#like a star burning itself out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gojonanami · 1 year ago

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❝ 𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 (𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐎) !! ❞

❝ A LOVE TRIANGLE GONE RIGHT ?! REPORTING FROM THE SET OF THE HIT SHOW JUJUTSU KAISEN ! ❞

✧ pairing: actors!satoru gojo and suguru geto x actor!reader

✧ summary: rumors swirl about a love triangle between you and your two heart throb co-stars on the set of jujutsu kaisen. except in this case, you and your two co-stars are happily dating. but what happens when you get casted in a movie where they want you to have a PR relationship with your co-star? especially when your boyfriends find out who it is—

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, a lot of smut, no curses, modern au, jjk is a tv show, actor au, yes the actors and characters have the same names lol, reader is dating both of them, funny interview hijinxs, this is kind a lot of crack, jealous! gojo + geto, sukuna is here lmao, innuendos, oral (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), semi-exhibitionism, face sitting (f! receiving), multiple positions, multiple orgasms, sex (p in v), double penetration, creampie, multiple rounds, swearing, fanart by @ / _3aem

✧ wc: 17,900

“Reporters say the love triangle between the actors Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto and their co-star has become even more shrouded in mystery than the show itself!” an influencer reports on your social media of gchoice that morning, nearly vibrating from assumedly her three espressos, “the stars of Jujutsu Kaisen, the fantasy horror drama series written by Gege Akutami have been embroiled in dating scandals over the last few weeks—“ your phone’s notifications cut the audio from the video for a moment until you switch it to silent, “after being spotted leaving Suguru Geto’s loft just two nights ago, she was then seen having a lunch rendezvous with Satoru Gojo—“

You lock your phone, rubbing your temples, as the device nearly had an aneurysm from your social media notifications — buzzing itself off your dining room table and into an early death. Your agent was going to have a field day with this, and the main event is going to be your murder.

“What are they saying about us now?” Suguru sighs, as he emerges out of the shower in only a towel wrapped around his waist, steam rolling out of the bathroom, as you offer him a coffee, his fingers brushing yours as he takes a sip, “my agent is demanding I call him— and I’d like to know what we’ve done now before he kills me,” he says, though he continues to sip his coffee nonchalantly, unbefuddled by the thought of his death.

“Oi oi, calm down, shouldn’t you be more upset at the reporters than me?” Satoru comes from the bedroom, “Nanamin, just take care of it. Tell them we’re just friends if they ask you — do me a favor and pay off the reporter who got a picture of us kissing—“ and you nearly snort at the thought of Nanami Kento doing any sort of favor for Satoru.

“You let him kiss you?” Suguru raises an eyebrow, a smirk on his lips, as your cheeks burn, rolling your eyes.

“Not so much ‘let’ as he just kissed me without a second thought,” you shake your head, drinking your coffee as Satoru continues to bicker with Nanami, “I told him I thought I saw paparazzi but—“

“Satoru is do first, ask questions never,” Suguru sighs, but still the smirk remains, as he leans closer to you, his large palm against the back of your chair, “you never let me kiss you in public,”

And you’re resisting the urge to bite your lip, “You know better — look at what Satoru’s done now—“

“And was it worth it, Princess?” Your mind wanders to the kiss — Satoru’s hand against the nape of your neck, his lips sliding against yours, the faint taste of the strawberry cake he had for dessert lingering on his tongue and now yours, and the sticky heat that settled over your body from the too humid night air and his warmth leeching onto your skin, and the eyes watching his need for you made it all the more—

“Maybe,” you mumble, choosing to sip at your drink as Satoru cut off your conversation with his own.

“Just deal with it, Nanami, that’s why I hired you after all, huh?” He earns a swear from Nanami for the claim that he ‘hired’ him in any way whatsoever, and then his lips curl. “No they aren’t here with me—“ the bespectacled man shouts from the other line, “eh? What do you mean I look and sound like a man who only lies?” And then he’s hanging up, running a hand through his hair, a pout on his lips, “I was supposed to wake up to the two of you, not Nanami’s tirade,” he groans, as he makes his way over to you, only to wrap his arms around you from behind.

“Well, it is your fault, Satoru,” Suguru smirks over the rim of his cup, “someone couldn’t keep their hands to themselves—“

“Jealous, Suguru?” he replies, as he presses a kiss to your neck, “jealous that our princess is much more affectionate with me,”

Suguru cuts you off, “more like she babies you,” and Satoru’s face sours into a scowl, “if she had stayed at my apartment for the week, this wouldn’t have—“

“And then they would have seen me coming to your place, and what good would that do?”

“Guys—“ you try to speak, but you’re cut off again.

Suguru tilts his head with a small grin, “Are you lonely? Why don’t you find someon—“

“Stop, guys,” you couldn’t take this bickering this early in the morning, though you had grown used to it, “we have bigger problems to deal with than your egos,” you sigh, rising from Satoru’s grip even as he pouts, “we have to be more careful,”

“But how? We’ve already cut down our appearances together for behind the scenes and even stopped going out for dinner or dates,” Satoru pouts, running a hand through his hair, “next thing you’ll want to break up,”

“That’s not gonna happen,” you flick Satoru on the forehead, “but we have to do something, otherwise our agents will have us murdered,”

“And Nanami will join them for sport,” Suguru adds, and you snort, finally finishing your drink, before he walks over to you, fingers under your chin, “so what’s your idea, sweetheart?”

“Just take a break for a few weeks until the public finds something else to fixate on,” you sigh, “while the episodes air, all we’re going to get is more attention,”

“We could just take a trip,” Satoru offers, “I own a private island—“

“Of course you do,” Suguru says, and Satoru only chuckles.

“Being envious doesn’t become you, Suguru,” the snow haired actor clicks his tongue at him, before he’s pulling you into his arms, “we could go for a few days, get away from all the noise,”

“It’s a good idea, but you’re forgetting one thing, Satoru,” Suguru tilts his head, “won’t they notice if we all go on vacation at the same time?”

“Plus we have interviews to do in the coming week,” you remind Satoru, and he’s sighing, burying his face in the crook of your neck, “but maybe we can go after?”

“Unless you get that role,” Satoru mumbles against your skin, pressing sweet kisses to the nape of your neck, “have you heard anything yet?”

You shake your head, a sigh stuck in your throat, “It’s a long shot. This is such a big role and it’s for the lead,” and Suguru is finding his way to you, warm fingers cupping your cheek.

“They would be lucky to have you — do you know how many people say you were their favorite character? They were ready to fight me and Satoru for you,” he adds with a chuckle, lips ghosting over the swell of your cheek, “I think they would beat us with sheer numbers,”

“Nah, I’d win,” Satoru says, and you snort, rolling your eyes, “but he’s right princess, how crazy would they have to be not to cast you?”

“There’s so many other talented people up for the role—“

“There’s always going to be someone else,” Suguru cuts you off gently, as his fingers find yours, lacing with yours so perfectly you wondered if it’s what they were made for, “but that doesn’t mean you’re any less valuable or incredible,”

“And you’re already far more talented than you give yourself credit for,” Satoru adds, “but when do you get the role, inevitably,” Suguru smirks at him, “when would shooting begin?”

“Probably just after our press wraps for season two,” you lean into their touch, “they still haven’t casted the two leads, but apparently both are down to the final audition,” and you’re pressing nosing Satoru’s cheek, before pressing a chaste kiss to Suguru’s nose, “and that’s why we’ll have to cool it for the next few weeks, ok?”

But you don’t — or rather they don’t.

“Who is Satoru Gojo’s…” Satoru rips off the tape off the cardboard printout of Googled questions, “favorite actor to work with?”

“We all know the answer to that,” Suguru replies with a sigh, his eyes sliding to you, and you roll your own.

“Look who’s talking — these two are obsessed with each other,” and Satoru has a shit eating grin, sitting back and watching the two of you argue, “the two of you are soulmates — and I’m not talking about your characters,”

“Don’t go there,” Suguru scoffs, and you tilt your head, lips curling, as your gaze meets his.

“Are you begging?” and you can’t help the way your tone bites back, falling far over the line of playful teasing and into blatant flirting, and you can only hope the camera plays off the dark glint in Suguru’s gaze as he smirks as teasing rather than what you know it is — lustful.

“You’re both wrong anyway,” Satoru cuts in, “obviously my favorite actor to work with is Megumi!”

And you and Suguru both snort, words falling from your lips in unison, “Poor Megumi,”

“Ehhh? What do you mean by that?” And Satoru smacks you both playfully with the piece of cardboard an intern probably painfully put together before tossing it away.

“What happened to Suguru Geto….” in Jujutsu Kaisen?” Suguru reads.

“Dead,” you and Satoru answer in unison, and Suguru raises an eyebrow.

“You both are a walking spoiler,” and you gape at Suguru.

“They asked, and he’s the spoiler warning — he read ahead and told me that his character—“ and Suguru covers your mouth, looking the camera dead in the eye.

“You’re welcome—ow!” And he pulls his hand away, “did you just bite me?”

“You weren’t complaining last night,” Satoru says, earning a whack to the face with the cardboard printout from Suguru, “when you tried to steal her snacks—“

And you weren’t really helping either.

“Do you think of yourself as a heartthrob?*” You ask Satoru, hooked up to a lie detector, the polygraph examiner studying the results closely, as Suguru didn’t bother biting back his smile.

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m not—“

“It’s a yes or no question, Satoru,” you cut him off as he sighs dramatically, running a hand through his snowy locks.

“Then I’ll have to say yes,” and he’s winking at the camera, and you’re snorting, looking at the lie detector reader.

“It’s the truth,” he says simply and the examiner nods, and you scoff, as Satoru only pouts at you.

“Have you ever,” Suguru lets a chuckle escape his lips, “look at fan accounts for yourself? I can answer this one, yes he does, I’ve watched him do it—“

Satoru scoffs, doubling down, “can you blame me? My fans do such wonderful edits—“

“And inflate your ego to a catastrophic size—“ and Satoru is reaching across the table to cover your mouth.

“Be careful she bites,” Suguru warns, leaning back in his chair, as you grin against Satoru’s hand, and he shrugs, lips curling.

“Don’t worry, I like it,”

The examiner nods, “that’s the truth.”

“We’ll start out tame,” you say, as you look at the list of thirst tweets in front of you and choosing one of the more…hinged ones, “Suguru Geto, I would let you kill me like the monkey I am, and I’d thank you for it,” and you show the tweet, “monkey emoji covering their face,”

“That’s a tame one?” Suguru covers half his face with his hand, much like the emoji, “what the **** are the wild ones?” And you open your mouth to reply and he cuts you off, “I don’t want to know,”

“Sweetheart, I’ll read one for you next,” and Satoru scans his list, and he clears his throat, holding out his hand to you, your name on his lips, “the only way I could die happy ever is if I suffocated when you sat on my face,”

And heat climbs your face at his words, a single chuckle giving way to full laughter, “***, that’s a lot of pressure to put on me—“

“And on them,” Satoru adds, and you’re glaring at him only to dissolve into giggles, “I can't blame them. It wouldn’t be a bad way to go,”

“It’s my turn,” Suguru scans the list and grimaces, “I don’t want to read this,” and then he runs his fingers through his hair and sighs, “I’d let Satoru Gojo **** me, spit in my mouth, and make my daddy issues worse, and I’d thank him for it, respectfully,”

And you’re doubled over in laughter by the time he gets to the end of his monotone reading, while Satoru only grins at the camera, leaning against the table, as he pulls his sunglasses on only to tilt them down his nose.

“I’m available.”

No, this press junket did not help at all.

“Fuck,” you grumble, propping yourself on your elbow, your knuckles pressed to your lips, “how are we still trending? Aren't there other things to talk about?”

“Stop checking it, it’s only making you crazy,” Suguru sighs, collapsing next to you on the couch, his hand thrown over the top of the couch, before it slips down behind you, warm palm resting on your hip, “there’s nothing you can do,”

“My agent said she’s definitely going to get news on whether I got the part tomorrow — and tomorrow is when the last episode of the season is airing, and when—“

“The scene with Kenjaku at the end, I know,” Suguru presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, “think I could pull off stitches?” He drags a finger across his forehead teasingly.

“If you’re asking for a lobotomy, I always wanted to try doing one,” Satoru walks in from the shower, hair still damp, as he squeezes on your other side, “Princess, you can be my nurse, hm?”

“Did you already have one?” Suguru bites back, and Satoru doesn’t reply, burying his face in the crook of your neck, “she’s still worried about tomorrow,”

“Don’t you know there’s no such thing as bad publicity?” Satoru presses a sweet kiss to your neck.

“Not when they’re speculating if I’m dating or cheating on one or both of you,” you shake your head, “what if the director thinks I’m a liability?”

“If the director thinks you’re a liability after seeing your work and meeting you, then he’s clearly blind,”

You flick his sunglasses down, “can you say that four eyes?”

“Don’t you mean six eyes?” Satoru sticks his tongue out at him, and Suguru’s fingers find yours, laced hands against your thigh, “whatever happens, happens — you know your worth,”

“And your worth is far too high for you — only I could afford it,” he wiggled his eyebrows, and you shove Satoru, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you against him, his lips grazing the soft skin behind your ear, “how much?”

“For you? A billion dollars,” and his lips find yours in a kiss, lazy but warm, heat from his touch spreading like a flames carried by the wind.

“That all? What a bargain,” Satoru pulls a breath away, his lips curled in a grin, only for Suguru’s fingers to cup your chin and make you turn around.

Deep purple irises you grew lost in, his thumb dragging down your kiss bitten lips, “and for our princess?” He hums, lips grazing yours teasingly, “a steal,”

“Well, you both stole my heart so you might as well have the rest,” and Suguru’s lips finally find yours in a real kiss, deep and full, until your mind is filled with nothing but him — and Satoru, whose lips ghost over your shoulder and collarbone and hands slip under your shirt, warm palms against your far too heated skin, “fuck—“ you’re sighing, melting agaisnt them, “Sugu, Toru,” you’re whining already, drawing smirks to both of their lips.

“Let us take care of you, sweetheart,” Satoru whispers, lips finding your earlobe and sucking at the sensitive skin, and Suguru pulls away from your kiss for a moment, a string of spit connecting your lips.

“We’ll get your mind off things, Princess,” and his fingers tease the waistband of your shorts, “all night long.”

And they do, they keep their promise — the three of you falling into bed in a jumble of limbs, and you forget until the next morning.

And in the morning—you get the call, “okay, thank you,” you hang up, still between mussed sheets and arms wrapped around your waist, “I got it!”

“Heh, I knew you would,” Satoru mumbles, burying his face in your side, “I’m so proud of you, baby,”

“Hm? Proud of her for what?” Suguru murmurs, half asleep, black locks strewn around his head like a halo.

“I got the role, Sugu,” you lean down and kiss his nose, and he’s grinning wide, fingers winding into the back of your head to pull into a kiss, “you’re looking at the leading actor of a movie,”

“You’re going to be in demand now, Princess,” Suguru says, dragging a thumb down your lips, “will you still make time for us?”

“Of course, always — you’ll visit me on set right?”

“You sure, sweetheart? Maybe you’ll be too busy for us,” Satoru leans up and presses a kiss on your neck.

“Maybe for you,” and he’s pouting, and you lean down to kiss his pout away, and then you get an email, “oh it’s the casting sheet for the other roles,” you scan the list, “oh,”

“‘Oh?’” Suguru raises an eyebrow.

“The male lead, he’s someone we know,” you sigh, rubbing your temples, “and I’m already getting a headache,”

Satoru furrows his brow, as the two of them lean over your shoulders to look — Satoru scowling and Suguru glaring at your screen, as they say his name at the same time — as if summoning him from the underworld.

“Sukuna?”

Ryomen Sukuna was both famous and infamous in the industry — famous for his portrayals of villains and antiheroes alike, ability to make you despise the enemy to the point of near or blatant admiration, and his skill of stepping into each role and taking it as his own. And he lives in infamy for, well, what happens between takes of the camera.

“Look any longer and I’ll have you thrown off set, brat,” Sukuna says, without a glance at you, newspaper in hand as if he was pulled from thirty years ago, his phone seemingly laying discarded on a nearby. The P.A.s nearby cower a few feet away, trying to look preoccupied, as their terror has fully set in of this man.

Or should you say monster?

“I see the stick up your ass makes you as pleasant as ever,” you mutter, and you don’t see that it earns you a smirk from him, his dark gaze takes over you, earning a glare from you, “now who’s staring?”

He leans against the arm of his chair, “I was just noticing how lovely the view is without those two pests hanging on your every word,” and you’re rolling your eyes.

“Jealous?”

“Of your little throuple? No,” he smirks, rising from his chair, hands sliding into his pockets as he brushes by you, “because unlike those two,” he pauses, voice dropping to a whisper, “I know how to satisfy a woman on my own,”

And you grit your teeth, holding your tongue — your relationship with Satoru and Suguru was a badly kept secret on the set or Jujutsu Kaisen, but it never was a problem — until now.

You follow behind him, heading to the director’s trailer for your meeting before rehearsals began.

“You want us to what?”

“We spoke to your agents, and they agreed with us that it would be good publicity for the two of you to pretend to be a couple during the filming and leading up to production,” the director leans back in his seat, “it shouldn’t be a problem — the two of you have worked together before right?”

You can’t hide your aghast expression in time, not before Sukuna glances at your face and sees the horror, and it puts a rare grin on his lips, “I’m in, what’s a little more acting?”

You’re swallowing thickly, eyes flitting over Sukuna’s smug grin so fast you only hoped your gaze was sharp enough to cut, “Can I please speak to you privately?”

And Sukuna gets up from the edge of the table he leaned against, flashing you a wry grin, “see you out there, sweetheart,” and you wished you could rip out his heart and show him how very sweet you were — but you bite your tongue, waiting for the door to swing shut, “I—“

“Do you know part of the reason we choose you over the other actor vying for your role?” The director cuts you off, arms crossed over his chest, and you shut your mouth, shaking your head, “Jujutsu Kaisen has done tremendously this season — one of the most viewed shows across the world and do you know part of the reason?” and again you shake your head, “your P.R. stunts with Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto,”

You knit your brow together — not your talent, your work, or art — but your boyfriends? “Your ability to have chemistry with the both of them have enticed the public and the number of times you’ve trended alone this season—“

Your fingers curl into fists, “With all due respect—“

“If you do this, the film will be a hit — i see you two already, there’s chemistry—“

You scoff, “more like a fucking bomb,” you mutter, running your fingers through your hair, “bottom line, do I have a choice?”

“You do,” he says, arms crossed, “but so do I,” fuck, you grit your teeth.

You emerge from the office, Sukuna waiting right outside, leaning against the wall right beside the doors, “you fucking make this difficult—“

“And you’ll do what, brat?” his face twists with his frown, as he leans over, lumbering over you, “what do you think you could do to me?” And he’s clicking his tongue, the condescension rolling off of it, “director told us to play nice, so be nice,” his lips curl, “but I like you mean too,”

He stalks off and you’re scrubbing a hand down your face. You were so fucking screwed.

“You what?” Satoru’s mouth gaped at you, twisted in pure disgust, while Suguru only stared at you, as expressionless as Satoru was expressive, “and you agreed?”

“She didn’t have a choice, Satoru—“

“That’s because the bastard didn’t give her a choice,” Satoru’s face twists again, this time in anger, brow furrowed, but lips in a sharp smile, “so why don’t we not give him a choice either?” Satoru is pulling his phone out.

“What are you doing—don’t—“

“One call, and I’ll have this guy firing Sukuna—“

“And there goes any actors or directors who will want to work for me if these guys go off, and you know they will,” you shake your head, “I’ve run this — it’s either I do the movie or I don’t,”

Suguru frowns, hands in his pockets, “What do you want to do?”

Your face in your hands, “I don’t want to drop the movie because of this, I can’t—“

“Then you do it,” Satoru rubs the back of his head, and Suguru tilts his head at him, “and after you become the biggest star out there, I’ll take care of that director and Sukuna,”

You and Suguru both snort, “Well that was verging on heartfelt,” Suguru shakes his head, “but he’s right, you can’t let two bullies kick you off your movie, you earned this role — and when you act circles around everyone else, you’ll have carried it too,”

You wrap your arms around both of them, “How’d I get so lucky?” You murmur, and Satoru’s nose brushes against yours before meeting your lips, while Suguru kisses wet kisses against your neck, “encouragement and threats of violence,” and Satoru only grins, pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of your lips.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” and Suguru rolls his eyes, before his arm slips around your waist.

“And he really means anytime, last time you talked to Toji, he pouted for two hours,” Satoru glared at Suguru, while you laughed, pulling the snowy haired actor close.

“It’s so cute when you’re jealous, Toru,” you kiss his chin, eyes sliding to Suguru, “but you’re terrifying,”

“What are you talking about?” And Satoru chuckles, tilting his head.

“You mentioned me during Toji? You nearly yanked our princess away from him,” and Suguru furrows his brow, lips a thin line, “maybe we should drop by during rehearsals,”

You scoff, “Yeah that sounds like a terrible idea,” and Suguru’s arms are wrapping around you, “Sugu—“

“If we can’t spend as much time together, then we better make this time count, isn’t that right, Satoru?”

“You’re right,” and Satoru’s hands slide under your baggy t-shirt, “better use all the time we have,” and as they lead you to the bedroom, your limbs entangled, you knew you weren’t sleeping that night.

But you didn’t know that would be the last time you’d be sleeping with them at all for the next month.

“You have to cut down the time you spend with anyone else — especially other men,” your agent told you, “that goes for Gojo and Geto too,”

“Why is this role controlling everything in my real life too?” you mutter under your breath, “why does it matter we won’t get caught—“

“Like all the other times you didn’t get caught?” and your words leave you abandoned as no articulate response comes to mind, “it’s for a couple months. You can have them visit on set, you can still see them once a month, but not every day,”

“But why—“

“Once a month reduces your chance of being seen with them exponentially over the next few months. Just deal with it. After this, you won’t have to put up with bullshit,” she hangs up, as you stare at your phone screen, squeezing it at the sight of Satoru and Suguru’s good luck texts — and why did it feel like you still always would have to keep putting up with bullshit?

“Better not fucking cry. We have to pretend to fall in love in ten minutes — I would rather not be looking at something ugly this early,” Sukuna cuts into your thoughts, hands in his pockets, as he sips his coffee.

Exhibit A.

“We’re not shooting for an hour,” you were on set after getting ready, waiting for the weather to clear up for the shoot, and he gives a gruff chuckle

“Not that shoot.”

“Looks like Sukuna not only has taken over Itadori’s body, but also the heart of one of Jujutsu Kaisen’s fan favorites,” you groan, earbud slipping out for a moment, just like your life was slipping, “the actress and co-star were spotted getting cozy off set before shooting had even begun for the day,”

Oh what the fuck.

You toss your phone away before falling back in bed, far too empty without Satoru and Suguru, only their pillows to keep you company as you twisted in the sheets. You had passed off your social media to your agent to handle — it was bad enough when you were caught in a love triangle with Satoru and Suguru, but now Sukuna? You can only imagine what people would say about you.

And you didn’t need to see it to do that.

But that wasn’t important. It was your day off, you turned over in bed, burying your face against your boyfriends pillows — nothing a nap couldn’t fix.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Or maybe not. You slide from the arms of sleep reluctantly, already missing the warmth of the covers as the cold air hits your skin. You’re rubbing your eyes as you check who it is before opening it.

“Satoru? What are you—“ and his arms are around you in a moment, your breath catching, “Toru—“

“You see what they’re saying online?” His gaze is stoic, lips a thin line.

“We can’t—“ and he’s shutting the door before locking it, before he’s had you pressed against the wood, the grain dragging against your skin.

“They said you two make the perfect couple,” he cups your chin, his breath warming your lips, “even more than me or Suguru—“ his hand slides against the swell of your hip, “a walk, a coffee? Was that all?”

Your brow knits together “Of course, you know I would never—“ and his lips ghost over the juncture of your neck and shoulder, nosing at the soft skin of your neck, “Toru—“ you bite your bottom lip.

“I know you wouldn’t, sweetheart, I know,” he says softly, “but I have to make sure he knows that,” his teeth grazes over your soft skin, “knows that you’re mine,” and his teeth digs into your soft flesh, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips, pain melting into pleasure, as your head lolls back against the door.

“Toru, no I have rehearsals in a week,” you whine, but that just makes him soothe the blooming love bite with his tongue, “Toru—“

“Do you really want me to stop now, sweetheart?” he’s pulling your mouth open with his thumb, “your face says you don’t,” and his large palm slides down your body and into your shorts, the wet squelch and the brush of his fingers through the drenched fabric, “and your pretty cunt seems to agree,”

“Toru,” you’re biting your lip, “fuck, you’re impossible,” and his mouth travels lower, as his other hand slides up under your shirt, squeezing your chest.

“You’re the one who slept without anything under your clothes,” he murmurs in your ear, lips sliding against your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin there, “you’re so wet already, hear that? Did you touch yourself thinking of us? Want us to fuck you that bad after a week?” his lips ghost over your jaw.

“Fuck, you talk so much,” you’re pouting, thighs pressing together, but he’s pushing them apart, “why are you teasing me so much?”

And he pauses, ocean blues stormy instead of the tranquil skies you’re used to, “Sukuna touched you. He got to hold you,” he’s pouting now, “that privilege is for us, and he got to so easily,”

“I didn’t want him to,” and he’s nuzzling your neck.

“Let me erase his touch,” and he’s lifting you with the practiced ease he always had.

“Where’s Suguru—“ and you yelp as he playfully tosses you on the bed, pulling his shirt over his head with one hand, a grin as he watches you bounce.

“He’ll be here later,” and he’s kissing up your body, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your shorts to pull them down, half lidded eyes with deep lust finding yours, “for now, you’re all mine.”

“I-I can’t,” you’re whimpering, your hands clutching at Satoru’s back, fingernails digging crescents into his perfect skin, only hoping he doesn’t have a shirtless shoot tomorrow, but you barely can register that with three of his fingers in your pussy, “Toru,”

How many times had you orgasmed? Six or seven at least — it was nearly second nature at this point. Satoru knew what spots to touch, where to press, how to move to have you writhing underneath him in a moment. He’s knuckle deep, spreading your walls as his thumb toys with your clit, drawing another moan from your lips. Your release soaked his fingers and sheets underneath, his fingers surely wrinkled from their time spent inside your walls.

