not to go there — not to go down that road, but you should have known, the moment you said yes to this plan—

You were already there. 

You had never known that the buzz of your phone could make you more happy — or anxious. 

But it had been over the course of the last few days. Because you’re probably an idiot, but that wasn’t the point. 

how bad of an idea would it be for me to try this Karanga and Chapati place that Yuta recommended? 

You snorted, Satoru, the last time you had curry — that wasn’t even that spicy, you couldn’t taste anything for a week.

Another buzz, But Yuta said it’s not so bad

You roll your eyes, imagining the pout he undoubtedly has on his lips — Yuta has never seen you cry over a bowl of curry — stick with your desserts, and you chuckle as you add: you may be the strongest but you have the weakest taste buds 

It takes some time for another response to come — and when it does, you realize a grave error on your part was made: never point out any flaw to this idiot because he will take it as a challenge. 

This is Yuta — Gojo-sensei tried it and he’s now in the bathroom. He told me to tell you he’d text you later. 

This was how the last few days flew by — texts with updates about his mission, his work, and his check-ins with Yuta. And the night before he was flying back, just as you were cooking dinner, he called you— 

“Gojo? Isn’t it 2:00 AM there right now?” 

“You learned the time difference for me?” you heard his words slur over the other line, “Sweethearttttt,” I went out with Yuta and Miguel, and I may have gotten a littttttle tipsy,” 

“Isn’t it like 2:00 AM there?” 

He clicks his tongue, “Miguel challenged me to a drinking contest,” and you groan, rubbing a hand down your face, “but they got me back into my hotel room, even though I’m not tired,” he mumbles, as you hear the crinkle of his bedsheets and the rustling of his comforter. 

“Have you drank water? How much alcohol did you have?” 

“Are you worried about me?” he giggles, before sighing, “I’m glad,” 

“Why are you glad?” You hold the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you stir the pan with your dinner currently in it. 

“Because it means you care about me,” he murmurs, “everyone who cares about me always leaves,” he gives a small bitter chuckle, “maybe it’s better for you not to care about me. It’s dangerous to care about someone like me — the type to die young or live far too long,” 

“Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he mutters, voice growing thick with sleep, “call me Satoru,” and his soft snores fill your ear as he falls into the sandman’s grasp — a small reprieve from his feelings — while you were left to dwell in them. 

All this time you had been thinking how you felt, what you were dealing with, what you wanted — and all these years and you hadn’t thought about how your actions made him felt. You thought he was beyond any hurt you could possibly inflict — his infinity meant that he was leagues above anywhere you could possibly reach — but it didn’t. 

He wasn’t. He was a person — and when had you stopped treating him as one? 

You texted Yuta: make sure your sensei is lying on his side and make him drink some water. And don’t let Miguel goad him into drinking ever again. 

Yuta: got it. sorry about that sensei — gojo wouldn’t listen

You scoffed, chuckling at how Yuta called you sensei but did not afford Gojo the same courtesy. 

You stayed on the phone with Gojo, hearing Yuta come in and persuading him to drink some water, before he fell back asleep, but even in his drunken state, he wouldn’t give up his phone — Yuta snapping a picture and sending it to you. You laughed when you saw it — loml with a dozen hearts and a picture of you in your obi, clearly taken when you weren’t looking, but it wasn’t those things that made you laugh — it was the way Gojo clung to his phone, fingers wrapped around it desperately, as he slept. 

You stayed on the phone with him all night, even when you went to bed — of course just to make sure he’s fine — the call waking you when it disconnected after reaching the max call time. Your eyes flutter open, glancing at the time — 5:00 AM. And almost like clockwork, your phone rings again, Gojo’s number flashing on your screen. 

You pick up, “Mm, hello?” you yawn, “finally awake sleeping beauty?” 

“Glad you finally decided to acknowledge my beauty,” his voice is gravelly, thick with sleep, and god, you can’t help but imagine waking to this voice every day — “ugh I have a headache,” he murmurs, the crumple you hear must be him burying his face in his pillow because the next question he asks is muffled, “why were we on the phone?” 

“You called me last night after drinking, and refused to hang up after Yuta helped you get settled,” you chuckle, as you hear his groan over the phone, “I got a new contact picture for you out of it, love of my life,” 

“Glad you’re finally on board,” he mutters, growing quiet, “why didn’t you hang up?” 

You pause, “what do you mean?” You ask slowly. 

“You could’ve hung up at any time, but you stayed on the phone, even when you fell asleep,” his voice was soft, “why?” 

“I just,” you bit your lip, you couldn’t lie to him, at least not completely, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and you didn’t want to hang up — so I didn’t,” 

He’s silent for a moment, and you almost wish you could sink into the Earth — but he only says, “okay, now what’s the plan for the day, Princess?” 

Your lips curl, “Well my day has not really began yet since it’s 5:00 AM here, so I’m probably going to sleep for several hours and wake up at an hour that is not bereft of god,” 

“You really couldn’t just say ‘ungodly?’” He snorts. 

“Well, 5:00 AM makes me wax poetic, what can I say?” Another yawn parts your lips, “I’m going to sleep,” 

But he doesn’t hang up, “I’ll be here, sweetheart.”  

You glanced at the time, he’s late. 

Well, he wouldn’t be Gojo if he didn’t make an entrance. You slumped on the couch — even if he was getting home from his mission, there was no guarantee he’d stop by your place to see you. He might want to just go home — or stop by Jujutsu Tech, or be anywhere else. You couldn’t have expectations — expectations were only a  way to be disappointed, a drop from soaring that would only be met with the impact of the cold, unforgiving ground. 

Especially expectations from a fake relationship. You lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling — why were being such an idiot about this? The TV drones on in the background, illuminating the dark of the living room, as you sit barely paying attention to a random rom com you had picked. 

Maybe it was because Satoru had spent the rest of today on the phone with you, even through a security check (warning the security officers not to hang up his call) and at the gate. And then every day after that, he had called and texted you like clockwork — stupid things— good morning and good night, random memes that made him think of you, pictures of his day (including ones of him messing with his students), questions of what sweet you wanted from the shop he had decided to frequent, calls about your day and his own, and hours long conversations about nothing at all. Maybe because you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke to you — or maybe it was because you were just down bad. 

It was probably the latter. 

You take a throw pillow and pull it over your face. What were you thinking? Falling for your old crush and fake boyfriend a night before a wedding was a trope in a bad rom com that you spent your weekend night watching — it shouldn’t be how you feel. 

“That’s a nice look,” you jump, pulling the pillow away, to be met with Gojo’s gaze hidden behind another pair of sunglasses, “honey, I’m home,” 

You bite back your smile, “one, this isn’t your home, and two, how did you get inside?” 

“It’s pretty easy when you can teleport, you should try it sometime,” he sits beside you, more like collapses as he falls into the couch, his head resting against the top, “although if someone moved in with me, it’d be much easier,” and you laugh. 

“Shouldn’t you ask a girl out before you ask her to move in?” he shrugs, his arm resting across the top of the couch. 

“I’m anything but traditional,” he sighs, glancing at the TV, “what are we watching?” 

“A bad rom com,” 

He snorts, “watching it to mercilessly pick it apart?” And you raise an eyebrow, “what? I did stay awake for some of those movies— it was some of my favorite memories during that time and some of the only times I could actually sleep,” 

“Yeah, it was a nice way for both of us to turn our brains off for a bit,” you glanced at him, “thought it’d be nice for us too,” his gaze slides to you curiously, “I know there’s been a lot on your mind — with itadori and the special grades,” 

He sighs, running fingers through his hair,  “Yeah, old geezers seem to cause problems in all parts of my life,” you snort, “can’t believe they’d try to do away with Itadori while I was gone,” 

“They don’t see anyone as innocent — they see whether you’re an asset or a threat, unfortunately, they see Itadori not as the former,” you shake your head, as your eyes stare at the movie flashing on the screen, but you don’t really watch, “they’re too far gone to see the innocence of children,” 

“You sound like Kento,” and your eyes meet his, his cerulean gaze already on you, his sunglasses discarded on your coffee table. 

“Funny, thought I sounded like you,” he blinks a moment, “Satoru, you’re all about preserving the youth of children — that’s why you saved Megumi, Yuta, and Yuji — even when you had every reason not to,” 

“How could I not? Youth belongs to the young after all,” a wistful smile on his lips, “i don’t want the same to happen to them that happened to us,” 

“To us,” you repeat, a sharp pain sticks between your ribs at the flash of Haibara’s smile and the whisper of Suguru’s laugh, “more like to them,” 

“Yeah,” a silence falling over the two of you as the white noise of the TV filled the quiet, “but sometimes I think we went down along with them,” 

You shake your head, “I think a part of us did — a part of us will stay there—“ frozen in time and seeping like poison in our bones, “but we’re still here,” you risk to toe the line you’d never cross, your fingers brushing his, “and it’s not over for us,” 

And his eyes flicker to your fingers threaded with his, as his fingers squeeze yours slowly, the corner of his lips quirk upwards, as you stretch and sit up, fingers falling away from his, a yawn on your lips, “should we get some sleep?” 

“Come on, let’s finish the movie,” he murmurs, even though sleep seems to weigh heavily on his body, eyelids fluttering shut as he turns to you, cheek pressed against the couch, “hey,” he murmurs, “it wasn’t the movies that let me relax,” and you can hear the unspoken meaning in those words — but that was the problem. 

It was unspoken. 

Your fingers twitch, wanting nothing more than to brush your fingers against his cheek — but you can’t. 

You’d allowed yourself to toe the line you’d long drawn in the sand that you’d built into a wall — you had even allowed yourself to stir a few bricks from its place, but you couldn’t cross it. Not now. 

Your eyes are growing heavy. Maybe not ever. 

Your neck hurts. 

The first thought you have as you rouse into aching consciousness. Why was it so bright? Did you forget to draw your curtains? You draw an arm over your face, already dreading the waking hours, until you realize it’s your day off, and you sigh, relaxing into your bed. 

Or what you thought was your bed. 

Except your bed couldn’t move, nor could it pull you closer. But now something or someone was, an arm around your waist with movement behind you that made breath warm your ear. And you probably would have screamed, if you hadn’t heard the familiar voice whisper your name in your ear. 

Gojo. 

Gojo??? 

Your head slowly turned to be met with the strongest sorcerer very much passed out, half behind you, half on top of you — his blue eyes hidden under his eyelids for once instead of any covering that he used to protect himself. His snowy white locks brushed against your skin, the close proximity doing nothing to alleviate your feelings — you had only hoped you could see one flaw, one ick, and maybe you’d be done. But on Satoru Gojo? The man born to be perfect — the same one who sang karaoke for the first time as a teen only to be so incredible that it moved your server to tears? 

You really should have fucking known better. 

Your breath caught, and you wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment—if no one had, you would surely be the first case. You were always a trail blazer. 

And you tried to shift again, if only to maneuver yourself out of this situation, but he moved along with you, seeking out the contact he was losing. And this only ended with him lying on top of you, his head buried in the crook of your neck, and his legs straddling one of your legs— and then you felt it — a very distinct bulge pressed against your thigh. 

Fuck. Your. Life. 

He mumbled in his sleep, nose brushing against the hollow of your neck, drawing another shiver from your body. You had a rare opportunity to touch him — didn’t you, no infinity between the two of you — just him and you. You were in a position probably many desired to be in — admirers and enemies alike (neither category being mutually exclusive). You supposed old habits die hard — and so did old crushes. 

Could you let yourself enjoy this for a moment? Enjoy the feeling, no matter how real it never would be? Maybe it was wrong, but — your eyes fluttered shut as your arm wrapped loosely around Gojo — you certainly didn’t want to be the one to wake up first. 

And you weren’t — your eyes flutter open to movement, and your eyes meet cerulean eyes, lips parted in surprise, “Morning,” he manages, a flush of pink coloring his cheeks, “did we fall asleep?” 

“I guess we did,” you bite your lip, “are you going to—” 

And he blinks, before scrambling off of you, “Sorry,” he mumbles, as he turns away to fidget with his phone. 

“Guess that was one very boring movie,” you murmur. 

“Or I was in a very comfortable bed,” he replies with a smirk that turns to a grimace. 

“What is it?” 

“Naoya Zenin is making an appearance at the wedding we’re attending tomorrow,” and you groan, as he raises an eyebrow, “how many proposals had he made you?” 

You scoff, “Proposals? More like propositions,” you shake your head, already aching from the sleep you had barely shaken off and now it had graduated to a shooting pain that made your eye twitch at the thought of that man, “he’s offered to do me the ‘honor’ of being the next heir’s husband half a dozen times. If he ever becomes the head of the Zenin clan, I may help Maki annihilate them myself,” 

Naoya Zenin — the most pretentious and egocentric man you had the displeasure of meeting. Even his pretty face could do nothing to fix his hideous personality ridden with misogyny, hatred, and spite. And you’d been offered his hand in marriage half a dozen times due to your lineage in a lesser known clan family with a unique cursed energy. It was a strategic move to try and secure his place — as was every move he made — he had no room for anyone he deemed useless to his plan. 

Unfortunately, you did not fall into that special category.

“That won’t happen,” Gojo replies, texting on his phone, “plus, he’s too weak to force that to happen — not to mention he’s a first class prick,” 

“You say that, but you basically propositioned me,” you teased, as his eyes flit up from his phone, as you rise from the couch, “quite the proposal you came to me with,” 

He pauses a moment, a small smile on his lips, “one, i don’t recall proposing, and trust me that’s something I’d remember,” and you roll your eyes, “and two, aren’t you just as bad, since you said yes, sweetheart?” 

“Can you blame a girl wanting a little extra money?” And he locks his phone, drawing close, your breath catching as he lets himself linger for a second too long. 

“Can you blame a man for wanting a beautiful and intelligent woman?” And he’s leaning close, but he leans back, only grabbing his coat from the couch, still slung over as it had been. He spares you a smirk at your bewildered expression, “close your mouth, you’ll catch flies, princess, and what a shame that would be,” you scowl, and he laughs as he heads to the door, slipping on his shoes, with a final glance and grin thrown over his shoulder as he opened your door, “I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

Right. Tomorrow. The wedding. 

Fuck. You were so screwed. 

KNOCK. KNOCK. 

Fuck. You scrambled from your vanity as you finished putting the finishing touches on your look for tonight. You didn’t think Satoru Gojo of all people could ever be on time, but you supposed there was a first time for everything. 

You slipped the dress over your head, careful not to smear your makeup or mess up your hair. You were starting to regret not having the Gojo family’s attendants get you ready for this event, if only so you could have turned your mind off for this time. But you knew all too well that your mind could never give you a break — with all of that free time came free real estate for your anxiety to set up camp and put down roots for all the things that could possibly go wrong. So it was better this way, as you reach for the ties on the back of your dress — of course, maybe if you had let yourself be helped, you could actually have someone to tie your corset back on this dress. 

Another knock. 

“Sweetheart?” You hear Gojo’s muffled voice through the door, “you’re not planning on standing me up are you?” 

You stumble your way to the door, clutching the back of your dress, as you take a breath and throw it open, “Can you tie the back of my dress?” 

Fuck. He looked gorgeous. His hair was parted and combed off to the side, a deep blue suit coat and a crisp white collared shirt tucked into a matching suit pant. A pair of sunglasses were tucked into the chest pocket of his jacket in front of a white pocket square. 

“No hello, ‘can you tie my dress?’” Gojo tilts his head, his eyes graze over your appearance, as he steps inside and closes the door behind him, “turn around,” And you do, fingers still clutching at the fabric at the back of your dress, cheeks burning as you do, “gonna have to let go, and let me help you, sweetheart,” 

You slowly let go, but his warm fingers brush against the skin of your bare back as he holds the dress up from slipping, carefully lacing the corset, “I was right, blue is your color,” he murmurs, as he tugs lightly at the strings, “let me know when it’s tight enough,” 

“It’s good now,” you sigh — though the corset wasn’t as tight as your chest now, you face him now, trying to adjust your hair. 

“Let me,” one hand cups your chin gently, your breath catching and you can only hope he can’t feel your pulse through your skin. His fingers run through your soft tresses, your eyes unable to meet his — but you wonder if he can see right through you anyway — “you’ve never been good at asking for help,” 

“Look who’s talking,” you glare at him, as he chuckles, “well, I asked you didn’t I?” 

“Why did you ask me?” You raise an eyebrow, “I’m sure you could have asked anyone,” 

“Well, I didn’t want just anyone,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the blush you had lined your cheeks with, “I wanted you,” 

“Why?” And he parts his lips, a soft smile that pulls at his features — was it a hint of pink across his cheeks. 

“Because—“ and your phone goes off — a reminder with the time of the wedding. And the moment’s broken, as reality settles over you again, “We’ll be late,” 

“I don’t mind being late,” and a heat burns from his touch, from the tips of your fingers to the his fingers leave your cheek, warmth fading as quickly as it came, but he offers his hand, “but if it’s for you, I can be on time,” and your fingers find his, interlacing, before he tugs you close, his arm around your waist, “as long as you stay by my side.”

You never were one for weddings. At least not one like this. 

A stuffy event held in an extravagant manner — a large banquet hall for the reception, but now the guests roamed the gardens the hall opened out into — lush greenery serving as a perfect backdrop for this wedding — a distant branch of the Zenin family was marrying, which meant all of the main clans were invited to attend. Including several elders of the Gojo clan. 

And now you were being subjected to this as well — several dozen eyes on you — all due to the man whose arm you were on. His arm wrapped almost protectively around your waist, his lips nearly brushed against your ear when he whispered in it, letting you know just exactly who was coming over. 

“I didn’t think you were one to care for remembering these things,” you wave at the couple that just left the two of you, his fingers grazing the skin behind your ear as he tucked a stray strand behind it. 

“I usually don’t care, but I know it’d make you uncomfortable otherwise, especially among all these people,” he smirks, his fingers finding yours, and squeezing, “plus, we need to make a good impression, don’t we?” 

“I think we’re making an impression just by being together,” you murmur, and he raises an eyebrow, “everyone’s staring — didn’t you notice?” and he shrugs, a sly smile on his lips. 

“Didn’t notice,” he tilts his head, his eyes fixed on you, “I was too busy looking elsewhere, I guess,” 

Your cheeks burn, but as your lips part to respond, you see him walking over to the discreet corner you had parked yourselves in,  “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, your fingers tightening around his. 

Naoya Zenin strides over in a black yukata kimono, his silver hair pushed back, his lips twisted in a slimy smile that made your skin crawl, your name leaving his lips, “it’s been far too long, you’re looking lovely,” his eyes raked over you like hot coals, “though the company you keep—” 

“Has improved markedly,” Satoru’s lips curl in a grin, “do you have business with my girlfriend?” 

Naoya raises an eyebrow, “Girlfriend?” 

Satoru’s arm tightens around your waist, “I didn’t realize you went hard of hearing — I know your hair had started to go, but your hearing too—” you hid your snort poorly, Naoya’s sharp gaze flickering between the two of you. 

“I’m younger than you are, and my hair is bleached,” he snaps, “or are those six eyes not sharp enough to see that as well? They certainly aren’t enough for you to have found Suguru Geto before he caused a war,” 

And Satoru’s hurt is imperceptible — a hint of hurt that only shows in the tightness of his jaw for a millisecond, before he’s only giving another laugh. 

“At least I am already the head of my clan, because even if I were without my six eyes,” he smirks, but a certain meanness pulls at his features, “I’m still not as weak as you are—”

Naoya’s expression sours, curdled into a foul scowl, “What did you—” 

“Alright,” you hold up your hands, “Let’s save the dick measuring contest for later, okay? This is a wedding, let’s not cause a scene, ok?” you glance between the two of them, and Satoru pouts — while Naoya seems all too pleased, a grin broken across his lips. 

“This is why you’re the perfect woman — you know how to mediate between men’s egos, and—” 

“Naoya, I said let’s not cause a scene, and you’re two steps away from me causing one right now,” you snap, “I wasn’t interested the first dozen times you asked me when I was single, so why would you think I’d be interested now, when I have a boyfriend?” 

His face flushes red, and you’re not sure whether it’s in anger or embarrassment, “I doubt you’re even really a couple,” he hisses, “I know all about the proposals that this idiot has been getting and the pressure to marry,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “I’m sure you’ll come running to me once he’s done using you—“ 

Satoru surges forward, but you press a hand against his chest, “We don’t need to justify our relationship to you, so think what you want — but even if Satoru and I break up, I rather die single than ever spend a minute with you,” and you look at Satoru, your gaze softening, “and I rather spend be single for the rest of my life than spend another minute without him,” and you slide your eyes back to Naoya, his fists clenched, as you lean in, “so fuck off.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but the staff begin to wave everyone into their seats, and the wedding begins. The two of you sit, a silence falling over as others take their seats beside you. A subtle tension as music filled the air and the wedding proceedings began—but you could have cared less— god what the fuck had you said to Naoya? How had Gojo taken it? Does he know how you feel? Does he think it’s an act? 

Then his fingers find yours, “Thank you,” he whispers softly, managing only those two words before the wedding begins. 

And it dawns on you — it wasn’t what you said, it was the fact you had defended him, your heart aches, it was the fact you had defended him when Naoya insulted Suguru. 

Your eyes stay fixed forward as the ceremony begins — it was never about you — as you pulled your fingers away from him. 

Like it always never was. 

The wedding ceremony goes by — as does the reception, without much to-do. The only silver lining is that there’s far too much small talk for the two of you to have a moment to talk alone, especially when the two of you spot the Gojo clan elders side-eyeing you from the table of old folks, not to mention Naoya hovering around that same table, the same scowl on his face. The only remark that Satoru whispered as the two of you floated by the table pointedly, a smirk on his lips as he waved and held you close to his side — “one quick hollow purple could solve my problems,” 

You gave a forced chuckle at that — unfortunately not yours. 

And finally, the two of you head home — in relative silence, the drive being short to Gojo’s apartment, where your car was parked. You sigh as he pulls in, “I’ll head out I guess—” 

“Why don’t you just stay the night?” and your gaze snaps to his, the first time all night, “it’s really late, and I have a guest room—” 

“My apartment isn’t—” 

“Your apartment isn’t far, but I thought we could…talk,” and your heart gallops to a start — talking was the last thing you wanted to do. 

“What is there to talk about?” And his fingers brush against your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. 

“Maybe about why you can’t meet my eyes?” You huff, looking away. 

“Can you blame me? Your blue eyes are freaky,” you grumble, and you can hear the judgment in the silence, a first for Gojo,  “Gojo, what do you want me to say?” 

He stays quiet for a moment, “You don’t have to say anything, just come inside,” So you do — following him inside, the silence hanging over you like a guillotine waiting to slice, “Thank you for what you said—“ 

The door clicks behind him, as you stop, “Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he corrects, and you’re shaking your head. 

“You don’t have to thank me, I was just—“ 

“But what you said—“ 

“I said what I had to—“ 

“You didn’t have to say all that, Princess,” his voice grows soft, “you know you didn’t,” and he’s drawing closer across his living room. 

“He was upsetting you,” you murmur, eyes unable to find his again, falling instead to his plush carpet laid against his hardwood, “I couldn’t stand by and let him — I know it hurt when he brought up Suguru—“ 

“Suguru?” he repeats, and your eyes find his, finally, and you find his brow furrowed, “is that what you think I was thanking you for?” 

“What else would you—“ and he’s stepping even closer, your breath stuck in your throat as his fingertips graze your cheek again, “Satoru—“ 

“Did I mention how beautiful you looked tonight?” he murmurs, a soft chuckle in his voice, “you always look beautiful, but tonight in particular, I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” 

“You don’t have to—“ 

“That’s just it, I don’t have to,” his palm slides against your cheek, “I want to — I want to when it’s you,” 

“But, i can’t do this, not like this,” tears burn at the corners of your eyes, water threatening to spill out of a too full glass that had been full for far too long, “not when it will give me—“ you cut yourself off before you cut your own heart out, but he’s only forcing the scalpel back into your hand. 

“Give you what?” 

And you can’t turn back now — you’d turned from this road far too many times, sprinted in the opposite direction only to end up here again — you needed to do this, even if it lead to a dead end cliff, “Give me the wrong idea,” and you’re turning away, but his hand catches you by the wrist, “stop, I—“ 

“It’s not the wrong idea,” and you stop. 

No, it was. It was, right? 

“Satoru—“ and his fingers find your own, as he steps closer, “please, don’t—“ 

“If you want me to really stop and forget about this, I will,” he murmurs, “I’ll turn around and open the door and let you go home right now, sweetheart. I won’t bring this up again,” but you don’t move away, you don’t say anything, so he continues, “but if you don’t want that, and you want the same thing I do—“ 

“And what is it that you want?” And you hear his soft chuckle, his cheek brushing against you, as his fingers tuck your hair behind your ear. 

“I thought that was obvious, but I guess I’ll have to spell it out for you,” he squeezes your hand, as he guides your face to look back at him, his lips curled in a small smile, “I want you,” 

Your breath is shaky, no, no — he doesn’t mean that, “No you don’t,” 

He tilts his head, “You don’t think I don’t know what I want?” 

“Satoru, I don’t want to be a substitute for others—“ 

And his hands are sliding around your middle, pulling you closer, “You think I could ever think of you as a second choice?” 

“But—“ and every doubt from when you were younger wells up, every fear of not being enough — but they are erased away, crumbled into dust, by the way he looks at you — entire multitudes of skies all made to look at you. 

“You keep finding reasons not to do this,” and his fingers skim your cheek, before resting under your chin, “but have you tried finding a reason why we should?” 

“Satoru—“ you can’t help but lean into his touch — god, he was a temptation personified — everything you ever wanted, even when you tried not to want it. These feelings were never fake — so why not give in? Just this once. Your fingers slide against his cheek, and you can feel his skin burn under your touch, “do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“No, sweetheart,” he leans in even closer, your breaths becoming one, “but I’d love to find out,” 

His lips brush yours — it’s chaste, hesitant, testing the waters — he tastes like sugar, and you almost laugh — he tastes like the frosting from the wedding cake that he had swiped a slice of on the way out that he finished before you two had reached his car. His eyes flutter open for half a second, before your lips are crashing to his this time — a new record for addiction? A second maybe and you were too far gone. 

His hands cup your cheeks, one sliding to the back of your neck, as the other slides down to your waist to pull you ever closer. 

“Did you find it out?” You murmur between kisses, lips meeting and parting if only to allow you both a breath. And his snowy eyelashes flutter, as his lips quirk upwards. 

“Think I need another,” and his lips swallow any coherent thoughts you have, his hands slipping down your sides, lips parting again, “another,” he murmurs, a kiss, “another,” 

“How many do you need?” you ask breathlessly, a chuckle caught in your throat, and his lips press desperate kisses along your jaw, a smirk against your skin. 

“Is infinity an answer?” And you laugh, “have to take responsibility — I’m addicted to you,” 

“And if I’m addicted?” His hands squeeze your hips, drawing a gasp from your lips. 

“I’d be more than happy to take responsibility for you, Princess — always have,” 

Your heart beats against the bars of its cage, threatening to burst out — but you couldn’t — not without knowing, “And if you break my heart?”

“I won’t ever break your heart,” he leans down to press butterfly kisses to your cheek, “but even if I do, I’ll put it back together,” 

“Promise?” You murmur, and his lips meet yours again, and again, as he’s leading you towards his bedroom, his fingers running through your hair.

And the door to his bedroom swings shut, “Promise.”  

“How long are you going to tease me?” you’re grumbling, cheeks hot and eyes averted, the back of your hand pressed against your lips, as Satoru presses needy kisses along your neckline of your dress. 

He looks up at you through his snowy lashes, and you don’t know if you want to slap the smile off his lips or kiss it off, “You’ve been teasing me for years, you can’t give me this time, sweetheart?” His teeth graze the juncture of your neck and shoulder, “plus, do y’know how fun it is to watch you squirm?” 

Slap. It’s definitely a slap. 

“You’re insufferable,” and he smirks when your breath catches when his lips ghost over the swell of your chest. 

“Yet you’re the one who's under me—“ and you try to get up only for him to pin you back down, a pout on his lips, “alright, alright, can’t blame me for wanting to see you squirm, Princess, how many chances will I get?” 

“Only this one if you keep this up,” and he’s finding your lips in a languid kiss, an apology with no words, a smile filled with affection that only made it hard for you to feign annoyance. 

“Then I better make this count,” he’s gently helping you up, turning you around to undo your corset strings — but you wonder if he’s undoing it or tangling it, “why did we choose a dress with such a complicated back?” It’s his turn to grumble and it only draws a giggle from you. 

“Surprised you haven’t hollow purple’d it by now,” 

“Trust me if you weren’t in it, I would have,” he sighs, as the fabric begins to loosen up, slipping off your shoulders. 

“And here I thought you were good at everything,” you chuckle as he helps you shimmy out of the dress, the fabric falling away from you in a small pool around your ankles. Pools of blue rake over your exposed body, raising goosebumps in its wake, as your arms reflexively try to cover yourself, but his hands find your own, easing them away. 

