#first time he received an offering

[kyouka-supremacy]

Hold on Akutagawa having a brand new outfit in the last episode. And what if he got recluted by a new organization? (The Order of the Clock Tower perhaps???)

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐄𝐌𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐘! ❞

❝ COME ON, FUCK ME, EMO BOY!! ❞

✧ pairing: emo boy! choso kamo x f!reader ✧ summary: saw this boy at the mall last week. got the kind of look to make me freak. wanna fuck in the back of the hot topic? ✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, so much smut, emo boy! choso, sex toys (vibrators, clit sucker), multiple orgasms, semi-exhibitionism, public sex (sex in the back of hot topic, sex in a changing room), fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), big dick choso (but honey, that dick was 11 inches), also mahito + yuji make appearances, art by @/SS_utr3n. ✧ wc: 5.3K

It had been a while since you had stepped into a Hot Topic (a while meaning three days or three years, take your pick). But this had been the third time this week you had been to this specific Hot Topic, and now you were sure the manager of the place had your badly taken picture and description scrawled in some notebook as a potential shoplifter. 

But it wasn’t the merchandise you were looking to pick up. 

It was him. 

You saw him when you were browsing the clearance rack, knelt down, evaluating whether you needed another blind box item that will inevitably not contain the character you were looking for (but on the plus side, it was on sale?), when you heard a deep voice speak. 

“Excuse me,” you glance up as you spot him — and you swear your breath gets stuck somewhere between your windpipe and your lungs, because you don’t breathe while this man kneels down next to you to place more items on clearance. Spiky black locks tied up messily on either side, fringe bangs falling in front of his face as he bent down, a tattoo across the bridge of his nose and was that — dark purple eyeshadow around his eyes — and his eyes — god, his eyes were gorgeous, a deep dark brown — and you swore, was that a hint of purple in his irises? 

He was everything that your teen self had wanted — the same guys whose profiles you had looked at growing up and thought were so hot. You caught a glance at the My Chemical Romance t-shirt as he stood, in black jeans, as he catches you staring, “Can I help you find something?” His tone was casual, but he was curious — probably curious why you were staring at him with wide-eyed saucers. 

“No, no, sorry, I—” no, don’t tell the hot Hot topic worker that he is hot — first of all its confusing, second of all— “I just wanted to say, I like your t-shirt,” 

Fuck. out of all the things to say — I like your style, I like your fit, I like your hair — you had to pick the most generic ass comment. 

He only nods, but you catch the barest upward twitch of the corner of his lip, “thanks,” 

And that’s all it took — you now needed to see him smile. 

Over the next few days innocently shopping at Hot Topic, you find out his name is Choso from one of the other workers, Mahito, calling his name. His hair is usually in those buns, but one of the days his hair was down, and you heard him complain that his hair ties had snapped. 

And his hair looked so good down, his long inky locks fell past his shoulders, but this was your chance to talk to him — “i have some extra hair ties, if you want them,” you offer him a few hair ties, “I overheard you talking with the other worker, I hope you don’t mind,” 

And he shakes his head, his lips quirked in that almost smile that makes your heart squeeze. 

Fuck. 

“Not at all, thank you,’ and his fingers brush yours as he takes the hair ties, and you turn to leave, but his voice stops you, “what was your name? I didn’t catch it last time,” 

You tell him, smiling, “Your name is Choso, right? I saw it on your nametag,” and he’s biting his lip, tilting his head in question, as you flush, cheeks burning, “I’ve noticed you a couple times when I’ve come in— not in a weird way, I just—” 

“I’ve noticed you too,” and finally he’s smiling — and you know he’s got you, you know you’re fucked. 

And you do get fucked — in the back of Hot Topic during his break. 

It had been a few weeks of you two talking and flirting, until finally, during his break he’s got you snuck into the back to show you the merchandise they haven’t put out yet. And you scoff when you come across a bullet vibrator, “you guys sell these?” 

He shrugs, “They started to in the last few years, not a lot. They don’t want the parents to become too outraged, but just enough,” And you snort, turning the bullet over in your fingers curiously, “have you never used one before?” 

And your cheeks burn, as you bite your lip, “No I never have,” and the next question stumbles out as a joke, “why? Wanna help me learn?” And you want to bite your tongue, but you’re too busy with the foot in your mouth to do so, and before you can apologize he speaks. 

“I would,” 

And your eyes snap to his, and you realize how close he’s standing, his eyes not filled with humor but something else — lust? — and his lips curled in a small smile. 

Fuck. 

“You’re gonna have to be a little quieter, love,” he’s murmuring in your ear, pressing kisses to your neck, as you’re pressed between his firm chest and the metal storage rack, fingers laced as you held on, the vibration between your thighs the only thing ringing in your ears. 

But how can you be quiet? 

The bullet vibrator is pressed right against your clit, and his thick fingers are parting your folds, so close to sinking into you, his deep voice whispering in your ear, hot breath against your neck. 

And the coil in your stomach is only growing tighter and tighter, and your squeals only grow more and more insistent. His fingers sunk into your mouth, “suck,” he ordered, and your cunt twitches at the demand, as you do, sucking and licking messily on his fingers, “good girl,” 

And he clicks the button of the vibrator again, increasing the vibration, making your eyes widen, a gasp around his fingers, “so responsive,” he groans, as your legs grow weak, and he’s stepping forward to steady you, but it also settles his dick between your ass. 

He’s huge. 

The bulge presses into you, drawing a hiss from his lips as you lean back against it, “Trying to tease me, sweetheart?” And he’s pulling his fingers from his mouth, a string of spit connecting from his fingers to your lips, “don’t forget who’s teaching you,” and he sinks his spit soaked fingers into your needy cunt, making your back arch into his body, “so tight, despite the vibrator,” he hums.

“Choso, please—” and he starts to fuck his fingers in and out, the squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears mixing with the buzz of the vibrator — you’re already so close, “I'm—” 

“Cum for me,” he’s grunting, as his fingers reach even deeper inside you, dragging against your walls as he curls them, finding that one spot that has you seeing stars. And your moan as you cum is stifled against your own palm, as he only maxes out the vibration and fucks you through your orgasm, “one more for me, pretty, you can do it,” 

“No, no, Choso, please too much, can’t—” and he only presses sweet kisses to your neck, and how are you already close — you just had orgasmed, but the coil in your stomach is growing tighter by the second, and you’re nearly crying when you cum again, your slick dripping down his fingers and the vibrator as he eases it from you, and then splatters onto the dirty tile floor of the backroom of Hot Topic.

“Good girl,” he murmurs as he’s tilting your head back and around for a kiss. And you catch a glimpse of the glint of your release on his black painted nails as he presses the pads into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his digits and sucking them clean, “that’s it, clean up your mess f’me,” and his other hand is wiping the tears from your eyes, “so pretty when you cry — can’t wait to make you do it again.”

Your cunt twitches at the thought, your cum still dripping down your thighs, “Again?” and he’s pressing another sinful kiss to your lips, “You didn’t think this would be our only lesson, did you?” 

And it wasn’t — the next lesson was spent in the fitting rooms, during a particular dead early afternoon in the store — and he had you spread on the fitting room bench, your black jeans pulled down to your ankles, as his head found its way between your thighs. You could barely hold back your whimpers as he pressed all too hot kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, burning already with his warm breath. It was too much. 

He was too much. 

“How’s that feel?” dark eyes flicking up to meet yours, half lidded with lust, as he watches your panting face, your head against the wall of the fitting room, “use your words, love,” 

“Too good, Cho-so,” the last syllable of his names escapes your lips in a gasp, as your cunt twitches as his lithe fingers tease you through the soaked material of your panties, “please, please, need you,” 

“What do you need?” and his fingers pull away, as his lips press a kiss to your puffy clit, pulling a whine from you, “what do you want me to do?” 

“Please, just—” and he’s tugging your panties aside, cool air rushing over your all too hot pussy, “please just touch me — with your fingers or mouth—” 

And his tongue drags over your messy cunt, and god, it feels too good — but a twinge makes you pause, and when you feel it draw a circle around your clit, you realize what it is — he has a tongue piercing. Your fingers thread their way in his black locks, resisting the urge to grab at his hair buns. 

He grunts, vibrations against your wet cunt, as you pull him impossibly closer to where you needed him most, his nose bumping against your clit, “you smell so good — how’s that possible?” and your eyes squeeze shut as his hands press your thighs further apart. 

That’s when you both hear the click of the entrance, and the door swinging shut — shit, the door — he forgot to lock it. Forgot when you had pulled him into a kiss right when he was ready to take a lunch break, all other thoughts had flown out of his brain once he let those doors swing shut and your lips had met his — well, left his brain and flooded southward. He also didn’t think a customer would be persistent enough to try the door and wander in when the doors were shut and the closed sign was hung up. 

“Choso, should we—” and the footsteps draw closer — and fuck — did you get wetter? And tighter — his moan is muffled against your walls, “Choso, stop, we—” 

“You don’t mean that,” he whispers, dark, half lidded eyes look up at you, your essence and his spit soaking his lips and dripping down his chin. And the footsteps are receding, the sounds of the shuffling and clinking of clothes hangers on racks in the distance, but all you can hear are the sounds of the wet, needy squelch of your cunt, “you aren’t being honest — but you are down here,” and his lips find your clit, sucking lightly, making your head jerk back, “want them to know how good I make you feel,” his lips leave your clit with a small pop, before murmuring against the soft skin of your thigh, “be quiet for me, baby,” and his tongue slips back into your cunt. 

He’s nearly slurping your juices up, his tongue tasting every inch of you, deliciously dragging against your twitching walls with his piercing, as your toes curl and your mouth parts in a muffled moan, one hand clamped over your mouth, and the other digging into his scalp. How could the person not hear you? How couldn’t they hear the wet squelch of your cunt as Choso fucked it with his tongue? How couldn’t they hear your badly swallowed moans and the sounds of your heart pounding out of your chest — and if they did, they certainly didn’t care enough to stop browsing through the fucking store. 

And you’re close, so fucking close, and you don’t hear the footsteps drawing close to the fitting rooms because your ears only can hear the wet suck of his mouth against your clit or the press of his tongue in and out of your folds, your thighs twitching under his grasp, fingers pressed into your flesh, “Choso, I’m so—” 

“Cum f’me, need to feel you cum around my tongue,” he sucks on your clit hard, teeth grazing the sensitive spot, and you cum, hard, your hand forsaking your lips to find purchase on his head, squirting all over his face as you did, soaking him along with the bench of the fitting room. And you can’t help the whimpers and moans that left your lips, as he lapped up your release without a care. 

And you slump against the wall of the fitting room, body still buzzing from your orgasm, as he finally pulls his tongue out, glancing up at you. Your chest heaves as you watch him lick your cum from his lips and chin, before wiping the rest away, and your eyes drift downward to the erection he was palming. And your fingers unconsciously reach for it, when your hear a door slam shut making your both jump. 

You cover your mouth — the customer, and Choso’s eyes meets yours, as the two of you break out in a laugh, “Fucking lock the door next time,” you sigh, covering your burning face with your hands, as Choso chuckles, lips curled in a smile.

“So there’s going to be a next time?” he tilts his head, and you flush. 

How could he go from eating you out like a desperate man without water to this innocent puppy? “Not if you don’t lock the door,” 

“It’s their fault for coming in when the doors were closed and there was a sign that said closed in big letters on the door,” and you shake your head, as he draws closer, “now, I have twenty minutes of lunch left — so where were we?” 

And you push him towards the changing room door, “Go lock the door first,” and he relents, chuckling. 

“Just for that, I’m going to look for the clit sucker I couldn’t find before.” 

~~~~

The two of you had fallen into a pattern. 

And you had become a regular at Hot Topic. You hung around him as he stocked the shelves, did inventory, price re-labeling, and even as he spoke to customers. You watched other customers speak to Choso, even flirt with him, but he never cracked a smile. Two girls were very persistent, but they deflated as he walked away after answering their questions, brushing past you, his hand brushing against your ass discreetly. Heat rushes to your cheeks, your head snapping to him as his lips curl when your eyes catch his gaze. But even so…

You still were just as clueless of where you stood with him as you were when this started. 

“You two have been pretty hot and heavy lately, huh?” you nearly jump out of your skin, as Mahito smiles knowingly at you, leaning against the counter with a shiteating grin. 

“What are you—” 

“Please, like we don’t know what goes on in the back during breaks?” he raises an eyebrow, as you bite your lip, “plus, never have I seen that gloomy guy smile, much less as much he does with you,” 

“Really?” your eyes find him again, as he crouches and lines up blind boxes on one of the shelves — but you can’t help the nagging question circling in the back of your mind — why hasn’t he asked you out yet? The two of you have hooked up, in and out of the store, but he still hadn’t asked you on a date. Even in the last few weeks, the two of you hadn’t even spent any real time together, except for your visits to the store -- he hasn't even taken you into the back. For all you know, you’re one of many people he’s bedding. Even if he doesn’t seem the type. 

“What? Trouble in paradise?” Mahito pulls you from your thoughts, head tilted and all too eager, “what’s wrong?” 

“No, it’s—“ he cuts you off with a look, and you relent with a slight pout, “he just hasn’t asked me out yet, I’m just wondering what he’s thinking—“ 

“Well, I definitely don’t think he’s seeing anyone else,” he hums, “but he does tend to go straight home a lot when you’re not around. Maybe something is going on at home?” And then he’s pushing you towards him, “no time like the present to find out,” 

“Mahito—“ 

“Choso! How about you and your favorite regular go for a quick walk and get us some drinks from the food court?” He grins, offering some money,  “be a doll, won’t you?” 

Choso sighs, “Fine,” and he brushes past you, taking the cash, before glancing back at you, “you coming?” 

You glance between the two of them, before following him out of the store. You both walk in relative silence, slipping past customers, as you reach the food court. Choso orders, paying with the cash Mahito gave, as he passes you one of the drinks, “Choso, can I ask you something?” 

His eyes slide to you, “Of course,” and god, his eyes stop your thoughts in their tracks — he’s so unfairly gorgeous, funny, sweet — you didn’t want to screw this up. You open your mouth to speak when you hear a voice. 

“Big bro, that you?” A rush of pink hair and energy is wrapped around Choso all of a sudden, “I didn’t think you got off until later,” it’s a teen boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, his arm wrapped around Choso, and a varsity jacket on — this was Choso’s brother?

Choso cracked his rare smile, “I don’t get off until later, Yuji, but I came to grab a drink for Mahito,” and Yuji’s gaze slides to you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there,” he smiles a thousand watt smile, “I’m Yuji Itadori, Choso’s brother,” and he’s glancing between you and his brother, before his mouth falls into an ‘o,’ “are you his girlfriend?” 

“Yuji—“ Choso starts, a hint of a blush across his cheeks, as you stifle a laugh, “I thought you said you were going to study at home with Fushiguro.” 

“I wanted to see you when your shift got off — I thought we could have dinner together,” Yuji pouts, and Choso cracks in an instant, his lips curling. 

This boy had his brother wrapped around his finger. 

“Ok, but don’t goof off. Make sure to study,” and Yuji nods. 

“Nice to meet you,” and he leans in to whisper, “treat my brother good, ok?” And you flush, before nodding, as Choso raises an eyebrow, out of earshot. 

“I will,” 

“Cho, tell Mahito to fuck off for me,” and he’s off again, gone as fast as he came.

“Sorry about that,” Choso sighs, still a smile on his lips as he watches his brother in the distance, claiming one of the food court tables for himself and his friend, as he sits down next to a black haired boy, assumedly Fushiguro, “didn’t know Yuji would be here,” 

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” and he bites his lip. 

“It’s relatively new — we’re half brothers, but he just came back into my life. He doesn’t really have any other biological family. His grandfather just passed, and he’s staying with a teacher whose decided to foster him,” the two of you begin to walk back to the store, his gaze fixed downwards at the tacky mall carpeting, “he’s been staying with me for the last few weeks, while his foster father went on a vacation to Malaysia,” 

And now the pieces were clicking into place, “And that’s why you’ve been going home a lot lately,” and his dark eyes find yours with a tilt of his head, “I mean, you just haven’t had a lot of time lately,” you can’t meet his gaze, “it must be a lot to have a teenager staying with you.” 

“Yeah, he eats everything in the house, and he’s staying in my living room, which leaves little in the way of privacy,” and you can still feel the prickle of his gaze on you, “but I could use a break,” and you finally look and see a soft expression on his face, the same insecurity you had reflected in his gaze. 

No time like the present, right?

“Well, should we maybe go on a date?” and his cheeks flush a pretty red, all the way to the tips of his ears, “we’ve done plenty of other things that a couple would do, like—” 

And he’s shaking his head, “I know, I know!” he’s the one who can’t meet your eyes now, chewing his lip, “I’d like that — I get off my shift tonight at eight, I told Yuji we’d hang out, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind postponing—” 

“We can always do it tomorrow, I don’t want to keep you from your brother,” and his lips curl into a smile, “he’s a good kid,” 

“He is,” and his fingers find yours again, “I can tell Mahito that I’ll lock up tonight, and maybe after I do, we could—” 

“Have another lesson?” 

And eight o’clock rolls around far too slow, but Choso definitely isn’t moving slow when it’s only the two of you. 

He’s pulling you into the back again, the door swinging shut behind the two of you, his fingers tight around your wrists as he’s pulling you into a bruising kiss, forcing your lips to part with a gasp, his tongue flicking against yours. The smooth surface of his piercing grazes against your tongue. 

And his fingers find the back of your neck, deepening the kiss impossibly, as his other hand slips down the curves of your body, pulling you against him, his clothed cock brushing against your aching cunt. 

Fuck. You had almost forgotten how big he was. 

And when you hear the zipper of his black jeans, you nearly melt against him, “Choso, please—” 

“I have to get you ready first, love,” his fingers find their way to the front of your jeans and undo the button, tugging the fabric down to your ankles. Cool air raises goosebumps across your skin, the pads of his fingers press against the wet patch of your panties, and he’s groaning, “but maybe I don’t,” 

“Fuck, so wet for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, as he’s walking you backwards, into one of the racks, his fingers press into the soft flesh of your thighs. And two fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear, joining your jeans, pooling around your ankles, “nearly ready now, but I still have to loosen you up,” his fingers tease your outer lips, dripping with your release. 

One of his finger’s slips in with practiced ease, making your hips jolt against his hand, your fingers curling around the metal bars of the rack in front of you. His finger was so much thicker and longer than yours, his digit toyed with your walls, teasing and stretching until he drew a soft groan from your lips. He was the only one who could make you this desperate, his lips pressed against your neck, the heat from his body has your mind reeling with pleasure. 

“Mmm, Choso, more—" and he’s adding another finger inside your still all too tight entrance, making you whimper, as the intrusion is all too much after a few weeks of not having him inside you. 

“So greedy,” he murmurs, the wet squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears, “you’re practically sucking me in, but it’s still not enough for you, is it?” his tongue drags against the outer shell of your ear, his piercing against your skin, before his mouth envelops your earlobe and sucks. 

His fingers are fucking you open, your eyes screwed shut as the tips brush against that spot, heat flooding your body. And you don’t hear the shuffling of his other hand through a box, until you hear the sound of sucking, “Choso—“ and he’s pressing the sucker against your clit, your mouth falling open as pleasure rips up your spine, the sucking sensation with the lewd noises of your pussy being finger fucked is too much. 

You cum all over his hand, your hand clamping over your mouth so no one hears your moans — and your legs quake as you come down from your high, as he eases his fingers from you, “so pretty,” he murmurs, and you can feel his dark, lidded eyes on your drenched cunt, watching your sticky release cling to his fingers, purple painted nails glinting in the low light. 

And he’s leaning forward, kissing down your back, as he turns you around gently, so your back is pressed against the rack. You kick off your underwear and pants. You’re still panting, chest rising and falling as his fingers press to your chin, lifting it so you meet his gaze, as he sucks his fingers clean of your cum. Heat pools again, as his fingers undo the leather belt and he’s tugging his jeans and black boxers down to his knees, his erection springs out, slapping against his stomach. 

Your mouth runs dry. 

Fuck, he’s even bigger than you thought. 

Ten inches? No, maybe eleven. How was that even possible? That shit would break you — but fuck — your cunt twitches — you kind of want it to break you. 

“Like what you see, Princess?” you lick your lips in response, and in a trance, your fingers are reaching for him, curling around the base before you slowly start to pump him. You’re rewarded with a moan, a noise that goes straight to your cunt, as your fingers move faster, trying to find the right rhythm. Pre-cum leaks from the top, as you tease his tip, before stroking back up the length of it. 

And he’s a beautiful mess, his pale features flushed a gorgeous red, as he presses his hand against his mouth so his moans wouldn’t resonate. And his pre-cum drips all over your fingers, slipping down your wrist even, as you lean forward to lick it off your own skin, while you meet his gaze. 

His head lolls back, eyes screwed shut now, and your fingers drift to his sack, stroking and teasing while your lips find the tip, sucking lightly before your tongue drags over the length of his cock. And god, he’s going to blow his load now, if you keep doing that, from the way his hips rock against your touch. 

His fingers weave into your hair, nails digging into your scalp, “Baby, ngh, it’s too good—fuck—” he’s so close, twitching in your mouth as you suck him from tip to base, tracing his slit with the tip of your tongue, “shit, I can’t—” and you suck hard on his cock, massaging his balls, and he’s gone — he’s pumping his cock into your mouth as his cum spurts down your throat, as you swallow it all too greedily. You pull away with a pop, a string of cum and saliva connecting you to his dick still, before you wipe it away. 

He’s leaning against the rack, chest heaving as he watches you with lust blown out eyes, sweat sheen on his face, “Haa, baby, s’good f’me,” and somehow he’s still hard, as you rise to your feet, thighs pressed together, your eyes fixed on his cock, “you don’t have to—” 

And he’s still so sweet — his eyebrows knit together as he’s examining you with concern, but you’re only shaking your head, as you press a sweet kiss to his lips, “I need you, Choso, please,” and he’s nodding, lips meeting yours in a heady kiss that steals your breath, and he’s made you brace yourself against the rack, fingers curled around the cool metal. 

Your folds are exposed to him, slick and dripping, even wetter than before, “You liked sucking me off that much, love?” he murmurs, kissing your neck, before he’s dragging the tip of his cock against your needy cunt, “I’ll go slow,” he assures you, as you nod. 

He’s sinking into you inch by inch — and not even halfway, you already feel like you’re ready to burst, “So big, Choso, I—” and he’s murmuring quiet reassurances, as he’s parting your folds, the pain drawing a gasp from your lips, as he finally bottoms out. 

“S’good, baby, so tight,” he’s moaning, You’re taking deep breaths, pain ebbing with each second that passes. Choso pressing sweet kisses to your neck, his hands slipping under your shirt to tease your perked nipples, mixing pain with pleasure. Tears burn at your tear ducts, as you breathe shaky breaths, and finally pain ebbs away, and pleasure grows in its place.

“S’full, so big,” you pant, growing more needy by the second, he’s reaching places you’d only dreamt of — his leaking tip kissing your cervix, “move, p-please—ah!” 

And he does as you say, pulling ever so slowly out before pushing back in, grunting as he does as your tight cunt adjusts to his size and length — bullying your insides in a way no toy could ever compare to. You swear you can feel every inch, every curve, every vein as he rocks into you. 

“So pretty f’me,” he’s moaning, stifled by his bitten lip, as your walls only seem to pull him back deeper each time he pulls out,  “so perfect, take me so well,” he’s murmuring, as he teases your tits between his thumb and forefinger, “pretty cunt made just for me, isn’t that right, Princess?” 

“Yes, yes, Choso,” and his pace only grows faster, just as his groans grow louder. 

“No one else can fuck you like this, make you feel this good, can’t wait to feel you cummin’ around me,” he’s panting, his fingers tweaking your nipples, squeezing, as he fucks you deeper and deeper, his tip hitting your cervix deliciously again and again, “feels s’good, so wet and warm for me—” his hand comes down on your ass now, making you gasp, your cunt squeezing around him. 

Drool slips from your mouth, as you get closer and closer to cumming — the telltale flutter of your walls, “Choso, I’m coming, I can’t—” 

“Cum for me, let me fill you up,” and his fingers reach around to press a vibrator to your clit, and you’re cumming, falling apart on his cock, as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. The squelch of your cunt and the way you squeeze him has him falling apart, spurting and painting your walls. 

The two of you slump forward, your legs nearly buckling, as you cling to the rack, before he’s easing both of you back onto a bench in the stock room. Your quiet pants fill the silence of the room, as he eases himself out, groaning as you both watch your mixed releases leak out of your cunt. 

“I don’t think I can walk after that,” and he chuckles in your ear, pressing a kiss to your neck. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll carry you,” and you laugh, his favorite noise in the world, as you slowly turn, making him groan as your soaked pussy grinds against his dick. 

“So then you can lift me up when I drop it?” your lips are curled in that same smile that had him hypnotized from the moment he saw it, and he can only reply with a bruising kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, as you sunk yourself onto his dick again. 

God. He needed to buy you tickets to Warped Tour. 

~~~

The next time you show up to Hot Topic, you weren’t showing up to buy any merchandise. 

“Hey emo boy!” you call out, making Choso turn with a smile on his lips — the one especially reserved for you. 

“Hi baby,” he murmurs, kissing you softly, his arm around your waist, “I’m almost done. I just have to punch out.” 

You lean in, words whispered against his ear, “And then you’re gonna come fuck me?” 

You were picking up your boyfriend. 

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist, before kissing you again, “You know I will.” 

note: i couldn't find who made this incredible art that i used after searching and searching, so if anyone knows, please let me know so i can credit them above in the description. this fic has been a long time coming since that silly blurb i wrote after watching one too many thirst edits of choso. edit: i found the artist: its @/SS_utr3n on twt!!!

tag list: @uroldall, @jlovesfrogs, @existential54321, @staryukis, @samistars, @chosoilysm, @astroholic, @emii4evr, @rose1238, @butterflieskeepcominback, @divinely-yourz, @fishii28, @seresukuin, @misalsmistake, @xkaidaxxxx, @cappric, @famebydefinition, @theatergeek, @sousblogga, @averagelonelypotato, @timesnewreader, @chrvstxl, @darylthekidd, @merelydaydreaming, @notafan77, @naughtygobbo, @smiley-babe, @butterflieskeepcominback, @entirelytoooobsessed, @acenanxious

[tonycries]

Great With Kids? (You Can Have Mine) - C.K.

Synopsis. When your younger brother gets a new babysitter, only two questions linger on your mind: 1. How come your parents didn’t trust you in charge? 2. How dare the sexy babysitter be so perfect - it made you want some attention too.

Pairings. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, babysitter! Choso, male masturbation, voyeurism (from reader), Choso with nipple piercings and eyeliner hngh, unprotected, 69, choking, overstim, oral (male + female receiving), creampie, dirty talk, friends-to-lovers, Choso is down BAD and always has been, mentioned younger brother, swearing. 

Word count. 9.0k

A/N. Gojo longfic next time because I miss my pretty blue-eyed princess.

Your younger brother’s new babysitter was hot.

With a capital h. 

Scarily hot, in fact, that it made you wonder why the hell people stopped having babysitters past the age of 14.

Ah, Choso Kamo, the ever-elusive eldest son of the Itadori’s from next door. You still remember the first time you met him - well, mostly. 

The world was rocking gently at exactly 12:34AM after a night out with your old high school friends. And so were you, stumbling tipsily into your driveway, soaking up the warm summer air. 

Fumbling with the doorbell, you fully expected your parents to still be away on that extravagant couples’ cruise they’d won - one that probably cost more than your tuition.

Which also meant you expected the old lady from down the street to be babysitting tonight. Still wide awake and absolutely bursting at the seams to give you a detailed rundown about the neighborhood tea - who’s divorcing who, and her top suspects for who stole her prized garden gnome. 

What you certainly did not expect was for that door to swing open and to find yourself face-to-face with the most ridiculously attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Shirtless.

Dazed, your eyes involuntarily sweep his figure from head to toe - taking in every inch of those dark, sleep-mussed locks falling effortlessly around his slightly smudged eyeliner, all the way down to the chiseled- oh god, were those nipple piercings?

Alas, the universe isn’t on your side, and you don’t get to confirm, because suddenly the door slams right in your face, almost rattling off its hinges at the force. The sound echoes in your ears as you blink in disbelief at what the fuck that was. Was that real - was he real? 

You double check the address you’ve known for years - just in case - because, hell, if you were dreaming then this was a damn good one. Taking a deep breath, you try to focus on something that won’t make your head spin before reaching for the door again.

But before your finger could even graze the doorbell, it cracks open once more. The same mysterious man towered before you, this time - you note, with a tinge of disappointment - wearing a snug t-shirt that still doesn’t do much to hide that godly physique. 

“Not that m’complaining, but who’re you and why’re ya in my house?” you manage to slur out, voice betraying the shiver that runs down your spine at his intense gaze. He simply leans against the doorframe, arms crossed and expression unreadable. 

“Choso,” he drawls lightly, eyes never leaving your face. Shit, even his voice was hot. 

You nod slowly, mind racing as you blearily try to remember just where you’d heard that name before. Some family friend? Nah, you’d know him if that was the case. An actor? God, he sure had the looks. 

Mercifully sensing your struggle, he clears his throat, snapping you out of your drunken reverie. “Not surprised you haven’t seen me around, sweetheart, but my parents live next door.” he offers, tone laced with amusement and something else you can’t place. “M’babysitting your brother for tonight.”

You almost don’t hear the second part of his explanation, because it hits you like a ton of bricks - oh shit, this was Choso? Choso either-a-hallucination-or-a-vampire Kamo? 

In all your years of having the Itadoris as your neighbors, you’d only seen fleeting glimpses of their eldest son - a flash of black hair at the window, or a sculpted, tattooed arm waving off Yuji at the doorway. And, well, you didn’t know what exactly you’d anticipated. You just didn’t expect him to be so…hot. Or stand half-naked in front of you.

God, he made you more dizzy than the alcohol. 

“Damn,” you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than anything. Yet Choso still hears, quirking an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Everything alright there?” he hums, the hint of a tease in his tone. Smug bastard.

You nod your head, clutching onto the doorframe for support as you lean in closer. “Mhm, perfect.” Wait- was that a blush dusting his face? Damn, this dream just keeps getting better and better.

Liquid courage coursing through you, you bat your lashes, too tipsy to even attempt a wink, “Well, Choso, let me know if ya need any help babysitting, jus’ know I’m always down to-” 

And then - perhaps to save you from the embarrassment of an awful pickup line - that’s when the universe decides to remind you of exactly how many kamikaze shots you’ve downed. The world lurches beneath you. Your hands scramble for something - anything - solid.

Ah, falling down really does feel good, especially when the ground is so warm, and soft. Smelling faintly of vanilla, with a hint of sunshine. 

And then it’s all black. 

To match his eyes.

---

The smell of vanilla still lingers in your mind as you slowly pry your eyes open, squinting against the harsh morning sunlight streaming in through your window. Groaning, you feel as though you’ve been run over by a truck. Five of them, in fact. 

Trying to will away the pounding headache, you bury yourself deeper into the snug covers of…your bed…that you’ve been tucked into? 

Oh shit. Sitting up with a gasp, you hastily try to rub away the sleep from your pointedly makeup-less eyes, remnants of last night now flooding back to you with a surge of embarrassment. 

Choso. Shirtless. Babysitting. Shirtless. But most importantly - your awful display of drunken flirting. The man appears once in a blue moon and you hit on him? Perfect. Great. Wonderful. 

And just as you’re entertaining the idea of convincing your parents to move neighborhoods, you realize with a jolt that he must’ve been the one that carried you up here and took care of you. Even after all of that. 

With a sigh, you rub your temples, wincing as it throbs at the laughter carrying from downstairs - one of them so decidedly Choso. Deep voice ringing in your ears, you can almost feel the lingering traces of his strong arms holding you flush against his chest, or the warm hands gently wiping off your eye shadow.

And it seems Choso had a penchant for interrupting your barely-lucid thoughts, because the door creaks open, ripping through the heavy silence in your room. Heart in your throat, you startle as Choso carefully steps into your room, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“G’morning,” he says, voice so gentle that some small, strange part of you thinks you could listen to it forever. “Feeling any better?”

You offer him a sheepish grin, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks at the memory of your drunken antics. “Yeah, I think so. Thanks for... well, everything.”

Chuckling softly, his gaze softens as he steps closer, taking in your slightly-disheveled appearance. “It was the least I could do, sweetheart. Now, c’mon, your brother and I are making pancakes.” 

You fidget nervously under his gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious even as he turns to leave the room at your silence. Say it, you idiot. Say it. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, words tumbling out in a rush. “I didn’t mean to... y’know, act like a Victorian man seeing a woman’s ankles for the first time-” 

“It’s al-”

 “I swear I’ve seen ankles-”

A large hand cradling your cheek, his thick rings searingly cold against your chin as he tilts your chin up to meet his warm gaze - and those suspiciously red cheeks. “S’alright, sweetheart. I didn’t mind.” 

And, well, if this was his way of shutting you up then by God was it effective. Because you didn’t trust yourself to speak even as Choso gives you an easy smile. Even as he withdraws his hand, the air thick with something you were too hungover to overthink about. 

Not until he turns back to the door, flashing you a teasing smile, “Besides, it was kinda cute.”

And with that, Choso steps through the door with the audacity of someone that hadn’t uttered words that sent your mind reeling. 

As the creak of the door echoes behind him, Choso’s warm touch still sears into your skin. Something hot and prickly pooling in your stomach. Only one thought rings clear in your hazy, still-hungover mind - one that makes your cheeks flare: this was going to be a very interesting summer.

You just didn’t realize how interesting it would be. Not until two weeks, four days, and sixteen hours after you first met Choso. 

It starts out innocently enough, taking the early shift at your internship, volunteering to help with the chores - you find yourself subconsciously making excuses to be around him whenever he’s scheduled to babysit.

You’ve probably learned everything there is to know about the man by now - from the way he likes his eggs (sunny side up) to that time he accidentally dyed his brother’s hair neon pink while trying out a recipe for homemade hair dye. 

Likewise, Choso happens to be the only one who knows that you were the one that accidentally caused that flood in your dorm that required five floors and two plumbers to resolve. 

At this point, Choso’s at your house more often than not - where Choso is, there is you, and where you are, there is Choso. And your brother…and sometimes Yuji, but semantics.

“Semantics” are probably why you find yourself rushing home straight from your internship, ignoring every invitation for an after-work drink - to see your brother, of course. No other reason - definitely not because of the way Choso will inevitably be there too. Or because of the way his smile makes something strange coil in your stomach. Or-

Okay, maybe you speedwalked up your driveway faster than usual a little bit because of Choso. But as you’ve said - semantics.

Yet, sometimes you even think there’s a familiar flicker of something more in those dark eyes.

…

Nahhh. 

Stepping into the yard, the air thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the deafening sounds of splashing, a smile tugs at your lips at the awfully wholesome view that greets you.

Your brother and Yuji are locked in a fierce battle, water guns being brandished like the most seasoned warriors.

And Choso - towering over everyone else - was at the epicenter of the chaos, his laughter booming over the commotion. Shirtless. Again. 

His bare, tattooed torso gleams in the light, muscles flexing with each movement as if sculpted by the gods themselves. Droplets of water glistening on his dark hair like diamonds in the fading light.

Traitorously, your cheeks burn as you step closer, desperately trying to rip your gaze from the milky abs peeking out and the tantalizing glint of metal winking so sinfully at you under the sun.

So he does have nipple piercings.

God, you have to get your mind out of the gutter.

As you approach, Choso’s grin widens, a playful sparkle dancing in his eyes. Without hesitation, he scoops up a large water balloon and takes aim, launching it with frightening accuracy in your direction.

The icy water hits you before the realization, and you squeal in surprise as the balloon connects right with your chest, seeping into your shirt. Glancing down with a startled laugh, you realize a moment too late that your once-pristine white shirt is now completely see-through. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks, but the damage has been done. Smug bastard, you think, glancing up at Choso, slightly red-faced yet wearing a sly grin as he surveys the aftermath of his well-aimed shot.

“Shoulda just told me if you wanted a peak, you lecher. This shirt was expensive, y’know.” you call out, mock-glaring at the man that stood so infuriatingly beautifully in front of you.

Choso throws his head back in a laugh that makes something tingle all the way down from your toes to your burning cheeks. “Maybe you shoulda just kept your guard up, sweetheart,” 

You scoff, “Maybe you should stop being a distraction then.”

His grin widens, reaching for another nearby water balloon, “S’not my fault you’re so easily distracted. No need to be a sore loser.”

“Oh, it’s on now.”

“Well, well, looks like we have a new contender in the water war,” Choso remarks mischievously to the kids, gesturing towards you. Yeah, really smug bastard.

Ah, what the hell. This shirt was on sale anyway.

---

Now, Choso knows you’re hot - always has.

Ever since that first day he moved in next door, when he stumbled upon you sunbathing in your backyard wearing that sinful bikini. And, well, after hours of moving boxes upon boxes of Yuji’s dumbbells, the mere sight of you was like the gates of heaven spread wide open for him. 

But, especially now - all drenched and disheveled. Your shirt sticking to your curves like a second skin in all the ways that should be illegal - and also makes some strange part of him slightly jealous. Beaming smile directed right at him - shit, this might as well just be the final nail on his coffin. Death by you.

Amidst the chaos and confusion, you're a force to be reckoned with. Choso can barely tear his eyes off of you, breathless and victorious in pure adrenaline-fueled bravado, declaring “Beg for mercy and I’ll let you off easy, Choso.”

“Kinky, but absolutely not, sweetheart.”

Clutching a particularly large water balloon, raising your hand high high high - hurtling it straight at him with an unapologetic smirk, “Then, better run for your life.”

Oh? Maybe Choso was a masochi- what was that- 

A flash of his favorite lacy pink, your poor buttons faltering at the sheer force of your throw. Choso doesn’t even feel the cold splash! square on his chest as he’s drenched icily from head to toe. Too transfixed.

Too focused on trying not to make it obvious he’s mentally calculating the chances of your shirt coming off altogether…

Eyes locked on the sliver of soft skin peeking out at him. Only registering you and the traitorous rush of heat flooding his cheeks - and his cock - as he averts his gaze, internally smacking himself for letting his thoughts wander into such dangerous territory. 

Both thanking and cursing the gods above, Choso realizes with a pang that he’s not just screwed, he’s absolutely twisted, tangled, and tied up in knots.

So utterly screwed, in fact, that he probably needs to make a quick run to the bathroom now.

Like, right now.

Shit. 

With a muttered excuse of a bathroom break, each step more urgent than the last, Choso can’t help but wonder if the water balloon incident was some sort of cosmic punishment for his wandering thoughts. Some divine intervention from his ancestors for being such a pussy around you all these years.

And as he slams that bathroom door closed, bunches his pants bunched underneath his heavy balls, and takes his throbbing cock in his hands, Choso thinks he might just see the gates of heaven - well, at least he’ll be able to give his ancestors a piece of his mind there.

With a groan, he leans against the closed door, eyes scrunching shut as he takes his swollen cock in his fist. Leaking hot precum and glistening in the dim bathroom light. He grips the base tightly, pulsing and achingly hard for you. 

Cold rings searing against his skin, Choso wastes no time - wanting to get this over with and join you again more than anything - starting up a hasty, desperate pace up and down his length that makes his knees buckle. Tighter on the base, just teasing his furiously flushed tip. Pink. Pink to match your bra.

With you so sinfully soaked through, wearing that goddamn lacy bra out there, Choso wasn’t as strong a man to possibly get you out of his mind. He can’t help but imagine your sultry smile, how it would look wrapped around his cock. 

Arm straining now, a shiver runs down his spine - all the way to his throbbing erection. “Shit.” he breathes, “J-jus’ like that, sweetheart.” 

Head only filled with you, and your lips and you-

He milks his base tighter - would you take him all in one go? Look up at him with those beautiful, teary eyes as you choke around his cock? 

One hand pulls in urgent, jerky little moves that have his hips bucking into his fist. The other reaches up muffle the fucked out moans leaving his swollen lips. God, it would take everything it had in him to not fuck up into your pretty lil’ mouth. Watch you cock-drunk and taking him so well. 

Or maybe…

Eyes rolling to the back of his head, Choso fights back a groan as he reaches a hand up to teasingly thumb under his slit. Delicate beads of precum dripping onto the cold tile with a deafening drip! drip! drip! Smearing at the way he rubs maddening little circles under that one spot, grazing his sensitive veins. 