And by his smirk against the swell of your breast, he knew it.

“Yes you can baby, I know you have one more f’me,” and you’re already so close, but you have been — it’s been a repeated coil winding and snapping over and over, and you’re nearly to tears, back arching as he plunges his fingers somehow deeper, “know this pretty pussy too well, look at the way you’re sucking me in,” your insides flutter around his digits again, the tips dragging against your walls, “practically begging me to fuck you more, sweetheart,”

“I’ll say,” and your eyes barely can flit up to meet Suguru’s wry smile, corners of his lips curled, “I see you’re as impatient as ever, Satoru — started without me,” and he’s tugging his shirt over his head, “but at least you’ve gotten her ready for me,”

“Sugu—“ and Satoru adds a fourth finger, stuffed full with him, drawing a gasp from your lips.

“Don’t want you to say Suguru’s name when I’m the one pleasuring you,” Sstoru clicks his tongue, “wanna hear you moan my name, sweetheart, when I make you cum,”

“You’ll have plenty of chances to moan my name,” you make a whining noise in the back of your throat, pleasure felt as if it had burned out your nerves, but it still was able to overload them, the throbbing in your cunt a telltale sign, “you g’nna cum, pretty? Use your words for me?”

“G’nna cum—ngh, Toru,” you feel that familiar knot in the pit of your stomach, your walls wring his fingers as you cum, hard, your head thrown back against the pillow. And the squelch of your cunt rings in your ears, as he finger fucks you through your orgasm.

“Fuck, she’s so pretty everytime she falls apart for us,” Suguru groans, as Satoru leans over to kiss you, “so good for us, Princess,” you only moan in reply, lost in the pleasure that still floods your body, as Satoru pulls his fingers from you.

And your eyes catch a glimpse of Satoru licking his fingers clean, one by one, “Still the sweetest thing I’ve ever had,”

“Don’t hog her, Satoru,” Suguru is pulling Satoru away, settling between your thighs, “you both made such a mess,” and you gasp, as his lithe fingers brush against your still too sensitive folds, spreading them only for your juices to slip out, “I’m always stuck cleaning up, but in this case,” he drags the flat of his tongue up your needy cunt, a moan falling from your lips, as your fingers fisted in his black locks, “I don’t mind at all.”

But that night wasn’t the end of it — no, not by far.

It wasn’t enough for them to ravish you, now they have to show up on set — their schedules lining up just perfect to see your rehearsals (though you think their schedules had some help from using the words “contagious” and “sickly”). However the only thing they were seemingly sick with was jealousy — especially so as you sat with Sukuna, going over lines for the next scene.

You rubbed at your neck, feeling lucky that the marks they left had faded, but they still had begged you to show up to the shoot.

“We won’t make you uncomfortable,” Satoru pouted, nuzzling your side, as you snort.

“Just like you said you wouldn’t leave hickies on me?” You scoff, and suguru buries his face in the crook of your neck, pressing sweet kisses along the marks Satoru left.

“She has a point,” Suguru murmurs, but Satoru only pouts, “but I would like to be on set so that freak doesn’t try anything,” and you run your fingers through Satoru’s snowy locks, while leaning into Suguru’s touch, “he has a reputation of making moves on all his co-stars,”

“So? It’s not like I’ll let him,” and Satoru’s gotten you pinned to the bed, your hands trying to break free but you can’t.

“It’s not a matter of letting him, it’s matter of him trying to do something you don’t want,” and your brows knit together, as Satoru presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“There’ll be other people—“

“Other people who may very well look the other way, for someone like Ryomen Sukuna,” Suguru sighs, words almost whispered against your ear, “you know that’s how this business can be,” and it was — it could be. The Jujutsu Kaisen set was a rare exception, but this movie — the director’s words still ringing in your ears — it was different.

“Let us just make sure you’re safe, make sure you’re okay, and then we’ll go.”

And that’s how you ended up with their states boring into the back of your head.

“You bringing a pair of guard dogs with you everywhere now?” Sukuna spares a glance at your boyfriends, who were relegated to stand near your trailer — Satoru stood, arms crossed over his white t-shirt, a black jacket thrown over it, his blue eyes narrowed in frustration, as if his crossed arms were the only things holding him back from throttling Sukuna. While Suguru leaned against your trailer, scrolling on his phone in his dark navy button up, stealing glances at the two of you, his eyes narrowed and lips a thin line, “don’t know if they are ready to rip you apart or me,”

You bite your tongue, wanting to say they had already ripped you apart last night, but you only shook your head, “They insisted on coming today, I don’t know why,”

He grunts in reply, “It’s bad timing on your end, brat,” and your eyes snap to his, and he tilts his head, leaning against his hand, “you didn’t hear? The director wants us to film our big kiss at the end of the movie,”

Your blood runs cold, “Since when?”

“Since you were late to our morning meeting, assuredly because of those two,” he jerks his head in the direction of Satoru and Suguru, before giving them both a wide grin, “they don’t know do they?” Your silence is all the answer Sukuna needs to give a rare laugh, “oh this will be entertaining, brat, and I thought acting with you would be boring.”

Oh, you’re fucking screwed.

“Cut!” The director called for the billionth time, and you were about ready to wring his neck, and you were not the only one — if looks could kill, Satoru and Suguru would have had the director skewered a million times over by now. Unfortunately for them, looks did not kill, “we need more passion,”

And you’re biting back a groan, as Sukuna smirks, leaning over to whisper, “don’t look so disappointed, I see the two idiots haven’t taught you to kiss,”

“More like the partner I have doesn’t make kissing him appealing,” you bite back, running a hand through your hair as you spoke to the intimacy coordinator again, but your eyes keep sliding over to Satoru and Suguru, “fuck,” how were you supposed to do this with them staring you down?

“Let’s try it again,” you both get in place for the shot, the clap of the clapperboard, as Sukuna’s fingers brushed against your cheek again. You stepped into the role, letting yourself be consumed with the passion of your character, channeling what you felt for your own loves.

And finally your lips met his — you felt nothing, only the pressure of lips meeting one another, but you tried to show emotion, fingers clutching at his shirt in desperation, the small gasps and sighs parting your lips between kisses, and the way your hand then slid up to rest at the nape of his neck.

“I love you, more than anything,” you murmur against his lips, nose brushing against his, “more than anyone. You can’t go. Not without me,”

“What choice do I have?” Sukuna mutters back, his arm coiling around your waist, “it’s too dangerous for you to come along,”

“Who said you get to make my decisions for me?” your lips curl, “and who says I can’t buy my own ticket to come with you?” And he’s shaking his head, “listen,” your fingers cup his cheek, “don’t think, just let it happen,” and you’re leaning even closer, breath warming his lips, his breath hitching.

“Cut!” And you’re trying to pull away, but Sukuna holds you there, leaning forward, making you flinch, only to whisper in your ear.

“Sorry, just wanted to give them more of a show,” and he lets go, lips curled in a wide grin, “looks like we have a break now, so have fun, but not too much,” he laughs, as the director beckons him over.

You glance at Satoru and Suguru — oh fuck.

“Sugu—uumph—“ Suguru barely let you get a step inside the trailer before he pinned you to the metal door, his hands dragged over your sides.

“Hold still, Princess, I have to overwrite every place he touched you,” his fingers trace over your cheeks, lips grazing your jaw, his thumb dragged over your lips, before catching on your tongue, “did you brush your tongue against his — run it over the seam of his lips before slipping it inside? Flick it over like you do? Did you enjoy kissing him, sweetheart?”

“Of course I didn’t—“ and Satoru’s taking the opportunity to kiss you, teeth dragging over your bottom lip.

“Course she didn’t, but I’m sure he did,” Satoru’s fingers traced over your jaw, “enjoyed our sweets’ even sweeter lips, didn’t he?” And Satoru kisses down your jaw, while Suguru is sinking down to his knees, large palms sliding up and hiking up your dress, “should leave some marks to remind him who you belong to,” his teeth dig into the soft of your flesh.

“Toru! No, I still have to finish the shoot — the makeup artists—“ you whine, but god, it feels so good, as his tongue flicks against his teeth marks, “fuck,”

“Be careful, someone will hear you, Princess,” Suguru murmurs, soft kisses to your inner thighs, “hear how good you’ll feel,” his teeth sink into your thigh, nipping and sucking, “and how good we’re both making you feel,”

“Sugu, ah, I—fuck,” and Satoru is eagerly swallowing your moans with his lips, taking the chance to slip his tongue in, while Suguru noses at the soft of your thigh.

“She’s already dripping, how are you so pretty here, Princess?” And he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, not that you could with Satoru’s tongue down your throat, as his lips press a kiss to your messy folds, nose bumping against your puffy clit, “tastes even better,” he moans, sound reverberating against your sensitive cunt.

“Oh that won’t do at all, we’ve barely started,” Satoru tsks all the while tugging your sleeves down to reveal your bare chest underneath the dress barely on your body at this point, crumpled fabric pushed up and down into the middle by them, “no bra, Princess? For us or for the camera?”

“For you,” you manage between moans, Suguru’s tongue tracing teasing circles around your clit, “always for you—“ the word trails off into a moan, as Suguru meanly sucks on the sensitive nub, “ngh, fuck—“ your knees are buckling, quaking as if your bones were made of rubber, a gasp pulled from your lips, when Satoru’s lips press a teasing kiss to your already erect nipple, while he toys with the other between his forefinger and thumb, pinching and pulling. And he switches, welcoming the other with a graze of his teeth and the flick of his tongue.

The sounds of the lewd squelch of Suguru’s mouth against your dripping cunt filled your ears, volts from his touch reaching every inch of you, “so wet f’me, pretty, you like thinking someone could hear us fucking you?” Suguru mutters, his lips pulling away for a moment, as his long fingers spread your folds for him — every inch of you exposed, “fuck, you’ve dripped all over the floor of the trailer, Princess,”

“All that just from Suguru’s mouth?” Satoru smirks, dragging a finger down your puffy lips, while his other hand gropes at your breast, “imagine how sopping you’ll be when we fuck you,”

And you’re whining, as Suguru teases your entrance with a finger, “You fuckers—“ you yelp as Suguru picks you up with ease and tosses you into the nearby bed — a request you had made so you could nap between scenes or during times you weren’t needed on set — not that you had gotten to use it, until now.

Satoru’s pulling the dress up and over your head, tossing the garment away, both of their gazes dragging over your exposed skin. Satoru flips you onto your stomach, and you hear the creak of the bed behind you and you know Suguru repositioned himself between your thighs.

“On your knees, pretty,” Suguru’s hands are lifting your legs, his fingers already teasing your sopping hole again, and he’s bracing an arm around your thighs, “such a good girl,” and his fingertips breach you only to pull away, even as your walls try to beckon him inside.

“Fuck,” you’re groaning, needy cunt begging for release, you needed it, needed it so bad.

“Such a filthy mouth,” Satoru clicks his tongue, as he undoes the buckle of his belt, tugging his boxers and pants down to free his weeping erection. And god, his cock is so pretty — long and pink, with beads of pearly precum dripping from the slit, lovely veins running up and down his length, “how ‘bout I put it to use sweetheart?”

And the tip brushes against your face, smearing against your lips, before you part your lips and let his dick slap against your tongue, before letting it part your pretty lips. The tip of your tongue traces his slit, tasting his pre, as you sucked and licked along his length, until his sweet grunts slipped from his lips. And fuck, you know he would feel so good inside you, long cock reaching the places he always did and that you never could.

But it was hard for you to stay focused when Suguru bas two thick fingers buried in your right cunt, dragging against your walls, moaning around Satoru’s length. And it feels almost too good, as if you’d melt between them, burning from their touches. And you’d still always ask for more.

Satoru’s fingers dig into your locks, as he moans, “Fuck, s’good for me, baby,” his hips buck against your mouth, his hair sticking to his forehead, sticky with sweat, “not gonna last much longer, Suguru,”

And Suguru pulled out his fingers, licking them clean, his face still sticky with your cum, as you whine at the absence, “she’s not either, but I think she needs something more,” and you feel his cockhead drag against your folds, and you’re whining, “not gonna put it inside baby, too much of a mess, and can’t do too much, can we?” And you feel his lips curl in a smirk, “after all, your boyfriend out there might mind,” he’s pressing your thighs together, beginning to rock forward, sending you deeper onto Satoru’s cock, making him hiss.

“Fuck, take it, sweetheart,” his fingers tilting your head up slightly to find your eyes glazed over in pleasure, puffy lips with saliva and precum dripping from the corners, and it only makes him want to fuck your throat, “gonna go back on set like this? All messy from your ‘side pieces?’”

“Fuck, she twitched hard when you said that,” Suguru is fucking between your thighs, his hard cock rubbing against your dripping slit again and again, delicious friction sending you closer and closer, “fuck, g’nna cum for me sweet girl?”

And you’re moaning around Satoru, and his tip brushes against your throat with one particularly hard thrust from Suguru, and that’s it.

Satoru’s moaning your name, unable to hold back, as he cums in your mouth, his hot load pouring down your throat, dick twitching as it continues to spurt as he rocks his hips into you. Suguru pinches and rubs your clit hard, rocking his leaking cock into you, and you cum, walls fluttering around nothing, as you soak him in your release.

The moans of their names on your lips send Suguru tumbling over too, as he pulls back and pumps, before cumming all over your back with his thick seed.

You’re pulling yourself off Satoru, with a wet pop, cum and spit trickling down your lips, as your tongue flicks out to clean it off. And Satoru groans, as he lays down and settles beside you, “don’t make me fuck you right here,”

And Suguru helps you turn on your side, legs still shaking from your orgasm, as he slips up behind you, his softening cock pressed against you, pressing sweet kisses to your sweat soaked skin.

“Think anyone heard us?” you mumble, burying your face in the crook of Satoru’s neck, and their chuckles rumble against you, making you shiver.

Suguru answers, “No, if someone did, they would have come—“

There’s a harsh knock on the door, followed by the call of your name, “The director’s calling you to set,” it was your agent’s voice, “so I suggest all three of you clean up and come out.”

Well, fuck.

“How has shooting the film been so far?”

“It’s been wonderful. It’s so different from filming a television series, and I’ve loved learning the nuances of film and how it’s made,” you say, sitting in the worlds most uncomfortable chair behind Sukuna, who managed to look interestedly disinterested.

“Speaking of which, you two have worked together before, right?”

“We have,” Sukuna replies before you have a chance to answer, “the two of us haven’t had many scenes together before, so being able to finally act together is…fate,”

You force yourself to give a wry smile, “I forget he’s such a romantic, when he isn’t too busy calling me a brat,” the words slip out and you’re instantly regretting your words — fuck, fuck, fuck. You really just said Ryomen Sukuna called you brat — in an interview that will air on TV but also live on the internet.

“A brat huh?” The interviewer chuckled awkwardly, “is she a bit of a diva on set?”

“Oh and off,” Sukuna’s grin grows all the more wide, leaning against his hand and stealing a glance at you, “but I know how to tame her,” and you self consciously tug at your high neck sweater, the bites Satoru and Suguru well concealed — and you’d never have him pass it off as his own.

Oh, you would kill him. If not for the fact that you had dug your own grave, and he only did you the favor of pushing you in and burying you. No the only funeral was your own.

“How bad?” You ask your agent on the way home, earbuds in your ear as you sit in the back of the car, partition up as the driver makes their way to your home.

“How bad? You mean how great! We’re getting so much traffic on that interview. People keep talking about you and Sukuna. You’re trending again,” and that was the last thing you wanted to hear and the first thing she wanted to tell you.

Why the fuck did you want to be an actor again?

“What are they saying about me?”

“There’s some negative stuff about both of you, but that’s expected — mostly people surprisingly, uh, like you better with Sukuna than Gojo or Geto—“

“What? Why?” God, fuck the public’s want for an older man.

“I don’t know. You guys have this chemistry in interviews. The way you guys banter it feels so personal and electric I guess?” Her voice almost makes it sounds like she agreed.

“Are you saying that or the fans?” The only thing electric about your conversation with Sukuna was the feeling of rage running through your veins faster than a million volts.

“I don’t know. I’m sure it’s mostly fangirls of Gojo and Geto who are relieved they aren’t taken,” she adds, your silence seemingly scaring her, “you should look on the bright side, people are really excited for the movie, and after what happened in your trailer…the director’s happy too,” you see a text from Satoru and Suguru.

The Boys 💕🤍🖤

Bangs Baby: when are you coming home?

Six Eyed Dork: we’re already making dinner.

And you scrub a hand down your face, never having such irritation over the prospect of dinner, “Tell that to my makeup artist,” because you know you’ll be littered with marks by the end of this.

“We’re adding a sex scene,” and you nearly spit out your drink that morning, sitting at the round table with the director, several staff members, and an extremely unfazed Sukuna.

“What?” you say, trying hold your tongue, that was only writhing under your hold to say something much, much worse, “that’s not anywhere in the script or the source material,”

“It was my suggestion,” Sukuna lifts his hand casually, before pressing his hand to his chin, painted black nails gleaming in the dim light of the early morning, “the characters felt lacking,”

Then play your role better. That’s what you wanted to say. But instead you ask, “how so?”

And Sukuna glances at the director, who clears his throat, eyes shifting from him to you, “We thought it would be better to build more intimacy between the characters. Add a certain level of—“

“Raunchiness?” you scoff.

“Tasteful raunchiness,” Sukuna corrects, doing nothing to suppress his smirk, “if you don’t want to, I’m sure we can make due with the stunt double—“

Fucker. He could have his pick of any movie — he was a pillar of the industry, but you had to be stuck with him. And stuck with the director following his every, irritating whim.

You grit your teeth, “when are we shooting it?” And Sukuna grins wider, leaning back in his chair.

“About that—“

“You’re going where?” You resisted the urge to rub at your temples, as you pack your things, Satoru’s pout filling the majority of the screen.

“You heard me. We’re filming in Canada,” with a flight that left the next day, you barely had time to pack, much less talk. Fuck, you don’t have a thing for the cold, but you were told that coats and thermals would be provided — or at least they better be, “I’ll be gone for a couple weeks,” you say, wondering if the sounds of you packing would be enough to drown out or enough sweaters would somehow soften the blow.

“Weeks?” Suguru repeats, taking the phone from Satoru, “sweetheart, you had said filming would be over soon enough — you said a month of filming in Japan—,” and you sigh, it seems like you had been doing a lot of that lately.

The throbbing in your head only got worse — the long shoots and lack of sleep weighing on your body like iron weights around your neck, “I know, love, but the director wanted to add more scenes,” you swallow the lump in your throat, “there’s one more thing,” and Satoru is pushing into view of the camera as well, a click of Suguru’s as he shoots a glare at him, “the director decided to add…an intimate scene to the film,”

Silence, but Suguru speaks first, “And that wasn’t in the script before?” And you shake your head.

Satoru gives a bitter laugh, “Such bullshit. They planned it and got you to invest yourself in the movie—“ he cuts himself off, “sweetheart, I want to have a word with the director,”

“No, Toru, it won’t help,” you run your fingers through your hair, trying to keep your tone level, “it just won’t. It will just make me look like I have to rely on my boyfriends for protection,”

“It still isn’t right, what they are doing to you is exploitative,” Suguru cuts in, “adding a sex scene last minute after you already spent weeks filming—“

“You don’t think I know that?” you say quietly, “what am I supposed to do? Quit? Let you guys run to the director to protect me? Great, either way, my career would be over,” the words slip out far more cutting than you want, but this has been a knife you’ve honed against stones thrown at you, and you were tired of being the one to take the blows.

Satoru furrows his brow, “What are we supposed to do? Watch you get taken advantage of?”

“No, but don’t talk down to me like I don’t understand what’s happening,” you snap, “these weeks I’ve had to deal with fucking Sukuna and these shoots, while balancing your feelings too and I’m tired of it. I’m just done,” you shake your head, willing your voice not to break, “I’ll text you both when I board and land, ok?”

“Sweetheart—“

“Baby—“

“Bye,” and you hang up, eyes burning not just from your lack of sleep but now everything else too. You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t see them. You couldn’t quit the movie. You couldn’t fix this. You couldn’t do anything — you glanced at your suitcase — except keep going.

“You look like hell,” you don’t bother looking at Sukuna when he speaks, and out of all the seats, how did you end up next to him? Either you had the absolute worst luck in the world — or bad luck had a little help from your agents and the director.

“You look like you’d know—been to your kingdom lately?” you’re placing your suitcase away when a flight attendant rushes over to do it for you, and you thank them, before rifling through your bag for your headphones. Noise canceling headphones that were going to be your best friend as long as you were stuck with him.

“Why visit a kingdom when my queen is here?” Your eye twitches, and you only wish that planes worked the same as ships when it came to jurisdiction. And if so, you would have tossed him into the high seas without a second though. You could start over — no extradition on Satoru’s island.

You glanced at your phone — no reply to your text about getting on the second flight. And they had both barely responded to your other texts about boarding and landing. Maybe it was your fault. You had blown up at them, and ignored all their calls and texts all day, until they finally stopped (even Satoru had given up sending you selfies of him crying). You switched it into airplane mode and locked it, tucking it away into your bag, before taking your seat and buckling your seatbelt.

“Trouble in paradise?” And you scowl, pulling out your headphones, “c’mon you can tell me about your other boyfriends — I know I’m your favorite,”

“Do you ever shut up?” You put your headphones on, your eyes growing heavy as the plane begins to prepare for take off. You choose a playlist, and start to fall asleep. The only good thing about this flight was you could finally get some sleep.

And maybe your life wouldn’t be hell when you woke up.

“I already got us a private jet,” Satoru walks into Suguru’s place, suitcase in hand, as he tugs his mask off, “we can be in Canada by tomorrow—we just need to pack—“

“What are you talking about?” Suguru looks up from his phone, “have you even thought this through, dumbass? She barely wants us coming over because of paparazzi, you think if someone sees us in Canada with her that they will write it off as a coincidence?”

“If we’re careful, it won’t come to that,” he sets down his things, “you heard her, Suguru, she said she’s done,”

“She’s just tired and frustrated,” Suguru sighs, tossing his phone aside, “we haven’t exactly made this any easier on her either,”

“I know, which is why we should go make it up to her,” Satoru sighed, “I can tell by her texts that she’s upset — it’s all periods and short one word responses. Y’know that’s bad,” he’s pulling out his phone to show Suguru your texts — and Suguru ignored the several sad selfies Satoru had sent, before handing it back.

“And we should make her more upset by doing the one thing she told us not to do?” Suguru shakes his head, “we’re better off waiting for her to calm down and come to us—“ and Satoru stares at his phone, “what is it? Did she text?”

“No, worse,” he shows Suguru a news article — ARE THINGS HEATING UP ON AND OFF SET? SUKUNA SPOTTED WITH HIS COSTAR GETTING COZY ON PLANES AND IN THE AIRPORT.

And below were images of you and him asleep, fingers interlaced on the plane, and a picture of him with his arm around your waist walking through the airport.

Suguru’s eyes narrow, “Do you want risk losing her, Suguru?” And he knows it’s a bad idea, he knows it may only make things worse, but — he looks at the pictures of you and Sukuna again — losing you would be far worse.

“When’s the flight?”

CLICK!

You stir at the sound, as you hear it again and again, shifting in your sleep. Fuck, what was that noise? Everything’s heavy, thoughts swimming through thick syrup as it tries to break to the surface and into consciousness. Another click makes you grasp at your headphones with one hand, the other caught on something, but you feel nothing but your neck and shirt. And finally, your eyes fly open just to find a camera lens in front of your face, and something holding your hand.

Or rather someone.

“What the—“

“Finally woke up? How was your coma?” and the photographers are shooed away, as you pull your fingers free only for him to drop your hand, wiping your hand on the seat, “I didn’t do anything but hold it,” he shrugs, “probably—“

You scowl, “my headphones?” He holds them up, and you gape at him, “they fell off. You’re quite the restless sleeper,” and you snatch them back.

“They fell off or you took them off for that photo op,” you snap, glancing at him, “since when did I give my permission to be photographed while sleeping?”

“When you decided to go into this business,” he replies drily, dry as his skin was from holding his hand, “are you that naive? Can anyone keep anything from anyone without paying them off one way or another? I’m pretty sure that’s how your little throuple does it,”

And you couldn’t deny it — the paparazzi more than ever was a toll or a tool — a toll to pay when you wanted word to stay quiet, and a tool when you wanted things to blow up. And Satoru had been paying them off since the three of you had started this — insisting that his connection gave him discounts, but it was more likely to blow his father’s money.

“So what was that photo op about?” The plane is slowly descending now, your ears popping, as you spare a glance outside, and he only scoffs, as if to ask if you were that stupid?

“To announce our arrival.”

“Why are there so many security guards and people?” you mutter, tugging at your mask, as you hurry through the airport with what felt like a military and police escort of men around you.

“To create a scene, generate interest,” Sukuna seemed uninterested as he strolled along the airport, raising an eyebrow, “not used to this? The adoring fans,” and you spare a glance at the crowds, taking pictures more than even looking at your actual faces.

“This is adoring?” and then the security guards begin to stumble as the crowd grows a rowdy, as people push through to get through their gates, others try to duck between the security guards to get closer. A security guard knocks against you, nearly sending you tumbling, “what—“

And a wrist grabs you and pulls you hard, as the security guard tumbles to the ground, another arm around your waist. He steadies you, as you sigh, glancing to find Sukuna.

“Be careful,” you blink — wow was he actually a nice— and then he nearly shoved you away, “don’t need you getting injured and messing up my movie,” he strides off, and you watch dumbstruck, as you watch his back recede until bodyguards check on you and urge you along.

You can’t believe you thought even for a second that Ryomen Sukuna was nice.

And now you had to spend the entirety of tomorrow kissing up to him — literally.

Fucking ass.

“You can’t seduce me into letting you go,” Sukuna smiled, one hand on your hip and the other resting against the wall, pinning you against the headboard of the bed, “just because I let you win tonight—“

“Then I’ve won the battle,” you reply, fingers toying with a lock of his hair, twirling it around your finger, before dragging a finger down his cheek, “it’s only a matter of time until I win the war,”

He chuckles, hand cupping your chin, “such a brat, how did I ever fall for you?” And you only lean close, brushing your lips against his chin, delighting in the way his body shivered, “fuck—“

“You love it,” and he’s gotten you pinned to the bed in a moment with one hand, the other large palm sliding up your body, dragging your shirt along with it—

“CUT!”