“I’m good at what counts, Princess,” he kisses your wrist, pulse jumping under his touch, nose brushing against it, he hovers over you, as he undoes his tie, fingers tugging at the knot, as he undoes the top button of his shirt, “and I’ll show you.” 

~~~~

Satoru had dreamed of this — of you and him. He knew when he realized it — although it was too late when he did. Maybe it was the night before you left — the night after graduation — before you left — you had fallen asleep watching the movie you had put on. Your lips parted and mouth ajar, your eyes fluttered shut, and you were out. He had leaned over to grab his phone to snap a picture to tease you with later, only for your fingers to grab onto him, your head on his shoulder, a quiet murmur of his name. 

“Satoru,” — not Gojo, as you had always called him. And he knew he wanted to hear you say it again and again. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair away, his head leaning against yours.

Suguru was everything to him for a time — he had come to Satoru at a time where he thought no one else would ever be able to understand him. No one else would be able to reach him — because how does a person reach for a god? But here you were — and the way your head rested on his shoulder and your lips said his name made him want nothing more than you by his side. 

And when you left — you didn’t reply to his messages, you disappeared, just like everyone else did in his life. He was always left alone in the end — maybe it was his fate. 

But then you came back — came back almost right after Suguru left for good. And that part of his heart that was meant for you began to thrive again and again — as he spent more time with you. 

And god, when his clan started to pressure him to find someone to marry — he wrote them off as he always did. He thought he could ride out the ridiculous proposals and dates they had arranged for him — but as he thought more about who he wanted to spend his time with, who he wanted to see after a tiring mission, and who he couldn’t imagine being without —- 

And he realized it was you. 

“Satoru, don’t tease me,” you pouted, teeth bearing down on your bottom lip, legs spread for him, his eyes flirting between your all too cute expression and the growing wet patch on your panties, “fuck, please—“ 

“Gonna have to tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh, his arm hooked under your knee, your foot pressed against his back, “where do you want me?” 

“You fuck-er—“ the last syllable is a gasp as he kisses your sensitive clit through your soaked underwear, “Toru—“ a whine leaves your throat. 

Fuck, you’re so cute, his fingers toy with the elastic of your panties — and all of this was worth it, worth it to see if these feelings were what he thought they were, worth it to make you smile, and worth to end up with you. 

“How can I refuse you when you say my name like that?” he’s tugging your underwear away, exposing your sipping cunt to a rush of air and his warm breath, “all this f’me, baby?” You mumble something he can’t quite make out, “what was that?” 

Your glassy eyes look up at him, blown wide with lust, “Only f’you, Satoru,” fuck, his dick twitches — he could bust just looking at you. 

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, “g’nna make me cum just with your words,” but he diverts his attention to your needy cunt, his long fingers graze over your pussy, collecting the precum on his fingertips, before he pinches your clit. 

“Toru,” you squirm, as he grins down at you, all too pleased. 

“Imagine if the elders could see you like this — spread out for me like a good little wife,” he’s leaning down to kiss your fluttering folds, leaning back for you to see the shiny pre that clings to his lips that his pink tongue darts out to clean off, “sweetest thing I’ve tasted,” 

“Please, Toru, fuck—“ and finally his finger is circling your hole, before sinking in knuckle deep — fuck, you were fucking tight — he could melt from your warmth, pulling him in like a siren to a drunken sailor, “oh my god,” 

“You don’t have to call me ‘god,’ princess,” and he earns a glare from you that fades into an open mouthed moan as he begins to pump his finger in and out, “so good for me,” and he’s adding another finger, the wet squelch of your cunt growing louder, as he reaches a hand down to graze against his erection if only for a little relief. 

He wishes he could memorize the way you looked right now — perfect little lips parted for him, his name and soft pants the only sounds you could manage to make, your back arching into his touch, and the way you moaned when his lips found their way around your clit. 

His tongue circles your clit at first before his lips suck at the hard pearl, fingers parting your dripping folds, finally finding that spot that had your walls giving that telltale spasm, “Toru, I’m close—g’nna cum—“ you whimper, his fingers pistoning in and out of your cunt as he sucks hard at your clit, and you cum, hard, around his fingers, drenching his face and finger alike, as he fucks you through your orgasm. 

You’re beautiful — lips parted and chest heaving, as you moan his name again, “good girl,” he’s murmuring, as your eyes flutter open, to watch him lick his lips and fingers clean, “might get addicted to how you taste, sweetheart,” 

And you’re boneless, but still you’re still reaching for him, pulling him into a languid kiss, his cock twitching as he shifts himself over you, hands pressed into the mattress, his clothed cock rubbing against your drenched folds. 

“Wanna make you feel good,” you mumble against his lips, and he’s pulling back an inch — but unknowingly, he’s given you a mile, as you flip him onto his back. 

You’re a vision — your perked up nipples visible through your bra, halfway slipping off your shoulders as it is, hair a lovely mess, and pretty lips kiss ruined. 

“My turn,” and your lips burn a trail down his jaw, along the curve of his neck and the cut of his collarbone. You take your time, if only to pay him back in full for all the teasing he did, “didn’t know you taste so sweet, Toru,” your tongue drags up his chest, “must be all the sugar you eat,” 

And your lips smile against his abs at the sharp gasp he fails to stifle, “I’ll have you know I’m very sweet—“ and your fingers graze over his clothed erection — his hips buck up into your touch, “I’m known for it,” he hisses, as a giggle escapes your lips. 

“Uh-huh, I’m sure almost everyone would care to disagree,” the tip of his cock strains against the fabric, the dark wet patch growing larger the more your thumb beared down on it, “but I wouldn’t be one of them,” and you’re dragging the fabric down his hips, freeing his cock, your eyes nearly hypnotized by the slight of it, thick beads of precum dripping from the slit, before your gaze finds his again, softening, “because I know how much you do for others — and how much you’ve lost because of it,” you kiss his inner thigh softly, nose brushing against the skin. 

“As long I don’t lose you,” he says softly, “I think I’ll be okay,” 

And your fingers find their way around the base of his cock, drawing a ragged gasp from his lips, before you lean down and flick your tongue against his leaking tip, “I’m not going anywhere, Toru.” 

Your tongue drags a thick stripe up his cock, before beginning to trace along one of his veins, your fingers slipping up to use his pre to rub up and down his length. Your thumb teases his slit, and a hiss leaves his lips, a smirk against his dick. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, you know exactly what you’re doing to me,” his cheeks burn, dusted with pink surely — as he watches you lick the precum that dripped down your fingers onto your wrist, “knew that mouth would be s’fucking good—“ 

“Turns out you don’t shut up even in bed,” and that earns you a cheeky grin that parts into an ‘o’ as his dick sinks into your mouth. He swears he was closer to death than he was when Toji nearly killed him — not that he’d like to remember that man in this moment — but you’d surely be the death of him, and you would be — if he had to spend another second without you in his life. 

Fuck, he looks down at you, eyes half shut, his white knuckled fingers gripping the sheets — you’re gorgeous as you swallow him whole — sucking and licking, nose brushing against his pubes as your eyes water, as you bob along his length from tip to base and back again. 

“S’good for me, so pretty, fuck—” he groans, when his tip brushes against your throat, his fingers finding your scalp to try and ease you off,  I’m s’close princess, g’nna cum—” But your hands only slide to his ass to hold yourself against him, as his dick twitches in your mouth, and your fingers drift to his sack while your tongue flicks along his slit and he’s done. He’s cumming down your throat, hot release painting your mouth.

He’s watching you with half lidded eyes pull away from him— a string of cum and spit strung between your lips and his dick, before beginning to drip from the corner of your mouth. And fuck, it’s enough to make him hard all over again. You lean over him, wiping the release from your lips, as you kiss up his body. 

“Now who’s good at everything?” and he huffs out a chuckle. 

“I stand corrected — actually, don’t think I’ll be standing for a while after that but—” and he’s finding your lips in a kiss, tasting himself you, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, as your fingers find his erection again, stroking it, before he’s flipped you onto your back. He runs a hand through his snowy locks, a smile on his lips, “don’t think you’ll be doing much standing after this either,” 

“So full of yourself,” you roll your eyes. 

“That’s what you’re going to be full of in a second—” 

“Oh my god—” and your laugh dies on your lips as he starts to tease your entrance with the head of his cock, “Toru,” you whine, as he watches your needy cunt flutter around nothing as he drags his length up and down your dripping hole, watching your releases mix, “please—” 

“So polite,” he hums, as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, “now how can I refuse that?” and he begins to sink his length into your cunt, warm walls nearly pulling his cock in deeper, as he groans your name, “s’perfect, s’good for me, princess, made for me,” and inch by inch, until he’s finally bottoming out. 

“Toru, ngh, s’big—” you gasp, lips parted in a silent moan, as you pull him even closer, face buried in the crook of his neck, but his fingers tugging your hair to show your face. 

“Let me see you,” he murmurs, as his lips meet yours in a sloppy kiss as he continues to thrust into you — his hips meeting yours, the wet squelch and skin slapping echoing in his ears. A gasp parting your lips as you pull apart, your head thrown back in a moan as your walls flutter around him as his tip breaches that one spot inside you. 

“Haa, I’m close, Toru,” you groan, and he’s nodding, his fingers reaching between your bodies to find your clit. 

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” and you do — cumming hard, as he notches himself deep inside you, before spilling inside you, his hot release deep in your pussy. He’s moaning your name, as your bodies slow and his fingers cup your cheek gently, and his lips find yours. 

He slowly rolls off of you, your warmth leaving him for a moment, before he’s pulling you close again, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“Is this a dream?” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut, and a small chuckle leaves his lips, legs entangled. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, “If it is, I hope I never wake up, Princess.” 

Your body aches — that’s your first thought as you stir into consciousness. Fuck, why does you feel so sore? Your eyes try to flutter open, but the sunlight blinds you — a soft groan leaves your lips. You shift, as you stretch, your back aching and muscles tight, but then someone moves behind you, an arm wrapping around your waist. 

Your eyes shoot open, as your head slowly turns to find looking at Satoru. A gasp is caught in your lips. 

Fuck, it was real.  

You slowly turn to face him, his soft breaths leaving his pink lips — god he’s so gorgeous. His pretty white eyelashes resting against his skin, lips parted ever so slightly, and his snowy hair askew and mussed. Your fingers ghost over his cheek lightly — how many people have seen him asleep like this? How many had seen him with his guard down? You knew he didn’t sleep nearly enough, you were surprised he was still asleep — but, your cheeks burned, you both did spend half the night awake. 

But there were more pressing things to think about — what did this mean? You chew on your bottom lip, he had said he wanted you — but what did he want? Just last night? Or something more. 

“I can’t sleep with your thoughts grinding so much,” he mumbles, heat rushing to your cheeks, he’s burying his face in the crook of your neck, “why are you awake so early?” His nose brushes against your neck, his lips pressing softly against your pulse. 

“I just woke up,” you murmur, a small shiver running up your spine, as you relax into his touch, your fingers running through his soft locks, “did all my thinking wake you?” 

“Yes, and you’ll have to compensate me,” and you snort. 

“You’re rich, like old money rich,” he’s pressing sweet kisses to your skin, heat climbing up your body. 

“Money isn’t what I want,” he nuzzles you, nose brushing against the skin of your neck, “wonder what other ways you can repay me,” 

You chuckle, humming at his touch — god even the simplest of touches has your logic up in ash, “I’m sure you can figure out some other methods of payment,” 

And his lips find yours again — it’s a lazy morning kiss, soft and slow, but not bereft of any of the passion from the night before. His fingers slide down your body, as he pulls you impossibly closer. 

“My preferred method of payment wouldn’t have us leaving this room until tomorrow morning,” his lips curl in a smirk, “but I’ll collect my charge tonight — how about I make us breakfast?” 

“You can make breakfast?” You raise an eyebrow. 

“I know how to scramble an egg,” he shrugs, and you snort only for him to pout, and you smile, your fingers brushing against his cheek, before your thumb runs down his lips. 

“How about we make breakfast together?” 

“Was that really your first time making tamagoyaki?” you raise an eyebrow, as you pick up a piece of the rolled omelet between your chopsticks.

“Promise,” and you bite it — it was perfect — the texture, the taste, the seasoning. And you stare at him, an eyebrow raised. 

“Either you’re lying or you really are good at everything,” you mutter, and he grins, as he takes a bite of his food — a sweeter tamagoyaki he had made for himself, far too smug for his own good. 

“I think I proved that last night, Princess,” and you nearly choke on your food. And you chew thoughtfully — you two hadn’t even breached what last night meant yet. You had simply been dancing around it, or at least you had. You didn’t want to be the one to bring it up — or rather, you picked up another piece of tamagoyaki up, you didn’t know how to, “what’s going on in that head of yours?” 

And your eyes snap up, “What do you mean?” 

He tilts his head, “You’re not hard to read — you keep thinking about something,” and his lips curl, “last night?” Your hesitation gives you away — and he only smiles wider, “should I refresh your memory?” And your cheeks are burning, and he chuckles, “come on, sweetheart, let’s just talk,” 

You bite your lip — you needed to do this, you couldn’t run away from how you felt, not again  — your fingers fidgeting with your chopsticks, before you place them down on your bowl, “What did last night mean?” 

And his lips curl, but this smile he has is softer, “What do you think sweetheart? Do you think I’m really the—“ And his phone rings, and he picks up his phone, eyes flickering to the caller, and you wave him off, “you can take the call,”

He sighs, “One second,” he gets up to speak, and he hangs up a few minutes later, “text me a location,” 

“Who was that?” And he’s shaking his head, a sigh on his lips, his hand on the back of his neck. 

“The ever breathing and ever irritating geezers want me to meet them to speak about something involving the clan,” he meets your gaze, a flicker of an emotion in his eyes — a drop of water that disappears into the sea as quickly as it formed, “and it’s a good opportunity for me to discuss something I have been wanting to speak with them about,” 

“Something?” and his lips quirk in a small smile. 

“I’ll be back soon enough to explain, sweetheart,” he walks over to you, “will you wait here for me? Think I’ll be able to come back faster if I know you’re here waiting for me,” 

And you can’t help the small flutter your treacherous heart gives, “The great Satoru Gojo will rush for me?” 

“Oh, he would rush day and night if it meant he could come home to you,” and his fingers find your cheek, drawn like a magnet — why was it you could never look away from him? Even in a crowd, your eyes always found his gaze. 

And you’d go to him — like a moth to a flame, “I think I’d prefer just Satoru,” you lean into his touch, your hand over his, “I do owe him after all,” 

“You do,” he leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead, before he’s pulling away, a smile on his lips, “consider that a deposit.” 

You didn’t know what to do with yourself. 

Alone in Satoru’s place — you didn’t know what to do with yourself. He had left right after breakfast, and he told you where the TV was, books, and told you could order anything or use anything you needed. But, this place was so him — each place you went, there was just another reminder of him that seemed trail after you, but at the same time, without him, it was like a shell of a place — no soul present. 

And you supposed the soul wasn’t present. 

You ended up back in the bedroom, crawling back under the covers. Fuck, they even smelled of him — you squeezed your eyes shut.

You really didn’t know what you were doing — did you? 

You laid on your back. What were you supposed to make of what happened last night and this morning for that matter? Was this real now? A real relationship with Satoru — you turned over on your stomach, pulling the covers over your head — you could barely imagine it. 

And your phone goes off, as you reach for it blindly on the nightstand. But it wasn’t the white haired sorcerer you hoped it was — your eyebrows knit together — at least you didn’t think it was. A text from a number you don’t recognize — and a picture to top it off from the preview. 

You nearly deleted it — only to spot a familiar mop of white in the picture. 

Your blood runs cold at the sight. Satoru? He was at a restaurant with — a woman? You didn’t recognize her, but his hand held hers, picture taken mid laugh. Your cheeks burn — no, no — there had to be an explanation. 

A text now — Want to see what your boyfriend does in his spare time? Is he done using you now? 

There’s only one person who’d text like that. 

Naoya, how fuck did you even get this picture? You stare at the photo — have you fallen so far in your clan that you have the time to stalk Satoru now? 

He replied, it’s not my fault that they are dining in a Zenin owned business. 

Another picture — Satoru and her were hugging, his arm around her waist, far too close to be friendly. 

You don’t think — you call him. It rings and rings, but no answer — the cut to voicemail makes your heart sink. 

Another text — even if you don’t believe me, do you think this will be the last of your problems? When you’re Satoru Gojo, anyone close to you will have a target on their back — if only to use your blood to paint one on his head. 

You knew you couldn’t trust this. You knew there was an explanation. You knew Satoru wouldn’t do this to you. 

But even still, you wished you could tell your heart that. 

“What is this?” Satoru was led to a table at the restaurant the old geezers had chosen — but there were no wrinkly old cranks in sight. Instead, there was a woman. 

“Are you Satoru Gojo?” And he raises an eyebrow, hands sliding into his pockets. 

“The one and only, now I don’t suppose the old fools of the Gojo clan turned into a woman — so who are you?” She swirls the glass in her hand, before downing the liquid in one go. 

“Figures they had to lie to get you here — seems like we’ve been set up,” she gestures to the chair in front of her, “I’m Airi,” and he takes a reluctant seat, “I was told this was a meeting for us to meet for a potential engagement,” and he scoffs, he should have figured it was something like this, “but judging by the look on your face, you didn’t know that,” 

“I was expecting to meet 

I suppose we’re on the same page,” 

He tilts his head, “Really?” 

“Gojo, you may be a catch, but to me, you’re nothing more than a potential knife to my neck,” she places her glass down, leaning back in her chair, “and plus, I have someone I’m interested in,” and her eyes slide down, “and judging by the bite mark on your neck, you do too,” 

He pays it no mind, a laugh leaving his lips at the thought of you waiting for him at his apartment, “I do,” and he sighs, pushing his chair out, before getting to his feet. “and I have to get back to her,” 

She follows suit pushing out her own chair, rising, a waiter walking by, and she trips. It’s a reflex, he catches her by the wrist and by the waist, steadying her. 

“Sorry,” she pulls away immediately, looking back for the waiter, before biting her tongue, “fucking waiter tripped me,” the two of them glance around, but see no one, “I’ll have to talk to my grandfather’s advisors about this. No one trips the granddaughter of Naobito Zenin,” she mutters, and Satoru’s eyes snap to her. 

“You’re a Zenin?” And it clicks, the wedding, “who arranged this meeting?” 

She tilts her head, “My father, but he heard about this from my cousin, Naoya—“ 

He checks his phone — and he sees a missed call from you. 

Fuck. It was a set-up — in both ways. 

“I have to go,” and he can only hope you wouldn’t do the same to him when he came back. 

Satoru calls you, but you don’t pick up. You can’t bring yourself to stare back at the photo he had set as his contact photo — the picture Yuta had taken of him clutching at his phone with your picture on his screen. 

You needed to talk to him in person. 

And it’s not long before he’s back home — practically teleporting at your feet. 

You swear, stumbling and he grabs you, tugging you close, “Got you,” he smiles, tugging off his blindfold for you to see his eyes — the startling blue that you still couldn’t navigate without drowning in its depths, “does that mean I can keep you?” and you want to pull away, you want to run, but you can’t help but melt into his touch, your fingers gently clutching at the front of his shirt. 

“That depends on whether I’m the only person you’ve said that to,” and you look up at him, his brow furrowed, “and held like this,” 

“The meeting today, it was supposed to be with the elders — I was going to discuss our relationship again but—“ you show him the pictures on your phone, and his brow knit together, “how did you—“ and he doesn’t finish his sentence before he realizes, “it was a set-up,” 

“I know,” and relief washes over features for a moment, but your eyes can’t meet his, your lips a thin line. 

And he glances at the photo again, seeing the one where he’s holding Airi, “She tripped, sweetheart, trust me—“ his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing the length of your cheek, “I don’t want to hold anyone but you,” 

“I know Naoya and the Gojo clan probably set this up,” you whisper, leaning into his touch, “but—” you pull away from him, every step away from him a fissure in the foundation of this bridge built, “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” 

And he’s blinking, “Why?” 

“I’m not good enough,” you’re shaking your head, stepping back as he steps forward, “I hurt you by leaving, and I was this close to doing it again—” 

“But you didn’t—” 

“And your clan doesn’t want us together, and I don’t know, I feel even if we’re together,” the words that leave your lips break your heart and his, we’ll only hurt each other in the end,” 

“Why do you always push me away when we get close?” 

“No I don’t—” 

“You don’t think the sorcerer that’s an expert at pushing others away — wouldn’t know if he’s getting pushed away?” 

“This isn’t working out,” you cut him off, as the slice cuts through thin air — but it’s not your head that goes rolling — it’s his heart, “we should stop — I think your clan has been convinced,”

He’s silent for a moment, before he replies, “well, I haven’t been convinced,” 

You scoff, his hands by his side, as his quiet footsteps approach you, “convinced of what?” 

“Convinced that,” he stops in front of you, “you don’t feel the same way I do,” Your breath catches, as his fingers find your cheek, “all these years, sweetheart, and you didn’t know?” 

“But,” you can’t process this, it doesn’t make sense, “but Suguru—“ 

“Was important to me yes,” he murmurs, “but it’s been years, and it doesn’t mean I can’t have deep feelings for someone else — especially when I’ve had them for over a decade,” 

“You—“ was this real? As he stood before you, in his living room low lights, sunlight streaming in from his windows, “what?” 

He laughs, “Didn’t know it was possible to render you speechless, sweetheart — guess there’s a first time for everything,” he steps over your missteps with the same ease he does everything, “I really do have to spell everything out for you, don’t I?” The back of his fingers ghost over your cheek, “I’m in love with you—“ 

“No,” you’re shaking your head, and his face falls, “Satoru, we can’t—“ 

“But—“ 

“Your clan doesn’t approve of me, they won’t stop trying to break us up, and I could put you in danger,” you murmur, “they could use me against you — just like Suguru did,” you couldn’t bear the thought of that, “and is that worth it? Worth it for something that may not be real?” You ask the question you’re afraid of asking him — of asking yourself — “was it ever real?” 

And he’s still trying to reach for you, despite it all — he knows it’s dangerous to be around him, he knows anyone close to him is in danger — and that’s why he was okay when you left. If only you’d be safe — but he knew that if he always played it safe, he would never be happy, “It’s real to me,” 

“It’s not to me,” you turn towards the door, “I’m sorry.” 

And this time he doesn’t stop you. 

It’s for the best. 

That’s what you tell yourself. The same thing you say when you’re leaving his place. The same thing you say the next morning you wake up with only a pain in your chest and a dull ache in your head. The same thing when you accept a long mission overseas. 

It was for the best. 

Then why — then why did you think of him? Each and every day, every minute, every second. But it was for the best. He was safer without you, it was easier without you, it was better — better and yet each day seemed to drag when you couldn’t talk to him. And your notes were filled with unsent texts to him — and your mind was filled with nothing but memories. 

And you couldn’t touch memories nor could you talk to them. 

Several months later, you’re sitting in a plane, watching the animation of the plane fly back towards Tokyo. You had been checking in with Yaga several times a month, but you hadn’t heard a thing from Satoru. 

Or rather, Gojo. Not that you expected to — not after what you did. 

And soon enough, you’re arriving home — heading inside your home to find a bunch of your mail had fallen out of your mailbox, knocked out of the rickety box from the storm the night before. You pick up the drenched mail between two fingers that was stuck to the sides of your walls, as you fumble with your keys to open the door. Your suitcase and mail fall to the fall as you close the door behind you, sighing. 

Fuck. You were home. 

You dragged your suitcase inside, picking up the mail off the floor. You collapsed on your couch, tossing the wet envelopes onto the table — when a name catches your eye. 

Gojo? 

You pick up an envelope — the frilly envelope doing nothing to protect the contents inside — you barely can make out any of the text, except the faint inked kanji of his name. 

You gingerly open the envelope, peeling out the insides — and your heart drops. 

Is this an invitation? The faint text was blurred and smudged from the rain — the contents all but faded and you could only make out three things — ““marriage,” today’s date, and bits and pieces of what you thought was an address. 

Satoru was…getting married? 

It felt like logic had fled your mind and panic took its place — as you looked up the parts of the address that you were able to decipher. And you found it — it was a popular venue not far from here. 

You didn’t think — you grabbed your keys and drove. 

You couldn’t let him get married, no, no — you had made a mistake when you left. You thought he was better off, you thought it was for the best — but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be when your chest hurt like this — felt as if your heart was splitting in two with a sword stuck between your ribs. It couldn’t be because you pushed him away because you were scared — scared of getting hurt again, scared of hurting him, scared of being with the only person you ever had loved. 

Basically, you pulled up to the venue, you were an idiot. 

You hadn’t changed, you hadn’t showered off your who knows how long of a flight, and now you were on the steps of a wedding venue that Satoru was getting married at. You froze before the doors. 

You couldn’t do this. He didn’t deserve to have his day ruined by you — not when you had ruined enough. If he had found someone else to spend his life with — whether it was arranged or not, he deserved to be happy. 

Even if it wasn’t with you. 

So you step down — walking off a distance to watch when the couple emerged — which judging by how dark it was and how staff were already almost done setting up — would be any minute now. 

So you wait. 

And finally when the doors swing open, you steel yourself — knowing it would do nothing, nothing to shield you from the pain of seeing—and your eyes find the groom. 

That wasn’t Satoru. 

He certainly had the white hair, but he did not have his blue eyes — he had a lovely bride regardless, who looked at him the way you had always looked at Satoru. Was that the look you had hidden away for so many years? And why were you still hiding? 

And your eyes find Satoru almost instantly — as fast as his eyes find you seemingly, as your name escapes his lips — as he parts through the crowd to your side. He’s wearing the other suit he had tried on — the white suit that had been your second favorite — his white locks parted and combed to the side, but still impossibly unkempt as they always were. 

“You got my invitation?” you blink, tilting your head. 

“But you—what?” and his brow furrows. 

“Don’t tell me you lost your ability to read and speak while overseas, princess,” and a small chuckle escapes your lips as you shake your head, wringing your hands. 

“Satoru, the invitation was wet because of the rain, I thought—” your voice wavers, glancing away as your cheeks burn, “I thought you were getting married.” 

He raises an eyebrow, lips curling, “And you were about to burst in and object?” 

You roll your eyes, but even so you can’t meet his gaze,  “Satoru—” 

His smile only grows wider, “What were you going to say? A passionate speech about how you’re still—” And you’re tugging him close by the collar, and his breath catches, your name leaving his lips. 

“I’m in love with you, Satoru,” your voice is steady as you speak, your hand sliding to his cheek, “I always have been — I was just afraid to admit it, I didn’t want to hurt you — whether it was by my own hand or not,” and his brow furrows, but you continue, “but I’m not scared anymore — because it hurts more to be nothing than something with you—” 

And his lips find yours. It’s everything you want — because it's him, he’s everything you’d ever wanted, and everything you’d ever want. You want the way his arm slides around your waist to pull you closer, you want the way his hand cups your cheek, you want the way his lips smile against yours, and you’d want his past, present, and future. And you’d do anything to keep it. 

“Promise you’ll never leave like that again?” he murmurs, his arm tightening around your waist as he says the words, his forehead pressed against yours, “I already have abandonment issues,” and you chuckle, your fingers finding his cheek. 

“I promise,” you murmur, “I’m sorry I left — both times I left, and there won’t ever be a third,” 

And he smiles, “You proposing to me, sweetheart? I’m not one to rush into things, gotta take me out on a proper date first,” 

“How about tonight?” you find his lips again, the taste of sugar on his lips — undoubtedly from indulging in a slice or several of wedding cake. 

“So soon?” he hums,and his gaze softens, as he presses a kiss to your forehead, “someone’s eager,” and your fingers intertwine with his, squeezing his, as you would a million times more,

“Well, you don’t know until you try.” 

✧ a/n: ahhh another celebration fic done!! this one was lowkey a struggle towards the end so i hope this turned out okay. it's beyond me understanding if it did or not lmao. i hope you guys enjoy ahhh -- gotta probably put up a poll to decide the next celebration fic this weekend :) (it's only because i'm horribly indecisive).

✧ taglist: @yunjinabla, @weluvsza, @yamaguccitadashi, @gojobbg, @soulofoz, @hfdkhjghjkghfj, @forest-fruits-jam, @cerene-dipity, @sleazymac-n-cheesy, @reaperxdeath, @octopishisahybridanimal, @hanlay, @whereflowerswenttodie, @tsukimefuku, @numbing3scapism, @arcswonderland, @kirashuu, @fushitoru, @spider-fan72, @jayathelostdragon, @sunflowmaryam, @satorusmochis, @catsgomurp, @simply-a-s1mp, @kentocalls, @weluvsza, @lucy-xv0202, @mazzd4, @dontshuugo, @zz-snow-zz

[bucketbueckers]

TERRITORIAL

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: filth 👅 (w decent plot - cmon, we know how this goes by now) jealous!p, slight public sex & exhibitionism(?), fingering (r!receiving), packing (🌚), strap (r!receiving), oral (p!receiving), lap dances, spitting, actual warning for men

wc: 8.0k

synopsis: Paige knew what she was signing up for when she asked you, a revered dancer for Dallas’s most prolific strip club, to be her girlfriend, but sometimes she just can’t help getting jealous. Especially when someone thinks they can touch what’s not theirs.

notes: yes the title is from the kali uchis song. if there's any of my fics i recommend listening to the titular song for, this is def one!!! based on this req from 🫦 anon, hoping i did this justice for you and thank you sm for sending this in 🙏 i fear this might be the last fic for a minute - im not dying but i do have to lock in on classes 👎 not proofread but as always though i hope y'all enjoy 🫶

You and Paige weren’t a very…conventional couple by any means. You shouldn’t work well together, but you do.

You’re a stripper – although you prefer the term exotic dancer now, mostly since you’d put an end to some of the services you used to offer – for one of Dallas’s most high profile clubs, Divinity. A corny name that served an even hornier clientele of Dallas’s richest playboys, sleazes, and their countless athletes. You weren’t complaining, though. It’s putting you through college, you’re well on your way to paying off your mom’s house, and you were fortunate enough to have understanding employers who were aware of the ramifications of their business. When you told them that you’d prefer not to perform lap dances or other private shows out of respect for your relationship, they’d readily agreed, a fact you were more than appreciative of.

Paige is one of Dallas’s up-and-coming stars, a bright-eyed, attractive, alluring athlete with the world at her disposal. She was shockingly grounded despite that, humble where you would have expected an arrogant jerk. For all intents and purposes, she wasn’t anything you were preparing yourself for, but you don’t think you’d ever be so thankful to be so surprised.

The two of you have been together for nearly a year, having met during a preseason match during her rookie season. While she was diving for a loose ball near the courtside seats, she ended up at your feet and spilled your drink onto the court. Paige was incredibly apologetic, hardly registering the fact she’d been awarded free throws for the foul, more focused on wiping the water off of your Dunks. After standing and staring at your face for a solid few seconds, as if wondering how you were real and in front of her, she offered to buy you a drink, but the refs were growing impatient and she was out of time.

That didn’t stop her from tracking you down after the game, though. Nor did it stop her from shaking your hand with an enraptured, charismatic little smile, asking for your name and when you’d be free like you’d already accepted her date offer. When you teased her for that, her smile just grew before she pointed out, “Well, you waited for me to come find you. Figured you were at least a little interested.”

In fairness, she was correct. You were interested, not because she was Paige Bueckers or some beginning of a superstar athlete, but because of her humility and how she sank to her knees in front of a sold out arena to dab the water off of your shoes with the hem of her jersey. That meant something to you. So you go out, enjoy the drinks and the company, and you see her again. Then again after that.

Before you could let your relationship grow out of hand, you knew you had to sit her down and explain your profession. You were really into her, but you could see how it could be a dealbreaker for a lot of people, especially since Paige was a public figure. She took it a lot better than you’d been expecting, which led to a lengthy conversation about everything under the sun. She asked if you enjoyed doing it – you did, you were just a dancer at heart and you would be the first to admit that dancing has helped you come out of your shell. 

In turn, you asked her if being with you would make things difficult for her. She was reasonably confused, then almost offended at the idea, before ensuring you that her private life was just that – private. Obviously, being the celebrity athlete she is, it would be near impossible to promise that the two of you could keep things that lowkey, but she was honest and told you upfront that she was falling for you and promised that if push came to shove, the two of you would work through it.

That was the heart of the conversation. Paige asked you to be her girlfriend a week later. It was after a private, rooftop dinner and movie in the fading sunlight of the Dallas summer. You’d said yes, of course, because you were falling hard for her, too. The officiality of your relationship sparked a new conversation regarding boundaries. You agreed on keeping your relationship private, mostly for your benefit – Paige had explained that she could handle the heat on her end, but recognized she had some…hardcore fans, and didn’t want them showing up to your workplace and harassing you.

You told her you’d talk to your employers about dancing only and discontinuing the private shows that people would pay for. It was for both yours and Paige’s peace of mind – you didn’t feel comfortable being so close to other people and performing intimate acts, even if it was your job. It wasn’t necessary and that was a boundary you were willing to enforce because you liked Paige, saw a future with her, and wanted to ensure there was no miscommunication about anything in your relationship. Paige, to her credit, had seemed guilty, making sure to repeatedly emphasize that you didn’t need to change your life or endanger your job for her. You just rolled your eyes, kissed her, and reminded her that you care a whole lot more about her than whether or not old, sleazy men get their rocks off. She’d probably never admit it, but she was relieved that you took that boundary so seriously.

Paige wasn’t known to be an incredibly jealous person. Communication, despite how uncomfortable it could be, was the very foundation of your relationship. The two of you were so secure with one another and any of her jealousy could be derived from a deep-rooted possessiveness.

It’s not the uncomfortable kind where she controls your every move or makes decisions for you – you’d had an ex or two who were like that and you were not keen on repeating that. It was more of a mutual agreement – you were hers, she was yours, and honestly, she was probably developing a bit of a complex about it; you’d perform for a crowd full of people who’d give anything to be with you, but it was her you’d go home to every night. In essence, she just didn’t like it when people got a little too close to what wasn’t theirs.