Maybe you’d be a a fucking tease - run your tongue under his pulsing head so agonizingly slow. Knowing you, you’d probably pull away as soon as he bucks his hips into your mouth. Lips swollen and glossed prettily with his precum as you whisper, “Now now, baby. If you don’t act like a good boy then you won’t get to cum~”

“Sh-shit, hah-” Choso thinks he’s going insane, he can practically hear your hums as you kiss along his length, tongue darting out to trace his throbbing veins so obscenely. Flicking at his sensitive head. Eyes sparkling - ready to positively devour him. 

All for him. 

It’s too much. 

“Ah- Ngh, fuck.” he moans hoarsely, letting out a low, fucked-out little call of your name. “More. Need m-more, sweetheart.” 

Body shuddering violently, sweat dripping from his brow, Choso’s thighs quiver as he fucks his fist at an almost-animalistic pace. Chasing his release with reckless abandon. 

Choso’s heart pounds wildly in his chest as he tries - and fails - to maintain control. Raspy whines of your name escape through the crevices of his fingers, cracking ever-so-slightly in a way he knows he’d be embarrassed about if he was in a better state of mind. 

Giving up his futile attempt, long fingers snake down below to cradle his balls in a way he knows you’d do better. Tugging and pulling at a jerky rhythm that matches his hand. 

Some tiny, practical part of his brain hopes - prays - that you won’t call off the water fight early and come up to check on him. He knows he should hurry up, he knows he’s fucked if you ever found out. Shit, he should bake you apology cookies tomorrow.

But fuck are so you perfect for him. Voice so pretty and eyes so warm as you turn your gaze to his undeserving self. He’d kill to see if you still look at him that way when - if - he absolutely ruins you.

Would you be able to take all of him? Would you pout adorably until he shoves his dick down your throat? Gagging as he hits the back of your throat over and over - oh how Choso would love to mess up your mascara. He’d fucking tattoo your lipstick stains on his dick if he could. 

“Cum f’me, baby.” you’d mewl, and shit would he burn down this entire world to hear you call him that. “Mm, fill me up with your cum, wan’ taste you, baby-”

“Fuck,” he curses again, voice thick with need, and tight balls twitching so sensitively. “Fuck...fuck fuck fuck. M’gonna cum- shit- gonna cum, sweetheart.”

You - all see-through white shirts and lacy bras that drive him wild. Giggling with the audacity of someone who isn’t making him slowly lose his sanity. You with prettily lips painted white with his seed. Cum and saliva mixing into a lewd pool on the sterile tile as you suck the soul out of him. 

You. 

And then he’s cumming. 

A raw, drawled-out keen of your name and he’s spilling into his fist. Thick, hot spurts of cum that paint his palms white in a way he wishes he could do to you. And behind his closed eyes all he sees is you - you you you-

You, dragging out his orgasm so torturously, lips decorated with his seed, dribbling down to your lacy pink bra, gushing so lewdly down your ready throat. You with your eyes dazed, lips swollen and quirking up into a fucked-out smile as he does so well for you - cumming, all for you.

You, with your wide eyes and disgust on your face as you realize just what he’d been doing on this suspiciously long “bathroom break”.

Shit.

Body still twitching with the shockwaves of probably one of the Top 5 orgasms of his life, Choso all but collapses against the bathroom door, panting heavily, utterly spent. For a moment, he lies there, wondering if this is what heaven truly felt like.

But as the euphoria of his high ebbs away into nothing but mere tingles, a slight wave of nausea crashes over him. 

Sighing, Choso reaches for the paper towels, ready to clean up his mess. If only you were there to milk him dry then he wouldn’t have to-

…

God, he was definitely baking you apology cookies tomorrow. 

Now, when it started drizzling shortly after Choso left, you took it upon yourself to usher the kids back home and hand over his t-shirt personally like the good samaritan you are - out of the goodness of your heart, of course. 

Not for any reason whatsoever because you were hoping to get at least one more glimpse of those sinful nipple piercings up-close.

…

Okay, perhaps there was a slight ulterior motive involved. 

Either way, what you’d expected was for a flash of silver as you handed over his drenched t-shirt. Or maybe that familiar easy smile to warm you up from the icy water.

Literally anything but to find yourself frozen outside the bathroom door, cunt dripping, and ears ringing with the muffled echoes of his pornographic groans.

At first, completely mortified, your fight or flight instinct had kicked in as you realized just what those rhythmic, fucked-out little grunts meant. Only for you to choose neither option - staying rooted to your spot with the utterance of one, simple, word - your name.

Confusion whirls in your mind almost as much as the throbbing in your cunt, knees weakening. Heart thumping louder and louder in your ears at each whine of your name. Shivers running down your spine - all the way to your wet cunt as it really sets in that this was Choso. And he was fucking his fist in your bathroom. To you.

And you didn’t mind?

In fact, you find yourself leaning against the door, thighs squeezing together - mere inches away from where you imagined him slumped against it. Soft strands sticking to his forehead, cock hot and heavy, aching for release. Ragged breathing as if caught off guard by the intensity of his own pleasure. Broken whispers of your name leaving him over and over-

Really, you know you should give him your privacy. But if the white-hot ropes of pleasure running up your spine are anything to go by then, well, is it really that bad?

You have half the mind to just reach down down down - just a little release. Almost jealous of Choso-

Click!

You’re sure you could rival Usain Bolt with the way you ran down those stairs. Cheeks flaring, his damp t-shirt still clutched tightly in your hand. Mind racing with only one thought - this little fuck wanted you just as badly as you wanted him.

---

You can barely remember what transpired after your little discovery. You couldn’t decide who looked more dazed - you or Yuji, who was being practically dragged out that front door as Choso exited hastily with vague mentions of baking and cookies

And in the ringing silence that followed after that front door slammed, you couldn’t help the smirk that found itself onto your face. This was going to be fun.

But if there’s anything you’ve learned about Choso - it’s that even after twenty-something years on planet Earth, that man can not take a hint.

You somewhat had an inkling after the fifth time you decided to sunbathe in just a skimpy bikini at exactly when you knew he’d be watching. Well, you might not have gotten any reaction other than an extremely flushed face at the window, but at least you knew he’d have more very fun bathroom breaks.

Hell, one time you even bought ice lollies for the whole house - but especially Choso. Making sure those dark eyes followed every lick and trail of it dripping down your fingers under the scorching summer sun. Ultimately resulting in nothing more but a heavy gulp and for his ice lolly to hit the grass faster than it could even begin to melt. 

Ugh, should you get your brother to start another water fight? That went down well last time. 

It’s only after another failed attempt at trying to get him alone and a few hours of deliberating whether you should ship your interrupting brother off on a cruise too that you realize you have to get out the big guns.

“The big guns” being stealthily organizing a sleepover for your brother at the Itadoris, then inviting Choso over for a movie night. Simple, right? And, well, if anyone asked, you could just say the movie just so happened to be rated R. 

It wasn’t too hard to convince your brother that a sleepover with Yuji would be the best thing since sliced bread. The excitement in his voice palpable as he agreed, not suspecting a thing.

You just didn’t think it would be even easier to convince Choso to come over with a simple playful text of “Netflix no chill. Haha jk…unless?” But then again, when has Choso not surprised you?

And that night, as your brother eagerly headed off to Yuji’s place, you couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of guilt - but, hey, it was for a good cause, right? 

It’s a win-win either way - your brother gets to spend the night with a friend and you get to be here, so achingly close to Choso on that couch. So close that you could feel the heat radiating off of him, stealing glances at his sharp profile as the conversation flows easily about the movie playing on screen.

Shifting ever-so-slightly closer, electricity crackling between you two was palpable. You smile in anticipation, after all - you weren’t lying about the movie being rated R.

Now, Choso certainly didn’t come over to your house tonight expecting a wholesome rerun of Cars 2. However, he also wasn’t expecting the blockbuster action movie to suddenly unfold into something so steamy.

Goddamn lecherous directors and their goddamn pervy movies.

Eyes firmly trained on the ground, instead of the actress currently fake-moaning dramatically onscreen, Choso tries to ignore the subtle shift of your hips or the way the temperature in the room has currently increased by about 10 degrees. Or the way your moans would sound a million times prettier in his ears.

Alas, Choso was not a strong man, and he especially tries to will away the blood rushing straight to his cock right now - but how could he? You were such a vision of temptation, so close and warm and close to him on the couch.

This was absolute torture. 

“God, this is so painfully fake. Don’t you think so?” your voice rips through the deafening silence between you two, tone careful and balanced, startling Choso out of his little reverie.

His eyes flicker hastily to meet yours, and for a moment, he seems caught off guard by your sudden interruption. “Oh, yeah.” voice rough with a hint of nervousness. “I’ve seen better performances in middle school plays.”

You nod, the tension between you thickening as you lock eyes. “I mean, who even writes this stuff?” you continue, leaning in even closer to Choso, words positively dripping in sarcasm. “It’s like they’ve never actually had sex before.”

Choso lets out a shaky laugh, the sound strained as he shifts subtly in his seat - but not subtly enough. Because you catch the way he desperately tries to adjust his now-uncomfortably tight pants. Success. 

“Yeah, exactly,” he clears his throat, ripping his gaze away from yours.

You study him for a moment under the dim lighting, noting the way his hands clench and unclench in his lap, the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he struggles to control his breathing. He was nervous. Nervous and horny - exactly where you wanted him. 

A sudden rush of adrenaline courses through your veins, and you lean even closer to the man. Not even a hair’s breadth between you two - you relish in his strangled gasp as your tits press so enticingly against his arm. 

“Choso, just a thought.” you hum casually, lips mere inches from his ear. “Wanna recreate the scene better?”

His breath hitches at your words, muscles rippling so deliciously beneath your touch. “Do you know what you’re saying?” he rumbles, lowly. Eyes darkened and unreadable.

You smile, heart pounding against your chest as your lips brush against his earlobe. “Absolutely.”

It was like something snapped.

Because then he’s kissing you. And you’re kissing him. Because goddammit you haven’t spent the last month sneaking glances at those pretty lips for nothing.

Movie completely forgotten, Choso is warm under your touch - all sculpted chest and urgent pulses as his lips kiss you dizzyingly. Groaning lowly as your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer.

He breathes you in with an infectious desperation that bleeds into his hands, wandering every inch of your skin - as if he didn’t have enough time. And he probably didn’t. Distantly, Choso thinks that no time in the world would be enough to absolutely fucking wreck you the way he wanted to.

Large, hurried hands grope your chest, squeezing so teasingly in a way that almost made you think he was trying to feel out what bra you were wearing - lacy pink. His favorite, of course.

You minx.

Urgently tugging the hem of your tight shirt over your arms, Choso tosses it god-knows-where. Mouth watering as he pulls away to greedily take in the heavenly view of your heaving chest - the same one he’s shamelessly fucked his fist to for too long.

God, you were perfect. With a soft, little oh! Choso leans down to leave hot, open-mouthed kisses on every bit of exposed skin he could reach. Nipping, and tugging lightly. Relishing in the way you whine for his lips again.

Threading a hand through his soft hair, you lightly pull him back to you. Breath fanning his face, lips ghosting over his own.

“Kiss me, you fool.”

And, well, Choso didn’t have to be asked twice. Molding his mouth against yours once more. Letting your lips part, you intertwine your tongue so sinfully with his. He tastes just like he looks - so intoxicatingly delicious.

With a breathy sigh, he lightly taps the curve of your ass. Hands lingering for far longer than necessary, kneading the flesh in a way that has your skin searing. 

You get the signal. Urgently, you loop your legs around his waist. “Choso- bed.” you whisper, muffled in-between kisses. “Now.”

Shivers run down your spine at the way he chuckles darkly, “Honestly, sweetheart. I don’t even hah- know if we’ll make it there.” Mumbling against your lips, “Would you kill me if I take you right here right now?”

“I’ll kill you if you don’t fucking do something.” you hiss, words dripping in desperation. Ah, but Choso, ever the merciful man, shuts up whatever other retort on the tip of your tongue with his own. Kissing you with almost-bruising intensity as he gets up from his seat. Strong arms securely wrapped underneath you, holding you flush against his warm skin.

Choso doesn’t pull away even once as he hastily makes the route to your room. And honestly, with the speed at which your back hits the soft mattress, bouncing at the sheer force at which you two fell on top, you wouldn’t even be surprised if he teleported there.

Now safely in the confines of your room, you all but rip off Choso’s snug t-shirt. Those familiar obscene nipple piercings winking at you under the dim lighting in greeting. 

“Always wanted to do this.” you murmur, surging forward as if on autopilot. Lips latching delicately onto the pretty pink nipples, tasting the cold metal on your tongue. 

“Oh- oh, fuck. A-always knew you had a thing hah- f’my piercings, sweetheart.” Choso breathes out, letting you have your fun. His favorite bra now at the foot of your bed. Fingers deftly sneaking under your skirt, blood rushes straight to his cock as he feels the positively soaked state of your panties - if you could even call them that. 

Sanity snapping, he immediately flings off your skirt. Throwing it somewhere across the room with no care or concern for where it ends up. All so he could look down at oh-

Oh god, if you had to describe Choso’s face as he takes in the sight before him - it would be absolutely losing his sanity. Your pussy dripping and clenching around nothing - all for him.

Strings of slick trail down your thighs as Choso hooks one, long finger under your slutty g-string, tugging impatiently.

You keen as the cold air hits your dripping cunt. Yet Choso’s eyes stay locked hungrily on the sticky fabric intertwined around his fingers “Guess you were expecting this, huh?” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. 

Scoffing, you buck your hips up for something - anything. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you since that first night I hit on you, y’know,” you admit, the heady air of your room melting away any reservations you had previously. 

And that seems to snap Choso out of his trance - eyes flickering over to you, darkened with something so carnal that it makes your cunt throb. “Oh yeah?” he mumbles, swiftly stuffing the g-string in his pocket before leaning down, hot breath hitting your ear. “Now, what was that pick-up line you were gonna say that night?” 

You gasp in embarrassment, heat flooding to your cheeks at the memory. “Wha- that doesn’t matter. I was drunk and-”

Smack!

The delicious sting on your ass hits you before the realization that Choso smacked you. He smacked you. Even later do you realize that you like it - slick beading so obscenely at your sloppy hole.

“What was it, sweetheart?”

You shudder at the tone that leaves no room for argument. The words tumbling out of you as Choso caresses soothingly over the handprint on your ass. “I- it’s stupid. I was gonna say that I’m down to sit on your face, baby.”

“Thought so,” he grins, pulling away from the dizzying proximity. Shifting - well, more like manhandling - you to flip positions. 

God, you could almost sink into his muscles as he lays back on your bed. Voice low and dangerous as he utters words that go straight to your dripping pussy, “Now, sit on m’face.”

And before you know it, you find yourself hastily straddling Choso’s pretty face. Hands snaking down his milky abs, lips kissing along his tattoos, catching purposefully on his sensitive nipples. 

Warm breath fanning your quivering cunt, he reaches up to cup your ass, nudging your needy core to his mouth. Kneading. Groping. 

Not stopping his ministrations even when your slick oozes slowly, torturously through your swollen folds and onto his awaiting tongue. A maddening drip! drip! drip! ringing in your ears above your thundering heartbeat.

Choso groans at the mouthwatering sight above him. You - spread so shamefully open for him and clenching around nothing. 

“Luckily for you, sweetheart, wanted you to sit on m’face ever since I saw you.” sweet juices flowing down his throat, words muffled against your throbbing lips. 

He barely even gets the words out before he’s surging forward. Licking a long, languid stripe up your heated folds. Again. And again. Faster at the pretty moans that spill from your lips.

Pushing his tongue in between your slit, past that first, tight ring of muscle. Bullying it deeper and deeper. Chin pressing against your throbbing clit, ravaged at each movement of his face. 

He caresses your warm walls, relishing so filthily at the way you clamp down on him in surprise. “Hngh- oh shit, baby. Ah-”

Your sweet moans are music in his ears and shit - you called him “baby”. It’s as if every wet dream he’s ever had has come to life as Choso dips in and out at a ruthless pace. Pulling out to tease your dripping entrance, pushing past mercilessly into your plushy walls. In and out in and out in and out-

His cock strains so painfully against his pants at the way your sloppy hole sucks his tongue in so obscenely - almost as if it hurts to part. Tongue fucking you the way he wishes he could with his cock right now.

“Oh- Hah- Choso! Fuck, baby. S’good.” your body arches into his absolutely depraved tongue. 

Desperate whines spilling incessantly from your mouth at the way he quirks his tongue up just right to graze that spot he knew would have you grinding down on him for more. “Ah! Right there - jus’ like that!”

As if he knew exactly how to drive you wild. Exactly how to break you. You almost don’t notice the mindless, shallow little thrusts of his hips into your open palm. Almost.

Eyes snapping open at the tremors, you reach a hand across his quivering thighs. All the way down towards the very obvious dark patch on his pants - right where his furiously hard tip was leaking thick, relentless precum that made your mouth water. 

Oh, how you’d kill to taste him - see if the rest of him is as intoxicating as his mouth is.

So you do. 

Choso was so pussy-drunk in-between your thighs that you think he barely notices the way you fumble with his belt. Shakily pulling those pants down just enough to glimpse the rock-hard erection that those boxers do nothing to hide. 

“Shit,” you whisper, voice strained with need. 

You always imagined Choso had a big cock - but this was ridiculous. Your pussy clenches in both nervousness and anticipation as you imagined the delicious stretch of him splitting you apart on it. Breaking you. 

And that’s probably when Choso notices - you clamping down so filthily on his tongue. 

“Oh?” he rasps, voice sending white-hot vibrations of pleasure right up your spine. “Didn’t think you were so desperate for my cock, sweetheart. Gon’ make me cum, hm?”

Now, you’ve always thought of yourself as a woman of action rather than empty words. Which is probably why you urgently pull down his boxers. Choso’s painfully hard erection springs out, hitting his lower abs. 

You take a moment to admire the long, heavy cock in your hands - a deliciously pretty pink on top, furiously leaking glistening precum. Saliva pooling in your mouth - you shove it as far down your throat as you possibly could. 

Oh, how many times in his life has Choso imagined this moment right here. In the shower, right before bed, right after waking up too. You’re really a dream come to life. 

A startled, strangled moan of your name leaves Choso’s kiss-bitten lips as you take him all in one go. Only to pull back and spit once- twice on his throbbing cock. The steady stream of spit cool - followed so maddeningly by the warm heat of your mouth once more. You start up a torturous, filthy pace bobbing your head up and down on his cock.

He strains his head to catch a glimpse - even just one - of your nose pressed against his pelvis. Breathing in the heady scent at the tufts of hair at the bottom, already wet with precum and spit. His dirty girl. 

Popping off with a lewd squelch, “Feels good, baby?”

“Feels perfect.”

But he wasn’t gonna fall far behind.

Immediately attaching his lips with yours once more, Choso dives nose-deep in your dripping cunt. Rolling your throbbing clit in between his lips. Flicking his tongue along the sensitive bud in a way that makes your head feel so light. He alternates between a slow, languid torture on your clit and fucking into you unforgivingly.

Your movements stutter as you teasingly lick at his sensitive slit. The salty flavor of his precum is probably your favorite taste now. That bastard.

Reaching down, you cup his heavy balls, massaging the tender flesh in harsh, hasty circles that match your mouth down his length - up and down up and down up and-

Muffled moans and lewd squelching filling the heated room. A rhythmic, sinful cadence that both of you were losing your sanity to. Movements more frantic now. Desperate to make the other cum. Desperate to be first.

Letting out soft, raw grunts, Choso fucks up his throbbing erection into your mouth. Your eyes water as his tip abuses the back of your throat. And it makes you wish you could see how messy he looked right now. All smudged eyeliner and slick-glossed lips. 

Gagging around him, a mixture of drool and precum drips sinfully down the corner of your mouth as you increase your pace, pooling messily on his lower abs. Sloppy - so sloppy.

So it only made sense that your orgasms were the same. 

Pleasure dizzyingly overwhelming, you gush around Choso’s mouth with a stifled squeal. Stars behind your eyes, vision blurring, mind blanking - the only things you register being the languid tongue lapping up at your sweet juices and the guttural groan of what sounds like your name as Choso shoots thick, hot spurts of his cum down your throat. 

Throat burning as the salty taste fills your senses, you milk his cock for more more more- his dick pulsing and stuttering in your mouth. Cum staining the fresh sheets below - a problem for later. 

Right now all you were focused on was riding out your high, grinding almost animalistically on Choso’s pretty face. 

You’ve barely removed yourself from him with a lewd pop! before Choso’s wrestling you back onto the mattress. Two fingers squishing your cheeks into an embarrassing pout, cold rings digging into your skin. The other hand snaking in between your thighs to play with your still-twitching cunt. 

“Didn’t say we were done yet, sweetheart.” he mutters. You weren’t done - no, far from it. Because fuck a refractory period - both of you were going to take all you could get.

And before you can think of anything else, Choso is leaning down, hand prying your lips apart for him into a brutal kiss. Teeth clashing, lips bruising. He forces his tongue down your throat. Tasting himself before you barely get a chance to taste him as well. 

“Hah- fuck-” you flinch as he swears into your bruised lips. “So fuckin’ sweet. You taste so good sweetheart.” The sheer debauchery and ache of his cock too much for him. 

Tasting him. Tasting you. Both a heady flavor that leaves you yearning for more. 

You bite down on his bottom lip in retaliation, relishing in the drawn-out groan that rumbles into your mouth at this. The kiss is feral. It’s animalistic. It leaves you feeling so fucking dirty. 

And you barely recognise the dazed, predatory glint in Choso’s eyes as he pulls away, his mind clearly miles away as he spits once. Twice. Three times on your face.

The wads of saliva and cum hit your face with a warm, wet jolt. You whine at the way it seeps into your skin, dripping down your cheeks so fucking obscenely. Pooling at the sheets below in a way that makes you feel sorry for whoever had a shift at the laundromat tomorrow.

“Now, what do we say, sweetheart?”

A fucked-out, delirious smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you realize - yeah, you wouldn’t have it any other way. “Thank you.”

Not even when Choso lets out a dark chuckle, throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders and manhandling you so that you’re splayed out so shamefully for him. Dripping cunt spread for his greedy gaze and clenching around nothing - aching for him. Begging for him.

Not even when he lines up his still-rock hard cock at your entrance, tip - angry and red - weeping so desperately as he nudges at your sloppy hole. Dragging his head along your folds collecting every bead of slick, just grazing your pulsing clit. Every muscle in your body trembling and anticipating what was to come.

You mewl at the stretch as he presses in - deliciously painful, boderling insane, and exactly what you wanted right now. Splitting you apart on his throbbing cock. 

And especially not when he bottoms out inside you in one, harsh thrust. Burying himself inside your sloppy walls till his twitching balls smack against your ass. 

“Ah- hngh- oh fuckkk.” you keen in both pain and pleasure - broken, raw moans leaving you uncontrollably. But not for long, because suddenly Choso’s shoving two ringed fingers in your mouth, bullying their way inside till you’re gagging and moaning around them. 

Pressing right at that spot on the back of your tongue that makes your eyes tear up so prettily. Hey, if he couldn’t see you choking on his cock properly, the least he could do is see you choking on his fingers, right?

“Now now, wouldn’t want anyone else to hear, hm? Our brother’s would get worried.” he chuckles. Pure, dark amusement in his eyes as he takes in your swollen lips, the teartracks down your cheeks, how utterly beautiful and debauched you look underneath him. So much better than any lust-hazed imagination of his.

And yet, even when you’re being gagged and split apart on his cock, you find it in yourself to be mouthy. Words muffled around his thick fingers as you raise a brow. “There’s no one else home, though?.”

The corners of Choso’s lips lift into a devilish grin, “The neighbors, sweetheart.”

His tone is teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness that sends a chill down your spine. He’s just joking, right? Right?

“Wha-”

And probably because he was losing his patience - and partly to shut you up - Choso begins to move.

Pushing past the resistance, beginning to fuck into you in shallow, uncontrollable movements of his hips. Just little motions to get him off, groaning at how sinfully tight you were - the way you were sucking him up so good.

Next time, Choso thinks, reaching down a hand to draw tight, little circles on your poor, abused clit - next time he’ll fuck you right. Hours upon hours of teasing you so you don’t know what it feels like when you’re empty without him. 

But fuck does he think he could just about pass out right now.

There’s no going back now. Choso fucks you in a way that makes you feel so deliciously filthy. Plunging into your heated cunt with no restraint. Thrusts positively savage.

Pulling all the way back so that his leaking tip just barely kisses your sloppy entrance, slamming down down down, Choso fucks you at a merciless pace. Relishing the delicious stretch of your cunt as he thrusts into you with a desperation that surpasses the need for reason. 

“Sh-shit, sweetheart. God, s’tight. better than I ever could’ve imagined.” he moans breathlessly, brows furrowing, eyes rolling to the back of his head, the feeling of you milking the absolute soul out of him just too much.

“Oh, yeah- wanted this for so long-”

You yelp every time he rams his cock into you, the smacking of his toned pelvis against your thighs stinging almost as deliciously as his tip kissing your cervix. The obscene slapping of skin on skin makes your cheeks burn - both pairs as his heavy balls smack against your ass each time he shoves his throbbing cock into you.

And because you can’t leave him alone, of course, you find your nails digging harshly into his muscled shoulders. 

Pulling him impossibly closer. You want more. You need more. 

Maybe you say those words out loud - you don’t even know anymore, too delirious and cock-drunk from Choso and your last orgasm and Choso - because his eyes widen ever-so-slightly, mouth falling open into a small oh. Your cunt twitches at the surprised, fucked-out little laugh that leaves him,  “More? My sweetheart wants more?”

And, as you’ve come to learn with Choso - anything you want, you will get. 

“Then fucking- take it.” he grunts lowly, each word punctuated by a harsh thrust of into your plush walls that sends both of you spiraling deeper and deeper into insanity.

And God does he make you take it. Every inch of him fills you, stretching you beyond your limits - both your cunt and your senses as he leans down to bury his head into your neck, hips moving so sloppily, hiking your leg further up his shoulder. The change in angle making you see stars.

Your hips buck up in tandem with his, uncontrollable little ah! ah! ah! leaving you at each thrust. You whimper in pleasure and overstimulation into the heady room, “Yes. Yes yes yes- wan’ cum. Need more. Need you-”

“Fuck- Hngh-” is all he manages to gasp out, pleasure overwhelming his sensitive cock. Choso’s balls twitch almost painfully as they keep smacking your ass. Brain still not keeping up with his body because shit, this is all he’s wanted for years, the least he could do is make you cum before him.

“Sh-shit, sweetheart.” he rasps into your heated skin, “So close- m’ so close.”

You all but sob at his words, “M’too- hngh- ah, m’gonna cum, baby.”

You didn’t expect the petname to be what breaks him, but then again you didn’t think there was anything more left to break. Because Choso groans gutturally, cock twitching inside you “Shit, you’re driving m’crazy, y’know that?”

“I know.” you mewl, voice breaking at the way he increases his frenzied pace on your clit. You could barely even call them circles, just filthy little movements to get you closer and closer to the edge. So close. You writhe beneath him, desperate for release.

And what you didn’t expect was for Choso to connect his sweaty forehead with yours. You take a second to admire just how beautiful he is - all smudged eyeliner, tousled hair, your release still shining on the lower half of his face, and yours. All yours. You could probably stare at the sight forever.

Choso’s hot breath fans your face as he moans breathlessly against your lips, words slurring together as he ruts into you mindlessly, “Always did, y’know?”

“I know.”

“No- y’don’t hah- understand, I- for so long fuck- I-”

“Choso, just kiss me.”

And then you’re kissing him. And he’s kissing you like you’re the most precious thing on Earth. A slow, tender little dance that doesn’t match the way he rams his cock inside you. 

And then you’re cumming. Stars behind your eyes - or maybe those were tears - clamping down desperately on the harsh, jerky movements of his glistening cock that fuck you so sinfully like his little slut. 

White-hot pleasure runs down your spine, or maybe that was Choso - painting your insides the prettiest white you’ve ever seen. Shooting thick, hot ropes of his seed into your waiting pussy. A creamy ring forming around his base as he spills his cum into your snug cunt as he moans against your lips.

It’s messy. It’s sloppy. And as Choso fills you to the brim, hips still unforgiving, seed dribbling out of your dripping pussy at the way it was so overfilled - you think that it’s all you could ever want. 

As his cock twitches finally, exhaustedly - and you distantly wonder how the fuck it isn’t seizing up - Choso collapses onto you, thoroughly fucked-out. Finally pulling out with an obscene squelch, you hiss lowly at the pool of cum that forms beneath you. Gushing out of you sinfully. 

A weighty silence in the air as you both try to catch your breaths.

In the haze of your orgasm you realize that even after all that transpired, he still isn’t laying his full bodyweight on you.

Too afraid to break you.

To break whatever this tender little understanding in the air was.

And it makes some part of your heart clench so delightfully. Subconsciously, you thread a hand through his damp hair, breathing in that familiar smell of vanilla and sunshine - and the heady scent of something so Choso. It makes you intertwine your body so impossibly close with his, not knowing where one of you ends and the other starts.

“My parents are coming home tomorrow.” you start, casually. 

“Mhm. But I’ll still be around here, sweetheart.” Choso rumbles into the crook of your neck. Kissing soothingly over the marks he’d made in the heat of the moment - some carnal little part of him proud of the way you looked like you were fucking thrown to a pack of wolves. 

Words hiding a tense little fear beneath them as you probe further. Something prickly and scared rolling around in your stomach. “For babysitting?”

“Nope.”

Settling deeper into the covers, basking in the afterglow of him. You know you should get up and clean, but right now this was all you wanted. And maybe no other words were needed. 

“God, am I glad your parents aren’t home.” 

Except maybe those. 

You chuckle as you pull back to stare into those deep, dark eyes. Cheeks flaring at the tender little warmth in them much more than they had when he was fucking you so sinfully. A devious idea coming to mind - because now that you got a taste, you were absolutely hooked.

Choso Kamo was absolutely intoxicating.

“Well, we still have time so how about-”

A distant click!

“Honey, we’re home~!”

Shit.

A/N. Fun fact this was originally supposed to be called Timeout! but it was giving too much me during beep test.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[lunaekalenda]

biker!suguru who looks pretty intimidating with that big helmet that covers his face, but will take advantage of red lights to make the children in the cars around him laugh. moving his hands, changing his seat, lying on the motorcycle; anything works when he sees them smiling and waving at him when the traffic starts again.

biker!suguru who's full of tattoos under all the riding clothes. they're tiny, like fine stickers on his body, but you could spend whole afternoons finding each one of them, and he'll gladly tell you what do they mean.

biker!suguru who refuses to let you get off the bike by yourself. if he opens the car door for you and offers a hand so you can comfortably get off, why wouldn't he do the same on the bike?

biker!suguru who accompanies you to buy clothes and equipment for riding. he has been on it for years and he knows the best brands, the best options and the more secure ones. he'll make sure to pay for them, even if they're expensive, as long as you're comfortable and protected from any injury.

biker!suguru who takes you everywhere. you have a meeting? he takes the bike. you're craving your favorite ice cream at night? you'll go quicker in the bike. why would you go walking if he loves to take you anywhere?

biker!suguru who's not bothered by the rain at all. he would ride anyway, with drops falling on his visor and sticking to his exposed neck. he would even unzip his riding jacket and let the rain wet his t-shirt. it makes him feel alive. (and later, sick.)

biker!suguru who doesn't like you sitting by yourself so makes it impossible for you, moving the bike and going back and forth, laughing and receiving your little slaps on his shoulders until you let him sit you (or he lets you sit)

biker!suguru who holds your hand when driving straight, taking it between his gloved fingers, cutely caressing and taking it to his helmet as if he was kissing it.

biker!suguru who helps you to put and take off the helmet the first times you ride, being his smile the last thing you see when closing your eyes to put it on and being his lips pressed on yours the first thing you feel when taking it off.

biker!suguru who doesn't doubt to show you how to ride when you ask him. he takes you on a couple lessons outside, quietly and calmly ordering you what to do. he trusts you enough to backpack you (but you don't trust your freshly aquired habilities with such a man behind)

biker!suguru who never arrives from a ride late. he'll always find you awake, and he doesn't want to let you go to sleep alone. he'll always make it safely on time.

biker!suguru who loves to mess with you, while riding and once done. he'll take your visor up, he'll put your hands inside his t-shirt, he'll give little taps on top of your helmet.

biker!suguru who craves shoulder massages on sunday afternoons after all the week riding and working. you'll gladly give him some, and he'll make sure to payback with cuddles (or rides.)

biker!suguru who lets all the kids try his helmet while he waits for you to exit work/uni. you'll just find the most random situations while getting closer to your boyfriend, such as a kid having trouble with the helmet's weight or another one unable to see due to puting it wrong.

biker!suguru who looks so good unzipping his riding suit and taking off the helmet you can only think of seein that exact image every evening of your life

part one here ✨

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

the pro

part ii: what we're willing to accept

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. minors, please get off my lawn.

Notes: My brain chose violence this morning. Not beta-read because when is it ever.

Length: 4.8K

Warnings: Slow burn; unhappily married reader; divorced Art Donaldson; infidelity; oral sex (female receiving); vaginal sex; unsafe sex

Summary: Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch.

He's the biggest men's tennis star since Andy Roddick.

That’s what your husband says, as if it’ll entice you. As if you know anything about tennis, about the pro that your husband says will be coming to the house to teach you to play.

It’ll be good for you. You need a hobby. 

You don’t gripe or argue. You don’t tell him that five months into your marriage shouldn’t have you looking for a new hobby. You should still be in the honeymoon stage, spending all of your time with him, hanging off of his arm, off of his every word. But he works so much and he’s away so often—

I don’t want you to get bored. 

It’s a sweet gesture. The maid handles the housework; you have a chef that handles most of the grocery shopping and cooking, unless you insist on making something yourself; you have a housekeeper that arranges for anything you need—dry cleaning, maintenance. And it’s no wonder that with all of his money, his power, he can just order a retired pro tennis player up to your house, like you’d order a pizza. There’s a tennis court in the back of the mansion, a few feet from the pool. You’ll get some new outfits, the best sneakers, the nicest rackets. You’ll finally have something to do to fill your days. 

Art Donaldson. 

You know his name before the lean, fair-skinned patrician man turns up at your front door. He trails you through the house, politely declines your offer of a beverage. 

“You ever played tennis before?” He asks. 

You haven’t. Before your husband arranged this for you, you hadn’t so much as given the sport more than a passing thought. You don’t have the heart or confidence to tell that to a man that’s made tennis his whole life, so you just give him a small, guilty smile and say no, you haven’t. He nods, waves you off, insists that it’s fine. 

“We’ll start with the basics.” 

-- 

Two months of lessons on the basics make your arms tired, and your hands sore. But where your swings are clumsy and your grip is weak at first, you can see improvement in the way that you move. Your steps are less clumsy when you go after a ball; you’re more aware of the service line and the base line; your forehand stroke from contact to your left shoulder is smoother; your rotation and follow-through on your backhand is coming along, but has a long way to go. 

Art’s instruction is calm and steady. He explains technique as much as he demonstrates it. When you get something wrong, he doesn’t scold, just lightly corrects. When you do something well, his encouragement is constant and free-flowing. Every accurate move and motion is met with, “Nice,” or, “Perfect,” or, “That’s it.” 

On the days when you don’t have a lesson with Art, you practice. You order a tennis ball machine to work on your forehand and backhand. You attempt (and fail) to learn how to slice on your own. You try anyway—you can only imagine the way his eyes might light up if you manage to surprise him. 

You’ve tried to ignore the rising interest that you have in Art, but you can’t help the little…Crush that’s developed. He’s just so attentive, and kind. When you find yourself smiling these days, it’s often because of something that he said, or did. You can’t remember the last time your husband made you feel giddy this way. It was probably when you started dating—before you’d made the decision to marry for comfort, rather than love. Your husband is practical, rarely physically affectionate, more heavily involved in his job and social circles than with you. 

But you’ll have to find a way to thank him. He’s given you a hobby, and a man that grins at you like you just painted the goddamn Mona Lisa when you serve your first ace. 

-- 

“So, tell me about the Mark Rebellato Academy.” 

Art smiles, dipping his head as he reaches for his coffee. It’s taken a few months, but you finally convince him to have something to drink with you after practice. Your chef is blessedly out shopping for ingredients for dinner, so you have the kitchen all to yourself. Art has watched you putter around, seeming surprised that you know where everything is. You can’t blame him; the kitchen is chef-grade, and you don’t cook much these days. 

“Did your husband tell you that’s where I went?” 

“No.” 

“Then how do you know?” 

You’re too embarrassed to admit that you’ve done some googling, and watched a couple of clips of him interviewing before and after his matches. 

“I’ve just heard,” You fib. “Tell me about it?” 

He leans back in his seat, eyes skating across your face as he seems to consider something. 

“What do you wanna know?” 

“Did you enjoy it? I mean—” It feels like a dumb question once it’s out, and you hurry to redirect, “With what you know now, if you had the choice, would you have learned how to play tennis somewhere else?” 

He considers for a moment, trailing his finger over the side of his cup. Your gaze flits to his fingers, and your own flex around your mug handle. You’ve spent far too much time looking at and thinking about Art’s fingers—their length and quickness; the slight roughness of his calloused hands; the lingering tan line from where his wedding band used to sit. 

“Yeah,” He admits, drawing your full attention back to his face. “I would. It was foundational, you know. I’ve been thinking of sending Lily there.” 

“Lily?” 

A bittersweet smile twists his lips. “My daughter.” 

“Oh!” It catches you off-guard.  

“Tashi, uh—” He clears his throat, “Lily’s mother, my ex-wife. She and I are thinking about schools.” 

“I’m sure they’d be glad to have her. Does she play tennis?” 

“Little bit. She didn’t start until last year, but she's a natural.” He clears his throat again, presses, “Are you and your husband planning on having kids?” 

“Oh god no.” You blurt it out, and realize as he raises his brows that you’ve spoken too quickly. You lean back in your seat, stirring your coffee quickly to distract yourself from your growing embarrassment. “He actually has kids already. Two girls, seven and ten. They’re at boarding school and they stay with their mother when they're on vacation. I haven’t gotten to spend much time with them.” 

“...He seems to be pretty busy.” 

“He is.” 

“So it’s just you in this big house?” He tips his head to the side, brows knitting with curiosity. “What do you do all day?” 

“Play tennis.”

He grins, chuckling, and your stomach flips at the sound. 

“It shows, you know,” He says. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I can tell you’re practicing without me. And,” He leans across the table, running his fingers lightly over the exposed skin of your bicep, “You’re getting stronger.” 

You wonder if he can see or feel the goosebumps that break out across your skin at the gentle sweep, his gaze heavy on yours.

“I have a good teacher,” You murmur. Art’s lips twitch with a soft smile, his hand gently cupping your arm. 

“Just good?” He plies. 

“The best. A real pro.” 

His smile widens, and the flash of his tongue sweeping across his lower lip makes your face go hot. You know that you’re caught when Art’s touch becomes firmer, pulling your arm toward him just a little. 

The sound of approaching footsteps startles you, and you hurriedly tug your arm away. The sight of your husband makes your heart leap into your throat. 

“There you are,” He smiles. “Art, how’s she doin’?” 

“She’s killing it.” 

You don’t dare look at him, but you can feel the weight of his attention lingering on you still. You just give your husband a smile, tipping your cheek up obligingly as he leans down to kiss it. 

“Actually, Art,” Your husband straightens up, hands resting on your shoulders. “I’m glad I caught you. There’s a charity event for a local club this month. It’s for uh…What is it?” He squeezes your shoulders for answers, and you have to keep from rolling your eyes. 

“It’s a charity tennis match to raise funds to fix up the local courts. They need resurfacing and they’re raising funding to keep the fees down.” 

“We could use a sponsorship from the foundation,” Your husband adds. 

“Honey,” You glance back, wary of insulting Art. But—

“I’ll do it,” Art agrees. “Send me the details.” 

“Excellent,” Your husband grins. “Maybe we could coax you into a match or two.” 

You don’t chastise him this time—not when you see something light up in Art.

“Maybe.” 

--  

You haven’t seen Art play before. You’ve specifically avoided it. You’ve known that when you saw it, you would be too intimidated to do a damn thing on the court with him. But now, you can’t stop watching him. You don’t even care that you probably look so out of place—where everyone else is watching the ball, you’re just watching him. 

His movements are so neat, so precise. It’s like watching a dance. He’s running the poor guy on the other side of the net up and down the court. And the sounds that he’s making—god. Every little grunt and groan is weaving increasingly filthy thoughts in your mind. You already know that you’ll seek out the memory of those sounds, as you reach between your legs later. His shirt clings to his chest, showcasing the muscles that you’ve always suspected he has. Strands of hair plaster to his forehead as sweat drips over his cheekbones, down the bridge of his nose, over his jaw. 