You both sigh, glancing at the director as you both untangle yourselves — how many times did that make? Twelve? Fourteen?

“I think we’ll be dead before he gets it right,” Sukuna mutters under his breath, as a P.A. brings him a towel to dab at his skin.

“We’re calling it for the day,” the director announced, hair askew from the number of times he had pulled at it, “we’ll resume tomorrow, first thing,” there was almost an audible groan from the crew as everyone packed up for the day.

After all that, you’re making your way to your hotel room when someone stops you, you’re trying to brush past them absentmindedly, but his voice stops you dead in your tracks.

“Can’t run from us that easy, sweetheart,” and your head snaps up, finding Satoru in front of you, and you’re speechless, no words finding their way to your lips, before the hotel room next to yours opens up.

“Princess, in here, before anyone sees,” and Satoru’s hand tries to find yours, but you ignore it, walking into the room, not speaking until the door clicks behind Satoru.

“What the fuck are you guys doing here?” and you waver when you see Satoru’s sad gaze and Suguru’s tight frown, and you sigh, evening out your tone, “sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped — what are you guys doing here? I told you it’s risky—“

“We didn’t want to leave things the way they were, I couldn’t. Not like that,” Satoru shakes his head, “we needed to see you, baby, I couldn’t—“ he breaks off.

Suguru speaks in his stead, “We couldn’t fathom that was the last time we spoke,”

Your brows knit together, “Why would you think—“ and you’re sighing, scrubbing a hand down your face as your words ring in your own ears, and you know where their minds had went — fuck, “I would never ever break up with you two,” you’re stepping forward, “you’re idiots, but you’re mine,” and their arms are slipping around you in an instant, “I just got frustrated with everything, it wasn’t just you guys — the movie, Sukuna, long shoots, lack of sleep, and not seeing you two—“

“We should be the ones who’re sorry,” Satoru mumbles, burying his face in the crook of your neck, “we made it all about us and didn’t see that you needed us,”

“We’re never going to make that mistake again, Princess,” Suguru presses a soft kiss to your neck, and you sigh, stress melting under touch with the ease of a lit candle wick melts wax, “we’re sorry for being so selfish,”

“Yeah, Suguru’s sorry—“ and that earns Satoru a sharp elbow from said actor, “and I’m sorry too. We didn’t mean to add more stress. You’re already dealing with so much. We should have been there for you, sweetheart,” he finds your lips in a sweet kiss that has you sighing, “we trust you — it’s just—“

“Him, I know, but I hate him,” you say, and Suguru chuckles, fingers turning your head towards him, pressing his forehead agaisnt yours, “seriously, everything we’ve done is just for the movie or for publicity,” Suguru kisses you, teeth teasingly running along his bottom lip.

“You seemed pretty cozy with him in those pictures,” Satoru presses open mouthed kisses along your neck, and you blink.

“What pictures?” and then it occurs to you, “on the plane? They framed those—“ and Satoru’s cutting you off with another kiss, “Toru—“ and Suguru nuzzles the nape of your neck, “Sugu—“

“Just let us take care of you tonight,” Suguru murmurs, lazy fingers drawing circles on your hips, “been too long since we’ve seen you, Princess,”

In a moment they have you on your back on the bed, Satoru’s eyes gleaming with need, their hands slipping up your body, “I’m yours,” you murmur, “both of yours.”

And that’s all they needed to hear.

“Toru, I’m trying to make us breakfast,” you chuckle, half laughing, half exasperated, as he nearly engulfs you in a hug from behind, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“So? I’m not in the way,” Satoru mumbles, sighing as he kisses the skin behind your ear, “right, Suguru?”

“You’re hindering the process, Toru,” you’re trying to flip pancakes for said boyfriend as he traces constellations of kisses against your shoulder and neck, “right Sugu?”

“Now, now, play nice you two,” Suguru replies drily, glancing at the two of you from the couch, “can’t blame us for missing you, sweetheart,”

“Y’know how many months I had to go without being able to cuddle you,” Satoru’s pouting against your skin now, “I have to make up for all that lost time,”

Shooting had finally ended three months ago — after a month and half spent in Canada, you flew back to Japan. Satoru and Suguru had taken up residence in a hotel room next door (under fake names of course) for about a week before flying back because of work. Satoru had tried to convince you to let him fly back and forth, but for the sake of the environment (and your sanity), you sent them both home.

And still, they both were acting as if you had been away for several years, not months.

“Does it have to be now?” And Satoru nods, grinning, and you relent, “well, this is much better than having dinner with Sukuna,”

“There’s a name we haven’t heard in a while,” Suguru raises an eyebrow, as he strolls into the kitchen, hands in his pockets.

“Thankfully,” Satoru adds, brow wrinkled, “what does he want?”

“Just a dinner to celebrate the end of production,” you sigh, as you step past Satoru to grab a plate for the pancakes, “the movie is going to have its premiere in a few months, so it’s also to plan ahead for that,”

“Did they announce a date yet?” Suguru asks, leaning against the counter on the other side of you, beginning to prepare coffee.

“Not yet, but it should be sometime this coming summer,” and you’re flipping pancake after pancake for the three of you, a stack forming, until you’re finally done. You catch the two of them shsring a look, until Satoru asks:

“Can you get us tickets to the premiere?”

“Of course I’m inviting the entire JJK cast,” you smiled, leaning over to press a kiss to Suguru’s cheek, “why would you two be any different?”

“And what about us two?” Satoru hums, as he shuts off the stove for you, daring less than an inch away from your lips, “Do we get the VIP treatment?”

“Uh-huh,” you bite back a laugh.

“Does the VIP package include you?” Suguru murmurs, a smirk against your ear, catching your earlobe between his teeth,

“Of course,” you murmur, as Suguru’s arms wrap around your waist, lips brushing against your pulse, “once we’re away from cameras and phones and press,”

“All access?” Suguru murmurs, large palms slipping under your shirt, making you shiver from their cool touch, and you roll your eyes, as Satoru presses a kiss to your forehead.

“All access.”

“I don’t understand why we had to get ready together,” you grumble, assistants gather around you, one adjusting your gown, another fixing your makeup, and a third trying to tame your hair, “we could have just been picked up and taken to the venue together,”

The two of you had been ushered into these adjoining hotel rooms bright and early — much too early for you to even be awake, much less have to deal with Sukuna. The only consolation was while you were getting your makeup and clothes on, you didn’t have to see him.

“Someone might have seen us,” Sukuna replies, letting the assistant put his watch on, “or your throuple would undoubtedly get in the way,” you shoot a glare at him.

“Can you not call us that? They have names,” and Sukuna scoffs, fingers running over his charcoal suit coat to ensure there wasn’t even a single crease, the cut of his lapels sharp as knives.

“Like I care to remember them, brat,” and you raise an eyebrow.

“Do you even know my name?” he bears no reaction, but the corner of his lips twitch, “you don’t even fuc—“

“Are we all ready?” Your agent enters the hotel room with the director, “we should start heading to the venue,” and Sukuna brushed past you, and out the door, his entourage following behind him.

And you sighed, you were surely ready — ready to put this movie and Sukuna far behind you.

But of course he wasn’t behind you, so much so that he was beside you. Plastered to your side for the press to eat up, his arm slithered around your waist, as you both made your way down the carpeted premiere.

You had been to a premiere for both seasons of Jujutsu Kaisen — but never like this. The camera flashes were blinding, the sounds of the crowd deafening, and the walk down the carpet amongst all these others was disorienting. You were almost grateful for Sukuna’s gruff and short temper, he kept most interviews on the carpet from dragging too long,

You finally make your way inside and Sukuna parts from your side a moment without a word, beckoned off by someone or another. And it feels like too much. The day, the long hours, the carpet — all of it bears down on you at once, and you feel as if someone sucked the air from your lungs, using it to fill this hall with the smallest remnants of oxygen.

Fuck, you grasped tightly to your clutch, you were going to pass out if you didn’t go somewhere, somewhere else with less goddamn people, but where?

And you only take a stumbling step forward, before an arm is around your waist again, and a different voice murmurs in the opposite side, “Lost without us, sweetheart?” Suguru’s voice steadies you, keeps you from slipping deeper away from them, while Satoru’s touch grounds you.

“Let’s get her somewhere private, hm? Does that sound okay, Princess?” And you’re nodding; as the two of them discreetly usher you away, you barely can keep your eyes open, still feeling your breath lodged in your throat, choking on the very thing that was supposed to keep you alive. It doesn’t feel okay until you’re sitting on a bed, holding your head.

You feel the bed divut in as they both sit on either side of you, and their bodies brush against yours as if to ask for permission; and you’re leaning against their touch, until they engulf you in it.

And this was what you needed.

You don’t think about premieres, ruining your makeup, tripping, cameras, or anything else — just both of them and you.

“Are you okay, baby?” Suguru murmurs softly, and you’re nodding, “did you get overwhelmed?” And you nod again, and he sighs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I really wish you could have come with us,”

“I told ya we should have just taken her with us anyway,” you know Satoru’s face is scrunched up in worry, “the movie’s out anyway,”

“Not like I didn’t agree — I just told you she would never agree,” Suguru muttered, most assuredly rolling his eyes, “plus, we said we wouldn’t do that to her again,”

“Can you guys not talk like I’m not here?” and they instantly refocus on you, as you bury your head in the crook of Suguru’s neck, while Satoru does the same to you, pressing butterfly kisses to your skin, as Suguru carefully carded through your locks. And you just sat like that for a while, until you grew calmer by the second and finally lift your head, “sorry,”

“What do you have to be sorry for?” Satoru furrowed his brow, “you didn’t drool all over Suguru’s suit did you?” and you elbow him lightly in the ribs.

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t mind anyway, I’m used to you drooling on me one way or another,” and now you glare at Suguru, “you’re the one apologizing for no real reason,”

“There is a reason,” you sigh, shaking your head, “we should be out there enjoying the party, but instead, we’re—”

“All alone, with the two most important people to us?” Satoru tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “if anything, this was exactly the VIP treatment I was looking for, just us alone, in a room together?” Satoru’s tilting your head if only to press kisses up the side of your neck, nosing your pulse.

“He’s right, princess, we only came here for you — no one else, we’re so proud of you,” Suguru murmurs, his hand finding its way onto your thigh, “and all we want is to see you happy,”

Happy? When had been the last time you had been happy in the last few months? It had been far too long since it had been consistent — but the two people that ran consistently through every up, far too little downs? Satoru and Suguru. It had been so hard — and now it was almost over. Only a few more interviews and public appearances, and you would be done with Sukuna.

But you didn’t want to think about Sukuna now — you wanted them. More than ever.

Your lips find Suguru’s first, lips sliding against his — a hesitation for a millisecond, before he’s melting into it, his tongue dragging against the seam of your lips, before you’re pulling away, soft pants filling the silence, until a warm hand is turning your head, and Satoru kisses you next, needy and persistent, as he always was, his fingers threaded in your hair, grazing against the nape of your neck. But Suguru doesn’t waste time, a hand sneaking up the silt of your dress, dragging against your pantyhose, snapping the skintight, translucent fabric against your skin.

You part from Satoru for a moment, a string of spit connecting your lips to his, and you see the lipstick smeared on both their lips — you can only imagine what little you have left is painting more than just your lips at this point.

“If we don’t stop right now, don’t know if I can, baby,” Satoru murmurs, guiding your palm to his already hard erection, “it’s risky,”

“It is, someone could catch us,” Suguru is still drawing tempting circles on your upper thigh, his nose brushes against yours as he presses his forehead against yours, “What do you want to do?”

And you knew the right thing to do would be to fix your faces and return to the party, act as if this hadn’t happened, as the three of you suffer through an evening without each other — until you get home far too late and far too tired to fall asleep beside them. That was the right thing, the sensible thing.

But your need for them both was hardly sensible. It wasn’t sensible when the three of you had gotten drunk multiple nights after shooting together — Satoru only drinking a shot each time at your and Suguru’s insistence to get far too plastered too quickly. It wasn’t sensible when the two asked you who the better kisser was — your character the envy of every fangirl as you got to kiss the two “strongest” sorcerers — and then when you cheekily replied you weren’t sure, they didn’t hesitate to kiss you then and there, one after another — and you realized you never wanted to stop (and the three you never did that night). It wasn’t sensible to hook up again a few nights later, heading back to Satoru’s place to hang out, only for the three of you end up in bed together yet again — a habit formed, but that you couldn’t quit. And it surely wasn’t sensible when the three of you had started to date — it was far from it, in a business like this. But you did it anyway — because it was them.

It was always them.

You rise to your feet, facing them a moment, before turning your back to them, looking over your shoulder at them, “Well? You’re going to have to help me get out of this dress because I’m not letting you two ruin it.”

And they share a look, before their lips curl into grins, as they reply.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Of course, baby.”

“Suguru no—“ and he snaps the fabric of your pantyhose against you making you whimper, “I told you not—“

“To ruin your dress, you said nothing about your pantyhose,” his nails digging crescents into your lovely thighs, “and you should worry more about Satoru,”

Satoru’s lips were nearly glued to your neck, tongue dragging up the side, until he pulled away to scowl at Suguru, “Eh? Why me?”

Suguru shrugs, “who left all those marks all over her neck last time?”

“You left marks over her thighs,”

“Jealous?”

“No, but I think you are that everyone saw mine, but no one saw yours,” and Suguru scoffs,

“My marks aren’t for anyone else but me,” and his fingers tear at the fabric of your pantyhose, as you whine, lips curling as your skin is freed, “and if anyone else was seeing them, well,” his thumb drags across the swell of your far too wet cunt, drawing a pretty gasp from your lips, “I’d have to punish her wouldn’t I?” He kisses the skin exposed between the patchwork tears, making you whimper, “make her cum over and over, until she begs me to stop, show everyone how I fuck her well,”

“Not as well as I do,” Satoru replies, “isn’t that right, Princess?”

“I’m not answering that,” you scoff — you knew nothing good came from getting between their fights, except maybe getting between their bodies.

“Then maybe we’ll have to remind you,” Suguru’s hands drag over your legs again, tugging off the shreds of your pantyhose off, “give you our dicks over and over until you tell us which one’s better,”

“Sounds good to me, yeah?” Satoru leans down to kiss the valley of your breasts, before his fingers follow, finding the front latch with a grin, “planned for this sweetheart? And I thought I was the one who wanted this the most,” and he undoes the clasp with practiced ease, your chest exposed to his touch, nipples pebbling under the cool air.

“You still are,” Suguru replies, as he nips at your thigh, eyes flicking down to Satoru’s obvious erection straining against the fabric of his slacks, “ready to burst just from looking at her chest, bet you wouldn’t last a minute getting her off,”

“Oh yeah? Then let’s see who lasts longer,” Satoru undoes and tosses his shirt with ease, his deep blue suit coat long discarded, before he pulls you up into a sitting position while he lies back, and then lifts you with ease onto the middle of his bare chest, “you in her mouth or me eating her out,”

“Toru—“ you squealed, as you squirmed, your already embarrassingly wet panties clinging to your dripping cunt, slick against his skin, but he holds your hips steady with large hands, “I can’t — I’ll crush you—“

“Ride my face, baby,” Satoru smiles up at you, that same smile you could never say no to — the one that made your stomach tie itself in knots, “wanna watch you cum all over my face, wanna walk around covered with your slick m—“

“Fuck—“ you cover your face, cheeks burning, “stop,”

“Already embarrassed? That’s not good, Princess,” Suguru clicks his tongue, as gentle but teasing fingers pry your hands off your face, “can’t have that, we barely started,”

“Please, baby?” Satoru pouts, and you can’t resist — a small nod, and his thousand watt smile almost makes it worth it, “take your seat on your throne, Princess,” you snort, almost.

You gingerly shift yourself over him, still hovering as you hesitate. You whimper as he inhaled, a shudder leaving his body, “how is it possible for you smell so fucking good?” And you hear the distinct sound of him unbuckling his belt and the zipper of his pants, and you knew he was already palming at his length.

Yet still, insecurity creeps up your body from his gaze, as he gazes up at your messy folds “Are you sure I won’t suffocate—” and he leans up to drag his tongue up your clothed cunt, nose bumping against your puffy clit, “ngh, Toru,” his name comes out far too needy for your taste, knees already beginning to buckle, quivering when he tugs at your drenched panties to snap them against your glistening folds, “fuck—” and he’s pulling the thin fabric aside, his warm breath sending ribbons of heat up your body, nearly shuddering from anticipation alone, and it’s nothing compared to when he pulls you down to seat you fully on his face.

“Fuck,” your body folds forward, and you barely catch yourself, as Satoru’s needy tongue drags over the length of your dripping cunt, “Toru, oh my god —- fuck,”

You barely register the creak of the bed, and the rustle of clothes or the click of the belt, “That’s the idea after all, princess,” Suguru knelt before you, his pretty cock aching for you and an inch in front of you — he was thicker than Satoru, lovely veins that you wanted nothing more than to trace, and pretty beads of pre-cum dripping from his slit, “are you going to be a good girl and—” he hisses when your lips part to suckle at his tip,tongue flicking over his slit, before you let his cock part your lips again.

But Satoru wasn’t one to be ignored — his tongue circling your clit faster, as his hands rest on your ass, squeezing, before slapping his hand down against the sensitive flesh, sending you forward onto Suguru’s cock.

Suguru grunts, fingers threading into your strands, nails digging into your scalp, “s’fucking good for me, princess. Such a good cockeater,” his fingers cup your chin, forcing your gaze higher, eyes blown out in pleasure, boobs bouncing with the way you rocked against Satoru’s face and Suguru’s shallow thrusts, the heavy weight of his dick on your tongue.

And Suguru can’t resist — palming at your breasts because you’re so pretty when you whine, as he pinches your erect nipples before rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. You moan around Suguru’s length, your hands grasping at his hips, sloppily sucking him off, as Satoru grinds his face against your cunt.

The wet squelch of your pussy rings in your ears, greedily lapping at your juices like a man wanting to drown, diving deeper and deeper to depths unknown. And when his thumbs reach up to part your hole further apart, you’re nearly choking on Suguru’s dick, as Satoru’s tongue slips into your entrance.

You whine when he teasingly pulls away, pressing sweet kisses to your clit, “Gonna fuck you right, sweetheart — make sure you can’t remember anything tonight except the feel of my tongue inside you, that is, until I fuck you open,” and he’s burying you back, moaning at the feeling of your juices slipping off the side of his face, “gotta open wide for you baby — gotta swallow this whole cunt, yeah?”

And you would have moaned if you hadn’t had your mouth full of Suguru’s dick, nearly beginning to choke on it when he began to lazily thrust into your mouth, a shiver down his spine as he looks at you drooling around his length, sloppily tracing his veins, a graze of his teeth against the sensitive skin, and a hiss parts his lips, “careful there,” and he gives a particularly hard thrust, “don’t want me to fuck this throat do you?” and your moan makes a mean smirk curl his lips, “or maybe you do,”

Fuck, you were getting close — and so was Suguru by the way his hips began to buck into your mouth, and Satoru for that matter — the wet sounds of his fisting his cock along with the messy moans against your cunt sending more pleasure up and down your spine. And fuck, his bucking against his hand was making the bed shake — and god, you’d reach behind you and jack him off if you weren’t holding onto Suguru for dear life.

“That’s it, sweetheart, swallow my cock, fuck, g’nna cum soon,” Suguru’s balls slap against your face as he begins to fuck your mouth in earnest, “Toru looks he’s about ready to burst too, gonna clean up our cocks before we fuck you, pretty?”

“Fuck, she nearly clamped down on my mouth from that,” Satoru says, thoroughly muffled from your heat pressed tight to his mouth, his tongue then returning to fuck you, as you ride his face to find your release, unable to think about anything else but cumming, “cum on my face, baby,” and when Satoru sucks around your clit, a sharp palm bearing down on your ass again, you’re cumming, grinding and riding out your high on his face, as he welcomes your release with an open mouth. The wet sounds of his slurping and sucking, as your juices roll off both sides of his face and stain the mattress underneath him.

And then you’re eagerly sucking at Suguru’s cock, swallowing around him as he fucks your face, “g’nna cum, are you gonna let me cum alone — are you going to help Satoru cum too?” and he’s helping you reach back, leaning back with you so his cock never parts your pretty lips, and right as your fingers brush against Satoru’s cock, squeezing around the base, you hollow out your cheeks, letting Suguru’s tip brush your throat.

They both groan your name as they cum, thick spurts of Suguru’s release down your throat, while Satoru cums all over his stomach and your hand. They slowly still their movements, Suguru slowly pulling his cock from your mouth, strings like a spiderweb of cum and your spit connecting your lips to his dick, and Satoru helps you off his face, eyes shut as your legs are still shaking from the way he ate you out still, as they lay you down on the bed.

Your eyes flutter open to find Satoru licking his face clean, still glossy with your release and his spit, “Fuck, sweetheart, how do you taste so good?” he murmurs almost reverently, a grin on his lips, “I’ll have to sit on my face more often,” and you’re rolling your eyes.

“I don’t know if I’ll be sitting on my throne very often, you weirdo,” you chuckle softly, far too breathlessly, and you turn to Suguru to find him leaning on his elbow, gaze still dark.

“Well, you do have two thrones after all,” Suguru leans down to find your lips in a kiss, tasting himself on your lips, a soft moan pulled from your lips, “you’ll have to use the other at one point or another,”

“Jealous?” you echo Satoru, and Suguru has you pulled into his lap in a moment, your back pressed flush to his chest, his cock already far too hard, far too quickly, and your head falls back as he drags the tip over your still sensitive folds, “a-ah, Sugu, I—”

“The only thing I’m jealous about is that the only thing that’s been in this pretty pussy tonight has been Satoru’s tongue,” and he’s tilting your head down, to watch your cunt rub against his length, a whine leaving your throat that you barely recognize as your own, “think we should fix that, shouldn’t we?”

“Room for another over there?” Satoru adds, drawing closer, his length in hand, as he lazily pumps it to full mast, and you whimper at the sight of him, “our princess is so needy, she needs two of us to fill her, yeah?”

And Suguru takes the opportunity to spread your folds with his hand, and sink his length into you, your head falling back into his shoulder, as a pornographic moans parts your lips, and Suguru is shushing you all the same, as he works himself into you inch by inch, “Don’t want anything to think we’re filming a different kind of movie in here, hm?”

“Imagine the headlines then,” Satoru hums, as he teases your clit with his cock, “movie star found cheating on her co star — one dick just wasn’t enough — she needs two,”

“Can they blame her?” Suguru’s finally inside you fully, his stretch far too delicious, shorting out your nerves with the pleasure — and you swear your cunt was making a mold of his cock, complete with every lovely vein, pretty curve, and each inch, “this pussy deserves the best after all,”

“S’full,” you’re a mess, walls already fluttering around Suguru, practically begging him to begin moving, while welcoming Satoru in with folds that only craved his cock, “so big,” you whine.

“Mmhmm, I know, baby,” Satoru’s tilting up your chin, lips curled in a grin, “Suguru’s almost too much for me — how are you going to fit me too?” and you whimper, shaking your head, “you still want me?” and you nod far too eagerly, and he chuckles, “well, you heard our princess, Suguru, mind giving me a hand?”

And you furrow your brow, unsure, until you feel Suguru’s hands reach around to your front and spreads your pussy lips wider for Satoru, making your cunt clamp down on him, “fuck, she just got tighter,” but Satoru takes it in stride, gathering some of your juices on his fingers to further lube himself up.

“No matter how much we fuck her like this, she’s always so tight for us,” Satoru’s pressing his tip to your spread entrance, and you whimper, “maybe tonight,” his fingers tilt your chin upwards, “we’ll finally fuck her to remember our shapes,”

And he guides his cock into you, and Suguru braces your body against his as your back arches, as both of their lengths stretch you open — like they said, no matter how many times they did this, you never quite got used to it.

But this pleasure? You were far too used to — they had ruined you for anyone else, because no matter what, no man could please you like either of them, much less both of them.

“S’full, fuck, I-I can’t—” your walls are squeezing them hard, dicks rubbing together, drawing deep groans from both of them.

“Don’t have to break our dicks off to get us to fuck you all the time, baby,” Satoru mutters, panting, as he lifts your leg, hooking one around his hip, “already gonna fuck you stupid anytime you want,”

“Shit, I’m not gonna last that long, Satoru,” Suguru says through gritted teeth, pressing heated kisses to your neck, “gonna start moving, sweetheart,” and you’re nodding, as they both begin to fuck you in tandem. Suguru thrusted upwards steadily, forcing you to ride him, allowing his dick to sink into sweeter depths, pleasure ripping up your spine, while Satoru fucked into you at a rough pace, hands gripping your thighs as he did. Both of their movements drove the other deeper into you, reaching depths you didn’t think were possible.

“F-fuck, Sugu, Toru,” you’re babbling, lost in the thick haze of pleasure, dripping over your skin like hot molasses, slow but burning all the same, as your walls fluttered around both of them, “s’good, I can’t—” tears burning at your eyes, as your hands brace themselves on Satoru’s shoulders.

“That’s it, such a good girl, been thinking about you spread out on me like this since the moment I saw you,” Suguru grunts, rutting into you faster, “couldn’t wait to rip off this dress to fuck you right — didn’t think you’d let us so soon,” and you swear their cocks were kissing your cervix at this point, and surely you’d look down and see a bulge in your stomach from how deep they were.

“Pretty girl takes us so well, no one compares to you, sweetheart,” Satoru sighs, watching the way his cock sunk into you again and again, “you’re ours, just ours,”

“I’m close, s’close, g’nna—” pleasure built like a coil in your stomach, ready to snap, and they were only more than happy to pull you apart, as long as they were the only one to put you back together.

And Satoru rubs at your clit, a moan on his lips, “Cum for us princess,” and you do, toes curling as you cum hard with their names on your lips, clamping down around both of their cocks. Low moans of your name leave their lips as they fuck you through your orgasm, hips stuttering when they slowed, “g’nna cum,”

“Where—” Suguru chokes out, and you’re leaning into Suguru, while your arms wrap around Satoru’s neck, pulling him close.