You and Paige weren’t a conventional couple. But you were a healthy one. You communicated, you had a whole lot of love for each other, and you worked. Despite that, you can’t always control how you feel, and sometimes, Paige just can’t help being jealous.

It was a Friday night at the club and it was already packed wall to wall with patrons, mostly your regulars, but there were also some new faces – investors, foreign athletes, various rookies for the hometown teams. It was a typical show-out, so you weren’t expecting much of it, not until one of your coworkers walks into the dressing room while you’re applying a thin layer of gloss to your lips.

“Never in a million years will you guess who just walked in,” Asha, better known by her stage name Vixen, states in lieu of a greeting. You glance at her through the mirror, your brows raising slightly. She’s dressed to the nines, her make-up gorgeous, and she smoothes out her hair while she waits for your answer.

“Hello, Asha,” you deadpan. “Yes, I’ve had a good day, thanks for asking.”

“Girl!” Asha kisses her teeth while she rolls her eyes at you. “You’re so high maintenance.”

You allow yourself a ghost of a grin, capping your gloss and spinning in your chair to face her. “Okay, who? Was it another rapper? Athletes? Married man?”

“Depends on your definition of rapper; yes, they’re all athletes; and I’m pretty sure there’s at least one or two people in there who are married, but they’re not men,” Asha responds.

You hum. “Well, who are we to yuck their yum?”

Asha huffs, annoyed at the fact that you’re not really reacting, before finally saying, “It’s the Wings, girl. As in the WNBA team. As in First Team All-Studs. I’m either walking out of here tonight with hundreds in my purse or a wife. Shit, maybe Arike’s looking for a third.”

At that, you can’t help but laugh. That morning, before you and Paige went your separate ways – you to the gym and Paige to practice, she’d told you that they’d be out on the town tonight to celebrate some of their rookies, although you thought that would include the bar and some drinks, not a strip club. Knowing Paige, bringing her team to your club wouldn’t have been her first choice, so you figure someone else on her team had the bright idea. You weren’t upset, mostly amused since Paige tends to react to the club in the same way she does while walking through the lingerie section in Victoria’s Secret store – with a lot of dramatic horror like she’s not allowed to look at anyone that’s not you.

You like to joke you have her pretty house-trained, but you find it more endearing than anything else, and you trust your girlfriend.

“I’m sure Arike is very happy in her current relationship,” you say apologetically, knowing first hand that she is. You’d been to their place for dinner many times and Arike practically worships the ground Lala walks on.

“Let me dream,” Asha bemoans. Then, a sly grin appears on her face, and she slides a little closer to you, almost conspiratorially. “You plottin’ on any of them? I think I saw Paige Bueckers out there.”

You smile knowingly, trying not to laugh at Asha’s ignorance – a testament to how quiet you’d kept your relationship. “She’s fine,” you agree, trying to not look too helplessly in love. “Who knows? Maybe she’ll want a private show.”

Her grin widens, but you’re both out of time – one of the stage managers knocks on the door to announce your call time. Asha wishes you luck while you strap on your heels, making your way backstage. The manager guides you to your spot and you take a deep breath in preparation, adjusting the thin, teasing bikini cover over your body. It hides the matching set you’re wearing – an alluring, dark red with glittering rhinestones. You have half a mind to steal it and take it back home with you, but knowing Paige, she’d probably object and buy you a different set entirely for your eyes only.

On cue, you walk out in time with the music, a slow, sultry R&B song, and you make eye contact with the people crowding the stage. The lights, while usually dimmer, have been brightened slightly in preparation for your set. You make your way to the front of the stage, where you’re amused to see your girlfriend and her team waiting. Paige’s eyes brighten at the sight of you, drinking you in, drawing her lip between her teeth almost absentmindedly. 

Deciding to tease her a little, you spin on your heel, your back to her as you pull your cover down inch by devastating inch. Your motions are deliberate, revealing miles upon miles of smooth skin, the lingerie covering your body, the lights catching the rhinestones perfectly. You’re practically glowing. With the cover in your hand, you crouch, making eye contact with Paige, and you smile cunningly at her while you wrap the cover around the back of her neck, pulling her in.

The crowd’s cheering, but you hardly register them as Paige’s hands find your skin. You brush your lips across her ear, knowing you don’t have much time, and you murmur, “What’s the girlfriend gonna think when she finds out you’re at the club?”

Paige slips a crisp hundred dollar bill into your bralette, her hands lingering longer than necessary, but you don’t mind. Her eyes are glued to your chest for a beat, but when they meet your gaze, her pupils are blown wide with desire and a thinly veiled mischief. “Sin now, beg for forgiveness later, right?” she murmurs over the bass of the music. “I’ll make it up to her.”

Your smirk widens and you release her, intending to actually start your set now. You don’t miss how Paige’s teammates jostle her in excitement. Arike was the only one who knew the truth and she just grins knowingly, shaking her head.

You always lock in when you dance, so your set goes by smoothly and ends before you know it. With a smile, you make one last lap around the stage, interacting with the club-goers and winking at the Wings team. If you blew a kiss to them, then that’s no one’s business but your own, but you make your way off the stage and towards your dressing room to change.

Asha’s up next after you, so she congratulates you on a good set before she’s off to do hers. You’re just barely slipping out of your heels when there’s a knock at the door. Thinking it’s a stage manager, you call for them to come in, but you’re surprised when Neil, one of the club managers, walks in. He’s a new face, hired mostly just to fill the vacancy. You don’t know him well – you usually answer to Nicole, but she’s out for the week on a trip.

“Hey, Neil,” you greet, sliding your cover back on to ward off the room’s chill.

“Hello,” he says stiffly. “I’ve got a gentleman in Private Room C. He’s requesting you.”

“I don’t do private dances anymore,” you say, your tone not apologetic. “I think Jess is available.”

Neil sighs. “You know…” he says, trailing off, and you already know he’s about to say something out of pocket. “This is a business. You’re employed here. At a strip club. This is your job. If you were working at McDonald’s, your boss wouldn’t really like it if you refused to make the burger, right?”

You barely resist an eye roll, retorting, “I don’t actually think that’s the same.”

He clears his throat. “Either way, I wasn’t asking. An investor in the private room wants a show from you, so you will do it. You’re the only one here who thinks they’re above the business and refuses to do private shows. Pull your weight or you can find a different club to dance at.”

You raise your brows, meeting his gaze, and smiling in disbelief. “You’re serious?” you ask, laughing uncomfortably. “You can’t fire me. I’ve been here for years.”

“This is Dallas,” he says noncommittally. “We can find someone to replace you. Someone who actually wants to work. Take your pick.”

You stare at him, shaking your head in contemplation. You didn’t want to do the show – it went against the clear boundary you’d set in your relationship early on, one that has been strictly adhered to for the year and some change you and Paige have been dating. But you didn’t want to jeopardize your job, either. Given that Divinity caters to Dallas’s most wealthy, there’s strict rules the patrons have to adhere to to even step foot in the club. It pays extremely well, but this is also the safest you’ll ever be. 

Maybe you’ll get the chance to see Paige before you have to go to the room – just to quickly explain. She’d understand. You knew she would, and that you would make it up to her tenfold. But this feels strangely like betraying her and it leaves a sick feeling in your gut.

“One minute,” you say finally. Neil’s eyes narrow. “One minute is all he gets. You know I don’t do private dances.”

“Five minutes,” Neil bargains. “He’s paying a lot.”

“One minute,” you reiterate. 

“Fine,” he huffs.

You strap your heels back on, trying to control your features. You walk out with Neil following directly behind you. Knowing you won’t be able to detour to find Paige, you slow your steps, scanning the crowd for her. Finally, you spot her at a table in the back, nursing a drink and talking to Arike, clearly not interested in the show anymore. You’re praying for her to look up and meet your gaze before it’s too late – and she does, her expression lighting up at the sight of you before her eyes narrow, knowing where you’re headed. Hoping that she gets the message, you gesture meaningfully to Neil, and she nods, but she looks no less pissed.

Feeling a little more relieved, you try for a smile, pulling back the curtain in the private room and entering. Thankfully, the man sitting on the couch at least looks polite, so you hope that this minute will go by quickly. He attempts to make small talk, commenting on how good your set was as you slide your cover off again, but your heart isn’t in it. Your training goes out of the window and so does every pre-rehearsed line you’ve ever had to use in the past.

You spin, listening for the beat in from the music overhead, but you’re too lost in your thoughts, unable to commit to it fully. Thankfully, you don’t have to for too long because the curtain rips open again.

“Sorry,” Paige says, but she doesn’t sound the least bit apologetic as she steps in between you and the investor, who looks shocked. “She’s spoken for. Scheduling conflict.”

Without waiting for a response from you or the man, she reaches for your cover, wrapping it around your shoulders and ushering you out of the room with her hand on the small of your back. All you feel is a deep relief, letting her lead you to the glass elevators that lead to the private lounges and the managerial offices. The private lounges were usually set aside for reservations, something more elite than the VIP sections, but they’re empty tonight, as are the managerial offices.

The club has a few floors with the managerial offices at the very top. They stick out over the rest of the club almost like a balcony, with floor to ceiling glass walls, allowing for people to stare out at the stage and the seating area, but it’s usually too dim for the patrons to see up. It’s particularly effective for keeping an eye on everything and searching for unruly guests. Up here, it’s like a one way glass – fully private. You can see out but no one can see in.

“I didn’t want to do it,” you rush out as the doors close behind you. You watch the stage disappear as the elevator takes you both up.

Paige’s arm curls fully around your waist, pulling you into her. “I know, baby,” she says, but her voice is still tight. Pissed. Not at you, but at something.

You hardly hear her words. “Neil made me,” you explain, making sure she understands how seriously you see that boundary. You know she knows, but right now, you’re a little anxious, and you want it to be obvious. “He threatened to fire me.”

“I’ll deal with him,” she promises, her voice still dark as she presses her lips to your temple, your forehead. You have no doubt in your mind that she would, but the reassurance makes your heartbeat calm. The elevators open with a sharp ding! Paige leads you out and towards the managerial offices, her hand heavily over your waist, burning. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, leaning into her, the cool silk of her fitted, white dress shirt cold against your heated skin. “I was just a little pissed. But I’m good now.” She hums, trailing her fingers down your sides in a way that almost makes you forget. Your body burns for a different reason now. Swallowing thickly, you admit, “Just wanna be close to you.”

You can almost feel Paige’s smile as she dips her head down, her breath hitting your ear. “Do you?” she murmurs, her voice low, sharp, like she’s daring for someone to try to take you away from her. She leads you towards the glass wall, pressing you against it gently, her chest to your back. Your breath hitches, your eyes scanning the floor below you – dozens of people lost in their own world, in the dancer controlling the stage, too unaware of the fact that if they looked up, they’d see Paige Bueckers holding her girlfriend against the glass.

It’s almost thrilling. The fact you can see all of these people, but they can’t see you. You know they can’t see you, even if it looks like they can.

Paige’s hands trail to your shoulders, reaching for your thin, lacy cover, pulling it off with an agonizing slowness. Her lips follow the path, dancing across your shoulders with a gentle laziness, like she has all the time in the world to pick you apart. Her kisses burn, stoking a flame in your belly that’s been ready to ignite since she slipped the bill into your bralette earlier. She calms the heat with her tongue, licking your skin and groaning at the flavor like she can’t get enough of it.

Finally, your cover is off, and she throws it somewhere to the side without a care in the world. Her hands find your hips, squeezing possessively, and a moan slips from your lips when she presses lingering, wet kisses to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin where your neck meets your shoulder. You shudder when her fingers trail down, slipping under the waistband of your lingerie, but she doesn’t touch you – she just hovers. Something about the reminder that despite it all, despite the many different facets of your life that she doesn’t control, that she refuses to control, your pleasure is the one thing she takes the most pride in. She has all the time in the world to figure out how she wants to touch you, how she wants to work you up.

“Just want me to take care of you, don’t you?” she hums against your skin. You nod immediately, feeling the flush settle on your skin, something in your brain floating away because you know you’re safe here. You can relax and let Paige handle it all. She kisses your skin once more before finally, she presses her hips into you, and your breath stutters. You can feel the outline of the strap in her pants, every maddening inch of the silicone. It makes you shudder with want, your arousal already leaking out and soaking your lingerie – you can feel it.

Something smart returns to you and you laugh a little, tilting your head back to rest on her shoulder, letting her wrap you up fully. Slowly, she grinds the strap against you, her breath coming a little heavier due to the dual stimulation. “Optimist, are you?”

Paige bites the lobe of your ear, her smile turning a little dark as she pulls you tighter against her. “JJ wanted to go out,” she murmurs in your ear, slipping her hand fully under the waistband of your lingerie. “Some club called Divinity, she said. Figured my girl would want a little break. Just me and her, a private room. She works so hard, you know?” Her fingers find your wetness like it’s second nature and she groans in delight when she discovers just how slick, how ready you are. “Oh, baby,” she coos, her voice dripping in sin and concern. “All this for me?”

“Nobody else,” you affirm, and she rewards you with a deep kiss to your jaw, a firmer swipe against your clit. It makes your hips buck before she steadies you. “P, please, need it so bad.”

“I know,” she says. Her fingers are everything and nothing, reaching down to your entrance, gathering the arousal pooled there, and using it to rub maddening circles against you. The stimulation is simultaneously overwhelming and not enough, especially coupled with the realization that anyone could look up and see Paige Bueckers ruining you against a window.

Her hips are insistent against yours, controlled in how they give you the slightest bit of friction before pulling away. You’re aware she’s holding you up fully by this point, so you give into it, reaching up with your right hand to thread your fingers through her hair, dragging her back down to your neck.

She doesn’t hesitate, her tongue licking from the base of your throat to your pulse point, smiling when she feels the relentless pounding of your heart against her lips. You can’t find it within yourself to be ashamed, not when her fingers are circling your sensitive clit like her pleasure depends on whether or not you’re feeling good.

“All those people down there…” Paige whispers, her teeth scraping against your skin, the heat of her grin branding her name into your skin. “They don’t know what I have up here. That the woman they throw their salary at comes home to me. That I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. Touch you like this.”

“Fuck, Paige,” you whimper, feeling boneless when her fingers speed up ever so slightly, your body trembling and buzzing under her ministrations. She presses her lips against your shoulder, teeth sinking into the muscle there, not letting up until a dark spot blooms under her touch. She kisses it gently, tongue swiping over the mark, almost as though she’s rewarding you for being good, for taking it. Her pride unravels you and your breathing comes in quick bursts, feeling ready to fall apart.

“You want my fingers, mama?” she coos, shaking her head in displeasure when you nod.

She doesn’t have to say anything – you correct yourself immediately when the fingers on your clit slow. Your fingers tighten in her hair for stability as you babble, “Want them, P, please. Want you to make me feel good. Please–” You cut yourself off with a moan when her fingers resume their speed and press a little firmer into you.

“That’s it,” Paige soothes, her lips kissing your heated skin gently, her soft words a gentle contrast from the intensity of her fingers. It’s nearly shocking, the dual sensations muddling your brain. “Lean against the window for me.”

You do as she says, letting her guide you to her liking, your palms pressed flat against the glass. Your forehead presses against the window, the sweat beading at your hairline smudging the surface, and Paige enters your personal space immediately. She tangles her fingers into the waistband of your lingerie and pulls them down your thighs with a devastating slowness, groaning to herself when a strand of your slick sticks to the fabric and breaks when the stretch is too much. The lingerie pools at your knees and Paige presses her hips flush against your ass, grinding against you until you’re pushing back in search of friction.

You don’t have the time to beg. She reads the sheer need in your expression immediately, her arms wrapping around your waist, knees pushing your legs apart. Your breath fogs against the glass, and if you look close enough, you can just barely see your reflection staring back at you – hair messy, lips red from your teeth, the shine of your neck from Paige’s efforts. You can see the sharp outline of her smile, too, like the idea of claiming you in front of everyone in this club is exciting.

She wasn’t usually jealous. You were hers, she was yours, and there was nothing anyone could do to change that. But possessive? She wanted to show everyone who you were with, who gets to take the skimpy lingerie off of you after long nights. She wants everyone to be well aware of the fact that while they’re the ones fantasizing, she’s the one who gets to hold, to touch, to ruin you for anyone else.

Her mouth finds your neck while the opening notes of Kali Uchis’s Territorial reverberates through the club below. You can feel the bass coursing through your veins, the tinkling strings raising goosebumps on your flesh. Every sensation nearly fades to background noise when Paige’s fingers settle on your clit again, dragging through your folds to coat them in your slick, and her middle finger probes your entrance before sliding in with ease.

The motion punches dual moans from the both of you, yours in pleasure, hers in a near disbelief. No matter how many times she gets you off, the feeling of your cunt sucking up her fingers is one that gets her right every time. You clench, already feeling her brush against the spot that makes electricity course down your spine, moaning wantonly when she curls just right.

With her free hand, she cups your chest, thumb brushing against a nipple covered by the thin lace of your top. You gasp at the feeling, your forehead dropping onto the glass, fingers twisting around nothing, and the hand kneading your breast redirects to lift your chin. “Watch them,” Paige orders, her voice rough, wrecked. “Let them see who’s fucking you.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, heat coiling in your belly at her words. You try to focus, you really do, but your vision blurs when Paige slides in her ring finger, her pace increasing in speed and intensity. If keeping your eyes on the club below you wasn’t hard enough, then it becomes near impossible when Paige’s slow grind against your ass starts up again, her soft sighs and choked moans like music to your ears as she chases a high you have to strain to see.

Her reflection in the glass is the perfect image of someone who’s ruined. Her hair is a mess from how you tangled your fingers in the strands, her brows pinched together in pleasure when the base of the strap brushes against her clit just right. It’s hot – really, really fucking hot, watching and listening to Paige lose her mind rutting against you while her fingers work you up to a quickly approaching high.

The flames lick at your skin, sweat slicking every inch of your body, your breath fogging the glass in front of you. The knowledge that you’re wholly hers combined with the feeling of her fingers scissoring in and out of you, knowing which buttons to push as if you were an extension of her, makes you keen, your hips unsure of whether or not they should buck into her or grind down in time with her fingers. You settle on both, gyrating and chasing your high, but you all but whine when her hand abandons your chin to press against your sensitive clit.

It’s overwhelming – Paige’s fingers curling inside you, pushing in and out relentlessly, her opposite hand rubbing delicious circles against your needy clit, the strap against your ass, your nipples brushing against the cool glass, and the breathless sound of your girlfriend’s moans as she gets off behind you is enough to push you closer and closer to the peak. With a broken gasp, you cry out, “Fuck, P, close,” and she nods against the sweat-slick skin of your neck.

Her hips slam into yours with a little more intensity, pushing you into the glass, both of her hands increasing their pace and pressure in tandem. “I know, mama,” she rasps, leaving marks on your skin, the indents of her teeth left in their wake. Paige sounds destroyed, like she’s moments away from unraveling completely. All that does is push you to the edge. “Give it to me, baby. Gonna make me so proud, aren’t you? My perfect girl.”

You come with a breathless shudder, unable to force the words through your windpipe, and Paige sags against you, her lips jerking messily while her fingers slowly work you through the lingering shockwaves of your orgasm. The cool glass is like a balm against your skin, the sensation so needed while your skin burns and sizzles from the electricity. Paige is panting heavily into your ear – it reminds you that she’d gotten off, too, just from grinding against you. That makes the heat coiling in your belly return tenfold.

You push yourself off of the glass window, hardly thinking about the smudges on the surface, and Paige steadies your hips when your legs tremble. You turn in her embrace, smiling when she wraps you up, pressing your back against the glass now. She kisses your lips – deep, lingering, tongue probing for an entrance that you grant immediately. With her left hand, she pulls your lingerie off completely, tossing the bottoms to the side haphazardly, and she lifts you into her arms with ease. Your legs wrap around her waist, arms around her neck, as she begins mouthing down your chest.

“Nicole’s gonna be so pissed when she gets back from her trip and realizes someone got defiled against her glass window,” you mutter in between heaving breaths.

Paige smirks against your skin, dragging your bra down with her teeth, encircling a nipple with her lips, causing you to gasp. “Defiled is crazy work,” she mumbles. “I prefer worship.”

“You’re annoying,” you say, your body betraying your words when you arch into her mouth.

She squeezes your ass, walking the two of you backwards until her knees hit an armchair and she sinks down, pulling you onto her lap. The front of her pants are wet – you can’t tell if it’s yours, or hers, or a mixture of both, but it just makes you hungry when you pull her up to kiss you again. “You’re spoiled,” she retorts, fingers reaching up for the clasps of your bra. You let her pull it off you completely, smiling to yourself when she stares at you like you’re one of the ancient wonders of the world. “And so, so fucking fine. Jesus.”

You laugh against her lips, your fingers working on unbuckling her belt. She lifts her hips to help you pull her pants and boxers down in one quick motion and you quirk a brow at the sight of the slick between her thighs. You swipe a finger through the wetness accumulated on her legs, sucking it into your mouth with an indulgent moan. That makes the smug smile on her face disappear, and she grips your thighs tightly like she’d lose her mind if you weren’t on her strap immediately. “Can’t believe you came untouched,” you tease, your fingers dancing across the silicone gently. Paige tenses like she could feel it.

“You could touch me right now and fix that,” she offers, voice a little choked, her hips bucking up in invitation. You can’t help the way your mouth waters, knowing that Paige would have you right in minutes.

Instead of giving her what she wants, you stand up, your heels still giving you a slight height advantage over her as she manspreads in the armchair. She pouts, looking disappointed at your departure, but you lean over her and begin unbuttoning her shirt. With your breasts so close to her face, she looks determinedly less upset, although you have to swat her hand away when she tries to touch you.

“Rule one of lap dances,” you murmur, voice silky smooth, “is that you can’t touch the performers.”

“Shit,” she breathes, eyes widening in realization. “You’re killin’ me, mama.”

With her shirt fully unbuttoned, you slide it off her shoulders, leaving her in a dark sports bra. You grin at her wickedly, pulling her shirt over your arms as you coo, “I know.” Her jaw falls open in lust and disbelief at the sight of you – messy, fucked out, and wearing nothing but your heels and her shirt, which is multiple sizes too big on you. You don’t button it, but the message is the same. Paige always liked seeing you in her clothes, and now? You can tell she’s actually going to lose her mind.

She leans back in the armchair, one hand gripping the armrest, the other resting on her thigh, fingers twitching. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen so much unadulterated want on her face. With the Kali Uchis song still playing distantly in the club, you stalk over to her in slow, calculated movements, hips swaying. Paige doesn’t know where to look – your face, your chest, the glistening spot in between your legs. She breathes heavily the closer you get.

You settle both hands on the armrests, leaning over her, not reprimanding her when her lips brush against your chest, seeking out your nipples. You inch closer to her ear, breath fanning against the shell of it as you murmur the lyrics of the song to her. “See, I’m a lover, but I’ll go to war about mine, toe to toe.” Her breath hitches, but you’re gone as quickly as you’d come, turning your back to her.

Your hips move sensually, hypnotically, and you can feel that you have Paige’s undivided attention. Reaching for her left hand, you bring it to your waist, allowing her to lift the back of your shirt so she can get a clear view of your ass. She groans emphatically, her hand falling to squeeze your flesh. It makes your breath catch, too, the feel of her hand swallowing your skin.

You spin around again, the song fading away with the lyrics, “Once I claim my territory, I get territorial,” but you stop in your tracks. Paige’s free hand is wrapped around the strap, stroking absentmindedly as if it were an extension of herself, veins popping and expression gone. You’re throbbing immediately, wanting nothing more than to crawl onto her lap and let her have her way with you, but she takes matters into her own hands.

Paige reaches out for you, spinning you until your back is to her, and she lowers you gently. You sink down slowly. The stretch is delicious, nearly overwhelming as it splits you open, and the both of you moan at the feeling. Both of her hands reach up to cup your breasts as your ass settles flush against her lap, the strap hitting deep inside, and you’re feeling so wound up you could probably fall apart right now with her breathing unevenly in your ear, fingers tweaking your nipples, and her hands kneading your breasts.

Her manspread widens, her hips bucking up to drag the strap in and out of you. You grip the armrest with both hands, using it to lift yourself up and down, head throwing back in a drawn out moan when Paige emphasizes a thrust with a pinch. The slight sting of pain mixes with the pleasure, creating a heady, devastating feeling in your core, and you melt when Paige licks a stripe up your neck again, sucking bruises into the skin of your shoulder.

Her right hand drops, leaving her left to brush against your nipples, traveling down your front to brush through your folds. You gasp at the feeling, whimpering when she coats her fingers in your slick and starts circling your clit again. She curses under her breath. You can’t tell for sure if it’s because of the sheer amount of wetness waiting for her or if it’s because she glanced down, watching your cunt suck the strap right in. Regardless of the reasons, her hips are canting up against yours, timing your thrusts together.

It doesn’t take long before moans are tumbling from your lips quicker now. Her fingers speed up, rubbing against your oversensitive clit with precision and pressure, the hand that was fondling your breasts dropping down to your hip to help you ride her, your legs giving out from the pleasure and the exertion. She’s rambling nonsense in your ear, more sound than words, but you’re able to make out, “You feel so good, mama, taking me so well. So fucking perfect for me. Want you to come for me, please, baby – give it to me–”

The sound of her breathless moans in your ear, the pressure of her fingers on your clit, her hand bruising your hips – it’s enough to send you over the edge. With hardly a warning, you spill all over her lap, your slick soaking the strap, the armchair beneath you, and she brings you down from your high with incoherent words and slowing her thrusts and fingers.

Energy gone, you’re more than ready to curl up with her in this armchair, but her hips shift – discreetly, like she’s still searching for her release and trying to play it off like she’s just trying to get comfortable. It makes you feel guilty immediately. She makes a soft noise of protest as you hoist yourself off her lap, your legs wobbling, and she shoots forward to steady you, a look of confusion on her face. The confusion melts into desire when you sink to your knees before her, fingers reaching to unbuckle the harness, but she pauses you with a hand to your wrists.

“You don’t gotta–” she tries, but you cut her off with a firm, “Paige Madison,” and she shuts up immediately, leaning back in the armchair. You haphazardly discard the strap to the side, curling your arms around her thighs. Before you press your lips to her dripping cunt, she grabs your loose hair, holding it in a ponytail with her hand. You kiss her clit in thanks, smiling when her hips jolt and she sighs softly.

You brush the flat of your tongue across her slit in one smooth motion, moaning at the taste and at the feeling of her grip tightening in your hair, dragging you closer to her. Listening to her wordless command and knowing that she probably doesn’t need much to come, you drink her up like you’re parched, sucking her clit in your mouth and suctioning with your lips. Paige grunts, her hips bucking up, and you don’t stop her, letting her chase her high against your mouth.

You alternate between kitten licks against her clit and long, flat strokes of your tongue against her cunt. It’s not often that you get to see her like this – fucked out and ruined, pliant and soft beneath you, dripping messily onto the surface below, but it never fails to activate a part of your brain that wants to watch her come over and over again.

Wanting to see her fall apart beneath you, you double down on your efforts, your tongue sliding messily through her folds and sucking at her clit until she cries out. You tighten your grip just as she tightens her grip on your hair, pulling you even closer into her – and if this is the last thing you see before you drown, her soaked cunt and the watery, pleading expression on her face, then you think you’d die a happy woman.

“Fuck, mama, ‘m so close,” she rambles, her hips moving against you with a fervor, chest heaving. “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

You hum against her, and she whines, moans falling from her lips until she chokes on the last one. Her thighs tense around you, caging you in as she comes, a long, drawn out groan reverberating through the room while you work her through the aftershocks. You lick once more, twice, until she releases your hair and pushes you away, too sensitive after two orgasms.

Paige doesn’t let you get too far. She pulls you back onto her lap, arms wrapping around your waist while you wipe her slick off of your cheeks, sucking the taste off of your fingers. She catches your wrist on the last one, sucking your thumb into her mouth and humming emphatically at your combined tastes. You smile coyly at her, thinking about nothing more than getting her home tonight and making her writhe. You sit motionlessly in her lap while she cleans off all of your fingers.

“You want more?” you ask teasingly, not really meaning it, but raising your brows when she nods quickly, her eyes blown wide. The heat is already licking at you as you grip her jaw with one hand, leaning over her face, and her mouth opens obediently. You let a string of saliva fall from your mouth directly onto her tongue and she swallows immediately with a low groan of pleasure.

You don’t get to say much else before she’s pulling you back in, your lips crashing together messily, her tongue swiping across your lips in search of more. It draws a ragged moan from you, one that she monopolizes on instantly. It’s like she’s trying to swallow you alive, to memorize the way you taste when her slick is on your tongue. It makes your brain spin pleasantly before she pulls away, a dangerous sort of glint in her eyes, but it softens when she sees the blissed out smile on your face.

“You okay?” she murmurs, squeezing your hips, and just like that, the heat of the moment fades – for now.

“I should be asking you that,” you joke. “Could have sworn you blacked out for a moment.”

“Shit, I might have,” she agrees, drawing a breathless giggle from you. You lean your head on your chest, listening to the vibration of her voice against you as she asks. “For real. You’re okay?”

You don’t have to ask for clarity to know she’s referring to before, to Neil. “I’m okay,” you promise, more glad than anything that Paige came in when she did. “Nicole’s gonna be pissed, though. Not even about the window.”

Paige hums, the sound almost noncommittal, but you’ve been with her long enough to know she’s being dead serious about a situation. If the moment were any lighter, she’d probably make a joke about you snitching – but you might be the one thing in the world she doesn’t play about. “I’ll handle him,” she swears, her tone hard enough that it makes you shift on her lap. She doesn’t even notice, which amuses you, but she continues speaking, her voice thoughtful. “I know you like working here. Dancing. It’s safe for you. But don’t let that make you feel like…you don’t have other options, you know? As long as I’m around, you don’t have to worry. Don’t let Neil – or anyone else – threaten to take this place away from you. Your safety and happiness are important to me.”

You soften, her words hitting home. Paige doesn’t pressure you to say anything – she never does, her fingers tracing soothing patterns on your bare skin. “Thank you,” you say eventually, and she makes a soft noise in the back of her throat, like that’s something she needs to be thanked for. Paige would move mountains for you – you knew that. “I appreciate that. And for you looking out for me.”

Paige presses a soft kiss to your lips, smiling against your skin, and she murmurs, “You’re my girl. I’ll always look out for you. Especially when you dance like that.”

You roll your eyes as she laughs, but you’re inexplicably happy. You kiss her again, softly requesting, “Take me home?” and Paige doesn’t hesitate. Not even a little bit, even though her clothes are a mess, her mascara is flaking, and she looks like she’s been put through a woodchipper. Your girlfriend might be a little territorial, but the one thing you know about her is that she’s always going to make sure you’re taken care of.

(When you wake up in the morning to Paige’s smug grin, you check the work group chat at her insistence, where Nicole is informing everyone about Neil’s termination. 

“Neil got fired,” you say flatly.

“Oh, wow,” Paige says innocently, but her beaming grin breaks through her feigned nonchalance. “That’s really unfortunate.”

You huff in amusement, turning off your phone and setting it on the nightstand. You swing a leg over her waist to straddle her and she wastes no time before resting her hands on your hips, sinking into the pillows beneath her, a chain glimmering in the morning sunlight, her smile far too satisfied. “You’re insane,” you murmur, like it bothers you. It doesn’t.

“Mmm,” she hums, pulling you down to her level to kiss you. “Think you like it.”

All you can do is grin, because you do. You really, really do like it.)

[ghostedbunnie]

trouble comes in fours; simon's ver

you are trying to scare off your ex and who better to send him running than a masked burly guy you've met at a bar and who bulldozed his way into your bed.

simon riley x fem!reader nsfw, minors do not interact!! warnings: dub-con (drinking), fingering (fem!receiving), car sex, exhibitionism, oral (fem!receiving), doggy style, creampie, manhandling

prologue // other versions (TBA)

Everything that happened after Johnny invited you over (which really meant he pulled you by the hand before you could back out) was a blur. You found yourself sandwiched between the masked guy and the pretty boy who introduced himself as Johnny, speaking with a sexy, thick Scottish accent. You couldn't help but steal glances at the masked guy. He said nothing, merely dipped his chin in greeting and met your gaze with an unnerving stare.

From this close-up, you noticed parts of his blonde buzzcut where he had nicked himself with the razor. He had done it himself without a mirror, resulting in some slightly uneven spots. On someone else, this might make them appear unkempt, but for this giant of a man, it seemed just right—almost endearing.

Everything about him screams danger. His thigh is pressed against yours, and you're already sweating because he and Johnny feel like walking furnaces. When you try to pull off your hoodie, the alcohol courses through you, and your head spins. As you finally manage to take the garment off, you accidentally grab onto something solid and hard for support. Too late, you realize that your hand has latched onto the blond's muscular thigh. You immediately let go, as if you’ve been burned by the touch.