When he scores a match point and he looks toward the cheering crowd—when his eyes land on you instantly, without having to search—it’s like you’ve been hit by a bolt of lightning. You can’t think, or move. You barely have the focus to applaud, but you manage to raise your hands and clap. 

-- 

Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch. 

Coffee becomes a post-lesson ritual. He starts to stick closer and closer to you as he follows you into the house until he begins to rest his hand on your lower back, guiding you to your door. He keeps nearby when you’re making it, brushes droplets of sweat off of your forehead or neck. Every touch is electrifying; you have to make a concentrated effort to keep your hands steady, your face neutral as your heart pounds and your stomach floods with butterflies. 

He pushes you harder on the court, and you force yourself to meet the level that he sets for you, even when you don’t feel confident in it. But you want to make him proud. 

It spurs you to lunge a little too far. 

The sharp stabbing pain in your left ankle makes you shriek, and you tumble to the ground, dropping the racket with a clatter. You hear the pounding of his feet, glance up just in time to see him clear the net before he’s on the ground at your side. 

“What hurts?” 

“My ankle,” You grit out, hissing softly as he helps you straighten your leg out. He smooths his hands over your calf, leaning over you and gently guiding your foot in a few different directions. You whimper as he starts to guide your foot to the left. 

“Okay, okay,” He soothes, “Let’s get you inside.” 

For as much as you damn the throbbing in your ankle, you thank it a little, too. You lean heavily against Art, making the slow, arduous journey back to the house with his arm wrapped tightly around your middle. 

When your husband comes home, he finds you with on the couch with Art coming back in from the kitchen, an ice pack in your hand. 

You’d hope for concern, but your husband frowns, glances at the swelling knob of your ankle, and simply asks: “What did you do?” 

“She lost her balance.” Art sits down on the other end of the couch, soothing you as the chill of the ice pack makes you shift with discomfort. 

“Are you going to be able to walk tomorrow?” Your husband presses. “We have dinner at the Fineman’s.”

“I'm still going, don't worry about that."

“...Tomorrow might be a bit soon,” Art warns. 

“I’ll be okay. It’s just a sprain, right?” You tip your brows up, hoping, praying that he’ll agree for your sake. His fingers flex around the ice pack, jaw ticking as he clenches it. He doesn’t say a word as your husband sighs heavily, grumbles, “I hope so. Still, we should put a pause on the lessons until she’s fighting fit again.” 

Art finally tears his eyes from yours, a tight smile on his lips. 

“Of course.” 

-- 

“How’s the ankle?” 

It takes you a moment to scrounge up an answer. You can’t believe that he called. You knew that Art had gotten your number when you started taking lessons with him, but he’s never used it beyond texting to confirm a lesson time now and again. 

You look down at the still-swollen flesh as it strains against the thin strap of your slingbacks. 

“Fine,” You lie, “It’s um—” You glance over your shoulder, listening for your husband. “It’s not that bad.” 

“Good enough to walk on?” 

Hardly. 

“Yes.” You think you’ve gotten away with it, but when you hear Art sigh and chastise, “You should rest,” You know that you haven’t.

“I have,” You insist, “All day.” 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” 

“Yes.” 

“You can tell him no, you know.”

Your mouth works wordlessly, body going hot with indignation. You can’t think of a thing to say. You can’t tell him that he’s wrong, that your husband’s connections are the lifeblood of his business. You can’t tell him that if your husband’s business falls apart, you won't be able to afford those tennis lessons, and then how the hell are you supposed to see Art again? 

You just yank your phone away from your ear and hang up. 

-- 

I invited Art. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise, but your husband’s statement makes you feel like you’ve swallowed your tongue. You haven’t seen or spoken to Art in nearly two weeks. Your doctor recommended putting off any physical activity, which your husband surely relayed to him. He was the one whose name was on Art’s checks, after all. 

Your husband has always thrown a massive party to kick off the summer. Every year, 150 of your husband’s closest family, friends, and business associates flooded into the house. It shouldn’t be such a surprise that your husband invited Art after the performance he had given at the fundraiser—$25,000 from the foundation, and ticket sales went through the roof when it had been announced that the Art Donaldson would be making an appearance. Your husband owed Art a lot, and probably saw this as an opportunity for him to network, to take on more clients. He had been evangelizing Art’s training to any of your friends that would listen—how good you are on the court, how engaged and energetic you seem to be these days. 

It’s one thing to know that you’ll have to put on a happy face for the crowd, but to know that Art will be among them makes your insides twist with nerves. You can’t stop thinking about the way that he had spoken to you when you were hurt; his calm, steadying demeanor as he’d gotten you inside; the careful coaxing and gentle touch that he’d used as he’d taken your shoe off and examined your ankle more closely. 

You think about it now, as you strap on another pair of heels. Your ankle really is doing well, though you have a little lingering pain in shoes like these. You’ll likely be on your feet for the length of the party; it’s going to be a long night. You look over yourself in the mirror, self consciously tipping your ankle from side to side for anything that he may spot or catch out. But there’s nothing, you reassure yourself. You slide your hands over the skirt, plastering on a smile as your husband pokes his head into your dressing room. 

“Almost ready in here?” He asks. 

“All set!” 

-- 

He doesn’t come over to you. On the crowded patio, you can feel him watching you—you’ve gotten so used to seeking out the sensation that you can’t ignore it now. The first true look at him is agony. He watches you from just a few feet away, a glass of champagne in hand as he speaks with your husband and the Finemans. He openly looks you over, eyes drifting over your body to the flash of ankle revealed by the slit in your dress. He tips his head to the side just a little, squinting before his eyes flit back up to your face, lips twitching with a small smile. 

You want to hate how good it feels; you want to be angry with him for his smug knowing, his insistence of You can tell him no, you know. But it feels so goddamn good to have his attention again that you can’t bring yourself to be annoyed. You know that you’re staring—that you both are—and you force yourself to turn away and excuse yourself from the conversation you’re in. You go inside, murmuring your thanks for the waitstaff that pass you along the way.

The house isn’t nearly as busy as the patio, and you're able to slip into your darkened study unnoticed. You leave the lights off, certain that if you turn them on, people will be drawn in to bug you, like moths to a flame. The party’s lights and music filter in through the partially-closed blinds. 

You lean against the desk, circling your ankle and wincing a little. You’ll hide for a few minutes, let it rest—

Your breath catches in your throat as the door opens. You expect your husband, ready to scold and usher you back to the guests. 

You only have a second to get a look at Art before he shuts the door behind himself, plunging the room back into darkness. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the desk as you use it to ground yourself. 

“...Do you need something?” You ask, voice wobbling with nerves. 

“Wanted to come say hi.” 

“Well. Hi.” 

You hear him chuckle, his footsteps muted by the carpet. 

“Thanks for the invite.” 

“It wasn’t my idea.” It’s not polite to admit, but you want it to sting him, just a little. Maybe it does; in the dim of the room, you can’t see Art’s expression as he comes to a stop just a couple of feet from you. 

“Do you want me to go?” He asks. You know what you should say, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. 

“No,” You whisper. You feel the heat of him as he comes closer, his hands resting on the desk and caging you in. You bite your lip as gently brushes his nose against yours. 

“He isn’t taking care of you.” 

“My ankle is fine.” 

“I’m not talking about your ankle.” He lifts a hand, smoothing it over your hip as your breath mingles. Art’s fingers drift from your hip to stroke over the apex of your dress’s slit. His fingers slip further down, and you nod as he palms your thigh. Before you can say or do a thing, Art sinks to his knees. He curls his hand around your left calf, lifting it. You shiver as his lips press a gentle kiss to your ankle. His hand and lips travel up, easing the fabric of your dress higher with each second. The first brush of his knuckles against your panty-covered clit makes you jolt. Your hands dig into the wood of the desk as his fingers hook between the fabric and your skin. You lift your hips without a word, allowing him to draw them down. 

Art presses a kiss to your mound before he lowers his head, giving your lips a sweet, sucking kiss. You gasp softly as his tongue swipes across your clit. You look down despite the fact that you can’t see him well. You can just make out his blissful expression, his eyes closed as his laps broadly across your aching cunt. You lower your hand to his neat hair, winding your fingers through it, unable to help grasping it. His heady moan vibrates against you and you nearly cry out at the sensation. You manage to just catch it, the sound dying in your throat as Art buries his tongue inside you. He sweeps his thumb over your clit in rush, harried circles, panting against your heated flesh. You rock your hips down against his lips, tightening your grip on his hair as you guide him. He lets you do as you please, whining against your skin as your movements become less controlled.

“Art,” You warn, “I—Oh, oh god—” 

He hums in encouragement, sucking your clit back between his lips and lashing it with his tongue. Your jaw drops open, your hand shoving Art even more tightly against your skin as you cum suddenly. A stunned, breathy moan slips from your lips as Art leans back, smearing his lips against the inside of your thigh. 

You use your grasp on Art’s hair to draw him back up off of his knees, giving him a crushing kiss as he catches his balance. You swipe your tongue across his lips, whining against his lips as you taste yourself on him. He presses close, his hard cock straining against the fabric of his pants. You reach down, palming and squeezing his length as you trade slick, messy kisses. He steers you back onto the desk as you fumble to undo his belt, button, and zip. 

“Condom?” He asks. 

“Pill,” You reassure, shoving his pants down. You lap broadly across your palm, grasping Art’s length and guiding him closer. He brushes the tip of his cock against your still-throbbing clit, smiling as you whine. You’re going to ache tomorrow, but you’ve never been so happy to be sore.

“Art.” 

“Sssh.” 

“Please—” It’s hardly out of your mouth before he shoves his hips forward, seating himself fully with a single thrust. You bite down on your lip to quiet your moan, curling your arms around your shoulders. He rocks into you with firm, quick strokes, his mouth covering yours. You can hear things on the desk rattling with each thrust, kisses growing less controlled as he hoists your thigh up around his hip. 

“Oh, god,” You breathe, “We have to be quick—He’ll come looking—” 

“Not until you cum for me again,” He urges. “I need to feel it, sweetheart.” 

“Art—” 

“When’s the last time he did this? Hmm?” He presses, “When’s the last time he made you cum? When’s the last time he tasted you?” 

“Never,” You admit with a shiver. It seems to renew Art’s passion, his thrusts and hold growing more intense. You squeeze your eyes shut, hands hooking tightly in the fabric of his jacket. He yanks the front of your dress down, bowing over you and drawing one of your nipples between his lips. You whimper as he toys with the bud, tugging it gently with his teeth before swiping across it. You arch into the slick heat, using your leg to tug him even closer as you chased the swelling curl of your orgasm. 

“Just like that,” You urge, “Ffffuck—yes, yesyesyesyes—”

Your eyes squeeze shut as your hips buck down against his, pussy pulsing as he spills into you. Your heart pounds in your chest as the two of you slow and still. Art rests his forehead heavily against your neck, peppering gentle kisses across the exposed skin. You have to move—now. You don’t know if anyone heard you, but if someone did, you’re screwed. If no one did, your husband will probably be looking for you anyway, ready with a scold for neglecting your hostess duties. 

“...I have to go,” You warn softly. It takes Art a moment to move, but he does, gently drawing himself back from your still-throbbing cunt. You hear the clanking of his belt buckle as he tucks himself away, and you reach down, righting your dress where it’s been pulled away. You take up your panties from where they’d been discarded on the floor, tugging them on before you straighten your skirt and hurry out of the room. 

--  

“Can I see you?” 

It’s only been an hour since the last guest has left, and you are so, so fucking tired. You glance toward the bathroom door. You know that you locked it, and you’re certain that your husband can’t hear you over the shower running, but you can’t help but be paranoid.

“You just saw me,” You remind him. 

“Tomorrow,” Art clarifies. 

“Where?” 

“I’ll send an address.” 

You bite your lip, toying with your earring. Your pussy is still aching from the stretch of him, your ass sore from getting fucked on the desk. 

“...You regret it?” He asks. 

“No,” You don't give your answer a second thought.

“I’ll send an address. Whether or not you see me is up to you. Just…think about it. Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

You lower your phone, hanging it up and watching his contact information blink away. It’s only a moment before a text with an address lights up your phone. You don’t have to think about it. You already know what you’re going to do. 

--  

You know that you’re staring, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. Art has spent so much time in your home, so you feel entitled to look around a little bit. You eye the row of trophies on his mantle, photos of him playing when he was young. You come to a stop at a picture of him with a young girl, a racket in her hand and a medal around her neck. 

“Is this Lily?” You ask. 

“Yeah,” He nods. “First competition.” 

“Already getting gold,” You smile. “The Mark Rebellato Academy isn’t ready for her.” 

Art chuckles, nodding as he steps around you.

“You, uh…You want something to eat, or drink, or…?” He trails off, tucking his hands into his pockets as he takes a couple of steps back toward his kitchen. You turn to face him, taking him in more fully. 

“Art?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Why am I here?” 

He doesn’t answer for a few moments. You can see him weighing his options before he comes closer. 

“I…I’ve been thinking about last night.” 

Fear shoots through you, but you force yourself to stand tall. “Okay.”

“I could lie and tell you that it should be a one-time thing, but I can’t remember the last time I got through a day without thinking about you. And I think you’ve been thinking about me, too.” Art stops as the tip of his shoes brush against yours, and you let your eyes slip closed as he rests his forehead against yours. 

“Tell me I’m wrong,” He pleads. “Tell me to fuck off right now and I will never say another non-tennis related thing to you again.” 

-- 

When he fucks you, he curls close, chest pressing against yours as he catches your lips in a kiss. You sink back against his pillows, your head cradled by his broad palm as he rolls his hips achingly slowly. You don’t bother to hide your whines and moans, and you revel in his. Every grunt and whimper and groan that Art lets out lights you up. 

And when you cum, you don't have to quiet yourself. His name tumbles out of your mouth, cushioned between expletives as your nails dig into his shoulders.

--

"What time is he home tonight?"

You don't want to think about it. You want to stay in this cozy little bubble, trailing your fingers over his muscled chest as he massages your nape and kisses your forehead.

But you know that you'll have to let the world back in sometime.

"I don't know," You admit. "Late."

"...Could stay."

"He'll be suspicious if I'm not home when he gets there."

Art sighs softly, running his hand down to rub between your shoulder blades.

"This isn't going to be easy, is it."

"What?"

"Letting you go every day."

"Every day?" You tease, pushing yourself up to get a better look at him. "Don't get greedy, Mr. Donaldson."

He smiles, raising his hand and cupping your cheek. "Is it greedy to know what I want?"

You shake your head a little, lowering your lips to brush against his.

"Not when I want it, too."

part ii: what we're willing to accept

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[batshit-auspol]

With the sudden collapse of the Soviet Union in the early 1990s, many of the former empire's resources were sold off to the highest bidder, and their $14 billion space shuttle program was no exception.

Seeking to recoup some of that eyewatering spend, in 1998, the "Buran" (Russia's answer to the American Space Shuttle) was offered up for sale on eBay for $10 million.

No serious offers were received - with most people assuming the listing to be a joke, until the New York Post confirmed the sale, with Russian authorities stating they "actually have two" if anyone is interested.

(Pictured: A later auction of a smaller scale Buran in 2005)

Sensing an opportunity, a group of Aussie entrepreneurs including Australia's first astronaut and the lawyer for Prime Minister Paul Keating offer to lease the shuttle from Russia, to put it on display in Australia during the Sydney Olympics.

After gaining permission from the Kremlin for the lease, in 1999 the Russian military briefly stops bombing Chechnya in order to dismantle the Buran, and it is placed on a barge to be shipped to Sydney on the (soon to be infamous for other reasons) Tampa shipping vessel at a cost of $5 million.

Once in Sydney, after a disastrous few months on display where crowds failed to flock to the shuttle exhibition featuring such compelling educational offerings as "activities is to assist in the development of issues of nutrition and hygiene at home" (an actual quote from their website) - the leasing company declared bankruptcy and washed their hands of the space shuttle completely.

The Buran Gift shop where you could buy soviet space ship themed football jerseys, in case you needed one of those

One of four people listed on the lease, described as a business partner of the Prime Minister, also claims he never knew he was a director of the company, which went on to cause a lot more problems.

This whole debacle presented a slight issue for the cash strapped Russian authorities, who had now only been paid $100,000 for the 9 year lease of the shuttle instead of the $600,000 they were owed. Eventually the decision was made to abandon the once $1 billion Soviet pride and joy in a Sydney carpark, where it resided for a year under a small tarpaulin.

Failed attempts to be rid of the shuttle included a 12 day auction hosted by an LA radio station, where listeners were offered the chance to buy the shuttle for $6 million, however all bids turned out to be pranks and the shuttle remained.

Multiple attempts were also made to sell the shuttle to Tom Cruise, with the exacerbated movie star's representatives repeatedly telling the insistent traders that he was not interested in owning a Russian spaceship.

Eventually a Singaporean group dismantled the shuttle and shipped it overseas, however Russian authorities soon reported they once again had been failed to be paid for the lease. Singaporean representatives responded that they definitely had paid for the shuttle, and that they simply couldn't remember when or how much was paid.

Representing the Russian government, Lawyer Suhaila Turani told the Wall Street Journal “I feel sorry for the Russians. They’re good in space, but they’re very naive in business.”

For a time the shuttle was abandoned in the storage yard of event company Pico, with the company owner telling the Wall Street Journal "I just want this thing out of my life" after three years of being stuck with it.

A few years later the shuttle was found by German journalists dismantled in a junkyard, and it was then bought and shipped to Germany to be put on display a museum, so all's well that ends well (except they dropped it from a crane while trying to set it up, but it polished up okay).

[peachedtv]

DOUBLE STUFFED ft. Bully!Satoru Gojo + Bully!Suguru Geto

✰ KINKTOBER 2023 SPECIAL...

✰ SUMMARY: Satoru and Suguru never meant to piss you off, but how could they stop when your reactions would always be so pretty? How could they stop when your reactions to more intimate things would be even better?

✰ CONTENT WARNINGS: afab, female!reader, bully!satosugu x reader, noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, multiple rounds, double penetration (anal and v), porn with some plot, marking, biting, semi-public sex (empty classroom), mentions of forced exhibitionism, breast/nipple play, degradation, fingering, squirting, cum eating, oral (fem and male receiving), face fucking, hair pulling, p in v sex, biting, minor blood, crying, creampie, unprotected sex, just a shit load of nasty fucking 😋

✰ WORD COUNT: 7.5k (WTFF)

✰ AUTHOR'S NOTE: having the most insane bully!satosugu brain rot to cope with mfing school

✰ MASTERLIST.

As much as you could hide it well, Satoru and Suguru really pissed you off.

You glare at Satoru, your hair completely drenched and your uniform in disarray. If you were naive, you would’ve mistaken Satoru for accidentally bumping into you and shoving you backward into the fountain as an unfortunate event. Perhaps the first time it could have been. Perhaps the second was just bad luck. Although, by this point, he had shoved you into the pond every single time you were tasked with feeding the school’s koi fish—and you were not some idiot to miss the way Satoru would hold back a snicker as he offered you a hand out of the fountain.

“You okay? My bad, Himiko.” You see Suguru snort from behind him, his palm covering his mouth as Satoru tries to maintain a sorry excuse for a poker face. It was obvious he was calling you by the wrong name to piss you off, to really degrade you down into your place. But what could you do?

“My name is Y/N..” You mumble, refusing his hand with a lithe wave as you stand up with a light shiver, hugging your arms to your chest, consequently squishing your boobs together in a way that has Suguru's eyes wandering to your cleavage. Your uniform was utterly soaked, hugging tightly to your body, and you held back a frown. Honestly, half the reason why Satoru loved to torment you this way was for the view he’d get. Stupid little you wouldn’t even realize your pink lacy bra would be on full display when your thin blouse turned transparent from the water. For a moment, he’d forget to even reply to your correction, prying eyes hidden behind his sunglasses as they traced from your breasts down to the way your skirt hugged your ass, admiring the way that the water dripped from between your legs could be mistaken so lewdly without proper context.

“Oh, right. My bad, Y/N.” He’d play off, patting your head and picking up the packet of fish food from the edge of the fountain, placing it idly onto a stone.

You felt your heart burn, your hands tightening into fists. Satoru really loved seeing you hold back your insults, a smile spreading across his lips every time you had to pause and take a deep breath to regain your composure after his antics—and there was a reason why you never snapped at them, a reason why you always bit your tongue.

Satoru and Suguru weren’t just your average high school fuck boys. Everyone knew Satoru as the closest thing man could get to being god, attributed to his precociously stupid six eyes and infinite void. Even with his status as a student, he still surpassed the strength of his instructors, borderline toying with them during practice spars, directly toying with his seniors during missions, and mercilessly fucking with you at any moment he could get. His power, his status, the admiration, all this built his sky-high ego that fueled a stupid smirk that could never be wiped off his face. Everyone respected him. He was a newborn pillar of the Jujutsu world, after all. And how could little you stand up against that?

Meanwhile, Suguru stood as Satoru's right-hand man. Suguru was Satoru's 'angel' on his right shoulder, the one who would talk Satoru into a foreign concept of mercy. Despite that, the man still found a certain level of amusement at your disarray. Suguru held an excessive amount of reputation alongside his white-haired friend. With his stupid amount of cursed energy, paired with his cursed spirit manipulation, his ever-growing strength paralleled any of the faculty at Jujutsu Tech. Satoru and Suguru are the strongest. Thus, how could you bite back at their antics when even the teachers kissed the ground they walked upon, too fearful to scold them without fearing for the end of their careers.

It was the way that you bit your tongue against them that was the funniest part. Reactions, that's what they fed off of. Your reaction when you were shoved into the fountain, a yelp slipping past your lips before you'd be absolutely drenched, flailing to pull your skimpy skirt over your ass. The same skirt they bribed the teachers into giving you a size too small because 'the school ran out'. Your reaction when Satoru would accidentally slam his shoulder against yours, causing you to swear it was no big deal before you'd pout as you picked up your things. Satoru and Suguru found themselves entranced in the way you'd react to things: to stress, to annoyance, to teasing. They wanted to see more and more of your sweet little expressions.

Satoru and Suguru weren't just your average high school fuck boys, but you were beginning to lose your mind, you were beginning to not care of whatever reputation and power they had.

It didn't start off tame, but it still managed to rapidly skid downhill. Satoru and Suguru's antics kept progressing further and further, pushing your boundaries and dignity to the limit. At first, there was a minor jump from physical annoyances, such as 'accidental' shoulder bump, developing into more verbal degradations. Suguru would slip one of his cursed spirits into the door of the classroom, fumbling with the key pins until you were trapped inside.

"Oh, is poor little Y/N stuck?" Satoru would smile, his six eyes watching through the door as you would desperately toy with the knob, eyebrows furrowed. "Please, just open the door, Satoru! I have a club meeting today." You frowned, lips pouty as you looked to the door pleadingly, unknowing that Satoru was feeding off your helpless and frustrated expressions.

"Why don't you ask nicely?" A smirk spread across Satoru's lips, he could practically taste the humiliation rising inside you.

"What?" Your voice was trailed off, faint. You knew it was needless questioning for clarification as if you hadn't heard Satoru as clear as day.

"Beg us to open the door. Come on now, I know the weak usually have experience begging for their lives, use that skill in a different aspect. You're a smart girl, no?" Suguru chimed in. You felt the back of your neck burn with embarrassment. There was no way they were being serious, right? You glance to the clock. 16:52, your meeting was set to start in 8 minutes.

"Guys, please. Not today, I really need to get goi-"

"That doesn't sound like begging. Now does it, Suguru?" Satoru cut you off, his voice dismissive. Suguru smiled. "No, you're right there, Satoru." You fell silent. The minute hand ticked. 16:53.

"...please open the door." You said flatly, resting your forehead against the door with your hand weakly hanging off the knob. You were growing tired. Tired of their antics.

"You can do better than that." Satoru snorted. The door slightly sank towards you, likely as a result of Satoru leaning his back against it. You bit the inside of your cheek, gripping your hands into fists. You had the power to break down the door. To shove past them. To curse them out. It was becoming too much to hold back. You swear under your breath, sliding your palm down your face to recollect before you let out a deep sigh.

"...please, Satoru. Please, Suguru. I'm begging you to open the door." You tried to lace as much emotion into your speech, but it still held an undertone of absolute irritation that anyone wouldn't be able to miss. Still, the door clicked, sliding open. "See, that wasn't that hard, was it?" Satoru leaned over you, towering as he smirked, his hands dug deep into his pockets. You frown at him, pushing past him and Suguru as your shoes tap against the wooden floors to get to your meeting.

"Cute, wasn't that?"

"You're right on that."

You didn't think it could get worse. Although, the devil truly knew how to make things work. The devil being Satoru and Suguru.

Quickly, the two's antics would turn purely humiliating. They'd have you beg to be let out of locked closets, classrooms, bathrooms, and storage rooms, until it was having you kneel in front of them and apologizing for bumping into Satoru even if it was obviously your right of way. You'd keep your palms resting on your knees, eyebrows furrowed as you looked up to Satoru with your doe eyes, speaking a soft apology with shame rising heat to your cheeks. Your fingers would fiddle together, nails digging into your skin to try and push past the embarrassment. There was a brace of silence in the classroom after you mumbled your apology. Satoru stood tall in front of you, while Suguru leaned against the teacher's podium with his arms folded in front of his chest.

"You know, I don't think sorry is enough anymore." Your chin picks up to look at Suguru with widened eyes. "What..?"

"I think you're right," Satoru added, kneeling down to you as he took your chin between his fingers, redirecting your gaze to him. "You've been causing so much trouble for us, no? I believe you need a better way to make it up to us this time." Satoru's voice was silky, his head tilting as he spoke, eyes trailing down to your neck, collarbones, before resting his gaze on your breasts. You felt confused, and for some reason, your heart began to sink down into your stomach. "How do I make it up to you?" You were hesitant, slow, your voice hiding back its quiver. Satoru smiled.

You choked out a sob, stifled by the fat cock nudging into the depths of your throat. Satoru's hand held your hair back tightly, your scalp burning as he carefully thrust into your face and used your hair as leverage. You blinked through a build of tears, hands weakly pushing against his thighs to try and tell him to let up, to not fuck his cock so deep into your face. With a particularly forceful thrust, the tip of Satoru's dick punches into the back of your throat, your esophagus contracting as you gagged. Satoru held you firmly in place, and tears began to fill into the corners of your eyes.

"Fuck, just like that, pretty girl." Satoru's breath was ragged, his eyebrows knit together as he looked down to you, pulling back before fucking another harsh thrust into the back of your throat. "Breathe through your nose, now. I can't have you passing out on me." Satoru guided you gently, yet the way he gripped your head and held you to bottom out contrasted greatly with his kind tone. It was a lot easier said than done, especially with how large his cock was, stretching your throat and causing a deep ache in your jaw. Satoru groaned when you swallowed, his head falling back as he closed his eyes. He began to pick up his pace, thrusting his hips while simultaneously pulling and pushing your head up and down him. He never failed to hit the back of your throat with each thrust, smiling when your two hands on his thighs would slowly grip him tighter, a silent way to beg for him to slow down. He never did.

Precum leaked from his tip, swathing against your tongue, salty with a lace of sweetness. He felt himself losing his mind. Satoru cursed under his breath. Why hadn't they done this earlier? How could they have let such a perfect little thing like you slip past their gaze all these years? He watched as you turned your gaze up to him, locking eyes. Your mouth was stuffed full of him, tears welled up in your eyes before they ran down your pretty face. This, this was it. This is what he and Suguru really needed. Throughout their years, he and Suguru had had their way with many dumb, pretty doormats just like you. But as Satoru starts fucking your mouth, heavy breaths falling past his lips as his balls began to slap against your chin, he could tell that your holes were going to be the best they'll ever fuck. You shut your eyes tightly, looking up to him pleadingly with him to give you a break, to let you breathe even just for a little bit. He could tell you've never done anything like this before, or at the very least, never with a cock as large as his. Your innocence was only driving him even more mad, having him relish in the way that he and Suguru would be the first ones to break you in. To use you. To fuck all your holes. Satoru's eyes traced down to your throat, watching the outline of his cock bulge in your neck and a build-up of your saliva drip down from your chin onto your clothed tits.

"Fuck... Eyes on me." His eyebrows knit together, voice airy. With one hand still gripping roughly in your hair, his other reaches down to your throat. His palm wraps around the entirety of your neck easily. You're so small compared to him. Like a dumb little lamb that's wandered too far into the woods, too far into a lion's den. He gives your neck a light squeeze when he bottoms out, hearing you gag and your throat tightening around his cock in response. Once he notices your hands practically scratching down his thighs, he builds up the restraint to give you a break, pulling his cock out of your mouth with a grunt. You gasp, coughs and choked heaves of air borrowing through as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Maybe that was enough, you thought. Maybe now, they'd leave you alone, your dignity bruised and purity shattered.

Much to your dismay, Suguru unbuckled his pants, walking towards you slowly. You look at him with wide eyes.

"W-Wait, I don't—"

"Don't what?" Suguru cut you off, lightly tapping the tip of his cock against your cheek with one hand, his other hand pushing his hair out of his pretty face. Your lips quiver, and you turn your face away from him.

"I don't want to do this anymore..." You looked down to the floor, your hands fiddling together nervously while you knelt before him. Suguru clicked his tongue, his fingers running through your hair gently, tucking loose strands behind your ear.

"You really think we care?" You look up to him slowly. His eyes were half-lidded as they stared down into you, cold. He felt like another person. Many times Suguru would be the one to hold Satoru back, Suguru would be the one who kept you just a little bit safer. Between the two, you'd pick him. Suguru seemed kinder. Yet, you realized your mistake soon enough. Your heart sinks into your stomach. Suguru's grip tightened upon your scalp, he looked irritated.

"When are you going to drop the act?" He pushed your head back, craning your neck to look directly up to him, holding you firmly in place, like a dog being punished to stay still and look to his owner from the ground.

"What..?" You felt a sense of dread sink about you. Suddenly, Suguru lets go of your scalp, grabbing onto your neck and manhandling you into Satoru's lap. Satoru is sitting upon the teacher's desk, with your back against his chest, flush upon his lap. You choke, struggling, hands trying to push and pull at the wrist that kept air keenly out your throat. Suguru signals to Satoru, and Satoru's hand replaces Suguru's on your neck, holding you scarily still. You felt trapped. Small. Vulnerable. Sugur's large hands hooked beneath your thighs, pushing your knees flush against your shoulders before Suguru knelt in front of you. Your skirt pooled around your midriff, and Suguru traced his fingers idly from your clit down to your hole through the fabric of your panties.

"I'll make a deal with you," Suguru's eyes flickered to your face, his gaze sharp as he tilted his head. The view was stomach-churning. Seeing one of the pillars of the Jujutsu World, knelt between your thighs as he played with your cunt through your underwear, just didn't look right. Suguru hooks his middle finger into the side of your underwear. "If I check your pussy and it's not wet, Satoru and I will leave you alone. Does that sound okay?"

"That's not—"

Satoru cuts you off. "I think that sounds like a great deal." Satoru laughs. Suguru hums, pushing your underwear to the side and leaning towards your cunt with a curious look. You writhe, struggling against Satoru's hold on your neck. His large hand gives a warning squeeze.

"Wet pussy never lies, does it?" Suguru chimes, you choke out a panicked moan when his finger probes against your hole, his middle and pointer finger spreading your labia with a V. His other hand slips into his pocket, pulling out his phone and snapping a picture.

"Stop—"

Suguru flips his phone screen towards you and Satoru, your pussy on full view. "What do you think, Satoru?"

"I think," Satoru speaks, "Y/N's body is a lot more honest than her mouth, hmm?" His breath hitches against your ear, you could practically feel him smiling against you.

"Please—ah!" You jolt when you felt cold air blown right against your hole. You squirm, clentching around nothing as your hips struggle and your breath writhes. Satoru groans a little in response, as your needless struggling has amounted to nothing but grinding against his clothed erection. Suguru laughs, leaning back in to gently suck onto your clit. You wretch out a moan, biting harshly into your cheek. Satoru begins to knead your breasts with two large hands, completely enveloping your chest with his palms, his mouth kissing and sucking deep marks of purple and blue into the side of your neck while he works his way to toy with your nipples.

Suguru begins to slowly lap at your clit, sucking onto your clit before his tongue swirls about it harshly. You shutter out a moan, your hands grabbing onto Satoru's wrist to hold on for dear life, your legs trembling and trying to close. Satoru clicks his tongue.

"We can't have you hiding from us, pretty girl. How can Suguru make you feel good then?" Suguru rests your legs onto his shoulders, his hands going to grip your hips, holding you firmly in place as he continues to suck and lick at your clit, his tongue working wonders and flicking against the bud skillfully. Your breath catches as a lump in your throat, head falling back into Satoru's chest. It's too much. It's too way too much. Tears well up in the corners of your eyes, and you try to push your legs against Suguru's shoulder to no avail.

"T-Too much—" Your voice is weak, shaky from the overstimulation. Satoru gently shushes into your ear. "You can be a big girl for us, can't you?" He hums, his hands grab your wrists and bunches them behind your back. You curl up, body stiffening, opening your eyes to see Suguru looking up at you, staring at you intently and you nearly become lost in his dark eyes.

Soon, you're dragged right back down to Earth when Suguru presses his middle finger against your hole, twisting it until it pushes past your walls, and the heel of his wrist bottoms out against the underside of your clit. You yelp, sharply sucking in a breath of air as Suguru redirects his gaze back to your cunt, humming as he laps up your clit, sloppily pressing the flat of his tongue and dragging upwards before moving his tongue side to side across your bud. Your wrists twist against Satoru's grip when Suguru works another finger inside your hole, stretching you out as he scissors deep inside of you, the pads of his fingers pressing against your g-spot.

Squelches mixed with your struggled moans fill the silence of the classroom, Suguru's tongue pulling away from your clit. With his fingers still inside of you, he stands up, grabbing your chin between his fingers as he leans in to kiss you. You squirm under his touch, closing your eyes tightly, trying to block out what's being forced onto your body. His kiss is full of passion, although it's completely devoid of the kindness and affection that couples usually display. It feels as though he's eating you alive, mouth hungrily enveloping with yours, his tongue pushing past your lips and tasting you completely, muffling all of your panicked sobs and moans. Suddenly, Suguru's fingers begin to pound into your cunt, the heel of his hand slapping against your puffy clit as he slams his fingers in and out of you repeatedly. You feel a knot begin to form in your womb, legs shaking and hips trying to wiggle away from the stimulation. Suguru doesn't slow down. His tongue lapping up into your mouth, teeth biting your lower lip so hard it bleeds as he quickens the pace on his fingers while they curl upwards once fully inside you. A tang of iron spills onto your tongue, and Suguru feels himself being driven halfway insane, drunk off the taste of your pussy, the taste of your mouth, your moans, and your struggled whines.

"I-It hurts." You cry, pussy burning from the stretch as his fingers remain relentless to your cunt. You feel like you're being split in two, and Suguru experimentally scissors inside of you, causing you to shiver and your hips to grind in Satoru's lap.

"I bet," Suguru says. "You're really tight. Relax, and let me in, pretty girl." Your thighs tremble, and Suguru continues to work his way at your cunt, letting go of your chin to rub circles into your clit. Your head falls back as your mouth drops into an O against Satoru's chest. The build-up of pleasure stacks tenfold over itself, completely coiling until it snaps. You cum hard. With a nasty squelch, your pussy clenches around Suguru's fingers tightly, writhing out broken moans as Suguru keeps his fingers deep inside you to curl and probe upwards against your g-spot while he leans back down to suck and tongue at your clit. You sob, his pace persistent and mean, bullying you past your orgasm into painful overwhelms of overstimulation. You feel as though your body is being thrown into overdrive, and your thighs are trembling upon Suguru's shoulders, wrists struggling to get out of Satoru's grip as he holds your arms firmly behind your back.

"Enough, S-Suguru, plea—ah! Too much..—!" You sob, Suguru's fingers continuing to curl and fuck into you, his tongue swishing around your puffy clit. You feel something deep in your pussy snap. You squirt onto his fingers with a scream, tears welling into your eyes as he slams his fingers into you until you're fucked dumb—thighs trembling, chest heaving, and back laid limp against Satoru's chest before he finally pulls his sloppy fingers out of you, his face completely drenched in your arousal.

"That was fuckin' hot." Satoru breathes out, letting go of your wrists and kissing your neck. Suguru licks his lips, relishing in your taste as he lightly slaps your clit, laughing when your eyes widen and your body jolts in response.

"Alright now, upsie daisy." Satoru grabs underneath your arms and pulls you off his lap. You stumble, legs much too weak to stand on your own so soon after your orgasm. Suguru catches you on his chest, peppering light kisses onto the top of your head, whispering sweet nothings on how good you did as he holds you up by your waist. Satoru comes up behind you, pushing your skirt over your ass and pulling off your panties until they pool loosely about your ankles. You sob, your hands moving back to push Satoru away by his hip when one of Satoru's large hands wraps about the entirety of your two wrists, pinning them behind you and arching your back until your ass is flush against his dick and the back of your head is against his shoulder. Satoru's free hand wraps around your neck, holding you in place as you squirm.

"Atta girl, don't be such a cry baby." Satoru kisses your shoulder, pulling his hips back slightly, fucking his cock between your thighs, grinding it against your puffy clit and pussy. You clench around nothing, knees gluing together and hips trying to push back against him desperately. You struggle, wrists squirming to free themselves out of Satoru's mean grip. You scream when one of Satoru's thrusts between your thighs causes the head of his dick to catch into your hole before sliding up to your clit. Suguru smiles at the sight, leaning against a desk in front of you and Satoru as he strokes his cock slowly. Satoru lets go of your neck, still holding you up by the wrists held behind your back, as he takes the base of his dick to press his tip against your hole.

"You're a virgin, aren't you?" He muses, voice airy as he slides the head of his dick up and down from your hole to your clit. "No wonder you're so wet." He hums, kissing the side of your neck.

"Stop—oh!" Your voice dies in your throat when he sinks his fat cock into you and bottoms out completely in one thrust, your mouth falling open silent as your eyes widen from the pain. You try squirming away, and the moment you do, Satoru's free hand slides down to press his palm firmly against your womb.

"You feel me in there, pretty?" He muses, licking up the helix of your ear. You sob, trembling in response. You look down to make sure you haven't been split in half, seeing the way Satoru's hand nearly covers the entirety of your lower stomach, seeing a bulge in your tummy from his fat cock nestled deep inside you and against your cervix. Satoru can barely concentrate. He hasn't even begun moving, yet you're already squeezing him so good.

"Fuck... Just like that, baby." Satoru's breath is heavy against your ear, and he bites down on your shoulder to ground himself. You're a strangled mess. Writhing in his arms, your entire body trembling as broken pleas fall upon deaf ears the moment you cut yourself off with your own little moans. Satoru and Suguru can't help but glance at each other, smiling. Fuck, how could such a pretty little thing like you slip past them all these years?

Without warning, Satoru pulls back until only the tip remains inside, before he thrusts his hips forward and bottoms out into you, his hips pressed flush against your ass. You choke out a scream, just as Satoru's hand slaps against your mouth to muffle you.

"Oh common, it wasn't that bad, mm?" Satoru's index and middle fingers push past your lips, swirling about your tongue. "Don't be so loud, unless you want the whole school to know?" Your heart sinks to your stomach, and you swallow, shutting your eyes tightly as you weakly shake your head in response.

"Maybe she really is that dirty of a girl, we'll never know until we try." Suguru muses, pulling out a cigarette from his pants pockets along with those fancy butane lighters with a stupidly long, purple-colored flame. He lights it idly between his long fingers, watching you furrow your eyebrows as the first puff of smoke is blown your way.

"We'd have to start off easy though, she's so sensitive she might die on the spot if we just fuck her in front of a crowd," Satoru replied, slowly pulling his cock out to the tip before sinking back in harshly. You can't even understand what they're saying, Satoru's hand completely shutting you up, his fingers fucking your mouth while his dick has you completely filled to the brim. You feel as though your brain is stupidly empty, overfilled with pain, laced with what you refuse to believe is absolute pleasure. It's too much. The feeling of his fingers in your mouth, against your tongue, his cock dragging against your walls. It's too much. Way too much, and yet Satoru has barely even begun moving.