“Inside, please, give me your cum,” And they both moan, slowing until they notch themselves deep as they both cum, thick releases painting your walls, continuing to fuck their cum deeper inside, “ngh, fuck,” And Suguru finds your lips in a messy kiss, all tongue and teeth, as Satoru digs his teeth into your neck, no protest coming to your mind, only just a want for more, more, more.

And they slow, creak of the mattress and the pants stilling into silence, as you lean back against Suguru, Satoru’s face buried in the crook of your shoulder as the three of you bask in the afterglow.

And finally, Satoru slowly pulls himself from you, groaning as he watches the evidence of the double creampie they gave you drips from inside you, “Fuck, sweetheart, we filled you up,”

“A shame to waste it,” Suguru murmurs, as he pulls his softening erection from inside you, “should we plug her up, make her keep our cum inside her for the rest of the night?” and you’re biting back a moan, but Satoru doesn’t miss the way your lower lips twitch.

“Oh, she likes that,” Satoru grins, cupping your face to find your lips in a languid kiss, and you taste yourself on his tongue that teases teasingly over the seam of your lips, “or maybe we should fuck her again and give her more until it drips down her thighs all night, hm?”

And the moment is fraught with tension, as the two of them lean in again to kiss you, before the door bursts open, making all three of you freeze.

Fuck (and not in the good way).

“Oi, what the fuck,” the three of you glance over, as Satoru and Suguru hurriedly covered you up with Suguru’s nearby discarded jacket, “you fucking idiots—”

“Look who’s talking,” Satoru scoffs, “fuck off,”

“I would say the same to you, but you already did,” Sukuna shakes his head, “all night you’ve been gone, and you can’t be bothered to keep track of the time?” and your brow knits together, “it’s nearly time for the fucking—”

“Question and answer, with the press,” the warmth of their embraces erased in a moment by the news, a bucket of ice water spilled over your head, “fuck,” you’re trying to scramble to get up, “fuck, fuck, fuck, I can’t out there like this—”

“No fuck you can’t,” Sukuna scoffs, and Suguru glares at him, as he helps you into your dress, while Satoru stands with his jacket as a partition.

“Stop talking if you’re not going to help,” and you’re lucky the dress doesn’t require six people to get into, and you had chosen something relatively simple, with a fucking string corset you were beginning to regret as Suguru tried to retie it as best he could, “fuck, why was this dress so easy to take off?” But he finally gets it, as you open the bathroom to look at yourself in the mirror.

“My makeup, my hair — I can fix it, but not the way it was before,” you’re covering your face, how was your career over before you barely started? “Fuck, what do I do—”

“It’s simple,” Satoru sighs, “as much as I hate to suggest this, and I probably will go gouge my eyes out—”

You sigh, “Toru—”

“I have an idea,” Satoru’s eyes slide to Sukuna, disgust evident in his face, until he glances back at you, “but we’ll need his help,”

“Don’t worry, I don’t know your name either,” Satoru’s head snaps back to Sukuna.

“You don’t know—”

Sukuna smirks, “What’s the plan?”

Satoru’s expression sours, as he scratches the back of his head, “Well…”

“You surprised me, brat,” Sukuna says, as he holds your arm, as the two of you make your way back into the ballroom, and you’re adjusting your dress, still far too self conscious — as if everyone could see what you did — even though that was the plan.

“That I agreed to this?” you murmur.

“No, that you bit me that hard,” he rubbed the mark you left on his neck, as your cheeks burn, “didn’t expect a tiny thing like you to be able to bite that well,”

“Well, I had to make it look real,” you look away, but look back when you’re about to reach the doors of the ballroom, “fuck, everyone is going to look at us, aren’t they?”

“Let them enjoy the show,” an arm slides around your waist, “you know they will.”

~~~

It’s only been a few weeks since the film premiered, and it’s already far surpassed some of the top grossing films this year. A lot of the buzz generated from the film has been around rumors surrounding the relationship between the two lead co-stars—their tumultuous relationship seems to have come to an end—

And you tune out the video for a moment, scrolling into the comments to see what people are saying:

sukunasthirdleg69: damn can i get on him next? 👅

gegesnumber1hater: wonder if she got back with gojo or geto again? 🤭 I’d like to see that groupchat pop off.

gogecutestprincess replied to gegesnumber1hater: no way she lost her chance with gojo and geto 😤 they deserve better…like each other

You chuckled, at least the news of you and Sukuna had spread as planned. You had enough of the coverage of the premiere with the zoomed in images of your clothes and the marks on both of your bodies. But finally it was done — but how long would it be until you slipped up with Satoru or Suguru and the rumors would begin again?

“What are you thinking about so much? Aside from me,” Satoru collapses on the couch beside you, hair still damp from the shower, arm slipping around your waist, as he leans over your shoulder, “what are they saying now?”

“Just more rumors — some are wondering if we got back together,”

“How could they ever think we let you go?” Suguru presses a kiss to the top of your head, before sitting beside you.

“I still hate that they think the marks I left are from Sukuna,” Satoru mumbles, as you flip through the comments, burying his face further into the crook of your neck, “how could they not realize it was my hard work that put those marks there?”

“Because it’s so distinct,” you snort, and he’s pouting as you press a kiss to his cheek, “not everyone has your sharp eyes, Toru,”

“And yet you saved every picture they got of her,” Suguru smirks, and Satoru glares at him, “but I did too,”

“What are we going to do when they start talking about us again?” Satoru tilts his head at your question.

“Let them,” Satoru leans back on the couch, fingers toying with a strand of your hair, “and if you really don’t like it, we can pay them off,”

“And if I don’t want to pay them off?” Both of them furrow their brows, “what if I want them to know?” You add, chewing on your lip, “about us?”

“You want to?” Suguru’s gaze softens, “but more than us, it could impact your career,”

“It already had,” you scoff, when had it not recently? If it was going to be like this, you would at least like to be in control of the narrative, “everyone is always talking about us, well,” your lips curl into a grin, why don’t we give them something to talk about?”

“And what would that be?” Satoru hums.

You lock your phone screen, “When does shooting and press start for season three of jjk?”

~~~~

A few months later….

“A successful film, several offers to be in other blockbusters, and now you’re back shooting season three of Jujutsu Kaisen,” the interviewer leans back, shaking her head, as she fans herself with her interview cards, “I think we were lucky to get an interview with you now! Although it isn’t in person this time,”

“Well, you can’t forget your roots,” and you couldn’t — this was the first show that had requested you for an interview all those years ago when season one of Jujutsu Kaisen was airing, even if you had relegate them to a video interview, “it feels like this year has been that in many ways,”

“Oh? How is that?” and your lips curl.

“Last year with my first feature film and everything else, it felt like starting over — starting from scratch with something so new that I barely recognized myself at some point,” your hands clasped in your lap, “this year, after the film gained so much traction, and going back to film the show that made my career, it just feels like coming home — especially to the cast,”

“Speaking of the cast, are you going to see more behind the scenes with Gojo and Geto?” she grins, “so many of your videos with those two went viral — are we going to see more of the three of you messing around?”

And you can’t help the smile on your lips, “Oh definitely you will be seeing more of that,” you’re tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and the lights glint off a set of two rings on your finger, diamonds glinting as if begging for notice, and you hear a small gasp.

“Is that—” and you freeze a moment, before your smile grows wider, and the interviewer squeals, “Are you married?”

“Guilty,”

The interviewer grins harder than you are — and you’re not quite sure if she’s more thrilled at the news or of getting this exclusive, “Who’s the lucky man?”

And you open your mouth, when the camera goes out of focus for a moment, only for it to come back into focus with Satoru and Suguru leaning into the frame of the camera, their arms around your sides. And Satoru lowers his sunglasses with a smirk.

“Who said it’s just one?”

✧ a/n: ahh this was super fun to write just because of how much crack it was hahah, i hope you guys enjoyed <3

✧ taglist: @forest-hashira , @supilyu , @yamaguccitadashi, @kentocalls, @magicalgirlb, @ssetsuka , @isabeauwolf , @lemonintrovert01 , @astraecea-silversin , @cerene-dipity , @whorefornoodles , @hobimysolecito , @risuola , @ja-zz , @spider-fan72 , @jayathelostdragon , @therealestpussyeater , @too-much-snow , @umarureid , @rosso-seta , @maddie-jayne , @at-the-chateau , @cherrypieyourface, @sleepysaurusworld , @lucilferz , @spltbtch , @bobfloydluvsblackwomen , @johannakhalafalla , @augustwinesworld , @catsgomurp , @psychxbby, @hellkaiserinphoenix , @sleazymac-n-cheesy , @cstandsforchaos , @sunamatic , @lycoris-01 , @mua-for-now , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @voids-universe , @caelestine-the-caelicatto , @gorouenjoyer

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vanillarosekiss · 5 months ago

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just you sitting on simon's face for the first time! ♡

warnings: oral (f!receiving), dubcon? sorta, smutty obviously... i think that's all.

word count: 0.4k

You felt like you were in an extremely compromising position, leaky slit positioned just hovering above Simon's chin, refusing to do what he was asking you to. Your thighs burned slightly from holding yourself up, your bare chest rising and falling with heavy breaths and an air of nervousness.

"Lovie, c'mon, you'll be fine. It's not like I haven't eaten you out before." he remarked, hands fondling your hips gently, and tracing down to your thighs every so often.

"Si! Stop being so..!" you couldn't even think properly let alone speak, when he was asking you to ride his face.

"Stop being what? Crude? That's a bit difficult when we're in the middle of having sex, sweetheart." his smirk said everything that you needed to know in that moment. "Why are you being so hesitant? S'alright, baby, I want you to sit on my face like a good girl, yeah?"

You couldn't help but think of negative sides of this request... like what if you were too heavy? Or what if he didn't like it? Simon could practically hear how hard you were thinking about these things. Silly girl, he thought, didn't you know that he would be able to bench you without a falter? It wasn't as if he was weak, no, he was large and could throw you around anytime if he really wanted.

"I'll just squash you, Si" you mumble, hands resting now on his chest as you began to move away from his face.

His hands gripped tighter onto your hips, dragging you back up to his mouth.

"How many times am I gonna have to ask before I have to force you to sit on my face, angel? I've been patient with you, you're pushing it now."

After hearing that, your worries had somehow dissipated into thin air, and it turned out to be an overall win-win situation. You got to have immense pleasure from Simon's experienced ministrations on your now puffy, sensitive clit. And he got to enjoy eating what he always said was 'his favourite little sweet treat'.

Your moans became even softer and more breathy as he devoured your cunt like a starved mad-man, feeling vibrations run through your core as he grunted occasionally when you rutted yourself onto his face harder, in desperation of a release. His tongue fondled your pulsating star, which was swollen now due to his everlasting motions.

You felt a sudden heat emerge and make itself known of in your lower stomach, beginning to spread downwards. He lapped at you faster now, holding your thighs in place as you squirmed on top of him in overstimulation, allowing you to orgasm on his mouth and ride your wave out whilst he kept suckling at your delicate, precious pearl.

Tag list 𖠋: @punkkture @slut-lmao @sebastianstans-slut @ilikeoldmen @g1rlfa1lure0 @queenoflaflames @tmartin0918 @kkloubee @goldie-221 @patricksoulmate @writingandsins @mxnee777 @caro-line19 @decaffeinateddelusionbread @lovidovii @xoxoxoaspen @i-ship-stony-and-superfamily @simonrileysdarling @siphon07 @figthoughts @mlthree

#simon riley smut #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #cod men #pure smut #smut #hot male #vanillarosekiss #⋆˙⟡ 🎞️

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nanaslutt · 1 year ago

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insatiable

ʚ synopsis: Choso accidentally discovers that you can squirt and he’s determined to make you do it over and over again

ʚ cont: fem reader, rough sex, multiple orgasms, squirting, mating press, dirty talk, he talks you though it, inexperienced choso, unprotected sex, cumming inside

ʚ note: another brilliant ask from 🌱 anon <3

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

The position he currently has you folded in is one that has you seeing stars behind your eyes. Your legs are folded against your body while Choso drops the weight of the bottom half of his body down onto your pelvis with each thrust, making his cock assault your sweet spot deep inside you to no end. It felt like your organs had molded to make room for Choso's cock.

His hard pelvis crushed yours each time he thrust into you, his hot skin smashing against your clit, making your walls spasm and squeeze around him ruthlessly. "God, you're so tight-" Choso gritted through his teeth, his hot breath tickling your neck as he whined and groaned against your skin. Each time he bullied his cock into your walls, you felt something coil itself tighter and tighter in your stomach.

It felt deeper and more intense than your usual orgasms, but you were being fucked with such force that you were unable to utter any words, only able to squeeze your arms tightly around your boyfriend's neck and cry choppy moans as he humped into you ruthlessly. "O-oh shit-" Choso's eyes twitched and his eyebrows furrowed as your jaw fell open, mouth forming a big O shape as the ball of tightness in your pelvis burst.

Choso placed his hands on the undersides of your knees and pushed his body up, allowing him to look at the mess you were making on his cock. His eyes opened in shock, his hips not even slowing a bit as he fucked streams of a white liquid out of your cunt. The feeling of you gushing out around him made him bite his lip between his teeth, his balls throbbing as he watched you have an orgasm like you never have before.

You gasped and breathed heavily as you struggled to come down from such an intense high. You placed your hands over your face, mortified and aware of what you just did. Choso paused his hips, relishing in the feeling of your tight cunt throbbing around him in the aftershocks of your orgasm as he struggled to comprehend what just happened. You'd never cum like that before.

A bead of sweat dripped down the side of Choso's face, sliding down his bare neck. His eyes were wide as he stared at your ruined cunt, a little swollen on the outside the force of his thrusts. His abdomen and balls were coated in your cum from when you squirted all over him, the liquid dripping down onto the mattress and joining the wet mess under your bodies.

"What… what was that?" Choso asked, slightly out of breath from how rough he was going. He kept you folded in that intense position, just using your cunt to cockwarm him as he waited for you to respond. Choso stared at your cunt for a few beats longer, and when you didn't respond he dragged his eyes up your body to find your face, which was covered by your hands. "Hey," Choso spoke, releasing the hold he had on one of your thighs, letting it fall over his own as he grabbed your wrist, trying to pull your hand away from your face.

"Baby, what was that? It was so hot, can- can you do it again?" Choso asked, replaying the moment you squirted on him over and over again in your head. You dropped your hands from your face and grabbed his wrist, averting eye contact. You felt your face burn with embarrassment at the thought of explaining what squirting was to him. It wasn't his fault he had little experience in bed and had never watched porn before.

"I just came… that's all." You tried to lie, not wanting to face the mortification of the conversation. Choso cocked his head to the side and looked down between your legs again. The wet spot underneath you had grown as your liquids had seeped into the sheets, making your mess look even worse. "I've never seen you cum like that," Choso responded, a bit skeptical. He felt his cock throb inside you, he wanted to make you do that again, he needed to.

"Fuck Cho…" You cursed, your face scrunching in discomfort. Choso wrapped his arms around one of your legs and placed it over his shoulder, keeping your appendage snug against his body. His cock jolted inside you as he pressed himself deeper, making sure the two of you were as close as possible. "Then, you can do it again right?" You reached out and placed your hands on his lower hips, resting them there.

You shook your head in embarrassment, not wanting to squirt again. "Why not?" Choso asked, almost sounding like he was pouting. "Cho, I squirted, that's what that was." Even after your explanation, Choso still had no idea what that meant, but he did know that both he and his dick liked the sound of it. "That's only happened one other time… when I was touching myself. It's so messy and embarrassing." You explained.

Choso's eyebrows furrowed together, he didn't understand why you thought it was embarrassing. You sure looked like you were feeling good when it happened, so why was it so bad? And the mess? Choso was never one to care about something like that, especially in bed. He fucked sloppily and came buckets all over you every time you had sex.

There was another thought Choso was having though. He was irritated that you had squirted without him, and hadn't told him you had done or could do such an amazing thing. "Well, I think it's hot. I wanna see you do it again please." Choso said, not giving you any time to respond before he pulled his hips back and fucked half of his cock back inside you.

Your nails dug into his hips at the unexpected stimulation. The man above you started at a quick and fast pace, the same one as before. "W-wait Choso-" You tried to cry but your moans fell on deaf ears as Choso's arms wrapped tighter around your leg, keeping you sturdy and close in proximity as he abused your cunt with his cock. You threw your head back against the pillows in pleasure, already feeling something start to well up inside you again.

Choso turned his head against your leg and opened his mouth to press sloppy kisses and lickes on your skin. His eyes were shut tight, eyebrows furrowed together as he molded your pussy to shape his cock. "A-ahhh-" Choso groaned in pleasure against your leg, biting the flesh there before pulling away and cracking his eyes open, looking down at your disheveled form.

"H-how, how do I make you squirt again? Will this help?" Without warning, Choso used one of his hands to rub quick, sloppy circles against your clit with his thumb, his other fingers and palm spread out on your thigh. "God wait- Choso not there-" You gasped, shaking your head back and forth against the pillow, gritting your teeth together.

Choso's choked moans could be heard in his throat, his ragged breathing making you feel dizzy from how hot he sounded. "Y-you're getting tight again, are you gonna squirt?" Choso asked, leaning forward over your body. He placed his hand next to your head to stabilize himself as he continued fucking into you, his thumb ruthlessly rubbing back and forth against your sensitive clit.

"Choso f-fuck, c-choso-" You could do nothing but cry and whine his name as he fucked you in that deep angle again, your one leg folding over his shoulder and dangling weakly by his head, your body limp from all the pleasure he was giving you. "Please squirt again, I wanna see it, I need it." He begged, adjusting his hips against yours so his cock was drilling impossibly deeper inside you.

"Don't be embarrassed i-its, okay, I got you, please just cum." Choso's words were doing wonders on your body. The same feeling of that tight, deep ball was forming inside your pelvis, reading to be released all over Choso and his cock once more. Your eyes could barely stay open as your body took in all the pleasure your eager boyfriend was forcing on you.

"Oh god- oh god-" You winced when you felt it ready to release, you bit down hard on your teeth, your lips parted to show your strained expression, your body going rigid against him all the while Choso kept fucking into you, working you right up to your breaking point. "Yeah, y-yeah yeah-" Choso groaned along with you, fighting the urge to not blow his load before you came.

His eyes were glued to where the two of you were connected as he waited to see that liquid gush from your cunt again. His jaw fell open in a silent scream when your cunt constricted tighter than the first time and that same liquid from before squirted out from around his dick. "Goddd- yesyesyes-" Choso groaned from between his teeth, shaking his head back in forth in disbelief as you squirted all over him.

Not long after you came, Choso followed your lead. His hips stuttered and paused against your cunt, pushing his cock as deep inside you as possible as his balls throbbed and he released load after load of his cum inside you. You shook and spasmed against him, feeling your insides grow warmer as he filled you up with his seed. Your leg slipped off of his shoulder, allowing him to collapse fully against your body as the both of you shook in the aftershocks.

You wrapped your arms around Choso's neck and whined when he weakly thrust his cock in and out of you, using your cunt to milk his balls dry. You were just starting to catch your breath before you heard Choso mumble something against your neck quietly. "Huh?" You managed to force out, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion when Choso pushed himself off your body and placed his hands on either side of your body, looking down at you.

His hair was disheveled, his face all the way down to his chest bright red, and his chest heaved as he fought to catch his breath. "Again." He said, louder this time. Your eyes widened in shock, surely he couldn't be serious, your body felt like jello, you didn't know if you had anything left inside you to give. "N-need you to do that again, just one more time." You swallowed harshly, trying to mentally prepare yourself for Choso's unsatiable cock to drill you all over again.

You felt him twitch inside you, already back to life even though it felt like he had released all he could give you from his balls. You winced and whined when Choso slowly pulled his cock out before pushing it back inside you, relishing in the warmth and gumminess of your now cum soaked walls.

The mess on the bed underneath you was not twice the size, and it was about to get worse when you felt Choso's cum force itself out from around his cock and drip down your ass, joining the mess. Choso found your eyes with his and waited for you to say something as he continued slowly pushing himself in and out of you "One more time." You whispered, holding your finger up in front of you, trying to look stern, but failing. A satisfied grin spread across Choso's features. "One more time." He repeated.

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satoruxx · 1 year ago

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you fiddle with your nails as you walk home at tooru's side, the sounds of mattsun, makki, and iwa bickering further up ahead cutting through the empty streets. you’re uncharacteristically nervous, because god knows you’ve never done something like this before—but you steel yourself because it’s worth it for him.

your feelings for oikawa tooru are all consuming—strong and deep and intense. they’ve been brewing for well over two years now, nourished by the increased amount of time you’ve spent with him. they overwhelm you, washing over your being with an intensity you’ve never felt before, and they drive you to stick by his side for as long as you can—desperate and aching for the boy who puts the stars in your sky.

you know that timing is important because tooru is nothing if not driven—singularly focused on the sport that gives him the air he needs to breathe. so you wait until well after his match with karasuno, giving your all to support him and the rest of the team because volleyball has become important to you after spending so much time with them. you give it time, wait until after the team has taken the time to lament over their missed chance, and after all the third years are ready to move on to the next phase of their lives, before you finally decide to spill your guts to him.

tooru stares ahead as he’s walking, pensive and unsmiling, and you’re dying to know what’s going on in his head. his eyes are bright, a contrast to his expression, and there’s a resolute glint in his irises that has you feeling oddly shaken. when you reach his house, the rest of the group waves back at him before continuing on, and you realize this is your chance.

so, dangerously, you put your heart on the line.

you tell him everything you've ever thought about him—how you admire his drive and his passion, how you have looked up to him for years and years. how you have never felt so deeply for someone before knowing him. it comes out in a rushed ramble of words, all those nights of practicing in the mirror doing nothing for you in the actual moment. you stumble a few times, your face getting warmer with every word, and yet as each sentence falls forth you feel a weight lift from your shoulders—the flesh of your lungs clatter against your ribs, anxious and eager.

tooru inhales, gaze darting between your eyes and then flitting downwards. even in the dark of the night, you can see the pinkish hue crawling up his neck, can see the way he fidgets with his own fingers. he stares at you, lips parted as a wide array of emotions flit over his handsome features—they finally settle into a strange combination of apologetic and resigned.

and then he tells you no.

he tells you that volleyball will always take precedence, that he has already mapped out his future, which is too far away from you. he tells you about argentina and how his mind is made up. he tells you that he's flattered, that he's glad you're friends but that's all he can do right now.

“i'm sorry,” he says with a grimace. he studiously avoids looking at you, but you can't stop staring at him—your stomach sinks as he turns to head inside.

it takes you months to muster up the courage to tell him. it takes him two minutes to say no to you.

the rejection stings in a way that is unfamiliar, and you take a shaky breath as you walk down the street to catch up with the others.

the humiliation makes itself known in the form of a painful lump in your throat—unmoving and heavy. when you glance up you see that the third years have hung back, waiting for you. makki is wearing a knowing grin, but it falters when he sees your expression. mattsun, ever observant, seems to immediately understand, and he wordlessly slings an arm over your shoulder.

all you can do is awkwardly chuckle, knowing that it sounds weak and throaty as you shake your head. “i feel stupid,” you admit, voice wobbling as heat burns through your skin—unpleasant and unwelcome.

“you're not stupid,” makki mutters, hands shoved deep in his pockets as his lips slant regretfully. you stare at the ground, nodding slowly under the weight of mattsun's arm. your lungs ache, and you know that if you open your mouth, you will lose it entirely. so all you can manage to do is look up at iwa with glassy eyes and trembling lips and a rueful smile that probably makes you look as pathetic as you feel.

you don't notice the way his fists are clenched at his sides, nails digging indents into his palms. he grits his teeth, gaze flitting to oikawa's house in the background, but he doesn't say anything.

none of them speak as they walk you home, and you try your best to keep the sniffles to a minimum, too embarrassed to look at them.

you've never felt pain like this before, and it's hard to get over it because everything reminds you of tooru. it's like someone has taken a knife and carved into your ribcage, grasping your heart before taking it out crushing it between bloodied fingers. but even despite the gaping hole in your chest you know that there are expectations to be met, things to be done.

that's the strange thing about your silly unrequited love—it hurts and hurts and hurts some more until it stops one day before you can realize it. even though your chest is still bleeding you go on with life—you go to university, you get a job, you pay bills. you get up in the morning and brush your hair and drink water and tie your shoes until the wound closes itself up. you start smiling a little wider and laughing a little freer until oikawa tooru is nothing more than an old name.

and of course there are instances where you are reminded of him and what could've been, whether it's seeing milk bread in a supermarket or passing by children hitting a volleyball over a net out in the sun. you know very well that your friends are occasionally still in contact with their old captain, not that this bothers you. after all, mattsun, makki, and iwa were very careful not to bring him up around you, which you're grateful for. so even hearing the name in passing becomes easier.

it is difficult until it isn't anymore.

you've all but forgotten him now, after years and years and years—nothing more than a distant memory.

so imagine the sinking feeling of dread pooling in your stomach when you walk into the restaurant on makki's birthday and see oikawa tooru sitting at the bar, drink in hand. his eyes are alight as he laughs at whatever conversation he's joined, dark hair falling into his eyes messily.

one step forward, ten steps back.

for a second you can't help but stare, breath stolen from your lungs because it feels like the knife is back and twisting itself into your flesh all over again. there is a panic rising in your throat, suffocating and overwhelming and jarring.

tooru lifts his glass to his lips, hiding his grin as his gaze lazily travels over the expanse of the room.

another surge of panic. the familiar sting of humiliation.

he pauses as he's about to take a sip, brown eyes widening when they land on you, and you see the sharp inhale he takes. his stare doesn't waver, too consumed by shock to look away.

and yet that's all you can do—tear your eyes away because you're different now and it's long gone and you know there is no point in going down that rabbit hole again.

it was a lifetime ago—it's done now.

but you will never know how long tooru thought of you after that night back in high school. you will never know that he felt sick to his stomach when he saw the way your face fell at his rejection. you will never know that he bit his tongue so hard it bled as he watched you walk away from him. you will never know that he spent countless nights in argentina wondering what you were up to and how you were. you will never know that sacrificing you for his beloved sport was the hardest thing he's ever done.

so imagine the sinking feeling of dread tooru feels when he sees the way your eyes light up as you find your way over to iwa's side.