You almost swear you hear him snort under his mask. When he finally speaks, your thighs clench. “I think it’s time for you to head home, doll. Come.”

It sounds as if he is talking to a dog, and you feel a sense of indignation rising within you. "I'm not a dog to give orders to. Besides, I don't even know your name."

He rolls his eyes at you. "Simon. That better now?"

"Not really. How do I know you're not some serial killer?" That gets some laughs out of the rest of the table.

He leans down closer to your ear, and you can almost sense the smirk in his voice when he says, "You don't. It adds to the thrill." It could be the alcohol coursing through your veins or the way his voice, with its rough British accent, sends shivers down your spine, but you find yourself agreeing. In some twisted way, it does add to it.

You discover that Simon doesn’t actually drink; the beverage you saw in front of him was just plain water. When he drives you home, he looks absolutely ridiculous in your small car, taking up all the space. He grumbles about your seat being so close to the steering wheel. When you ask him how the other guys are getting home, he simply replies, “They’ll walk,” along with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

He doesn't touch the radio, and you're too nervous to reach for it. You soon realize that he's not much of a conversationalist. He only answers your questions but never offers any additional information that would prompt you to ask more. After you've exhausted all possible conversation starters, all you can do is sit and look out the window. You swear you see him chuckle at your fidgeting whenever the silence becomes oppressive. As you finally arrive home, you can hardly wait to bolt out of the car. The tension is so thick that you need some fresh air to breathe properly, trying to push away thoughts of the consequences of your actions.

Before you can act on those thoughts, a heavy hand grips the back of your neck. "You think too loud. Stop it." A retort dies in your throat as you're pulled into him so quickly that your head spins. You barely register him removing his mask; you can’t even enjoy the fact that his face is finally visible. He latches onto you with the hunger of a man starved, kissing you deeply and urging you to stick out your tongue more.

Just by kissing him, you can feel the scar running through his lips. There's another scar, one that you noticed before, that runs through his eyebrow. When he finally pulls away for a moment, you see that his nose was definitely broken at some point, and he never bothered to get it fixed. You can't help but wonder what it would feel like to sit on his face.

Unceremoniously, he pulls you over the center console and onto his lap, which causes you to squeal in surprise. He doesn’t even bat an eye as he manhandles you into position, making you think about how your ex couldn't even carry two bags of groceries without complaining about the weight.

Something must have revealed your train of thought, or perhaps it was simply the fact that you were still lost in your thoughts, because Simon growls in response. You can feel the sound reverberating through your hands, which rest on his impressive pecs.

"Stop. Thinking." Every word is punctuated by a grind of his hips. To his great amusement, your mind goes blank immediately.

He guides your hands to his zipper straining under his hard-on. "What if someone sees?"

He only replies with "They'll get a hell of a show then." before he drags the pads of his fingers over the wet patch on your panties underneath your skirt that has already ridden up to your hips. He pulls the crotch of your panties to the side and pushes up to a knuckle, wasting no time and making you cling to him for dear life. After he adds another and starts hitting all the spots that make you whimper into his thick neck, he chuckles. It sounds a little mean but it still shoots right to your pussy anyway. "Finally shut that brain of yours up, doll."

He pulls up your shirt with his free hand and drags the cups of your bra up as well before sucking a nipple into his mouth. In reaction you push further into him, making him hum. He ends up alternating between bites to the side of your tits and sucking angry red marks into your collarbones and neck. Every part of you will be sore tomorrow but that's something you'll deal with later.

He lets you ride his fingers, scratching at his back and shoulders, fisting his hoodie and when you finally let go and the orgasm makes your eyes roll back into your head, he pulls you back into him for a kiss. It's messy, all teeth and tongue. When he pulls back there is a string of saliva connecting you two and if your mind wasn't currently wiped by the mind-blowing orgasm you would be embarrassed by the pornographic imagery. Simon forces you to look at him, his big, rough fingers holding up your chin to make you meet his gaze. You finally see the color of his eyes: brown, with pupils dilated wide. "We're nowhere near done," he says.

Simon is a whirlwind; he makes decisions, and you find yourself following them as if they were orders. He doesn’t wait for an invitation; instead, he stands behind you, his chest against your back, providing support as your legs feel like jelly. The drinks you had are wearing off now.

When you take too long to get out of your shoes, Simon tosses you over his shoulder. "You're taking too damn long," he says. You give him directions to your bedroom, and before long, you're dropped onto the sheets. You’re about to call him a caveman for his methods, but the sight of him pulling off his hoodie, revealing he’s not wearing anything underneath, leaves you speechless.

His skin is pale, but you can still see angry-looking scars on his torso and arms. Some of them resemble cigarette burns, while others look like bullet wounds that didn't heal properly. All of that should make you reconsider the kind of danger you’ve just invited into your bed, but as your gaze wanders lower, following his blond happy trail, you find yourself unable to think about the consequences.One of his hands is tattooed up to his elbow, and you can't really tell the design in the low light but it only adds to his appeal. Something possesses you to act, you end up reaching for his zipper before he can and he only gives you a wolfish grin before you pull him out.

He's not wearing any underwear. Your mouth dries up at the sight of him. That's never going to fit. Only after hearing him laugh did you realize that you had said that out loud. He was already hovering above you, caging you in against the sheets. "We'll make it fit."

Your skirt and shirt with your bra soon follow his pants and are lost to the shadows of your bedroom floor. Your eyes are drawn to his dick, you can't help it. He's big and thick you can already imagine the stretch, there's a vein on the underside that makes you wanna follow it with your tongue all the way to the top to catch the pre-cum already gathered there but he doesn't let you. Instead, he drags you to the edge of the bed and throws your legs over his shoulders. You almost want to argue that you hadn't showered, it's been a long day, and he doesn't have to do this but one look at the intense stare makes you swallow all of that down. You don't want to mention that you've never had anyone go down on you before. Your ex-boyfriend wasn't one to reciprocate.

There is no time to think about how miserable your sex life might have been. A bite to the inside of your thigh serves as a warning, both to stop thinking and not close your legs. In your defense, you didn't even realize you were doing it. His eyes are almost unnervingly focused on you before he dives in. He's always been a bit of a messy eater; the sounds he makes in the back of his throat are nothing short of animalistic. If you weren't shaking from his ministrations, you might think he's enjoying himself even more than you are.

He only moves a bit to lock eyes with you and tell you how sweet you are, juices dripping down his stubbled jaw. "Come on now, gotta make sure you're ready f'r me, doll." He alternates fucking you on his tongue and sucking on your clit, fingers digging into the fat of your thighs to keep them open for him. He's only barely controlling his strength so you know there will be bruises on your hips and thighs tomorrow but you can't bring yourself to care especially not this close to another orgasm. He can feel you twitching, getting closer and closer. There's a second of fear that he'll stop but he doesn't. Instead, he adds a finger and pushes on that one spot that made you see stars. That was all it took to wring the second orgasm of the night out of you.

Boneless, you let go of the sheets you were gripping. You only get a second of rest before he's repositioning you on the bed again; it would be infuriating if you could actually move properly.

He presses you into the mattress with his body, his scarred lips brushing next to your ear. "This will be a rough ride for you, don't say I didn't warn you." that's all you get before he bullies the ruddy head of his cock inside of you. You have half a mind to pull away but his weight keeps you in place, when he finally bottoms out there are tears in the corner of your eyes from the stretch, he only drops a few open-mouthed kisses to your shoulders before he rises to his knees and pulls your ass to him.

Everything after that is a blur, you're going crazy from the echo of the slapping of skin against skin, and your arms gave out on you midway so all you can do is scrunch the sheets in your hands and moan out his name like a prayer, to slow down? To go faster? You don't know. If he set out to make sure you can't think he achieved it. Your brain is fuzzy, your legs are shaking and a knot is unwinding in your lower stomach again. It's all too much and not enough at the same time. One of his hands finds your clit and it's over for you. "Come f'r me, doll. That's it." You can hear him hiss from the way you tighten around him as you come. He doubles down chasing his own orgasm now, balls slapping against your pussy even harder. There is a split second of clarity that he didn't use a condom (even though you are on a pill) but as soon as the thought registers he's filling you up with a groan before again squishing you underneath him, cock still lodged deep inside you, keeping his spend from leaking out. When you try to move from underneath him, he only chuckles before his hands find your tits and knead them, making you moan. It will be a long night for you. You've invited a ghost into your bed, and now you must deal with the consequences.

The picture you took with a large black shadow looming over you in the mirror, with a tattooed hand resting on your neck, might help you get rid of your ex who keeps creeping on your social media posts.

[doucious]

FEELS LIKE HEAVENㅤ୨୧ ㅤbetween your thighs

𝗦𝗢𝗨𝗛𝗥𝗡─────𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗃𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗓𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗎𝗍𝗈𝗋, 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝗒 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝖾𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌.

❪ GALLERIA ❫ ｡ jake x fem ! reader 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 smut, oral ( f receiving ) ── MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !ㅤㅤ✦ ㅤ154Oㅤ／ㅤi love tutor jake. @hannism Hi

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤREBLOG 4 KISSIE ^3^

you knew jake was a damn good tutor even before you had asked him to tutor you.

his students were the living example— loud and proud— praising him for his efforts and teaching abilities.

with a mind that simplifies even the most difficult concepts for you to understand and voice that sounds sweet like honey, jake knew exactly how to keep you motivated.

“so sweet baby,” and like a flower bending in the breeze, you follow the course his voice takes you, arching your back off the bed with just a single swipe of his tongue between your folds. “i can do this all day,”

he hasn’t even done anything.

you can feel him slide your panties off with ease while letting his tongue dance over your folds, keeping you on edge. it has got to be embarrassing, really, you’re already a whimpering mess, needing more.

and when you wrap your thighs around his head to have him closer, he can only let out a groan that sends vibrations against your core.

“shh, baby. be patient,” he chuckles low, bumping his nose against your clit. “let me make you feel good,”

and honestly, jake knows he would. just the sound of his name falling off your tongue like a prayer spurs him on into devouring you like he hasn’t eaten in weeks.

he huffs at the way your hips buck up, the way your fingers knit into his hair and try to pull him close, closer. he licks a stripe up your centre, the tip of his tongue toying with your clit while he is relishing in your melodious voice repeating his name in an airy whimper.

it was messy and glorious, all at once. his hands wrap around your waist to pull you closer, deeper against him, and your eyes widen when he latches onto your clit and sucks on it like a man starved.

“please,” the only coherent word you manage to let out and much to your disappointment, jake pulls back, looking into your eyes.

“want me to make you come, angel?” he’s making it torturous, almost wanting to make you beg, but seeing you nod impatiently, he leaves it for another day. “so needy,”

and he goes back to worshipping you with all his being. you taste like heaven on his tongue, dripping sweet and messy, all for him. his mouth works you out sloppily, teeth grazing your sensitive bud, drawing a low groan from you.

you’re a panting mess, eyes glistening with pleasure and tears, just the way he likes. jake continues to devour you at a wicked pace until you’re shaking with your sweet release. he could tell you were close, he knows you well enough for that.

“make a mess for me, darling,” he whispers against your already sensitive bud. his fingers reach over your folds and spread them wider. “let me taste you,”

your eyes roll back as you finally come with a flick of his tongue, and jake spells out all the declarations of praises and pride as he rides you out, drinking every drop of your release.

you quiver as he pulls away and licks your juices off his lips with a satisfied smile. you look beautiful, glowing from pleasure and sweat and gosh, he almost wants to ravish you again.

but jake knows rewards come with hard work, and as the responsible tutor he is, he wouldn’t spoil his student for nothing.

“clean up, angel face,” he presses a kiss against your inner thighs and gets off the bed. you’re ruined and jake fixes his hair, putting on glasses again. “we need to continue with today’s lesson,”

[missadangel]

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 1: Blind Date

series masterlist next chapter

Summary: You work as a housekeeper in a rich family's mansion and often have to deal with their spoiled daughter. One day, she asks you to pretend to be her on a blind date with a guy her dad picked out for her. Your mission is to make him not like you so he won't want to marry her. But here's the twist: will Harry end up hating you, or could he actually fall for you? That's the real question. Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Word Count: 4.8k for now, There will be a part two if you guys like it, but I'm not sure about the rest. Sorry for the poor writing; that was quick. authors note: I am not sure about his name. If there's any update, I will edit. English is not my native, so please be nice; this is my third fanfiction. Thank you for the reblogs, comments, and likes. Love you all!

"Ugh, this dress is so last season! Are you serious? Everything here is out of style—get rid of them! Call Elliot and have them send me another dress, or I'm going to be really pissed!"

As if tossed at you like a used handkerchief, another dress worth thousands of dollars—perhaps only worn once—landed in your hands. You sighed as you looked at the elegant dress you were now holding, the Gucci label glinting under the light.

"Story of my life," you mumbled.

Working as a housekeeper in a millionaire's house was hard enough, but dealing with his spoiled and ill-tempered daughter was exhausting. Yet you were determined that it would soon be over. You could no longer endure this physical and psychological torture. With the money you had saved, you planned to open your own restaurant—fulfilling your dream. You just needed to save a little more and hang in there a bit longer.

Your boss was a decent, kind man, but his daughter was so unbearable that every housekeeper assigned left the next day.

How do you even tolerate her? 

Because you didn’t have the luxury of quitting and waiting for a new job. You were still young and trying to establish yourself in the business. The extra pay you received was simply to endure her antics. Your kind millionaire boss had even promised you all the support you needed, suggesting you could quit your day job and focus solely on managing his daughter’s affairs. But how could you have known it would be so challenging? Still, you managed to get through each day and believed you could endure this for just a little while longer. After all, you had survived three challenging years already, right?

The mansion was enormous, and everything inside was meticulously organized. Everyone—housekeepers, gardeners, cooks, and even the owners—followed a disciplined daily routine. 

Except for the young lady of the house.

You never knew when she would wake up or come downstairs to join her family at the dinner table. She was stubborn, mean, and unpredictable, and you had to manage her behavior just as you managed her dresses, her dates, and her friends. Because you were responsible for her, there were times when you wished you could handle all the housework yourself and let someone else take care of her demands. Despite being just an ordinary housekeeper, your name was the one that echoed the most throughout this vast mansion.

Why? 

Because the young lady constantly called on you to fulfill her never-ending requests. And it was one of those moments again. Since it was evening, you guessed she was probably getting ready for a night out at the club, and you felt a surge of annoyance as you rushed to her room.

"I can't believe I was a size 8 before starting this job; now I'm down to a size 6," you mumbled to yourself, quickly making your way up the stairs.

One of the cleaners dusting the vases in the hallway shot you a wink and let out a sigh. Man, you’d do just about anything to be in her shoes, just taking care of that vase!

As soon as you knocked on the door, the young lady Melanie opened it, pulled you inside by the arm, and slammed the door shut behind you. You were taken aback—had you made a mistake? It had only been two hours since you last saw her; you had picked up her clothes off the floor and taken them to the laundry room. She had seemed content, busy texting on her phone. What could have possibly happened in such a short time?

“Is something wrong?” you asked, your eyes wide. For some reason, she looked super tense and nervous.  

“You’ve gotta help me,” she said almost desperately, which caught you off guard; it was pretty rare for her to ask for help like this, very rare.  

“Of course, if I know what’s going on…” 

“Remember that thing we did with the senator's son? I need you to do something like that again.”

You froze for a moment. She was referring to something you had helped her with before—something you weren't very proud of.

“Oh, but—” you frowned. “You said I’d never have to do anything like that again.”

Years ago, you had done your best to disguise yourself as Melanie to turn off the senator's son and prevent him from marrying her. It had worked, but lying to someone was a real headache. Thankfully, Melanie's father hadn’t suspected a thing, but the thought of risking it again felt scarier than anything else.

“I know, I know, but I’m in a tough spot. My dad has been speaking with a matchmaker again to arrange a match for me. After the scandal at the club last time, he's determined to marry me off for sure. Please, I need your help.”

How could she still act so childish in her late twenties? As she looked at you with those pleading eyes, memories of all the times she’d yelled at you and scolded you flashed in your mind. It was fine when you were more like her special assistant instead of just a housekeeper, but now it feels like you’re just a toy to her. When she wants to have fun, she plays with you—almost like you’re her little slave or something.

“I’m not here for that,” you said firmly. “That is not my job.” Your patience was running thin, and this was just too much.  

“But you’re supposed to help me,” she shot back, stubborn as ever. “And it’ll be easier this time, I promise.” 

You narrowed your eyes and said, “We got caught last time when the guy found out and cursed both of us. Do you have any idea how hard that was for me? And if your father discovers what we’re up to this time…”

She replied with a grin, “We won’t get caught this time because I already sent them your photo instead of mine. Besides, you know how my father is strict about always having my picture removed from newspapers and magazines.”

“You did what?” you wailed.

“Chill, it’s all figured out. I’ve been working on this since last week. You’ll have dinner with the guy, pretend to be me, scare him off, and boom! He won’t want to hear my name again. Easy peasy!”  

You rolled your eyes. “But he’s surely seen your photo somewhere; he can’t be that clueless.”  

“No, he’s a very busy businessman. He has lived abroad for years and has just returned from France. He’s looking to set up his business here in New York,” she said as she opened her laptop and pulled up a webpage with information about the man. “It seems he’s also looking for a suitable match,” she continued, glancing at his photo and pursing her lips.

You froze when you looked at the photo; he wasn’t at all what you expected. He appeared to be a mature, charismatic, and intelligent man. But how could you sit opposite this man and pretend to be someone else? The thought made you shudder, raising the tiny hairs on the back of your neck.  

“As you can see, he’s much older than me. I don’t think he’ll tolerate disrespect. If you’re disrespectful to him, he might get annoyed and just leave the table,” she said with a chuckle.

You laughed too, but for a different reason. You were sure that if she went to the meeting herself, he would get up and leave when he saw her personality.  

“I think you should go; maybe he won’t like you,” you suggested.  

She narrowed her eyes at you like she'd just caught you saying something crazy. “He won’t like me? Seriously?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder with a cocky grin. “Anyway, I can’t risk it. I don’t want to marry him or anyone else, and I definitely don’t want to be stuck in the same room with that old man.” 

As if I want it so much, you thought.  

“Come on, please do this for me! I promise I’ll be good; I won’t make you work too hard. I’ll ask Dad to give you a nice raise,” she said, clasping her hands together and trying to look cute.  

Well, good raise would mean you could quit your job and bail out of here earlier, right? You crossed your arms and glanced back at the laptop screen, staring at the photo of that guy—Harry Castillo. You made a decision that you had no idea would change everything in both his life and yours.

“Fine. When’s dinner?” you said, feeling a bit anxious.  

“Oh, you’re the best! I knew you couldn’t say no!” she said excitedly. “This Saturday.”  

“But that’s only two days away,” you pointed out, feeling even more nervous.  

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you all set. Just make sure you displease him,” she grinned.  

You sighed deeply, already sure you’d regret this choice.

“Don’t you think this dress is a bit… exaggerated?” you muttered, looking at yourself in the mirror.  

It was an elegant burgundy dress—strappy, satin, and adorned with pearl details—the kind of designer item you could never afford, even if you worked your entire life.  

“Am I trying to make him hate me or make him fall for me?” you asked, frowning.  

Melanie rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry; he’ll never fall in love with you,” she said arrogantly. This was typical behavior for her, so you chose to ignore it. “As much as you want to annoy him, remember that you represent me. I don’t want anyone gossiping that Melanie Johanson is wearing a lame dress,” she continued while picking out a matching purse.  

“But everyone knows I’m not you, except that poor guy.”  

“I don’t suppose you were planning to wear one of your own skimpy outfits,” she remarked. “Do you want our game to be exposed?”  

That was too much—being scolded and being forced to do something so ridiculous for this spoiled girl.  

“Fine, go to that dinner yourself then,” you said, slipping off your heels.  

She grabbed your arms. “No, no, no, please. Okay, I’m sorry I was rude. But I need you; no one else would do something like this for me.”  

“It’s good that you realize that,” you muttered.  

“Here, take this; it’s time,” she said, giving you a smile.  

Honestly, putting up with Melanie’s constant demands, cleaning up after her, and covering for her felt like child’s play compared to what you were facing tonight. 

A nice raise, you keep telling yourself trying to soothe yourself. I’m doing this for my restaurant; I’ll get it started someday.

The restaurant was one of the most famous, expensive, and luxurious places in New York—somewhere you would never normally set foot in. But tonight, thanks to Melanie’s name, you could easily get in. You were overwhelmed by the incredibly polite behavior of the restaurant staff.  

Melanie may have been extravagant and reckless, but she had thought of almost everything for tonight—from the driver who brought you here to the all restaurant staff. 

All this effort was for one purpose: to rid herself of the matchmaker’s match.  

When they took your fur coat at the entrance and told you that Mr. Castillo was waiting for you, you took a deep breath. After one step inside, when you saw him, you nearly backed away. Harry was busy on his phone, scribbling notes in his small notebook. He looked really sharp and stylish—way more handsome and appealing than in the photo.

Damn.  

You wanted to escape; you wished to put an end to this nonsense before it even began. Without realizing it, your feet started to move backward. Just then, you turned around and accidentally bumped into the waiter behind you, causing him to drop the champagne glasses he was carrying on his tray. The glasses shattered, and champagne spilled all over his outfit. You cursed yourself for the mishap.

Before you could even respond, the waiter apologized. “No, it was my fault; I’m sorry,” you said nervously, trying to wipe off the champagne from his clothes.

The other waiter and the staff stared at you in shock. 

Yes, you were a wealthy lady now, but what harm was there in being polite?

"No, ma'am, I should have been more careful," he said before turning and walking away.

"Miss Johnson?" said a soft, deep voice. 

You turned around to meet him and felt almost breathless. There he was, few inches taller than you, with broad shoulders, curly hair, deep-set brown eyes, a sharp nose, and an attractive appearance. 

"Melanie, right?" 

"Y-yes," you stammered, batting your eyelashes. 

And that smile! For a moment, the world seemed to stop; all the sounds in the restaurant faded, and you almost forgot why you were there. 

"I'm Harry," he said, holding out his hand. It took you so long to look at his face that you nearly forgot to acknowledge his hand. He laughed again, that wonderful smile lighting up his face. "My hand has been waiting for a while," he said teasingly. 

You felt your cheeks flush as you realized what he meant. "I'm sorry," you replied, quickly reaching out to shake his waiting hand. His hand was big and warm. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long," you mumbled, feeling embarrassed. You knew you needed to work up the courage. 

“Not really,” he said with a grin. “Shall we head to our table? Or do you want to stay here all night?” 

“S-sure,” you said sheepishly. 

Well, there wasn't much you could do about it. This wasn't just about him being wealthy or handsome. Even if it was a fake date, it had been years since you'd been on a date, and you didn’t know many men in your life. 

Dinner was harder than you expected. Even though you and Melanie had practiced what you should and shouldn't say, your fears came to light. Harry seemed kind and understanding, and it was difficult to lie to him, which made you hate every minute of it. It got worse when he started grilling you with questions, and you weren't sure how much longer you could keep up with this silly game.

When you excused yourself to go to the restroom, you called Melanie. 

"What do you mean he hasn't left the restaurant yet?" 

"I don't know; the conversation got a little long, and he kept asking questions about me, I mean you." 

"Do something to make him hate you already!" 

“But how? Throw wine at him? This is all ridiculous. I think we should just tell the truth.”

"Don't you dare!" she barked.

Her voice was so loud that you had to smile apologetically when the other women in the ladies room looked at you strangely, hearing your end of the conversation. 

"What am I supposed to do? Our plan isn't working." 

“What's up with this guy? He should’ve bailed by now.” Melanie grunted.

“He seems nice—I doubt he’d be rude like that.” 

“Rude! That’s the ticket; just be rude enough that he can’t stand it.” 

“What? Seriously?” 

“Yep, you heard me. Just be as rude as you can.” 

You let out a sigh, really wishing you could just bang your head against the wall right now.

“I said do it, or you'll ruin everything. Call me when you’re done.” 

“But what am I gonna— Hello? Darn it!” 

Beep… Beep… Beep… 

She hung up. 

You’ll have to be rude, how wonderful! But she was right; you needed to get rid of this man for the night to end and for you to return to your normal life. Why did he have to be so nice and kind? If he could ever act like a jerk, you would have done it by now, but he was just too sweet. As you looked in the mirror, you thought of all the rude things a lady wouldn’t normally do. Ah, that sounds familiar; it reminds you of Melanie herself. The very thought of her actions made you smile nervously. You took a deep breath and left the restroom.

Encouraging yourself, you gazed at Harry's handsome face from afar.

You can do it, you can do it...

Your first move: act indifferent.

You changed your facial expression as you approached the table and deliberately looked away from his face. He was smiling warmly at you. No, you couldn't look at him; it would only complicate everything. You were about to apologize for being late, but no, you can’t. Instead, you pulled your chair noisily on purpose, scraping its legs on the floor to create an annoying sound. You sat down and crossed your legs, positioning your body so it wasn't fully facing him. Harry seemed surprised by this sudden shift in your mood, but he didn’t comment.

A little later, as your desserts were served, he looked at you, “I like chocolate cake too, especially with pistachio sauce. We have similar tastes,” grinning at you.

You looked at him and then at the waiter. “I don’t want this,” you said angrily.

“But ma'am, you ordered it,” the poor man replied sheepishly.

“I’ve changed my mind,” you said. “I’ll go with the tiramisu,” you added after a quick look at the menu, making sure to glance away casually.

“Sure, I’ll change it right away,” he said, taking your plate and walking back.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked, concern creeping into his voice.

“I’m great,” you lied, forcing a fake grin.

He didn’t ask any further questions, but he seemed to suspect something had changed. When the waiter brought your dessert, you decided to eat it rudely. You were sure Harry would be disgusted as you devoured your dessert quickly and rather rudely as if you were starving. You didn’t look at him again until you finished your plate. When you finally glanced up, your stomach feeling a bit nauseous, the look on his face was not what you had expected. He was smiling at you admiringly.

What the hell was that? 

Shouldn’t he have shown disgust or displeasure, just like the people at the next table who were staring at you with disdain?

But not Harry, not him. Why, God, why? 

As if teasing you, he laughed and reached for a napkin on the table, wiping the remnants of dessert from the corner of your lips. “You’ve got quite the sweet tooth, don’t you, sweet girl?”

How could he be so nice, even after everything? 

“Want to eat mine too?” he joked again. Clearly, you were amusing him instead of grossing him out. Ugh, just what you needed. Why was this so hard? 

“It’s the cream in it,” you said, a bit defensive. If you were going to get into a battle of words, you might as well dive in. 

When he looked at you, confused, you thought you saw a glimmer of hope. Maybe you could annoy him with your gourmet knowledge. 

“The Marsala wine is in the cream; it’s a secret recipe,” you said, trying to sound smart. 

Harry paused eating his dessert, rested his elbow on the table, and gave you an admiring look. “Interesting. I didn’t know you were into cooking. That wasn’t in the info.” That familiar warm smile was back.

Crap. Another mess-up. 

“I get it—you’re keeping it under wraps from your dad. I want you to feel comfortable talking about your hobbies when you’re with me.” 

When you’re with him? Damn, that was supposed to be the first and last time you saw him. You started playing with your fingers in your hair out of nervousness. 

Think, think, think. All you had left was to use the only card you had.

“Look, Harry, I’ll be frank. I don’t plan to see you again.”

Suddenly, he stopped. “Didn’t you like me?” he asked softly.

Was it possible not to like this man? But damn it, you had to lie. You looked away; it was hard to read his expression.

“You’ve probably heard about me from the tabloids. I’m not the type of woman to get attached to just one man. My father put me up to this matchmaker thing; I didn’t intend to.” You admitted this indirectly. He deserved a little honesty, didn’t he? “I’ve had and will have many men in my life. I don’t plan to get married. I mean, you’re not special. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” 

When you looked at his face timidly, you realized you got the reaction you had been waiting for since the beginning of the night. His smile vanished; his expression hardened, and the color of his eyes darkened. 

But why did your heart squeeze when you should have felt relieved?

When they brought your coat, you thanked them and turned to Harry for the last time. You would probably never see him again. You felt fortunate to have had the chance to meet and get to know this man, even briefly. He would probably forget you anyway; why would he remember you? 

“Can I give you a ride home so we can end things on a good note?” he asked, sounding a bit unsure.

You definitely didn’t see that coming. You paused, trying to figure out what to say. It would’ve been easier to just say no, but his eyes were so mesmerizing that if he’d asked you to spill all your secrets right then, you might have done it without even thinking.

“Sure,” you replied, feeling shy.

When the valet brought Harry's car around, your jaw dropped. This black, late-model Mercedes Benz S was probably worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Your interest in cars stemmed from your childhood; your mother always complained that you didn't like dresses and jewelry like other girls—rather, you liked cars. It was clear you were different, and you had always been that way.

Just like the situation you found yourself in now. Maybe there was something wrong with you.

The two of you were silent the entire ride. You didn’t look directly at him, but you could feel his gaze on you out of the corner of your eye. However, you were more captivated by the interior of the car. When would you ever get to ride in such a luxury vehicle again? It wouldn’t hurt to take a closer look. As you glanced towards his side to check out the control panel and see how much horsepower the car had, he caught your eye, causing you to quickly turn your head away. You had to suppress your curiosity.

"We’ll turn right here," you said as you approached the junction. Down the street, the giant mansion loomed, so close to your destination. You stole a quick glance at him, realizing this might be the only time you would see this man in person. You wanted to remember his handsome face. 

Suddenly, Harry slammed on the brakes, and the car screeched to a halt. Your eyes widened in surprise as you looked at him, startled that he had stopped so abruptly near the mansion. What had caused him to suddenly halt? He didn’t say a word, just stared at you, and his eyes seemed to communicate something intense. Was he angry and no longer wanting your company? 

You unbuckled your seatbelt and reached for the door handle, only to find it locked.

“Stay still,” he said as he unlocked the car doors. 

What was he implying? He walked around the front of the car, reached your side, and opened your door. 

Was this chivalry? If so, why did he stay away from the mansion?

“Aren’t you getting out?” His voice was kinda cold.

You didn’t know how to respond. You stepped out of the car without saying a word.

“Thanks for the ride—” 

Suddenly, he grabbed your arm—not roughly, but with a firm, questioning grip. His gaze was intense, but why did he look that way? Had he figured it all out? Maybe he was about to confront you for making a fool of yourself. After all, you had been willing to be open, and now you felt you deserved it. But you didn’t have the courage to meet his eyes, so you lowered your head. 

“You were lying, weren’t you?”

Shit. 

You swallowed hard; this was the moment you had dreaded.

“I-I…”

What were you going to say? How would you even say it?

You were fucked.

Suddenly, Harry pinched your chin with one hand, forcing you to look at him while his other hand rested on your waist. He tilted his head toward you, his hot breath brushing against your face, making your heart race. His lips were dangerously close to yours, and you could feel your throat going dry. What the hell was he going to do? Kissing you or scolding you? After what felt like an eternity, he pulled you closer by the arm around your waist and kissed you.

It had been a long time since you kissed someone, so you were almost shocked by his sudden kiss. No matter how hard you tried to stop yourself, you finally closed your eyes and surrendered to him completely. Your surrendering gave him courage and he deepened the kiss, his hot tongue licking your lips and forcing them apart. While his expert hand lingered on the swell of your breasts teasingly, you moaned and opened your mouth for him and when his tongue touched yours, you could still taste the chocolate from the dessert he had just eaten. 

But suddenly, Harry pulled his head back, breaking the kiss and all contact. Instinctively mesmerized, you leaned forward, eyes closed and mouth agape. When you finally opened your eyes, you caught him snickering, and as the embarrassment of the situation hit you, you wished you could disappear. You instinctively pressed your hand to your burning lips and pressed hem together. Harry licked his lips and grinned. "Just as I predicted. You lied to me. There's no way another man has touched you recently."

For a second, your mind went blank, and you just stared at him, blinking in confusion. What the heck did he mean by that? "Y-you... w-what..." Great, now you couldn't even put together a simple sentence.

What next?

Just then, your phone started ringing. When you opened your purse to get it, Harry reached for it before you could. Fortunately, you had saved Melanie in your phone under a special nickname, not her real name. Harry laughed, raising his eyebrows in surprise and amusement. "Trouble?"

Yes, you had saved her as trouble.

"Can you hand my phone back, please?" you said, holding out your hands, but he caught them with one hand and gently pushed them away. 

“Your trouble can wait,” he said, rejecting Melanie’s call. He dialed a number on your phone, but realized what he was doing when his own phone started ringing.

“There, now you have my number,” he said, handing your phone back to you.