"Should we start it off with a couple cursed spirits as our audience?" Suguru chimes, head leaning back as the nicotine seems to take its hit. "Nah, that's boring. How about...ah, I know!" Satoru sounds much too cheerful, when he suddenly pulls out to the tip and slams back into you once again. You yelp, muffled sobs passing through the fingers in your mouth as you struggle with your hands pinned behind your back. You moan aimlessly, forced up on your tippy toes to keep taking his dick due to how tall Satoru is compared to you.

"S-Sato—ru! P-Please stop..." A particularly hard thrust stutters you, drowned out by the sounds of him as he begins to pound into your cunt. Perverted squelches drip arousal down your thighs, wetting Satoru's dick, and allowing him to fuck you faster, to fuck you harder. Your legs feel tingly, your clit a puffy, overstimulated mess when Satoru removes the digits in your mouth and uses your own spit to rub circles onto your clit.

"Mmm, how about Nanami?" Suguru suggests. "Fuck her in front of that blonde?" Your heart sinks.

"Oh! That's a good ide- hmm?" Satoru laughs darkly, continuing you fuck into you, his grip on your wrists as relentless as the cock fucking up against your cervix. "God, you fucking clenched around me when Suguru said that. What a dirty slut." Satoru's voice is dark, amused, and even without looking at him, you can bet his usually perfectly kept hair is messy and his face is flushed. He sounds pussydrunk, and his pace begins to stagger.

"No way Mr. Limitless is done already?" Suguru snorts, Satoru scoffs in response. "When you get your turn, let's see how long you last." Satoru rolls his eyes. Satoru becomes annoyed at Suguru's tease, wanting to prove his best friend wrong. And so, he bends you over the teacher's desk, your tits squished against the cold wooden surface as he grabs your hips with both hands, fucking into you like there's no tomorrow. You yelp, eyes rolling to the back of your head, back arching as you held onto the edges of the desk to soften the recoil Satoru's thrusts were causing to your body. He was so big. Both his dick and his stature. As Satoru leaned over you, pressing his chest against your back as he furthered his markings of hickeys and bites upon your shoulder and neck, you felt as though you were cornered, sandwiched with no way to escape. Satoru fucked into you nonstop, and you swear if he kept up his thrusts he would eventually push right into your cervix and fuck his precum into your womb.

You tightened your hands into fists, sobbing in response to a particularly brutal thrust that fucked you so hard you swear you felt it in your stomach. You haven't been pleading for a while now, your moans cutting off your speech completely, Satoru's dick fucking you too dumb to even know what was going on. Where were you again? What time was it? All of your questions would be fucked out of your mind from the drag of Satoru's cock against your walls alone, a vein catching against your velvety walls before he'd slam back into you with no regard to your pain, to your overstimulation, to your sensitivity. He fucked you mercilessly, like a little human fleshlight, as though Satoru wanted to mold your insides to perfectly fit his cock, to ruin you for any other man besides him and Suguru.

"Shit, you still with me?" Satoru asked, his voice low, breathing heavy. He moved your head to rest your cheek against the desk, and he laughed when he saw your fucked out face, eyes rolling back as he kept fucking into you even as he spoke, even as he was trying his best to hold off filling you up with his cum just to avoid Suguru's teasing if he came so soon. Satoru looked at your fucked out face. And although he felt himself fall in love with the view, he needed something new, something more. Sure, your cock drunk state was a view that engraved itself happily into his mind, but he wanted to completely use every part of you. To take all of your firsts as his own. Satoru's pace suddenly flaters, until it comes to a stop. Your chest is heaving, and you sniffle a little. Tears running from your eyes and down to the teacher's desk you were bent over and pinned down into. Satoru gestures to Suguru. Suguru digs into his pocket lazily, before throwing a small bottle to Satoru.

"It'll be a little cold, but don't worry, yeah?" Satoru mused. Even though he was giving you a warning, it was clear his tone held no sense of concern for you. Your eyes widened and hips jolted when you felt something cold and sticky fall onto your asshole. You were about to turn around, when one of Satoru's hands slammed your head back down to hold you flat against the desk.

"N-No! N-No way, stop!" You struggle violently, and Satoru grips your hair roughly, shutting you up through his aggression.

"Oh cool it. Someone would've fucked this pretty ass soon enough, be glad your first is me." Satoru laughs. He ignores your panic, taking his middle finger and swirling it around the rim of your asshole before he pushes it in gently. You scream, biting your bottom lip until you swore you could taste tangy iron. You shut your eyes tightly. This isn't happening. This isn't happening.

"Please...p-please I'm begging you... Stop—ah!" Satoru pays no mind to your pleas, thrusting his middle finger into your asshole slowly, curling the tip and wiggling inside you whenever he bottoms out. His fat cock is still stuffed in your cunt, cockwarming him as he preps your other hole.

"I'm being so kind, no? I'm not even moving and I'm prepping you too! Gosh, be a little grateful, Y/N." Satoru hums, his finger prodding and probing deep inside of you. You've never felt anything like this before, and it feels weird. You try to squirm, to buck your hips away, but you hear Satoru sigh in response, suddenly pulling his cock out to the tip and slamming his hips back into you.

"If you keep being ungrateful, I'll stop caring about you completely." He warns. You sob quietly in response, and the grip in your hair remains firm, pressing your cheek hard against the desk. Smoke from Suguru's cigarette permeates throughout the room, before he drops it onto the ground, stomping upon it and sweeping it up into a small trash can by the door. All you're left with is strangled whines, mewls, and tears that fall down your face, until Satoru works his ring finger into your ass as well. You sob at the stretch, clenching around him to try and push away at the foreign intrusion, yet all that seems to achieve is sucking his fingers deeper. Satoru deems you to be stretched out enough, beginning to pull his fingers out of your ass, before pushing them back in. You buck your hips. You don't know if you're trying to pull away or to the stimulation that's being forced onto your body.

You soon know it to be the prior.

Satoru pulls his hips back, slamming back into you as you yelp and sob in response. He begins to fuck into you while simultaneously fingering your ass at the same speed. Soon, Satoru picks it up. Although he's fucking your ass at a medium pace, the cock pressing against your cervix again and again returns to its previous pounding. You're back to sobbing, moaning aimlessly as you struggle pathetically from the overdrive. You swear you're seeing stars when Satoru adds a third finger into your ass, scissoring the three and curling his fingertips inside you, while the head of his cock presses firmly against your g-spot and cervix, dragging back and forth until your vision feels as though it's fading away. You don't know how long it goes for, but soon, Satoru's three fingers are simply buried into your ass as he focuses all of his energy on fucking your sloppy cunt. His hand releases your head, running down the side of your body to catch your clit between his middle and index finger. You jolt, choking out a wonton cry as he begins to swirl your clit aggressively.

"Cum for me, f-fucking cum." Your body seizes up, stiffening as your eyes roll back and Satoru's cock punches against your cervix. Everything builds up. His cock brutally fucking into you, his fingers pinching and circling your clit, and the three fingers in your ass that begin to pick up their movements as they curl deep inside you. You cum hard, sobbing as your pussy and asshole clench around him, spasming and your legs trembling. If it weren't for the desk you were bent over, you would've fallen completely into the floor, collapsed like an empty fuck doll. Yet you weren't done, not until they were. Satoru fucks you through your orgasm.

"C-Cumming, f-fuck! S-Satoru, too much—AH!" Satoru continues to finger your ass, dick pummeling into you and his pace becoming unsteady when he slams back into you for one last time, tip pressed hard against your cervix before you feel hot spruts of cum filling you completely. Satoru thrusts into you slowly to ride out his high, heavy breaths and degrations falling past his lips.

"F-Fuck, such a fucking whore, huh? Shit..." Satoru leaned over you, chest pressed against your back as he regained his breath before pulling out. You felt a spurt of cum slide down your inner thighs, dripping down from your pussy, and you clenched around nothing. Head empty, fucked dumb, fucked senseless. You didn't even register when large hands pulled you off the desk. You barely even reacted when you were manhandled down to straddle Suguru on the floor.

"Please...enough..." Your voice was weak, your entire body sore and trembling lightly. Suguru shushes you gently, holding the back of your head and cradling you so affectionately. "Shh, we'll take care of you. Wanna feel good, hmm?" Suguru whispered, licking up your neck. You sob in response, knowing that no matter how much you tried to fight them, they wouldn't let you go until they had their fun. Suguru grabs your hips firmly, holding your ass up as he pushes his cock into your cunt. You choke out a moan, grabbing onto his shoulders as your head fell against his chest. You simply cried as he began to fuck you. You thought Satoru surely had molded you into the shape of his cock enough to numb the painful stretch, but you never expected Suguru to be so much thicker. You gripped onto his shoulders tightly, his shirt bunching up beneath your fingers as your desperate cries mixed in with confused little moans as you could only take his fat cock that punched your cervix so hard you felt as though your insides would be scrambled and bruised the next day.

"F-Fuck, n-no more—" You whimpered. Suguru paid you no mind, holding you painfully, his fingers digging into the plush of your hips as he pounded into you with deep grunts. Suddenly, you felt another presence from behind you. Satoru knelt behind you, his cockhead sliding up and down your asshole. You panicked, trying to push your hips away, but Suguru's grip remained bruising. Satoru laughed at your pathetic attempt of squirming away, slapping your ass hard, a sting ghosting where his hand had hit.

"O-Ouch—! Ah!" You yelped in response, and Satoru's hands replaced Suguru's grip on your hips. You were about to open your mouth to protest once more, but Suguru's hands cupped your face and pulled you into a deep, rough kiss. Your moans muffled into his mouth, a confused gasp cut off as his tongue slipped past your sultry lips, your eyes rolling into the backs of your head when Satoru slowly sunk his cock deep into your ass, while Suguru's pace was still unrelenting as he continued to fuck into you like a ragdoll, bruising your cervix and stretching you completely.

Soon, you were an absolute mess. Satoru and Suguru's paces were completely out of sync. Satoru fucked you rough, hard, and fast, his hips slapping against yours as your ass would recoil in response. He held you so firmly, holding no regard for your smaller body as he held you still with too much strength than needed, just to remind you of your place. Satoru moaned each time you'd clench around him, aka each time the tip of Suguru's cock would punch against your cervix once more. Suguru's pace was similarly rough, although he and Satoru would fuck you just out of sync, making sure that whenever Satoru had pulled out to the tip, Suguru's cock would be nestled deep inside of you—and whenever Suguru would pull out your cunt, Satoru would be slamming right back into you. You were nothing but a pretty little fleshlight for the two by now. The two men letting out a series of grunts and low moans as you use your body to their own pleasure, breaths heavy against your ears, deep marks of purple, blue, and bites scattered across your neck, shoulders, upper back, waist, inner thighs. You were completely defiled by them. And fuck, how did they love that. Like a twisted sense of being the first to have something all to themselves, to ruin it for anyone else who wanted to try having a taste.

Your thoughts were completely gone by now, filled with nothing but a cycle: a numb buzz of pleasure that would wind in your womb, a climax to your orgasm, getting fucked right through it, rinse and repeat. How many times has it been? How many times have you cum? You feel as though they have been pounding you for hours, and you shut your eyes tightly, thighs trembling when the coil in your stomach begins to build up once more as Suguru's cock fucked into your cervix, as Satoru's dick pounded into your ass.

"C-Cumming, 'm gonna c-cum..." Your voice was strained, slurred, intoxicated. Satoru laughed from behind you, and Suguru began to circle at your overstimulated clit once more.

"Put on a show."

"Cum then."

You came hard, your grip on Suguru's shoulders tight as you moaned loudly. Suguru stuttered. "F-Fuck, gonna fill you up...make you mine." He rasped, slamming into you one final time before he came deep, hot cum filling you up completely, his dick slowing down his pace to properly jut its final ropes of cum deep into your cunt. Satoru's pace faltered as well, before he gave one harsh thrust that had you recoil forward, pressing your cheek harder against Suguru's chest with a yelp as Satoru bottomed out and filled your ass with his hot cum.

The classroom was quiet. Quiet as opposed to the three mix of heavy breaths, your three bodies tangled together, two cocks stuffing you impossibly full. Satoru was the first to pull out, sitting back on his heels as he pushed his hair back. Suguru grabbed the underside of your armpits firmly, lifting you up and off his dick, a mix of his and Satoru's cum dripping out and onto his abs. Suguru stands up, pulling you up to lay you gently on a table as he leans down to your sloppy cunt. You're completely dazed, and you can only muster a pathetic jolt and whine as Suguru begins to lick your cunt slowly. Your eyes zone out and only occasional whimpers slip past your lips. He laps your pussy up clean, holding your hips firmly as he swirls his tongue around your clit slowly, as though to apologize for being so rough with you. Suguru pulls away momentarily, a string of saliva connecting him to your cunt. His hand slides up the underside of your thighs, pushing your knees into your chest with one hand as he leans down to your ass. His tongue rims you gingerly, and you moan quietly, sobbing so weakly from the final drive of overstimulation.

Once both your holes are clean, Suguru and Satoru gather up your uniform, stealing your panties but being kind enough to fix your uniform. Satoru pulls you up, holding you bridal style as you close your eyes, drifting off to sleep. Suguru stands in front of Satoru, his face still flushed and breath still heaving.

"Should we get plan b?"

"Why the hell would we do that?"

You're watching...

© Peached TV 2023

[tarjapearce]

Tentateur

Miguel O'Hara x Cheated on!fem Reader

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. SMUT at the end, bit of angst, fluff, adult situations. Cheating, divorce.

Requested here

Summary: Miguel can't stand watching you being neglected by your husband.

------

If there was something Miguel hated, was life being too generous upon those that didn't deserve it, not even the slightest. Meaning, a dickhead for a coworker and sadly, your husband.

How could such a guy like him ended up with a sweetheart like you was beyond him, The man was apathetic, little to no charm, rude and an absolute bastard.

"She's uh, my wife." He had said flatly. Your name felt like sandpaper on his tongue as it rolled out of it while introducing you to the rest at a small party at Alchemax.

Miguel had noticed the little stab of hurt crossing your angelic face. He wanted to punch him straight in the face, even some of the other couples had noticed the small tension. But you just stood there, trying to give your best smile. The golden band around your finger and the loving stare your eyes casted on your husband was a clear 'Don't even try it' for him.

But for once, Miguel didn't care.

----

He didn't exactly know how the crush on you had started. At first he thought that was just him feeling lonely and that his eyes wandered too much. But when you visited, lunch bag in hand, looking for your husband only to give him a bedazzling smile upon seeing him, and he receiving you with a tight-lipped smile, made his heart to break a little more.

"Hey" You were about to kiss him but he just backed away.

"I'm working."

"Alright, alright. See you later?"

He just gave a quick nod and put the lunchbox on his desk. There wasn't love in his goodbye kiss, Miguel noted. Once you were out, he rummaged through its contents while rolling his eyes.

He looked around and spotted Miguel with a mug on his hand.

"Hey, pal." He called and offered him.

"Want some?" Miguel seized him from head to toes but just nodded. It felt the only way that he could have a bit of you at the moment.

"Take whatever you like. Wife always goes overboard with food." Miguel took the small dessert container. It tasted divine. It only matched your own sweetness.

Lucky Bastard.

Oh he was. His eyebrows pressed together as he kept giving away all the food you had so dotingly prepared him.

----

"Can we talk about this later? You can't just keep visiting me every time you feel so"

"But you keep forgetting lunch at home, can't leave you like-"

"It's fine really, we have vending machines here." Your husband grumbled, but you couldn't help but hold the lunchbox tightly against your arms.

"I see. Sorry." You gave him a small smile, "See you later?"

"Im busy today. Might get a couple hours late. Don't wait for me." 

You just nodded as Miguel jaw tensed.

How dared he?

You left.

-----

You had bumped into him at the supermarket on a weekend. Your cart was full of food, food that would end up in his hands and the rest of the team but never in your husband's mouth.

"Miguel, right?"

He nodded as he pulled some items for himself in his basket.

"Thanks for helping me." you smiled, his heart thumped harder.

"Where is..." He cleared his throat and you looked up at him.

"My husband? Oh, he said he had an extra shift today. Working in Alchemax surely is hard, I mean, I try to make it less... bad for him."

Miguel's mind was sneering, not at you but at the fake pretense of a hard working man the son of a bitch had put up with you. He knew the truth, he knew your husband only went there, did things wrong and half assed, and lately he had been flirting shamelessly with a lab technician from the upper floor.

His hatred for the man only grew, just as his admiration for you. What truly made you marry someone like him? That's the biggest question he had so far.

"I'm kind of nervous, today's our anniversary. I wanna surprise him with something" Your cheeks tinted red.

God you were killing him. He wanted to grab you gently by your shoulders, and say 'I can be better' cause of course he could, he was. You'd never have to settle for less with him.

'I appreciate you' cause he did, unlike the fool you had married. 'You'd never have to beg me' because in truth, he was already at your feet.

But you weren't his. Not yet.

-----

Sighing, Miguel put the lab test equipment away, then headed for the main office to get a couple more samples of a liquid he tried, but stopped dead in his tracks at the sight.

Legs wrapped around a man's waist, as his pants were down at his ankles. The woman shrieked once she noticed Miguel standing there with a frown and disgusted face. Miguel’s anger froze when the man next to her turned to be none but your husband.

The man recoiled to himself upon Miguel glaring holes his way.

----

His shoulder was poked by none other that the cheating pig.

"Uh, hey. Can we.... Can you, I mean-"

He stumbled on his words, Miguel towered over him, his eyes belittling him. He was bold.

"You saw nothing, yeah?"

And oh so phony. Disgusting.

Miguel just went back to his work.

It was the last straw.

-------

To his surprise you were sitting on a café, puffy and tear crusted eyes staring into nothingness, a phone on your hands. You knew.

He didn't know whether to approach you, or just leave you be. As much as he wanted you, he knew that coming at you in your most vulnerable state would not only make a bad impression oh him, but he didn't want to act like a vulture, looming over your broken heart for him to take.

He approached carefully.

"Hey"

"Miguel..."

"Are you okay?"

Your eyes avoided him.

"May I sit?"

You nodded with a hiccup and he offered you his handkerchief, fresh hot tears spilled  in the soft fabric. His chest constricting at the sight.

"He cheated on me."

Much to your dismay, he knew. Of course, he wanted to tell you, but knowing how careless your husband acted, it was a matter of time for you to discover the cheating.

"I'm really sorry to hear that."

Shaking your head, you sniffed

"He has been doing this for months. Should've... saw this coming. I mean... I found so many pictures of a woman and... God"

He was pretty sure that he would punch the man next time he'd see him.

"He never came home to our anniversary, but even way before that. He just... I wasn't enough."

He frowned and took your hand softly.

"Stop. Cheating is a personal choice, guapa. You can't blame yourself for other's choices. He decided to do so, to trash away his marriage. It has nothing to do with you."

"Maybe if... I was-"

"No. You're... you're perfect. Puta madre,  you're more than perfect. He's a lucky bastard just to have you. And... If I was him-"

He stopped his words and pursed his lips. You didn't need this. He'd have to be patient. You stared at him gently.

"I'll file for a divorce. He's barely coming home anyways and... that pretty much says on it's own that is over."

Miguel just nodded.

"Might celebrate it." You chuckled after wiping your tears.

"Can I ask you something?"

Again, you nodded.

"I know it's none of my business but, I'm just genuinely curious as to why you'd marry him?"

"Impulsiveness, I guess." you shrugged, your hand resting some inches away from his.

"He just proposed one day out of the blue, we had been dating for six months. Don't... don't look at me like that. I know it was stupid." you groaned.

"It's alright. You thought it was love." His hand inched closer, you nodded.

"We had our problems. A lot, actually. But... instead of speaking things like a fucking adult, he went on cheating."

"Mira, guapa... yo" He trailed off unsure of resisting any longer, his resolution to wait vanishing, "I know that this is a really bad time for you and-"

"Please... don't. Miguel I-"

"Just listen, ok? Please?" His hand finally took yours gently.

"I know this is the least of things you need right now, but... You have no idea how... how perfect you are. I always saw you visiting him, being loving, and he just threw all that away. He lost you. You're way too much for him."

Your body tensed upon sensing where this was going. Of course you weren't ignorant, you'd notice the glances he would give your way, the yearning in his eyes every time you kissed or acted like lovesick fool with your glacial husband.

" Let me show you, how would I treat you, if you were mine."

"Miguel, I don't want to-."

"Let me take you to dinner. If you don't like anything and I mean it, anything, I'll stop and leave you be. Just a dinner. Hell, you could ramble about him for hours and I'd just be happy for you to be there."

You sighed, it was a rather simple choice to say yes or no. There was nothing that actually tied you to your ex husband now. Just a very skewed moral code.

" Just a dinner. "

His heart fluttered and he nodded

"Just a dinner and I'll drop you home."

----

Miguel helped you out of his car, eyes drinking in your form. He would be lying if he said that he didn't feel jealous of the dress you were wearing, snugging all your curves in the right spots, just a tiny thing to make your own beauty to stand out even more. Gorgeous, flawless, divine and perfect.

You gasped at the location

"Are you sure this is the place? It's quite expensive."

Your concern was endearing, he offered you his arm and guided you inside.

"You're worth it, princesa."

The place seemed like being inspired from an old movie, elegant, classic and of course fancy. Never in your life your ex husband would actually treat you to places like these. His card would explode, he said once. Other places were good, but this was in a whole new level of luxury.

Miguel held the chair for you, and you sat, he followed.

"This place is gorgeous." He chuckled and took your hand to kiss your soft knuckles.

"Just like you."

----

Time flew, the night had been to your surprise one of the best things that you have experienced. You had tasted things that didn't know existed, Miguel had fed you the dessert, pampering you to no end. The wine was delicious.

As night advanced, his little touches had turned more and more risqué, his fingers would take a taste of your exposed thigh skin, your hands would brush his, fiery and small caresses that sparked a silent yet mutual fire.

Once home you couldn't get your hands out of eachother. He had to be careful to not rip your dress to bits, he needed you. The wet kisses in your neck and his wandering hands all over your heated body the proof of it. When was the last time that someone touched you like this?

Not even him, the man that oathed to love you and be with you through thick and thin. A gentle rub on your clit by expert fingers made you forget about him. Lock his memory in a vault and you'd throw the key somewhere. Your hips would buck against his hand, rolling on waves after waves of pleasure.

"He didn't touch you?" You shook your head as your mouth gaped open.

"When was-"

"Shut up." you moaned breathlessly. An I don't know nor care.

Your body responded so well too him, be the need you tried to sate with your own hands, or the loneliness that had made you so desperate that had you squirming and soaked and he was only using his hands so far. With Miguel, things felt differently. He did things differently. And different was good. So so good.

His hunger for you shown and conveyed in every caress and touch he gave you. He was gentle enough for his desire to permeate your skin. You didn't feel alone. You felt needed. Loved even. There was no turning back once you discarded all the clothes on both ends.

----

Opposite to what you believed, your heart wasn't flooding with guilt. No.

There were no longer what ifs and what not constantly echoing in your brain. There was no longer that constricting sensation in your chest you always had. No more uncertainty. You were free.

Last night Miguel, whose arms cradled your form to be snuggled in his chest and his thigh hooked on your hip, hoarding you. As if fearful you'd go away, had made you experience a whole new concept of pleasure. Your body soared in bliss, you were glowing, He had given you climax after climax, making every single one of them more shattering and intense than the other.

That's all you wanted really. Feel at ease and blissful. Miguel had given you that and more. More than you actually ever though deserving. It was just a matter of time that you'd finally take him whole.

You wanted him. His kindness, his care, his love, his grumpyness during mornings, the way he cursed in spanish whenever he'd stub his toe in the nightstand. You wanted it all.

Of course you had filed for a divorce as soon as you could, your husband was more than happy to comply. He hadn't been home for a while, Miguel even told you that he had quitted. It was as if the universe was removing him from your life ever since you started with Miguel a couple months ago.

But none of that mattered. Not when he had plopped you down to bed, hands holding a firm grip in your sweaty and smooth skin, hips straddling yours and plowing into you from behind, prone bone position. His hips buried himself deep, hitting that spot over and over. He wasn't gentle, but that's just exactly how you liked it.

Before you could actually reach the stars he flipped you over, your thighs resting ontop of his. He sheathed once more inside. Your phone buzzed.

You growled in annoyance, Miguel sighed. A number you knew all too well. Finally you'd get the news you so needed to hear.

"Y-Yeah?" Miguel smirked as he held your thighs together and pushed in further, his tip kissing your cervix so deliciously you had to bite your lip to suppress a moan. The little baby bump in your abdomen barely noticeable.

"Shit's done. Papers are signed."

There was a bit of rustling and the clinking of glass. By his tone, you knew he was getting drunk, celebrating. Miguel took the phone and put it on speaker.

"Ya know? I'm glad I did. Couldn't stand you, nagging all the time. But I'm a free man now, baby." His gulping, something you secretly hated, could be heard on the other line.

Miguel frowned and spreaded your legs once more.

"You there?" Your ex chuckled, "It's okay if you're crying, won't judge"

So so annoying.

A smirk appeared on your face as Miguel focused the camera on your body. He then turned the video call on. The man's face instantly fell upon watching you bouncing on a cock that surely put his to shame. Spine arching, breast jiggling and mouth spewing the lewdest of moans and needy whimpers he hsd ever heard from you. One tan hand secured you in place, preventing you from squirming too much.

"Sorry, pal." He grunted as he started to ram his hips in abandonment, making your toes curl. Your face and body said it all. The video image shaking at his thrust

"Just like that, bonita?" You choked a sob as he went balls in deep, nodding and begging him for him to not stop.

"She's busy." He hung up the call before the man could say anything and tossed your phone somewhere in the bed.

You felt so good, perfect for him, And now you were all his.

------

tag list: @primroselovessupernatural

[treasure-mimic]

So, let me try and put everything together here, because I really do think it needs to be talked about.

Today, Unity announced that it intends to apply a fee to use its software. Then it got worse.

For those not in the know, Unity is the most popular free to use video game development tool, offering a basic version for individuals who want to learn how to create games or create independently alongside paid versions for corporations or people who want more features. It's decent enough at this job, has issues but for the price point I can't complain, and is the idea entry point into creating in this medium, it's a very important piece of software.

But speaking of tools, the CEO is a massive one. When he was the COO of EA, he advocated for using, what out and out sounds like emotional manipulation to coerce players into microtransactions.

"A consumer gets engaged in a property, they might spend 10, 20, 30, 50 hours on the game and then when they're deep into the game they're well invested in it. We're not gouging, but we're charging and at that point in time the commitment can be pretty high."

He also called game developers who don't discuss monetization early in the planning stages of development, quote, "fucking idiots".

So that sets the stage for what might be one of the most bald-faced greediest moves I've seen from a corporation in a minute. Most at least have the sense of self-preservation to hide it.

A few hours ago, Unity posted this announcement on the official blog.

Effective January 1, 2024, we will introduce a new Unity Runtime Fee that’s based on game installs. We will also add cloud-based asset storage, Unity DevOps tools, and AI at runtime at no extra cost to Unity subscription plans this November. We are introducing a Unity Runtime Fee that is based upon each time a qualifying game is downloaded by an end user. We chose this because each time a game is downloaded, the Unity Runtime is also installed. Also we believe that an initial install-based fee allows creators to keep the ongoing financial gains from player engagement, unlike a revenue share.

Now there are a few red flags to note in this pitch immediately.

Unity is planning on charging a fee on all games which use its engine.

This is a flat fee per number of installs.

They are using an always online runtime function to determine whether a game is downloaded.

There is just so many things wrong with this that it's hard to know where to start, not helped by this FAQ which doubled down on a lot of the major issues people had.

I guess let's start with what people noticed first. Because it's using a system baked into the software itself, Unity would not be differentiating between a "purchase" and a "download". If someone uninstalls and reinstalls a game, that's two downloads. If someone gets a new computer or a new console and downloads a game already purchased from their account, that's two download. If someone pirates the game, the studio will be asked to pay for that download.

Q: How are you going to collect installs? A: We leverage our own proprietary data model. We believe it gives an accurate determination of the number of times the runtime is distributed for a given project. Q: Is software made in unity going to be calling home to unity whenever it's ran, even for enterprice licenses? A: We use a composite model for counting runtime installs that collects data from numerous sources. The Unity Runtime Fee will use data in compliance with GDPR and CCPA. The data being requested is aggregated and is being used for billing purposes. Q: If a user reinstalls/redownloads a game / changes their hardware, will that count as multiple installs? A: Yes. The creator will need to pay for all future installs. The reason is that Unity doesn’t receive end-player information, just aggregate data. Q: What's going to stop us being charged for pirated copies of our games? A: We do already have fraud detection practices in our Ads technology which is solving a similar problem, so we will leverage that know-how as a starting point. We recognize that users will have concerns about this and we will make available a process for them to submit their concerns to our fraud compliance team.

This is potentially related to a new system that will require Unity Personal developers to go online at least once every three days.

Starting in November, Unity Personal users will get a new sign-in and online user experience. Users will need to be signed into the Hub with their Unity ID and connect to the internet to use Unity. If the internet connection is lost, users can continue using Unity for up to 3 days while offline. More details to come, when this change takes effect.

It's unclear whether this requirement will be attached to any and all Unity games, though it would explain how they're theoretically able to track "the number of installs", and why the methodology for tracking these installs is so shit, as we'll discuss later.

Unity claims that it will only leverage this fee to games which surpass a certain threshold of downloads and yearly revenue.

Only games that meet the following thresholds qualify for the Unity Runtime Fee: Unity Personal and Unity Plus: Those that have made $200,000 USD or more in the last 12 months AND have at least 200,000 lifetime game installs. Unity Pro and Unity Enterprise: Those that have made $1,000,000 USD or more in the last 12 months AND have at least 1,000,000 lifetime game installs.

They don't say how they're going to collect information on a game's revenue, likely this is just to say that they're only interested in squeezing larger products (games like Genshin Impact and Honkai: Star Rail, Fate Grand Order, Among Us, and Fall Guys) and not every 2 dollar puzzle platformer that drops on Steam. But also, these larger products have the easiest time porting off of Unity and the most incentives to, meaning realistically those heaviest impacted are going to be the ones who just barely meet this threshold, most of them indie developers.

Aggro Crab Games, one of the first to properly break this story, points out that systems like the Xbox Game Pass, which is already pretty predatory towards smaller developers, will quickly inflate their "lifetime game installs" meaning even skimming the threshold of that 200k revenue, will be asked to pay a fee per install, not a percentage on said revenue.

[IMAGE DESCRIPTION: Hey Gamers!

Today, Unity (the engine we use to make our games) announced that they'll soon be taking a fee from developers for every copy of the game installed over a certain threshold - regardless of how that copy was obtained.

Guess who has a somewhat highly anticipated game coming to Xbox Game Pass in 2024? That's right, it's us and a lot of other developers.

That means Another Crab's Treasure will be free to install for the 25 million Game Pass subscribers. If a fraction of those users download our game, Unity could take a fee that puts an enormous dent in our income and threatens the sustainability of our business.

And that's before we even think about sales on other platforms, or pirated installs of our game, or even multiple installs by the same user!!!

This decision puts us and countless other studios in a position where we might not be able to justify using Unity for our future titles. If these changes aren't rolled back, we'll be heavily considering abandoning our wealth of Unity expertise we've accumulated over the years and starting from scratch in a new engine. Which is really something we'd rather not do.

On behalf of the dev community, we're calling on Unity to reverse the latest in a string of shortsighted decisions that seem to prioritize shareholders over their product's actual users.

I fucking hate it here.

-Aggro Crab - END DESCRIPTION]

That fee, by the way, is a flat fee. Not a percentage, not a royalty. This means that any games made in Unity expecting any kind of success are heavily incentivized to cost as much as possible.

[IMAGE DESCRIPTION: A table listing the various fees by number of Installs over the Install Threshold vs. version of Unity used, ranging from $0.01 to $0.20 per install. END DESCRIPTION]

Basic elementary school math tells us that if a game comes out for $1.99, they will be paying, at maximum, 10% of their revenue to Unity, whereas jacking the price up to $59.99 lowers that percentage to something closer to 0.3%. Obviously any company, especially any company in financial desperation, which a sudden anchor on all your revenue is going to create, is going to choose the latter.

Furthermore, and following the trend of "fuck anyone who doesn't ask for money", Unity helpfully defines what an install is on their main site.

While I'm looking at this page as it exists now, it currently says

The installation and initialization of a game or app on an end user’s device as well as distribution via streaming is considered an “install.” Games or apps with substantially similar content may be counted as one project, with installs then aggregated to calculate the Unity Runtime Fee.

However, I saw a screenshot saying something different, and utilizing the Wayback Machine we can see that this phrasing was changed at some point in the few hours since this announcement went up. Instead, it reads:

The installation and initialization of a game or app on an end user’s device as well as distribution via streaming or web browser is considered an “install.” Games or apps with substantially similar content may be counted as one project, with installs then aggregated to calculate the Unity Runtime Fee.

Screenshot for posterity:

That would mean web browser games made in Unity would count towards this install threshold. You could legitimately drive the count up simply by continuously refreshing the page. The FAQ, again, doubles down.

Q: Does this affect WebGL and streamed games? A: Games on all platforms are eligible for the fee but will only incur costs if both the install and revenue thresholds are crossed. Installs - which involves initialization of the runtime on a client device - are counted on all platforms the same way (WebGL and streaming included).

And, what I personally consider to be the most suspect claim in this entire debacle, they claim that "lifetime installs" includes installs prior to this change going into effect.

Will this fee apply to games using Unity Runtime that are already on the market on January 1, 2024? Yes, the fee applies to eligible games currently in market that continue to distribute the runtime. We look at a game's lifetime installs to determine eligibility for the runtime fee. Then we bill the runtime fee based on all new installs that occur after January 1, 2024.

Again, again, doubled down in the FAQ.

Q: Are these fees going to apply to games which have been out for years already? If you met the threshold 2 years ago, you'll start owing for any installs monthly from January, no? (in theory). It says they'll use previous installs to determine threshold eligibility & then you'll start owing them for the new ones. A: Yes, assuming the game is eligible and distributing the Unity Runtime then runtime fees will apply. We look at a game's lifetime installs to determine eligibility for the runtime fee. Then we bill the runtime fee based on all new installs that occur after January 1, 2024.

That would involve billing companies for using their software before telling them of the existence of a bill. Holding their actions to a contract that they performed before the contract existed!

Okay. I think that's everything. So far.

There is one thing that I want to mention before ending this post, unfortunately it's a little conspiratorial, but it's so hard to believe that anyone genuinely thought this was a good idea that it's stuck in my brain as a significant possibility.

A few days ago it was reported that Unity's CEO sold 2,000 shares of his own company.

On September 6, 2023, John Riccitiello, President and CEO of Unity Software Inc (NYSE:U), sold 2,000 shares of the company. This move is part of a larger trend for the insider, who over the past year has sold a total of 50,610 shares and purchased none.

I would not be surprised if this decision gets reversed tomorrow, that it was literally only made for the CEO to short his own goddamn company, because I would sooner believe that this whole thing is some idiotic attempt at committing fraud than a real monetization strategy, even knowing how unfathomably greedy these people can be.

So, with all that said, what do we do now?

Well, in all likelihood you won't need to do anything. As I said, some of the biggest names in the industry would be directly affected by this change, and you can bet your bottom dollar that they're not just going to take it lying down. After all, the only way to stop a greedy CEO is with a greedier CEO, right?

(I fucking hate it here.)

And that's not mentioning the indie devs who are already talking about abandoning the engine.

[Links display tweets from the lead developer of Among Us saying it'd be less costly to hire people to move the game off of Unity and Cult of the Lamb's official twitter saying the game won't be available after January 1st in response to the news.]

That being said, I'm still shaken by all this. The fact that Unity is openly willing to go back and punish its developers for ever having used the engine in the past makes me question my relationship to it.

The news has given rise to the visibility of free, open source alternative Godot, which, if you're interested, is likely a better option than Unity at this point. Mostly, though, I just hope we can get out of this whole, fucking, environment where creatives are treated as an endless mill of free profits that's going to be continuously ratcheted up and up to drive unsustainable infinite corporate growth that our entire economy is based on for some fuckin reason.

Anyways, that's that, I find having these big posts that break everything down to be helpful.

[espinosaurusrexex]

Watchful Eyes

CEO!SteveRogers x Female!Maid!Reader AU

read Bucky's story here

summary: When your best friend gets you a new job, cleaning the apartment of the most successful man in New York City, you don't hesitate to accept. The pay is more than good, and the man himself is better than any eye candy you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to you, you've caught his attention just as much. Steve can't keep his mind off you, so much so, that he drives everyone around him insane with his grumpiness when you aren't around. It seems like he has to take matters into his own hands when he realizes, you're too shy to take things further yourself.

a/n: So that just happened... I don't know where it came from, but please enjoy. (Please don’t be discouraged by the word count - I promise you it’s worth it and I kindly ask you to at least try 💛)

word count: 10.8k

warnings: power differences, Steve is pining, watching someone over secret livestream (is this stalking?), women being referred to as objects (not by Steve), just so much fluff, and also angst (there is a happy ending!), smut (masturbation - m, praise kink, oral - f receiving, dirty talk, orgasm control, overstimulation, unprotected p in v, size kink, breeding kink) !MINORS DNI!

ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ✶ 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ✧*･ﾟ

“Can you start Monday?”

“I can start Monday.”

“Perfect.”

Holy fuckidy fuck fuck. 

You had a job. A job that would crinkle some noses but it would pay money. Good money actually. Well, better than other offers in the branch.  

It had been luck, really. Because during one drunken night, which had originally been dedicated to drowning yourself in self-pity over the last job that had let you go due to staff cuts, your friend Natasha had crashed your party with Chinese food and gossip from her workplace. She was an assistant for one of the CEO’s of Shield Protection Services. And during her lunch with Sharon, the other assistant, Sharon had complained about Steve Rogers and how he had fired the third maid this month because they, apparently, were taking pictures of his home or selling some of his things. 

There might have been some talk about how picky and stuck up he could be but the important info was that Sharon was desperate at this point and had asked Nat if she knew anyone with the decency not to breach privacy and willingness to clean the CEO’s home. 

The good thing - or bad thing, you weren’t sure - was, Nat knew you were desperate too. So she gave Sharon your number and before you knew it, you were an employed woman again. 

❁ ❁ ❁

It was too early for you to be roaming the streets of New York, but you had gotten instructions and so you had gotten up at 6 and headed out to the address. And when you arrived, it felt as though it was the first time you blinked since the subway - you were that tired. Definitely not a morning person.  

The building was huge, tall glass fronts stretching into the sky and the ride up to the penthouse took longer than your average elevator rides did. 

The doors opened and revealed a beautiful open floor plan. A whole wall of windows brought natural light into the place and offered a view so breathtaking, it took you a moment to collect yourself. The place was ginormous - a lot to clean up - but seemed tidy enough to at least get started right away. 

You placed your bag on the counter by the kitchen and took more of the place in when suddenly, a voice startled you. 

“Who are you?” You whipped around, big eyes searching for the source until they landed on a tall man standing in what seemed to be a dining area - well, one of them at least. He had broad shoulders, neatly styled hair and one of those toothpaste smiles you only ever saw in magazines. He was wearing office attire, blue dress pants that slightly stretched over his muscled thighs, and when your head wandered back up his body, piercing blue eyes seemed to stare right into your soul. 

Holy Shit. 

Before you stood Steve Rogers, three-time Forbes Magazine cover story, young entrepreneur turned filthy-rich hunk of a man, and CEO of the most successful security firm in this country. And he was talking to you - staring at you... waiting for an answer. 

Talking, you needed to start talking, you reminded yourself.

“I’m the new maid, sir. I’m so sorry I was told to come here at 7 as you leave for work before that.”

Mr. Rogers looked at you with an unintelligible stare. Meanwhile, you were nervously wringing your hands in the doorway, looking down. You hadn’t planned for anyone important to see you today. The worn-down Fleetwood Mac shirt you didn’t mind getting bleach on hanging over some pants you pulled from the back of your closet definitely wasn’t the kind of outfit you expected to greet Steve Rogers in. Great start. This was going awful.

“Well I’m here aren’t I?” His arms folded before his chest as his eyebrow raised, impressive biceps bulging beneath the white button-up, and - damn - it was hard not to stare. 

“Right. Yes. Sorry. I’ll come back later.” You turned to leave again but he stopped you.

“No need. I am on my way out.” The left corner of his mouth twitched into a cheeky grin when he grabbed his bag, left the newspaper discarded on the table, and placed his coffee mug in the sink. Interesting.

“Don’t snoop.” He whispered teasingly as he passed you, a whiff of expensive cologne paralyzing your senses and you weren’t sure if he was making a suggestion or actually warning you. That damn perfume seemed to hypnotize you. 