@teddybeartoji this is for you mickey ily hehehehehe

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sjyuns · 2 months ago

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DELICATE ┆ A SIM JAEYUN ONESHOT

SYNOPSIS! desire and temptation are human’s worst enemies, being told not to do something only make us want it more. when you’re labelled as ‘forbidden’ to jake sim, it does nothing but make you even more desirable.

GENRE! playboy! jake x fem reader, forbidden romance, secret relationship, mutual pining, rich kids in love, family rivalry, fluff, angst, smut

CAUTION! MDNI! unprotected sex, slight body worshipping, pussy eating, munch!jake, creampie, mild overstimulation, petnames (angel, good girl, baby), slight dacryphillia(?), stomach bulging, handjob, swearing, drinking

WORDCOUNT! 8OOO+

MIKAELA’S! sim jaeyun is the death of me. finally finishing the series off after two years… not my best but hope you enjoy! also i lost the starboys taglist i'm so sorry feedback and reblogs are appreciated! NOT PROOFREAD

TEASER SERIES MASTERLIST

MY DELICATE ANGEL, THE MOST DELECTABLE SIN

THE TRADGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET, a tale of forbidden romance weaved into our souls — a wondrous vision: burning hearts, smoking love, shimmering eyes and a snap to undo it all. Simply put, love leads us into our ultimate demise. This story warns us that all violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which as they kiss, consume.

Some people say, however, that this is more than a tale of forbidden romance but one of star crossed lovers tied with a red string of fate, an inescapable end to love, that love never leaves you. And they like to think that in a different life, perhaps, things would’ve been different. Perhaps things would’ve been sweeter.

How true these speculations are, we’d never know. But somewhere within the lines of red fate, history has a tendency to repeat itself with a sparkling twist.

A clash between the wealthy and powerful.

A love forbidden by the gods.

You twist like a sunflower at the sound of Jake Sim’s voice. It’s across the hall, getting closer, and closer, and you find your eyes wander to him — his figure. You feel being born into wealth certainly has its downfalls, but one thing you’d always be grateful for would be the chance to admire beauty. And you think the boy you were looking at was, quite possibly, the sole creator of it.

Your gaze flickered over the slim, straight nose and defined cupid’s bow, quickly passing dark eyebrows and equally dark eyes, pretty lashes curving upwards like dustings of coal: pretty, pretty, so pretty. He looks like glorified sin, and distantly, you wonder if his cheeks feel like the shades of vibrant rose they appear to be.

You wonder if Jake Sim loves, if he’s even capable of loving.

Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, Jake Sim’s reputation precedes him. Prudence lining his every move as he exudes confidence, a devil’s incarnate, the epitome of lust and vengeance. A polite exterior with dark, dark motives and as cliche as it sounded, everyone wanted to either be him or be with him. Yet despite everything, Jake has never entertained anyone, the perfect gentleman with a seemingly clean track record despite the number of girls hanging off his arms daily. And you wonder, what it feels like to be them, to be close to Jake Sim, to touch him, to feel him, to see him close.

“Hey, you,” a shrill sound breaks you out of your trance as your neck snaps towards the owner of the voice. A painfully polite smile plastered on your face out of habit as your eyes scan her — dress shirt two sizes too small, blazer cropped and skirt hemmed as if she was in line at a brothel, and you think to yourself how your mother would have a fit if you wore your school uniform this unpresentable.

“Yes,” you answer, tone clipped, “how may I help you.” Your reply apparently brings distaste to her tongue as she scowls at you in sheer disgust, and you wonder if anyone has bothered to put this girl in her place today.

“Stay away from Jake Sim,” she almost screams, and you almost throw your head back in laughter at the crazy, crazy words that had just left her mouth.

It wasn’t a secret that your family and the Sims had a rivalry: old money dating centuries back with major influences on global technology advancements and developments. Yet, ironically, a childish rivalry between the two houses, always trying to prove that they were the best.

“I know you and Jake talk behind your parents’ back,” she pinpoints, a victorious smirk on her face as if she had just uncovered your deepest, darkest secret.

“What?” Your words slip out in disbelief, and you hold back an impolite scoff at the weight of her accusation. Stay calm, you remind yourself, lashing out on her would give her something to talk about.

But before you can regather your thoughts, a heavy arm slides across your shoulder, pulling you into him. And you don’t have to look up to know that Jake was right beside you, holding you.

“Baby,” the devilish boy says, turning around to give a soft smile at you. “Baby, I thought I told you that we didn’t have to hide it anymore,” he repeats with a laugh, but you’re too starstruck to reply. “Remember last night?”

You don’t remember last night because it never happened, all your boldness turning soft in the presence of Jake Sim, and you wish you could turn invisible on the spot.

“Right,” the sound you release resembles more of a choke than a hum, ripping your stare from Jake to the unnamed girl in front of you, “yeah, I remember last night.”

A look of disbelief showcased on her face and she stared at Jake as if she had just been backstabbed by him. And you almost feel so bad, nauseated at the character you seemed to be under the influence of Jake. You try to tug your body away from him, yet his grip remains tight.

“I’ve always liked her,” he tells, thumb sweeping across the top of your hand, “she’s perfect.”

You must be touch starved because you shiver involuntarily. How would it feel loving someone like Jake Sim? Loving someone who looked like sinful tragedy and unspoken thoughts tinged with violet? How would it feel?

A frustrated groan followed with the stomping of mary janes is enough to leave you breathless, gasping for air at the situation you were just in. And you immediately pull away from Jake’s embrace, looking at him in complete horror.

Jake’s face remains impassive, almost as if he was born to do this, born to lie.

“What in the world were you thinking?” you ask morbidly.

“What do you think I'm thinking?” he drawls. And you feel like you’re about to slip into the underworld with your rosy cheeks and escalating heartbeat.

“You know if she tells other people our parents would kill us right?” you add, teeth gnawing at your lips in nervousness.

Jake shrugs with nonchalance, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ears, slim fingers feeling like a piano’s melody in spring gardens. “She won’t, don’t worry angel.”

You ignore how his voice brought reassurance to your heart. “Why,” you continued, “why did you do it?”

Jake hums at your question, and it’s the very same question he’s asking himself. His actions had just made it too risky, too complicated, but maybe that’s exactly why his body moved over to you, because he wanted to be entangled with you.

Jake Sim has never asked for many things. He could probably keep track of all his wishes on one hand: a matte black Porsche 911 Carrera Cabriolet (to match Sunghoon’s white one), a pool party when he was nine (because Sunghoon had one), and you (his parents scolded him for hours).

He always had a fascination with you, ever since preschool when you were dropped off by your chauffeur, hair in neat pigtails, uniform ironed crisp, and a toothy smile at him when you took your first step in. And he wishes he could return to that moment, no rules, no tension, no hatred between families, because he can only help himself for so long. And Jake remembers how he ran back home after his first day, almost tripping at the giddy thoughts of you and your beauty as he wrote your name with his in his secret diary over and over as a wish to the Gods that maybe, maybe they could bring you to him.

But now, now his infatuation for you has grown beyond — he desired you, burned for you, spent sleepless nights wanting you. Even when he hated you: hated you for smiling at others and not him, he lusted for you, and it was the most maddening, beguiling, damnable thing he’s ever experienced yet he never wanted it to stop.

“Do I need a reason to do things?” You close your eyes for a moment, feeling your soul protest as if it was in agony.

“Yes Jake, maybe you do when our families are at crossfire.” Your tone reeks of desperation for a simple answer, an answer you know Jake Sim was never going to give.

“But we aren’t at crossfires, are we angel?” His accented voice floats into your ears, leaving you stumped at his targeted question. No, you weren’t. In fact, you could barely pinpoint a flaw on Jake’s body, and you wonder if your previous callousness was unnecessary.

“No, I guess not,” you reply, unsure on what to make of it. And you feel some sort of heavy weight lift off your shoulders as you glance at the boy who was leaning on your locker, biting your lips as you take in his lean frame: long legs, slim muscles cording over the structure of his upper body, and fluffy, messy midnight hair. He’s beautiful.

Your heart skips a beat but you blame it on your newfound revelation and your tendency to fall head over heels for everything with beauty.

“Well then, I’m Jake Sim,” the boy sticks out his hand, all slow fire and molten lava as he introduces himself, “you’re just as pretty up close as you are from afar.”

You blink, absently reaching for his hand, trying not to notice how nice your palms slide together. You repeat your name in return, ignoring the hot flush rising in your face from the compliment. “Afar?”

Jake’s rosy mouth curves into a smooth smile. “I observe,” he shrugs, as if that was all the explanation needed. “You’re all everybody talks about around here, you know.”

Pride hits you then because this is the very first time you’ve heard about Jake complimenting anyone, moreso with a sparkle in his eyes. “Really,” you laugh gently, heart still hurting from immense palpitations.

“Yeah,” Jake tilts his head slightly, looking like devilish temptation and smelling of smoked cedar and rosemary. “Pretty faces do lots of damage here.”

The smile that adorns Jake’s face is genuine, as his eyes sparkle at the sight of you right in front of him. And he thinks he’s so selfish to paint himself as a hero when all he wanted to do was feel you for a second, a lingering touch that would put him to sleep tonight.

“Are you scared?” The question leaves his mouth before he can stop it.

“I don’t know,” you admit, looking away for the first time. And Jake feels his heart squeeze at your voice, “I’ve never done something like this before, you know, do something that would upset my parents.”

Jake is surprised by your honesty, and perhaps you’re way more than he’s thought you out to be. “You’ll be fine,” he tells you, offering you a silver smile when your lips part slightly, bottom lip unbelievably glossy, “you have me by your side now.”

Jake Sim isn’t an angel, in fact he’s much closer to being the devil — that much is true. But when he sees you walking into the big doors of the glamourfied ballroom, he feels like there’s a halo glowing above his head, the light of pearls and moonlight reflecting off of him, and you’re the God he worships. It gets a little hard to breathe: maybe he’ll blame it on the change in seasons, but it’s the middle of winter in Seoul, and you look like a blend of delicate snowflakes and melted rainbows. He wonders if his eyes are filled with pure want, with desire and something soft like adoration.

And he means that quite literally, Jake realizes as he takes in your figure — delicate silk draped over your body, features glistening from the vermillion light of the ballroom’s chandelier and you look like yūgen fantasies laced in velour reverie. And Jake doesn’t know if he’s ever seen someone as beautiful. If he’s ever seen someone who looks like love.

His fingers shake. His pulse quickens. And he wonders what it would feel like to hold your hand and never let go.

A call of your name by your parents causes you to turn around, eyes meeting his for a split second before you stop to give him a sweet smile, and he feels as if your souls just connected. And it’s a whole new thrill to know that no one catches the looks you give each other, like it's your own little secret, a semblance of normal in the crazy lifestyles lived. God, he thinks, your eyes are gorgeous and there are times when he wants nothing more than to look you in the eyes.

Your family walks closer to his, and he can’t help but feel the need to smoothen out the creases on his suit jacket, palms sweaty and heart wild as if he was meeting the people around you for the very first time.

“Sim,” your father grunts at his father, a firm handshake given followed by hidden scowls of distaste. A superficial greeting for show, to give the media what they want, and Jake wishes the time would come when this would turn real: so that he would be able to hold you without causing you any worry.

The vintage Prada suit Jake donned made him look like a corrupt angel — almost preternaturally handsome but with a louche quality that hinted at unspoken depravity. He was an unforgettable, if unnerving, face that lent itself to being cast as the devil itself. And his lips, his lips were stained with wine, scarlet madness. And you wanted to kiss him, and take the taste as yours.

“Y/n,” he acknowledges, hand extended for a handshake which you return. Eyes locked as the sound of your parents conversing vanishes, like it’s just you and him in an empty ballroom all to yourself.

“Would you allow me one dance?” He cocks his head in all his glory, and you chuckle under your breath. He wasn’t yours nor were you his, yet he was so good at making you feel like you belonged with each other.

You want to sin every time you’re with him.

You let him whisk you away, parents long forgotten as his fingers wrap gently on the curvature of your waist and it fits like two pieces of a puzzle, all warm and slow and full of interwoven history. When Jake’s eyes flutter close, he remembers how easy it is to lose and find himself in the molten lava of your irises, or the way your cupid bow dips just slightly in the center of your lips. It’s all a combustion of violet and tenderness and something so quiet that he has to focus in order to listen. And it’s all butterfly touches here and there — nothing too strong, nothing too heavy.

You are, simply said, worth dying for.

“Hey,” Jake mutters, running a hand through your hair and thumbing the skin just below your cheekbones. “You look good today, angel.”

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

“But it’s true,” he hums, shifting his weight from one foot to another as the both of you grace across the dance floor. “And I’m pretty sure you know that yourself too.”

“Lair,” Jake flicks your forehead, “you’re just trying to play nice with me.”

“Maybe I am,” he tells you, a mischievous smile on his lips. “Or maybe I’m just waiting for you to compliment me back.”

Your face feels too hot. “Stop being a flirt.”

When you smile, it’s like the world tilts on its axis and rights itself all over again, gravity evaporating like blue sea salt. “Do you really want me to stop?”

No, you think. And so you say, “No, Is my face really that perfect?”

“The most perfect in the world,” Jake responds, a shining gleam glistening within his irises. “You look tired, angel,” he says, frowning as he catches the outlines of dark circles underneath your eyes.

It’s times like these where you want to pull him closer, want to kiss him and finally find out if his lips taste as good as they look. Because you’re so lost in the push and pull of this relationship – or lack thereof – and the absence of a label. Forbidden love, you think bitterly, still enraptured by Jake’s warmth radiating from him. You look up at him with doe eyes, a foreign emotion swimming across your gaze as Jake’s sight zeros in on your glossy mouth.

“I am tired,” you admit. Tired of loving you; tired of caring; tired of wanting things you can never have. “I can’t believe I’m here instead of wrapped around my duvet at home.”

Jake’s hands curl over your waist and rest there, the heat of his palm seeping through the thin fabric of your dress. “Wouldn’t you be missing me?”

“No,” your cheeks flush and Jake’s mouth curls a little bit to the side in a dark smile, lips feeling too hot for comfort.

“You know you would,” he says, carding his fingers through your hair, long fingers pretty like a pianist’s and faint cologne dusting across the span of his throat. “Let’s see each other tonight. You and me.”

You sigh, leaning ever so slightly into his touch as if it was where you belonged.

And Jake watches you, wondering how you began to familiarize with each other. Life before you was an absolute disaster, and Jake remembers going through packs of cigarettes like candy to relieve the stress.

As Jake sat himself at the bar of Sunghoon’s house, his eyes caught on neon lights, sprinklings of gold dust, and exposed limbs. His best friend’s house is a combination of soft and deadly, bar secluded underneath soft studio lights and living room dimmed with LED lights, and just from where he was seated, Jake makes out the swift movement of your hips as you laugh and pull someone closer.

The asshole you’re dancing with places his hands on your waist, pathetically attempting to seduce you as the sparkle in your eyes grows with each second under the influence of alcohol, cheekbones glowing underneath the flashing of lights. In the back of his mind, Jake thinks that you move like mercury, all silber and liquid; he thinks that you look perfect with your hair styled and gleaming smile.

His heart hurts.

When Ning Ning taps on his shoulder, Jake jolts and soothes his expression to one of passiveness. “She’s already fended off three guys,” she tells him, and the blood inside his body boils. “Go save her, please.”

He gets off his seat and downs his drink in one go as your laugh reaches his ears, and it’s just high in pitch that Jake’s radar automatically activates. He maneuvers his way through the crowds of people and wonders what spell you’ve cast on him to make him feel this weak.

“Angel,” he breathes, quietly — almost menacingly — as he looks at you whose head is tipped back. “Angel, get away from him.”

The other guy places his hands above your hip bone, touch slyly moving lower and lower; your eyes widen with realisation and as soon as you push him off, he tries to grab you again with no such luck. And Jake instinctively pulls you closer, rolling his eyes as he silently soaks in the sweet smell of honey and milk and ichor.

“I–really?” you ask, mouth dropping.

“You don’t know how to tell?” Jake reprimands coldly.

“I thought we were only dancing. I’m sorry, Jake, are you mad? Don’t be upset.” He sighs, and tenses his jaw as his palm settles in the pinched curve of your side, feeling the build of your waist and torso. “That wasn’t dancing, smartass.”

“Not that you would know.”

Jake doesn’t really know what he’s doing or what he’s trying to do, but he pulls you to his front so quickly that both of you don’t have a chance to catch your breaths. Your souls feel entwined like blooming olive tree branches, like how the tides meet the sand and he can’t tell which is which. There's this tugging sensation at the bottom of his stomach, this feeling that Jake can’t define, which drives him up the wall. It’s like he’s always missing you even when you’re touching each other, silently dancing over the drawn lines that he desperately wants to demolish.

He brings his lips to your ear, lingering there for a moment longer before speaking. “This is dancing,” he tells you, fingertips trailing across skin and hipbones as your bodies come together. He’s taller than you, which feels perfect as you gasp softly, resting your head against his shoulder, forehead impossibly heated. The two of you sway to deep, sensual music and if you move like water, perhaps Jake moves like the wind, all fluid gestures and so interdependent.

You open your eyes, lashes fluttering against delicate skin, and holy shit, Jake’s starting to think he has a thing for the wet sheen in your eyes and how it matches your lips. “Got it,” you smile, tone trailing off to something wistful as you lift a hand and tap Jake’s nose with your thumb. “I like you like this.”

“Like what?” Jake decides to play along.

You trail your thumb down his face, the line of touch feeling like witchcraft. “I don’t know,” you murmur, usually bright face now serious. “You tell me, Jakey.”

And—oh. When you call him that, Jake doesn’t know what to do, think, or say. How does he explain that whenever his name slips out of your mouth, it sounds like the bible verses in the Song of Solomon? That it sounds like destiny and paradise and pain combined in two syllables.

Jake Sim has never been good with words — but not once in his years of living has he wanted to say more. But instead, he shrugs and looks down on you, at your black dress and pretty heels. “I—”

“Jake! Come here!” Sunghoon’s loud voice cuts the tension between the both of you, “stop being your girlfriend’s guard dog.”

You giggle and Jake sighs. “Yeah,” he responds, before turning back to you, “I’ll take you home later, yeah?”

“I’ll be fine,” you tell him, though your head feels slightly dizzy, “no need to get overprotective Jakey.”

Jake thinks he’s not overprotective. He’s not. And you're not his girlfriend. Yet.

It’s not a shock when Jake climbs through your open window. You watch as he enters, long limbs squeezing into the small open frame, hair a luster under the dull moonlight. Even like this, Jake Sim is still beautiful, and you imagine that he holds the stars and the comets in his hands.

“You know you were a terrible actor,” you tell Jake, face extraordinarily soft and lips shimmering with a bit of crystallized sugar. Jake’s mouth parts slightly before closing again; and he always looks so unattainable, so free — and you want to catch him before he flies away.

“What do you mean, angel,” he almost whines at your disapproval, “It was an Oscar deserving performance.”

“You asked me for a dance in front of my parents,” you point out, “you’re lucky they were too caught up in arguing with yours.”

“It wasn’t luck, it was a calculated move,” he grins as he moves from the open window to your side, hands sliding on top of yours.

The feeling starts at your fingertips, warm, mellow, slow, and travels up your arm and across your stomach. And from there, it disperses all over your body, the electrifying warmth that reminds you at the back of your head that this would never work, that it was only so long until you would get caught.

And you don’t know if you should risk it. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself late at night.

“And I wasn’t acting,” he trembles as you run a finger down the length of his chest, black fringe covering his eyes in messy waves. And Jake isn’t sure if it’s your touch that’s clouding his judgement, or if it’s something else — something dangerous. “You looked so pretty,” he murmurs, words slurring, “so sweet, so tempting.”

“Jake,” you almost whine at the sound of his soft voice, like a devil leading you down a path to damnation.

“You’re so pretty, so so pretty,” he mumbles, hands smoothing over your body, fingers running over your perked nipples, “and you’re so good to me.”

And then you kiss him. Arms sliding around his neck and lips pressed against his, turning your head just a little as you scoot your hips onto him. The smell of his cologne mixed with the lavender of your bedroom like he was truly entwined with you now.

Jake freezes for a second, unmoving. Then, as if struck by lightning, he inhales, hands tightening around your body; and Jake thinks that you look so pretty caged underneath his grip, and then he stops.

Jake forces his body to pull away, yet you won’t let him. “Angel, I can’t,” he whispers, “I can’t do this to you.”

You look hurt, and Jake aches. “Why not?”

“Because you’re perfect.”

“And you’re not?”

You grimace, reaching a hand out to cup Jake’s cheek, body heat penetrating through layers of unsaid thoughts and unspoken truths. Your heart hurts.

Jake squeezes his eyes shut, and tries not to lose himself in how his body melts into your touch. “I mean that we can’t do this,” he tells you. “We can’t start something and not finish it, because I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it. I don’t think I’ll be able to handle having you slip away.”

It’s probably the most vulnerable Jake has ever been to you and he feels as if his chest splits open under several harsh gazes. His breathing speeds up slowly, insanity transforming to lovesickness within his veins.

“Jakey,” you say, “I’m feeling this because of you. Every sinful touch, every unknown action, it’s all because of you. I want you, Jake, I need you.”

The words swirl through Jake’s mind as if matted with silver and gold, “tell me this is real,” Jake pleads.

“It’s real, I mean fuck this, I—”

Jake lowers his mouth back onto yours and — god, it feels so good to finally taste you, to finally satiate the hunger that’s been gnawing at his mind. And he’s grappling with his self control, until he sees you blink at him from under your lashes, eyes heavy lidded and glazed with hunger; and then Jake can’t breathe.

He presses a kiss beneath your ribs and continues lower, humming against your hip bone, parting your legs so that he could nuzzle against the soft skin of your thighs before he maneuvers you onto your bed, letting down your body gently before pushing your silk dress over your chest in one motion, the cool air from your open window immediately bringing a tingling sensation over your already sensitive body.

Jake’s hands move to grope your breasts with need, fingers flicking over your nipples as he relishes in every gasp that leaves your mouth.

“You want more, baby?” And you don’t know if it’s his alluring voice or the idea that you were sinning in the very household of your parents that made you jut your hips up in need, your voice whispering a soft chain of ‘please, yes’ as Jake’s calloused fingers rub circles on it.

His head dips down to your chest, tongue sensually circling your tits before taking one into his mouth, sucking on it as you arch into the slick, warm feeling of his mouth; fingers moving to tangle into the raven mop of hair — more, more, more. You were getting drunk on Jake and he had done nothing more than just touch you.

“Jakey,” you whine and Jake hums into your skin, the rumble of his voice against your nipple making you shiver in delight. “I need more, more.”

“You’re so cute like this, angel,” he groans, “let me make you feel so good, you deserve that, right?” His fingers trail down your bare body, and a single touch is all it takes for your body to arch into him.

You nod fiercely, and he chuckles, fingers skillfully hooking over the band of your panties before sliding them down your legs. And Jake doesn’t take more than a second to bury his head in between your thighs, flicking his tongue between the puffy folds of your clit, pushing his nose into your pussy as your slick coats the front of his face.

His movements are sloppy, slow, desperate, and everything good and it seemed as if everything about you has made a slave of Jake Sim — hands that kiss hymns up your inner thighs and a tongue that confesses how long he’s looked for a place to worship.

“Oh my god,” you moan, hands gripping the cover of your sheets as your hips instinctively jut in pure heat, head cloudy and heavy as you trail off, “my god, Jake, my god.”

Jake pulls back at the call of his name, swollen lips coated in you as his tongue darts out to lick every single drop. Worship me, he prays, I need every part of you to be mine. He watches as your hips thrust up into the air at the lack of his touch, your hole convulsing in sheer need for him — only him, and he feels victorious as he moves back in, tongue thrusting in and out of you as he laps your leaking arousal up.

“Baby, you taste like sin,” he groans as he feels his cock harden against his pants at the sound of you coming undone under him, “so fucking good for me.”

His breath is hot against your skin, and your eyes water slightly from the immense pleasure, “Jake, I’m coming,” you moan, voice filled with lust as sweet white juices spill over onto his lips and chin.

Jake feels himself come undone just at the taste of you, he swallows every bit of you, and he wishes he could have you melt into him and flow through his veins. “Shit,” he moans, tilting his head back as he breathes heavily, instinctively moving over to grind his clothed bulge against your wet core.

“Let me put it in baby, please,” his desperation prevalent as you whine in response, legs wrapping around his now bare torso as you follow suit — body bucking up in need of him.

Jake doesn’t wait for a response before he unbuckles his belt and pulls his big shaft out, mind hazy as he lines his tip at the entrance of your core, and he feels it pulsating, almost as if it was welcoming him in and he shivers in delight.

“Jakey,” you whimper, mouth wide open at the feeling of his cock entering you, filling you up in one swift motion. Your eyes roll back as you let out a long string of babble, head filled with nothing but the thought of the boy in front of you.

“Feel good, baby?” he cooes, “you like how I fill you up?”

You hum as he thrusts into you rhythmically, each action stretching you out as your head sinks into the pillows above you, senses overloaded as your body jolts at each push.

Jake moans as he feels your pussy suck him in, and he thinks he’s obsessed with this feeling, almost intoxicated, “taking me so well hmm, such a good girl.”

You feel your body weaken at his praise, electricity flowing through your veins as you come undone for the second time under the power if Jake Sim, and Jake watches as your cum coats his long shaft so prettily, rings of white producing lewd squelching sounds as he continued to pound into you.

More, more, more. He’s fully drunk on you now as he lets out low, guttural grunts, hands moving to your waist with a tight grip as he moves your body into his with fervor. And shit, Jake thinks, you look as pretty as sin under him: hair messy, drool dripping down your chin as your eyes water like crystal gin.

He feels your body fall limp as he comes, seed spilling into your walls as you feel something hot and sticky fill you up. Jake, contrary to what you thought he would do, doesn’t pull out. Instead, he thrusts deeper into you, teeth biting his lips as he watches your stomach bulge at the size of his cock.