You frowned and grabbed your phone angrily, "What makes you think I’d actually call you?" 

Harry shrugged, pursing his lips. “Shouldn't I call you before I come to pick you up for our next date? I guess I could just come by your house and honk the horn instead.” 

“What?” you exclaimed.

He grinned.

You took a deep breath to release some of your tension. “Harry, why are you doing this? There won’t be a next date; I told you that.”

“One chance,” he said firmly.

“A chance of what?” 

"I want you to give me a chance. A real date. If, at the end of the night, you still feel the same way, I promise you’ll never see me again."

You shook your head. "But why? You’re a man who can have any woman you want. You’re rich, handsome, and kind—why waste your time on someone who doesn’t want you?"

You saw something in his brown eyes, something you couldn’t quite identify, but it was intense. “Because you're different from others,” he said sharply. “True, women are not unattainable for me; they are always around. But what I want is someone special, and I feel that you are the one. There’s something about you that has ignited something in me I haven't felt in a long time. I must admit, I'm surprised; I never thought I’d be attracted to you after reading the news about you, but it seems I was wrong. Can you give me a chance? Please?”

Oh, Harry, there’s so much you don’t know, you thought. Your heart was fluttering at the thought of saying yes, but how could you? How dare you? You weren’t Melanie, the daughter of a wealthy businessman; you were just an ordinary girl.

“You know I won’t leave without hearing your answer, right?” He grunted.

Just then, you heard a car approaching, and you freaked out. That was Melanie’s dad’s car. Your heart nearly stopped.

“You have to go, like, now!” you yelled in a panic.

“First, say yes,” he replied, frowning.

"Si, yes, okay, alright! But please, go now!" you urged, pushing him toward the back of his car. He chuckled in response.

You crouched down to hide your face as the other car drove toward the mansion and pulled him down with you.

“I want you to know I’ve never done anything like this in my life,” he admitted, snickering.

“Is that so funny?” you snapped.

"Okay, I get that you don’t want your dad to see us like this, and I’m curious why, but since you said yes, I’ll be a good guy and leave."

“Yes you do that,” you said with a sigh.

Harry took his phone out of his pocket and waved it before getting into his car. “You’d better answer it when I call,” he said, getting inside. He winked at your puzzled expression and started the engine. His car quickly disappeared from sight along the road. You turned toward the mansion, exhaled deeply, and murmured to yourself.

“I'm so fucked.”

thanks for reading, likes, comments, reblogs are appreciated ❤️

[sunflowerwinds]

wine & dine | s.a

summary: sevika has been working at your father’s auto-body shop for the past two years and has never given you the time of day. valentine’s rolls around and she finally lets out what she’s been holding in from the moment you two met.

pairing: sevika arcane x fem!reader

contains: modern!au, dad’s bestfriend! sevika (not really, more like coworker), age gap (reader is 22 and sevika is 39), alcohol consumption (they’re both slightly tipsy but both conscious enough for consent), sevika has no prosthetic, sevika is kind of a loser but we love it, smut: whiny!sevika, fingering (r!recieving), oral (r! receiving), r!squirting for the first time, aftercare!! (it’s important). (18+ —MINORS & MEN DO NOT TRY IT.), reader grows more confident with sevika!

word count: 6.3K

a/n: ENJOYYYY<3 a treat for you guys! happy (very late) valentine’s to my single angels bc yall deserve love too! art creds: @anodeorain!!! (SPECIAL THANKS TO @atomicami FOR READING THIS OVER TO MAKE SURE IT WAS GOOD ENOUGH TO POST. ily cami girl <3)

You were twenty when you were first introduced to Sevika.

Your father owned an auto body shop and she was a new hire. Most days, you would sit in his office when you were off your shift at your place of work – a local Tea House – and do your online classwork. None of the men ever dared to bother you considering how protective he was over you so you had headphones in your ears to block out any mechanical sounds and to give yourself some peace as you worked hard to get your assignments done, taking sips of your boba tea that you had taken with you.

The door opened as you were in the middle of sipping your drink as you were met with her. Your eyes bulged out of your head at the sight of a 6'1, olive skinned, deliciously ripped and slightly glistening woman stepping into the carpeted office. Her upper body was clung with an oil and sweat stained white wife pleaser and low-rise work jeans with a chunky black belt holding them up.

You suck in a quick breath to try and act like you were unfazed by it but had forgotten you had the thick straw from your tea in your mom. A few tapioca balls shot into the back of your throat causing you to choke and cough loudly. The woman’s grey eyes widened at the sound of your gargled noises as she rushed around the table to pat your upper back.

You tried to ignore how large her palm was on your body and attempted to take another sip of your drink, lifting the straw up a bit so that you wouldn’t get any more tapioca.

“You okay?” She asks you softly, the rumble in your deeper voice sending a chill down your spine.

Fuck, you had thought to yourself. Her voice just matches how fucking hot she is.

“Fine,” you were able to cough out, trying to suppress them. “Choked on my, uh, drink.”

The woman chuckled lowly at you, shaking her head before standing upright once again.

“I’ve never seen you before,” she stated as she folds her large toned forearms across her oil stained wife pleaser. “What’s your name?”

You uttered your name to her as you stared up at her, loving the angle you were getting from where you were sitting. The second your name left your lips, her eyes widened in a way that gave away she had heard about you from your father or the other employees. You quickly asked for hers out of courtesy to try and distract her from it but it was useless.

“Sevika. You mean you’re–”

“Yeah, big boss’s daughter,” you tilted your head up at her with a playful smile. “Did you need something?”

Sevika had blinked down at you before nodding hesitantly as she had forgotten the whole reason she had come into the office.

“I just needed to grab my water from the fridge,” she said with certainty as she made her way over to the large black coated refrigerator and tugged the door open.

When she had turned her back to you to bend over to search for her reusable steel water bottle, you silently thanked your dad for finally hiring probably one of the sexiest women you’ve ever laid your eyes on. You pretended to tend to your school work on your laptop as she stood back up, twisting open the lid and tilting it up to allow the water to flow down her throat.

You mindlessly typed as you watched and savored the sight of a few droplets leaving the sides of her mouth as she chugged the ice-cold water. Her shirt lifted ever so slightly to tease you with her v-line and faint happy trail. You felt like a man seeing ankles for the first time in the early 1900s.

After that day, you started showing up alot more to the shop. Your father questioned the schedule change but simply told him that you were able to ‘focus’ in his office.

This went on for two years. Two damn years of you coming to the shop to study and Sevika had only given you a few glances and gentle check ups on you when she went in the office. Normal and professional conversation and you were tired of it.

Tired of pretending like you weren’t desperate for her attention, for her. You tried to distract yourself from the yearning and had a few flings. They were… nice as that but in the back of your mind, she lingered. Maybe she wasn’t into younger women. You knew she had to be at least ten years older than you so that could be a factor in her not even giving you a second thought.

Or so you’d thought.

Valentine’s Day had rolled around and you had zero plans. Your best friend was out of town with their girlfriend so your plans were pretty much shot. You decided that you might as well get some work done at the shop like usual. At first you had lied about you focusing better on your father but now you actually can’t seem to mentally lock in on your school work anywhere else.

It was pretty empty as you passed through the garage. You could hear some gears turning and clanking so you peaked around to see who was there. Just your luck, it was Sevika.

Great. She made you feel more single than ever on this day.

You tried to speed past her in hopes she wouldn’t notice you but to your surprise, she called out your name. You stop in your tracks at her voice, sighing to yourself as you turn your head so that you are facing her.

Her brows were set in a furrow as she wiped off her rust ridden palms, looking you up and down with confusion.

“Just came to do school work, Sevika. Don’t mind me,” you raise your palm to wave her off. “You can go back to… whatever you’re doing.”

You guess your tone gave away your bad attitude as she sighs, throwing the towel over her bare shoulder and making her around the truck. You tense up as you adjust the strap to your book bag, now aware she could see all of you.

“What’s up, angel? Hmm?” Sevika leans back on the maroon, rusted door.

“Nothing.”

You ignore the heat that’s itching at your cheeks at her nickname for you. It was rare when she pulled that one out considering how little conversation the two of you shared.

“Nothing. Today is– it’s not my day,” you explain.

Her expression softens as she looks behind her at the calendar that was hanging amongst the tools on that wall. It’s Valentine’s Day, Sevika thought to herself.

“Why isn’t your day?” She wonders aloud.

You sigh as you shake your head, wanting to crawl into yourself to avoid this conversation.

“I don’t know. Just even more of a reminder I don’t have… what other people have.”

And that I could be spending this day with you but the universe decided to birth me out fifteen years too late, you think to yourself.

Sevika is silent after those words leave your mouth, shame flooding your veins. You scoff as you adjust the strap of your bag to start making your way into the office but Sevika’s voice calls out to you once again.

“Do you want to come over to mine tonight?”

You froze.

What?

As you turn around on your heels and inch closer to her, eager for an answer: “To do…?”

Sevika chuckles as she leans into you with a smile, her lips two inches from your own. “Valentine’s dinner. I’m a great cook, angel.”

You really were confused now. Why was she offering you this? Was this a pity dinner?

“Why?”

She sighs at your tone and lifts a hand to cup your face, a rough thumb brushing over the apple of your cheek. With any one else you would’ve flinched away and refused but even with how much you hated her for never giving you the time of day before, your body aches for this. For her touch.

“I don’t like knowing you, of all people, are going to be alone on this day. Let me do this for you, okay?”

You of all people. You despised how much that made you want to shove her against the car and kiss her until she was breathless. You stupidly blush at her words, failing to hide how flustered she made you.

“Okay, fine. What’s the dress code?”

Sevika can’t help but have her lips twitch up into an amused grin, releasing your face in the process.

“No dress code. Come in whatever you feel comfortable in, angel.” She reassures you, nodding as she throws her rag over her shoulder. “Give me your number and I’ll text it to you.”

You blink at her as you realized how in all these two years of knowing her you hadn’t had a good enough reason to have her phone number. You reach into your bag to rip a piece of paper from one of your notebooks and grab a loose pen that was sitting at the bottom to scribble down your number and hand it to her.

“What time should I be there?” You wonder, fiddling with your backpack.

Sevika hums as she checks her watch on her wrist. “It’s 3 right now. I’m almost done here with my truck. 8:30 okay with you?”

You nod, unable to comprehend how this was your reality right now.

“Y-Yeah. That’s good. I’ll leave you to your… handy work,” you try and joke but your awkwardness deceives you.

Sevika thankfully grins at your attempt and shakes her head fondly, motioning to the office.

“Be good and do your work, yeah?”

Your face lit aflame once again, nodding before walking away without another word.

How the hell were you going to survive dinner?

You left the shop only an hour later after you had heard the large garage doors shut. Once you had gotten home, you passed by your dad in the kitchen eating some lunch. He told you that he and your mother were going to dinner and would be late so that you could order in or if you had wanted anything from wherever they were going to eat.

You almost told him you had dinner plans as well but you didn’t want to risk more prying questions so you merely wished them a good night and dinner before scurrying up to your room. You dug through your closet to find something; anything that would be dinner worthy at Sevika’s place.

For the next three hours, you carefully picked out the right dress, the right makeup, shoes, jewelry, purse, panties for fucks sake. Your parents had thankfully left already so they wouldn’t press you as to why you were all ‘done up’.

The whole drive to Sevika’s house was a mental rollercoaster. Talking yourself into not causing five accidents by swerving into a u-turn back home or cancelling out of fear that you’ll be unbearably awkward. Every worst possible outcome you could have imagined flashed into your mind but you scolded yourself into taking a deep breath.

She asked you to dinner, you told yourself. On the most ‘romantic’ day of the year.

It had to mean something.

When you approached the house, you could see if you squinted, Sevika’s figure moving through the orange light through the curtains of the home. It was a small, cozy home. Nothing too crazy or expensive but homey.

Your fiddle with your necklace as you ring the doorbell, sucking in a deep breath as you listen to the heavy footsteps approaching the door. The clicks of the locks send an anxious chill down your spine as the hinges creak open.

Sevika looked perfect. She had on a black button up tucked into a pair of the same shade of slacks, a thick belt holding them up. The sleeves were rolled to her elbows and the top two buttons were left undone to show just the smallest bit of skin. Her hair was tied up in it’s usual half-up, half-down that you’ve seen but she just made it work.

“Hi,” she says softly, a gentle smile on her face. “Come in.”

You couldn’t tell if you were a puddle on the floor or if it was just your insides that had turned to mush. Your fingers tighten on your small velvet purse as you finally open your mouth.

“Hi.”

You take a step into the home and are immediately hit with the smell of marinara sauce and garlic. Your eyes dart from the worn in living room couch to the little bit of decor on the shelves before they land on Sevika who was lingering near the now-shut front door. Her gray eyes meet yours as she motions towards your dress with her large palm.

“You are beautiful, angel.”

You look down at your dress, too, admiring the black lace pattern over the garnet red silk. Your eyes meet hers once again as you take a step forward, daring for her to reach for you.

“Thank you. You are beautiful, Sevika.”

Her eyes seem to soften at your words, shining in a way that you’ve never seen before. Was she… flustered? After she muttered a shy ‘thank you’, her gaze darted to behind you as she motioned a hand to the rather cute set up of a dinner.

A small unscented candle was lit in the middle between two plates of a slice of lasagna and a smaller round plate with a garlic knot resting on it. It looked like restaurant grade food. You could even hear a soft tune of jazz lowly playing throughout the home.

“Sevika, this is so sweet,” you express as you approach the table.

“It’s nothing, really.”

Sevika’s heavy footsteps follow after you, reaching for the chair across from hers. She tugs the seat out and motions for you to sit.

“Such a gentleman,” you tease as you slide into the space and sit yourself down in the old wooden chair with a vintage flower cushion tied to the bottom.

The obvious tension in the air was killing you. It was clear neither of you knew how to start up a conversation so you took the reins as you picked up your fork and shoved it into the layered pasta.

“What was wrong with your truck?” You wince afterwards at the blandness of the question.

Sevika rounded the table after she scooted your chair in. She sits herself down across from you, picking up her own utensils.

“Oh, nothing too terrible. The brake pads needed to be replaced,” she shook her head to wave off your concern. “Did you finish your school wor—“

“Why did you ask me to dinner, Sevika?”

You didn’t mean to cut her off but this has been itching at you since it happened. Sure, she gave you a vague answer at the shop but you didn’t want vague bullshit. You’ve only been eating for a few minutes and the unknown was killing you.

“Honestly?” Sevika questions as she takes a bite of her lasagna, seeming all too calm for your liking.

You suck in a deep breath as you huff out a soft: “Please.”

“I’ve wanted to do this,” she motioned to the air between the two of you with her fork as she explained herself, “since we first met. Your dad and I have a good bond and I didn’t think he would approve of me of all people to take out his daughter, especially seeing how he acts when the other fuckin’ pricks at the shop even try to mention you in front of him.”

That made sense. You take another bite of the food, heat spreading from the base of your neck to the tips of your ears.

“Since we first met?” You question with a giddy grin.

Sevika playfully rolls her beautiful gray eyes at the fact that out of everything, that was the detail you were focused on.

“You’re ridiculous. Yes.”

“So what made you want to ask me now?” Your tone was more light and playful, feeling a lot more assured with this.

Sevika’s dark lips twitch into a small grin, shrugging her broad shoulders.

“I thought when you walked into the shop today that I would finally fuckin’ get over myself and just saying something to let you know I feel but I kind of got lucky it being Valentine’s and you not having plans so I took a chance. Thankfully, you said ‘yes’.”

Thankfully indeed, you thought to yourself.

“This is amazing, by the way. I can’t cook for the life of me.” You point to the warm lasagna, the flavors lingering on your tongue.

Sevika shakes her head with a low whistle at your confession. “22 and you can’t cook, angel?”

Your face heats up at her teasing, opening your mouth as you let out a soft gasp.

“I’m… working on it, okay? Plus, if all things go well tonight, I won’t have to anymore,” you hum as you tilt your head at her, testing the waters.

You watch her every movement as Sevika grabs her glass of wine to take a sip. The way her throat bobbed as she allowed the liquid to trickle down.

“Is that so?” She hums into her glass before setting it back down with a soft clink.

“If that’s okay with you,” you grin innocently.

Sevika’s eyes flicker down to your lips as you take your turn to try the wine. It was a sweeter white wine, the burn of the alcohol washing down your throat.

“More than okay,” she quietly admits as she continues to dig into the lasagna.

A large glass of sweet white wine and the hefty carb-filled meal later, you two talking quietly amongst one another on the couch. Well, okay, Sevika was talking while you were tilting your head as you eye-fucked her at the distance you’ve been craving for the past two years. Watching her dark lips move as she tells you something you were supposed to be listening to but god, you couldn’t focus on anything else but her lips.

The jagged, light scar that on the left side of her lip drove you wild. Maybe it was the wine or the few years of yearning but you were growing needier by the second. The soft hum and rasp of her voice was merely adding to the fire.

“Angel?”

She calls to you, confusion laced in her tone. You blink to focus and sit up from your slouched position, cursing internally at how you let your mind wander.

“Hmm? Yeah?” You hum, a smitten smile growing on your lips.

Her large palm reaches over to rest on her exposed thigh from the slit of your dress folding over, her thumb rubbing over the skin to try and ease you. Your eyes flicker down from her pinky to her thumb, breath hitching at how much of your thigh she was covering.

“Are you tired? You can sleep here. I don’t want you driving after you’ve had something to drink.”

You hold back your scoff as you shake your head as you look back up at her, sucking in a deep breath as you carefully scoot in closer to her. It wasn’t something you did often but it seemed like subtlety wasn’t working with her.

“I’m not tired, Vika,” you whisper, eyes darting down to her lips as you raise one hand to rest on her upper abdomen.

Sevika’s grip tightens on your skin, her breathing quickening at your hand placement. You could feel her stomach flex causing an excitement that you haven’t felt in a long time to rush to your head.

The air around you two was heavy, the both of you hesitant to take what you want. You internally frown when you feel Sevika’s heavy hand remove itself from your thigh. She twiddles with the fabric of the skirt of your dress, avoiding your gaze as she blatantly stares at your lips as her chest rises and falls at a faster speed now.

Fuck it.

You begin to lean into her, moving your hand slowly up her torso to rest on the open area at the top of her chest. Your hand rests at her collarbone as you tilt your head to the side as you press your lips onto hers. Sevika, as anxious as she was appearing, followed your movements in an instant. Her hand that had been tugging at your dress was now cupping the side of your neck, thumbing at your jaw.

You force back your giddy grin as you pull away to ghost your lips over hers, letting out a shaky breath as you make her chase you. Sevika’s hand moves back down to your crossed legs, gripping your thigh with need as she whines.

She fucking whimpers against your lips as she mutters your name. Not ‘angel’ but your name.

You hum at the sound, moving your hands to her shoulders as you throw legs over her lap to straddle her. Sevika hands fly to your waist as you attach your lips once again, running her hands up your body. Her tongue brushes over your bottom lip as your hips grind down on her.

She pants against you, pulling away from your wet lips to look down at her lap at your plush thighs to curse underneath her breath. The sight alone could have her cumming untouched.

“Vika, can we move to your bed? Please?”

Your neediness was obvious as your hands ran down her body, feeling the ridges of her sculpted body that you wanted to so desperately see. Your fingers reach up to her button-up, unhooking a single button as you lean down to kiss at her neck to inhale the perfume and light cigar scent clinging to her skin. “Need you.”

Sevika’s hands grip at your body and press you into her, a shiver running down her back as you nibble on her skin.

She breathes out as her eyes shut at your teeth grazing over the mark you sucked onto her sickness. “Yeah, baby. Come on.”

As she stands up, she hooks her strong forearms underneath your thighs so that your legs could wrap around her hips as she carries you to her bedroom. You couldn’t help but giggle at the fact that you were here at her house, going to her room so that you could fuck her.

“You smell good,” you hum as you snuggle your face into the crook of her neck, wrapping your arms around her neck.

Sevika chuckles underneath her breath at your dazed words as she places a kiss to your scalp as she kicks her door open with her foot, the golden knob tapping the wall with a soft thump. She carefully sets you down on the comforter with a soft grunt.

You look up at her from the bed, eyes blown with lust as you wait for her next move.

“If you want to stop at any moment,” Sevika cups the side of your face, a feeling you’ve grown quite fond of. “You tell me immediately, okay?”

“Sevika, I trust you,” you reassure her softly, sucking in a deep breath. “But I will. I promise.”

Sevika seems to relax a bit more now after you have assured her.

“Good. Now, lay back for me, baby.”

You do as you told and scoot back a bit more up the mattress, your dress bunching up at your hips. Sevika seems to notice how it was bothering you, taking the fabric into her hands gently. You make eye contact with her and nod to signal it was okay for her to take it off of you.

Sevika tugs it up to reveal your deep red panties, a wet maroon patch in the front. You would’ve been a lot more embarrassed but hearing Sevika muttering curses once the dress is off of you and hitting the hardwood floor of her bedroom, your confidence shot through the roof.

Your tits were exposed as you didn’t enjoy wearing bras with dresses like this so here you were, borderline naked on Sevika’s bed. God, you would have laughed in someone’s face if anyone told you you’d be here within two years of meeting Sevika.

“You are perfect, angel.”

Sevika kneels down on her bed, her eyes following over every inch of your skin as if you were a painting. To be admired, not touched. You mutter a soft ‘thank you’ at the compliment, feeling a heat prickle at your underarms.

“You can touch me, you know,” you tease.

This seems to bring Sevika back to the task at hand, nodding with a gentle ‘sorry’ leaving her lips. You shake your head as you were more than flattered that she thought you were beautiful enough to stare at. She leans down to kiss you slowly, pushing you back down onto the bed.

Her knee was pressing into your clothed cunt, the pressure directly being placed onto your aching clit. You let out a shaky breath at the feeling, your hands gripping onto her strong shoulders. Your hips roll a bit to chase the pleasure.

“Needy girl,” she hums against your lips.

She pulls away to trail her lips down your body. Each kiss that was left had you leaning into the touch, eyes fluttering as she moved to your nipples. Your bottom lip catches in between your teeth as she cups your left and runs her tongue over your right. She sucks on the sensitive bud, running her hot tongue over the pebbled skin.

You watch her with no shame, not even daring wanting to look away at the fucking wet dream that was happening in front of you. You could see a spit string glistening on your nipple to her panting lips due to the dim lighting of the room. She adjusts herself so that she can move to the other nipple, pressing her knee onto your cunt once again.

“Vika,” you whine out, begging for her to move further down your body to where you needed her most.

Sevika looks up from your chest, pupils blown to the point where the gray of her eyes was a small ring.

“Tell me.”

You grind into her knee as a response, hoping she would get the hint that you wanted more than just her mouth on your tits. Sevika looks down at your desperate grinding on her knee as your hands run down her back, tugging on the fabric of her black button up.

Sevika pulls away, licking up whatever leftover saliva was on your tits before unbuttoning her shirt. You help her as you start from the bottom, meeting her in the middle as her sculpted body reveals itself to you. You had been teased with the idea from the bottom of Sevika’s shirts lifting when she would stretch or reach for a tool on a higher shelf at your fathers shop but this? Seeing every defined ab and little light scars on her stomach. Your imagination couldn’t compare to the real thing.

You throw her shirt in the direction of your dress, eyeing every ridge of her stomach. She had on a simple black sports bra hugging her tits to her body. As you were checking her out, Sevika was running her hands down yours as she landed right at the waistband of your panties.

She looks up at you as her fingers hook underneath the lace, waiting for your approval. You nod eagerly, lifting your hips up in assistance. Sevika tugs them down, letting out a soft groan at the sight of your slick that collected on the front of your underwear.

Your cunt was wet and fluttering, awaiting for any kind relief. Sevika moves down the bed to lay down on her stomach as she hooks her arms around your thighs to tug you closer to her. You yelp quietly as her slight manhandling of you but is quickly replaced by a moan. Without warning, she sticks her tongue out to drag across your entrance once to get your attention.

Being the absolute tease she was, Sevika kisses right over your clit before trailing her lips to your inner thighs. Irritated, you clamp your thighs on either side of her face, raising your brows down at her. She sighs and tsks, easily gripping your legs to force them back open.

You really were underestimating how strong she was.

“Be patient, angel. I want your thighs on my head when I’m eating this pretty pussy, yeah? Can you do that for me?” She places one more soft kiss on your inner thigh.

All you could muster was a whiny ‘yeah’ in response to her question. She hums, satisfied enough with your answer before delving back into where you needed her most.

Sevika laps her greedy tongue over the dripping entrance of your pussy, hooded eyes watching your body convulse. You moan out as she uses her fingers to spread your lips open to watch your cunt clench hungrily.

“You taste so fucking perfect. Can’t believe I had to wait so long to taste you, angel,” she nearly whines before sucking on your pussy lips.

Her eager licks to your cunt drew you close to your first orgasm, legs clamping on either side of her head. Your hands slip into her hair, entangling in her black strands. Sevika is relentless with her tongue, not letting up until she can taste you cumming.

Your stomach tightens as you ride her arched nose as it hits your clit just right. Your moans change higher in pitch as you could feel your orgasm about to rip through you. You came embarrassingly fast, shivering and gripping onto her hair as her tongue laps up your cum leaking from your cunt.

“Fuck, oh my god,” you whimper as she wraps her arms around your thighs to tug you closer to help you ride out your orgasm.

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you try to catch your breath, shuddering when you feel Sevika places a lingering kiss to your clit. She releases your legs to pull her head from your pussy, the top of her head frizzy from your hands and her flyaways clinging to her forehead from the sweat.

“What the fuck?” You pant, a hand resting over your eyes.

Sevika softly chuckles at your words, gently massaging one of your thighs with her free hand. You shiver as you feel one other thick and long fingers tease at your entrance. You buck your hips to urge her to put it inside of you. Sevika hums from above you as she steadily inserts her middle finger.

“You gonna give one more, baby?” She questions as she licks her lips to collect what was left of your slick on her mouth.

You sit up slightly to reach for her neck to pull her down to be face to face with you. Sevika’s lips lock with yours, humming softly as her hand that wasn’t fucking you cups the side of your head. You could taste the lingering cum on her lips as you kiss her softly.

“One more,” you whisper against her lips, pulling away to rest your forehead on hers.

“Just one more, angel,” she whispers back, attentively watching your face to make sure you weren’t hesitating and not telling her.

But all she could see was how blown out your eyes were as you grind your hips weakly on her fingers.

The lewd sound of the squelch of you taking her finger made her smile against your temple. You hum as you feel her leisurely slide her ring finger next to the pointer, soft pants leaving your mouth. Your body was hot all over, sweat gathering above your top lip, the back of your neck and the crook of your hips.

Sevika began to pump her fingers in and out of you, watching the way your pussy lips began to puff up and lather in a mixture of her spit and your slick. She couldn’t get enough of you, wanting to make you see stars from her fingers alone.

You were already out of it; in a daze that boosted her ego.

“Fuck, you look so pretty like this, angel,” she praises as she leans down to kiss your cheek.

“Feel pretty,” you hum, gasping when Sevika’s fingers curl inside of you.

Sevika captures your lips once again as she picks up the pace of her fingers, moaning into your mouth when she feels your gummy walls clenching down on her. You throw your head back at the relentless thrusts, exposing your neck for Sevika to mark up. She wasn’t a big hickey person but watching you let out the prettiest and whiniest moans, all she wanted to do was make sure everyone who would see you the next day that you were hers.

Her lips latch onto the length of your neck, sucking and licking on the skin.

“Right there, baby. O-Oh fuck,” you whine out, not realising the pet name had left your lips.

This encouraged Sevika’s movements. Someone would have to fucking kill her to stop making you come undone like this.

“Yeah?” She places a sloppy kiss to your jaw with a hum.

You shudder as she curls her fingers to hit your g-spot, abusing it with a hungry persistence.

“Y-Yeah.”

Your whole body had basically become jelly in her palms, overwhelmed by the way she was handling you. Borderline pornagraphic moans left your lips as she wouldn’t let up. You think you would start crying if she did, the pleasure already becoming an addictive feeling. You knew at that moment she had ruined you for anyone else; that nothing would be as good as her.

Again, that familiar feeling settled in your lower abdomen. You were going to cum again but it felt… different; more intense than the one before. Your hand flew to her wrist that was fucking into you, not trying to stop her but confused about how the fuck was she doing that.

“Sevika, I-I’m gonna–” Pee?

“I can feel it, angel. Just let go for me. Relax.”

You release her wrist as you let yourself fall back onto the mattress, leaning back onto your forearms. Sevika continues to fuck into you, watching as your puffy cunt began to squirt your cum all over her forearm, even some splashing on her lower stomach. The orgasm shocked up your spine as broken moans leave your mouth, unable to speak to voice your confusion. Your hips buck to chase the most overwhelming orgasm you’ve ever had.

The obscene sight in front of Sevika made her smile to herself, looking down at her squirt-glistening stomach and arm.

“I never…” You trail off as you suck in a deep breath, trying to sit up but the weight of your exhaustion pulls you right back down.

Sevika’s eyes flicker to your shaking inner thighs and the embarrassment in your eyes and it hits her.

“Angel, you’ve never squirted before?” She questions gently.

You shake your head as you blink slowly, your eyelids becoming heavier by the second.

Sevika carefully removes her fingers from your cunt, shushing you with a ‘I know, baby’. You reach for her with weak arms, sighing in relief when she holds you close to her and maneuvers the two of you to avoid the wet spot on the bed.

“I think you killed me,” you mutter into her chest.

“Well, stay alive for a little bit longer. I’m gonna run a bath for you.”

You didn’t realize how sticky you felt until she mentioned the bath. The mix of fluids on your body made you frown until you remember what had just happened. You fucked Sevika.

Well, she fucked you. Better than you’ve ever experienced from the weak and careless attempts you’ve had before her.

“I’m sorry about your sheets,” you wince at the sight of the damp area that you can see out of the corner of your eye.

Sevika shakes her head as she rubs a hand over your naked back to help steady your breathing.

“Don’t be. It felt good, right?” Sevika looks down at you with a teasing grin.

You scoff at her words. “I just said ‘I think you killed me’. What do you think?”

Sevika leans down to peck your lips a few times, mumbling ‘just making sure’ onto your lips. The two of you lay there on her bed for you couldn’t even remember for how long as the rest of the night was a blissful blur. She carried you to the bathroom to sit on the toilet to make sure you pee so that you don’t get an infection and ran you a bath.

The bath helped your sticky feeling. Sevika joined you not too long after you did because well, you had asked her nicely. Lavender-scented bubbles engulfed the two of you, the warm water easing your aching bodies. With your back against her naked chest, you push out a question.

“Are we… dating?”

Sevika was tracing your arm that was resting on the white ceramic of the tub, resting her cheek on the top of your head. There was a mean voice in the back of her head calling her ridiculous to think you would want to be with her; but she ignores it for now.

“We can be. I wouldn’t mind this with you,” she hums as she picks up your hand to hold carefully.

Sevika didn’t specify what ‘this’ was but you hoped it meant more bubble baths and sweet dates. Oh and the endless amount of orgasms.

“Yeah, I want this too,” you grin down at your intertwined fingers. A haunting thought took over your brain, knowing you’d have to mention it at some point. “What about my dad?”

Sevika’s body tenses for a moment but she relaxes the moment you snuggle more into her.

“Well, we can keep it between us for now. Tell him when we feel ready.” Sevika assures you as she runs her thumb over the back of your soap-coated hand.

Between us, your mind echoed. You were okay with that.

TAG-LIST: @strawberrykidneystone @vii-v @savedforlaterr @jiungmcvv @theuclid @luvrmunson @dumcurlyhead @sevikasrightboob @sapphiellar @auraclus @her-gayness @starmaniii @vinxernica @seriouschaosshrimp @amenazaaaa @femininefables @genderfluidlesbain999 @val3ntinswrrld @elliessgfsstuff @iluvwomensm @chaosisclassy @razziematazz @555aturn @graciedollie @vintage-karma @skhv67 @eyelinerfemme @sevikasllver @girlbossuser @acclaaa @lambilegs @pavelyasz @lulumania @applekittypie @darylswifeeyy @belldonic @vangoes @hell0-ki55y @shookkatofthat @mqrzie @sexysapphicshopowner @cstbdf @iristhemuse @sevikasshimmerstrap @tojibestslut @abbysunderwear @sevi-kas01 @paigesbabymama @themostlesbianever @wh1smyk1tten @danimp3 @somos-things @slut4sevika @berntderse @skaireso @aliluvszs @55vies (TAGS CONT IN COMMENTS!)

[simjaexy]

𝙐𝙣𝙨𝙘𝙧𝙞𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙮 | 𝙋.𝙅.

Pairing — Crush Best Friend! Park Jongseong x (F) Reader

Synopsis — You’ve always had a crush on Lee Heeseung ever since he gave you a note, also considering the fact he was one of the most popular boys in school. Considering being popular yourself, you just can’t seem to get his attention no matter what you do. So you decide to fake date Jay, Heeseung's best friend, to get Heeseungs attention. Despite thinking that Jay hates you, you go along with the plan, hoping that Heeseung will finally notice you. As the charade progresses, you found out Heeseung is attracted to people who are experienced. However, you’re a virgin. So why not ask Jay to take your virginity? No feelings will be involved, right?

Genre — Smut, High School au, Angst, Fluff

Warnings — MINORS DNI!!!, Cursing, Partying, One sided love, Crying, Drinking, Miscommunications, Jealousy, Break ups, Misunderstanding, Lying, Eating out, Breath play, Grinding, Hickeys, Slow sex, Phone sex, Fingering, Jerking off, Dirty talk, Humiliation, Overstimulation (f), Dom! Jay x Sub! Reader, Missionary, No protection (wrap it up), Aftercare, Receiving (m&f), Jealous sex, Making out, Doggy style, Spanking, Hair pulling, Orgasm Control, Rough sex, Name calling (Good girl, Babe, etc.), Choking, Multiple orgasms, Breeding kink, Blowjob, lmk if I missed any!

W.c — 16.8k

A/n — I had to rewrite so many of this because I wasn’t satisfied but I finally finished it! I never made a fic that has more than one sex scene so bear with me on that ^^ If you would like to be on the perm tag list, click here! Like, reblog, comment, etc.! Hope you enjoy! Not proofread!

Masterlist here!

The school courtyard was buzzing with energy as students milled about, chatting and laughing. You, being one of the popular students, were used to the attention and the constant buzz around you.

Today, however, felt different. You decided to take a moment for yourself and sat down on one of the benches, enjoying the brief respite from the chaos.