Your eyes followed his broad shoulders until they disappeared behind the corner and then the elevator doors shut. It seemed to take all the tension from your face. You exhaled long and then began to look around some more.

The place was huge, you’d already established that. But when you found the third bedroom amongst the private office and Pool table room, you knew you had to make a weekly plan to work off. You had to give Mr. Rogers credit, though. There was rarely any clutter lying around - it wasn’t dirty per se - just had the usual dust you’d expect in a place this size with only one person living in it. 

You huffed, resting your hand on your hips once you completed the tour. And then you got started. 

❁ ❁ ❁

Steve peered up from his computer screen when Bucky strolled through the doors of his office. A coffee in hand he had most likely tweaked from his assistant's desk on the way here, he shot a grin to his oldest friend and business partner. 

“What ya doing, punk?” The brunette asked teasingly when he circled the desk and settled on the window sill behind Steve. 

“Just making sure things stay in order.” He leaned back and turned around slightly, just in time to see his friend nod knowingly.

“Heard Nat got you a new maid.” Bucky dipped his chin towards the laptop still open on the desk. “That her?”

His eyes wandered to the screen where a live feed of his apartment streamed you changing his bedsheets. He hummed in agreement. 

“She’s pretty,” Bucky commented before sipping his coffee again and Steve felt an unfamiliar feeling bubble in his stomach. “But I bet you don’t care anyway. You’re all ‘don’t sell my stuff’ and ‘having things stolen from a security firm CEO is embarrassing’. Wouldn’t know a pretty thing like that if it climbed you.”

“Because it is embarrassing. And I highly recommend you monitor your staff to make sure they don’t do the same.” Of course, Steve knew you were ‘pretty’. Exactly his type, to be honest. He had noticed it the second you stepped into his apartment this morning. The way your hands wrung beneath you. And he had shot you a teasing remark in hopes of discovering a sassy fire in those timid doe eyes of yours. But you had stumbled over your words like a fawn.

Bucky clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Nonsense. Peggy is great - and too old to even carry anything valuable out of my place. I trust her with my life and house keys.” And then he pushed off the sill. “I think it’s time for you to get laid again. And that’s why I’m a great friend and organized dinner and drinks with Tony and Sam tonight.”

Steve fell back in his chair, hands over his eyes. “I don’t need your wing-maning me. I’m perfectly fine on my own.” 

“Sure.”

“I’m serious, Buck.”

“You can thank me later.” He stout towards the door. “You know... after you’ve been devoured by the pretty little waitress at the Ironbar.” Bucky winked before his face disappeared again. 

Steve just huffed as his eyes landed back on the weekly report on his desk and then swayed back to his computer screen. 

As unwilling as he was to admit it, it had been some time since his last late-night rendezvous. And as he saw you crawl up on his bed to place the bedsheets properly along his mattress, he felt his pants tighten slightly. 

❁ ❁ ❁

“We’ll get one more round of the good stuff.” 

“Of course Mr. Stark.” Tony winked and patted his waitress’s butt before she stalked away on her high heels and towards the locked glass cabinet behind the bar. 

Steve had designed it himself, a fiberglass shrine-like display for ridiculously expensive liquors, only to be opened by a passcode that got regenerated every week. He watched as Betty - the young and lanky waitress - retrieved a crystal bottle of whiskey and filled four glasses with the golden liquid. 

“God, I love that thing,” Tony sighed next to Steve and watched Betty with a satisfied smile.

“You better be talking about that cabinet, Stark.” Steve shook his head with a frown only to receive a wink from Tony, who was sitting closest to him at the round table. 

“So...” Bucky leaned over to Steve and spoke in a hushed voice. “You see anything you like?” He gestured at the bar where Tony’s carefully picked waitresses passed with filled and emptied glasses and bottles. They were all wearing tight black t-shirts and skirts or shorts that counted just as scandalous. One could foolishly mistake this place for a Hooters if Tony hadn’t made it one of the most pristine bars in all of New York City. 

It was popular amongst the clientele which mainly consisted of bored rich men that came here to get something to look at without being judged for it. But Steve wasn’t feeling the girls today. When Betty shoved her breasts in his field of view, all he could think about was how he had never gotten the idea to get his maids a uniform that catered to his... liking. And when Betty swayed her hips on her way to the bar, his thoughts became clouded by the image of you in a short little skirt, riding up just a little to tease I’m about what was hidden underneath when you kneeled on his bed to get the sheets sorted. 

Steve adjusted his pants at the little flashback, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter in his seat. 

“Oh, apparently you have...” Bucky grinned before his eyes hushed down to Steve’s crotch and back up just as fast. “Well then,” he leaned back with a satisfied grin. “Which one is it? Samatha? Tiffany? Though I think Megan is more your type.” 

“Just shut up, punk.”

“Okay you don’t have to tell me me... either way, my job here is done.” He brushed his hands off fake dust and smiled smugly. “You better be in a good mood tomorrow.” 

Steve just huffed and waited for Betty to come back with ‘the good stuff’ to hopefully drown out his annoying friends for the rest of the night. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them. No, he would do anything for the people he chose to have in his life. The group he found himself in right now had been through thick and thin with him, stayed through his fame and fortune, and was just as supportive before it had all happened to either of them. He was happy having the guys because they built each other up and aimed for greatness - together, they were fucking invincible. 

But sometimes, Steve felt a little out of place amongst Bucky and Tony. It was in situations regarding women most of all because he could never adapt the attitude to talk about them the way they did. And he never had the headspace to juggle as many as they did. He had tried the one-night stands. But he struggled to navigate the superficial pleasure maze New York City provided in masses. Because just as the ever-passing smiles on the streets, it wasn’t fulfilling enough for Steve. At least not in the way it was for his friends. 

He wanted what Sam had. A partner, a family, something constant and beautiful. And that was, why he found himself asking for pictures of Sam’s kids and nephews rather than listen to Tony’s latest bed bunny endeavor whenever the conversations took a turn in that direction. 

“Earth to Rogers,” Sam’s finger snapped in front of Steve’s face. “What this I’m hearing? You got a new maid? What happened to the old one?”

“She sold his stuff on Craigslist.” Bucky snorted and took a sip of the drink that had magically appeared in front of them. 

“You aren’t serious.” 

“I really liked that tie,” Steve grumbled into his cup. 

“Man, I’m glad I don’t have to deal with things like that. You rich people really are a different breed.” 

“You’re rich, too, Sam.” 

Sam just smiled above his crystal glass, having fun with the little joke he liked to pull for ages now. He wasn’t any less successful than any of the other men at their table. But other than them, he had settled in a beautiful neighborhood - despising the concrete jungle each of the other guys lived in. His house felt like home, like a cozy place that had seen love and time and nothing like the polished and sleek man caves the rest of them owned.

“Well, anyways, my amazing assistant organized him a new one, the prettiest thing - really. But he’s refusing to see it.” 

Tony chuckled. “Well, that's Rogers in a nutshell, isn’t it.” 

Sam just pursed his lips and glanced over at Steve with a soft smile, ignoring the comments of the other guys. They never explicitly talked about it, but Sam was a smart man, and it would have surprised Steve, had he not already figured out that he was more of a family man than their friends were as of right now. 

“To new maids that aren’t selling your clothes on the internet then.” He raised his drink and winked at Steve once their glasses clinked. 

And Steve? He visibly exhaled, silently thanking Sam for pulling the tension out of their conversation. 

❁ ❁ ❁

It had been a little over a week. And so far, things had been going great. 

By now, you had cleaned through the entire place once and set up a plan of what to do on which day. You weren’t surprised it actually took a full 6 days to cover every single room in Mr. Rogers’s apartment. You had already figured out which tasks were going to be your favorite and which weren’t. Like his bedroom. You liked doing that. Because even though the sheets were a bitch to get on the ginormous bed, you kind of liked the smell the room had. His pillows smelled of the cologne you couldn’t forget ever since the man had brushed past you on your very first day.

You were pretty sure you would never forget that since your knees literally felt like giving in at that moment.  

Today, it was bedroom day. That and the on-suite. 

With a smile on your face, you entered the apartment on the top floor, each day secretly hoping you’d catch a glimpse of the CEO before he took off to work. But even though you tried to arrive ten minutes earlier (you really couldn’t spare any more sleep for your own good), the first day remained an exception in Mr. Rogers’s daily schedule. 

You placed your bag on the stool at the open kitchen island, changed into some other shoes, and headed for the supply closet. Despite the size of the place, you actually got around pretty easily. Mr. Rogers was a very organized and neat man - you’d noticed that the first and only time you met him. So things were almost always where you’d think they would be. Which made your job just that much easier. But also prevented you from the advised ‘not snooping’ you desperately wanted to do. 

You knew better though. 

People like Steve Rogers probably had cameras installed in this place. And you would certainly not go and rummage through his underwear drawer after he had personally told you not to. Who knows what strings powerful people like him could pull. So, for the sake of not waking up on a cargo ship to Madagascar one day, you restrained yourself as much as possible. 

Of course, you didn’t stop your eyes from wandering whenever you swept the shelves in his walk-in closet or closed the drawers in his office space. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. And this girl had a nosy best friend on her back that wanted to know every little detail of her new job... and was also way too invested in celebrity gossip.

Though, as always, there was nothing out of the ordinary today - there never was. Sure, it was still exciting to see how the filthy rich lived but other than that, no scandalous collection of women’s underwear, or drug lord papers lying around. You started to believe that Steven Grant Rogers was a very boring man. Not that you could properly judge in your position, seeing as you did not really know him, but the whole being in his home seemed a little too intimate not to do so. 

So that day you finished the tasks for the day, packed your stuff, and made your way back home, hoping to see him in the morning or to at least find something more interesting than dust in his home. 

❁ ❁ ❁

Steve greeted the concierge of his building when he entered the marbled entree hall. With a little frown and a look at his watch, the man greeted him back before he resumed his work. 

Yes, Steve was home earlier than usual. He regularly stayed even longer than his original work schedule intended. Today, however, he was home even earlier. But after another banter with Bucky about Steve’s non-existent sex life, he couldn’t imagine making it past five in the same building as his persistent best friend. So, he fled the office and decided to work through the rest of his papers at home. 

Of course, Steve knew that Bucky only wanted the best for him. But the ways he tried to approach the supposed bothersome loneliness Steve had in his bed just weren’t for Steve. Those might have worked on Tony - hell, Tony probably invented setting his friends up with one-night-stands - but not on Steve.

He huffed and swiped some loose hairs from his forehead as the elevator dinged at the top floor. The doors opened to the window front of his penthouse apartment and Steve stepped over the threshold, immediately stopping in his tracks when he took in the scene before him. 

The vacuum was running while you were kneeling on the floor, wiping up some water he only assumed came from the vase missing next to his sofa. He would have found it rather amusing if it weren’t for the way you carried yourself today. Something wasn’t right. 

Steve knew that you weren’t usually this messy - that much he could tell from the livestream that had become a constant in his office by now. Your head hung low, your motions hurried and sloppy. He watched as you swiped the floor, one of your sleeves constantly slipping down your arm again until you angrily pushed it up further than necessary. 

It was worrisome. 

He couldn’t place the feeling he felt in his chest when he sat his briefcase down and approached you from behind. His foot carefully turned off the vacuum and then he stood still, careful not to startle you when you finally looked up at him. 

He could see it in your eyes then. The panic, the uncertainty, and something else he hadn’t seen in them before.

You looked around you as if you were seeing the mess for the first time and when Steve was still watching you with an arched brow after a minute of silence, you suddenly sprung up to your feet. 

“I am so Sorry, Mr. Rogers. I didn’t realize it was this late already.” You turned a full 360 until your eyes landed on his again. “I’ll have this cleaned up in no time and I'll be out of your way. I promise.” 

Steve watched as you scrambled to gather the vacuum cord, struggling with it when it didn’t immediately snap back into the caster. “The subway was stuck in a tunnel for an hour because some guy decided to pull the emergency break for fun. And then this lady passed out next to me and when the fire department finally got us out and the paramedics packed her in the ambulance, I realized that I still had her purse.” You finally got the cord in turning so fast that the wet rag in your hands sprayed some water on Steve. “And do you know how difficult it is to find out which hospital they’re taking people? Because it’s so much more difficult than it looks in the movies. I didn’t know that! And then it was almost 10 a.m. when I got here. I am so sorry. This won’t happen again I promise-“

“Hey,” Steve finally stepped forward and caught your flailing hands with his and it shut you up. “It’s alright.” He spoke softly, guiding your hands down and proceeding to carefully stroke your arms down. “Are you okay? Do you need a day off?” 

Your doe eyes stared up at him, round and shiny as if you couldn’t believe he was actually standing in front of you. And Steve had to admit, besides the concern breezing through his body, your face was capturing up close. He traced your lashes with his gaze, the way your lips were parted slightly, your teeth showing past your upper lip, and the way your eyebrows were raised in shock. 

“No... no, I’m fine.” You finally stammered and it made Steve relax a little. 

“Then take a breath for me, please.” You nodded and Steve watched as your shoulders moved when you inhaled with your eyes closed. It shook Steve out of his trance. He cleared his throat and retreated his hands from your arms, awkwardly standing up a little straighter now that there was no excuse to touch you anymore. 

You were fine - that’s what you had said. But you didn’t quite seem that way. 

He watched as you opened your eyes and gifted him a small smile. Then your gaze dew to the floor and the mess you were standing in. Your smile turned awkward. 

“I’ll clean this up real quick and then I’ll be out of your hair.” 

Steve shook his head with a smile. Maybe this was a nice opportunity to do as Bucky had suggested. It was true, Steve hadn’t been interested enough before. Had he taken more time to know his former maids better, he could have probably prevented his things from being stolen and sold. Maybe it wasn’t exactly what Bucky had meant by ‘interested’, but Save decided it would do for now. “You can do what you need to and you can take as much time as you need to. I’ll be in my office for some time, so please don’t rush. I didn’t mean to freak you out by coming home earlier.” 

His arms reached up to scratch the back of his neck and your eyes landed on his bicep. Those damn doe eyes. “O- okay.”

He nodded, buried his hands in his pockets, gifted you a tight-lipped smile, and then proceeded to grab his briefcase and disappear into his office at the end of the hall. 

After some time, he heard the vacuum pick back up. Steve peaked through his open office door and caught a glimpse of you roaming his living room every now and then. It was relieving to know that you were functioning again. You had him worried for a second there - a feeling the successful CEO hadn’t welcomed in a hot minute. But it was kind of nice, made him feel a little more human than usual. So he didn’t mind having you work while he was home. On the contrary, actually, even though he had a huge stack of papers to go through, having to do them with a little bit of white noise was much more efficient than he had thought. He liked it when the occasional sound of items being set down snook its way to his office just to be interrupted by the vacuum again. And before he knew it, the workload he had taken home with him today, was worked through. 

Steve made his way to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. Though, as he waited for the machine, he found himself leaning against the counter and watching you work in front of him. You were currently bent over the sofa, arranging the cushions after shaking them out, your shirt riding up ever so slightly and exposing a strip of skin on your back. 

The fresh grounding of coffee beans covered the way Steve gulped loudly at the sight of you in front of him. This was definitely different than watching on his laptop screen. He felt his pants tighten ever so slightly as he imagined walking up to you and just taking you from behind. Your face would press into the pillows as he would easily push into you, hearing your drawn-out moans through the cushions. 

He couldn’t help himself, you were just so pretty. 

The smell of coffee drew Steve back to reality. It wasn’t that simple. Because Steve wanted you to want him as well. But you didn’t know him well enough yet. 

You pulled the vacuum around the corner and seconds later the sound of the storage room door closing echoed through the apartment. You walked back into the living room, adjusted the book on his coffee table, and then looked at your work with your hands on your hips. It was kind of cute to watch, Steve had to admit. 

“Well done,” Steve praised and your shoulders jerked in surprise. 

“Woah, didn’t see you there, Sir.” You relaxed again and then moved to change your shoes, before packing the other pair in your bag. You looked like you were about to leave, but Steve didn’t want that. 

“Would you like some coffee?” He offered and turned to grab the mug that was just filled with the steaming hot beverage. 

But you shook your head, raising your hands. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude. I’m sure you’ve got work to do...”

“I wouldn’t have asked if it were an inconvenience.” 

You looked down and nodded, which made Steve smile and hand you the cup. Your hands encased it like it was a cold winter's day, timid looks roaming the room and landing everywhere but him. 

“You seem uncomfortable,” he tried, cautious not to intrude. 

“I’m not. It’s just that... I’m not used to,” you gestured around the kitchen, “all this.” 

“I know it sounds stupid but sometimes I feel the same.” Steve took in the high ceilings and shiny surfaces, the expensive paintings and furniture he had no part in picking out.

You just stared at him again before nodding and averting your eyes once more. It seemed like you were holding back, but Steve didn’t feel like he was in the position to ask. So he just had to do with your fleeting glances and diffident presence. It was fine for now. Though he didn’t know if he could actually stand it for long. 

“You got this job through Bucky’s assistant, right?”

“Natasha, yes. She’s my best friend.” Your eyes lit up and Steve celebrated the little victory in silence. He had finally found something to talk about with you. 

“How long have you known each other?” He took a sip of his own coffee, acting indifferent, though his gaze hung on your lips. 

“We’ve been friends since high school. But then we went to different colleges and for a moment, we lost contact. But when I called her after graduation, we reconnected. We coincidentally both moved to New York. It’s nice to have her back.”

“That does sound nice. I know a thing or two about reconnecting with old friends.” Steve smiled reminiscent. 

“Right, your business partner. Mr. Barnes.” You set your mug down when Steve shot you a surprised look. “Sorry, but it’s hard not to know things about you when every tabloid in the country has covered your story.”

Steve nodded, being reminded once again how different his life was now. Not that he didn’t appreciate it... it just used to be simpler. 

“Yes, Bucky is my oldest friend... we’d lost contact in-between as well. Now we spend so much time together, I sometimes wish it was that way again.”

“You don’t mean that,” you laughed and Steve swore it was the prettiest he’d ever heard. 

“Of course not.” He set his cup down once he noticed that you had finished your coffee and had grabbed your bag from the stool. 

“I should go,” you smiled sadly and Steve just nodded with a similar expression on his face. Then he pushed off the counter and walked you to the elevator. He caught your small wave before the doors closed, leaving his stomach feeling warm and fuzzy. 

This was definitely new.

❁ ❁ ❁

The next week was pure torture. 

Steve couldn’t work from home like he had wanted to. He also couldn’t go to work later to at least catch a ‘good morning’ from you. 

It had only lasted a couple more days. He had managed to trap you for a conversation with coffee two times after the first one and then it all went downhill from there. 

Steve’s work seemed to pile up in unusual amounts of papers on his desk. His e-mails and meetings were longer than ever and his frustrations built with every new message Sharon redirected to his phone.

It wasn’t until Bucky pointed out how unusually grumpy he was, that Steve realized, he missed you. How could that have happened? He barely knew you and talked to you even less than that. But he knew he was missing you. Because as silly as it sounded, the time he spent with you, he was more relaxed than ever before. 

“I’m headed home, now. Do you need anything before I go?” Sharon popped her head through the door of Steve’s office after the knock she placed there. 

Steve just sighed as he closed one of a dozen tabs on his computer. Then he shook his head. “See you tomorrow.”

“Bright and early!” She beamed and Steve just waved her off. 

The door fell shut once again and Steve moved to close a second tab. The one open beneath was the video footage of his home. It was paused because Steve had categorized it as ‘not suited for work’ once he saw you climb on his bed to straighten out the sheets and his dick reminded him just how deprived he really was. 

Looking at the paused video now, his pants tightened again. There you were, on all fours on his bed, tugging the sheet under the headboard side of his mattress - ass up and struggling. Fucking hell. 

His hand instinctively moved to his crotch to relieve some tension and then his eyes fell to his office door. Sharon had gone home. He was likely the only one left. His gaze wandered back to his computer screen and before he knew it, he was rubbing his hard cock through his pants. 

He groaned lowly at the feeling spreading through his body, the image on his screen just intensifying the scenarios he usually imagined when he got himself off. Because now they had your face. And your perfect body. If he squinted at the screen, he could actually see a sliver of your underwear peaking out the top of your pants. 

“Jesus Christ,” He pushed through his teeth when his hands worked to open his belt and pulled his rock-hard length out. He was already leaking from the angry red tip. 

His thumb grazed over his sensitive flesh, spreading the beads of precum and his whole body shivered when he imagined you doing it instead. His knees spread further apart in his office chair as he squeezed the base of his cock, concentrating on his breathing to slow. And then, without thinking, his other hand moved to play the video. 

Steve’s eyes never left the screen as he watched you tug the sheets tight. Your ass bounced up and down with the motion and he began to pump his shaft, imagining pushing into you from behind. Then you crawled back slowly, careful not to pull the sheet off again, but one corner came loose anyway. As you leaned forward, your new position seemed even more obscene - with your arms stretched forward and your ass still slightly lifted off the mattress. 

Steve’s fist pumped harder up and down his cock, he was panting. He could already feel the orgasm building. His balls were on the edge of bursting - but he wanted to hold out a little longer. 

For a second, his gaze jumped to the little speaker icon at the bottom right corner of his screen. His right hand still pumping with a tight grip, the left moved to slightly turn up the volume on the stream. 

Just then, you released a frustrated groan, followed by a throatier, softer noise that could almost be mistaken for a moan and Steve lost it. His fist stroked his thick cock in hard fast motions, the tingle in his body building with every heavy breath you released. His thumb grazed over his tip when you fell forward like a fawn and it was enough to make him burst. 

He closed his eyes and threw his head back on the chair. With a last firm push, he tumbled over the edge, squeezing his flesh as he felt the hot ropes of cum cover his hand. His heart beat in his ears once the ecstasy subsided, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths.  

Steve stared at the ceiling, sighing in defeat. He was in deep now. 

❁ ❁ ❁

“So... how’s it going?” Nat’s voice rang through your speaker and you pressed your phone a little harder to your ear to hear her over the street noises. 

“It’s going really good. I don’t see him that often but he’s not messy at all, so it’s really not that bad.”

“Good, I’m glad!” Nat cheered on the other end of the line and you could hear her computer keys clicking beneath her fingernails. “Anything you wanna tell me?” Her tone was suggestive, and you kind of hated how well she knew you. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on, we’re stating the obvious here. He’s hot!”

“Nat!” You gasped appalled. “I’m not going around asking you if you think your boss is hot.”

“Why not? I'm not ashamed to admit it. My boss is hot,” she stated plainly and shorty after a distant ‘You got that right, doll!’ was heard through your speaker. 

“Oh my god,” you muttered, watching around you as if anyone could hear what Nat was saying. 

“So...?”

“Okay, yes he’s super hot and I wish he would just grab me with his big muscled arms and kiss the life out of me every time I see him. Are you happy now?”

“Yes, very.”

You waved at the concierge when you reached Mr. Roger’s apartment building and then stepped into the elevator. “Good. I can’t believe I just made me say that out loud.”

“We both know it’s true. No shame in a little crush.” You could practically hear her grin through the phone and it just annoyed you even more. How could she call you out when she was a mile away?

“Great, now I’m actually imagining kissing him and running my hands down his chest,” You huffed as the elevator door opened and turned the corner just to stop in your tracks. 

“I knew it!”

“Nat, I’ll call you later.”

“Okay, but-“ and then you ended the call as your eyes were glued to the kitchen counter. 

You stepped closer, your eyes never leaving where they had landed upon your arrival. There, on the polished black marble, stood a vase with a beautiful bouquet of pastel flowers. 

Your breath hitched in your throat as your fingers traced the colorful petals, and you leaned in to smell them. This was so sweet! A little giddiness shot through your body at the sight of the flowers. You’d never expected them from Mr. Rogers and it was nice to be appreciated. 

Feeling excitement all over, your fingers reached for the little white card lodged between a eucalyptus branch. But when you turned it over, all of it fell like someone had turned on gravity again. 

Happy one month!

Your mind repeated the words over and over again until they registered.

Happy one month.

You dropped the card and it made a dull clicking noise on the counter. How could you have been so naïve? Nat had put this stupid haze in your brain, getting you all giddy and excited. Of course, he had a fucking girlfriend. How could he not? He was Steve fucking Rogers.

You needed to take a step back and breathe. Those were a few too many emotions to feel in the early morning for you. Now you even felt guilty about wanting to run your fingers down his body. God, you’d even said it out loud - how embarrassing! 

“Okay, girl. Relax. Nobody heard,” you reminded yourself out loud. And then you took a deep breath with your eyes closed. 

“It’s not embarrassing if nobody saw. I’m the only one that can decide the level of awkwardness here.” Maybe stop talking to yourself then. You nodded and carefully placed the card back in the bouquet. 

“This never happened,” you whispered, more so to ensure yourself. “Just move on with your day.” 

Thank god it wasn’t kitchen day - you wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of those flowers any longer.

With your shoulders pulled back and your head held high, you made your way to the supply closet and got to work. 

It’s just another day. You reminded yourself when you pulled your cleaning supplies out and into the office. 

Just like any other day...

❁ ❁ ❁

Boy, had you never been any more wrong. 

Your phone rang at 7.30 that evening. You had already made yourself comfortable on your sofa, ready to binge a whole season of Gilmore Girls, after a successful day of pretending you hadn’t gotten the biggest turn-down of the century this morning. You had finished your cleaning plan, you had gone grocery shopping, bought yourself some own damn flowers, and even showered all before the sun had set. 

But now your phone rang and the caller ID could not mean anything good. 

“Hello?”

“Good evening!” Your name echoed through the speaker of your phone, a - for your taste - way too cheery woman on the other end. “I am very sorry I have to call so late. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“That’s alright, what do you need?” You bit your lip nervously, only dreading the next words of Mr. Rogers’s assistant.

“Well, actually it is not I that needs anything. Mr. Rogers requested for you to see him. Is that possible?”

“What? When?”

“Now would be amazing.” Your eyes widened at her words. Mr Rogers wanted to see you and it couldn’t wait until tomorrow? You must have done something horribly wrong. Oh, god, had he noticed you messed with the flowers? Had he seen you sniff his pillows? All possible scenarios of wrongdoing swarmed your head when you sprung up and bolted for your closet. 

“I can be there in thirty minutes,” you hurried through the speaker just to receive a satisfied hum from the other end. 

“Amazing! Thank you so much.”

She had hung you before you could even answer. It didn’t matter. You looked through your clothes, trying to decide what an appropriate ‘getting fired’ outfit would consist of - probably no sweatpants, so you could find the closest bar and drink your sorrows away in connection to the dreaded talk. 

You pulled out something, you could see yourself crying in and headed for the door.

❁ ❁ ❁

8.00 pm on the dot, the elevator doors opened to reveal a beautiful New York Skyline. Unfortunately, you neither had the headspace, nor the time to appreciate it properly. As soon as you turned the corner you saw Mr. Rogers casually leaning on the kitchen island. 

Instantly, you felt intimidated. He had never done anything to make you feel scared or in danger, but his mere presence was so powerful, you didn’t quite know how to act around him. Especially, because on top of it all, he was the most attractive man you’d ever laid your eyes on. 

“What did I do?” It just sprung out of you, your arms wanted to hug your body but you willed them still. He didn’t need to see how worried you really were. 

To your surprise, however, his face scrunched up in amusement instead. He pushed himself off the counter and gestured towards the flowers still standing proud on that polished marble top. 

“You forgot your flowers.”

“My... my flowers?” He nodded with a small frown, probably confused by your reaction. And to be honest, you were too. 

“Yes... I got you flowers. You’ve officially been working here for a month. That’s a record.” He shook his head with a chuckle and then rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m... very picky.”

His eyes met yours and a whole new wave of uncertainty washed over you. You didn’t miss the hesitation in his tone, the carefully chosen wording for something he didn’t exactly say. 

“So, I’m not fired.” God, why did it take so long for you to register. You just looked so stupid right now. 

“On the contrary.” Mr. Rogers took a step closer, though still keeping a respectable distance. “I think I can trust you. I’m very pleased with your work. You deserve them.”

“I do?” You looked up at him with big eyes when he took another step closer. He was so tall, you had to tilt your head up now that he was so near. 

“Can I trust you?”

His chest would almost touched you, if you were to breathe any heavier. Your breath hitched in your throat when the faint remains of his perfume reached your nose. It was as intoxicating - the way his eyes stared down at you - intense and looming. “Ye- Yes.”

“Good.” His voice was a raw timbre. His gaze drifted to the side, where his hand slowly reached up to lay on your shoulder. You felt warm and tingly from the touch. 

Not knowing what to do exactly, you just held your breath and stared up at his eyes. They were so blue - and up close, they were so much more captivating than any magazine photograph could ever display. 

You wanted to touch him, reach out, and pull him down towards you, but he had just told you he trusted you. Were you really going to risk this perfectly good job for a heated moment?

His other hand came up to graze your cheek with a careful touch and the worry of losing your job suddenly became very small. Mr. Roger’s hands were warm, his fingers almost hot even compared to your heated face. 

So you did it. Your hand reached forward and landed on the top of his chest, one of them traveled down the hard plane of his torso while the other clawed at his shirt collar. His thumb traveled to your lower lip, pulling it down and then stroking over the soft flesh, touching your teeth as well. 

Guided by the heat traveling through our body, your right hand tightened around his shirt and pulled him down and onto your lips. The blonde man jerked forward until his mouth crashed onto yours, immediately moving in perfect sync with yours. 

Your insides were tingling from the kiss when you felt his lips pull into a smile. His big hands roamed your body until they snook around your back, pulling you flush against his body and making you sigh contently. 

Mr. Rogers chuckled and then kissed you deeper. His touch was everywhere, yours too. Your mind was free of anything that wasn’t the tall, built, blonde man in your arms as soon as his tongue traced your bottom lip - asking for you to let him in. And you did just that. When he began to explore your mouth, you melted even further into his embrace. 

No man had ever kissed you like that. Which was why you dreaded the moment you had to pull away for air. 

Your hand landed on his cheek, thumb softly stroking his beard, eyes locked with his. 

“You’re very good at this.”

He just chuckled and pecked your lips once more. “Up.” He demanded, suddenly, he grabbed your thighs and lifted you as if you weighed nothing. 

“What are you doing?”

“I'm gonna show you how good I am at this.” 

Then he set you down on the bed and pushed you back until your head hit the comforter. His scent, the one you’d secretly been craving ever since you started working here, engulfed you like a big blanket. He stood above you, big and broad-shouldered, looming over you like a wild animal. But you weren’t scared.

“You know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” His lips attached to your collarbone, sucking and licking bruises to your skin until you moaned beneath him and your hands clung to his hair. “I’ve been watching you,” he murmured to your neck and a shiver traveled down your spine. 

“I knew it,” you gasped when he reached a spot behind your ears that sparked more pleasure. The thought of him spending his day watching you made you all excited and impatient. 

“The way you stumble about this place when you clean it... How do you navigate the world being this clumsy, Bambi?” A whimper escaped you at the nickname he chose for you. “You need somebody to take care of you, huh.” 

You arched your back to brush up against him. His hard cock was already straining his pants, pressing into your own deliciously. “Ah, yes.”

“Don’t worry, Bambi, I’m right here. I’ll take real good care of you.” His fingers traveled down your body until they reached the hem of your jeans and began to tug on them. 

You pulled him down to your lips once more, guiding his head back to that spot behind your ear that had you squirming on the sheets. “So needy.”

His voice was so low and husky now, you barely noticed he had already worked your pants open and halfway down your legs. You kicked them off the rest of the way and arched yourself back against him just to have him grind down on your core. 

“Feel so good, so big,” you mumbled through the haze you already found yourself in. God, what was it with this man - he was out of this world. 

“You can’t wait any longer, can you, Bambi?” His hands moved beneath your shirt and began to massage your breasts. “But I get it. I don’t wanna wait any longer, either.” 

In a swift motion, he had you flipped on your stomach, his hands traveling to your hips to pull you on all fours in front of him. Then the bed dipped and you felt his fingers press to your soaked underwear. He rubbed the drenched fabric over your entrance, only driving you wild with need when his fingers reached higher to your clit. “So pretty.” 

“I need you,” you whined, “need you so bad.” 

“Believe me, I need you too.” He pulled the black lace over the curve of your ass and you felt the cool bedroom air hit your wet core, only making you shiver once more. 

“You’re so fucking perfect, you know that.” You could only whimper in response when his hand pushed your head into the comforter and his face suddenly pressed into your pussy from behind. 

“Oh, god.” A yelp escaped you as his tongue teased at your entrance, only to be pulled back to lick a long strip from your clit back to it. His hand massaged your cheeks and the constant moaning to your core shook you from the inside out. 

“This isn’t enough, is it, Bambi?” He dragged a strong finger up your spine. “You need me to fill you all the way up, don’t you? Need me to mark you, show everyone you’re mine.”

“Yes, yes, fill me up, give it all to me. Fuck me and make me yours.” You were so desperate at this point. His mouth had you squirming and aching for the promising bulge beneath his pants and you couldn’t wait to feel him raw - you’d let him do anything. 

You turned your head and watched as he unbuckled his belt. Within seconds, his cock sprung free from its restraints and your breath hitched in your throat. He was thick and long, a prominent vein running along his side up to his tip, pink and already decorated by a bead of precum. Of course, Steve Rogers had a pretty cock. What wasn’t perfect about him?

“You’re so wet already, Bambi. So ready for my fat cock, aren’t you? You’ll suck me right in, I just know it.”

“Please! I wanna feel all of you.” Another whimper got swallowed by the mattress when you waited in anticipation for him to finally fuck you. 

His one hand grabbed your ass and the other aligned his cock with your entrance. You could feel his head already breaching, a delicious stretch sending shocks through your body in hot and cold waves of pleasure. 

He groaned lowly and it sent shivers down your spine. “Relax, baby girl. You’re so tight. You’ll be so stuffed with me.”

“I need you de-. I- ah just please!”

He worked himself forward with small rocking motions, each time reaching a little deeper into your core and when you thought he was finally all the way in, he pushed even further until your ass was pressed flush to his thighs. 

You screamed into the covers and reached for something to grasp when he groaned behind you. “Gripping me like a vice, Bambi. Are you gonna be able to take it?” He shivered behind you and you could tell he was struggling to hold still until you answered him. 

“I can take it. Your big cock feels so good inside me. Oh, god, please move.”

“Fuck.” Wet noises filled the room when he drew back almost all the way, just to slam back into you. In this position the curve of his cock stroked your walls perfectly, making it hard to hold back the building orgasm. 

“I’m so close already, sir. I’m-”

“Fucking call me Steve,” he roared and pushed your face further into the covers. “You gonna come? Gonna squeeze my cock with your pretty little pussy already, huh?”

You could only whimper in response, the steady stroke of his body clouded your mind until you felt like you were floating. 

“I-“Another scream ripped through your speech when the pleasure exploded within you. Steve slowed his motions, seemingly unable to move with the way your muscles contracted around him. And when the pulsing pleasure lessened after what felt like minutes, he picked his pace back up again. 

“That was so sexy. You gonna do that again for me? I’m so fucking close.”

His hand reached around you and began to massage your clit in tight little circles and your body lifted off the bed. Steve had pulled you up flush against his chest and watched his hand work on your clit over your shoulder. 

“’S too much! Ah!” You were still pulsing around his cock with every circle he traced on your bundle of nerves, making your legs quiver.

“You’re doing so good, Bambi. You can give me another. Milk my cock dry.” He kissed your neck and bit your skin. “So fucking beautiful, how’d I get so lucky?”

“Steve!” You felt another wave of pleasure approaching, just for his fingers to still on your clit, his hand now pressing into your stomach. 

“I’m almost there, baby. Hold it a little longer.” His face fell into your neck and you could feel his cock twitch inside you while his hot breath licked down your shoulder. “Don’t you fucking cum until I say so.”

“I don’t know if I-“

“Yes, you can!” Steve pushed you until you fell onto all fours again and then guided your hips to meet his hard strokes. His movements became frantic and fast, making you lose your mind. 

“I’m gonna fill you to the brim, Bambi. Make you drip with my cum for days. You’re mine.”

“Steve! Steve!” You couldn’t hold it any longer, it was too much. He was so big, and his movements so fast, there was no way you were lasting any longer. 

“Wait. Almost there.”

“I can’t. I can’t! I’m- Oh my god!”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuuck.” With one last hard slam, Steve shot his hot seed in your pussy. Your walls clenched with every lewd sound he pushed through his heavy breaths. “Cumming so much for you, Bambi. All for you. Uhnggghh.” He rutted into you a couple more times and once the intense feeling faded into lazy pulses, he fell forward and pulled you into his chest. 

Still buried deep within you, Steve pulled the covers over your bodies. Every little movement made you squirm and your pussy clench down again, drawing small grunts from the man behind you. 

“You did so good.” His hand stroked over your hair and his face nuzzled into your shoulder. “Now, rest. You deserve it.”

And with that, you let your body fall into its well-needed sleep - warm, content, and without a care for the morning.

❁ ❁ ❁

Steve woke up to the sound of his alarm. He smiled before he opened his eyes, his mind still reminiscing the night before. He felt warm and content at the thought of it. Your kiss was like nothing else.

He felt around his bed blindly after turning off the alarm only to be met by a cold mattress. Opening his eyes, he called out your name and sat up in bed. But when no answer sounded from his apartment, he got up and looked for you. After a few minutes of searching, he was sure you weren’t there. And it worried him. He had planned to order you breakfast. He wanted to talk about last night. He wanted to tell you how much it had meant to him. 

A look at the clock on his wall made him frown. Maybe you’d gone home to change for work. He decided to wait and get to work a little later today. It would all resolve itself, Steve was sure. 

But when seven rolled around, there was no sign of you. And even after another 25 minutes, there was no indication you’d show up soon. Steve really couldn’t push his time anymore. There was a lot of work waiting for him at the office. So he got up and grabbed his briefcase, only to be interrupted by his phone. 

“Good morning, Sharon.” 

“Good morning, Mr. Rogers. I’m just calling to let you know your maid just called in sick.”

“What? Until when?”

“She didn’t say. But she’ll call when she is better.”

“Do you know what she has?”

“I believe that’s private. Mr. Rogers.”

Steve just hummed absentmindedly. His brain already playing all the possibilities in his head. 

“Would you be so kind so send me her number?” He asked almost hesitantly, but still demanding enough for Sharon to agree right away. 

“Of course, one second.” And then his phone pinged with a message from his assistant. 

“Thank you.” Sharon just hummed in response and then she hung up the phone, ever the busy assistant he knew her as. 

Steve didn’t hesitate to call you right away. With every peep. His heart hammered faster in his chest. And when he was about to give up, a familiar rustling rang through his speaker. 

“Hello?”

Steve took a second to breathe and then he said your name - steady but careful. 

“Mr Rogers,” you sounded surprised, and Steve tried to suppress the sting in his heart at the sound of his last name. You had called him Steve just last night. Why’d you stop?

“Yes... I heard you’re sick. Do you need anything?” He cringed the second he said it. You obviously didn’t want anything from him given that you had fled from his apartment before he even woke up this morning. 

“No, no. I’m good thank you.” There was an awkward tension in the static connecting the two of you. But Steve didn’t understand where it came from. Had you not enjoyed last night. Had he only imagined the affection you gifted him then?

“Well... I hope you are able to come back soon.”

You huffed into the phone. “Uh, yes. Okay.”

“Alright, then. I’ll see you.”

“I’ll see you.”

And then the line went dead. And Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that you had sounded a lot colder than before...

❁ ❁ ❁

Steve had taken the next day off. His mind was too occupied to work, anyway. He had caught himself glimpsing at his video feed several times that day, even though he knew you weren’t going to show. He guessed, somehow that you would appear anyway. It didn’t happen of course.

So today, Steve had to learn to do nothing. That included not thinking of you as well. Because as much as the thought of you distracted him from work, not working wasn’t exactly the best move to get rid of his thoughts. 

First, he had tried to stay in bed until 6. That was hard enough. Then, he worked out a bit, read an article, made a smoothie - okay he ordered one - and then he sat on his sofa watching as the clock above his fireplace ticked to 7 a.m. 

It was ridiculous. If every hour would pass this slowly, he’d go insane.

His fingers taped on his thigh as he watched the seconds hand tick. He had to do something, anything. 

The moment this thought passed his mind, he heard the elevator door ‘ding’ at his level. And before he could even turn around, your bag hit the ground with a loud thud. 

Steve stood up straighter, adjusting a tie he was not wearing, but the motion had become a habit. He was excited you’d shown up - visibly well and healthy that was. 