“So, so good for me baby,” he groans, and he thinks he could cum again just from the sight of you being full of him, “like you’re fucking made for me.” Jake’s palm moves towards your bulging stomach, fingers dancing across the outline of his dick in you and your eyes roll back in intense perverseness — you think you’ll remember this moment forever, like it’s your mirror, or a prayer that needs to be said every night.

You whimper, body already stretched way beyond your limits but craving more. Jake leans over to press a chaste kiss on your lips, and you find yourself chasing him needily.

“Close already?” he teases, fingers pinching your clit, and you nearly sob from the overstimulating feeling. “Don’t hold back for me, angel.” His lips brushing the surface of your earlobe.

It’s so hot, and you can’t help but want more as you slowly roll your hips in eager motion to satisfy your need. Your body trembles as you come yet again, and this time Jake pulls out, cock still throbbing against your thigh heavy and slick with cum, raging tip begging for your attention.

You move to it instinctively, his cock pressing against your palm as you wrap your fingers around it, warm and sticky as you stroke slowly.

“Fuck,” Jake breathes, his head tipped back as his hands cover yours, guiding you on your pace. Jake’s breathing stutters as his hips jerk into your grip in pure need. Without a word, Jake leans in, catching the trail of your drool with his lips before brushing his tongue on yours in a hurry.

Your hips rock into the sheets of your bed, chasing a new high as pleasure coiled inside of you and Jake hisses as you squeeze him, and it doesn’t take long for hot, thick strands of cum to spill onto you, painting your skin.

Jake looks ethereal under the dim lighting of your bedroom, eruptive and vulgar and so tempting with his body gleaming with sweat, his lean muscles outlined as you reach out to him.

“Jake,” you whisper, breath heavy and muscles trembling

“My angel,” he answers, looking at you with a glimmer of adoration in his eyes, “my perfect angel.” Your hands moving to toy with the necklace dangling from his neck.

“Will you be by my side forever?” you mutter.

Jake feels breathless and he doesn’t know what to say, “I’ll never leave your side, baby” he breathes and he knows that only this much is true.

Jake calls you angel because you're his idea of an angel — something almost so sacrilegious he’d sacrifice himself for.

And it doesn’t matter what time of day he sees you, because you’re glowing no matter what — irises like honey almost melting into the rays of incoming sunlight filtering through the blinds of the classroom.

“Jakey, what time is it?”

Jake takes in your being, and even up close you look warm, hair falling all over the place and study glasses askew where they rested on the bridge of your nose. On days like this, it’s hard to forget how much he likes you, loves you — someone so beautiful. Your beauty, in his opinion, starts from your smile: curved, violently soft, pink. It spreads out like a sunflower from there, curling around your back and legs to illuminate faux halo and velvet wings, ethereal in all your days.

Sometimes, Jake finds it hard to breathe.

“Three thirty,” he answers, and there’s an amber-coloured silence lingering between the both of you. “Are you busy today? I miss you.”

“I’m right in front of you, Jake.”

Right, you were, but it’s not the same. And Jake thinks that some people are just inexplicably bonded — like you and him, drawn by forces beyond his own comprehension that he has no choice but to gravitate towards you.

Sunghoon had once said some sappy shit about being absolutely infatuated with a single soul when he went abroad, and Jake had always thought that it was nonsense, impossible for one person to feel so deeply for another. But with you, Jake understands what it’s like: what it’s like to do anything for you and not think twice about it.

“Yeah you are,” he grins, leaning over to kiss you with all the power he could muster, like a lost lover making up for all the years, months, weeks, days, minutes, seconds your lips hadn’t been touching his.

Now, Jake refuses to imagine what his life would be without you. Because unlike what he seems to be, you have forged your existence deep within his soul. You aren’t just a part of his life, you are his life. And breathing without being able to touch you holds zero importance.

You rested your head against Jake’s shoulder, and felt for the first time, what you would often feel with him: a self affection. He made you like yourself. With him, you were at ease and it seemed so natural to talk to him about odd things. And you’ve never done that before, always having to keep an uptight exterior. The trust, so sudden yet so complete, and the intimacy, once frightened you but now you could only think about all the things you wanted to tell him, wanted to do with him.

“You know, ” Jake starts, “I’ve liked you since we were kids.”

You raise your head to look at him in shock while Jake traces tiny circles on the lines of your palms, looking all so serious. “Really?” your words feel breathless.

The empty lecture theatre is silent without the sound of your voices to fill it up. And Jake doesn’t look up at you, “yeah,” he mumbles in a slight daze, “since the first day of school when you walked in with the sweetest smile I’d ever seen in my five years of living.”

You giggle, head rolling against his shoulder in amusement. And you never expected anything less from Jake Sim, always a dream, a fairy prince, the sweetest boy in your eyes.

“That’s cute,” you answer, fingers wrapping his, “why didn’t you talk to me then, you were so distant and quiet.”

“Only around you,” he whispers, it's soft but you catch it under his breath, “you made me speechless then just as you do now.” Jake squeezes your hand, and then he feels an air of uncertainty surround him and he isn’t sure if what he’s about to do is the best move.

Luck was all it took for the two of you to continue this relationship, but with every kiss you pucker on his lips, Jake wonders if he should really rely on luck any longer. Because being careful with you hurts, seeing you across the room at charity dinners and not being able to touch you hurts. And for once in his life he doesn’t want to hold back, he wants to tell you every second that he misses you, that he stayed up late cause he couldn't stop thinking about you, about the two of you. Tell you about the dreams he has with you, that you make him happy. And he doesn't want to pretend he doesn’t have feelings for you in a crowded room. Jake has always thought of love as a weakness, but if it is, then he’s weak for you.

You tug him closer, “Jake,” you look at him and without a single word you understand his feelings, “I felt scared, you know? When you first approached me, I wondered — what is he doing? And then you were you, and I asked myself if I would still love you, even if it meant losing everything. I realised that I would, that maybe because you’re beside me I’m not afraid to lose anything.”

“You love me?” Jake blinks, looking at you to see a matching gleam of tears shimmering in your gaze, so intimate and full of soft understanding that it makes the sensation in his chest even worse.

“I guess I do,” you say very slowly, syllables coated in wilting flowers, “I mean you might think it’s a bit sudden, but—”

Jake cuts your ramble, fingers brushing your silver tears away, and he makes a promise to himself that he won’t ever make you cry again in this lifetime. His lips gravitate towards yours like the atmosphere, a cosmic combustion of nature and honesty. Jake makes sure not to press too hard, kissing you lightly, gently, and holding you like tomorrow won't be arriving. There’s no fireworks, no anti-gravity moments, but it’s warm and real and quiet, and it’s — you. It’s the both of you.

And you think that there’s a slight difference between kissing someone because you love them and kissing someone because words can no longer accurately express your feelings for the person. That’s exactly what you’re feeling right now, and you want Jake sim to sow his fingers in your hair, like flower roots in the soil.

“I love you,” Jake breathes, fingertips tracing the curve of your jaw. “It’s always been you. I never wanted to be selfish, but I can’t, angel, I can’t. I have always been yours.”

You are the sunlight falling through trees, the laughter that breaks through sadness, the breeze on a summer day, clarity amidst confusion. You may not be the world but you are everything that makes him want to stay in it. WIthout you, his life would still exist but that’s all he’d be able to do. And he’ll love you in every season, through all the changes in your soul. He’ll love you on February 30th without hesitation because that is where his love for you reaches — times that don’t exist.

He keeps his words to himself.

“Jakey, do you know what a soulmate is?”

It was a concept you’d once seen, always believed in and you never really wrapped your head around the concept of something so supernaturally realistic. But now, you realise, that the boy in front of you is the boy you’d choose in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality.

Jake closes his eyes again, feeling a light inside him flicker. “Yeah,” he admits, “it’s us.”

“Yeah it is,” you nod, “so you’re never getting rid of me even if you try.”

The words have a hard time penetrating through the fog around his mind, but then Jake gets it, he really gets it. “As if I’d try to,” he laughs, the definition of snow and sugar and serendipity.

If someone asked Jake how many times you’ve crossed his mind, he’d say once, because you never left.

The best kind of love takes time. It takes months, years, decades – entire calendars filled with small memories. And you believe that love is just like honey: thick and golden, like the feeling where you’re slowly floating out of your universe and falling into someone else’s. Love is slow, patient. It lingers behind the rhythm of heartbeats and the faltering of footsteps, until one day you realize that you’d do anything for your lover.

And then there’s a different kind of love — quieter, softer, protective. It’s reserved for special people, people who’ve watched you fall and get back up, blood streaming like tears down from scrapes of hurt and uncertainty. This love, too, is beautiful. It reminds you of a flower, always growing until it reaches the sun. It’s warm.

Maybe that’s the beauty of love: how endless it is. How there’s no end of beginning, and you think maybe you’ll spend the rest of eternity finding out new forms of love.

A few weeks later it’s plastered all over the media — pictures of you and your boyfriend kissing against the lockers. And surprisingly you feel nothing but peace.

“Baby, you alright,” Jake watches quietly as you look up to him, eyelids fluttering as if your lashes were regal butterflies, and he scans your body to make sure you’re okay before burying his head into the crook of your neck.

You melt, fingers weaving into Jake’s glossy hair and breathing in his sandalwood, sea salt scent with just a hint of fresh danger. And you can feel his worry for you, “I’m alright Jakey.”

“Okay,” Jake whispers, “I was worried.” And he lifts his head, eyes shining as he presses your nose with the pad of his thumb. It’s warm and he feels happy. “Did your parents say anything?”

“I mean, just something about me staging a teenage rebellion, nothing too serious.”

His heart lurches, “like those movies we watch, like Wild Child?”

You grin, “like Wild Child.”

“That’s good that it’s nothing too serious, or I’d have to intervene.” Jake says seriously and his words make you giggle in the warmth of his body.

“Intervene? What are you, my knight in shining armour?”

“I’d like to think I’m more of a devilish prince,” he corrects and you roll your eyes, “like I’m Romeo and you’re Juliet.”

“Romeo isn’t a prince,” you tell him, “and they die in the end.”

You gaze at him, eyes shining with something akin to salvation, and Jake feels himself fall a little bit more in love with you — who holds the stars inside of his soul, body beautiful and a face a sculpture of dazzling art.

He leans down, pressing your lips together. It’s slow, unhurried, unrushed — as if you have all the time in the world.

You do.

Jake falls even further in love now, thinking that you are so beautiful and so pretty and your eyes sparkle like fairy lights.

“Well then I guess till death do us apart.”

I love you.

#⪩⪨ mikaela's #𝒮tᥲr ℬ᥆ᥡs #enhypen #enhypen jake #enhypen x reader #enhypen smut #jake smut #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen headcanons #jake x reader #jake fluff #jaeyun x reader #enhypen oneshots #enhypen hard hours #jake hard hours #enhypen scenarios #jake imagines #enhypen smau

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solxamber · 2 months ago

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Lease and Let Die || Lilia Vanrouge

You needed a roommate. You got Lilia Vanrouge. He’s upside down on your ceiling, burns every meal, might be immortal—and weirdly? He’s perfect.

You’ve hit rock bottom. Not the dramatic, movie kind—no, this is the quiet, pathetic kind where your roommate runs off to “find themselves” in a polycule commune and leaves you with the full rent and a fridge that smells like betrayal.

Running on three hours of sleep, gas station muffins, and a caffeine tolerance that borders on war crime, you post the most honest roommate ad you can manage:

“Please, just pay rent on time and don’t leave knives in the sink. Or summoning circles. I’m tired.”

Five minutes later, your phone pings.

“I’ve never missed rent, my knives are ceremonial, and I haven’t summoned a proper demon in decades. When do I move in? —L.V.”

You blink at your phone. You reread the message. You decide it’s probably fine.

Twenty-four hours later, Lilia Vanrouge shows up at your door.

He’s wearing a leather jacket, eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass, and a smile like he knows exactly how you’re going to die—and thinks it’s kind of cute.

“You must be my new roommate!” he chirps, setting down a suitcase that audibly hums.

You nod slowly, brain buffering. “Are you... bringing more stuff?”

“Oh, no,” he says, cheerfully. “Just this. And the coffin.”

“The what—”

But he’s already inside, complimenting your curtains and asking where the nearest leyline convergence is.

You stare blankly. Somewhere in the apartment, the Wi-Fi cuts out.

You have no idea what the hell you just signed up for.

But at least he promised that he does his own dishes.

It started off sweet. Really, it did.

You had late evening classes three times a week and by the time you trudged across campus toward home, the only light came from flickering streetlamps and your phone screen at 3% battery.

One night, as you packed your things into your bag, Lilia appeared beside you like a helpful poltergeist.

“I’ll walk you home,” he said cheerfully, slinging your bag over his shoulder before you could argue.

Your first reaction? Touched. Emotional. Betrayed by your own sentimentality. Because nobody had ever said anything that nice to you on this hell-washed campus. Not your professors, not your classmates, not even your overpriced coffee machine, which had begun growling whenever you approached.

You looked at him with stars in your eyes and said, “That’s… really kind. Thank you.”

He shrugged, the picture of casual coolness, if casual coolness was wearing a floor-length black cloak and bat earrings. “The darkness listens better when I’m near.”

And that was when the stars in your eyes shriveled and died.

You blinked. “I’m sorry, the what?”

“The darkness,” he said, like this was self-explanatory. “It whispers sometimes. And when I’m around, it’s polite about it.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Reopened it. “And… that’s supposed to be comforting?”

“It means I’ll hear if anything wants to drag you into an abyss. I can bargain with those.” He beamed at you. “Some of them owe me favors.”

You stared at the sidewalk as you walked. You were no longer sure if this was a sweet gesture or a prelude to demonic possession.

At one point, a crow landed on a lamppost and screamed. Lilia tilted his head and murmured something in a language you didn’t know, and the crow just nodded and flew away.

You weren’t sure if you should feel safer.

“Lilia,” you said cautiously, “do I need to be worried?”

He laughed, delighted. “Oh, no! You’re not a threat to the veil between realms. Not yet.”

You did not like the word yet. Not one bit.

Still… you made it home. Your front door was mysteriously unlocked (Lilia claimed the house “let him in”), the kitchen light had fixed itself, and your dying plant had perked up. So maybe walking home with your roommate wasn’t the worst idea in the world.

You just had to make peace with the fact that the shadows sometimes waved at him.

And that he waved back.

You were dying. There was no other way to describe it.

The dining table was a battlefield: open textbooks stacked like defensive walls, notes scattered like fallen soldiers, and a graveyard of empty mugs bearing silent witness to your descent into academic hell. Your eye twitched. The caffeine was doing nothing. You were 84% sure your soul had left your body three hours ago. The only thing keeping your bones upright was spite.

“I swear to every cruel god out there,” you muttered, “if I don’t pass this exam, I’m just gonna lay down in the student union and let the crushing weight of debt take me.”

From the couch—where he had been laying upside down like an actual bat for the past twenty minutes—Lilia made a thoughtful noise.

“Do you require reinforcements? A siege beast, perhaps? I have a minor distraction spell that summons a screaming goat—”

“I need silence,” you hissed, snapping your highlighter in half with the ferocity of a person pushed beyond reason.

“Oh,” he said, far too delighted. “Say no more.”

He snapped his fingers.

There was a pop and then—nothing. Utter, blissful, terrifying silence. You blinked. The world was muffled in a sparkling purple haze. It was like someone had wrapped your brain in a pillow and told all your problems to go wait outside.

You got two pages of notes done before the smell hit you.

Burnt.

Burning.

Popcorn?

You looked up just in time to see a column of smoke trailing lazily from the kitchen.

You screamed. You didn’t hear it.

Lilia waved at you cheerfully from inside the fire alarm’s muted chaos.

You were too tired to cry and too caffeinated to blink. The popcorn was ruined, the fire alarm had only just stopped shrieking, and Lilia was poking at the charred remains in the microwave like it was a curious new species.

"I thought I had it set to two minutes," he said cheerfully, as if the kitchen wasn’t filled with smoke and the smell of scorched sadness.

“You set it to twenty,” you croaked, pointing accusingly at the still-blinking numbers. “Twenty minutes, Lilia.”

“Ah. So that’s what the little zeroes were for.” He turned around, beaming like a deranged warlock. “Good news is—I know just the thing to cheer you up.”

“No,” you said immediately. “Lilia, no.”

But it was already too late. He clapped his hands once, a ripple of eldritch magic shimmered through the air, and with a flash of light and a small puff of brimstone, something appeared.

Stanley, the goat.

He stood in the middle of your scorched kitchen. Just… stood there. He had little beady eyes, unimpressed with this plane of existence. A single bell jingled around his neck like it was mocking you personally.

And then he screamed.

It was the sound of every due date you’d missed, every essay you’d written at 3 a.m., every existential panic you’d had at the grocery store over the rising price of cheese. It was a scream that echoed through your soul and possibly opened a portal to another realm for a second.

Stanley screamed again. Lilia clapped, delighted.

“He’s motivated troops into battle before,” he said proudly. “And one time, a wedding.”

You stared at the ceiling. “I am going to be arrested. They’re going to cite you as the reason and the judge will nod solemnly because they’ll get it.”

Stanley climbed onto the counter and knocked over your last mug of coffee.

Lilia looked at you with the serene calm of someone who has caused kingdoms to fall. “Would you like me to summon Stanley’s cousin? Her name is Beatrice.”

You sank to the floor. “I just wanted popcorn.”

Stanley screamed.

It starts innocently. A Tuesday. You’re behind on three assignments, your laundry smells like something died in it (possibly your GPA), and Lilia is humming in the kitchen while making (very burnt) eggs in a suspiciously perfect spiral. Nothing unusual.

Until you open your history textbook.

You're scanning for bullet points—just enough to fake engagement during tomorrow’s class—and then you see it.

The name.

Lilia Vanrouge. Underlined. Bolded. In a war tactics section titled "Unconventional Victory: The Northern Siege and the General Who Outsmarted Death."

There’s even a sketched portrait. It’s him. Smirking like he knows something you don’t. Which is probably true.

You sit there for a moment, staring at the page, then at the kitchen doorway. Then back at the page.

Then you scream.

Lilia pokes his head in. “What’s wrong? Ghost in the textbook?”

“You’re in the textbook!” you shout, holding it up like it might exorcise him.

He blinks at it, tilts his head. “Oh. That one. I told them not to use that portrait, it’s terribly outdated. My cheekbones are much sharper now.”

“YOU’RE A WAR GENERAL.”

He grins. “Was. Ages ago. The title’s more of a... dusty old accessory now.”

You pace. “I’ve been yelling at you about buying sugary cereal for weeks.”

“You called me a ‘coward of capitalism.’” He sounds fond. “It was very compelling.”

“I made you split a bag of off-brand marshmallows with me because I couldn’t afford dinner.”

He beams. “It was charming! Very wartime spirit of you.”

You throw yourself face-first into your pillow and scream until the pillow gives up.

“I didn’t think you’d care for old titles.”

“I care that you’re in a textbook!”

He sits beside you, offering the plate. “I also invented this egg spiral. There’s a footnote about it in Chapter Seven.”

You consider the egg. You consider your life.

And then you accept the plate. Because apparently you’re living with a retired war general who hoards cereal and hums lullabies in ancient dialects.

And somehow, this still isn’t the weirdest week you’ve had.

You don’t ask him seriously at first. It’s a joke—half a groan, half a petty fantasy as you drag yourself home from another night class, your arms sore from carrying too many books and your pride bruised from yet another “spirited” discussion with your favorite nemesis: Professor Drywall Brain.

“I swear to the gods, Lilia,” you mutter as you slam the door behind you, “if that man says ‘technically that isn’t historically accurate’ one more time, I’m going to scream in four different languages. Loudly. In his office. While holding a tambourine.”

Lilia, sprawled upside-down on the couch in his usual dramatic corpse pose, peeks open one eye. “Want me to come with you next time?”

You laugh. “God, imagine. You in class with me. You’d eat him alive.”

But the next time your professor interrupts you for the third time in one sentence to cite a source he co-wrote with his own ego, something in you snaps.

Lilia shows up twenty minutes early the next class.

He’s wearing:

• A sparkly lavender Hello Kitty hoodie.

• Black platform boots that make him almost legally too powerful.

• A “#1 Gamer Granddad” hat, slightly crooked.

• A notebook. A very serious notebook. Labeled in bold marker: “HUMAN RITUALS (vol. I)”

You blink. “...This isn’t what I meant when I said ‘scare him.’”

“Too much?” he asks innocently, spinning the hat backwards like this is a very niche sitcom. “I can lose the boots.”

“No. Keep them. I want them burned into his memory.”

He does sit in on class. The professor, clearly confused but trying to be professional, asks who he is.

Lilia doesn’t answer with his name. He just smiles and says, “Observer of mortal wisdom,” and opens his notebook like he’s ready to witness a natural disaster.

Every time the professor says something snide or borderline wrong, Lilia makes a show of scribbling a note with an expression of mild horror. At one point he even raises a hand—a single gloved finger, dainty as sin—and asks if “contradicting published data is part of the mortal learning experience.”

By the end of the class, your professor looks like he’s aged six years.

On the walk home, Lilia loops his arm through yours and hums. “That was very educational. I should attend more.”

“Please don’t,” you whisper, though you’re also grinning. “You’re going to get me expelled.”

“Not if I become the dean first,” he says cheerfully.

You don’t know if he’s joking. You don’t ask.

You just feel very safe walking home that night.

The day your professor emailed your grade, you were still deep in the throes of post-group-project resentment. You hadn’t slept. Your eye had developed a twitch. You’d seen God briefly while editing the final slide deck at 3AM and He told you to log off. You didn’t.

You were still thinking about it. Sitting on the kitchen floor in socks that did not match, eating cold instant ramen with a fork because all the chopsticks had mysteriously disappeared (you suspect Lilia), and rereading your group’s submission like it was a cursed tome. Because somehow, somehow, it was… good?

Like disturbingly good.

It started normal. Blah blah, feudal kingdoms, blah blah, agricultural collapse—but halfway through, it got weirdly intense. The writing shifted from standard student filler to vivid descriptions of battlefield strategy and personal loss. There were diary entries from a dying soldier. Quotes like:

“The horses screamed louder than the men.”

Who wrote that?

You didn’t write that.

Your groupmates definitely didn’t write that—one of them tried to cite Wikipedia by just linking it in the footnotes and calling it a day.

And then you saw it. On the last page, listed under "Additional Resources":

• Blood-Soaked Memoirs, Vol. II

• War and Tea: Reflections of a Veteran General

• Me (I Was There), by L.V.

You stared at the screen.

Then you turned slowly—so slowly—to face the upside-down body perched on your living room ceiling like a decorative gargoyle.

“Lilia,” you said, voice trembling, “did you write my paper?”

He flipped mid-air and landed soundlessly, mug of tea in hand, wearing his fuzzy bat slippers and a shirt that said Don’t Talk To Me Until I’ve Had My Potion.

“Of course I did,” he said cheerfully. “I couldn’t just let you hand in that disaster your groupmates conjured. I’d seen more structure in a battlefield charge made by drunk goblins.”

You blinked. “You used actual war stories.”

“Well, I was there."

“YOU CITED YOURSELF.”

“And they say self-reflection is dead.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m going to get expelled for plagiarism from a guy who fought in the Demon Rebellion of 1043.”

He patted your head. “Nonsense. I am the primary source.”

You screamed. The fire alarm went off again. Lilia casually waved away the smoke from your scorched popcorn and floated back to the ceiling.

You got an A+.

You never looked your professor in the eyes again.

The ramen’s cold. You’re sitting on the linoleum like you’ve lost all connection to chairs and dignity. Your laptop screen glows ominously from the counter, blinking with the cheerful menace of “Project Scores Available Now!” and you, a coward, have chosen denial.

It’s not dramatic. It’s survival.

You twirl a limp noodle around your fork and sigh like a Victorian widow. “If I fail this class, I’m going to live in a bog.”

From above, something shifts. A soft creak. You don’t even flinch anymore.

Lilia is upside down on your kitchen ceiling, arms crossed like a sleeping bat, hair dangling like he styled it specifically for zero gravity. His eyes are glowing just slightly in the dim light of the fridge. His entire posture says: I live here. Get used to it.

“You’ll be fine,” he says in that lilting tone of someone who has definitely hexed a registrar before.

You stare at him and jab your fork in his general direction. “Are you here to flirt with me or drink my blood?”

A beat.

“Yes,” he says, all teeth.

You shovel another bite of ramen into your mouth because honestly? Sounds great either way.

He drifts down from the ceiling a moment later, floating like an unsettling balloon and landing in a crouch beside you.

“You know,” he murmurs, peering into your bowl, “when I was in training, we had to fight actual hydras for credit. These grades mean nothing.”

“Yeah, well,” you grumble, “I’m fighting for my life against microwave deadlines and soul-crushing group projects.”

Lilia hums thoughtfully. “Still might be harder than the hydras.”

You blink at him. “...Really?”

“No,” he says sweetly. “But I am proud of you.”

And somehow, the noodles taste a little better after that.

It’s late. The kind of late where everything is quiet, the hum of the fridge is loud, and the streetlights cast long, sleepy shadows through the kitchen window. You’re both where you usually end up—on the floor, cross-legged, surrounded by mismatched mugs and half-eaten snacks, your laptop forgotten somewhere under a throw blanket.

You don’t know why you ask it. Maybe it’s the way he brewed your favorite tea without you asking. Maybe it’s the way he always waits until your shoulders slump before he starts playing that dumb, soothing lo-fi playlist. Maybe it’s just… him.

“Why are you so nice to me?” you ask.

Lilia doesn’t answer right away. He tilts his head, as if tasting the weight of your question in the air. His expression softens—not his usual mischievous grin or teasing smirk, but something quieter. Something old.

“Because,” he says, voice low, “I once led a thousand men into war for less than a kind word.”

He looks at you then, and it feels like the air stills.

“And you give them to me freely.”

“I was never quite friend. Never quite equal. Not really.”

His voice doesn’t change, but your heart lurches anyway.

“But you—” He finally glances down at you, eyes glowing faint in the dark kitchen light. “You argue with me about cereal. You yell at me to do the dishes. You make me playlists.”