As you were scrolling through your phone, lost in your own world, a shadow fell over you. Looking up, you saw a guy you vaguely recognized from one of your classes. He was holding something in his hand, and he looked a bit teasing.

"Hey," he said, shifting from foot to foot, “This is for you."

You raised an eyebrow, curious, “From who?"

He pointed across the courtyard, and your eyes followed his gesture. There, standing with a group of his friends, was Lee Heeseung, one of the school's star basketball players. He was tall, with an athletic build, and a smile that could light up a room. Your heart skipped a beat as you took in his appearance. He was undeniably attractive.

The guy handed you a small envelope and quickly walked away, leaving you to process what had just happened. You looked down at the envelope, your curiosity piqued. Opening it, you found a simple note inside:

Hey, I noticed you sitting here and thought you might like this.

You glanced back at Heeseung, who was now looking your way. When your eyes met, he gave you a small, confident smile and a nod. You felt your cheeks heat up, and your heart leaped in your chest. You gave him back a shy smile and waved. It wasn't every day that someone like Lee Heeseung noticed you, let alone sent you a note and a candy bar.

For the rest of the day, you couldn't get Heeseung out of your mind. His smile, the way he carried himself, and the fact that he had gone out of his way to send you a note – it all made your heart race. You found yourself looking forward to seeing him again, wondering if there might be more to this unexpected connection.

That happened about a month ago. Now, you’re still here waiting for him to make a move, and yet he hasn’t. You thought he was just a shy guy which was probably why he gave you a note, but you smiled back at him. So wouldn’t that give him a hint?

You were sitting in the library, deeply engrossed in your studies. The upcoming exams were looming over you, and you wanted to make sure you were fully prepared. The library was quiet, with only the soft rustling of pages and the occasional whisper breaking the silence. You were so focused on your work that you didn't notice Kazuha approaching until she was right beside you.

“Hey, are you going to the bonfire this weekend?" Kazuha asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

You looked up from your books, a bit surprised by her sudden appearance, “I wish I could, but I can't," You replied, sighing, "I have so much to study for, and I really need to focus."

Kazuha pouted, clearly disappointed, "Come on, you need a break! You've been studying non-stop. Plus, it's going to be so much fun. Everyone's going to be there!"

You hesitated, knowing she was right. You had been pushing yourself hard, and a little break wouldn't hurt. But the thought of falling behind on your studies made you nervous, "I don't know, Kazuha. I really need to do well on these exams."

Kazuha wasn't giving up that easily. She leaned in closer, her eyes pleading, “Please? Just for a few hours? You deserve to have some fun too.”

Seeing your hesitation, Kazuha pressed on, “Come on, it'll be great. You can study all you want after the party. Just think about it – a chance to finally talk to Heeseung!"

You sighed, feeling the weight of your decision, "Alright, fine. I'll go to the bonfire," You said, finally giving in, "But only for a little while."

Kazuha's face lit up with joy, "Yes! You won't regret it, I promise. It's going to be amazing."

As the weekend approached, you found yourself getting more and more excited about the bonfire. You spent extra time picking out an outfit, hoping to make a good impression. When the night of the party finally arrived, you felt a mix of nerves and anticipation.

The bonfire was located at the beach. The ocean flowed softly together as the moon shone over the people. There was loud music playing and it was filled with people dancing and laughing. You scanned the crowd, looking for Heeseung. After a few minutes, you spotted him sitting down at the bonfire, talking to a group of friends.

You jumped when you suddenly felt hands around your arms, “You made it!” Kazuha squealed. You gave her a chimed smile.

“I did.” You replied. She grabbed your arm and took you to the bonfire where Heeseung was sitting and sat you across from him.

“I’ll be right back! Here’s a drink.” She said. She gave you a red cup and walked past people, disappearing into the crowd.

You sipped your drink as you scanned the faces illuminated by the flickering flames. Your eyes landed on Heeseung, who was sitting across from you, engrossed in a conversation with his friends. Despite the noise and the number of people around, he hadn’t seemed to notice you.

You decided to just look for Kazuha. You maneuvered through the crowd, your eyes scanning for Kazuha. The salty breeze carried the scent of the ocean, mingling with the smoky aroma of the bonfire.

As you rounded a corner, your attention momentarily diverted by a burst of laughter, you collided with someone. Your drink splashed out of your cup, drenching the front of a pristine white shirt. You looked up, your heart sinking as you recognized the face glaring down at you. It was Jay, and he did not look pleased.

"Watch where you're going," He snapped, his voice laced with irritation as he wiped at the damp stain spreading across his shirt.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, "Maybe you should watch where you're standing," You retorted, matching his tone with an edge of your own. It wasn't the first time you'd clashed with Jay, and it seemed like he always had an attitude with you.

Jay's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening, "Just be more careful next time," He said curtly before turning away, leaving you standing there with a mix of frustration and confusion.

As you walked away, you couldn't help but wonder why Jay always seemed to have it out for you. He was your crush's best friend, after all, and you couldn't understand why he always seemed so annoyed whenever you were around.

The thought lingered in your mind, adding a layer of complexity to the evening's events. The bonfire continued to burn brightly, but your thoughts were clouded with questions about Jay and his inexplicable attitude towards you. And how the hell Heeseung is friends with him.

You finally spotted Kazuha near the edge of the ocean, chatting with a few friends. Relief washed over you as you approached her, still feeling the sting of your encounter with Jay. Kazuha greeted you with a bright smile, but it quickly faded when she saw the look on your face.

"What's wrong?" She asked, concern evident in her voice.

You sighed, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening, "I'm just going to head home, Kazuha. Heeseung isn't paying any attention to me, and I just had a run-in with Jay. It's been a rough night."

Kazuha frowned, shaking her head, "No way, you're not leaving yet. I have an idea." Her eyes lit up with a mischievous glint, and before you could protest, she grabbed your hand and started pulling you back towards the bonfire.

"Kazuha, what are you doing?" You asked, trying to keep up with her determined pace.

"We're going to play Spin the Bottle," She announced loudly as you both reached the group. The chatter around the fire died down as everyone turned to look at her, "Come on, it'll be fun!"

You sighed, knowing there was no arguing with Kazuha when she got an idea in her head. Reluctantly, you sat down in the circle forming around the bonfire. Your eyes scanned the faces around you, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw Jay sitting next to Heeseung. He had thrown a flannel over his stained shirt, but you could still see the remnants of your drink on the fabric.

Jay's gaze met yours for a brief moment, and you quickly looked away, feeling a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. Heeseung, oblivious to the tension, seemed excited about the game, his smile lighting up the night.

As the bottle was placed in the center and the first spin began, you couldn't help but feel a sense of dread and anticipation. As you glanced at Kazuha, her encouraging smile gave you a bit of comfort.

The game of Spin the Bottle was in full swing, and you watched as the bottle spun and landed on different people around the circle. Laughter and cheers filled the air each time someone was chosen, but so far, the bottle hadn't landed on you. You tried to keep your cool, but the anticipation was starting to get to you. Kazuha, sitting beside you, noticed your growing unease and gave you a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry, your turn will come," She whispered.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the bottle slowed and came to a stop, pointing directly at you. Your heart raced as all eyes turned to you. Before you could react, Kazuha stood up and clapped her hands to get everyone's attention.

"Okay, since I started the game, I get to choose who she kisses!" She declared. A chorus of groans and protests erupted from the group.

"That's not fair!" Someone shouted.

"You can't just make up rules!" Another voice chimed in.

Kazuha held up her hands to calm everyone down, "Come on, it's just one time. Let me have this," She pleaded, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Reluctantly, the group quieted down, and Kazuha turned to you with a knowing smile.

"I choose Heeseung," She said triumphantly. Your heart skipped a beat as you looked over at Heeseung. He met your gaze, and you saw a smirk slowly spread across his face. For a moment, you thought he was going to stand up and come over to you, but then he turned his head and looked at Jay.

"Actually, I think Jay should do it," Heeseung said, his voice filled with amusement.

The entire circle fell silent, and you could feel the shock ripple through the group. Kazuha's mouth fell open, and you were just as stunned. Jay, sitting next to Heeseung, looked equally surprised, his eyes wide as he glanced between you and Heeseung.

"Uh, what?" Jay stammered, clearly caught off guard.

Heeseung's smirk grew wider, "You heard me. Go ahead, Jay."

You felt a mix of emotions swirling inside you—confusion, embarrassment, and a strange sense of curiosity. Jay didn’t stand up and it seemed like forever.

Kazuha immediately tried to interject, "No, Heeseung, I really think—"

But before she could finish, Jay stood up abruptly, "I'll do it," He said firmly, cutting her off. The determination in his voice shocked everyone, especially you. Your heart pounded in your chest as Jay walked towards you, each step making you more nervous.

As Jay got closer, you could feel your palms getting sweaty. The room seemed to close in around you, and your mind raced with a thousand thoughts. Just as he was leaning in, his eyes locked onto yours, you felt a surge of panic. You couldn't do this.

Without thinking, you bolted up from your seat and ran from the scene. You heard Kazuha calling your name, but you ignored her, your feet moving faster than ever. You pushed through other group of people and sprinted to your car, fumbling with your keys in your haste. Finally, you unlocked the door, jumped in, and slammed it shut behind you.

Sitting in the driver's seat, you took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. You didn’t know why you felt so nervous to kiss Jay. Maybe it was because of the incident? You weren’t sure as you started your car and drove him.

As you drive home, the city lights blur past your window, casting a warm glow inside your car. The hum of the engine is a comforting background noise, and you find yourself lost in thought about the day's events. The streets are quiet, and you feel a sense of calm as you pull into your driveway.

Once inside, you kick off your shoes and head straight to your room. As you settle down, you notice a missed call from Kazuha. You quickly dial her back, and she picks up almost immediately.

“Hey, are you okay?” Kazuha’s concerned voice comes through the line.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” You reply, though your mind is still racing, “I just didn’t know what to do.”

Kazuha sighs softly, “Jay didn’t seem mad that you left, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You pause, biting your lip, “Why would Heeseung want Jay to kiss me, though?”

“I don’t know,” Kazuha admits, “Heeseung seemed normal about it, but he left after a while.”

You nod, even though she can’t see you, “Thanks, Kazuha. I’m just going to head to bed now. Talk tomorrow?”

“Of course. Goodnight,” She says.

“Goodnight,” You reply, ending the call. You lie down, thoughts still swirling but feeling a bit more at ease. Tomorrow is a new day. You close your eyes, anticipation and confusion bubbling within you as you drift off to sleep.

The next morning, you wake up with a mix of excitement. After a quick shower, you pick out a cute but comfortable outfit, knowing you'll be out for a while. As you're finishing up, you get a text from Kazuha saying she's on her way to pick you up for a shopping trip.

When Kazuha arrives, you hop into her car, and you both chat about random things on the way to the mall. The mall is bustling with people, and the two of you dive into various stores, trying on clothes and laughing at some of the more outrageous fashion choices.

After a couple of hours, you both decide to take a break and stop at a cozy coffee shop. As you sip on your drink, Kazuha turns to you with a serious look.

“So, are you ever gonna shoot your shot with Heeseung?” She asks, raising an eyebrow.

You sigh, stirring your drink absentmindedly, “I don’t know how to get closer to him.”

Kazuha taps her chin, then suddenly her eyes light up, “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you fake date someone close to him? That’s like one of the top things people do.”

You blink, processing her suggestion, “Who?”

Kazuha rolls her eyes at your cluelessness, “Jay, duh.”

You choke on your drink in shock, staring at her, “I can’t ask that of Jay after that incident!”

Kazuha just shrugs, “Why not? You talk to Jay the most out of Heeseung’s friends.”

You shake your head, feeling overwhelmed, “Jay hates me.”

Kazuha leans back, a smirk playing on her lips, “He was gonna kiss you either way. Just try.”

You sit there, thinking about it. The idea is crazy, but maybe it’s just crazy enough to work. You glance at Kazuha, who’s watching you expectantly, and nod slowly, “Okay, I’ll try.”

Kazuha grins, and you feel a flutter of anticipation. You weren’t sure if this stupid plan was gonna work, but as Kazuha says, she’s always right.

After spending the day shopping and chatting with Kazuha, you finally head back home, bags in hand and a lot on your mind. Kazuha's words echo in your head: "Just try." You can't help but think about how crazy the idea is, but a part of you is curious about what might happen if you actually went through with it.

As you flop onto your bed, you decide to check your phone. There's a message from Kazuha with a link to Jay's Instagram. Your heart races as you open the app and see his profile. You feel a wave of nervousness wash over you, but you remember Kazuha's encouragement. Taking a deep breath, you decide to go for it. You hit the follow button and then, with trembling fingers, you start typing a message.

l/n.y/n: Jay, are you single?

You type, wincing at how blunt it sounds. But it's too late to back out now. You hit send and toss your phone aside, feeling a mix of dread and anticipation.

A few minutes later, your phone buzzes. You pick it up and see a notification from Instagram. It's a message from Jay. Your heart pounds as you open it, wondering what his response will be.

js_park_: What do you want

You pouted at his bluntness. This was gonna be harder than expected. You decided to just go along and get it over with.

l/n.y/n: I need your help. Like really bad. This may come out weird to you, but I need you to fake date me cause I have a crush on Heeseung and he just doesn’t seem to notice me and since your a good friend of his I was hoping you would go along with it. Once he likes me back you don’t have to talk to me at all or even see my existence! So what do you say?

He read it almost immediately making your heart skip a beat. About a few seconds later he responded back.

js_park_: I’d see you all the time then if you date Heeseung. So no.

You groaned stressed out. He was making this way to hard for you. You knew you couldn’t ask any of his other friends. Jake’s taken, and Sunghoon just straight seems like he doesn’t want no fake dating or a real relationship. You tried to think of another idea. That’s when you suddenly remembered something. You quickly texted back urgently.

l/n.y/n: I’ll get you that guitar you’ve been talking about in class.

js_park_: Cost a lot of money, but if you insist. So when are we starting?

You pumped your fist up in victory. You decided to just start as quick as possible and texted him the details.

l/n.y/n: Tomorrow. Pick me up first thing in the morning and we NEED to show PDA. I don’t like it either but if we need to get Heeseung attention then that’s what we should do. Oh and also, no kissing.

js_park_: Or, we could exchange numbers instead of texting here? It’s weird.

You rolled your eyes.

l/n.y/n: [xxx-xxx-xxxx]. That’s my number.

js_park_: Alright, text you tomorrow.

l/n.y/n: 👍

Seen

You took a deep breath in and out. All you have to do is just show PDA. Nothing too serious. And besides, no kissing will be involved, so you have nothing to worry about. Right?

You wake up to the sound of your phone ringing. Still groggy, you reach over and grab it, expecting to see Kazuha's name on the screen. Instead, you're surprised to see Jay's name flashing. Confused, you answer the call.

"Hello?" you mumble, rubbing your eyes.

"Hey, where do you live?" Jay's voice comes through the speaker, sounding wide awake and slightly amused.

“Jay? What?" you ask, still half-asleep and trying to make sense of the situation, "It's early," You add, glancing at the clock. It's barely past dawn.

"Yeah, I don't know if you knew, but I have morning basketball practice," He replies sarcastically, making you smile despite your confusion.

"Oh, right," You say, suddenly remembering, "Uh, my address is [123 Address Name]."

"Great, I'm on my way," He says before hanging up.

You sit up in bed, trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep. Realizing you don't have much time, you quickly get dressed, throwing on your uniform and running a brush through your hair. Just as you're finishing up, your phone buzzes again.

Jay: I'm here.

You take a deep breath and head outside, finding Jay's car parked in front of your house. You walk over and open the passenger door, sliding in.

"Morning," You say, still a bit dazed but excited.

"Morning," Jay replies with a grin, "Ready to start the day?"

You nod, giving him a tired smile. Jay starts the car, and you both drive towards the school. The early morning streets are quiet, and the sun is just beginning to rise, casting a soft glow over everything. You can't help but feel a little nervous but also excited about this unexpected start to your day.

When you arrive at the school, Jay parks the car, and you both get out. He leads the way to the gym, where you can already hear the faint sounds of basketballs bouncing and sneakers squeaking on the court. As you enter the gym, you see some of Jay's teammates warming up and chatting.

Jay turns to you with a teasing smile, "So, are you gonna give me a hug goodbye?" He asks, clearly enjoying your embarrassment.

You feel your cheeks heat up, but you step forward and give him a quick hug. As you pull away, you hear Jake's voice ring out, "Since when did you guys start dating?"

You glance over and see Jake looking at you both with wide eyes, and Heeseung is there too, watching intently along with the rest of the team. You quickly say goodbye to Jay, avoiding Jake's question.

"Bye, babe," Jay says jokingly, earning a narrow glare from you before you turn to leave.

As you walk away, you hear Jake ask Jay again, "Seriously, dude, what's going on?"

Jay just pats Jake's shoulder with a knowing grin, "Don't worry about it," He says, leaving Jake and the others looking dumbfounded as he jogs over to join the rest of the team for practice.

You walked to the school doors, your heart racing with embarrassment. The plan to make Heeseung notice you has officially begun, and you can't help but feel a sense of anticipation for what will happen next.

Later that day, you finally have a class with Jay. As you both settle into your seats, you decide to fill him in on the rest of your plan.

"So, here's the deal," You begin, pulling out your schedule, "These are my classes, and I need you to walk me to each of them."

Jay groans, leaning back in his chair, "Do I really have to do all of that?"

"Yes," You insist, "I pass by Heeseung a lot between classes, and he'll definitely notice if we're always together."

Jay rolls his eyes but eventually relents, "Whatever," he mutters, clearly not thrilled but willing to go along with it.

As the class begins, you find it hard to focus. Your mind keeps drifting to the plan and how it might play out. Will Heeseung really notice? And if he does, will he care? You glance over at Jay, who seems more interested in doodling in his notebook than paying attention to the lecture.

Despite his nonchalant attitude, you can't help but feel grateful that he's willing to help you out, even if it means going through the motions of fake dating.

The rest of the class passes in a blur as you continue to mull over your thoughts. By the time the bell rings, signaling the end of the period, you've resolved to stick to the plan and see it through. You gather your things and look over at Jay, who gives you a small nod.

"Ready for the next class?" He asks, standing up and slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

"Yeah," You reply, feeling a renewed sense of determination. As you both walk out of the classroom holding hands, you noticed a lot of students whispering and looking at you guys. This was gonna be a lot tougher than you thought.

Jay walks you to your next class, and just as you're about to enter, you spot Heeseung walking past. Your heart leaps when he gives Jay a friendly smile. Then, Heeseung looks at you, and for a moment, everything seems to slow down. He nods, and you manage to return a nervous smile, feeling a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

Jay leaves with a casual wave, but not without giving a knowing smirk. You rolled your eyes and headed into the classroom, still replaying the brief interaction with Heeseung in your mind. You try to focus on your work, but your thoughts keep drifting back to that smile and nod. It feels like a small victory, a sign that your plan might actually be working.

When the bell rings, you gather your things and head to the cafeteria for lunch. You spot Kazuha sitting at your usual table and quickly make your way over to her.

"Hey, Kazuha," You say, sliding into the seat across from her. "You won't believe what just happened."

She looks up from her phone, curiosity piqued, "What happened?"

You recount the events of the morning, from Jay walking you to class to the moment with Heeseung. Kazuha listens intently, her eyes widening in surprise.

"I'm shocked Jay actually followed through," She says, shaking her head in disbelief.

You laugh, “Yeah, well, he's doing it for a guitar. But I'm definitely going to get on his nerves with this."

Kazuha chuckles, "Just make sure you don't drive him too crazy, We still need him for the plan."

You nod, feeling a bit more confident, "Don't worry, I won't. But I have to admit, it's kind of fun seeing him so annoyed."

As you both continue to chat and eat lunch, you feel a sense of anticipation building. The plan is in motion, and with a little luck, Heeseung will notice you more and more. For now, though, you're just glad to have Kazuha by your side, sharing in the excitement and uncertainty of it all.

After school, you meet up with Jay, so he can drive you home. As you settle into the passenger seat, Jay starts talking about a party Jake is hosting that night.

"Hey, there's a party at Jake's tonight. Do you want to come?" Jay asks casually, glancing over at you.

Before you can answer, he adds, "Heeseung is gonna be there."

Your heart skips a beat, and you quickly say, "Yes, I'll come."

Jay nods, a small smile playing on his lips, "Great. I'll pick you up at eight."

He drops you off at your house, and you head inside, already thinking about what to wear. Knowing you take a while to get dressed, you decide to start getting ready right away. As you rummage through your closet, you text Jay to ask if Kazuha can come too. A few minutes later, your phone buzzes with his reply.

Jay: Sure, she can come.

You feel a bit more at ease knowing your friend will be there. You call her up and tell her and she says she’ll be there.

After what feels like an eternity of trying on different outfits and experimenting with your makeup, you finally settle on a look that makes you feel confident. Just as you finish, you hear a car horn outside.

You grab your things and head out to find Jay waiting for you. He looks up as you approach, and you notice a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"Do I look okay?" You ask, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious.

Jay gives you a once-over and nods, "You look fine," He says, though there's a hint of something more in his tone.

You smile, feeling a bit reassured, and hop into the car. As Jay drives to the party, you can't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness. Tonight could be a turning point in your plan, you could only hope.

You and Jay finally make it to the party, and it's packed with people. The music is loud, and the atmosphere is electric. As you step inside, you see Jake making his way over to you. He dabs up Jay and then turns to you with a big smile.

"Glad you guys made it!" Jake shouts over the music.

You smile back, feeling a bit more relaxed. Jay suggests getting some drinks, and you follow him to the kitchen. As you chat and sip on your drinks, you suddenly spot Kazuha across the room. You wave her over and give her a big hug when she reaches you.

"Where's Heeseung?" Kazuha asks, glancing around.

You shrug, genuinely not knowing. Jay chimes in, "He might be in the living room."

"I'll go see," You say, eager to find him.

You make your way through the crowded house, but there's no sign of Heeseung in the living room. Just as you're about to turn back, you bump into someone. You look up and see Heeseung standing right in front of you.

"Oh, hey," He says, looking a bit surprised, "Where's Jay?"

"He's in the kitchen," You reply quickly. Then, thinking on your feet, you add, "I was just trying to get some fresh air.”

Heeseung nods and says, "Follow me."

Though you're unsure, you decide to follow him. You glance back, knowing Jay and Kazuha are waiting for you, but curiosity gets the better of you. Heeseung leads you through the house, and you can't help but wonder what he wants to talk about.

Heeseung leads you through the house, weaving past groups of people until you reach a quiet balcony. He gestures for you to go out first, and you step into the cool night air. Heeseung follows and sits down on one of the chairs, and you take a seat next to him.

He takes a sip of his drink and then looks at you, "So, what made you wanna date Jay?" He asks, his eyes searching yours.

You feel a pang of nervousness but manage to lie smoothly, "Oh, you know, he was always a handsome guy. And because we had a connection with the class we both chose, and it just felt right."

Heeseung hums thoughtfully and takes another sip of his drink, “Have you and him already had sex?" He asks casually.

You choke on your drink, coughing a bit before managing to say, "No, no, we haven’t."

He chuckles softly, "I knew it."

Confused, you look at him and ask, "Why do you say that?"

Heeseung leans back in his chair, a small smile playing on his lips, “Because," He begins, "I can tell when Jay has sex with someone, he gets more clingy to them if you know what I mean. And to you, he stays quite far, and yet almost close. Unless, you’re a virgin and taking it slow?"

Your heart races as you try to process his words. The plan you and Jay concocted to make Heeseung notice you seems to be unraveling right before your eyes. The night air feels colder, and the anticipation of what Heeseung said hangs heavily between you.

But not only were you thinking that, you were also thinking about Heeseung referring you as a virgin. Which, he is not wrong. You are a virgin, and you aren’t really proud to say that in front of him for some reason. You couldn’t help but question wether Heeseung liked virgins. So, you decided to fuck it and ask.

“Do you like virgins?” You questioned, your voice tinged with curiosity. Heeseung averts his gaze to you. His narrow eyes making you nervous, but he just scoffed.

“They’re alright. I guess it could be exciting in bed, teaching them what to do. But I prefer an experienced person. Because they know what they're doing in bed, and that’s a turn on.” He replied. You felt your mouth parting. Heeseung liked experienced people. And you were nowhere near experienced. You haven’t even had your first kiss.

You slowly nodded your head, “That's interesting.” You muttered and sipped your drink.

Heeseung let out a low chuckle, “So are you a virgin?”

You gulped harshly and stared down. You felt the air getting hotter and that’s when you decided to just lie, “No. I already had sex with someone.”

Heeseung whistled and leaned in closer to you, “L/n Y/n already had sex? Wonder who if it’s not Jay.” He joked. You let out a nervous laugh.

Before you could say something else, the glass door slid open revealing Jay. He catches you and Heeseung on the balcony, his eyes narrowing slightly, "I've been looking for you," He says, his gaze shifting between you and Heeseung, “Am I interrupting something?"

Heeseung smirks at you before standing up, "No, not at all," He replies smoothly, "I'll leave you two alone." With that, he walks back inside, leaving you and Jay alone on the balcony.

You remain quiet, the weight of the conversation with Heeseung still fresh in your mind. Jay looks at you with concern, “Are you okay?" He asks gently.

You force a small smile and nod, "Yeah, I'm just tired. I think I want to go home."

Jay nods understandingly, “Okay, let's go."

You both make your way back through the house, saying goodbye to your friends. You stop by Kazuha and tell her, "I'll text you when I get home."

She nods and waves, "Drive safe!"

As you and Jay get into the car, the silence feels heavy. Jay starts driving, and you suddenly blurt out, "Jay, about Heeseung..."

He glances at you briefly before focusing back on the road, "What about him?"

You hesitate, unsure of how to express the confusion and emotions swirling inside you. The plan to make Heeseung notice you has taken an unexpected turn, and you're not sure if you can ask Jay a personal question. You finally took a deep breath and faced Jay.

“Can you take my virginity?”

Jay slams the brakes, causing the car to jolt to a sudden stop. He stares at you in shock, his eyes wide, “What?" He says loudly, making you flinch.

You take another deep breath and repeat, "Can you take my virginity?”

Jay takes a moment to process your words, then tells you, "Wait a second." He pulls over to the side of the road and turns to face you fully, "What's wrong? What did you and Heeseung talk about?"

You bite your lip and explain everything to him—the plan to make Heeseung notice you, the unexpected feelings that surfaced, and the confusion you're feeling now. Jay just stares at you, taking it all in. He sighs deeply and says, "You should wait for the right person."

You shake your head, feeling a surge of determination, "I want it to be with you, Jay."

Jay thinks for a long minute, his expression serious. Finally, he asks, "Are you sure?"

You nod confidently, "Yes."

"When?" He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Today," You reply firmly, "Come inside my house."

Jay takes a deep breath and starts the car again. The drive to your house is filled with a charged silence, both of you processing the gravity of what was just said.

As you pull into your driveway, you feel a mix of nervousness. Jay parks the car and turns to you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, you both step out of the car, heading to your door.

Jay follows you inside your house, and you both take off your shoes and jackets, placing them neatly by the door. Jay glances around and asks, "Before we do anything, is your mom home?"

You shake your head, "No, she's on a business trip."

Jay nods, seeming to relax a bit. "Are you thirsty?" You ask, trying to break the tension.

He shakes his head, "No, I'm good."

You lead him up to your room, and he takes a moment to examine it, looking at the posters on the walls and the books on your shelves. You sit on your bed, feeling the weight of the moment.

Jay turns to you and asks, "Have you changed your mind at all?"

You look him straight in the eyes and say firmly, "No."

Jay nods, taking a deep breath. The room is filled with a charged silence, the air thick with anticipation. He moves closer, sitting beside you on the bed, his expression serious and thoughtful.

“You said no kissing, right?” He asks. You slowly nodded your head, but his lips did look kissable right now.

“Then this is gonna be somewhat awkward then.” He admits. You giggle and wrap your arms around his neck.

“J-Just start somewhere, please.” You whisper. Jay cursed and wrapped his hands firmly on your waist. You closed your eyes, waiting for him to do something.

You gasped when you suddenly felt his soft lips on your neck. It started off slow, his lips moving along your neck, giving it pecks here and there. You leaned your head more back to grant him access.

You felt his lips form a grin before he opened his mouth and gave you a gentle bite on your neck, giving it a soft suck. You let out breathy sighs feeling him getting a bit harsher and pushed you back. His lips never leave your neck.

He sucked all around your neck and jaw. You wrapped your legs around his waist and bucked. He let out a growl and pushed your hips back making you whine. He faced you and lowered his eyes to your lips that were parted. God, did he want to make them plump and red.

Instead of doing it, he went to your chest and kissed it. He slowly traced your back before unzipping the back of your dress. You felt nervous and urgent, lifting yourself up a bit to let your dress come off. You took the straps off revealing your bra and underwear.

You shyly bit your finger as Jay stared. You couldn’t help but feel his eyes wandering around your whole body like hands. He suddenly lifted a hand to fondle with your breast making you let out a gasp and eyes closed shut. His other hand rubbing your cloth core.

You moaned and squirmed against his hold, trying to get away, but he held you down.

“Just relax pretty.” He whispered in your ear. You nodded your head although your breathing was saying otherwise. Jay felt your wet pussy clenching around nothing making him chuckle. You really were urgent.

He unclasped your bra revealing your perky breasts. He leaned down and flicked his tongue against one of your breasts causing you to grip his soft jet black hair, “ah- jay!” You cried out.

The flicking soon turned into sucking harshly. You snaked, not knowing what to do yourself. He gave attention to the other one by fondling it.

Your breathing was ragged and breathless. Your eyes were teary, and he didn’t even put his dick in yet. You guessed you now knew what Heeseung meant by experienced people who are better in bed.

Jay lets go of your breast and leans over your cloth pussy. He planted soft kisses and put your legs over his shoulders, pulling you softly against his body. He moved your panties to the side revealing your slick pussy. You tried to close your legs in embarrassment, but he forced them back open.

“Don’t be shy now. You wanted this, remember?” He teased. You let out a quiet whine. It all went too fast when you suddenly felt a hot wet sensation licking your pussy slow. Your eyes rolled back, feeling Jay's tongue going deep in your pussy and sucking on your bud. Your moans could no longer be held back, letting them out freely for the neighbors to hear.

“J-Jay ah- wait!” You cried out feeling your orgasm coming faster than you anticipated. Jay didn’t stop, feeling your pussy tighten and open and before he knew it too, his tongue was getting covered by your juices. You shook lightly and jerked when he flicked his tongue on your bud teasingly.

He latched his mouth off your pussy and licked his lips while staring at you breathing deeply. Jay loved the view, your hair messy, eyes teary, mouth agape with saliva trailing down, mascara streaks on your cheeks. He wanted to ruin you more.

As he took off his shirt, you noticed his body was pretty toned. You’d have to ask him later if he workout often. He took off his pants with his boxers finally revealing his dick. You gasp at his size. Is that even gonna fit? You gulped nervously.

Jay noticed your face and smiled, “It’s okay, I’ll go slow. For now.” He said. You nodded and slowly put your hand on your pussy, opening your folds to let Jay see your hole.

Jay's eyes widened at your sudden confidence for a second before his eyes turned dark, “Someone getting confident? I should lower that.” He mumbled. Before you could ask what he meant, he leaned over you and positioned his dick at your hole and slowly pushed in.

You felt the air get knocked out your lungs and immediately wrapped your arms around his neck. You squeezed around him tightly making him hiss, “Shit, relax will you?” He complained.

“I-It’s not my fault you suddenly did that!” You snapped, still feeling pain. Slowly, you tried to relax your breathing and soon enough, he was fully in.

You let out a ragged breath feeling him in you. He felt so big and you felt so full. Jay watched your face, making sure he wasn’t hurting you in any way. He knows he’s big.

“M-Move.” You panted. Jay nodded even though you probably didn’t see him and slowly he moved. He kept a slow steady pace, watching your every move and facials. He saw your eyebrows furrow and you lolled your head back.

That’s when Jay started going at a faster pace and soon you both were moaning and panting against each other. Both of your bodies are sweaty and sticking together. The sound of skin slapping, the bed creaking, and your unison moans were heard all over your room.

Jay gripped your waist and lifted his upper body up, leaving you to clench your sheets as he thrusted up into you. You felt your eyes roll back feeling his mushroom tip hit against just the right spots.

Jay groaned, feeling you squeezing around him. He felt his orgasm coming quicker than usual. Probably considering he hasn’t had sex in a while or your pussy just felt too good. He thinks it’s the second one.

You felt your orgasm coming and whimpered, “I-I think I’m c-cumming- hah!” You moaned and shut your eyes. Jay let out a breathy laugh and slowed down his thrusting, going harder and deeper. And that’s when your orgasm came.

You let out a silent moan feeling him still thrusting into you hard. You squirmed harshly and overstimulated before he took out his dick and stroked it on your stomach, his cum spurting out on you.

You both panted at the intense orgasm before Jay got off your bed and went to your bathroom. He came back with a washcloth and slowly cleaned you up. Your breathing calmed feeling him lay beside you and rubbing your back softly.

“I can’t believe we had sex.” You said. Jay snorted and leaned on his hand.

“You’re just now thinking that? I can’t believe you wanted me to be your first.” He admitted. You stared at him before giggling. You both soon started laughing together.

You suddenly felt your eyes get droopy and yawned. Jay noticed and smiled, “You can sleep.”

You pouted, “Are you leaving?”

He shook his head, “I can stay a while longer if you want me too.” You nodded and cuddled against his warm body. He held your waist, seeing your eyes finally closing and hearing soft snores leave your mouth.

He slowly leaned in, but stopped. He has to stick with the plan. He furrowed his eyebrows and slowly got off your bed, putting your blanket over your naked body. He got dressed and gave you one last look before softly shutting your door.

The next morning, you wake up with a start, realizing you're late for school. You quickly grab your phone and call Jay. His groggy voice answers, confirming he also overslept.