You stared at him for a solid minute and neither of you said a word. Your stare was unintelligible to Steve. He had to admit, that he didn’t know you well enough to read into your silent conversation yet, but he wanted to - he wanted to so badly. 

His hands moved to clasp in front of him and then he cleared his throat, but as he was about to say something, you moved past him, straight to the supply closet, and then disappeared into his guest bedroom. 

He followed you before he could tell his feet to stop, halting in the doorway of the room and watching as you dusted off the tall shelves above the sideboard. 

“What are you doing?” His voice was higher than he anticipated. 

“I’m working,” you answered bluntly, moving to the next object to dust off. 

“Why?” Steve had promised to provide for you just the other night. And, yes, while he might have been hazy from the incredible pleasure you had created, he had meant every word.

You suddenly turned to him with an angry stare. “I’m working because, unlike other people, I can’t just do whatever I want and not deal with the consequences,” you spat and then turned around again. The dusting motion turned a little more aggressive and Steve felt a cold shiver run down his back. Feisty.

Though, Steve couldn’t quite place your anger. Had he said something to offend you? How did the other night play into any consequences and why the hell were you working still? You’d said it yourself, you wanted to be his. And that was all he ever wanted. It just didn’t make sense.

Steve didn’t move. He just stood there like an idiot and watched you work your anger away on the poor dusty decorations of his home. You obviously didn't want to talk to him and he had no idea what to say to you. So he just watched... and watched until at least ten minutes had gone by. 

You were at a completely different corner of the room by now, trying to grab a book to dust off, but couldn’t quite reach. Steve had been standing in the doorway this whole time so he just assumed he was blocking your way to a ladder. But he took it as an opportunity instead. 

In three Long strides, he had walked up to you, reached for the item you stretched toward, and handed it to you. And for a second there, he could see those doe eyes return to your face, staring up at him.

Maybe he had misread the situation after all because your gaze drew him in again. He slowly closed his eyes before he could reach your lips, excitement rising in his veins when he thought back to the feeling of your lips on his–

*smack*

His eyes shot open when your hand collided with his cheek, a fire flickering in your eyes that made him take a step back, holding his heated skin. 

“You don’t have to mock me, okay?! I know it’s embarrassing and it’s stupid what we did, so please don’t make this more difficult.”

“What?” Steve was baffled, hurt. 

It was stupid what we did. Your words echoed in his mind until your voice penetrated the mantra. 

“Just leave me alone. Don’t you have work to do?”

He shook his head with an aching heart. You really had no idea. You thought he had used you, made you a bed bunny like Tony or Bucky would - he’d never do that. “I called in sick. I was so... forget it.”

You resumed cleaning and Steve just stood in your way watching. His chest stung with every second he spent with his eyes glued to you, knowing what you thought of him. He couldn’t stand it. He never wanted to make you uncomfortable, much less convey he’d only use you. 

“Can I ask you a question?” You ignored him, but he could see your movements stagger for a second. “Do you really regret what we did?”

Then you paused, your eyes trained to the surface in front of you. When you finally looked at him, Steve could see the tears shimmering in them. 

“No,” you whispered softly, Steve had almost missed it had his heart not skipped a beat. 

He instinctively stepped closer to you again, though cautious not to scare you away. He’d come this far and didn’t want to mess it all up again. “Then why are you ignoring me?”

“I'm not ignoring you.” It shot out of you like a bullet. You sighed, took another breath, and set the duster down. “We don’t know each other. We live in completely different worlds. There is not one scenario in which we could exist together as anything more than... this. I know that now.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re you and I’m just the maid.” You gestured to Steve and then yourself and Steve hated the way you degraded yourself just because he had a couple dollars more in his bank account. It wasn’t right. 

He shook his head, his hand reaching out to you but dropping just before he could actually touch you, curbing into a soft fist instead. “And what if I told you that you are much more to me than that?” Now he finally dared to lay his hand on your cheek, tilting your head so he could come closer to you and still stare into your eyes. “I like you. And the night– ever since you came into my life, my days seem just so much less dull.” 

He smiled with shiny eyes, afraid your silence would last forever. “Please say something, Bambi.”

“You like me?” There was awe and disbelief in your voice and Steve wanted to kiss it away until every last doubt was erased from your mind. Whoever had made you this insecure about affection would eat his fist. 

Steve bit his lip to hide the chuckle threatening to spill. “I do.”

He slowly got lost in your eyes again. Those beautiful innocent orbs looked at him like he was a different type of special. He loved it so much. 

His gaze dropped to your lips, slightly parted and full, and then back up. And before he could lose himself in them again, your hands latched onto his collar and pulled him down toward you. 

The kiss was all tongue and teeth, need and desperation melting into sighs and tingles - he could feed off of it forever. His hands roamed your body and pressed you deeper into his. Your arms reached around his neck as your noses bumped against each other in eager anticipation. 

Nothing ever felt this right. Steve couldn’t possibly believe you’d doubted the chemistry for a second. Not when it felt like that. But he wouldn’t need to think back on it anymore now... now that he finally had you.

I couldn't decide which GIF to use, so here are some extras!

If you’ve read this far, I would be so happy to receive a comment or reblog. It helps writers reach more people in the community and also improve themselves. So, if you have the time, please consider giving me some feedback :) until next time ~Meg 💞

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[cheeseceli]

When you don't use their card

Pairing: Ot8!skz × Gn!Reader (individually)

Genre: fluff, reaction

Request: Wondering if you could do stray kids giving you their card when you go out shopping, but you don’t use it and they see you haven’t and what they do 💗🖤

Warnings: not proofread; nothing more if I'm not mistaken

A/n: this layout is so pretty, admire it with me for a second pls

Bang Chan

Y'know when he goes 🤨? That's him right now. Genuinely doesn't understand why you wouldn't use it. Like, the card was right there... Next to you... And you chose to not use it? If you explain that you just didn't want to use his money because you didn't feel comfortable, he'll explain to you that he doesn't mind in the slightes if you spent it. Actually, he'd be kind of honoured if you did. When he convinces you, he is smiling all adorable and content fr

Lee Know

When he didn't receive any notification from the bank he thought you had actually lost his card lmao. The minute this thought pops in his head he's calling you asking about the whereabouts of his card. When you tell him that you just didn't want to spend his money, he'll manage to convince you to use his card through the phone. He has a proud grin when he receives the first notification from the bank.

Changbin

He'd be kinda sad ngl. When he offered you his card and you took it he was feeling so proud of himself 😭 like "oh I'm such a good boyfriend :D". So when you don't use it he pouts for a second or two. Spend his money and he'll get happy again real quick!!

Hyunjin

Got a little :( tbh. But he doesn't address about it nor have a really dramatic reaction at first. Some days later he will spoil you with a lot of gifts, things he thinks you could've bought with his card. Half of it is just to make you happy and half of it because he wants to make you feel valued through his acts.

Han

Oh he's betrayed. How could take his card like you were going to use it but then you don't?? Stabbing him would've hurt less (he'd be so dramatic lol). Would try to go shopping with you next time just so he can make sure he'll be the one paying

Felix

When he didn't receive any notifications of the bank he thought that you just didn't buy anything. Perhaps nothing satisfied you so you didn't even buy it. But when you come back home with your shopping bags he's so ??? Like "how did you buy those things🤨". Audibly gasps when you tell him you used your own money. Betrayed pt2.

Seungmin

Gives you a glare that makes you freeze when he finds out. Next time you go shopping he offers you his card again, making sure he's glaring at you again like there's a threat in his eyes - "you better use this card this time." When you actually do he switches up completely and gives you the sweetest smile ever lol. It would be kinda cute ngl

I.N

I think that at first he wouldn't have noticed that you didn't buy your things with his money. But then you go shopping again and his bills stay the same... I think he'd catch up at the second or third time. Accuses you of letting him be delusional all this time believing he was the one paying for you😔 jokes aside he'd let you know that it's okay if you don't feel comfortable spending his money, but it's his pleasure to spoil like this and that if you don't mind him paying, you shouldn't hesitate on actually using his card

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[gojonanami]

I WANNA SHOW YOU OFF - SATORU GOJO

✴︎ summary: aka sugar daddy! gojo. when you accompany your friends to a bar rich men and women frequent, you catch the eye of a certain white-haired rich man, who is more than willing to spoil you -- in more than one way. ✴︎ contents: 18+, a lot of smut, fluffy, sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, virgin!reader, fingering (f!receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), but w/ feelings, semi-public sex, sex in a changing room, lingerie, nipple play, first time sex ✴︎ wc: 9,065

This had to be the dumbest idea you had let yourself be convinced to do. 

You sat in a bar, nursing a soda instead of a drink (because it was all you could afford), and you glanced at your group of friends who had all split off to chat up a different man. And meanwhile, there you were, at the bar alone. 

Your friends had seen a video or article online with a list of places that rich men tended to frequent, and after another dinner of instant ramen and looking at your dwindling bank account, you let yourself be dragged along to this bar.

You were surprised how easy it was for you all to be let in, but you supposed young clientele also helped to attract the rich ones the bar was really after. It was the perfect place to find a sugar daddy, or mommy. In your case, you were hoping to just find someone who would pay your bills month to month and possibly your tuition. But now you were just hoping someone would talk to you, much less anything else. 

You had sat here for about twenty minutes, and not a single person had approached you — you had felt a few men and women alike eye you, but none had spoken even a word to you. Heat crept up your cheeks and insecurities bit at your nerves as you stirred your drink absentmindedly — you were such an idiot— you should have just stayed in today, snuggled up in bed and watched Netflix—

“Mind if I sit here?” And your gaze snaps from your flat soda, ocean blue eyes stopping your breath in its tracks, his lips curled in all too tempting smile, and his snowy locks just tousled enough to look natural. 

“Not at all,” you manage to say, surely you were gonna catch flies if you didn’t pick up your jaw off the floor. He was gorgeous — as he slid into the stool beside you, his baby blue button up showed off his toned physique, his sleeves rolled up, as he looked over the menu. 

“Can I order you a drink?” a smile on his lips as he offered you the menu — non-presumptuous and didn’t order your drink for you — was he even real? 

“Just another soda, I don’t drink often, and I’m the designated driver for tonight,” though, as you glanced at your groupchat, you didn’t think many of your friends would be making it back tonight, at least not with you. 

“A woman after my own heart— two sodas please,” he ordered, “I’m not a huge fan of alcohol either. I prefer things that are sweet,” and his gaze slides over your body, “are you?” 

And you flush, trying to look nonchalant as your drinks arrive, “Take a guess,” and he hums, as he takes a careful sip of his drink, eyeing you. 

“Oh sweetheart, I don’t guess — I intend to know,” your eyes snap to his, playful mirth in his eyes, “and if you have a price, I’m more than willing to pay it,” he places his platinum credit card on the bar, sliding it to the bartender, “start a tab for me and the beauty right here,” he flashed a wink at you. 

Even though this is exactly what you had come “You don’t have to—“ 

“But I want to,” he leans forward, his lengthy fingers brushing against your hand, giving you ample time to withdraw, but you don’t, your fingers intertwining with his, his thumb rubbing against your knuckles, “you deserve to be taken care of, sweetheart,” 

You bite your lip, “and how do you know that? You don’t know me,” 

And he tilts his head, a wry grin on his face, “I know enough, baby, and I know that I want to be the one to take care of you,” he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing it against your palm, “now what do you say? I’m sure we can reach an agreement that you’d enjoy,” and his other hand brushes your thigh lightly, “and that I’d enjoy as well,” 

Your lips part as you stare at him — he could have anyone he wanted, that much was clear — the wealth, the affluence, not to mention his charm and looks — but he wanted you. 

And who were you to say no? 

He dropped you home that night, having his driver fetch your car for you after. You both sat in the back of his town car, his hand resting on your thigh, as he spoke to you, his breath warming your skin, as he leaned against you. He didn’t ask to come in or to take you to his place, instead he helped you out of his car, walking you to your apartment’s doorstep. His fingers resch inside his coat pocket, and handed you his business card, his personal number scrawled on the back. 

His fingers ghost over your jaw, as he tilts your chin up, the low buzz of the overhead light drowned out by your heart thumping against your ribcage, “Call me, ok?” And you nod wordlessly, breath hitching as he drew close. 

“Good girl,” he smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, “I’ll talk to you soon,” he winks, before heading back to his car, “you won’t regret it.” 

But here you sat, staring at his business card the next morning, the only proof that what happened wasn’t a dream, as you lie awake, staring at the number typed into your phone. 

Satoru Gojo. 

How do you do this? Hey it’s the person you hit on at a bar and propositioned to be a sugar baby? 

But you couldn’t get him out of your head — it wasn’t just the money, he was…smooth. 

Fuck it. 

You go to text him, but fate is cruel, and you hit the call button by mistake. You end the call quickly, and contemplate throwing your phone out the window, when your phone starts flashing with the exact number you had called. 

Double fuck. 

You panicked, as it rang, then taking a breath and picking the call up, “Hello?” 

“Gotta hand it to you, sweetheart, didn’t think you’d be so bold to call me,” Satoru is chuckling over the line, the sounds of the road in the background, and it was clear he was driving somewhere, “but it’s a pleasant surprise,” 

“Is it?” you ask, and he hums, a noise that sends heat across your cheeks. 

“Very,” he cuts to the chase, cutting over any of the silence that could linger, “could we have dinner tonight?” 

“Tonight?” 

“I don’t like to waste time when it comes to things I want,” and you’re glad he can’t see you — your knuckles pressed against your lips, “are you free?” 

“I am,” you say slowly, “but I wanted to ask, after dinner what would the expectations be?” You had no idea how any of this worked, what the arrangement would be, or how it would be handled. 

“There are no expectations except for your time,” he says, “we can take this at your pace, your rules, your limits - we are getting to know each other, and we both happen to want more, I’d be more than happy to make that happen,” and his words nearly make you shiver, “does that sound good, princess?” 

“Perfect,” you murmur, and he chuckles, “what time—” 

“7:00 PM — I’ll send a car for you. I have your address noted, and I have a little dress picked out for you if you’re comfortable with that?” 

You hold your burning cheeks, “Sounds too good to be true,” 

And he hums, “Well, perfect,” he echoes you, “because that’s what we both are.” 

The car is prompt when picking you up, and your roommates help you get ready — thoroughly jealous when they see a selfie the two of you had taken that night. And then the doorbell rings, and the three of you are rushing towards the door. 

“Tell us everything don’t miss a detail,” your roommates yell-whisper, “hot, charming, and so rich? I hate you,” 

And you shush them opening the door, as Satoru stands in a blue button up, simple slacks, and a grin that made your knees nearly buckle, “Well I am rich, she ain’t lying,” he offers you a bouquet of flowers — your favorites, all arranged perfectly, “and I’d like to think I’m the others as well,” 

“Satoru, they’re beautiful,” you inhale their scent, before you furrow your brow, “how did you know—“ 

“Lucky guess,” he smiled, fingers finding your own, “I guess we have the same taste in flowers, beautiful — great minds,” and he plucks the flowers and hands it to your roommates, “please take care of these, and I’ll be sure to take care of your gorgeous friend,” 

And he’s whisking you into the car, opening the door for you, as he slides in beside you, his arm sliding behind you, “do you mind?” 

And your heart squeezes, he’s so close, you could smell his cologne — a musky, amber smell mixed with his own scent — his strong arm brushing against your back, and as you peered up at him, a smile on his parted lips, as he stared at you with his cerulean gaze. 

“Not at all.” 

God, you were in trouble. 

“How’d you like this to work, sweetheart?” And you nearly choke on your drink at his blunt question, dinner now finished, as the two of you wait for dessert, his lips curled in his perfect smile as always, “I just want us to have an understanding, so I don’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” 

You shake your head, “No, you’re right,” dinner had gone on fine — the restaurant he picked was impeccable, the prices must have been astronomical (not a single price on the menu itself), and the atmosphere of the corner booth gave the perfect illusion of privacy, “we should talk about it,” 

The financial aspect is simple enough — he offers a stipend that was more money than you could fathom and even consider accepting — but after discussion, you settle on him paying for your tuition and other educational needs as well as a monthly stipend. 

“But this doesn’t include anything I choose to treat you to,” he smiles, fingers toying with the hem of the dress, making you almost shiver under his touch, “like this dress or this dinner,” 

“Fine,” you smile, gaze still shying away, “there’s still the matter of what I do for you,” you bite your lip, swirling your drink in its glass, “I’ve never done this before,” you admit, tucking a stray strand behind your ear, and he tilts his head. 

“Nooo, I would have mistaken you for a pro,” he teases, and your cheeks flush, as you sip your drink, mostly for bravery  — that was true, you had never done the sugar daddy thing — but that wasn’t what you meant. 

“I mean that too, I’ve never had this sort of arrangement, but,” you toy with the napkin spread across your lap, “I’ve also never…been with anyone before,” 

And he pauses mid-sip of whatever fruity drink he had ordered — more juice than alcohol (he didn’t prefer the taste of liquor), “At all?” 

You flush, swallowing thickly, as your eyes looked down at your lap, “I’ve been on dates, but never beyond hand holding — I’ve never let it get beyond that,” you never had much an interest, and the people you were interested in had never truly reciprocated— until, you glance at Satoru, now. 

He sets his glass down, his lips curled, “but with us — you think there’s a chance that—“ and you squirm under his gaze, “of well—“ 

And his gaze softens, “You never have to feel obligated to do that — no matter what we agree on for what I can do to help accommodate you, I don’t want you to feel like I’m paying a price for your body,” before he adds with a cheeky smile, “unless that turns you on,” 

You huff a laugh out, chewing on your lip, “I appreciate that, but,” you finish the rest of your drink, before sliding closer in the booth, your thigh pressing against his, “I want to know what it’s like,” and you lean forward, all too close, but he dares even closer. 

His fingers find your jaw, tilting your gaze up, “And you’re sure, Princess?” his breath warms your lips, and you can smell the sweet smell of his drink on his, “there’s no rush,” 

“Who said anything about rushing?” you murmur, and you don’t know if it's the intoxication from the alcohol or from Satoru Gojo himself, but your lips graze his first, barely even. Your lips parted as you brushed your lips for a moment, before sliding away a centimeter, “Satoru—”

But his lips find yours again, fingers cupping your cheek gently, thumb gliding along the soft slope of your cheekbone, “You’re right, you’re not something to be rushed,” he murmurs, words as smooth as velvet, “you’re something to be savored,” and his lips slide against yours, swallowing your gasp as he deepens the kiss with the tilt of your heads, before he’s pulling away, allowing you a moment, “does that mean I’m your first kiss?” 

And you nod, with kiss ruined lips parted and chest rising and falling, eyes half lidded with pleasure and excitement — all of which makes him want to kiss you breathless, kiss you silly until you have no thoughts but of him, “I’m sure I’m not yours,” you tease, a small smile on your lips, but a slight anxiety about your inexperience lingering in your words. 

He only chuckles, wrapping his arm around you to draw you closer, one hand cupping your jaw and the other sliding through your locks, “But you’re the only one that matters, sweetheart,” and he’s kissing you again, and your lips begin to learn the dance he was teaching you, as he steals your breath and sense in one fell swoop. And when his tongue asks for entrance, he swallows your gasp with a smile, as you part your lips for him. And you swear you almost hear him murmur, “good girl,” between fevered kisses and touches.

Now, his body leaning into you, pressing you against the plush leather of the booth, his hand rested on your thigh now, toying with the hem of the very same dress he had bought you, “Satoru,” you sigh, as your lips finally part a moment, foreheads resting against each other. His eyes take you in, kiss bitten red lips, your cheeks flushed. 

His lips kiss your cheeks, and then your forehead, “I think I should take you home,” his thumb rubs against your lips, pulling at the bottom one.

“What about dessert?” and he shakes his head. 

“There’s only one dessert I’m craving at the moment,” he murmurs, crystal eyes lidded with lust, as he cups your cheek, “and I wouldn’t be keeping my promise if I indulged, now would i?” 

“And if I offered…dessert?” and he makes a noise — a cross between a hiss and a sigh, before shaking his head. 

“I want to do this right,” he murmurs, “I know this isn’t a relationship, but it’s like one — and I want you to enjoy it, and if we rush into things, you may end up getting hurt, and not in the enjoyable way,” he pinches the soft flesh of your thigh teasingly, “let’s get you home, princess, and we can plan our next outing, and our next step,” 

And you rise, as he helps you out of the booth, as the waiter comes over, “Have you changed your mind about dessert?”

Satoru hands him his card, paying off the tab without even a glance at the receipt, “Yes, I had something far more sweeter and satisfying,” he winks at you, as he pockets his card again. He escorts you to the car, hand resting on the small of your back, his side pressed to yours, as if he was afraid you’d slip away any moment. 

The car ride home was spent with quiet conversation and stolen kisses, your hand slid up his thigh to tease him, as his lips slide over a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, both of you moaning lowly, as he stares at you with lidded eyes, “You sure you’ve never done this before?” 

“Promise,” you flush, a rush of pride settling into heat as you saw the way he looked at you, before your lips find his again, “but you make me never want to stop,” and he growls lowly, leaning forward his hand snaking around your waist to nearly pin you down on the seat. 

“Say more words like that and I may lose the hint of self control I have,” he groans, and he’s kissing you again, his tongue slipping into your mouth again, as you slide your hand into his hair, finding smoothness underneath his white locks — an undercut, fuck. 

“Maybe I want you to,” you murmur, and he pulls back to look at you with his crystal gaze, dark pools of lust that made you shiver, his fingers digging into your waist. 

“Don’t tempt me,” and he’s about to kiss you again, when the driver clears his throat, and the two of you glance out the tinted window and realize you have arrived back home. And the fact of the matter was the car hadn’t been moving for quite some time. 

You bite your lip, “Do you want to—” 

And he kisses you softly, his fingers tracing over your jaw, “I want to, but we should take this slow,” he presses another kiss to your cheek that only serves to make me pout, “it will be worth it,” and he leans in to kiss your other cheek, but you turn your head to meet his lips in another kiss, making his breath catch, as you pull away with a smirk. His lips parted, as his gaze darkens, “such a tease, princess — I was thinking you were an angel that I was corrupting, but maybe you’re the one doing the corrupting.” 

“As I should be,” you grin, before pulling open the door, moving to slide out of the car, “call me?” 

“If I don’t, I can always count on you calling me first,” he teases with a wink, “I’ll call tomorrow, dream of me, ok?” 

“And if I don’t?” and he laughs, leaning forward with that smile that always made your heart stammer in your chest. 

“Oh, you will.” 

“Satoru,” you whined, “can we—” 

“So impatient,” Satoru chides, chuckle rumbling from his chest, voice deliciously raspy from the makeout session they had just had, “forgot how needy you are, baby,” 

And how could you not be? Splayed across his lap, your back pressed to his chest, thighs spread across his now very damp slacks, your dress riding up on either side as his hands slid up your bare legs, his touch teasing enough to have you on edge, your panties growing more drenched by the moment. 

“I need—” 

“You don’t know what you need,” Satoru murmurs, as his fingers brush your hair aside, “do ya, baby? You just want—” and his fingers finally tease your inner thigh, “more, don’t you? Such a greedy little princess,” 

“Only for you,” and that makes him groan in your ear, his lips pressing a kiss behind it, before sucking at your earlobe, “please, Satoru,”

“We have a shopping trip planned, baby, gotta get you some new clothes for our little vacation, don’t we?” He hums, his fingers toying with the edge of your panties, “especially since you keep ruining all of yours,” 

“You’re the one ruining them, baby,” you pout, your lips pressing wet kisses along his jaw, “I know we promised to take it slow, but please, I’ve been so good— don’t I deserve a little reward?” 

He hums, two fingers pulling and snapping the elastic of your panties against your skin, “Let’s go shopping and I’ll see about your reward, Princess,” and your lips purse, as he chuckles, lips pressing against yours, “don’t worry it will be worth the wait.” 

And it was. 

That was how you ended up in this particular predicament, pressed against a changing room wall, the black dress he had insisted on you trying on for him, hiked up around your waist, as his thumb pressed against your puffy clit. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it, pretty baby?” Satoru coos, his finger beginning to press against the growing wet patch on your panties, “wanted to reward you, and you look so pretty and perfect in this dress, how can I resist?” 

And a whine leaves your throat, and he tuts, “Not so loud, don’t want the other shoppers to hear what we’re doing,” and his fingers finally pull aside the crotch of your soaked underwear, “you’re so fuckin’ wet, baby, you sure this pussy is a virgin?” 

“Satoru, please,” and he pulls your lips into a sloppy kiss, all tongue and teeth, right as his finger finally sinks into your needy cunt. He swallows your moans eagerly, as his thick finger curls against your gummy walls, reaching places you were never able to by yourself. 

“So fuckin’ tight, sweetheart, gonna break my finger, how would I fit my cock in this tight cunt?” And he drags his bulge against your ass, making you gasp at the size of it, “Gonna have to stretch it out, make you nice and loose for me,” 

“Fuck,” you whisper, and he’s grinning as his lips press sweet kisses against your neck, his finger pumping in and out slowly, your slick squelching as he does, finger brushing against that spot that has your knees nearly buckling, “Satoru, I—“ 

“Already gonna cum, baby?” he’s humming, while your lips try and fail to pout, mouth falling open in a silent moan as your walls flutter around his finger, as he fucks you through your orgasm.

But he’s not stopping, as your hand reaches for him, he’s caught you by the wrist, a second finger sinking into your dripping cunt now, “not done with you yet, pretty baby, I know you got more left for me,” he’s scissoring and stretching your walls - curling his fingers just right so he hits that special spot of yours. And it isn’t long until you’re cumming again, his hand covering your mouth, muffling your moan as you ride his fingers. 

“Satoru, please,” you’re nearly crying from the overstimulation, but you’re refusing to use your safe word, as he guides you and him to the seat in the fitting room, sitting on his lap right across from the mirror. 

“Look at you, all fucked out and pretty for me,” his fingers under your chin forces you to look at yourself —- your cunt dripping and spread open, his fingers plunged inside you still, your slick dripping down his hand, “so perfect for me,” he murmurs, “think you have one more for me?” 

His fingers move slowly, parting your walls, making you gasp, “Too sensitive,” you whine, but he’s sliding your lips against yours again, as his fingers begin to push into you, “Satoru,” 

“C’mon baby, this is your reward,” he’s grinning against your lips, “just relax and enjoy it,” 

And you don’t know how many more times he makes you cum. By the end, the dress you’re wearing was ruined, damp from the cum dripping down your thighs, “Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it,” he’s cleaning you up, before sliding your underwear back into place, “now let’s find some other clothes for you, baby — need to get you out of this dress now, don’t we?” 

“Do you want to stay over?” Satoru murmurs, his lips pressed to your neck, making you pause, “I’d stay over at your place, but with your roommates we’ll have an audience,” and he adds, “unless you’re into that,” 

And you roll your eyes, before smiling, “what would staying over entail?” 

“Anything you’d want it to,” he’s kissing your cheek, and then your jaw, and then your lips,“I just want to wake up with you — maybe make breakfast together, maybe a little more if you want to,” 

“That sounds perfect,” and you knew just what you wanted for breakfast. 

“Princess,” he hissed, his ocean blue eyes half lidded as he stared at you between his thighs, “this isn’t what I meant when I said I’d make you breakfast,” 

And you pressed a kiss to his weeping tip — you never expected a cock to be so pretty — but why wouldn’t it be on Satoru Gojo? If a higher being existed, it gave with both hands when it came to him — the tip was flushed red, every vein and curve was perfect, and it was so long. 

“Well this was exactly what I had in mind,” you grinned, your tongue flicked against his slit, collecting the pearl of precum resting there, “couldn’t wait to taste you, Toru — if I couldn’t have you fuck my cunt, I might as well have you fuck my mouth,” 

He swallows thickly at your words, adam’s apple bobbing, crystalline pools clouded with lust, “Careful what you wish for, Princess,” 

“I’m always careful,” you suckle at the swollen tip of his cock sloppily, drawing a moan from his lips. It was clear you were inexperienced — your lips and tongue were clumsy, your fingers grasping at his base were unsure, but the heat in your eyes only made all of your inexperience all the more arousing, “tell me what to do,” 

And Satoru swallows thickly, eyes fluttering down at you, as his lips slowly curl, “start by sucking at the tip, slowly at first,” and you do just as he says, all too eager, making him liable to cum on the spot, “now trace the slit at the tip with your tong—” and he grunts as you’re already doing as he says before his sentence is done, “good girl,” and the praise sends a wave of heat through your body, your needy cunt growing wetter by the second.

“Now, want you to slide my cock into your mouth, mind your teeth,” he warns, “no rewards for bad girls who bite my dick — that’s a lesson for a different day,” he adds with a wink, making you hum around his cock, making it twitch, as you take more of his length, slowly sliding it further into your warm mouth. 

He’s grunting, holding himself back from fucking your mouth then and there — there would be time for that, but right now, he needed to teach you right. 

He was a teacher — first and foremost. 

“Just like that, pretty,” he’s moaning, his fingers gently gripping your head, guiding your mouth up and down his cock, “that’s it — fuuuuck—” and he’s hissing when your fingers toy with his balls, as your tongue traces over his veins, forcing every muscle in his thighs from having you deep throat his cock then and there, “now can you—” 

And you suck at his cock, lips wrapped around, as you stare up at him, eyes lidded with lust, thighs pressed together, as you slurped at his cock, your tongue flicking at his slit, “baby, you sure you’ve never done this before?” and his hips begin to stutter against you, making you gasp around his length, “so fucking perfect for me, baby — know what I like without even trying,” 

And how is he this fucking close already? Is he the virgin or are you? His hips roll into your mouth shallowly, your fingers finding what couldn’t fit in your mouth and stroking it, all while his fingers grasp at the mussed sheets below him, “fuck, sweetheart, ‘m s’close,” and you’re only re-doubling your efforts, cheeks hollowing around him, “you don’t have to—“ but you suck at the tip, tongue laving at his length, and he’s spurting his load down your throat. 

His head falls back, as his hips stutter into your mouth, fingers tugging at your hair, drawing a moan from your lips. And his half lidded eyes falling to your lips around his cock, his cum slipping down the corner of your mouth as you continue to swallow.

“Fuck, baby,” he’s panting, hissing at the sight of you as you pull your lips away from his length, strings of his cum and your spit connecting your mouth to his cock, “such a good fucking girl,” he says, nearly a growl, “my good fucking girl,” 

You’re smiling up at him, watery eyes, as your tongue darts out to clean up his release from your mouth, making his breath catch, “You taste so good, Toru,” and god, you’re so cute — he wanted to spoil you, buy you the whole world and more, and he catches your thighs rubbing together — but first— 

And he’s manhandling you, fingers sinking into your thighs and he’s flipping you onto your back, his chest still heaving, sweat glistening on his forehead, and a grin on his lips. 

“My turn,” he murmurs, sliding his lips against yours, tongue tasting his release on your mouth, before kissing down your body, before he’s settling between your thighs. 

—he was going to have his breakfast. 

The semester wore on and Satoru became more and more busy with work. His messages became few and far between, and your time together dwindled to nothing. Although he still sent the stipend each month, you found your thoughts wandering to him far too often — daydreams between paragraphs of reading and review for an exam that you didn’t particularly care about. 

This should be the dream right? Money for essentially no effort. You had long forsaken the days of ramen noodle dinners and scraping by on your loans — you should be happy. You could go where you wanted, do what you wanted — but why was the only place you wanted to be was with Satoru? You pulled out your phone, refreshing the notifications over and over as if it would change the outcome — but it didn’t — still no new messages from him. 

Was he really busy with work? Anxiety begins to creep into your mind — or was he busy with someone else? Had he been hanging onto you on the back burner — waiting for someone better to come along? You open Satoru’s text chain — the last message sent was your own — and you chew on your bottom lip. 

Were you about to break your own rule about double texting? 

You type — Hey, just wanted to check on you. Been thinking about you a lot. 

You delete it. Is this desperate? What if he thinks you’re desperate? You’re running your hand over your face, pressing your knuckles against your lips.  

Fuck it. You type the same message and send it. 

Oh, it’s worse. Texting and having to wait for a response is worse — and now you simultaneously want to constantly check your phone and also chuck it in a lake. You lay back on your bed, turning and burying your face in your pillow. 

What the fuck were you doing? 

Several hours pass, and you place your phone in the kitchen, as you sit in your room, trying to focus on studying for your exams, instead of thinking about whether Satoru texted you back or not. You finally allow yourself a break at dinner time, and wander out, spotting a few texts from Satoru. Your heart squeezes as you pick up your phone and check. 

Hey baby, is that your way of saying you miss me? 

Because I miss you too. 

When’s your last exam? 

You bite back a smile — it’s on this Friday — I’ll be done at 6:00 PM. 

He types, and then stops, then types again, and then stops. Then he sends a simple “ok.” 

And you don’t hear from him again, which only makes the rest of the week a delight to get through. You’re sure you scraped by on your exams — Friday didn’t come soon enough, but it had arrived. You stretch as you leave the exam hall — bundled up in your jacket, as you make your way back to your apartment. But only, you're not the only one outside the building. 

Satoru stands, leaning against the side of the car, eyes on his phone as he stands in a long deep gray winter coat, a cream sweater underneath, looking utterly too perfect. He glances up, cerulean blue eyes finding yours, lips curling in a smile that you hoped was only reserved for you. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” and you’re holding yourself back from running, quickly walking over, and he’s closing the gap as well, pulling you into his arms, his arms sliding over your jacket — “is this all you’re wearing? We need to buy you a warmer coat,” 

“Satoru,” you’re shaking your head at his priorities, your fingers sliding over his front before sliding them under his jacket, “what are you doing here?” 

“Well, my project finished up earlier today, so I spent the day preparing a little surprise,” he’s tilting your chin up, leaning down to brush his lips against your jaw, and you shiver — most assuredly not from the cold, “we’re going on a trip,” 

“A trip?” you blink, utterly too distracted by his lips placing wet kisses up and down your jaw, nearing your lips, but always stopping short, “where—” 

“A hot spring — I thought we could use some rest and relaxation,” his lips hover right over your own, his thumb dragging down your bottom lip, “and some privacy — I reserved us a private hot spring,” and his palms slide down to your hips and squeeze, “just you and me,” 

“That sounds amazing — wonder what else you have planned,” your lips lean up and brush against his, making his curl into a smile, and your heart stirs — god, you didn’t care about the money, about the amenities, about the dates — he could have just taken you for a walk and you’d be happy by his side, “I missed you so much, Toru,” 

And he’s kissing you again, his hand sliding back to hold the back of his neck, deepening the kiss before he pulls away. You’re panting as he does, lips kiss bitten red, “I did too, baby, it was so difficult being without you — kept thinking about seeing you. I had to hold myself back from seeing you the minute you texted,” he’s sighing, “but that’s why I thought this weekend would be perfect — spend it just with each other, no distractions,” 

“Toru,” you murmur, “I need to tell you something,” you can’t hold back — you need to tell him, you need him to know, and his lips press into a pout, forehead wrinkled, “I think I have feelings for you — more than what our relationship should have,” your cheeks flush, eyes falling to the ground, and you watch your breath warm the cold air, “I don’t know if you feel the same or if we should stop, but I needed you to know because I—” 

And his finger rests against your lips, eyes nearly shining in the moonlight, “You really mean that, sweetheart?” and you swallow the lump in your throat, before nodding. And he grins, before his lips find yours in a bruising kiss, pulling you impossibly closer, wrapping you in his jacket as he presses himself against you, “I have feelings for you too — I have for a while,”

“You—do?” you manage between kisses and breathes, and you look up at him with wide eyes and parted lips — and you’re so impossibly cute — he has to hold himself back from taking you against his car then and there — “Satoru, please—” 

“I do, I do, sweetheart, you said you’ve never done any of this before, well I’ve never done half of the things I’ve done with you,” he murmurs, a chuckle caught in his words, “do you think I’d plan a trip like this for just anyone? I’ve never even engaged in this sort of relationship before — until I saw you,” 

You pause, mouth agape, “So you’ve never had a different—” 

“You’re my one and only baby,” he teases, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead, “and worth every cent, second, and effort I’ve used,” And you bite back a smile, eyes slightly glassy, “what?” 

“I thought — I don’t know, when I hadn’t heard from you, I thought you had found someone else, that you were going to leave, and it just seems so silly now,” you shake your head, but he’s cupping your chin, meeting your gaze. 

“It is silly, baby,” he’s pressing another kiss to your lips, “because I’d never leave you — and I’m not planning on it, are you?” 

“No! No, of course not,” and he laughs at your eager reply, making your cheeks hot, as he’s burying his face in the side of your neck, “Toru—” 

“At this rate, you’re gonna make me fall for you, princess,” and your fingers card through his hair, grinning as kisses your neck, and you make him look at you — pale skin flushed from the weather or your touch, it could be either. 

“That’s the plan.” 

“Was this part of your plan?” Satoru’s voice is caught, as looks at you — oh and he could look at you forever. 

Your innocent lips painted pink, a perfect accent to the light cerulean lingerie that you had wrapped yourself in. The lace and see through panels left almost nothing to the imagination, but at the same time, hid just enough. You were a present ready to be unwrapped — and you wanted him to do the unwrapping. 

“You tell me,” you chuckle, twirling a strand of your hair between your fingers, letting your legs spread further apart, making him drop the bouquet he was holding, “nothing to say?” 

It had been a few weeks since your trip away and you had been hinting at wanting to finally have your first time with Satoru. But each time, he always ended up fingering you or sucking you off — he was hesitant, he didn’t want you to regret your choice. 

But how to explain that you could never regret him? Well, this was the only way to think of — a hammer instead of a gentle hand. 

And his gaze grows lidded, mouth dry, as he steps forward, “sweetheart—“ 

“You kept saying you wanted our first time to be special, but you don’t get it—“ you reach out and tug him closer by his tie, “my first time will always be special if it’s you,” you kiss his jaw, smiling, and he’s wordless as he stares at you, hesitancy eating away at your confidence “but if you don’t want—“ 

And he’s got you pinned under him, knee pressed between your thighs, his fingers sliding up and down your exposed skin of your sides, his perfect lips curved in a smile, “I guess we’re really not understanding each other, baby,” his lips ghost over the nape of your neck, as he inhaled deeply, before pulling back, his thumb now dragging over your lips, “I want you — badly,” and his fingers tease the fabric of your lingerie, “you don’t know how many times I’ve come close to giving into you, to wanting to just fuck you like I’ve dreamed about, fantasized about — but, I guess I was waiting for a perfect moment that didn’t exist — since every moment with you is special, right?” He teased, making you flush. 

“I want you too, Toru, so bad,” you rub yourself against his knee, “I can’t wait anymore, are you gonna fuck me or—“ 

His knee grinding against you cuts you off with a whine, “don’t tempt me so much, sweetheart, we gotta do this right,” his lips find yours again, all tongue and teeth, as he swallows your noises and more with pleasure, his knee rubbing against you in earnest, “gotta prep you right,” he murmurs reverently. 

His lips trail from your lips to press wet kisses to your jaw, and his fingers part your thigh further — and you let him with ease. And his lips tease the edge of your lingerie, “it’d be a shame to take this off, so maybe I’ll just take you in it,” his mouth closes over your clothed nipple, teasing it through the fabric, making you gasp,  “but then again, I wouldn’t  be able to see your body without any obstructions. Decisions, decisions,” 

And he’s snapping the shoulder strap against your skin, as he pulls his knee away, the dark damp patch on the fabric, “Plesse, Toru, I need more—“ and his lips curl, as his fingers tease your clothed cunt, two fingers dragging right down the slit. The wet fabric barely doing anything to stop the press of his pads against your sensitive folds. 

“So wet for me already, sweetheart? I’m flattered,” he grins, leaning down to inhale, before a soft moan leaves his lips, “your scent is as good as you taste,” making you keen against him at his words — you could never grow used to the sight of him between your thighs, his blue irises fixed on your cunt. 

“Just for you, Toru,” and he bites back a groan, his gaze half lidded with lust, “only for you,” 

He can’t wait anymore. 

He kisses up your body, teasing your bellybutton with his tongue, dragging his mouth up your abdomen until he reaches your lips. And he kisses you again, lips burning against yours, stealing any coherent thought with only a brush of his lips or a stolen touch of your thighs. But now his lips reach the waistband of your lacy panties, giving another broad lick, tasting you through the soaked material, before he’s sliding two fingers inside the elastic tugging it down your legs. 