He grins, crooked and fond. “You treat me like a person.”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Not even a joke. Not even a deflection.

You blink too fast. You pretend it’s dust in your eye. You laugh like it’s a silly thing to say, like your throat isn’t tight and your chest isn’t aching in that strange, warm way he always brings.

He doesn’t call you out on it. He just passes you a cookie shaped like a bat and starts humming a song you don’t know but wish you did.

You think you’re in trouble.

You also think you don’t mind.

You burst through the front door like you’ve been launched from a cannon, nearly trip on your own shoes, and absolutely yeet your bag across the living room.

Lilia, as always, is committing war crimes in the kitchen. The smoke alarm gave up trying weeks ago. Today’s offense appears to be something that was probably lasagna and is now definitely a smoldering, unidentifiable cube.

He turns, oven mitts on both hands, looking entirely unbothered. “Oh? What’s got you bouncing around like a forest sprite on sugar?”

You can’t speak. You’re too giddy, too high on disbelief and the distinct buzz of miracle. You just hold up your phone, the grades page glowing like divine scripture.

“I PASSED!” you shout, already halfway into a hop.

He blinks. “All of them?”

You nod, borderline feral. “All of them. Even Philosophy, which I wrote the final paper on the wrong philosopher. The wrong century, even!”

Lilia sets down the scorched tray. “Ah. So the blessings worked.”

You freeze. Narrow your eyes. “What blessings?”

He smiles innocently. “Who’s to say? Perhaps the stars aligned. Perhaps the registrar owes me a favor. Perhaps I made a quiet appeal to an ancient power.”

“You hexed my finals.”

“I charmed your finals.”

You don’t care. You really, really don’t care. The stress is finally gone. Your body is light, your soul is free, and for the first time since this bizarre roommate-summoning-covenant began, you feel at ease.

So you cross the room in a few strides, grin so wide it nearly splits your face, and kiss him.

It’s impulsive. Honest. Stupid. Exactly right.

He hums, surprised but pleased, and kisses you back—tasting faintly of burned tomato sauce and centuries of mischief.

You pull away breathless, blinking. “I mean—uh—thank you?”

He chuckles, touching your cheek with one (still oven-mitted) hand. “You’re welcome, dearest.”

The lasagna is absolutely inedible, but you eat it anyway.

With him, even burnt food tastes like victory.

The kitchen floor is cold, the overhead light is buzzing ominously, and there’s a suspiciously damp dish towel under your back, but you’re too tired to care. Finals are over. The semester’s been crushed beneath your heel like a can of off-brand energy drink. Lilia’s lying beside you, arms folded behind his head, legs kicked up like he’s cloud-gazing instead of staring at the slightly water-stained ceiling.

There’s a half-eaten sleeve of cookies on your chest. You’re not sure who put it there. You’ve been eating them slowly, like a grazing animal trying to forget it exists.

You sigh. He sighs louder, out of sheer competition. You elbow him, he laughs. The fridge hums like it’s sharing in the moment.

Then, because it feels right—or at least stupid in the exact right way—you turn your head and say, “Hey, Lilia. Wanna get married?”

There’s a beat. Maybe two.

“Yup,” he says, cheerful as anything. “Let’s do it. Right now? I can carve the rings. I’ve got bone.”

You blink.

He smiles.

You blink again. “I was joking.”

“I wasn’t.”

Silence.

“Wait—bone?”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “What, you think I don’t have crafting materials?”

You stare at him. He stares right back, unblinking, until you crack up so hard the cookie sleeve falls off your chest and crumbles into sad little crumbs on the tile.

“Gods, you’re insane,” you wheeze, wiping your eyes.

He grins, fangs showing. “Only for you, spouse.”

You cover your face, but you're smiling like an idiot. Because even if he's joking—and you're not entirely sure he is—there’s a warmth in your chest that doesn’t feel like just cookie crumbs and post-finals exhaustion.

You’re doomed. You’re in love. And apparently, you’re engaged now.

Masterlist

"someone save me from this university" - me as i wrote this. (also was written very very high on caffeine and stress so i'm sorry for the extreme chaos)

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia twst #lilia x reader #twst lilia #twisted wonderland lilia

1K notes · View notes

vunblr · 3 months ago

Text

A Star Without a Sky (#1)

Pairing: Sheriff! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Slight angst. Comfort. Fluff. Slow Burn. Smut.

Summary: A wounded Sheriff Barnes seeks shelter in a young widow’s home, and finds himself wrapped in a warmth he no longer believes he deserves, and longing for something he thought long buried.

Word Count: About 6.7k.

Note: Old West Bucky, just because.

She forced herself out of the warm bed, groggy and resentful of the cold that crept from every crack in the old wood walls. The sun had been up for hours. Errands -postponed too many times- piled at her with obligation, so she folded back the quilt with a sigh and let her bare feet hit the frigid floor.

The curtains were stiff from the cold when she opened them, but the frost-laced glass flared gold for a moment. Maybe the sun would heat the place a little, while she got the stove going. She rubbed her arms through the sleeves of her nightdress, crossed to the kitchen corner, and bent to arrange kindling into the firebox. The cold bit into her hands as she fumbled with the matches with a curse.

Then she caught a movement in the corner of her eye.

She promptly turned toward the window, and through the murky pane, she saw a figure moving slowly across the edge of the wild hay meadow. Long black coat dragging in the snow, matching black hat pulled low. He didn’t look like much, -no rifle, no saddle- but the way he walked made her breath stutter, just a little.

Not like a man who meant harm.

Like a man trying hard to stay on his feet.

One of his knees buckled, sudden and ugly, sending him listing sideways. The white behind him bloomed red.

She pressed a hand to the glass. He tripped on something under the drift -maybe a stone, maybe nothing at all- and crumpled, hard, face-first into the snow. He didn’t move. The black of his coat sprawled out like an ink stain across the white.

She didn’t think. She just moved.

----

She reached him just as the wind picked up, scattering loose snow across the meadow in dry, hissing gusts. Kneeling beside him, she pressed a hand to his shoulder, the fabric of his coat was soaked through and cold to the touch. He flinched like a spooked horse, jolting upright onto his knees and lifting his head, looking at her with an impossibly blue gaze.

Then his eyes rolled back.

His body folded on itself, collapsing again into a heap of dark leather, blood, and limp limbs.

She panicked. He was going to die out here.

She hooked her hands under his arms and tried to lift him, grunting with the effort, but he was heavy and slack and offered nothing to work with. The cold was stealing him by the minute. Her breath fogged fast as she scanned for something -anything- and then, she scooped a fistful of snow, and smeared it across his face.

He groaned, low and miserable. Still alive.

Good.

She slapped him. Hard.

"Wake up!"

His head jerked. A curse slurred past cracked lips. He pushed himself onto one elbow, swaying, and that was enough. She ducked under his arm and dragged it across her shoulders, locking her other arm around his waist. He stank of blood and iron, sweat and gunpowder, and her knees almost gave under his weight, but she held fast.

“We are going to the house now,” she hissed against the sharp wind, with her cheek brushing against his stubble. “I need you to move, because I can’t do this alone.”

He grunted, barely conscious, but his legs obeyed enough to shuffle, stagger. Step by step, they moved toward the porch. His hair fell across her face, chestnut strands tickling her lashes as she leaned into him. She was too focused on the door, on the fire she hadn’t lit, on the bed she’d just left, when something hard knocked against her hip.

She froze. Shifted. Felt it again.

A pistol. Holstered under his coat.

So, not unarmed after all.

----

She wrestled the quilt aside just in time before they toppled onto the bed, both hitting the mattress in a graceless heap, with his full weight sagging over her until she twisted, shoved, and managed to roll him off her with a grunt. The room was freezing, the stove still unlit, but she felt sweat prickling along her spine.

"Don’t die," she muttered, more to herself than him, as she bent and started on his coat. The leather stuck to his body, frozen and soaked through with blood. She peeled it back, inch by inch. Waistcoat next, then the shirt. His chest was heaving shallow, and his skin was pale beneath the streaks of dirt and gore. She fumbled fast, tearing open fabric until she found the wound, just under the ribs, on his left side.

“Damn it.”

A neat hole. Clean, if blood could ever be called clean.

She pressed her hand under his back and felt the sticky mess there, another hole, just above his waist. She exhaled, shaky.

"Through and through."

It was something.

Blood still pooled thick beneath him, though. He'd been walking like this. Bleeding like this. God only knew how far he'd come or how long he'd been dragging himself through the cold like a ghost looking for somewhere to fall.

She reached for the basin on the table, filled it with what water hadn't frozen overnight, and tossed in a kettle from the shelf. It’d be warm in a minute if she got the fire going.

But first…

She went back to him. Looked at him.

His shoulder-length dark hair clung damp to his temple. His face was unshaven, with a jaw that looked carved from stone. He looked hard. Worn. Tired. The kind of face that had seen years too fast.

Her gaze drifted lower, to his torso, lean muscle beneath the blood, scars and bruises, and something caught the light.

A glint of metal, nestled against his side, half-tucked under the folds of his waistcoat. She reached for it.

A silver star. Dull, scratched, but unmistakable.

A sheriff badge.

She stared at it for a long beat.

A sheriff was bleeding out in her bed

----

She cleaned the blood away with water and vinegar, soaked into a rag until it turned rust-brown, wiping carefully like she could scrub death off him with enough effort. The bullet hole wept dark blood with each shallow breath he managed to pull in. He hadn’t stirred since she got him into the bed. Not even when she pressed down to see how deep the wound ran.

She lit a candle and threaded the needle by its shaky light. The thread was thick and waxed -meant for mending saddle leather, not flesh- but it would hold. She'd done this before.

Dozens of times.

The needle pierced skin, and her hands didn’t tremble. Not once.

She'd stitched up gashes, tears, and ugly farm accidents when Cole had come limping in from the fields with blood on his shirt and his mouth twisted in pain. She could still hear his voice, grumbling softly while she worked, trying to distract her.

Cole.

If he were alive, he’d be the one dealing with this. Would’ve hauled the stranger in himself, dragged him out of the snow with strong arms, and laid him out with confidence, not panic.

But Cole had been dead for two years.

Two winters of silence, of watching the fields change and learning how to do what needed doing whether or not it broke her.

These were the cards.

And this was the hand she played.

She tied off the last stitch and cut the thread with a scissor. Then she sat back, wiped her palms on her nightdress, and stared down at the sleeping lawman bleeding on her sheets.

She uncorked the turpentine with numb fingers and poured it straight onto the wound. He flinched -just a twitch, not enough to wake- but his body jerked like it knew how to scream even if he couldn't.

His face had gone gray, and his lips, the color of ash. Too much blood gone. She pressed her knuckles to her mouth and thought, hard.

He needed something in him. Something warm.

She stumbled into the pantry, shivering in her nightdress, and pulled down the bottle she’d never used. Bought it in hope, and tucked it away when that hope became vain. She filled a pot with milk from the day before, added water to thin it, and honey to sweeten it. The teat was stiff from disuse, but it softened as she worked it between her fingers.

Back in the bedroom, she pressed it to his mouth.

He didn’t drink. His lips parted slack, and the milk dribbled out, warm and wasted down his chin. She cursed low under her breath, brushed her hair from her eyes, and did what had to be done.

She climbed onto the bed.

With effort, she shifted his weight, stuffing pillows behind him until he was propped just enough, and then settled beside him on her knees, feeling his head heavy against her chest. She cradled the back of his skull with her forearm, grabbed the bottle, and rubbed his throat gently with her empty hand.

He groaned. Not awake. But there.

She tilted the bottle again, angled it just so, with her fingers still coaxing along his throat.

This time, he drank.

Suckled hard, desperate, and instinctual. Like his body wanted to live even if his mind wasn’t aware of it. She didn’t speak at first, just watched, mesmerized by the motion, the hollow pull of his cheeks, the faint rise of color in them.

When he paused, she rested her hand on his cheek. Cool, rough with stubble. "You’re doing good," she murmured, low and close to his ear. "Come on, just a little more."

No answer, but he kept drinking.

And she stayed like that, curled around a half-dead lawman, feeding him from a bottle meant for a child she never had.

----

After three days, she had a routine. She pushed the door open with her hip, balancing the basin, a clean rag, and the bottle in her arms. Her boots thudded softly on the floorboards, and she didn’t even glance toward the bed at first, she was halfway to setting the basin down when she felt his eyes on her.

He was awake.

Propped up slightly on the pillows, with the blanket bunched at his waist, and his face still pale but alert. His blue eyes were sharp, almost piercing.

They stared at each other for a long second. Neither moved.

"Where am I?" he rasped.

"At my house," she answered, calm but cautious, tightening her grip on the bottle. "You’re safe here."

His shoulders didn’t relax. “And you are…?”

“Y/n. You collapsed inside my property and I brought you here.”

He blinked slowly, as if chewing the words, and then glanced at the bottle in her hand. His expression changed to one more open. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, stiff and formal. “I’m sorry for inconveniencing your family, being another chore-”

“Oh, it’s just me,” she cut in, with a lighter tone than she really felt. “You’re only disrupting my less-than-exciting week.”

His gaze dropped again to the glass bottle.

She followed his eyes. Paused. And then felt the heat crawl up her neck.

“Oh. That’s why you thought…” She fumbled with the bottle and nearly dropped it. “Actually, I made this for you.”

His brows pinched together, slow and confused. “Why…?”

“I- um- I've been feeding you with this. Since you couldn’t swallow, and I figured… you needed the strength.”

His expression shifted, his eyes widened, and a faint red crept over the tops of his cheekbones. “That so?”

“You were so weak,” she hurried, mortified. “You couldn’t even hold your head up. And you needed nourishment, and I didn’t know what else to-”

“All right.” He lifted a hand, sluggishly but firm. “I understand the whole picture. No need to…”

He made a vague gesture, then dragged his palm down over his face and groaned low in his throat. The thought of this fine woman kneeling beside him, cradling his head, easing a damn baby bottle between his lips, nearly made him wish he'd bled out in the snow.

But he didn’t. And now he owed her.

“Thank you, ma’am.” His voice was softer now. Less wary. “I’m Sheriff Barnes. James Barnes. I’ve been in town for three months now. Never saw you before.”

She crossed her arms, leaning on the bedpost. “Oh, I don’t go too often to town and surely didn’t cross paths. Maybe that’s why.”

He nodded slowly, with his eyes still on her. He went quiet for a beat. Then-

“I imagine I made quite an entrance.”

She shrugged like she hadn’t spent the last few days feeding him in her arms. “Well, not every morning one finds a dying man at home.” She fiddled with the rubber teat, until it came loose with a soft pop. “Here. I already made it… it'll do you good-”

He took it with a slow nod, brought it to his mouth, and drank. Just a sip, just enough to coat his throat, but the moment the warm sweetness touched his tongue, that creeping, cursed heat returned. His ears burned. He could still imagine her hand at his jaw, coaxing, soothing. Her soft voice whispering encouragement like he was some wounded thing, some child.

“So you live out here all alone?” he asked quickly, trying to think on anything else.

“I lived here with my husband.” Her tone didn’t waver. “He died two years ago.”

He straightened up a little. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

A pause.

“I’m not that alone. I rent most of the land to my two neighbors. They’re decent folks. Help out from time to time, or their wives come around to chat when they want to gossip.”

“That’s good to hear.” He finished another sip and placed the bottle on the nightstand with a soft groan, and his muscles shifted in his bare torso, slow and deliberate. She noticed -of course she did- and quickly turned away, busying herself with the basin and gauze.

“I have to change the bandage now.”

“I can-”

“You can’t.” Her voice came out final. “You can’t be moving around yet or the stitches will tear.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I-”

“It is the first time I’ve had a man bleeding out on my bed,” she noted, crossing her arms and arching one brow. “So be a good sheriff and let me do this.”

He exhaled slowly and long, leaning back into the pillows with a look that said he knew better than to fight her. “Suit yourself.”

She dipped the rag into the vinegar water, but before she could begin, she paused. “Oh! before I start. Do you have to pee?”

He blinked at her. “What?”

“To pee, Sheriff Barnes. You know. That yellow-”

“Don’t say it.”

She gave him a flat look. “Well?”

He pressed his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I might need to use the bathroom, yes.”

“Alright.” She reached behind the nightstand and pulled out a dented tin jar with a handle, the kind that had seen use. She reached for the quilt.

His hand shot out, pinning the fabric down. “What are you doing?”

“You said you wanted to relieve yourself. I was going to-”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I won’t… do it there.” His voice cracked slightly, with mortification blooming again hot on his face. Goddammit.

“You don’t have many options,” she said gently, matter-of-factly. “I wasn’t going to look, just put it down there. No offense, but how do you think I’ve been managing you until now? The jar is an improvement. I’ve had to put towels between your thighs and your-”

“Okay.” He stared at her, then at the quilt covering his hips, then closed his eyes with a grimace. “Okay. Just… gimme the thing. I’ll manage.”

She handed him the jar and turned her back with the dignity of a queen.

“Ask for help if you need it,” she said, with infuriating cheer.

He groaned like a dying man all over again.

----

He watched her as she worked -silent and focused- like the shape of his naked body didn’t bother her at all. Like the scars weren’t there. Her hands were warm against his chilled skin, and he hated how good that felt. Hated that he noticed.

A lock of hair slipped from her bun and swung against her cheek. She didn’t fix it. The sunlight caught on her skin, and the neckline of her work dress, on the soft outline of her breasts shifting beneath the fabric as she leaned forward. She didn’t wear a shawl. And damn him, it had been so long since a woman touched him without fear or hurry. Since he’d seen something so gentle up close.

“So…” He cleared his throat. “Why don’t you come into town more often?”

She didn’t look at him right away. Just kept cleaning the wound, slowly, squeezing the cloth over the basin.

“Well… I go. For groceries. Things I need from the general store.” She dipped the rag again and wrung it out. “But it feels strange, wandering alone. And there’s always someone bringing up Cole- my husband.”

He gave a small nod, not wanting to interrupt.

“And then, sometimes it’s the whispers,” she added, quieter. “Men think I don’t hear ’em. The young widow who lives alone out there, renting to men, with no husband or family around. Must be doing more than sewing curtains.”

He stiffened and frowned.

She smiled, small and humorless. “People get real creative when they don’t have anything better to do.”

“And you just let ’em?”

“What should I do, sheriff? March in and shout I’m not fucking the tenants?” She shook her head as she wrung the cloth out. “Anyway, since I’m already damaged goods…” She shrugged. “They’re not so judgmental. Even save me a spot in church on Sundays.”

He watched her for a long beat.

“You’re not damaged,” he said, with a rough voice.

She chuckled. Couldn’t believe a man like him didn’t catch the meaning. “I’m not a virgin, sheriff. It’s a commodity I don’t have anymore. That’s why some of them talk, but in the end, it’s not like I could trick a man into something that’s not real. Pretend they’re the first and all that, since, well, it’d be odd for a widow to never have laid with her husband.”

Oh. That.

He felt the heat crawl up his neck like a stupid boy.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “in my opinion, ma’am, they ought to mind their own damn business. And if anyone says a word about the woman who saved my life… well, they won’t like how that ends.”

"Thank you,” she said softly, standing up and brushing her hands on her skirt. “Speaking of town, now that you're awake and probably can pass a couple of hours alone, I should go fetch the doctor," she suggested, looking at his tired face.

The smile vanished, and his body tensed under the quilt. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” he said. “You did a good job.”

“I’m no doctor, and neither are you.”

“I’ve been shot a couple times,” he muttered. “Seen more bullet wounds than a man should. In my experience, this looks promising.”

She arched a brow at him.

“I promise you, when I can mount I’ll borrow a horse and be off your back.” He murmured

“You may have a point. But it’s not about you being a bother, sheriff.” Her tone softened. “Isn’t it better if someone knows where you are? Just in case?”

“Actually… no.” His voice dropped a note. “Don’t mean to scare you, but if word spreads I’m here -injured and on the outs of town- some folks might see it as an opportunity to… take care of me permanently. If you catch my meaning.”

She did. And her stomach turned a little at the thought.

She nodded once. “Right. No doctor then.” Then she thought. “How about your wife?” she asked, keeping her voice casual. No ring on his finger didn’t mean he hadn’t left someone behind.

He gave a tired chuckle. “Ain’t a Mrs. Barnes out there to miss me. Maybe Deputy Wilson’ll shed a few tears.”

She looked down quickly, fiddling with the hem of her apron. Stupid, how relieved she felt.

“Maybe give word to your deputy, then?” she said, not quite looking at him as she rearranged the basin and cloth. “So he knows you’re alive and… maybe fetch you some clothing?”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “Yeah. That’s a good idea. I’ll write him a letter if it’s no trouble for you. Also…” He scratched at the scruff along his jaw, scanning the worn floorboards with tired eyes. “Could ask him to bring a rifle.”

She stopped tending him and tilted her head. “A rifle.”

“Yeah.”

“What are you, a man or an army?” She folded her arms, with a teasing tone in her voice. “You’ve already got two pistols and a pair of knives in my cupboard.”

He huffed out a breath, almost a laugh, or close to it. A flash of something that nearly passed for a smile curled one corner of his mouth. “The job comes with its risks.”

Looking at his wound, her eyes narrowed. “Can see that,” she murmured.

----

The fresh gauze and clean bandage were already in her hands, as she traced the rim of the wound with a featherlight touch of the cloth, with more tenderness than he expected, almost reverently. The muscles of his abdomen twitched under her fingers, and he cursed himself inwardly for the reaction.

“Sorry,” she said, not quite meeting his gaze. “I needed to dry the moisture.”

He wasn’t looking at her either, fixing his gaze somewhere behind her shoulder, clenching his jaw. That wasn’t precisely what hurt. “It’s... alright.”

She reached behind him. “Can you lift yourself just a little so I can wrap this around you? It'll be so much easier that way.”

“Yes, ma'am.” The words came through grit teeth.

He pushed himself up with trembling arms, catching his breath in his throat from the flare of pain that tore down his side. But he held it. He had to. She’d been dragging his half-dead weight around like a sack of flour for days. If he could do this one simple thing, he'd damn well do it.

She wrapped the bandage with quick hands, brushing his sking with warm fingers. He focused on the sound of the wind rattling against the windowpane, the creak of the mattress, and the feel of her arm briefly pressed to his ribs.

But it was hard not to think about how fucking good her hands felt against his skin. The way her fingers ghosted over his ribs, and how the scent of her hair -lavender water and woodsmoke- drifted close, and he caught himself wanting to bury his fingers in that bun, and tug it loose just to set it free.

Pathetic. Half-dead in a stranger’s bed and his touch-starved, half-feral body had the gall to ache for more.

She could feel his stare, like a weight. It made her fumble. When he’d been unconscious, it was easier. He wasn’t a man then, just a body in need of tending. She could wash him, move him, press cloth against his skin, and ignore what it meant. But now… now he was watching her, and his body wasn’t slack anymore. His breath caught at her touch. And he was handsome, damn it. That didn’t help a bit.

She forced her hands to finish, too quick, too clinical. “There you go,” she muttered helping him lean back into the pillows. “I’ll fetch you pen and paper so you can write the deputy.”

“Maybe... it'd be better a pencil,” he rasped. “Ma’am, I already bled on your sheets, don’t wanna stain ’em with ink.”

She blinked, then smiled despite herself. “That is very considerate of you. Thank you.”

He just nodded, slow and heavy-lidded. His face was unreadable, but the tips of his ears had turned red.

----

She entered the bedroom with a glass of water and a plate of crackers. Her hair was combed into a neater bun now, tucked under a wide-brimmed hat tied beneath her chin with a pale ribbon. A thick shawl was draped over her shoulders, knotted above her chest, the heavy wool taming now the shape of her body he’d gotten used to seeing in thinner cotton.

Bucky blinked. She looked… respectable. Buttoned up like a preacher’s wife. He kind of missed the sight of her work dress, with the sleeves rolled up, and her hair slipping wild around her ears. Somehow this -this distance of her appearance- made the bed feel colder.

“Did you write the letter?” she asked, setting the plate and glass on the nightstand with a careful clink.

“Yes, ma’am.” He handed her the folded paper. “Deputy Wilson should be at the office. If not, I wrote his address there for you.”

She tucked the note into her satchel and glanced at him. “Alright. Do you need anything else?”

“No, ma’am. Just… sleep.”

“Seems fair. You just woke up.” She reached for her gloves. “I’ll try not to linger much, hm? So you’re not here alone too long.”

He nodded. Alone’s the usual state of things anyway.

“Careful on the road, ma’am,” he said instead. “Put a blanket up over your legs.”

That got a soft breath of laughter from her. “Well now, ain’t that thoughtful.”

He didn’t answer, just watched her as she pulled the shawl tighter and walked out.

----

The afternoon light spilled gold across the dirt path as her cart clattered into town, with the wheels creaking softly over the uneven road. A few townsfolk tipped their hats or nodded her way. Mr. Granger from the tannery, old Miss Routh hobbling along the storefronts, and she nodded back, polite, reserved. The wind tugged gently at her hat ribbon.

She pulled the cart at a short distance from the sheriff’s office and tied the reins to the hitching post, patting the mare’s neck once before stepping down. Her boots crunched against the packed earth and dirty snow as she made her way toward the squat brick building, with its door half open. The scent of tobacco and dust met her first.

Inside, who she think it was Deputy Sam Wilson looked up from where he sat at the desk, chewing through a sandwich. He froze, mouth half-full, eyes wide with surprise.

“Oh- uh- morning, ma’am. Beg your pardon, I-”

She raised a hand before he could scramble upright. “No need to fuss, deputy. You go on.”

He swallowed and wiped his hands on a kerchief.

She hovered by the desk a moment, smoothing a fold in her shawl before reaching into her satchel. “Sheriff Barnes asked me to give you this.” She offered the folded letter, a little hesitantly.

Sam quirked a brow and took it from her fingers. As he unfolded the page, his expression shifted: surprise morphing into concern, then loosening into something softer as he read the last lines.

“Well, that explains the absence,” he muttered with a huff, setting the paper down. “Man always did have a knack for showing up bloodied and half-frozen like it was a hobby.”

She gave a little chuckle, folding her arms lightly. “He’s been... decent company. Quiet. Polite. If he’s trouble, he’s not shown it.”