"Hey, you awake?" You ask, still feeling the remnants of sleep.

“Yeah, just woke up," Jay replies, his voice thick with sleep. You giggled hearing his tired voice. You heard a slight hum from him.

“We’re late Jay.” You said, not sure if he knows. It takes a few seconds before he finally understand and curses, saying he’ll pick you up soon.

You quickly get dressed in your uniform, noticing a slight soreness from the previous day. You get a text from Jay and you rush outside to find Jay already waiting in his car. You hop in, and he gives you a sympathetic look.

"Rough morning, huh?" He says with a small smile.

"Yeah, you could say that," You reply, buckling your seatbelt.

The drive to school is quick, both of you silently cursing your luck for waking up late. Jay pulls into the school parking lot and parks the car, "I'll see you later," He says, giving you a reassuring nod as you head to your class.

You walk into your classroom, feeling the eyes of your classmates on you. Your teacher looks up from her desk and says, "You're late."

You feel a wave of embarrassment wash over you as you mumble an apology and quickly take your seat. You start to work, trying to focus on the lesson and ignore the feeling of everyone's eyes on you.

Class went by fast as you quickly pack your stuff and heading out the hallway only to bump into someone, “Agh! Sorry! I wasn’t looking-“ Your eyes widened seeing Heeseung.

He gave you a knowing grin, “Someone looks like they didn’t get good sleep last night.”

You blushed and shook your head, “I just stayed up late studying! T-That’s all!” You ranted. Heeseung chuckled and leaned near your space, feeling his hot breath on you.

“It’s okay to be honest. I know what you did.” He said before leaning back, walking past you. You stared into nowhere where he was just at, your eyes wide. Does he really know? Did Jay tell him?

As you looked around you finally caught a glimpse of Jay walking towards you, “Hey, sorry for the wait. Jake was nagging-“

“Did you tell Heeseung what we did?” You ask, feeling nervous. Jay eyebrows furrowed.

“Uh, no? Why?” He replied. You shook your head, ignoring his question. You say never mind as you both head to your next class. You were now hoping Heeseung was just joking.

Class went by smoothly with Jay by your side. Both of you partners for an upcoming project. When it's finally lunch, you meet Kazuha in the cafeteria. She takes one look at you and asks, "Are you okay? You look like you're constipated."

You glare at her, feeling a mix of irritation and embarrassment, “Gee, thanks for the concern," You reply sarcastically. You then let out a sigh, “Don’t freak out, but I had sex with Jay last night.”

Kazuha raises an eyebrow for a few seconds before yelling, “You had sex with who?” She shouts.

It catches you completely off guard. You can't help but let out a yell, drawing the attention of nearby students hearing you guys yell, “Shhh! Be quiet!" You hiss, trying to calm the situation.

"Why?" Kazuha asks, genuinely curious.

You lean in closer and whisper, "It's because of Heeseung."

Kazuha's eyes widen in surprise. "Wait, was it good?" She asks, a smirk forming on her lips.

You nod, a small smile playing on your face, “Yeah, it was really good."

Kazuha chuckles, shaking her head. "As expected of Jay," She says, and you both burst into laughter.

As lunch comes to an end, Kazuha turns to you and asks, "Hey, do you want to hang out at my house after school?"

You smile and nod. "Yeah, that sounds great."

After school, you find Jay near the parking lot and tell him, "Hey, I'm gonna ride with Kazuha today."

Jay nods, looking relieved. "Good, I have basketball practice and didn't want you waiting around for me."

You smile and wave, "Bye, Jay. See you later!"

You head over to Kazuha, who is waiting by her car, "Ready to go?" She asks with a grin.

"Yeah, let's go," You reply, hopping into her car.

As you drive to Kazuha's house, she mentions, "There's gonna be a basketball game soon. Are you gonna go?"

You hesitate for a moment before saying, "Maybe." In truth, you know you're definitely going because Heeseung is playing. But as your mind wanders, you also think about Jay and quickly shake off the thought.

Once you arrive at Kazuha's house, you both decide to make cookies. The kitchen fills with the sweet aroma of baking as you mix ingredients and laugh about the day's events. After the cookies are in the oven, you settle down in the living room to watch some romance movies.

You both get completely absorbed in the films, crying at the sad parts and cheering at the happy endings. The evening flies by in a mix of emotions and laughter.

By the time the cookies are ready, you both enjoy the warm, gooey treats while discussing the characters and plot twists. It's a perfect way to unwind and forget about the day's drama, even if just for a little while.

As you and Kazuha were gossiping, Kazuha asks you a question that catches you off guard, “So, you and Jay huh? You like him?” She asks. You stare at her confused.

“What are you talking about? I don’t like him.” You say, although for some reason you felt your heart race. Kazuha grins and playfully pushes you.

“Then why out of all people would you want him to take your virginity?” She adds. You thought for a moment.

“Because, I don’t know. I just felt comfortable with him.” You admitted. Kazuha stares at you for a moment before nodding.

“You like Heeseung, not Jay.” She said. And for some reason, that statement felt weird to you.

Before you could speak, you suddenly felt your phone vibrate and curiously looked at the caller ID. It was Jay. You answered while laughing at what Kazuha said about his photo you saved of him.

“Hey, what’s up?” You ask while taking a bite out of your cookie.

“I got done with practice. Was just wondering if you need a ride back home.” He admitted. You let out a hum and looked over at Kazuha before answering.

“Yeah that’s fine.” You beamed.

“Alright, send me the address and I’ll be on my way.” He spoke. You said okay and hung up.

Jay arrives at Kazuha's house and you give Kazuha a big hug and say, "Thanks for today, it was so much fun! See you later!"

"Anytime! Bye!" Kazuha waves as you head to Jay's car.

You slide into the passenger seat and start chatting about your day, "Kazuha and I made cookies and watched some romance movies. We cried so much at the endings!"

Jay listens attentively, a small smile playing on his lips. Suddenly, he reaches over and swipes something off your lips with his thumb, “You had a bit of chocolate there," He says, licking his fingers, "Next time, make some for me too."

You blush, feeling your cheeks heat up, “Okay, I will," You mumble, a shy smile forming on your face.

The rest of the ride is filled with comfortable silence, and soon enough, you arrive at your house. You turn to Jay and say, "Thanks for the ride. See you tomorrow!"

“Anytime," Jay replies with a wink, "Goodnight."

You giggled and stepped out of the car, heading inside, your heart fluttering from the unexpected moment. You gripped your shirt. What is wrong with you?

Once you came inside, you decided to take a shower to relax. After finishing your shower, you wrap yourself in a cozy towel and head to your room. Just as you're about to get dressed, your phone rings. It's Jay calling. You quickly answer, "Hey, Jay. What's up?"

"Hey, are you going to the basketball game tomorrow?" He asks, sounding eager.

“Yeah, I am," You reply, smiling to yourself.

"Great! Maybe we can hang out after?" He suggests. You giggle how happy he sounded.

"Sure, sounds fun," You say, feeling a flutter in your stomach at his idea. As the conversation continues, you both start chatting about random things, laughing as he talks about Jake and Sunghoon play fighting at practice.

Suddenly, a memory of what happened in your room with Jay flashes in your mind, and you can't help but blush. Your words start to stumble, and you stutter, "Um, uh, yeah... funny, um..."

Jay's tone shifts to concern, “Hey, what's wrong?"

"N-nothing," You quickly reply, trying to shake off the embarrassment.

There's a brief silence on the other end before Jay says, "Is this about your bedroom?"

His words shock you, how the hell did he know? You then responded a little too fast, "No!"

Jay chuckles softly, "You sure? You sound pretty flustered."

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, "I'm fine, really.”

Silence was left on the other side, you nervously gulped, “Jay?”

No answer. You felt nervousness creep on you. Shit, what if he found it weird that you were thinking dirty? As you were about to say something, Jay cut you to it.

“Do you finger yourself?” He suddenly asked. You felt your breathing stop.

“W-What?” You ask. Jay let out a low breath. You could tell he was holding himself back. You weren’t sure from what though.

“I said, do you finger yourself? When you’re alone at home.” He asks again, but adding on. You felt your cheeks heat up and twirled your hair nervously. You wouldn’t say you do, but you thought of it more than once.

“N-Not really? I-I mean I think about it, but I don’t do it.” You admit. You heard a chuckle in the other line.

“Why not do it now that I’m on call with you?” He suddenly said, you blinked. He wants you to finger yourself, while he’s on call with you?

“How does that work?” You mumbled. Jay hummed and you heard rustling on the other line, as if he was getting comfy.

“Simple. You just finger yourself while I’m on call with you. Either you just do it alone, or I can guide you through while saying stuff to you. I might jerk off though.” He states. You thought for a moment, how is that simple? You’re gonna finger yourself on call with him? And he’s gonna jerk off? It’s already hard enough to talk through calls.

Jay noticed your quietness, “You don’t have too. It was just something to occupy ourselves-“

“Okay. I’ll do it.” You shyly said. Jay made a noise, as if he was surprised you actually said okay before he chuckled.

Jay's voice comes through the phone, "Are you on your bed right now?"

You glance around and realize you're still standing by your dresser, “Uh, no, not yet," You admit, feeling a bit flustered.

"Go to it," He instructs, his voice gentle but firm.

You walk over to your bed and sit down, the soft mattress sinking slightly under your weight, “Okay, I'm on my bed now."

"Good," Jay says, a hint of satisfaction in his tone, "Now, I want you to lie down and relax."

You feel a wave of nervousness wash over you but comply, lying down and staring at the ceiling, "Alright, I'm lying down."

"Perfect," He continues, “Now, I want you to close your eyes and just listen to my voice. Let me do all the talking, okay?"

You nod, even though he can't see you, "Okay," You say softly, feeling a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

“I want you to take deep breaths, remember how I felt against you that night.” He spoke softly. You let out a anxious sigh and remembered that night. How his tongue felt against you. His hands move so smoothly against your skin. His lips were plump and soft when he was kissing and sucking your neck.

Slowly, you lower your hand to your pussy and softly rub your bud. You let out a gasp and let out a quiet moan. You heard a sigh coming from Jay and heard ruffling against the line.

“W-What are you doing?” You breathed out, still rubbing your bud.

“Mind if I jerk off?” He casually said. You bit your lip and nodded before you replied yes. You cursed at yourself for being distracted. You heard the pants of Jays unzip fast and heard a soft hiss.

“What do I do now?” You muttered.

“Now imagine me between your legs, use your fingers and rub your folds. Then add a finger in. You can do that, yeah?” He breathed out. You let out a high moan listening to what he’s saying.

You rubbed your folds at a natural pace, feeling your juices squelching. You're sure Jay can hear because you heard a low groan from him and hearing skin slapping of his balls and his hand.

You imagined him laying on his bed, one phone in his hand while the other is wrapped around his hard dick. His body starts to sweat as his breathing gets uneven.

You shoved a finger in your hole and arched your back, letting out a pained moan. You forgot how tight you were. You slowly relaxed your breathing, remembering Jay’s voice when he told you too. Soon you started feeling pleasure and started fingering faster.

You forgot Jay was on the other line until you heard him letting out moans himself and hearing squelchy noises. You bit your lip and panted feeling an orgasm coming.

“J-Jay, want you in me.” You whispered. You added a second finger and cried out.

“F-Fuck! Yeah, want me in you? Want my dick to ruin your tight pussy?” He snapped. You nodded your head frantically even though he couldn't see you and came right on your fingers. You then heard Jay cursing one last time before hearing him breathe in and out unevenly.

After a few seconds you let out a giggle, "You were really good at this," you murmur, feeling a bit shy.

"Really? It’s my first time having phone sex," Jay replies, his voice filled with warmth and lust. Your eyes widened a little. You were his first phone sex? You felt a bit of pride knowing you were his first before chuckling.

“For some reason that makes me happy to hear.” You admit. You heard Jay chuckling and heard a yawn.

“If you’re tired, go to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You mumbled. Jay hummed before saying bye and hanging up after you said bye. You laid in bed staring at the ceiling. You can’t believe you had phone sex with him.

The next morning, you were already dressed for school. You twirled a little to make sure you look good. With a small smile, you grab your backpack and head out the door, making your way to Jay's car.

Jay is leaning against his car, waiting for you with a playful grin on his face, "Morning, sleepyhead. How'd you sleep after our little chat last night?" He teases.

You feel your cheeks heat up as you remember the night before, “Shut up, Jay," You mutter, trying to hide your embarrassment.

He just laughs, clearly enjoying your reaction, "Come on, let's get to school."

The drive is filled with light banter, and soon enough, you pull into the school parking lot. As you step out of the car, you suddenly spot Heeseung standing near the entrance, looking around as if he's waiting for someone.

You exchange a confused glance with Jay, who just shrugs, "What's Heeseung doing here?" You wonder aloud.

Before Jay can respond, Heeseung spots you guys and walks over to you guys, "Hey, I just got here and thought I'd walk to first period with you," He says, looking directly at you.

You feel your heart skip a beat and your face flushes, "O-Okay," You stammer, before Jay has a chance to say anything.

Jay raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment, simply giving you a knowing look. The three of you start walking together, and you can't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness.

As you walk, you catch Jay's amused expression out of the corner of your eye, but he remains silent, letting you enjoy the moment with Heeseung. What you don’t know though, is the swirling jealousy he feels too.

The school day flew by in a blur. Classes with Jay were the usual mix of teasing and casual conversation, nothing out of the ordinary. Lunchtime with Kazuha was also routine, filled with chatter about assignments and weekend plans. Before you knew it, the end of the school day approached, and you and Kazuha started getting ready for the basketball game.

As you enter the gym, the familiar sounds of sneakers squeaking on the floor and basketballs bouncing fill the air. You spot Jay practicing with his team, his focus intense. When he notices you, he breaks into a wide smile, and you can't help but smile back.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you see Heeseung staring at you. His gaze is intense, almost as if he's trying to figure something out. The moment your eyes meet, he quickly looks away, leaving you feeling puzzled and a little flustered.

"Hey, the game's about to start," Kazuha's voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You turn to her, nodding as you push the confusing encounter with Heeseung to the back of your mind. Together, you find your seats and settle in, ready to cheer for the team.

The game was in full swing, and it was hard to tell which team would come out on top. You and Kazuha were on the edge of your seats, cheering enthusiastically along with the other spectators. Every basket, every pass, and every block were followed by shouts and applause from the crowd.

The score was tied, and the tension in the air was palpable. Jay was on the court, focused and determined. Every time he got the ball, the gym filled with excitement. The crowd roared, and you and Kazuha were no exception, shouting his name and clapping vigorously.

Finally, in the last few seconds of the game, Jay received the ball and, with an impressive maneuver, scored the final point. The sound of the whistle marked the end of the game, and the gym erupted in cheers. Your team had won.

You jumped out of your seat along with everyone else, clapping and shouting with joy. Jay, drenched in sweat but with a triumphant smile, looked over to where you were. He raised a finger, signaling number one, and you smiled back at him, feeling incredibly proud.

After the game, the gym began to empty out. Some people left, while others stayed behind to talk to the teammates. You noticed Jake and his girlfriend chatting near the bleachers. As you were watching them, someone suddenly jumped from behind you, making you jump in surprise. You thought it was Jay, but when you turned around, you saw it was Heeseung.

"How did I do?" Heeseung asked with a playful smile.

Out of kindness and sincerely, you responded, "You did amazing." Your heart leaped when he smiled at you, his eyes lighting up with genuine appreciation.

"Jay's in the locker room changing," Heeseung informed you.

“Okay," you replied, feeling a mix of emotions.

Heeseung seemed like he was about to ask you something, but before he could, Jay appeared, interrupting the moment.

“Hey, ready to go?” He asked. Heeseung closed his mouth and offered a grin to Jay. You nodded your head, but also confused about what Heeseung was gonna say.

“What were you gonna say Heeseung?” You said. Heeseung stared at you but then shook his head.

“Nothing. Have fun you two.” He teased before turning away and leaving to his other teammates.

You look over at Jay and shrugged. You both walked out while saying bye to the team. As you guys walked to his car, you couldn’t help but feel happy that they won.

“You guys did amazing! I mean especially with you! You did amazing out there Jay.” You smiled. Jay stared at you for a second before facing you. Your smile faltered a bit. Is he okay? You watched as he slowly started leaning in. You didn’t know what to do, but slowly, you closed your eyes.

And yet, nothing came. You opened your eyes to see that Jay was backed up and just stared at the ground, “I’ll drop you off home.” He spoke before going towards his car. You watched frozen. Were you actually gonna let him kiss you?

The car ride was filled with an awkward silence, both of you thinking about the incident where he almost kissed you. The tension was palpable, and neither of you knew how to break it.

When you finally reached your house, you turned to him and said, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," He replied, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

"Congrats on the win, one more time," You added before getting out of the car.

"Thanks," Jay said, giving you a small smile.

You shut the door behind you and let out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding in. You made your way to your room, your mind racing. As you lay on your bed, you couldn't help but think about your feelings for Jay.

Maybe it was because you guys had spent so much time together recently, or maybe it was sex. Whatever it was, it had you feeling confused and unsure about what to do next. It didn’t matter though. You liked Heeseung and only Heeseung. Jay is just there to help.

It was getting dark when you were woken up by the sound of your phone ringing. Groggily, you reached over and answered it.

"Hello?" You mumbled, still half-asleep.

"Hey, were you sleeping?" Jay's familiar voice came through the line.

"Yeah, I was," You replied, sitting up and rubbing your eyes.

"Well, I was wondering if you wanted to go to a party tonight. Since we won and all," Jay said, sounding a bit excited. "This time, Heeseung is hosting it."

You thought about it for a moment, considering the invitation. The idea of seeing Heeseung again made your heart race a little, but you also felt a bit nervous about the whole thing. After a brief hesitation, you decided to go for it.

"Sure, why not," You said, trying to sound more awake and enthusiastic.

"Okay, I'll pick you up soon," Jay responded, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

You hung up the phone and quickly got out of bed, heading to your closet to find something to wear. As you got dressed, you couldn't help but think about your feelings with everything. Maybe the party won’t hurt.

As you finished getting dressed you got a text from Jay saying he was here. You grabbed your jacket and headed to his car. The drive was filled with chatting about random things.

Once you and Jay arrived at the party, the atmosphere was buzzing with energy. As you walked inside, you saw people dancing to the music. You turned to Jay and asked, "Do you want to dance for fun?"

"Sure," Jay replied with a smile.

Both of you joined the crowd and started moving to the beat of the music. You felt carefree and happy, enjoying the moment with Jay. Jay grabbed your waist and moved with you. You felt your heart beating faster and stared at him before smiling.

After a while, Jay leaned in and said, "I'm going to get some drinks. Do you want anything?"

"Okay, thanks," You responded, and Jay walked away toward the drinks table.

You continued dancing, letting the music take over. Suddenly, you felt someone behind you. Turning around, you saw Heeseung, which made you jump a little.

"You scared me!" You exclaimed, placing a hand on your chest.

"Sorry," Heeseung said with a grin, "Do you want to go somewhere so we can talk?"

You glanced around, looking for Jay, and told Heeseung, "I'm waiting for Jay."

"Oh, you're with Jay? I thought you guys broke up or something cause he’s with another girl," Heeseung said, pointing towards the drinks table.

Your eyebrows furrowed before you look over. There, Jay was standing with a cup in his hand, but another girl was talking to him. She laughed and touched up his arm and he let her. He seemed to be laughing too. For some reason, you felt a pang of hurt in your chest upon hearing that. Still, you nodded and said, "Okay, let's go."

Heeseung led you to a room upstairs. As you walked in, you looked around, examining the space. It was a cozy and well-decorated room.

"This is my room," Heeseung said, watching you, "I never let people in here. You're the first."

You felt surprised and a bit special hearing that, wondering what Heeseung wanted to tell you in private. So, you sat next to him.

You took a deep breath and turned to Heeseung, feeling a mix of curiosity and nervousness. "So, what did you want to talk about?" You asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Heeseung looked at you intently, his expression serious, "I wanted to ask you something," He began, "Are you and Jay really dating? Because it looks real, but not real enough to me."

You felt your heart race at his question. You were at a loss for words, trying to find a way to cover up the fake dating situation, "Uh, yeah, we are," you stammered, but Heeseung's piercing gaze told you he wasn't convinced.

"I can tell it's fake," He said softly, stepping closer to you. You stare down. You then felt a hand come up to your cheek, "If your relationship is not real, is it okay if I do this?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before you could respond, he leaned in and kissed you. You could taste the faint hint of alcohol on his lips, and your mind went blank, not knowing how to react.

Just then, the door swung open, and you saw Jay standing there, his eyes wide with surprise, "Jay, I can explain," You blurted out, panic rising in your chest.

Jay held up a hand, cutting you off, "It's fine," He said, a strange look in his eyes, "You finally got him." With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you and Heeseung alone.

Heeseung looked confused, trying to process what Jay meant. But you couldn't stay any longer. You had to go after Jay, "I need to go," you said to Heeseung, rushing out of the room to find Jay and explain everything.

You rushed out of the room, your heart pounding as you pushed past people at the party. The music and chatter seemed like a distant hum as you focused solely on finding Jay. You finally spotted him near the exit, and you quickened your pace, calling out his name, “Jay, wait!"

He stopped and turned around, his expression unreadable. You caught up to him, breathless, "I didn't know what to do," You said, your voice trembling, “I didn't expect Heeseung to kiss me."

Jay looked at you, his eyes hardening, "Why are you so scared? Our relationship didn't mean anything," He said flatly.

His words stung, and you felt a pang of hurt. "Be honest with me, Jay," You demanded, your voice breaking, “Do you like me?"

There was a heavy silence as he looked at you, his face devoid of emotion. After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, "I never did."

You stood there, stunned, as he turned and walked towards his car. You watched him drive away, feeling a lump form in your throat. For some odd reason, you felt tears welling up in your eyes, and you stood there, heartbroken and alone.

You wiped your teary eyes, trying to compose yourself before heading back inside. The party was still in full swing, but everything felt different now. You spotted Heeseung across the room and made your way over to him, your heart heavy with mixed emotions.

Heeseung noticed you immediately, concern etched on his face, "Hey, are you okay?" he asked softly.

You ignored his question, your mind racing, "Heeseung, do you like me?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Heeseung looked at you, his eyes sincere, "I do," He said, "I really like you. And I want to make it official, if that's okay with you."

A small smile tugged at your lips as you nodded, "Yes, Heeseung. I'd like that."

Heeseung's face lit up with relief and happiness. He pulled you into a warm hug, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours. But as he kissed you, something felt off. The kiss was gentle and sweet, but it didn't stir the emotions you expected. There was a hollowness, a sense that something was missing.

You pulled away slightly, looking into Heeseung's eyes. He smiled at you, completely unaware of the turmoil inside you. You forced a smile back, trying to push away the lingering doubts. For now, you were with Heeseung, and that was what mattered.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of your phone ringing. Half asleep, you glanced at the screen and, for a moment, thought it was Jay. But when you saw Heeseung's name, you remembered giving him your number the night before.

"Hello," You answered, trying to sound awake.

"Good morning," Heeseung replied cheerfully, "Can I pick you up? I'd like to take you to school."

"Sure," You said, sending him your address. You got out of bed and started getting ready, but something didn't feel right.

As you brushed your hair and picked out your clothes, you couldn't stop thinking about how it would feel if it were Jay calling you. The idea of hearing his voice on the other line filled you with a mix of nostalgia and sadness.

Finally, you were ready and went downstairs to wait for Heeseung. As you waited, you couldn't help but feel that something was missing. The excitement and spark you felt with Jay weren't there. But you tried to push those thoughts aside and focus on the present.

When Heeseung arrived, he greeted you with a big smile and a warm hug. You got into his car, trying to leave your doubts behind and enjoy the moment. But deep down, you couldn't ignore the feeling that something just didn't quite fit.

Heeseung drove you to school, the morning sun casting a warm glow over the streets. As you pulled into the parking lot, you noticed students glancing your way. Whispers and curious looks followed you both as you walked through the halls. It seemed like everyone had heard about you and Jay, and now seeing you with Heeseung was stirring up even more gossip.

You tried to ignore the stares and focused on Heeseung, who was chatting with you about the upcoming day. His presence was comforting, but the curious eyes around you made it hard to relax. As you reached your classroom, Heeseung turned to you with a smile.

"I'll see you later," He said, giving you a quick wave before heading off to his own class.

"Bye," You replied, watching him go. You took a deep breath and stepped into the classroom, trying to shake off the feeling of being watched.

The morning passed by in a blur of classes and assignments. What surprised you is that you didn’t see Jay in your second period. You just assumed he didn’t wanna see you.

When lunchtime finally arrived, you were gathering your things when Heeseung appeared at your classroom door.

“Hey, do you want to eat lunch with me, Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon?" He asked casually.

At the mention of Jay's name, you froze for a moment. Your mind raced, but you forced a smile and nodded, "Sure, that sounds great."

You shoot Kazuha a text before following Heeseung to the cafeteria, your heart pounding a little faster with each step. When you reached the table, you noticed Jay wasn't there. Jake and Sunghoon greeted you both with smiles, but you couldn't help but wonder where Jay was.

"Where's Jay?" Heeseung asked, looking around.

Sunghoon shrugged, "I called him, but he said he didn't want to come to school today."

Heeseung seemed to brush it off, but you couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. As you sat down and joined the conversation, your thoughts kept drifting back to Jay. Why hadn't he come to school? The question lingered in your mind, even as you tried to focus on the friends around you.

After school, you approached Heeseung and told him you were going shopping with Kazuha and that she would give you a ride. Heeseung nodded and smiled at you.

"Okay, I’ll call you later," He said, waving goodbye.

You walked over to Kazuha, who was waiting for you in her car. Seeing you, she frowned with concern.

"Are you okay? You seem a bit down lately, even though you got Heeseung in the end," Kazuha commented as you got into the car.

"Yeah, I'm fine," You replied, trying to sound convincing.

The drive to the mall was quiet, with Kazuha chatting about the latest news while you nodded distractedly. When you arrived, Kazuha followed you as you walked towards a guitar shop.

"What are we doing here?" She asked, visibly confused.

Without responding, you headed straight to the guitar section and picked out an expensive guitar that you knew Jay had always wanted. Kazuha looked at you with wide eyes as you paid for it.

"Why did you buy that?" She asked, still in shock.

"I promised Jay I'd give him the guitar he always wanted," You explained, remembering the promise you had made.

Kazuha nodded slowly, recalling, "You're a good person," She said softly.

But inside, you couldn't help but feel differently. As you both left the store, you felt the guitar in your hands, and a weight in your heart.

For the past few days, you had been spending a lot of time with Heeseung. Everything seemed perfect, but you couldn't help but notice how distant Jay had become.

He barely acknowledged you in class, and it felt like he was avoiding both you and Heeseung. The once warm and friendly interactions had turned cold and distant, leaving you feeling uneasy.

One morning, as you finished your first period, Heeseung approached you with a smile, "Hey, did you know it's Jay's birthday today?" He asked casually.

You nodded, feeling a pang of sadness, "Yeah, I know," You replied.

"Well, he's having a small get-together after school, and he said you should come too," Heeseung continued, watching your reaction.

You were taken aback, "He said that?" You asked, surprised. Given how Jay had been ignoring you lately, you found it hard to believe he would want you at his birthday celebration.

"Yeah, he did. He said it's fine," Heeseung reassured you, sensing your hesitation.

You were still skeptical but decided to trust Heeseung, "Okay, I'll come," You agreed, hoping that maybe this could be a chance to mend things with Jay.

The school day passed slowly, with Jay continuing to ignore you in class. The tension was palpable, and you couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. When the final bell rang, you met up with Heeseung, who seemed excited about the party.

As you and Heeseung drove to Jay's house together, you couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. There was a part of you that was nervous about seeing Jay, but another part that hoped this could be a turning point. When you arrived, you were greeted by a few of Jay's close friends, but Jay himself was nowhere to be seen.

Heeseung led you inside, and after a few minutes, Jay finally appeared. He looked surprised to see you but didn't say anything. Instead, he just gave you a small nod before turning his attention to Heeseung.

The party went on, but you couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place. Jay's distant behavior was confusing, and you wondered if coming here was a mistake.

However, as the night progressed, you noticed Jay stealing glances at you, almost as if he was trying to figure out what to say.

Finally, as the party was winding down, you decided it was time to give Jay his gift. Nervously, you approached him and handed him the case, "Happy birthday, Jay," You said softly.

Jay's eyes widened in surprise as he opened the case and saw the guitar, "You actually got this for me?" He asked, clearly stunned.

You nodded, "Yeah, I did. It's the least I could do after you helped me get Heeseung."

Jay looked at you, his expression softening, "I can't take this," He said, shaking his head.

"Please, take it. You deserve it," You insisted.

Jay finally accepted the guitar, his eyes filled with gratitude, "Thank you," He said sincerely.

You just smiled and went back to Heeseung, feeling a mix of emotions. Soon, the party ended, and as you and Heeseung were leaving, Jay called out, "Take care."

Heeseung gave Jay a hug, and Jay just gave you a smile. You smiled back, but deep down, you missed the warmth of the old Jay, the one who used to be close to you.

"Of course," You replied, trying to sound cheerful, "Happy birthday, Jay."

He gave you a small smile, and for a moment, it felt like things might be okay. But the distance between you was still there, and you couldn't help but think you had caused it in the first place.

The evening sky was painted with hues of orange and pink as Heeseung pulled up in front of your house. The car ride had been filled with comfortable silence, the kind that spoke volumes without needing words. As he turned off the engine, you hesitated for a moment before speaking.

"Do you want to come inside for a bit?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Heeseung looked at you, a small smile playing on his lips, “Sure, why not?"

You both got out of the car and walked to the front door. Once inside, you offered him a drink, and he accepted. The two of you settled on the couch, drinks in hand, and started talking about everything and nothing. As the conversation flowed, you couldn't help but bring up the question that had been nagging at you for a while.

"Heeseung, can I ask you something?" You began, your eyes searching his.

"Of course," He replied, leaning in slightly, his expression attentive.

“Why did it take you so long to talk to me?" You asked, your voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of sadness.

Heeseung looked taken aback for a moment, “What do you mean?"

"You know, before I started dating Jay," you clarified, “When we played spin the bottle.”

Heeseung shrugged bashfully, “To be honest, I’m not really sure. I was drunk and I was just saying whatever the hell. But I'm glad he didn’t kiss you.”

You giggled until you thought of another one, “It was cute though when you gave me that note."

Heeseung's face went from shy to confused, "What note?"

You got up and went to your room, returning with a small piece of paper, "This one," You said, handing it to him, "You gave it to me a few months ago."

Heeseung unfolded the note and read it, his brow furrowing, "I never gave this to you," He said, looking genuinely puzzled.

You frowned, "But a boy gave it to me and said it was from you."

Heeseung shook his head slowly, "I never wrote this."

A thought suddenly struck you, and you grabbed the note from Heeseung, examining it closely, "Wait a minute," You said, your eyes widening as realization dawned on you, "This looks like Jay's handwriting."

Heeseung's eyes widened in surprise, “Jay? Are you serious?"

You remember how his handwriting was when you guys passed notes back and forth in class out of boredom. You just didn’t look at the note for those past months. Everything suddenly clicked into place.

That boy that had given you the note, he was pointing at Jay, not Heeseung. Your heart raced as you pieced together the puzzle, feeling a mix of confusion and betrayal.

"It wasn't you," You whispered, more to yourself than to Heeseung, "It was Jay."

Heeseung reached out and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, "I'm sorry you had to go through that misunderstanding," He said softly, "But I'm here now."

You looked up at him, gratitude and warmth filling your chest. But at the same time, you couldn’t stop thinking about Jay, “H-Heeseung thank you, but the only reason why I liked you, was because I thought you gave me this note, and you liked me that long too.”

Heeseung's smile faltered. It was silent for a few seconds before he let out a sigh, “You like Jay, don’t you? All those times spent together really helped you find your one.”

“I guess I didn’t really know at all.” You muttered. Heeseung cupped your face, staring into your eyes. You could tell the sadness in his eyes.

“I don’t blame you for liking Jay, I blame myself for loving you too late.” He sadly smiled. You hugged him tightly, he wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his head in your neck.

As you stood there, the warmth of Heeseung's embrace enveloping you, you felt a mix of emotions swirling inside. Heeseung gently pulled back, looking into your eyes with a serious expression.

"You need to tell Jay," He said softly.

You nodded, understanding the weight of his words. Heeseung gave you one last reassuring smile before turning and walking away. You watched him leave, feeling a sense of finality.

Taking a deep breath, you pulled out your phone and dialed Jay's number. He picked up after a few rings, his voice laced with confusion, "Hey, what's up? Why are you calling?"

"Can you come over?" You asked, your voice trembling slightly.

Jay hesitated, "I don't think I should... because of Heeseung."

"We broke up," You said, your voice steadying. There was a pause on the other end, and then Jay spoke again, his confusion evident, "Wait, what? You broke up?"

"Just come over, please," You urged. You hanged up not wanting to hear him talk.

A few minutes later, there was a knock on your door. You opened it to find Jay standing there, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. Before he could say anything, you closed the distance between you and kissed him. Jay was taken aback but quickly responded, his arms wrapping around you.

When you finally pulled away, you looked up at him and said, "You were the one who gave me the note."

Jay's eyes widened in surprise, "How did you know?"

You chuckled softly, "Because only you would do something cheesy like that."

Jay laughed, the sound warm and genuine. How you missed it. "Guilty as charged."

Before you could say anything else, Jay leaned in and kissed you again, this time with more confidence. The kiss deepened, and soon you found yourselves lost in each other, the world outside forgotten.