“As much I love your lingerie — it needs to go,” and he’s sniffing the fabric with a small moan, before pocketing it with a wide grin,  “for now,” 

“Toru, those were expensive—“ 

“I know, my money paid for them,” he winks, making you shiver with a graze of his teeth against your inner thigh, “I’ll buy you as many as you like, as long I’m the only one taking them off,” his warm breath makes your cunt twitch as his fingers part your pussy, stretching out your walls — so fucking tight,  “s’pretty, all for me,” his thumb brushing against your clit, making you whine, “so needy, pretty girl — you need my cock that bad?” He’s thumbing your chin, making you meet his gaze and his cock throbs — you were already so fucked out — chest nearly heaving, your breasts nearly escaping their cups; your lips parted with pants and soft moans; and your eyes fixed on him, lidded and needy — it was enough for him to cum there and then. 

Was he the virgin or were you? 

“I’ll give you my cock, baby,” his tongue finally licks up your cunt, savoring the taste of you on his tongue — sweetest thing he’d ever had — “but I’m going to have your cunt first,” 

You’re a mess — moaning and twitching as your fingers grasp at his snowy locks, white strands between your fingers bury him deeper in your aching warmth, thighs nearly suffocating him — and he wouldn’t want to die any other way, honestly. Fuck, how is he so good at this? Two seconds, and you’re ready to squirt all over his face — the way his tongue drags against your insides and flicks against your clit, before sliding back into your sweet cunt, making your walls twitch around him. 

And he can’t help but grind against his sheets and mattress, surely leaving a stain on his pants — but fuck, he couldn’t help it. All he couldn’t help it — all he wanted to was sink into you, bury himself deep inside, until he made you cum over and over — but he wanted this to be good for you. 

It’s when his lips close around your clit and suck as your fingers sink into you once again and fuck you open when it’s all over for you. You’re moaning unabashedly now, your back arching and your legs trembling as you cum hard, his name on your lips in an almost scream, as he only eats you out through your orgasm, tongue lapping every drop of your release, as you come down from your high. Intense pleasure ebbs away to slight twitches and heavy pants, as you look down at him with fucked out eyes, his face absolutely covered in your glossy release, as his pink tongue darts out to collect the rest, back of his hand taking care of the rest, your cunt convulsing at the sight of him. 

“Know it was good, but didn’t realize it was that good,” and he’s leaning up, sliding off the bed to strip off his jacket before undo the buttons of his shirt’s cuffs, fingers deftly undoing his button-up now, “so perfect for me,” and he’s pulling his phone from his pocket, as he leans down to part your thighs for him, his gaze dark with lust as he snaps a few pictures of your leaking cunt, “such a pretty princess cunt,” and you hear the clink of his belt as he undoes it, your gaze lifting as your eyes raked over his defined abs and muscles, following all the way down to his v-line and below…

Fuck. 

You knew he was big — hell you could barely fit him in your mouth, but how the fuck was he going to fit inside you? And your nerves come back full force, but mixed with an excitement — an excitement and a relief that your first time — your first time would be with someone you loved, would be with someone that the word ‘love’ failed to encompass your feelings for. 

Even when he was a teasing ass. 

“Like what you see, baby?” he’s grinning, as he drags his engorged tip against your fluttering walls, smearing his pre-cum against yours, groaning as he watches it mix, “fuck, been dreaming about this for so long,” as he leans over you to press a kiss to your sweet lips, the lust mixing with love — an entire ocean of love that threatens to drown you if you look for too long, “are you sure?” the words are said with such concern, such care, such gentleness that it almost makes you want to cry — but you don’t know why. 

“I am, always, when it’s you,” and your fingers find his cheek, as you lean up to kiss him, his lips curved in a smile reserved for you. 

“Don’t go getting all soft on me now, sweetheart,” and you laugh. 

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you, old man—” and you gasp as he presses the tip against your entrance, waiting for your go-head to push in — but that doesn't mean he couldn’t make you eat your words. 

“What was that, baby?” it’s his turn to laugh and yours to pout, before you’re pulling him close again. 

“Satoru, please—” and your gazes meet again, and there’s no need for any more discussion. He moves slow, lining himself up, making sure he is lubricated enough to slip into you. 

“If I’m hurting you—-” 

“I’ll scream,” you tease, and he snorts. 

“I’d like to see you screaming for a different reason, but that works too,” and he’s leaning down to capture your lips once more, as he sinks into you slowly. Your lips part in a gasp, your expression twisting with the discomfort you felt, but it wasn’t anything you couldn’t tolerate, and his eyes meet yours, as you give a nod, and inch by inch, he fits himself in you — until he finally bottoms out. 

You both groan, his fingers running through your hair, “So fucking perfect f’me, sweetheart,” and he’s not moving, letting you get used to him filling you up, “I know, it’s so much, isn’t it, baby? But you’re doing so well,” and his lips met yours again, as the slight discomfort ebbs away, all you feel is want, want as his tip finds your cervix, want as you feel your walls meld to his shape, and want when you hear the low groan stuck in his throat, “good girl, my best girl,” 

And you can’t help the desperate whine that parts your throat, “Please, move,” you nod, and that’s all he needs for him to pull back and thrust back in, pulling gasps and moans from your pretty lips. 

“That’s it, baby,” he grunts, as he falls into a rhythm, “fuck, your cunt is practically sucking me back in — getting the feeling you don’t want me to stop, sweetheart,” he’s pressing sweet kisses to your neck, in contrast to the dirty squelch of your cunt and the slapping of your hips with his as he fucked you. 

It felt so good. 

Your fingers find purchase on his neck, fingers dragging through his white locks and undercut, drawing him impossibly closer, as his lips close over one of your nipples, licking and sucking as he thrusted into you. And he’s guiding your legs around his waist, and your legs pull him ever closer — ever deeper — as he groans against you. He presses sloppy wet kisses along your collarbone, his groan vibrating against your skin. 

“Look at that, pretty girl, taking me so well,” he’s grunting, as he looks at where you two meet, watching himself sink into you over and over, “g’nna make you only want this cock — no one else’s — all mine,” and you’re so close — your head buried in the nape of his neck, and he could hear every pant, moan, gasp right as it left your mouth, “such pretty noises — never made these noises for anyone else, have you, baby? Just f’me,” 

And you nod, eyes fluttering shut, “Close, s’close,” pleasure building, like a coil ready to snap, you can’t find the words — “I’m—“ 

“Cum on my cock, Princess,” his fingers press down against your clit, rubbing and that’s it, “let me make you feel good,” 

Your walls clamp down hard his dick twitching in your cunt, a low groan leaving his lips, as he fucked you through your orgasm, and his hips stutter against you, low moans leaving his lips. 

It felt so right. Pleasure washing over you as your toes curled, your eyes nearly rolling back, as you came. And he can’t stand it much longer — 

“Where—“ he groans, your slick cunt too much for him, your cum drenching him, “I’m close—“ 

“Inside, please, I—“ and he gives a shaky chuckle. 

“So greedy, baby — want my cum too?” He kisses you, long and soft as he moaned your name far too loud, his warm, thick load spilling inside you, as he fucked it inside, “look at that, filled you up so good,” as he finally stills inside of you, as he eases out, groaning as he watches your mixed release slip from inside you and trickle down his balls, “s’good, so perfect for me,” 

He grabs a towel to clean you up, gently cleaning your thighs, murmuring sweet nothings. Before he leans down to press a kiss to your reddened lips. 

“Are you okay?” He runs his fingers through your hair, and you nod, as you cup his cheek. 

“I’m perfect,” you sigh, as he curls up beside you, burying his face in the nape of your neck, “and you?” 

“What’s more than ‘perfect?’” And you snort, before he’s leaning over you, “what?” 

“You’re such a dork,” 

“But I’m your dork, your very rich dork, who loves to spoil you,” and you laugh, pulling him close. 

“Just mine,” and he’s kissing you again. 

“Just yours.” 

And you find yourself at that same bar you did many moons ago. 

You nurse a soda, instead of a drink, because you didn’t care for the taste of alcohol. Habits die hard with the company you kept. You felt the gaze of several people on you, but none of them approached — and you didn’t mind one bit. 

“Mind if I sit here?” And you smile, stirring your soda with its straw, not bothering to look up at the sound of this very familiar voice. The same voice that had woken you up with several kisses to your neck this morning. 

“Not at all,” you reply, as you slide over his fruity drink — some concoction that is utterly too sweet — “you’re late,” 

Satoru sighs, swirling his drink in its glass. “Well, the business partners were particularly chatty. I think they knew we had dinner plans,” Satoru sips at his drink, pouting, as you comfort him with a chaste kiss to his cheek, “how’d the job interview go?” 

“I think they might give me the offer,” you smile, but you shrug, leaning against the surprisingly not sticky bar counter,  “I’m not too worried either way,” 

“I told you don’t have to work—“ 

“And I told you I want at least to work part-time to contribute something,” you remind him, as you lean close, fingers lacing with his with a squeeze, “don’t worry we will spend a lot of time together,” and he’s still pouting. 

“That’s not enough,” 

“Plenty?” And he relents, murmuring something about “that’s better,”, “where are we going for dinner anyway?” You raise an eyebrow, “such secrecy tonight,” 

“I have to keep you on your toes, sweetheart, can’t have you losing interest,” he smiles, as his fingers reach into his pocket, and you roll your eyes, unimpressed. 

“Never,” you roll your eyes, as he leans over and presses a kiss to his neck, and he’s finding your lips, fingers brushing your cheek, panting as he parts, “I know you’re trying to avoid the question.” 

And he only offers a grin, before he’s holding a ring before you, “take a guess,” 

You stare at it, blinking, your fingers covering your mouth, “Satoru—“ 

“I told you a long time ago here that I wanted to be the one to take care of you — and now I’m asking to take care of you forever,” and you can’t help but grin, “I’m sure we can reach another agreement — as long as you let me call you my wife,” 

And you’re already pulling him into your arms, lips sliding against his, as he melts into the kiss, “is that a yes?” 

You laugh, offering your hand, “put the ring on me,” and he does, sliding it onto your finger, smiling. 

“You won’t regret it,” and you kiss him again, pressing your forehead to his.  

“I know,” because saying yes to marrying Satoru Gojo was surely the smartest idea you’ve ever had.  

✴︎ a/n: s/o to @laneysmusings for being the best beta reader, and i was truly possessed with the idea of having gojo take care of me and hearing mei mei say that he's "so rich" and he's like " well, she ain't lying." I also didn't listen to agora hills while writing this fic, but i used all the edits of gojo to that song as insp for the title and header lol.

✴︎ taglist: @deegausserr, @satoryaa, @orianakira, @tinnkerbell, @laylasbunbunny, @aztecmoonwarrior, @empresslazingway, @chosoilysm, @idktbhloley, @lorain07, @dreampiies, @nestafarren, @daydreamermarimo, @hydraafk, @theonetheycallbatman, @soccasium, @clearlandchild, @indigoghnights, @cha-raena, @strawberiicreme, @thegreatandpowerfulloreothecat, @jgh15hog, @onlyangeltae, @satocidal, @mrsmoriarty-holmes, @arrloww, @kyyyynziee

[joelscurls]

best kept secret

pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 6.7k

summary: In an attempt to keep your relationship secret, Joel agrees to a blind date set up by his best friend / your father. You don't take it well.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, pre-outbreak, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel is 36), secret relationship, angst, explicit smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, semi-public sex, car sex, creampie, some fluff; lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: so sorry it took me almost a month to post something new ffs - life got busy and my inspiration simultaneously disappeared. but we're back, baby! anyway, dbf!joel owns my ass, so here's my rendition of him. as always, ty to my baby @javisashtray for reading this over for me and helping me through the creative process <3

Joel’s bedroom window offers a perfect view of the sunrise; of shy, pink light creeping over treetops and the roof of your dad’s house across the street.

It’s gorgeous — breathtaking, even — maybe because you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve actually seen the crest of morning. You’re far more privy to late nights and sleeping in as long as you can push it,  never been one to be up with the lark, so to speak.

You don’t mind the early wakeup call, though, not when it’s this: Joel’s head tucked between your thighs, his tongue rolling lazily over your clit, your eyes still adjusting to the light as he spreads you open for him.

He’s humming against you, his coarse beard tickling soft skin, thumbs dug into muscle to hold you in place as your back bows reflexively off the mattress. He looks so sweet like this, so eager to please, staring up at you with blown pupils.

“C’mon baby,” he purrs. “Just gimme one before you go.”

They’re the first words he’s said all morning, the first thought that’s necessitated utterance. His voice is hoarse and deep and drips honey-sweet at your core. 

Even so, despite how badly you want to — because you always want Joel’s mouth on you — you’re not sure you can. 

Because you need to get home before Denise next door leaves for her early shift. Before Susan a few houses down takes her dog out for a walk.

Before the neighborhood wakes and somebody sees you leaving Joel Miller’s house. Or worse, before your dad catches you slipping into the house in yesterday’s clothes, your car in the driveway still cold.

But with another experimental flick of Joel’s tongue, you forget all that, a content little sigh slipping past your parted lips, betraying you.

Just one, you tell yourself, and then you’ll head out.

“Fuck, okay — yeah,” you breathe, twisting your fingers into the roots of his curls.

With your permission, he buries his nose in your mound. Licks at you again — with more purpose, this time. One long, drawn out lap followed by another.  

He’s so gentle with you, so careful, caressing your folds with his tongue like they’re made of paper. It’s a dizzying juxtaposition to the way he laid you down last night and fucked you, teeth scraping your neck and cock bruising your cervix.

You’re still sore, your walls tender where he stretched them, but your pussy is drooling nonetheless, surely making a mess of the bedsheets underneath you.

Because you’re insatiable when it comes to Joel. 

For the past few weeks, since the first time you’d found yourself in his bed, you’ve craved him. Regardless of how sated he’s left you each and every time, you’ve needed more. 

It’s dangerous and stupid and undeniably wrong, having a fling with your dad’s best-friend. But you’re finding it difficult to consider the morality of it all when just his tongue makes you come harder than any other man’s cock ever has. 

That tongue, now dipping into your apex, drawing more slick out of you as his thumb finds your swollen clit — It’s overwhelming how good it feels, how good he is at this.

He’s bringing you to the edge languidly, savoring the taste of you, the feel of your silky flesh. It’s like he doesn’t want this to be over, needs to stretch the moment as far as it’ll go, milk every last second before you slip from his grasp.

But it’s going to end soon; it’s inevitable with the way he’s laving your pussy, the crushed velvet of his tongue gliding through your folds so wet and warm. Your orgasm is building, and you’re powerless to stave it off any longer.

“Joel,” you warn, his name a high-pitched whine. 

“Shh, I know babygirl; it’s okay.” 

Two of his fingers hook at your entrance and push in, pacifying you as his thumb continues working your clit. “I got you. Let go for me, sweetheart.”

The soothe of his voice floods your senses like nitrous; renders your body loose and your head foggy. You come apart with a string of shattered breaths, eyes rolled back and fingers twisted into the duvet.

Joel talks you through it: that’s it, pretty girl; so good for me; always so good for me, and though he sounds so far away, his words are the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

The world comes back into view slowly. Air settles in your lungs. And you can’t help but laugh at how fucked-out you feel when you peer down at Joel, his gaze already locked on you, expectantly.

“Okay?” he asks, rubbing at your inner thigh.

“Yeah,” you exhale, corners of your lips pulling taut. “More than okay.”

He smiles back at you. Props himself up with hands planted either side of you on the mattress and hovers over your feeble form.

“Good,” he whispers, dipping his head down to kiss your forehead, your nose, your mouth. He licks into you, letting you taste yourself on him — a little sweet, a little bitter — and his lips are so soft that you nearly melt. “Did so good, angel.” 

You want nothing more than to spend all day in this bed with him. Return the favor a few times over. Learn what he looks like in the afternoon sun against the backdrop of navy blue sheets. What he tastes like after his coffee rather than before.

“I don’t want to leave,” you admit against his mouth and he frowns, taking one of your hands in his. He presses a kiss to each of your knuckles, one by one, his eyes never straying from yours.

“I don’t want you to either, darlin’. But you can come back tonight, yeah?”

Tonight. Hours away. A whole day between now and then. But it’ll have to do. 

“Tonight,” you repeat. Solidify it. 

You slink home just as the street lights dim.

The house is quiet when you enter, apart from the incessant ticking of the grandmother clock in the living room. It sets off a throbbing in your head, a dull pang right at the front of your skull that you massage with two fingers as you ascend the stairs.

You move cautiously up each step, wincing at every creak of old wood. It must take minutes to reach the second-floor landing, and then you’re tiptoeing past your father’s room, listening for signs of sleep behind the seal of his door. Sure enough, you catch it, a single, drawn-out snore, loud enough that you let your feet fall, shuffling the rest of the way to the bathroom across the hall.

You immediately crank the shower on, climbing in as soon as you see steam. Lathering your skin with citrus-scented body wash, the smell of sex washes off your body and down the drain.

The warm water soothes your sore muscles; bittersweet relief. You stand there until the stream grows icy, stepping out and toweling yourself off just as you hear the familiar blare of your dad’s alarm on the other side of the wall.

By the time you’ve dressed and made your way downstairs, he’s already in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee with his back to you. 

Sink empty, counters borderline sparkling, a coaster tucked under his warm mug — your father is a neat man. He does not take kindly to mess.

God forbid, anybody disrupt the sacred balance of his home; move something and forget to put it back, break something of his that should be kept intact.

“Hey.”

“Hey, kiddo,” he yawns. Turns to face you. “You were up early. Heard the shower going.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you lie.

“Something on your mind?”

Heat blooms across your chest and up your neck. There’s no way he knows — you’ve been far too careful. Still, you’re on edge, and the question lodges itself between your ribs uncomfortably as you frantically search for an answer.

“Uh, n-no,” you stutter. “Just work stuff, I guess.”

He seems to buy it, reaching for the percolator and re-filling his mug with a sigh, “Just gotta give it time. You only just started. Plus, it’s your first job out of school. They don’t expect you to know it all right away.”

It’s good advice, if not misguided. You nod as if you’re absorbing it, taking it straight to heart. As if your mind isn’t preoccupied.

You grab a mug from the cabinet. Fill it with coffee and creamer. Perch yourself at the breakfast table and take a slow, steadying sip.

The caffeine has just about seeped into your bloodstream when-

-there’s a knock at the door.

Your dad shoots you a puzzled look, one which you immediately return. Who could that be, so early on a Wednesday morning?

And when he pushes open the door to reveal none other than Joel, you just about fall out of your chair. Your nails absentmindedly dig into the wood of the table in an attempt to brace yourself.

“Oh, buddy — hey! Come on in,” your dad says, patting him on the back as he steps over the threshold. “Wasn’t expecting you.”

You grasp the handle of your mug like a lifeline. For a fleeting moment, you worry the ceramic will shatter in your hands.

Joel is dressed — blue cotton t-shirt covering his broad back and the deep, red scratches you left there when you dug your nails into skin, your legs hiked over his hips and your face tucked into his chest.

The pair of boxers peeking over the waistband of his jeans are different from the ones you pulled off of him last night, the ones he shimmied back into before you slept cradled in his arms.

He’s a different Joel here, now — your father’s friend, your neighbor — not the man who breaks you down with his tongue or the one who calls you his good girl while you take his entire, throbbing length. 

No, this Joel, standing in your kitchen in the presence of your father, has never betrayed him. Hasn’t tasted his friend’s daughter or felt the tight embrace of her wet, warm cunt around his cock. This Joel is reliable, honest, not one to do harm.

You do not desire this Joel, cannot. You must look at him with apathetic eyes. Must keep the boat of your longing at bay. 

Easier said than done. It’s as if your desire for him is a feral beast, fed by his touch and left starving in its wake. You feel like you’ve just run a marathon, sweat beading at your collar as you not-so-subtly follow the subconscious flex of his hands, the bunching of fabric over his biceps.

His voice bounces off the backsplash, and your fingers tighten around the handle of your mug.

“Yeah, I uh — I went to make myself coffee and realized I was out. Was hopin’ you might have some to spare?”

He can’t be serious. He came over for coffee? He couldn’t get some on the road?

“I’m afraid she took the last of it,” your dad’s eyes point to you, and you ignore the burn of Joel’s gaze when his follow.

“Ahh,” he says. “‘ts okay. I’ll grab some on my way in.” 

His fingers taptaptap on the edge of the countertop, bottom lip tucked between his teeth like there’s something else. Another reason he came here.

And then you spot it — your wallet, dark red leather, poking out the top of Joel’s back pocket. 

You must’ve left it in his room before you hurried home. Somewhere amongst the mess of trinkets and trash on his dresser. You half-remember dropping it there last night as he’d kneeled in front of you and peppered kisses up the length of your leg.

Thankfully, your dad is oblivious as ever, giving Joel the perfect opportunity to inconspicuously slip you your wallet when he turns around and crosses the kitchen, placing his empty mug in the sink. 

Joel sidesteps once, twice, extending his arm and snapping it back as soon as you have the wallet in your grasp.

Your father clears his throat. Spins to find Joel exactly where he was. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts, wrestling a slice of bread out of the bag and dropping it into the toaster, “I gotta set you up with this co-worker of mine, Deb.”

Joel freezes. You watch as the color drains from his face and his large hand anxiously cards through dark curls. You’re pretty sure you freeze too, breath caught somewhere in your throat until your dad turns to you and you remember to exhale. 

“You know Deb, right, honey?” he asks. You mentally flick through the rolodex of your dad’s coworkers. 

There’s Leanne, tall redhead, hosted a potluck a few months back at which you tasted the worst mac & cheese you’ve ever had. And Barbara from accounting, who he got into a heated argument with over who makes the best BBQ in the city. You only remember her name because he hadn’t shut up about how wrong her opinion was for a full week. 

This woman actually thinks the Smoke Shop has got better ribs than Lou’s. I said to her, Barbara, your taste buds must be absolutely torched.

But Deb? You don’t recall a Deb. Still, you’re pretty sure you hate her, just in hearing her name in this context. 

You shake your head, no. 

“Well, I guess you haven’t seen her in a while. She was there that day I brought you into the office.”

“When I was ten?” you retort. 

“Yeah, I guess it was that long ago, huh?”

You shrug. He returns his attention to Joel. “Anyway, Deb – she’s around your age, just got divorced about a year back, and she’s a real nice woman. I think you two would really hit it off.”

“Is that so?” Joel replies. You swear his voice wavers. If your dad notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“You’ll like her Joel, I promise. I mean, when’s the last time you went out with a nice lady? Not since – what was her name — Jean? And if things were going well with her, I’d hope you’d tell your old friend.” The toaster pops, and he retrieves his slice of toast. Grabs a butter knife from the utensil drawer.  

“No, I ain’t seeing Jean,” Joel sighs. Flashes you an apologetic glance as your dad slathers his toast in artificial purple jam, blissfully unaware.

“Well, you gotta get back out there!” 

Joel’s gaze rolls to the ceiling. “I don’t know – I’m just not real interested in datin’ right now.”

You exhale, then — a quiet declaration of relief that seems to go unnoticed — unperturbed even when your dad continues his pitch. 

I’ve known this woman for years Joel, I’m telling you, the two of you’d be the perfect match; she’s a looker too, real pretty.

Ew. Tuning him out, you check the clock, find that you only have a few minutes before you need to get going. You stand from the table and make your way toward the sink with your now-empty coffee mug in hand.

Would I ever lead you astray? your dad is asking just as you brush past Joel. His hand, idle by his side, catches the fabric of your blouse and you have to fight to ignore the pinprick of electricity it ignites under your skin.

“No, I know,” Joel grumbles. “I trust your judgment ‘n all, ‘ts just-”

“Will you just give her a chance?”

“Jesus; fine.”

The mug slips from your grip, falls into the sink with a clang.

Your dad glares at you, expression softening only when you gesture to the still-intact ceramic lying on its side in the basin.

He’s quickly distracted, then, jotting a series of numbers down onto a scrap of notebook paper, the blue ink pressed in so hard that it’s beginning to bleed through. 

“Atta boy,” he drawls, sliding it across the counter. Joel pinches it between two fingers, folds the paper without looking at it and stuffs it into his front pocket. 

“Promise you’ll give her a call tonight? I may or may not have already talked you up, and I need to know you’re not gonna make me look bad here.”

Joel has to see you staring at him out of the corner of his eye. He must. If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under already. But he’s refusing to meet your gaze, eyes glued to the cabinet directly in front of him as he nods. “Yeah, I’ll call her tonight,” he says, a small, unconvincing smile pulling at the corner of his lips. 

He’s actually agreeing to this?

You need to get out of here before you say something rash.

The anger bubbles in you slowly, then all at once, threatening to boil over as you slip on your shoes and sling your bag over your shoulder. 

Marching toward the door, you offer a half-hearted bye, not bothering to look back before you leave.

The office is already milling with people by the time you stroll in, ten minutes late. 

The conversation between Joel and your dad is still running laps in your head as you sneak past your boss’s door.

It sticks there through the morning and well into the afternoon, your dad’s words an incessant earworm: I think you two would really hit it off.

The thing is — you can’t blame Joel for saying yes to the setup. Not really. Your situation is complicated, messy, bound to end badly.

Maybe he’d be happier with Deb. 

They could take walks together, stroll through the grocery store or down the street  hand-in-hand. Throw dinner parties and shamelessly gush about their relationship to their friends. All without fear of being caught doing something wrong.

Because that’s what this is, you and Joel — it’s wrong. Not like you weren’t already well aware of that. Leave it to some woman you’ve never met to rub it in.

The day passes infuriatingly slow.

The pile of emails in your inbox only grows larger by the time you’re due to clock out, stack of reports on your desk barely touched. You wince when your boss stops by your cubicle on her way out, eager for an update.

“Sorry, Linda; a couple of these were more time-consuming than I’d hoped,” you lie. But you can tell she doesn’t buy it, not one bit, her expression souring as you shuffle through papers.

“I need these done by the end of the week, no matter what.”

“Of course,” you mutter, face heating with embarrassment. “I’ll get them done and on your desk by Friday.”

“Thanks.” Her heels are already clacking on tile when you open your mouth to apologize again, your sorry lost to the ether.

You gather your things and scramble to your feet as soon as she’s out of view, not sticking around to watch your computer power down. By the time you get to your car, Joel’s number is already dialed on your phone.

He picks up after two rings.

“Darlin’ — are you okay?”

It’s admittedly uncharacteristic for you to call him so early. You usually wait until after dark, when you’ve both retreated to your respective bedrooms, away from listening ears.

But this can’t wait. It’s been eating at you all day, digging into your work. If you don’t talk to him about it, you’re going to end up unemployed. You don’t bother to ask if he’s still on the job site, around other people. “You’re going on this date.” It’s not a question. More of an accusation.

“Baby,” he sighs. You try your best to ignore his molasses drawl and the way it seeps into your chest. 

“Why didn’t you say no?” 

“How could I?” he groans. “There’s your dad, askin’ me if I’m seein’ someone, sayin’ he’s already told this lady about me – what am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice comes out a whine. “Make something up. Tell him you’ve taken a vow of celibacy.”

He laughs, low and breathy on the other end. “Yeah, baby. Think he’d believe that one, f’sure.”

“Fuck,” you huff. “I just— I don’t-“

You want to tell him not to go. To cancel. Fake his own death. Do whatever it takes to get out of this. But you have no right, not really. The two of you aren’t dating. You don’t have any control over what he does or who he sees. And you don’t want that, no. You just want him to choose you.

“I don’t wanna go, darlin’. I really don’t. But if I do this, I think it’ll get him off my back for a while. He won’t have a reason to suspect that I’m foolin’ around with his daughter.”

Fooling around. His phrasing is a metaphorical punch in the gut.

It’s not exactly a lie. You haven’t put a label on this thing, whatever it is. It’s been purely physical: lips slotted to lips, tongues pressed together, swapped sweat and saliva. But hearing it reduced to two words, words with such a casual connotation — as if you haven’t been driven by overwhelming desire — makes your stomach churn.

Joel doesn’t seem to clock it when you go quiet, a cocktail of rage and sorrow sloshing around your insides. “It’s for the best,” he adds, a shot of hard, burning liquor. 

“Yeah,” you say defeatedly. Choke back the pathetic tears that creep up your throat. “For the best.”

He ends the call with the excuse of bad cell reception. Promises to talk to you later. You’re not sure that you believe him.

The phrase fooling around curls up in your head, a wet dog, its fur dripping into the crevices of your rattled brain the entire drive home.

You dodge Joel’s calls for the remainder of the week.

There’s no use in talking to him when you have nothing to say, when you know any words you attempt will be overtaken by tears.

Even so, it doesn’t stop him from trying. His number lights up the screen of your phone at least twice a day.

He leaves voicemails that you do not listen to. You can’t. The last thing you need is his syruppy drawl in your ear. You’ll break; you know you will.

So instead, you delete them. Rid yourself of temptation.

But you still ache for him — a devastating truth. You lumber through the days, bones heavy with hurt. Find yourself kept up at night by thoughts of Joel and the infuriatingly soothing timbre of his voice, the intoxicating callous of his fingertips against your soft skin. 

It’s a lonely thing, yearning for Joel Miller.

On Friday, your father beams at the dinner table. He’s grinning like a child as he stuffs a forkful of rice into his mouth.

“Joel and Deb’s date is tomorrow,” he says. “Think they’ll really hit it off, don’t you?”

You’re dumbfounded for a long moment — can’t believe that this is your life now: being asked about your thoughts on Joel and the ever-elusive Deb as a couple. When it takes too long for you to answer, your father’s fork stills pointedly on his plate, and you sputter.

“Oh! I mean, I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t remember Deb.” You can’t help your condescending tone. Your dad doesn’t seem to catch it anyway. 

“Well,” he says, “I think they’ll be a match. Hoping so, anyway. The man has been such a hermit lately — maybe if he has a lady, he’ll get out more!”

“You sound real excited,” you grumble. Stab four peas on the prongs of your fork.

“It is exciting. I’ve never set anyone up before. And the best part is, the place they’re going to — the Tavern — it’s got rooms you can rent out for wedding receptions. Just imagine if down the line, they got mar-“

“Dad,” you stop him. You think you’ll be physically sick if you let him finish that sentence. “Sorry, I just — I’m really tired, all of a sudden. I think I’m going to head to bed early.”

It’s not a complete lie. You’re emotionally exhausted as a result of the past couple days. Sleep sounds like a much-needed, blissful escape right now.

Your dad doesn’t question you. He just nods. Swipes your plate from in front of you and brings it to the sink along with his.

Of course, you find it impossible to actually drift off that night. Tossing and turning, you battle the glaring urge to get up, slink into the home-office and look up directions to the Tavern. 

Not that you’re planning to go there anytime soon — you’re just curious. That’s all. 

Around midnight, you give up, pad down the hallway and into the room parallel yours. The computer dials up slowly, and you chew your bottom lip as you wait. 

You snatch a piece of paper from the printer and a pen from the #1 Dad mug that sits next to the monitor. Click on the internet icon and type the words into the search bar.

This is definitely a bad idea. Maybe the worst you’ve had in a while.

You jot the address down anyway.

Downtown Austin is buzzing with life. 

Patrons spilling out of bars, tourists striding down the street in their brand new Stetsons – it almost distracts you from the task at hand. 

At just past seven, you’d told your dad you were going out, meeting a friend for drinks. He’d been a bit taken aback, seeing as you’re not very social these days, but he’d seemed happy. Relieved. 

That’s not what you’re doing, of course.

No – in reality, you’re turning into the parking lot attached to the Tavern. It’s packed to the brim with cars, but you still manage to find Joel’s truck, its license plate number burned into the back of your mind after countless mornings of absently reading it as you snuck past.

It’s idle and empty when you inch by, and even though you knew he’d be here, on this date, your heart still sinks. Because maybe a tiny part of you had hoped he’d stand Deb up. 

You should leave. It was stupid to come here in the first place. What are you going to do — storm inside and demand that he leave with you?

You consider it for half a second, groaning when you realize how pitiful you are. Defeated, you swing your car into a spot at the back, facing the building, and shift it into park. You hug the steering wheel dejectedly.

From here, you have a straight-shot view of the restaurant’s entrance, a set of double doors at the side of the building. Groups spill out every so often, every pair that emerges causing your back to arch reflexively.

Joel and Deb are probably discussing their interests right now, bonding over a shared connection with your dad. You can vividly picture the smile likely plastered across his face — the same one you’ve elicited with sweet filth whispered in his ear.

And you’re here, sitting in your running car, watching the door. Your pulse thumps obnoxiously loud in your ears.

Minutes pass like molasses, slow and thick. You watch the clock on the car radio obsessively, betting with yourself on what time they’ll leave. After thirty minutes of nothing, you’re convinced that they’re going to close the place out.

But then the door opens again, and you straighten up, immediately met with the sight of Joel and Deb. 

She’s talking animatedly, eyes widening every few words, blonde hair wafting around her narrow face. It’s undeniable that she’s stunning, even from far away; possesses the kind of beauty you see on magazine covers in line at the grocery store. The jealousy that pools in your gut burns like acetone in an open wound.

She takes his arm as they walk toward the parking lot, and he lets her, despite the rest of his body appearing strangely rigid.

You wonder if he’ll take her home. Lead her to his truck, help her up the step to the passenger seat and sneak a look at her ass under her dress before shutting the door. If they’ll leave her car in the lot for the night, come back to retrieve it in the morning once he’s helped her forget about her loser ex-husband; let the scent of her perfume seep into the bed sheets to cover up yours.

But he doesn’t lead her to his truck. You watch as they unexpectedly turn down a row of cars, disappearing from your view completely, his arm still locked with hers. 

He could still kiss her. Press her against the car. Promise her that he’ll call — and he will, first thing tomorrow. He’s probably just being a real gentleman. Treating her like a woman he might want to marry someday. 

Maybe he knows, after just one date, that she’s his soulmate. He’ll buy the ring in a couple weeks. They’ll be engaged in a month’s time, and he’ll say he just couldn’t wait any longer. 

She’s the one thing I’ve been missing.

You stew in the agonizing unknown for what feels like hours before Joel materializes once again, backside illuminated by headlights as he strides toward his truck.

And then — he stops. You see the exact moment he notices your car in the parking lot, his eyebrows threading together and his hands splaying over his hips.

He’s staring directly through the windshield. At you.

Fuck.

He takes a few slow steps. Stops in front of the hood. Narrows his eyes and flexes his jaw.

With a deep breath, you unlock the doors. Gesture for him to get in the passenger side. 

He immediately rounds the car, prying the door open and climbing inside just as a SUV pulls out the row he and Deb had walked down. 

The door slams when he yanks it closed. The sound echoes through the cab of the car.

“You wanna fuckin’ explain what you’re doin’ here?” he snaps. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, embarrassment and now, anger, spooling hot behind your ears.

You know you’re in the wrong. You shouldn’t have followed him. But does he have to be so hostile?

When your gaze finally meets his, he looks — distraught — jaw clenched and lips set in a straight line. His fingers absently dig into denim-covered thighs.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, “I just wanted to see how you were with her.” And it’s the truth; not one you want to be admitting right now, to him, but it’s the truth nonetheless.

“Doesn’t give you the right to spy on me.”

“So what was I supposed to do? Sit at home and mope while the guy I was seeing is on a date with someone else? Oh no, I’m sorry,” you throw your hands up, form air quotes with your fingers, “the guy I was fooling around with.”

This seems to strike a nerve. His jaw twitches, and his fingers still on his lap.

“It wasn’t like that,” he grits

“No? Isn’t that all this was to you: fooling around?”

There’s a beat. Joel sighs. 

“No — fuck, no. Of course not.”

His expression softens. A crack in solid stone. “I tried callin’ you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” you admit.

He nods. Another beat.

“Did you kiss her?” you ask.

“No.” He says it with intent, with promise, eyes firmly locked on yours now. 

Your mouth goes dry.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats. “I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want to.”

“You don’t want her?” 

“No,” he says flatly, his pupils bulging in the lamplight, black bleeding into the brown of his irises. “I don’t want her.” 

“Why not?” 

He leans forward. His weight presses into the center console and his breath fans your face — warm, tinged with the scent of cheap beer.

“I don’t want her,” he says, voice an octave lower, “because I want you. I thought you knew that?” 

The radio drones between the two of you, some classic rock song you think you recognize flitting through the speaker. Your pulse beats staccato in your throat, off tempo.

“You want me?” you ask, a little breathless, and the next words you say are beyond dumb, beyond reckless, but you say them anyway. “Prove it.”

Joel doesn’t hesitate. He closes the slight distance between you and kisses you, hard, his tongue frantically sliding against yours through parted lips.

It’s sloppy, and desperate, and you feel drunk on the taste of him, on longing laced with carnal need. He’s groaning into your mouth, grabbing your head with both hands, burying his fingers in your hair — as if he can’t get close enough, as if he’ll only be satisfied once he’s swallowed you whole. You’re pretty sure you want him to.

Your hands move frantically to his t-shirt, then, bunch into the fabric and pull. You need to feel the skin underneath, need to rove your hands along his bare chest. He accommodates, tugging the shirt by the back of the collar, lips separating from yours ever-so-briefly to bring it over his head and toss it onto the backseat. 

And then he’s back on you, licking into your mouth again, eliciting a whimper from you when his hand wraps around the side of your throat, just under your jaw. 

Your palms splay across his torso, wander over warm, golden skin. You’ve missed this, god, you’ve missed this — but it’s still not enough. You need to feel more of him. In your mouth, in your hand, in your cunt — you’re not picky. Just need him in whatever way he’ll provide.

“Joel,” you whimper into his mouth, fingers winding around his bicep. 

He pulls back. Peers at you through hooded eyes. “What is it, baby?” he asks through labored breaths. 

“Need you — please.”

He immediately unbuckles your seatbelt. Lowers his seat back and manhandles you onto his lap. You go easily; slot yourself to him with legs folded on either side of his thighs. 

Wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, you grind down into his lap. His cock strains against denim underneath you. He groans when you swivel your hips and brush the heft of it again with your clothed heat.

“You gonna let me fuck you?” he asks into your mouth, his forehead pressed to yours.

Your breath catches. 

You know what he’s really asking: are you going to  let him fuck you here, in the parking lot of a public establishment, where anybody could see?

But you don’t care. In fact, you’re way past caring, the emptiness of your cunt too painful to ignore any longer. Let them watch him take what’s his.

You nod frantically. “Yes,” you pant. “Please.”

Joel nods too, as if he’s accepting his fate. He’s going to fuck his friend’s daughter in the passenger seat of her car. There’s no way around it — not when you’re begging for it. He’s going to give you what you need.

“Okay,” he soothes, “I got you baby.” 

He helps you out of your pants, then; clumsily maneuvers them down and off your legs along with your panties and tosses them aimlessly into the back.

He doesn’t bother to take his jeans off. Lets you unzip them and pop the button open, your nimble fingers making quick work of it. And then you’re pulling his cock out of his boxers, stiff and leaking in your grasp.

You steady yourself with hands on his shoulders just as he begins to pepper placating kisses along your neck. “Go ahead baby,” he whispers into your ear. “Take it; it’s yours.”

His head falls back against the seat as you stroke him a few times and line his cock up with your dripping entrance, his hands clasped around your waist. 

You sink down slowly, savoring every inch of him as he burrows in deeper. He’s so thick, stretching you like it’s the first time again, your walls fluttering as they relax around his cock.

“Fuck,” Joel slurs, fingers digging into your skin impatiently when you still, fully seated on him.

“Gotta move baby — please move.”

He’s so fucking deep, though, his cockhead bumping your cervix, and your entire body feels gelatinous atop him. A cloying sort of heat hangs around your head. You swivel your hips weakly, your forehead falling to rest on his with a heavy sigh.

Joel is happy to take control, bucking up into you so hard you see stars. You can’t suppress the string of moans that spill from your mouth, and Joel doesn’t seem to mind. He’s just as loud, anyway, his broken sounds bleeding into yours, bouncing off glass and leather.

Neither of you can muster an actual word, though, not with him rutting up into you, sheathing himself in your pussy over and over again. He’s relentlessly hitting that spot — the one that has you practically clinging to him for dear life. 

It’s approaching too quickly; he’s going to make you come.

One of your hands flies to the roof of the car in an attempt to brace yourself, flat palm pressing into it so hard you worry it’ll pop. 

Joel takes the opportunity to drag you down in his lap, spearing you on his cock, and the sudden change in angle makes you cry out.

“Oh f— ahh, oh my—“

“That’s it,” he coos, “you got it, babygirl.”

His words tip you over the edge, your entire body locking up as you gush around him. You’re wetting his lap, slick splattering his thighs, and he loves it, his fervid moan telling you so.

His movements begin to falter then, hips stuttering underneath you as he chases his own high.

“Cmon, baby,” you goad, “please fill me up.”