The kiss became hot feeling , feeling Jay's tongue hot inside your mouth. You let out tiny moans when he began pushing you on the couch nearby. You wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to make the kiss deeper.

Jay broke the kiss and connected foreheads with you, both of you panting, “Been wanting to do that since we started this deal.” He panted. You smiled and pecked his lips.

“Surprised you didn’t wanna do it before that. But then again, you did hate me.” You teased. Jay scoffed and kissed your lips again.

“I didn’t hate you. Just didn’t wanna get rejected.” He admitted. You furrowed your eyebrows and rubbed his cheek with your hand.

“I’m sorry you felt that way. But you have me now, and I’m all yours.” You whispered.

“All mine.” He replied. He kissed along your jaw and sucked on it. You moaned softly and threw your head back.

He suddenly stopped leaving you confused before he flips you over in your stomach. He lifted your sweater up and off you. You arched your back, your ass hitting his groin. That earned a slap making you whimper. He then slowly slid your shorts off with your underwear.

You felt the cold air hitting your wet pussy and clenched. Jay fingers dipped easily inside you from behind causing you to arch your back while clenching a nearby pillow. His long thick fingers going in and out so smooth because of your dripping pussy.

You tried grinding down on them, but let out a sharp scream feeling your hair being pulled back, “You’re gonna take what I fucking give you.” He rasped out. You tried nodding your head, but couldn’t with the tightness of his grip on your hair.

He went a fast pace, however then went at a slow pace teasingly. You whined wanting him to go faster, “P-Please Jay!” You cried out. Jay didn’t listen to you and took his fingers out. You panted hard wanting to cum and being upset with the loss of contact.

You heard rustling behind you and turned your head back and saw Jay taking off his clothes too. You bit your lip, drooling over his dick. He stroked it slow and steady, “Ready?” He said. You nodded frantically and sticked your ass out more to him.

He gripped your waist and slowly, he entered. You both moaned in unison. He cursed feeling your hot walls engulf him tightly. You gasped for air feeling his dick fill you up.

He didn’t waste anytime and started going at a fast pace. You let out a squeal feeling his balls slapping against your pussy, adding a big amount of pleasure.

“Hah! Slow down J-Jay!” You wailed out. Jay chuckled and wrapped his hand around your neck, pushing your head down against the couch. You felt it hard to breathe, nonetheless it felt so good being manhandled.

“Pussy feels so good. Such a good girl for me~” He breathed out.

“Y-Yes! O-Only for you.” You moaned. Jay hummed, approving. And he’s never gonna let you go again.

You felt your orgasm coming, “G-Gonna cum! cumming, cumming!-“ You felt your jaw go slack feeling your orgasm. Jay didn’t stop. He continued fucking you through your orgasm leaving you shaking.

“You’ll be a good girl and wait? Gonna fucking breed this pussy till it’s full of my cum.” Jay groaned. You look behind you and gave Jay a seductive look.

“Please cum inside me.” You pleaded. That’s all it took before you felt warm cum filling you. Your eyes rolled back before you came again. Jay cursed and took his dick out, surprised you came again.

You panted heavenly and felt Jay wrap his arms around you, “Are you okay?” He asked, kissing the nape of your neck.

You smiled and nodded, “Just fine.” You responded. He chuckled and placed his head on top of yours. You both didn’t say anything else as sleep overtook both of you and soon you both fell asleep in each others warmth.

The next morning, you woke up on the couch, feeling a bit disoriented. As you rubbed your eyes, the memories of last night came flooding back, and a smile crept onto your face. You noticed you were clean and wearing fresh clothes, which made you wonder how that happened. Then, a delicious aroma wafted through the air, drawing you towards the kitchen.

You walked in to find Jay standing by the stove, cooking. He turned and saw you, a warm smile spreading across his face, "Hey, I hope you don't mind that I'm using your kitchen," He said.

"It's fine," You replied, feeling a surge of affection. You walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his waist from behind. Jay chuckled, clearly amused.

"What are you doing?" He asked, his voice light and teasing.

"You're warm," You said simply, resting your head against his back.

Jay laughed softly, "Well, breakfast is almost done."

You just smiled, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you. This was a moment you wanted to hold onto forever.

After finishing the delicious breakfast Jay had prepared, you both cleaned up the kitchen together, sharing light conversation and laughter. Once everything was tidied up, you suggested watching a movie, and Jay agreed with a smile. You both settled on the couch, picking a movie that you both liked.

After the movie, Jay turned to you with a mischievous smile, "I have a surprise for you," He said, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

You tilted your head, feeling a mix of curiosity and confusion, "A surprise? What is it?"

Jay chuckled softly, "You'll see. Just get ready. Wear something comfortable."

You nodded, the anticipation building as you went to your room to change. After a few minutes, you returned, dressed and ready. Jay took your hand and led you to his car. The drive was filled with light chatter and laughter, but Jay kept the destination a secret.

When you finally arrived, Jay parked the car and turned to you with a playful grin, "Okay, now for the fun part," He said, pulling out a blindfold.

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness, "A blindfold? Really?"

Jay nodded, his grin widening, "Trust me, it'll be worth it."

You allowed him to tie the blindfold around your eyes, plunging you into darkness. Jay took your hand again, guiding you out of the car. As you walked, you felt the ground change beneath your feet, from pavement to something softer. Sand. You couldn't help but ask, "Where are we?"

Jay only chuckled, continuing to lead you forward. After a few more steps, he stopped, "Okay, you can take off the blindfold now."

You removed the blindfold and gasped. Before you was a beautiful picnic setup on the beach. The very same beach where you had once spilled your drink on Jay, a moment that had been both awkward and endearing. The sight was breathtaking—blankets, cushions, and a spread of delicious-looking food, all laid out under the soft glow of fairy lights.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you took it all in, "Jay, this is... this is beautiful," You said, your voice trembling with emotion.

Jay smiled, his eyes filled with tenderness, “Just like you," He replied softly.

You wiped away a tear, still in awe, "How did you do all this?"

Jay chuckled, looking a bit sheepish, “I had some help. Jake, Sunghoon, and Heeseung pitched in."

You couldn't help but smile, knowing that even Heeseung had helped out. You turned to Jay, feeling a surge of affection, "Thank you," You whispered, leaning in to kiss him.

The kiss was sweet and filled with gratitude. You both settled down on the blankets, enjoying the food and each other's company. The sound of the waves crashing gently against the shore added to the magic of the evening.

As you ate, you couldn't help but steal glances at Jay, feeling incredibly lucky to have him in your life. The surprise, the effort, and the thoughtfulness behind it all made you realize just how much he cared. And in that moment, surrounded by the beauty of the beach and the warmth of Jay's presence, you felt truly happy.

As you guys finished eating and now watching the ocean crashing together with a beautiful sound, you found yourself glancing at Jay more than the scenery. The warmth of his presence and the memory of last night filled your mind.

You couldn't ignore the growing urge to close the distance between you two. Taking a deep breath, you turned towards Jay, who noticed your gaze and looked at you with curiosity.

Without overthinking it, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. Jay's eyes widened in surprise for a moment, but then he responded, kissing you back gently. Encouraged by his response, you deepened the kiss, pouring all the emotions you had been feeling into it.

Jay's arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. The kiss grew more passionate, and you found yourself climbing onto his lap, straddling him. You continued kissing him, feeling the intensity of the moment building. Jay's hands roamed your back, holding you tightly as if he never wanted to let go.

You broke the kiss briefly to catch your breath, your foreheads resting against each other. Jay looked into your eyes, his expression a mix of happiness and something deeper. You smiled, and without a word, you leaned in to kiss him again. This time, the kiss was slower, more deliberate, as if you were both savoring every second.

The ocean and seagulls made noise in the background, but neither of you paid attention to it. All that mattered was the lust you felt in that moment, the unspoken feeling that Jay also feels. You continued kissing Jay, feeling a sense of rightness and contentment that you had never felt before.

You then broke the kiss again and suddenly went between his legs. Jay stares confused, but you just smiled innocently and stoked his cloth dick. He groaned and slowly threw his head back. You felt his dick becoming hard fast and played with the strap bands of his sweats.

You pulled them down softly with the help of him by lifting up his lower body. His dick slapped against his lower stomach. You drooled, staring at it and gently took it in your hands. He moaned and bit his lip. You gave it kitten licks before going to the tip, sucking it just a little, but giving it enough for Jay to want more.

You watched his expressions. His brows furrowed, his eyes hazed, hair still messy from last night, his mouth open and wanting to be kissed, his shirt sticking with sweat. You decided to stop the teasing and engulfed his dick fully. Jay let out a loud moan and held your head, trying to steady himself. You sucked it hard and slow making his head feel dizzy.

“Ah- Fuck! Have you done this before?” Jay questioned. If you haven’t, you're pretty good for a beginner. You looked up at him with those pretty eyes almost making him cum right then and there, but he held back. You tried shaking your head with his dick still in your mouth making him sigh feeling you bob against it.

You felt his balls tighten against your hands indicating he was gonna cum. Jay thrust up a few times making you gag before he finally came. Spurts of his cum going down your throat. He panted while still holding your head. You let go of his dick and wiped your mouth, “Did I do good?”

“You did amazing.” He smiled. You giggled and stood up. You watched Jay pull his boxers and sweatpants back up before grabbing your wrist making you lay right on top of him.

The only sound heard was the water splashing and Jay's heartbeat. You closed your eyes hearing it. It sounded so loud, and yet so calm. You couldn’t help but say those three words, “I love you.”

You felt Jay froze as he looked down at you. He then smiled and leaned to kiss you, “I love you too, pretty.” He said. You smiled back.

As you both continued watching the scenery, you felt a surge of happiness fill through your body. You loved Jay, since the moment he agreed to fake date you. You were glad that happened, unless none of this would have happened.

And as you looked at Jay once more, you knew he was the right man for you, and for the rest of your life.

taglist: @laylasbunbunny @umsivsworld @woofie-nctzen-fanarts @yoongisbaguetteshoes @enhypenlovre @melancholy-z @minghaosimp @dudewhoism @honeychocos @hearts4hee @tlnyjoong @1013club @yagsoobin @mrsjohnnysuh @heekilrvs @enhasrii @prettygurlnikittie @jakeswifez @yunhoswrldddd @seokseokjinkim @whateverhoon @noturmommasstuff @love4hee @ddeonuu4me @selleprotection @jenn-ieverse @babyy-bambii @nikiswifiee @rjssierjrie @sweetshinypuppy @moonpri @harukayoiiiiiiizzz @jayjw16enxp @aanniikkaa

[traffys-heart]

one piece men + sex toys | nsfw

alr so this got way out of hand. originally all of these were supposed to be short paragraphs per man but they turned into small short stories. the lengths vary and the tone changes in each one but i hope u guys enjoy (∩˃o˂∩)♡

characters: monkey d. luffy, roronoa zoro, vinesmoke sanji, portgas d. ace, sabo, eustass kid, killer, trafalgar d. law

cw: lowercase, afab! reader, vibrators, fingering, dildos, female masterbation, fleshlight, drinking, blindfold (on reader) , handcuffs (on reader), vaginal sex, biting, sex machine, mention of anal, dildo receiving oral, body pillows, virgin! loser! law, no beta

cw nicknames used: atta girl, lady, chic

monkey d. luffy

u and luffy were resting in your bed, enjoying some of the rare leisure time the crew had. u were reading a book robin lent u while he laid over ur lap, lazily soaking up some warmth. he had been fishing w usopp and chopper earlier when he got kicked our of the group for 'free balling' some sashimi and eating chopper's catch raw. eventually he got too bored of staying still and began to shift around on ur legs, deciding to move his hands around ur sheets.

his nimble fingers moved in patterns, drawing random shapes until he came across a bump in between ur blankets. it was sort of in the shape of a slender pill bug which excited him. pulling the mysterious shape out, it was in fact not an insect but something pastel and smooth. this both disappointed and intrigued him.

“hey what’s this pink thing”

ur novel flew across the room faster than usopp’s legs when he sees a new island. u attempted to grab the small vibrator out of ur captain’s hands, horrified of the situation u had found urself in. while u and luffy have been in a loose romantic relationship for a while neither of u had made any moves into sex territory, so the prospect of him finding ur vibrator was very unprepared for.

unluckily for u before u could take it back he had inspected it closer and came to a realization on his own. his own cheeks becoming a faint red color to match the ribbon on his hat.

“oh i know what this is. i think sanji’s magazines w naked people had one of these before”

u weren’t exactly surprised at his exclamation, but also a little peeved considering u were hoping to exit the uncomfortable situation by lying to him about the actual use of the toy.

“do u want me to use it on u?”

if ur eyes could bulge out like a rubber hose cartoon character ur sure they would have bc that was the last question u expected him to ask. his eyes sparkled with something akin to hope and paired well w his cheeky smile urging u to say yes.

u hesitated on ur answer so luffy tried to provide further explanation.

“sanji says girls use these to feel good, yea? well we’re together and i wanna make u feel good. so u shouldn’t have to use this alone, i’ll be there w u”

cursing and praising the pervy cook u nod ur head, feeling heat rise to ur face at his proposal.

-`♡´-

ur captain’s fingers piston themselves in and out of ur sloppy cunt w cute clicking noises as he holds the vibrator steady on ur clit. u can feel urself becoming over stimulated from the amount of pressure he’s applying on the bundle of nerves. the consistent rhythm of the toy massaging ur clit along w the rough pads of his fingers massaging ur g spot send u to ur climax sooner than anytime by urself.

as u pulse on his hand he watches in awe as more sticky fluids seep onto his palm, coating him in glossy slick. big dark eyes peer up at u and maintain eye contact as he removes himself and licks all of u off his hand. luffy returns the stationary vibrator to ur clit but this time moves spreads ur thighs wider allowing his head to be slotted right in front of ur cunt.

his tongue accompanies the low buzzing sound and u never want to feel good alone again.

roronoa zoro

u and zoro were working out together above deck until u both decided that u needed to take a break. he mostly spent all his time doing weight training that hardly seemed practical while u stuck to more traditional forms of exercise. u left to go hit the showers while he did whatever ppl who only shower once a week do.

after u got out of the showers u noticed the girls room door was already open, but u didn’t think much of it considering it meant either robin and nami had enough of the boys for today or zoro still wanted to hang out.

turns out the latter was true, which was fine, however there were two things that kept u from truly being just fine.

the first of them being that u were still in a towel and needed to both dry off, as well as clothe urself before u could let ur human moss stink up ur room. the second being that as u walked in ur eyes immediately zeroed in on ur dildo in his hands.

one of his eyebrows was already raised but when he noticed ur presence he shot a devious smirk ur way that told u u were not leaving this situation without fourth degree embarrassment.

“i mean i knew u were flexible and all but i didn’t think u had this in u”

ur mouth hung open at his comment, and he gestured the silicone cock closer to u for emphasis. sure u had gotten a toy that was somewhat larger than the average size, but was that not the point of plastic? and who is he to judge u?

“oh please judging by ur reaction u’ve never seen something so big. must be nice to finally hold something larger than a pencil”

his eyes narrow, but squint at the challenge u seem to be presenting.

“yea? and i’d like to see u take half of this without giving up or passing out”

-`♡´-

zoro never considered himself a gluttonous man, however the way u take ur dildo makes him want to consume u. the fat lips of ur cunt squeeze the faux veins of the toy as u slowly shove it inside of u. he swears he can almost feel the way u clench down when the silicone tip rubs against ur sensitive walls.

finally as the base kisses ur ass u let out a small cry from the feeling of being so stuffed. u never had someone watch u as u mounted the dildo before and the prominent hard on in zoro’s pants made it hard to think abt the bet he gave u. the pride inside of u was already fed from successfully shoving the whole thing inside of u, however the shallow breathes from the guy in front of u wasn’t bad either. in small thrusts u started to fuck urself w the toy, bathing in the sounds and smells of lube and sex.

ur vision trailed up when u noticed zoro’s hand slip under the waistband of his pants. when u got a view of his hard cock u almost came on ur toy right then and there.

well, u can’t always be right.

vinsmoke sanji

u enjoyed helping sanji in the kitchen esp when he allows u little tastes of the meal before it’s served here and there. u guys were cooking up a wonderfully savory soup and luffy already had to be kicked out thrice before he ate any of the ingredients. sanji was chopping up some vegetables while u monitored the pot. occasionally u stirred it around and accidentally u splashed some of the broth on his dress shirt.

being the sweetheart he is, he waved it off and told u it was no problem and only asked if u could bring him a new one from the guys room. obliging and feeling mighty guilty u dashed off and went rummaging through his dresser.

to ur surprise u not only found him a new shirt but what u first thought was a flashlight (in the drawer?) however under further inspection found out it was a flashlight. gripping the toy with surprise, u don’t hear the blond come up behind u to retrieve his garment only to be shocked by ur discovery as well.

the looks of horror exchanged by the both of u bounce of the walls of the ship as he stumbles to articulate the words for an explanation.

However, before he can get a sensible sentence out, u take the initiative to step closer with both the fresh shirt and pocket pussy in arms. placing a hand on his chest u attempt to calm him and offer much needed relaxation in his time of stress.

“how abt u loose the stained shirt and i give ur hands a break?”

-`♡´-

sanji’s naked torso bared itself to u almost as deliciously as his flushed out face. his hair was sticking to his forehead from the copious amounts of sweat that ran down his body after u ripped orgasm after orgasm from him. his hips bucked uselessly into the toy despite already being fully flush with the silicone. u were sat on the side of his bed jerking the toy up and down his needy cock.

lube and semen covered his own trail of hair from the base of his shaft to his navel. ur soft hand ran through the mess and in tickling fashion caused his eyes to snap shut and his back to arch into ur touch. he hoped and prayed to the gods above that u would offer the feeling of ur own real pussy to him. how he dreamed of being inside of u instead of his stupid toy, fucking it pathetically each night to ur name.

his eyelids fluttered open when he felt something lacy lightly slap his face. some prayers truly r answered.

portgas d. ace

ace was a regular when it came to the infirmary on the moby dick. technically all u girls were really meant to care for whitebeard, however when u weren’t monitoring his bloodwork, ensuring he takes his medications, and hooking up his ivs, u had fire first ace to take care of.

for a logia user he sure got hurt a lot, cuts and bruises always seemed to appear on his skin despite the ability to easily burst into flames when he needed to avoid danger. u didn’t mind fixing him up, however, he was always a good chat as well as a pretty face to warm ur day.

this particular night a large portion of the crew was celebrating an intense battle they faced. due to ur captain’s large territory throughout the grand line, u often needed to defend islands when rival pirate groups underestimated the older generation’s strength.

booze, greasy food, and music danced jovially around the deck and while u would’ve loved to join in on the festivities, u also had quite a long day.

so u slinked back into ur cabin where the other nurses stayed as well and enjoyed the rare moments of solitude on the ship. ur uniform was replaced w ur evening slip and u snagged an unopened bottle of wine to pair w a book u had begged ace to retrieve while he was away.

dimming a few of the candles that lit the room, u bent over to blow out one further away from ur bed when a large flame shot out of the wick. before utter fear could take root in ur face, however, thick eyebrows and sun kissed freckles smiled back at u from the embers.

ur self restraint allowed u to wait until ace fully completed his transformation to shove him playfully in the ribs.

“i didn’t see u at the party!”

a twinge of guilt was overshadowed by awe when u saw how genuinely concerned ur second division commander looked at u. explaining the situation to him he merely raised one of those thick eyebrows, ran a hand through his dark greasy hair, and shot u a sly grin.

“ah no i get it. sometimes u just gotta rub one out. or in? is that what chics say?”

staring at him w incredulous shock u tried to comprehend how he for some reason interpreted ur words as code for u needing to masturbate. either he got hit in the head one too many times or u were more tired than u thought.

ace walked past u and nudged ur vibrator peaking out from underneath ur sheets. the pretty pink silicone almost glowing the atmosphere u set for the room. ur mouth hung wide open, aghast u made such a mistake of leaving it out like that, and in front of a cremate no less.

he turned back to u and plopped himself on the bed, arms stretched out behind him. patting his thigh with one hand and using the other to remove his hat he gestured over to u.

“c’mon let me take care of u tonight”

-`♡´-

the low hum of ur toy sent perfect waves of pleasure into ur clit and throughout ur body. with both of his arms hooked under ur knees ace easily spread u wide for ur little vibrator to gently massage ur nerves. despite ur begging for a higher setting or his own fingers, he denied ur requests until u orgasmed again in his lap. he wouldn’t even talk to u, he would just suck sweet hickies onto the side on ur neck and collarbone and shake his head no, tickling ur face, when u asked him to go harder.

eventually u felt the knot twist and tighten in ur belly. ur pelvis shifted around in his grasp, attempting to free u from his constricting hold and take control. luckily u were no pirate and ace held u down w no problem, letting u cum all over ur vibrator as u whined abt nothing in particular.

ace removed the toy from ur puffy clit and allowed u a few seconds of respite before plunging his thick fingers into ur welcoming cunt. yknow he actually thinks he’s beginning to understand this whole care taker thing.

“atta girl”

sabo

u really needed to clean ur room. to be honest it wasn’t as bad as koala claimed it was, but u’ll admit w all the missions and paperwork u may have been slacking in the organization department. it was easy to loose track of the lesser important tasks at hand when ur trying to bring down the world government.

ur very lucky ur boyfriend was there to help u tidy up ur place, esp considering how packed his schedule is, the two of u barely spend alone time together as it is.

as u pushed open ur door w ur hip, u already found the blond hunched over ur small desk trying to sort all the stationary u’ve left array over the past few months. sighing u kiss the top of his head and get to work underneath ur bed, dusting off what seemed to be library books far past their due from another island.

tucking those away for future u to worry abt, u crouched next to sabo in his chair. u dreaded looking through ur drawers, quite frankly not remembering what sort of junk u threw in there in the past. u asked him if he could get the left side so u could focus on the right and almost immediately he got to work. guess thats why he’s chief of staff.

while u were rummaging through a bunch of knick knacks, some including memories u happily showed ur boyfriend, sabo also found something of interest.

“hey, u never introduced me to these before”

glancing in his direction u saw the pair of leather handcuffs dangling from his index finger. ur expression switched from nostalgic to humiliated immediately, cursing urself for allowing such a thing to be carelessly thrown in w the rest of this junk.

up until now, u and sabo never used anything besides a bit of lube when it came to sex, so for him to discover something so different of u was nerve wracking. snatching the cuffs back from him, u patiently waited for some sort of reaction from him.

what u were met w was not the disgust or uncomfortable u expected but in fact a ‘wait a minute’ and after a quick jog down the hall to his own quarters he returned w a silk sash in his hands.

“when i first started yknow um, yea, i was nervous to see my partners’ reaction to the rest of the scarring on my body. the blindfold helped me ease them into it, and i guess myself as well”

u didn’t really have any words to share, ur own kink hardly stemming from something as sentimental or sweet as his own. u were glad he felt like he could share something so personal like that, as well as seemingly come over that hurdle, considering it’s ur first time hearing of it. after taking a break on ur room cleaning, the two of u conversed deeper into the topic until u decided to take his hands in urs and acknowledge the looming conversation to be had.

“so neither of us have really discussed toys in our sex life before. if that’s something ur also into, im up for it as well”

-`♡´-

ur arms were raised above ur head and bound together by the thick leather of ur handcuffs. ur chest was forced upwards in this position giving sabo easy access to trail his tongue around ur perky nipples. the silk blindfold deters ur vision so every chaste touch he leaves on ur body leaves u wondering were the next one will be. sweet licks trail up from ur tits to ur collarbone, giving the skin a harsh nip. u cry out from the pressure, shivering from the way it left tingles running up ur spine.

his swollen cock head rubs circles around ur cunt, gathering slick until he’s ready to push in. the feeling of ur heat already sending beads of precum dripping out of his tip. u want him to stuff u with his cock already, the lack of mobility and vision making it harder for u to wait. when he finally allows himself to cave into ur welcoming pussy ur hands want to instinctively grasp his shoulder blades, hindered by the chains.

the afternoon ended up being full of sweat, orgasms, and kink discovery, leaving ur bedroom floors messier than when u started.

eustass kid

kid was always inventing something new, even early into his childhood he enjoyed playing in the scrapyard and putting together whatever he could find. he enjoyed reworking the metal gears and bolts inside of smaller mechanics washed up on the south blue shore and studying their deconstructed parts. his devil fruit only made this hobby of his easier into adulthood.

when u joined kid’s crew he felt the immediate spark between the two of u. it was just something u knew as the magnet magnet devil fruit user. killer told him everyone can actually feel shared feelings and it was called ‘mutual attraction’ but quite frankly he thinks that’s a load of bs. if that was really true than a lot more ppl should’ve made moves on each by now.

either way, excited by ur presence on his ship, he took out most of his exhilaration in his workshop. working on something that would really woo u. not that u needed to be impressed, but he still wanted to make u feel special. what was meant to be a few pieces of scrap welded into the shape of roses turned into a full scale sex machine.

focusing on what would increase ur pleasure to the maximum his contraption would not only penetration all ur cute holes but give him a good show as well. after weeks of progress he really only had a single problem. u guys weren’t together yet.

only after a handful of months and then some did u two officially begin a relationship, what felt like eons of destroying rival pirates and marines w u finally developed into a fully fledged commitment. it had been a while since he had touched that 'gift' he made for u in the beginning, so long he had forgotten it sat in the back of his workshop during ur grand tour.

ur eyes shone w wonder as he showed off all of his private inventions, not yet revealed to the rest of the crew, nonetheless the broader public. his ego felt like a golden retriever puppy brought into a kindergarten class with all the praise u shed him and it was only when u pointed to the strange chair thing that he began to waver.

the design was not exactly discreet, having multiple sex toys and dildos attached to the pistons on the end of the seat. he refused to lie and claim it was something he used on himself, he doubts that would exactly add to his rough and tough persona (no kid we love pegging in this house) so his only option was to awkwardly reveal the truth. u were already stuck w him this far in, surely this couldn't be that bad of a deal breaker.

"soo have u tested it?"

sheepishly he answers with a small "no", that sounds a little too high pitched in his usual rougher scottish drawl.

"then what r we waiting for?"

-`♡´-

it took him a while to fully strap u into the chair and position u perfectly. w enough lube and heavy petting u were successfully restrained, with ur holes stretched just enough to be penetrated easily. siting back on his own stool, kid watched intently as ur cunt began to swallow the smooth head of the dildo. u both decided that the one tapping ur ass would only be used if u could handle the first.

ur legs shake as u take more and more of the plastic inside of u, feeling the intricate and creative ridges on the mold. when one of the ribs presses against a particularly spongey spot ur back arches against the restraints. ur tongue lolled out from the intensity of being fucked by something so non-human and u began to let out moans u don't think u've even heard in porn.

through the reflection of the goggles on his head u could see ur pathetic body twist and turn from getting fucked by a machine. how u loved the mind of ur perverted genius.

killer

u and killer got along as the rational duo in the kid pirates. with ur batshit crazy captain and equally as riled up crew mates both of u found solace in being the only ones without loose screws. it was nice being the sensible pirates in a group of barbarians.

which is why despite killer being first mate and second in command, he often found himself in ur presence. whether it be helping u w chores, asking ur opinion on the next route, or even just chatting abt daily life, the two of u got along better than almost kid and him.

which is why it confused and hurt him to hear that there was something that u haven’t talked to him abt.

this all started when he overheard hip and house gossiping w each other and he noticed ur name drop. walking over he tried to gain a better picture of what they were discussing but noticing his presence the two girls abruptly stopped and scurried away. knowing ur good relationship w the two he doubted it was anything malevolent, however even as first mate what was so secret that even he couldn’t handle it?

the second time he was thwarted by this topic was during dinner. he had cooked a rather impressive large hog for the entire crew, but the pork chops were the last thing on his mind when quincy leaned down and whispered something in ur ear while giggling causing u to blush. while washing the dishes together he asked what her joke was and u dodged the question like he was shooting bullets at u. u always let him in on jokes :(

during the monthly girls sleepover night (u all sleep in one cabin anyways. no one really gets it.) emma challenges u to a truth or dare, absentmindedly u pick dare and all the girls in the room share devious smirks of mischief. a quick conference of whispers r shared and then adjourned before they give u ur dare.

“we dare u to show killer ur little, sorry no actually big secret!”

ur shoulders dropped in defeat as the second u saw their grins u knew ur fate was sealed. u also knew truth or dare was scared on the victoria punk so there really wasn’t any getting out of this either. gathering the designer shoe box from underneath ur bed u trudge out of the girls room in defeat with the sound of high pitched squealing and laughing behind u.

first mate came w some privileges. one of which was not having to share a room w the rest of the crew, save for kid. although kid hardly spent any time in their shared room, usually down in his workshop tinkering away on some new shit. so when u showed up in killers doorway with ur dildo in hand and a prayer he wouldn’t end ur friendship right then and there, at least u knew ur captain wouldn’t have to experience the worst second hand embarrassment of the century.

if u could see killer’s eyes u would assume they were as wide as saucers. before u could continue ur semi-planned explanation he dramatically scanned the rest of the hall for bystanders and then pulled u inside his bedroom, slamming the door shut.

“u actually use that thing? and u put it inside u?!”

“uh yea”

silence overtook the two of u and for the first time u felt the judgement that the both of u normally expressed for others turned on urself. the gravity of ur mistake began to overtake u and shame started to bubble and toil within ur chest.

“i mean, i’m here”

ur eyes flick up to the taller man, unfortunately not only is his statement confusing, his expression is concealed with that stupid mask.

he cleared his throat and tried again. “if u ever wanted to try out a real person that is”

-`♡´-

killer’s thick cock bullied its way into ur cunt, stretching ur walls more than ur toy ever did. the soft stinging left pricks of pleasure after a few seconds and every little shift made u appreciate the heaviness of his shaft. ur mouth was busied on ur dildo, sucking on the squishy plastic and working it down ur throat. u made sure to make a show of taking the next few inches knowing that killer’s intense gaze would be focused on ur lips.

his hand began to massage ur stomach, pressing down and rubbing the layers of flesh separating him from his cock. the pressure felt oh so perfect and u couldn’t help but clamp down on him, especially after his fingers dipped to roll small soft circles on ur clit. killer thrusts shallowly into ur cunt, savoring the way u hug him and practically drag him back inside of u. ur muffled moans reverberate on the silicone and he groans at the thought of u taking him in ur mouth as well.

ur somewhat perplexed ur never bothered killer in taking care of ur sexual needs but ur happy u let him have his way w u that night. after all, it’s the sensible thing to do.

trafalgar d. law

law enjoyed his private space. that much could be seen by anyone who knew him after five minutes. he especially enjoyed keeping his personal collections private. such things range from his coins, sora warrior of the sea comic books, and yes sora merchandise.

there was one person he was willing to show his things to though, and that special lady would be u. he loved going through his glass case of special addition figures and explaining the rarity and backstory behind each one, all while u listened intently. u treated him almost as if he wasn’t a twenty six year old man obsessed w fiction and he loved it.

very few people, (besides the sora fan club) cares to hear about his interests so when u excitedly sat urself down on his bed and urged him to explain to u why sora’s giant robot kinda looks like a bug he couldn’t stop his mouth from moving.

however, he supposed, all good things must come to an end. after all u’ve been so kind to him, but he couldn’t find a well worth explanation to give to u when u discovered his ‘secret’ piece of merchandise.

for starters, he hasn’t used it in a long time. no, after he met u he was smitten and he’s had no need to resort to such things. but it’s not like he was just going to throw it away. a limited edition piece should never be discarded with such ease. law truly thought he would just discreetly hide it and never bring it up.

that is until u decided to go find some extra blankets and pillows for a movie marathon w ur boyfriend and u checked in his closet as he told u, only to find an extremely provocative body pillow of who u think (ur still learning) is pink poison from the antagonists germa 66.

still, deciding the pillow was actually quite soft u brought it out and tried to think of silly ways u can tease law abt ur discovery.

placing the pillow in front of ur face u crept up on him until he finally noticed u and when he did u thought u might’ve scared him to death. his face fell to depths u didn’t think existed and u had to tackle him to stop the devil fruit user from shambling himself out of the situation.

after explaining to him that u don’t particularly care if he likes to fuck pillows w comic book characters on them and he confesses that ever since he met u he’s only ever jerked off to ur image in mind (how kind) u two were able to put the topic at ease.

however a lingering question persists in ur mind.

“so how does a guy like, get off on a pillow?”

still red in the face, law turned to u, hair covering his eyes as he spoke

“um i could show u”

shock hit both ur faces but seeing as u had no apprehensions, u lay down for another explanation.

-`♡´-

shiny lube covered ur entire torso, allowing his hard on to easily glide across ur stomach. ur shirt and bra were long discarded, nipples hardened at law’s insistent pawing and sucking. he was straddling u from above, taking in the sight of u all perfect underneath him. his cock was angry, throbbing, and extremely excited to be this close to a woman for the first time.

when he started to hump ur body, u had to will urself from not reacting to the ticklish movements. next time u’ll have him mount ur ass or something bc the feeling of his cock slipping through the slick on ur belly instinctively made u want to tense up and giggle. law ended up cumming really quickly so it never ended up becoming a problem though. one of his hands reached for a tit while the other went beside ur head so he could quickly press his mouth to urs.

ur teeth clashed together and he gripped the fat of ur breast a little roughly, but god if the whimpers coming out of the this man while he spurted ropes of semen across ur chest weren’t the hottest thing u’ve ever witnessed.

as he pulled away u smiled and reached out to fix some of the hair that stuck to his sweaty forehead.

“hey at least u don’t have to wash any stains outta me”