He grunts when he spills inside, his face nestling in your chest, heaving as he works through it and begins to come down. You don’t move, not that Joel would let you, still holding you on his lap like he’s afraid to let you go.

You nuzzle into his embrace as his cock softens inside you.

You stay like that for a while, probably too long given that anybody could easily look into the car and see you straddling him. You don’t have the energy to care.

Eventually, you lift your head from its spot on Joel’s chest. Look up at him with bleary eyes.

“Joel,” you say.

He meets your gaze, face shiny with sweat and his hair a mess. He looks gorgeous like this, you think. The way only you get to see him.

“Yeah?” He grazes along your arm with featherlight fingers. His touch raises goosebumps on your skin.

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“About wanting me.” In truth, you’re not sure you want the answer. But you need to know, definitively, if Joel is yours. You’re done sharing him.

“Oh, baby,” he drawls. “Of course I do. You’re all I want. Do you want me?”

And it’s a stupid question. He has to know that. You’re nodding before he can even finish it. “Yes,” you breathe. “I want you, Joel”

“Then it’s settled. It’s me and you. No more…interlopers.”

You giggle. Reluctantly separate yourself from his body and re-dress. You settle back into the driver’s seat with achy legs.

You’ve never felt more content than you do in this moment.

Still, you’ll have to hide — won’t be able to share the news of your new relationship with friends or coworkers, your dad — and neither will Joel. 

You don’t care much, not as long as he’s yours, but you need to be sure he feels the same.

“Joel,” you stop him as he opens the passenger-side door to get out. He stills with one leg swung out the door.

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“Are you sure you don’t mind…being a secret? Don’t mind keeping me a secret?”

He looks at you like you have two heads.

He pulls his leg back into the car. Shuts the door and leans over the console again.

Taking your chin between his fingers, he forces your gaze. Makes sure you’re listening.

“I want you — doesn’t matter who knows or doesn’t know. Long as you’re mine.”

Your chest tightens, and your heart squeezes inside your ribcage.

“I’m yours?”

He smiles. Presses a chaste kiss between your eyes, on the tip of your nose, on your lips. The same way he did the other morning. 

It all feels somehow sweeter, now.

“Yeah, angel. You’re mine. My girl.”

end notes: tysm for reading! please consider commenting and/or reblogging if you enjoyed! I've been toying with the idea of turning this into a series so lmk if that's something you'd be interested in hehe.

Also, I hopped on the bandwagon and made a sideblog for notifs! I'll be doing away with a taglist from here on out, so follow @joelscurlsupdates & turn on notifications if you wanna be notified when I post a new fic :-)

tag list: @janaispunk @amanitacowboy @fhatbhabie @frannyzooey @lola8888673

[sluttywonwoo]

fuck the neighbors

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f reader

summary: curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back- at least, that's what they say.

warnings: swearing, blood, asshole!wonwoo, mingyu is canonically a whore, light blasphemy, smut (18+ ; mdni)

smut warnings: hard dom!wonwoo, allusions to voyeurism, degradation, oral (f receiving), blood play?!?!? (just a little bit!!!), wap!reader, massive cock!wonwoo, choking, protected sex

word count: 3.3k

reader notes: reader is significantly shorter than ww + described to have long-ish hair

You’ve never felt as small as you do right now. Wonwoo looms over you, smirking. He isn’t even that much taller than you, you just seem to shrink into yourself when you’re around him, which seems to be happening more and more often lately. 

“Found you,” he whispers. 

“I... wasn’t hiding,” you say, your voice coming out in a squeak. 

“You know it isn’t nice to lie,” he chides, taking a step closer to you. You take a step backward in kind, only to be met with the cool concrete wall against your back. “It also isn’t nice to eavesdrop.”

“I didn’t- I wasn’t trying to,” you insist. 

Wonwoo tsks. “I don’t believe you. What did I just say about lying?”

“Well, it isn’t nice to be super loud all the time either!” you scoff. “You have neighbors, you know.”

The overhead light flickers. You and Wonwoo both stare at it, the inconsistent hum of electricity filling the silence before the light eventually decides to stay lit. You breathe a sigh of relief. You really needed to stop overlooking sketchy apartments for the sake of the rent, especially if you were going to have to deal with people like... him. 

Wonwoo cocks his head to the side. “What are you talking about?”

“What do you mean what am I talking about? Listen, I don’t care who you fuck but if you could be just a little quieter-”

Wonwoo cuts you off with a laugh. “That’s what this is about? That’s why you were snooping outside my apartment? What, were you hoping to catch a glimpse of her leaving or something?”

So you had been right... you’re not sure whether or not you’re happy about that. What you are sure of, though, is that you’re offended that you’re being accused of snooping. You open your mouth to defend yourself but stop short. 

“You’re bleeding,” is what you say instead. 

Wonwoo touches his lip, thumb brushing across the cut he must not have noticed until you mentioned it. He looks down at his fingers briefly then back up at you. 

“Come with me.”

“Wha- huh?”

“You want to know what’s so loud, right? So come on.”

You follow him blindly back down the hall to his apartment, the one right next to yours. You’re doing everything a final girl in a horror movie shouldn’t do, but you’re dying to know what’s been keeping you up at night. 

Wonwoo unlocks the door and stands aside to let you in first. With a gulp, you cross the threshold and slip off your shoes.  He does the same. 

The apartment is quiet, for once. It looks a lot like yours but mirrored. The kitchen is off to the right instead of the left. The half bathroom is on the wall opposite to yours, likely connected via plumbing.

The place is a lot cleaner than you expected too. It’s sparse, typical for a single guy, but still relatively well decorated. 

Wonwoo heads straight to the kitchen and turns on the sink. He wets a paper towel and dabs at his bottom lip, wincing as he cleans the wound.

“Why am I here?” you ask when he doesn’t offer an explanation. 

He doesn’t answer right away. Granted, the man was still bleeding but he’d dragged you here for a reason and now you were just standing in his kitchen. 

Eventually, he disposes of the paper towel, washes his hands, and walks across the living room without saying a word. You know he expects you to follow him but you almost don’t want to. You do follow him, you want to leave as fast as possible, but you consider it. 

He opens the door to what you know is a bedroom and points inside. You stare at him blankly. 

“What am I looking at?” 

“This isn’t my room,” he says. 

“What?”

“It’s my roommate’s.”

“You have a roommate?”

“I do. I have a roommate. He’s the one you share a wall with. He’s the one banging a different girl every night. Your issues are with him, not me.”

Now that you were thinking about it, you have seen a slightly taller, beefier man around the building. That must be who Wonwoo’s roommate is. He definitely had the face to pull all the girls Wonwoo was referring to. Not that Wonwoo didn’t-

“So take it up with him.”

You shake your head and purse your lips. “No, that doesn’t explain everything. I’ve heard your voice too. Unless you’re the one he’s banging...” you trail off, letting the implication hang in the air. 

“He’s not my type,” Wonwoo says flatly. 

“Okay, then what is it?”

“C’mere,” he says, moving along the wall to what you use as a breakfast nook in your apartment. 

In his, the space is empty save for a punching bag hanging from the ceiling. 

“You box?”

“It’s a hobby.”

“Is that why you were bleeding?”

“Yeah, I just got back from the gym.”

“And that’s what I’ve been hearing?”

“That’s what you’ve been hearing.”

You nod but don’t say anything else, half waiting for an apology that he doesn’t offer. He just leans against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Well, do you think you could practice your hobby before midnight? Or at least try to keep it down when you do?” you huff in annoyance.

He sighs like what you’re asking is the biggest inconvenience he’s ever been posed with but concedes.

 “I guess.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ll have to talk to Mingyu about his... hobby, though. Or get noise canceling headphones. That’s what I did.”

“Oh, okay.”

Silence stretches between you again, heightening the tension in the room. You don’t know what to do. Were you supposed to show yourself out now that you had your answers? Wonwoo isn’t giving you any indication that he wants you to leave but he isn't giving any indication that he wants you to stay either. 

You don’t have the time or energy to deal with this. You can’t read the man’s mind. No matter how hard he stares at you from across a room. With a definitive breath, you turn on your heel to head for the door just to be stopped by Wonwoo’s voice echoing behind you. 

“Are you disappointed?” 

You stop but don’t turn around. “What?”

“Are you disappointed that it isn’t me you’ve been hearing?” he clarifies. 

Heat rises to your cheeks. “Wh-what do you mean? Why would I be?”

You feel him approach from behind, his shadow closing in on you before he does. 

“Because it isn’t my voice you’ve been touching yourself to.”

“What?!” You do turn around this time, whipping around so fast your ponytail almost whacks Wonwoo in the face. 

“You don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me when I pass you in the hallway?”

You scoff, breathing a subtle sigh of relief. All he had to go off of was a look but if he had heard you through the wall, if he had that irrefutable evidence, it would definitely be over for you. “If that’s what you think lust looks like, I feel bad for all the girls you have slept with.”

“Resentment and lust have a very long history together,” he whispers. 

“You think pretty highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“But I’m right, aren’t I?”

You feign ignorance. “About what?”

“About you.” He measures you up with his gaze, something triumphant flashing behind his eyes. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he presses. “Tell me you’ve never gotten off to the thought of me and I’ll drop it.”

You weigh your options. You could lie. You could save yourself the embarrassment and lie right to his face, although given your track record thus far he’d see right through it. Or, you could tell him the truth. You could admit to wishing you were the one in what you thought had been his bed all this time. 

You settle on silence and let him draw his own conclusion. A smirk tugs at one side of Wonwoo’s mouth. So he did think highly of himself. 

“I fucking knew it,” he murmurs. 

Before you can deny it, he straightens back up and starts walking toward the back of the apartment. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” he announces. 

You don’t move from where you’re standing, unsure of what he wants you to do. Was he hinting at you to leave? Was it an invitation? 

Wonwoo looks back over his shoulder at you. “Are you coming?” 

“Hopefully,” you mutter.

“Hm?”

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

-

The water is already running by the time you slip into the bathroom after Wonwoo. You watch quietly as he undresses, letting the door click shut gently behind you. It occurs to you that you should be taking your clothes off too but you can’t look away. 

Wonwoo’s kind enough to snap you out of it. “I didn’t ask you in here just to watch me.”

“You didn’t ask me in here at all,” you point out, “you just expected me to follow you.”

“And you did.”

Damn, he had you there. 

With a noise of indignation, you pop the button on your jeans and start to wiggle out of them, unable to bring yourself to look at him again now that you’re also exposed. You can feel his eyes on you, though. It has the same effect his presence always has on you, and you attempt to cover yourself with your hands.

“Shy?” he muses. “Cute.”

“Shut up,” you sputter.

You don’t think you’ve felt this self conscious since college and then he laughs at your response which does nothing to help.

“I can’t call you cute?”

“Not if you’re patronizing me.”

“How do you want me to say it, then?” he asks, sinking down to his knees on the floor in front of you. You stare at him in disbelief. “You want me to say it like this? Want me to tell you how cute, how pretty, I think you are, from down here? How pretty I think this pussy is?” Wonwoo leans forward as he talks, further and further until his hair is tickling your tummy and his lips are moving against your skin. “Spread your legs for me, baby,” he murmurs. 

You do, taking hold of the countertop so that you won’t fall as Wonwoo slots himself between your thighs. You take a deep breath to brace yourself for the feeling of his mouth but absolutely nothing could have prepared you for the way he presses a gentle kiss to your pussy before diving in. The softness of the action compared to everything that led up to this moment, compared to the way he was now drowning himself in you, is enough to make your knees threaten to give. Your grip on the counter tightens and you bite down hard on your bottom lip to keep from moaning out loud. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction, though you’re sure he already knows he’s got you right where he wants you.  

Wonwoo hitches one of your knees over his shoulder so that he can get even deeper inside of you with his tongue. He drinks you in, breathes you in, douses himself in you like he’s trying to baptize himself in order to atone for his sins.  

If this was his apology for all the noise, he’s forgiven ten times over. 

You can feel callouses on the palms of his hands as he traces them up your legs and over your ass, pulling you even further into him. The force of his grip causes you to stumble but he catches you before you can fall and helps you to regain your balance. 

“I’ve got you,” he assures you, backing you up into the sink. “Here, hop up on the counter.”

“What about the shower?” you ask, suddenly remembering that the water had been running this whole time. 

“Oh shit-”

Wonwoo turns around and reaches to turn it off, drying both his hand and his face with a towel that had been hanging on the wall. 

“Now, hop up on the counter.” 

“Are you sure?” you ask, glancing at all of the skin and hair care products scattered across it. 

Wonwoo pushes them out of the way then nods. 

“I’m sure. Mingyu won’t care, trust me. He’d be a hypocrite to.” 

You sigh but hoist yourself onto the counter anyway, too horny to worry about it any longer. Wonwoo steps in between your legs and lets you wrap them around his waist. He leans down, you think he’s going to kiss you, but he goes for your neck and kisses you there instead. 

“Why are you pouting?” he asks, voice muffled and vibrating against your throat. 

“Want you to fuck me,” you lie. 

It’s not a complete lie, you do want him to fuck you, but it certainly isn’t the full truth either. You’re afraid that if you’re honest with Wonwoo about wanting him to kiss you it’ll turn him off. He’s not about to make love to you, that much is clear, so was kissing off the table? Was that too intimate for a hookup like this? Would he think you wanted something more if you asked?

“I was getting to that,” he insists lowly. “So impatient.”

“You’re the one who ate me out as soon as you got me alone. You haven’t even kissed me yet.” 

There. Maybe if you challenged him he’d give you what you wanted. 

“Oh, you want me to kiss you, huh?”

He wraps a hand around your neck and pulls you in, finally pressing his lips to yours. Men were so easy. 

He tastes like you imbued with unfamiliarity. Blood, you realize when you pull back and see the cut on his lip had reopened. It isn’t much, just enough to make him look vaguely vampiric. You swipe your thumb across his bottom lip and push it into his mouth for him to suck on. 

He does, but he has the audacity to pretend not to like it.  

“You’re sick,” Wonwoo scoffs. 

“And you’re still hard.”

“Two things can be true at the same time.”

He kisses you again before you can get another word in, dropping his free hand between your legs to ensure you're truly unable to talk back. 

He uses his fingers to tease you for a moment or two and then he teases you with the head of his cock, pressing it right up against you and making you whimper into his mouth. 

“Tell me, what have you been thinking about all these months,” he murmurs, “when you’re in your bed all alone listening through the wall?”

“I- it’s embarrassing...” you protest. 

Wonwoo draws back, tonguing his cheek as he gazes down at you. “Tell me or we’re done here.” 

You’re not sure whether or not he’ll make good on his threat but you don’t want to call his bluff and risk blowing your chance to actually live out the fantasies you were too embarrassed to share. 

“I thought about... this,” you say hesitantly. 

“This? You thought about me fucking you here?”

“No...”

“You’re going to have to be more specific then, angel.”

“It was, um, in your bed.”

“You mean Mingyu’s bed.”

“I didn’t know that at the time,” you whine.

He smiles. “I know. You know, if you had just paid a little closer attention you would have realized he sounds nothing like me.”

“I was a little distracted at the time,” you whisper.

“Yeah? Distracted pretending it was you in those girls’ positions?”

You nod reluctantly. 

“Poor baby,” he pouts, “must’ve been so jealous but so wet you just had to touch yourself, huh?”

You hate that he’s right. You hate that the condescension turns you on even more. 

While he’s talking, Wonwoo snakes an arm behind you and grabs a condom from a jar on the counter. Did he and Mingyu just keep them out for guests like they were cotton swabs or something? Did they get laid that often? 

He tears the foil packet open with his teeth and rolls the condom on as you watch and unconsciously spread your legs even wider for him. 

“Ready?” he asks, holding your face with both hands. 

It’s probably the first earnest interaction you’ve had with him. His eyes search yours for any sign of hesitation and even when he finds none, he waits for you to answer.

“Go ahead.”

You keep your eyes trained on his face as he guides himself inside of you, watching the way his eyelashes flutter and his breath hitches when he feels the heat of you around him. He pushes himself in slowly but the stretch still knocks the wind out of you, leaving you gasping for air.   

“Breathe, baby, breathe. You’re okay.”

You can hardly hear him over the roaring in your ears but you do your best to listen, chest heaving as you desperately try to anchor yourself to him. 

Wonwoo doesn’t move until you urge him to by wrapping your legs around his waist and squeezing his hips with your thighs. It isn’t easy at first, despite how wet you are for him. He’s that huge. 

You almost wish he wasn’t just because you don’t think it’s fair for any man’s ego to be warranted, especially one as big as his. Though you suppose it’s fitting. 

 After a few rough strokes, he starts to play with your clit again to get you to relax a little. It works, your eyes roll and your head falls back against the mirror as the tension eases from your muscles. 

“Does it feel as good as you thought it would?” he presses. 

“B-better,” you admit.

“That’s because it wasn’t me you were hearing.”

You groan, annoyed that he still hasn’t let it go. You doubt he ever will. 

“It’s okay. I’ve thought about this too,” he confesses.

“You have?”

“Have you seen yourself?” he scoffs, “Don’t sound so surprised. I’d s-see you in the hallways, see the way you’d glare at me- fuck... who knew all this time you were right next door fantasizing about me while I fantasized about you. We could’ve been doing this so much sooner.”

You want to tell him that you have all the time in the world to make up for it now but you can’t find the words. They’ve dissolved on your tongue and left you with only his name to repeat over and over like you’re in a trance.

“Louder,” he pleads as fucks you even faster.

“But our neighbors-”

“Fuck them,” he spits. “They already hate us because of Mingyu, let them know my name too.”

Apparently you aren’t the only jealous one between the two of you. You want to laugh but you physically can’t, too caught up in the incandescent feeling in your stomach that threatens to engulf you entirely. 

“Fuck, are you about to cum?” Wonwoo gasps, lips parting in concentration. 

You nod. “Just a little more,” you beg, “yeah, exactly like that... oh fuck-”  

“I’ve got you,” he assures you. “Let go, I’m right there with you.”

It’s surprisingly sweet of him and you think he might realize it too because he grabs your jaw and pulls you in to kiss you as you fall apart together so that he can’t say anything else. 

Once you come down, he’s the first to start putting you both back together. 

“Wanna actually take a shower now?” he asks, holding out a hand to help you down from the counter. 

Your knees wobble on your landing but Wonwoo’s quick to wrap an arm around your shoulders wounded-soldier style and sit you on the closed lid of the toilet.  

“Take your time,” he tells you, kneeling on the tile in front of you. 

“Thank you.”

“Do you want to stay the night? I mean you can hardly walk. There’s no way you’ll make it all the way home.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “All the way next door?” 

“Exactly! It’s better not to risk it, right?”

You chuckle. “I guess.”

Wonwoo grins. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you home myself in the morning. I’m a gentleman, after all. And then we can piss off your neighbors.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

[hoshifighting]

Overstimulation

After a breakup, you confide in Mingyu about your ex-boyfriend's reluctance to indulge one of your fetishes. To your surprise, Mingyu eagerly offers to help you explore and practice it.

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Smut, dirty talk, overstimulation (m. receiving), fetish explorations, mentions of body fluids, finger riding (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), oral sex (m. receiving), rough sex, multiple orgasms and etc.

Thank you anon for the request! Here it is! Love you!

You and Mingyu had been inseparable since childhood, sharing everything from secrets to dreams. He was your rock, your confidant, your best friend. As the years went by, your bond only grew stronger, weathering the storms of life together.

But as you entered into a long-term relationship with a guy, things began to change. You found yourself craving new experiences, wanting to explore the world outside the confines of your relationship. You started to feel restless, curious about what else was out there.

One evening, after you broke up with the same person, you found yourself opening up to Mingyu about your desires. "I loved him," you began, hesitantly. "But sometimes I wondered what it would be like to be with someone else, to have different experiences, especially in bed."

Mingyu listened quietly, his eyes full of understanding. "I get it," he said softly. "It's natural to want to explore, to learn and grow. And you shouldn't feel guilty for wanting that."

You felt a weight lift off your shoulders at his words. For the first time, you didn't feel judged or condemned for your thoughts. Mingyu was there, offering his support without hesitation.

He encouraged you to meet new people, to broaden your horizons, and to step out of your comfort zone. Mingyu was like a guiding light, leading you through the maze of uncertainty with unwavering support.

He introduced you to his friends, a diverse group with different backgrounds and personalities. Mingyu's vast list of contacts became your ticket to new experiences, as you found yourself going on dates with intriguing individuals from all walks of life.

He never judged you for wanting more; instead, he cheered you on, urging you to chase after your desires with unwavering determination.

"Do you have any fetishes?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine interest.

Your eyes widened slightly at the question, surprised by its suddenness. You shifted in your seat, contemplating how to respond. After a moment of hesitation, you decided to trust Mingyu with this intimate detail.

"Uh, fetishes? Well, I mean, doesn't everyone have something they're into?" you replied, trying to play it cool.

Mingyu chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, pretty much. So spill the beans, what's yours?"

Feeling a bit bashful, you hesitated for a moment before deciding to be honest. "Well, I've always been intrigued by overstimulation," you admitted, your cheeks flushing pink.

Mingyu's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Overstimulation, huh? That's actually pretty light," he remarked, his tone nonchalant.

You couldn't help but chuckle at his reaction. "Yeah, I guess so," you replied, relieved that he didn't seem fazed by your confession.

Then, after a moment of silence, you couldn't resist adding with a mischievous grin, "Actually, I've always wanted to be the one doing the overstimulating."

Mingyu's eyes widened in shock, his mouth falling open in disbelief. "Wait, what?!" he sputtered, clearly caught off guard by your revelation. "I thought you were a pillow princess!" 

You gasped dramatically, pretending to be offended. "A pillow princess? Me? How dare you, Mingyu!"

Mingyu threw his head back with laughter, clearly amused by your exaggerated reaction. "Come on, you can't deny it. You give off those vibes sometimes."

You raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in your eye. "Oh, so you think I'm just lying back and letting everyone else do the work, huh? I'll have you know I can be quite the opposite."

Mingyu laughed, realizing he had walked right into your trap. "Okay, okay, I get it. You're not a pillow princess. You're a... pillow queen?"

You rolled your eyes, swatting him playfully with a nearby cushion. "Oh, please. I'm more like a pillow ninja."

Mingyu doubled over with laughter, unable to contain himself. "Pillow ninja? I love it! Consider me impressed, oh mighty pillow ninja."

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. "Oh, I see how it is. You think you know me so well, huh?"

Mingyu's grin widened as he leaned back against the couch. "Hey, I'm just going by what you told me. But if you're saying there's more to you than meets the eye..."

You nodded emphatically, a mischievous gleam in your eyes. "Oh, there's definitely more to me than meets the eye."

"So, you're telling me you've got some hidden talents, huh?" Mingyu's voice was low, dripping with seductive undertones.

You grinned, leaning in closer to meet his gaze. "Oh, you have no idea," you replied, your voice laced with a hint of mischief.

Mingyu's eyebrow arched teasingly as he closed the distance between you, his breath warm against your ear. "Well, then, why don't you show me?" he murmured, his words sending a thrill coursing through you.

You bit your lip, a coy smile playing on your lips. "Maybe I will," you teased back, your heart racing with excitement.

The air crackled with anticipation as Mingyu leaned back, his eyes dancing with playful desire. "I can't wait," he whispered, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

With a daring grin, you leaned in closer, your breath mingling with Mingyu's as you whispered, "But first, let's see if you can handle what I have in store."

Mingyu's eyes widened in playful challenge, his smirk growing even wider. "Oh, I'm more than ready for whatever you have planned," he shot back, his voice thick with anticipation.

You chuckled softly, feeling a surge of confidence coursing through you. "We'll see about that," you teased, trailing a finger lightly along Mingyu's jawline, relishing the way his breath hitched in response.

The tension between you crackled with electricity as Mingyu's gaze darkened with desire. With a swift movement, he pulled you closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

"Show me," he murmured, his voice husky with need.

our lips collided in a fiery embrace, tongues tangling hungrily as desire surged between you. Mingyu's hands gripped your waist with a fervent urgency, pulling you closer until there was barely any space left between your bodies.

With each passionate kiss, the world around you faded into obscurity, leaving only the electric connection between you and Mingyu. His lips moved against yours with a delicious rhythm, igniting a firestorm of need deep within your core.

As you melted into his touch, the sensation of his lips against your skin sent sparks of pleasure coursing through your veins. Every brush, every graze, every kiss left your skin tingling with a raw and primal hunger.

Breathless and needy, you broke apart for a moment, gasping for air as Mingyu's eyes burned with desire. But the pause was fleeting, as his lips crashed against yours once more, hungry and demanding.

With lips locked in a feverish embrace, you and Mingyu stumbled towards the bedroom, shedding clothes haphazardly along the way. T-shirts and jeans were discarded on the floor of the apartment hallway, forgotten in the heat of the moment.

As you bumped into furniture, knocking over a lamp in your haste, Mingyu groaned softly against your lips, the sound sending shivers down your spine. But you couldn't stop now, not when the desire between you burned so fiercely.

Hands roamed eagerly over heated skin, fingers tangling in hair as you pressed closer, eager to savor every moment of this. The world around you faded into a blur as you reached the bedroom, stumbling onto the bed in a tangle of limbs.

Mingyu's hand tangled in your hair, exerting a gentle pressure as he guided you downward. You found yourself on your knees beside the bed, his form laid out before you, anticipation coursing through your veins.

Following his lead, your hands trailed along his thighs, feeling the tension in his muscles beneath your touch. When his hand guided yours to his bulge, you felt a surge of excitement shoot through you.

Your gaze met Mingyu's as you looked up from beneath, a coy smile playing on your lips. With deliberate slowness, you licked a large stripe up the length of his cock, feeling the heat and slickness of his precum against your tongue.

A hiss escaped Mingyu's lips, a sharp intake of breath betraying the intensity of his arousal. Encouraged by his reaction, you continued your exploration, teasing and tasting every inch of him with unrestrained hunger.

As you lavished attention on him, Mingyu's grip on your hair tightened, his hips lifting slightly in response to your touch.

Feeling the throbbing heat of Mingyu's cock in your hands, you couldn't resist the primal urge building inside you. You needed to feel him deep in your throat, to take him in completely and surrender to the raw intensity of the moment.

With determination, you lowered your head, taking him into your mouth inch by inch. Mingyu's grip on your hair tightened instinctively, his fingers digging into your scalp as a guttural groan escaped his lips.

As you took more of him into your mouth, your throat stretched to accommodate his size, the sensation sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. Mingyu's hips bucked up slightly in response, his breath coming in ragged gasps as you continued your relentless descent.

As Mingyu's climax approached, you intensified your movements, bobbing your head with fervent determination. The heat of his cock in your mouth, the urgency in his grip on your hair, it all fueled your desire to bring him to the edge.

Then, without warning, you felt the first hot spurts of his release, his cum flooding your mouth. Mingyu's eyes widened in surprise, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment at the unexpected time he cummed.

Before he could react, you pressed your head down again, sucking him greedily, your mouth working to extract every last drop of his cum. His cock throbbed incessantly against your tongue, the taste of his cum mingling with your spit.

Mingyu was trembling, his moans reverberating loudly throughout the room, creating a symphony of pleasure that filled the air. With each eager movement of your mouth, he struggled to keep himself in check, resisting the urge to let his eyes roll back in ecstasy.

You sucked him with such intensity, as if you were drawing his very soul from him. The feeling was overwhelming, almost divine, as Mingyu gave himself over completely to the whirlwind of pleasure.

His fingers clawed at the sheets, his body arching towards you in a desperate plea for more. The wet noises of your mouth working him over mixed with his cries of pleasure, filling the room with a heady atmosphere.

In that moment, teetering on the edge of release, Mingyu felt like he was losing himself entirely. But with you there, guiding him through the dizzying haze of pleasure, he knew he was in the best hands possible.

Mingyu gasped for air, his body trembling with aftershocks of pleasure as he came again, filling your mouth with another wave of his release. It was a sensation unlike anything he had experienced before, his mind swimming in a haze of bliss.

For the first time in his life, Mingyu found himself climaxing twice in a matter of minutes, the intensity of his arousal overwhelming his senses. His cock softened in your mouth, spent and satisfied, as he panted heavily, trying to catch his breath.

As you continued to pump Mingyu's dick with your hands, mixing the mess of your spit and his cum together, you couldn't help but notice the way his body responded. His legs trembled beneath you, his breath hitching in short gasps as you worked him over.

With a mischievous grin, you teased him, "You want to know my fetish better, huh?"

Mingyu's response was a throaty moan, his body convulsing on the bed as you circled your palm on the sensitive head of his cock.

"You- you're driving me... crazy," he managed to gasp out between moans.

Mingyu's body convulsed on the bed, his legs trembling with the intensity of the sensation. "Oh god," he moaned, his voice hitching with pleasure as your hand worked its magic.

With each stroke, each teasing caress, Mingyu's moans grew louder, filling the room with the sweet symphony of his pleasure. And as you watched him squirm and writhe beneath you, you couldn't help but laugh softly, enjoying the delicious torture you were inflicting on him.

Feeling the knot tightening in his stomach once more, Mingyu couldn't help but roll his hips, seeking more friction, more sensation from your skilled hand. His cock, already red and sensitive from your attention, throbbed with anticipation as his stomach trembled with the intensity of his arousal.

With each roll of his hips, Mingyu's moans grew louder, more desperate, as he surrendered completely to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through him. "Mmmh d-don't sto-op!" he groaned, his voice thick with need, his body quivering with every touch.

As Mingyu reached the peak of his pleasure once more, he felt the familiar surge of release wash over him. But this time, it was different. Only a small spill of cum escaped his cock, a testament to the intense arousal that had already wracked his body.

With a shuddering exhale, Mingyu's body finally began to relax, the tension melting away as the waves of pleasure subsided. He lay there, spent and satisfied, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.

You watched him with a satisfied smile, your hand still resting gently on his softened cock. You lean in to kiss Mingyu, the kiss slow and sloppy as both of you catch your breath. But before you can deepen the kiss, he suddenly stops, a puzzled expression on his face.

"What's that?" Mingyu asks, his voice filled with curiosity.

Confused, you furrow your brow and follow his gaze, looking down between your bodies. Your pussy is dripping wet, the slickness coating his thigh as a glob of arousal slides down your folds.

You gasp softly, feeling a surge of arousal at the sight, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Oh, uh... I guess I'm just really turned on," you reply, your voice slightly breathless.

Mingyu's eyes darken with desire as he watches the slickness glisten on his thigh. A low, guttural moan escapes his lips, his cock twitching in response to the erotic sight.

"Fuck," he murmurs, his voice husky with need. "You're so wet, baby. Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

You bite your lip, feeling a rush of arousal at his words. "Tell me," you whisper, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mingyu's gaze flickers between your eyes and the wetness between your thighs, desire burning in his dark orbs. "You make me so hard, so fucking needy," he growls, his hand reaching out to trace a path along your slick folds. "Just seeing you like this, dripping wet and ready for me... it's driving me insane."

As Mingyu's fingers slide inside you, you can't help but squirm, a soft moan escaping your lips as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. His touch is slow and deliberate, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Mingyu holds you close, his other hand trailing soothingly along your back as he continues to move his fingers inside you. With each stroke, each tantalizing caress, the pleasure builds, spiraling higher and higher until you're teetering on the edge of release.

You moan softly into his neck, the sound muffled by the warmth of his skin as Mingyu's fingers work their magic inside you. 

As Mingyu's fingers work their magic inside you, he leans in close, his voice a low, seductive murmur against your ear.

"You like that, baby?" he breathes, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "You like feeling my fingers deep inside you, stroking you just right?"

You nod eagerly, unable to form words as pleasure courses through your veins.

Mingyu chuckles softly, the sound sending vibrations through your body. "I love watching you squirm, feeling you tighten around me," he continues, his voice husky with desire. "You're so fucking wet for me, so eager for my touch."

You whimper in response, the words sending waves of arousal crashing over you.

"I could finger you like this all night," Mingyu murmurs, his fingers moving with expert precision. "But what I really want is to feel you clench around my cock, to hear you scream my name as you come undone."

His words push you closer to the edge, the promise of his cock inside you driving you wild with need. "Ride my fingers baby…"

As Mingyu encourages you to ride his fingers, you raise yourself up to look at him, feeling a surge of excitement mingled with nervousness. "I-I'm not sure if I can..." you stutter, your voice filled with uncertainty.

But Mingyu's eyes burn with desire as he reassures you, his voice low and husky. "You can do it, baby. I know you can," he murmurs, his hand steady beneath you as his fingers remain buried deep inside you.

With a deep breath, you steady yourself, feeling a rush of determination wash over you. Slowly, you begin to move your hips, riding Mingyu's fingers with increasing confidence.

"That's it," Mingyu breathes, his voice filled with encouragement. "Feel how good you make me feel, how wet you are for me."

His words ignite a fire within you, spurring you on as you ride his fingers with abandon. Mingyu's hand remains steady beneath you, his pinky and forefinger teasing your entrance while his middle fingers curl deliciously inside you, hitting all the right spots.

As you move, a mess is made on his hand, slick with your arousal, but Mingyu doesn't seem to mind. Instead, he watches you with rapt attention, his eyes dark with desire as he waits for his cock to get harder, eager to join you in the blissful dance of pleasure.

"You look so fucking sexy riding my fingers," Mingyu groans, his voice thick with need. "I can't wait to feel you riding me just like this, taking all of me inside you."

"Are you ready for me, baby?" Mingyu whispers, his voice a sultry invitation. "Ready to take all of me, to let me fill you up completely?"

As Mingyu brushes the tip of his cock against your entrance, a shiver of anticipation runs down your spine. With a nod of confirmation, you express your readiness, your body practically trembling with excitement.

Mingyu's smile is intoxicating as he reaches down to give his cock a few more pumps, ensuring he's ready for you. With a steady hand on your hips, he guides you as you slowly lower yourself onto him.

The sensation of his cock sliding into you is exquisite, a perfect blend of pleasure and fullness that leaves you breathless. You gasp as you take him in, inch by inch, feeling him fill you up completely.

Mingyu's grip on your hips tightens as you sink down onto him, his eyes locked with yours, a mixture of desire and adoration shining in their depths. With each movement, each thrust, you feel a connection forming between you.

As you start to ride Mingyu slowly, his nails dig into your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, his head thrown back in blissful abandon.

"I'm so sensitive, even after I'm hard again," Mingyu confesses, his voice strained with pleasure. "it's like I can feel every inch of you."

His admission only fuels your desire, spurring you to move with even more purpose and intent. With each rock of your hips, you feel him deep inside you, filling you up and setting your body ablaze with pleasure.

Mingyu's hands roam eagerly over your body, exploring every curve and contour as if he can't get enough of you. His touch is electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins.

As Mingyu's under abdomen trembled beneath you, a telltale sign that he was nearing the edge, you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. His moans grew louder, more urgent, and you could see the ecstasy written all over his face as he approached the peak of pleasure.

With a wicked grin, you leaned in close, your voice dripping with desire as you began to tease him with dirty talk. "You like that, baby?" you whispered, your breath hot against his ear. "You like how good I feel riding you like this?"

Mingyu's response was a guttural groan, his hands tightening on your hips as he struggled to form a coherent response. But you weren't about to let him off that easily.

"You're so close, aren't you?" you continued, your voice low and sultry. "You want to come for me, don't you?"

Mingyu's breathing grew ragged, his body trembling beneath you as he fought to hold on just a little while longer. But you weren't about to make it easy for him.

"I want to hear you say it," you murmured, your lips brushing against his skin as you whispered your command. "Tell me how badly you want to come for me. Tell me how much you need it."

And as Mingyu struggled to give you a response, his moans growing louder with each passing moment, you knew that he was teetering on the brink. 

As Mingyu surrendered completely to the overwhelming pleasure, his body convulsing with the force of his release, you couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction wash over you. His cries of ecstasy filled the air, mingling with your own moans of pleasure as you continued to ride him with unbridled passion.

"You like that, baby?" you purred, your voice dripping with desire as you felt his cock throbbing inside you. "You like how I'm overstimulating you, making you come so hard you can't even think straight?"

Mingyu's response was a choked sob, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm. But you weren't about to let up, not when you were so close to your own release.

With renewed determination, you continued to ride him, your movements becoming more frantic as you chased your own pleasure. Mingyu's cries of ecstasy filled the air, driving you wild with desire as you approached the brink of your own orgasm.

And as the pleasure washed over you in a tidal wave of sensation, you cried out in ecstasy, your body shuddering with the force of your release. Mingyu's cries echoed yours, his hands trembling while he grabbed your body close. 

Your stamina remained high, fueled by the intense sex between you and Mingyu. Even after your orgasm, you continued to bounce and ride him, your body moving with a relentless energy that seemed endless.

With each movement, each thrust, you felt a surge of pleasure coursing through you, driving you ever closer to the edge once more. Mingyu's cries of pleasure spurred you on, his hands gripping your hips with tightened fingers.

But as you rode him with increasing fervor, you felt a familiar tension building within you, a wave of pleasure that threatened to consume you completely. Your legs began to tremble beneath you, weakened by the relentless onslaught of pleasure.

And then, with a cry of ecstasy, you felt it wash over you, a tidal wave of pleasure that left you trembling and breathless. Your body convulsed with the force of your orgasm, your legs giving out beneath you as you collapsed against Mingyu, spent and satisfied.

As you disentangle yourself from Mingyu's spent form, you can't help but admire the sight before you. His cock is sore and spent, body glistening with sweat, his body exuding an aura of exhaustion and satisfaction.

"Are you good?" you ask softly, concern lacing your voice as you look down at him.

Mingyu lets out a ragged breath, his chest heaving as he meets your gaze with a mixture of disbelief and awe. "You're crazy," he murmurs, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

But then his expression turns serious, his eyes locking with yours as he speaks again. "Don't you dare to do this to anyone else," he says, his voice tinged with possessiveness. "Overstimulating might just become a kink of mine too, especially if it's with you."

His words send a shiver of excitement down your spine, the possessiveness in his tone igniting a fire within you. With a smirk, you lean in close, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Malleus, Vil, Floyd, Jamil and Rook, please! Are waiting outside the building for (their crush) MC so they can walk together. They hear a BOOM and "AHHHHHHHHH" and suddenly they catch MC, who was sent flying out the 2nd story window by a misdirected spell blast. In thanks for catching her, she gives them a sincere and sweet kiss on the cheek? Thank you!!!!!!

Floyd Leech: 

You are incredibly thankful you caught Floyd on a good day, as splatting on the ground would be preferable to landing on an already irritated eel. He tilted his head as he stared at the window you flew out of, asking with a pout why you were having fun without him. Once his questioning is over (he wanted to recreate the experiment gone wrong with his VERY lucky lab partner next period), he asked what his prize was for catching you. You ignore the devious pointed grin to give him a kiss on his cheek, a real mistake as he squeezed you extra tight until he felt he was properly compensated in kisses.

Jamil Viper: 

Jamil thinks, at first, that he should’ve let you fall on your ass but his ‘don’t let the rich idiot die’ training kicked in automatically. He stared at you with a raised eyebrow, his disappointed mother look getting you to confess immediately to what had gone wrong. When you thank him he’s suddenly flustered, telling you not to bring him into your shenanigans unnecessarily as a real ‘thanks’. When you offered up a kiss on the cheek Jamil found himself thrown off balance again, doing his best to glare and cursing himself for only ever finding trouble.

Malleus Draconia: 

Malleus caught you with total ease, looking at you in his arms with an amused smirk on his face. He asked if you were alright, giving you a once over before carefully setting you back on the ground (you don’t think you’ve ever been that high up). Before you’re down though you find yourself wrapped around his neck, your lips pressed hastily against his cheek. Your boldness had always amused him and this was no different, Malleus asking if he could get another if he continued to hold you.

Rook Hunt: 

Rook thought he might’ve smelled trouble in the air then, lo-and-behold — a beautiful specimen was offered from the heavens above, falling directly into his strong arms within the blink of an eye. He is painfully curious on how you managed to get in a situation like that, having to compliment your ability to stay stunning even while wildly flying through the air in a panic. He insisted you invite him next time, even the sweet kiss on the cheek you give not enough as he refused to put you down until you agreed to bring him on your next adventure.

Vil Schoenheit: 

You can’t help but note that, despite his slim, sleek physique, Vil is actually quite strong. He doesn’t have any trouble holding you in his arms, sighing and asking what caused such a scene. He takes it in stride but you can see he wants to give a thorough lecture (and perhaps a much less elegant ass-kicking) to the person who almost caused you harm. Now, if you were the culprit behind your own almost demise you’d be on the receiving side of his withering glare, no kisses able to save you from the scolding he delivered.