Sam leaned back in the chair, and laughed at that. “Ma’am, I don’t know who you’ve got laid up in your spare bed, but that sure doesn’t sound like the James Barnes I work with. Grumpier than a bear with a sore tooth most days.”

She smiled, a little more relaxed now. “Well, then I suppose the snow knocked some manners into him.”

He stood with a grunt and disappeared into the back room. She heard the clatter of a cabinet, the rustle of canvas, and then he returned with a wrapped bundle, long, narrow, and unmistakable even beneath the cloth. He laid it on the desk and tied the covering snug with firm hands.

“His rifle,” he said, nodding toward it. “Lost it, he said?”

“Snow buried it. Or carried it off. Either way, it’s gone.”

“Well, he’ll be glad to have this one. Tell him to sit tight. I’ll keep things running over here until he’s back on his feet.” Sam tapped the letter with two fingers, then watched as she reached for the rifle.

He lifted a hand. “Wait a moment, please.”

She paused, puzzled, as he turned and disappeared into another room, this one closer than the back storage, maybe the Sheriff’s quarters. There was a muffled sound of rummaging, drawers opening, and something heavy shifting. Then he returned with a small leather satchel in his hand. He set it down on the desk with a soft clink: the unmistakable chime of coin against coin.

Her brows drew together. “There are no shops on the road for him to-”

“No, ma’am,” Sam said gently, already anticipating her. “This’s not for him. He asked me to give this to you. For the inconvenience.”

She shook her head, taking a step back. “I can’t accept that.”

“He figured you’d say that,” he cut in, folding his arms over his chest. “And insisted. Said to tell you he’s not the sort to eat a woman out of house and home without paying properly.”

She stood still.

Sam gestured to the satchel. “I’ve seen that man come back from a week on the trail, and let me tell you, when he starts eating again, it’s like a plague of locusts. He’ll feel guilty as soon as he can stand upright for long. Just take it, ma’am.”

She hesitated for a moment longer, then sighed and stepped forward, picking up the pouch. It was heavier than she expected. She tied it to the inside of her satchel with care.

“Thank you, deputy.”

He gave her a nod and an earnest smile. “You let me know if he gets outta line. I’ll come drag him back myself.”

----

She eased the door open with her shoulder, careful not to let the parcel slip from beneath her arm. The cabin was quiet, steeped in the scent of faint wood smoke. The fire had burned low, and the ash grayed the edges of the hearth. She shut the door with a soft press, set the wrapped rifle, satchel, and products down on the table, and poured water into the kettle, placing it over the coals.

Then, she walked quietly down the hall.

He was awake, barely. His eyes tracked her slowly as she entered the room. though his face stayed slack with exhaustion. The tension in his shoulders and weird posture gave away that he’d tried to push himself up and lost the will halfway. His breathing was shallow through his nose.

“I’m back. You alright?” Her voice was soft, instinctively hushed, already drawing closer to his bedside.

He blinked once, then nodded. “Didn’t set the place on fire, so… yeah.”

She gave a soft, breathy snort and pressed the back of her fingers to his forehead. His skin was cool to the touch. No fever.

“I brought your rifle. And some fresh things from the grocer,” she said, shedding her shawl and draping it over the chair. “Deputy Wilson gave me coin. From you. I told him I didn’t need it, but he said you’d pitch a fit if I came back empty-handed.”

His gaze drifted to the little satchel she’d carried in. “Didn’t want you footing the cost. Feeding me. Patching me up. It’s already too much.”

“Well,” she said, undoing the hat lace, “I used some of it to buy food. He said you eat like a bear after hibernation.” She glanced at him and gave a crooked smile. “I’ll make soup in a bit.”

A flicker of a smirk crossed his face, faint as a shadow, then gone. His voice came rough, almost sheepish. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She glanced up, straightening. “You don’t have to thank me every time I do something decent, sheriff. That’ll get exhausting for both of us.”

He looked at her then, for a long moment, with heavy-lidded eyes and something unreadable flickering there behind the pain. “Force of habit, I guess.” Then, quieter: “I didn’t want to make trouble.”

She stepped to the bedside and folded the blanket down from his ribs, careful not to pull at the dressing. Her fingers brushed the edge of the gauze, checking for dampness. “You’re not trouble,” she said plainly. “You’re injured. If I didn’t want to deal with the mess, I wouldn’t’ve dragged your bleeding body through the door, would I?”

That made him exhale something between a laugh and a wince.

“I’ll get the soup started,” she said, smoothing the blanket back over him with her palm, pausing halfway up his chest. Her hand lingered a moment, just a beat, then withdrew. She hesitated near the foot of the bed, then nodded toward the old tin jar next to the nightstand. “Do you have to… you know. Use the jar?”

His gaze darted away, and he clenched his jaw, sensing his cheekbones ruddy with embarrassment. “…Yeah.”

“Alright. Can you manage it on your own like before, or do you need-?”

“I’ll manage, ma’am.”

----

From where he lay, too battered to do more than breathe and not split his wound open, he could hear the creak of floorboards as she crossed from the little guestroom -where she seemed to sleep now- to the kitchen, the brief creak of a cabinet opening, the clink of tin on enamel. Water being poured. Her voice, low, warm, humming something, a tune to pass the time.

He let his eyes fall shut. Not from sleep. From the weight of the situation. From the foreign comfort of knowing someone else was taking care of the fire, the lighting, the food.

Then the smell hit his nose, onion, garlic, maybe a touch of rosemary, something hearty and meaty.

Christ, when was the last time he’d had a meal that wasn’t lukewarm beans or the dry-ass bread some rancher shoved into his hands after a day of work? Before the hotel deal, it had been mostly tinned shit: whatever could sit on a shelf for two winters without sprouting something alive. Since coming to town and becoming sheriff, the hotel owner had insisted on bringing him food daily. He didn’t trust the old man’s idea of nourishment, meat stringy as tendon, coffee like mud, potatoes with the consistency of river clay. But he had worst.

Still… none of it held a candle to the smell in this house.

His stomach gave a weak groan of approval, then turned on him for remembering the chalky paste they used to serve at the orphanage. Gruel. Oatmeal so thin it wept down your throat and stuck to your throat like lard. He remembered trying to swallow around it, trying to keep his tongue from touching the roof of his mouth just so the bland texture wouldn’t coat everything. He made a face. That shit had been the closest thing to punishment without a whip they had. Even now, decades later, his mouth remembered the dull horror of its taste.

Now, for the first time in a long time, he felt the ghost of something he hadn't dared name, longing, maybe. Or homesickness. The cruel kind. The one you feel when you realize you’ve never really had one.

----

She came in slowly, with the enamel bowl balanced carefully on a wooden tray, and the warm, savory promise of meat, veggies, and a thick slice of bread, with a golden and imperfect crust perched beside it. She crossed the room, and sat beside the bed with her knees nearly touching the mattress.

"You can manage or-"

"Yes, ma'am."

She gave a short nod, setting the tray aside on the nightstand and sliding an arm behind his shoulders and chest to help him sit. Her palms were warm, and his skin twitched where her fingers brushed it, his ribs, and the slope of his shoulder. It shouldn’t matter, not after she'd cleaned and seen all his body, and bandaged him. But for some reason, this felt different.

Maybe because he was watching her now. Maybe it was because he wore that ragged charm like a second skin, paired with unpolished courtesy.

“Here we go,” she murmured, settling the tray over his thighs.

“Try to go slow. It’s been days since your stomach held anything more than milk. Don’t want it coming back up.”

She turned to leave, but then paused, catching on the shape of his mouth, the rough way he held the spoon, wary of every gesture, like his body didn’t quite trust itself.

And there it was again.

The memory, vivid and close. The warmth of his weight slumped against her chest. Her hand curled at the base of his skull, her fingers tangled in sweat-damp hair. The way his throat worked helplessly when she coaxed him to swallow. His lips around the rubber teat of the bottle, desperate and fevered. How close she’d held him. How instinct had guided her words, with soft, gentle encouragements, like a mother to a baby, except it hadn’t felt maternal. Not then. Not now.

She felt the heat bloom in her cheeks and turned away quickly, clearing her throat.

“I’m going to eat my share,” she announced, too casually. “I’ll come back later to pick up the plate. Won’t offer you seconds today, let’s see how your stomach reacts to this.”

He didn’t answer right away, bringing the trembling spoon to his mouth.

Paused.

Swallowed.

His eyes drifted half-closed for a second like he was relishing the taste. He looked at her then, with a ghost of a smile on his face. “Thank you.”

He waited until her footsteps faded down the hall before letting the spoon hover again over the soup. The steam curled into his face, coaxing something low and needy in his gut. The scent -fresh vegetables, meat boiled down to silk- threatened to undo him more than a bullet ever could. It was good. Not just edible, not just hot. Good.

Goddamn.

His hand trembled weakly, but he managed another mouthful. His whole body urged him to shovel it in, to tip the bowl and gulp it down like an animal, but he didn't. Couldn’t. He knew how this worked. The second he gave in to the desperation, was the second his stomach would revolt, and then she’d be back, cleaning his vomit off the sheets.

He wouldn’t put her through that.

So, he paced himself. Spoon by spoon. Each swallow was a battle against the part of him that still lived as he’d die with an empty belly. The part that remembered starvation not as a story but as a sensation tattooed behind the ribs.

He let his eyes drift shut after the third or fourth spoon. The flavor dragged bad memories of meals eaten on cold steps, hoarded crusts, and bitter coffee watered down to stretch for two days. This was also not that hotel swill they shoveled into him because it came with the badge, not the canned shit he kept in his desk at night.

His mind wandered, tracing the fight.

There’d been five. No insignias, no uniforms. Thought they’d found easy prey. Maybe they had. Still, he didn’t go down soft. The pistols had emptied first, then the blade, then his goddamn fists. They had shot his horse. He remembered that clearly. Heard the scream, the crash of its knees giving up.

And then the rest got murky.

But he must’ve finished it. Must’ve finished them, because if they were alive, they’d have sniffed their way here by now. It’d been four days, and no one came knocking. No creak on the porch. No shadow against the curtains. Just the soft noises of the ma’am in the other room, humming.

Still. He didn’t regret dragging his broken ass to the kitchen cupboard when she was away. Nearly passed out, but he'd found what he needed. The Colt was back in hand, tucked under the pillow. Cold comfort, but comfort nonetheless.

He took another spoonful. Let it sit in his mouth. Thought about the way she’d held him, how careful her hands had been, how warm her eyes were.

She wasn’t afraid of him. Not yet.

That was the worst part.

Next Chapter

Permanent taglist: @civilbucky @pandaxnienke

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader #Sheriff!Bucky #Sheriff! Bucky Barnes #Western! Bucky Barnes #A Star Without a Sky

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urdreamydoodles · 3 months ago

Text

MARK VARIANTS X FEM!READER

You are his lover in all universes, and in these you have joined him—what is it like to be his queen?

Characters: Sinister Mark, Mohawk Mark, No Goggles Mark, Prisoner Mark, Sheisty Mark, Bald Mark, Goggles Mark, Viltrum Mark & Omni-Mark

Sinister Mark / Capevincible

- You are his moon in a sky perpetually painted in blood. The only thing he does not destroy. He moves through the world like a blade cutting through flesh, carving out civilizations with the efficiency of a butcher, and yet, when he looks at you, there is something like reverence in his eyes. His love is not gentle; it is a possession, a claiming, a cruel kind of worship. He touches you with the same hands that have torn bodies apart, and the contrast is almost poetic—his violence does not reach you, but it is there, always simmering beneath his skin.

- When he kisses you, it is not an act of love but of conquest. His lips press against yours with the force of a war drum, his teeth scrape, his tongue invades. He wants you breathless, drowning in him, a willing offering on the altar of his dominion. There is no hesitation in his touch, no uncertainty. He owns you, and you do not resist, because resistance is meaningless. He is Capevincible. He could rip apart the cosmos itself if it dared to keep you from him.

- The nights are a battlefield. Sheets twisted like bodies in the aftermath of war, your throat hoarse from gasping his name, from the unbearable weight of his body pressing into yours, pinning you down as if he fears you might vanish into the ether. He does not love with tenderness—he loves with hunger, with ruin. There is no act between you that does not leave its mark, no moment of intimacy that does not feel like surviving something primal. And yet, you cannot imagine belonging to anyone else.

- He whispers terrible things against your skin in the dark, the same way he speaks before executing his enemies. His breath is hot, his voice like the edge of a blade, telling you how beautiful you look when you break, how you are the only thing he will never destroy. And you believe him, because even monsters can have their treasures, their obsessions. You are the one thing he will not lose, and that means he will kill for you, destroy for you, burn entire worlds if you so much as shiver.

- There is a moment, sometimes, when you wonder what you have become. You were once human, once fragile, once bound by mortal morality. But now you sit beside a god of carnage, watching the universe bend to his will. You no longer flinch at the screams, no longer care for the lives snuffed out like candles in a storm. He has made you his Queen, and a Queen does not weep for the conquered. You were beautiful before, but now? Now, you are terrifying.

- And perhaps, that is why he loves you. Because in the end, you are not just his lover—you are his legacy. When the stars finally collapse under the weight of his brutality, when there is nothing left but blood and ruin, he knows you will still be there, standing beside him, unshaken. Because you are his, and there is no fate more absolute than that.

Mohawk Mark / Movincihawk

- He is laughter in the midst of carnage, grinning wide as his fists tear through bodies like they are made of paper. He does not kill with duty, nor with hatred. He kills because it is fun. And you? You are the only thing he keeps intact. His beautiful little trophy, the only thing he does not mock, the only thing he does not break. He calls you gorgeous like it’s an insult, mine like it’s a death sentence. And it is. No one touches what belongs to him and lives.

- He does not worship you—no, that is not his way. But he adores you in his own twisted fashion, in the way he pulls you into his lap as blood pools around his feet, in the way he tilts your chin up to kiss you even as his hands are still warm from crushing a skull. He loves you the way a wildfire loves a forest—devouring, consuming, leaving nothing untouched. You burn under his attention, and you love every second of it.

- The bed is not a sanctuary; it is just another battlefield. He is relentless, insatiable, merciless in his desire for you. His strength is overwhelming, his need all-consuming. He does not ask permission—he takes, he claims, he leaves bruises like war paint on your skin. And you let him, because there is no greater thrill than surrendering to a force that could end you, yet chooses to keep you instead.

- He talks while he fucks you, taunting, teasing, mocking. What, can’t take it? And here I thought you were my little Queen. Pathetic. But his grip tightens when you moan, his breath stutters when you rake your nails down his back. He wants you, needs you, in a way he will never admit. So instead, he laughs, bites at your throat, leaves marks that scream to the world that you belong to him.

- There is no peace with him, no soft moments of love and tenderness. There is only the thrill, the rush, the violence of passion that never fades. He does not say I love you. He says you’re mine. And it means the same thing.

- One day, when the universe is nothing but dust beneath your feet, he will still be laughing, still be reveling in destruction. And you will be beside him, his Queen, his equal in this glorious, endless reign of chaos. Because love, for Movincihawk, is not a chain—it is a fire. And he will burn for you forever.

No Goggles Mark / Nogogglesible

- He is arrogance incarnate, a god among insects, untouchable, invincible. And yet, you have touched him. You have brought him to his knees, not with force, but with something far more dangerous—desire. He is cruel to everyone, but with you, it is different. He does not kill you. He does not mock you like the others. Instead, he craves you, like a dragon hoarding treasure, like a king unwilling to share his throne.

- He is insufferable, cocky, and childish in his amusement, always grinning, always talking, always taunting. But when he touches you, all that arrogance melts into something sharper, hungrier. He does not like to be denied, does not like to be challenged. And you? You challenge him. You push back. You make him work for your affection, and it drives him insane.

- The way he takes you is almost playful—almost. He grins as he pins you down, as he makes you beg, as he ruins you. Is that all you’ve got? he teases, even as he’s shaking, even as his hands tremble against your skin. He is obsessed with making you fall apart beneath him, with proving that even the Queen of Invincible is his to break.

- But the moment someone else so much as looks at you? That arrogance vanishes, replaced by something much darker. He is a nightmare when jealous, a force of pure annihilation. He will kill without hesitation, will make sure the universe knows that you are his and his alone.

- He likes to watch you after, basking in his victory, stroking your skin like a dragon hoarding gold. He tells you you’re beautiful in the same breath that he tells you how easily he could break you. And yet, he never does. Because he is already broken for you.

- In the end, the universe will crumble, the stars will die, and he will still be here, grinning, mocking, loving you in his own twisted way. Because he is Nogogglesible. And you? You are the only thing he has ever truly wanted.

Prisoner Mark / Prisonincible

- He is not the Mark you once knew. That Mark—the hesitant boy with wide eyes and too much hope—died long ago. What stands before you now is a man sharpened into a blade, honed by violence, stripped of mercy. He is not kind. He does not pretend to be. The world tried to break him, so he broke it first. And yet, despite all his cruelty, all his rage, you are the one thing he cannot hurt. He holds you with hands that have wrung the life from countless enemies, hands that have tortured, ripped, shattered. But when they touch you, they are careful. Reverent. As if you are the last beautiful thing in a world of ruin.

- He doesn’t ask for your love. He takes it. The way he takes everything else. His kisses are bruising, possessive, his grip unrelenting. You feel his strength in every touch, in every whispered threat against your throat—Mine. Mine. Mine. He is not gentle. He is not soft. He does not worship you; he claims you. And you let him, because what else is there? He has remade the world in his image, and you are the only thing that remains untouched. Untouched, but not unmarked. He ensures that.

- The bed is a battlefield, a place where he does not have to hold back, where the rage that simmers beneath his skin finds its release in you. He grips your wrists too tight, drags his teeth along your skin, leaves bruises that bloom like violets against your flesh. He loves the sight of them. Proof of his claim. Proof that even the Queen of Invincible belongs to him.

- He whispers terrible things when he is inside you—promises, threats, dark admissions. If anyone ever touched you, I’d rip their spine out through their mouth. His lips are at your ear, his breath hot, his voice raw. He does not speak of love. He speaks of possession. And you don’t need to hear the words to know what he feels. His love is in the way he would burn the world for you. In the way he already has.

- And when it is over, when the sweat cools on your skin, when the bruises begin to fade, he holds you. Tightly. Desperately. As if letting go would shatter him completely. His lips press against your temple, his breath ragged. There are no apologies. No guilt. There is only the silence, the aftermath, the unspoken truth that neither of you will ever leave. You are bound to him, by blood, by war, by something darker than love.

- And in the end, you do not want to leave. Because if he is a monster, then you are his Queen. And monsters do not weep for the fallen. They stand among the ruins and rule.

Sheisty Mark / Hoodvincible

- He is chaos given form. A force of destruction wrapped in arrogance, in crude words and bloody knuckles. He does not fight for duty, does not conquer for power. He does it because he can. Because he enjoys it. Because he looks at the world and sees something to break. And yet, when he looks at you, it is different. He does not see something to destroy. He sees something to keep.

- His love is reckless, feral, unyielding. He grabs your chin when he kisses you, bites at your lower lip, pulls at your hair like he is daring you to fight back. He wants you to. He wants the challenge, the game. But you never win. You can’t. He is stronger, faster, crueler. He does not let you have the upper hand. Not in the fight. Not in bed. Not ever.

- He fucks like he fights—wild, unpredictable, merciless. He throws you down and drags you back up, leaves scratches down your thighs, bruises on your hips. His voice is raw with laughter, with dark amusement. You’re still breathing? Damn. I must be getting soft. But his hands tell a different story. They shake when they touch you, as if the thought of losing you makes something inside him unravel.

- He hates how much he needs you. Hates the way his body betrays him when you sigh his name, the way his chest tightens when you smile. He is cruel to everyone else, but with you, there is something else beneath the mockery, beneath the swearing and the sneers. Something fragile. And that terrifies him. So he covers it with arrogance, with insults, with violence. But you see through it.

- When the world is quiet, when the battles are over, when his body is slick with sweat and exhaustion, he does not let you leave his arms. He holds you with a grip that is too tight, too desperate. Don’t fucking go anywhere, he mumbles into your skin, voice slurred with sleep. And he will never say it, never admit it, but you know what it means. Stay. Stay. Stay.

- And so you do. Because you are his, and he is yours, and there is no world where you would ever choose anything else.

Bald Mark / Capvincible

- He is a nightmare wearing a smirk. He does not kill out of duty, or necessity. He kills because he enjoys it. Because he loves the way people scream, the way their bones crack beneath his fists. He is the worst kind of monster—the kind that does not believe he is one. And you? You are his one exception. His one indulgence. His one weakness.

- He touches you with the same hands that have torn men apart, but with care. Not because he is gentle, but because he wants to savor it. To take his time. To draw out every moment, every sound, every shudder of your breath. He likes when you squirm beneath him. When you beg, when you break. Not out of cruelty—no, this is love. Love, for him, is the act of unmaking you piece by piece, then putting you back together just to do it all over again.

- He makes you beg. Not because he needs to hear it, but because he wants you to admit the truth. That you need him. That you want him. That you are his. He drags it out, teasing, taunting, watching your resolve crack like fragile glass. Say it, he purrs against your throat, breath hot, hands relentless. Say you belong to me. And you do. Of course, you do.

- He whispers against your skin as he takes you apart—dark promises, wicked threats. You’d look so pretty covered in blood, sweetheart. Maybe next time, I’ll let you have a little fun with me. He means it. You know he does. He would kill for you. He already has.

- When it is over, he watches you. Eyes dark, unreadable. There is something terrifying about the way he looks at you—like a lion watching its mate, possessive, protective, utterly devoted. You own him as much as he owns you, and he knows it.

- And so, when he kisses you again, slow and deep, it is not a claim. It is a vow. No matter what happens, no matter who dares to stand in his way, he will never lose you. And if the universe tries to take you from him, well—he will simply have to burn it all down.

Goggles Mark / Gogglesvincible

- He is stillness—a predator that does not need to snarl, a killer that does not need to raise his voice. Where others rage, he is quiet. Where others lose themselves in the thrill of bloodshed, he remains composed. There is no excess in him, no wasted movement, no unnecessary cruelty. When he kills, it is efficient. When he destroys, it is deliberate. And when he looks at you, it is with that same terrible focus.

- His love is calculated, methodical. He does not indulge in theatrics. He does not waste words on affection. Instead, he watches you, memorizes you, understands every detail—what makes you shiver, what makes you whimper, what makes you beg. When he touches you, it is with the same precision with which he tears the world apart. There is no hesitation, no uncertainty. He knows exactly how to unravel you, and he does. Slowly. Mercilessly.

- He does not speak of love, but he shows it in the way he possesses you. His fingers trace the marks he leaves behind, his lips linger over the bruises, his grip tightens when another dares to look at you too long. They are insignificant, he murmurs, voice calm, deadly. They don’t matter. But I will kill them anyway. And he does.

- In bed, he is merciless. He does not give without taking. He does not allow you to simply exist beneath him—you must surrender, you must earn every touch, every moment, every gasp of air. He denies you what you crave until you are shaking, pleading. Until you forget your own name and can only sob his. He listens to your every breath, your every sound, adjusting, fine-tuning, perfecting the torment he inflicts. And when he finally gives you what you need, it is overwhelming.

- He does not rest after. He remains awake, watching, waiting. He traces patterns over your skin, his expression unreadable. You ask him what he’s thinking, and he only tilts his head, gaze unwavering. Nothing. A lie. Everything.

- And when you sleep, he remains at your side, a silent sentinel, guarding the only thing in the universe he has ever allowed himself to keep.

Viltrum Mark / Viltrumincible

- He was raised with purpose. Raised to be strong, to be ruthless. To conquer, to rule, to win. There is no hesitation in him, no doubt. He knows what must be done, and he does it. Earth belongs to the Viltrum Empire. You belong to him. There is no question, no argument, no alternative. You are his Queen, his consort, his everything.

- And yet… there are moments. Small, quiet moments. A flicker of something behind his eyes when you say his name softly. A hesitation in his grip when his hands are rough against your skin. A sigh, barely audible, when he allows himself to rest against you. A part of him still remembers the boy he was before he chose power over love. Before he became this. He does not speak of it. He will not speak of it. But you see it all the same.

- When he takes you, it is with the force of a conqueror. His hands do not ask—they demand. His kisses are not gentle—they are devouring. He does not let you hide from him, does not let you breathe without his permission. You are mine, he growls against your throat, his body pressed against yours, unyielding, overwhelming. He does not need to hear you say it. He already knows.

- He does not tolerate weakness. Not in himself, not in you. If you dare to challenge him, if you dare to push, he meets you with force—pinning you down, forcing obedience from your lips, making you submit with teeth and tongue and hands that refuse to let go. And yet, there is a thrill in it. In the way he wants you to fight, to resist, just so he can remind you who you belong to.

- When it is over, he does not move. His arms remain around you, his breath warm against your shoulder. He does not speak, does not soften. But his grip tightens, just for a moment. As if he is afraid. As if he knows that, despite everything, you are still the only thing he cannot afford to lose.

- And so, he does not lose you. He will not. If the Viltrum Empire demanded it, if his father ordered it, if the entire universe conspired against him—he would burn it all before he let you go.

Omni-Mark / Omnivincible

- He is cold. Detached. The world means nothing to him. His past means nothing to him. Even his own name is an afterthought. He does not care for nostalgia, does not waste time on regret. He has seen too much, lost too much. Love is a weakness, attachment a liability. And yet—you.

- You are the one thing he cannot ignore. The one thing he cannot abandon. He tells himself it is not love. He tells himself it is possession, a claim, a consequence of habit. But even he is not so deluded. He needs you. And that terrifies him.

- He does not speak of his feelings. He does not tell you he loves you. Instead, he shows it in the way he keeps you close. In the way he stands at your side, unwavering, even when it would be easier to let you fall. In the way he touches you—not with passion, not with desperation, but with certainty. As if you are the only thing in existence that he will allow himself to have.

- When he fucks you, it is methodical. Efficient. Every movement is controlled, every touch calculated. And yet, there are moments—brief, fleeting, almost imperceptible—where the control slips. A sharp breath, a tremor in his hands, a growl that is just a little too raw. He buries them quickly, forces them down, but you notice. And it is in those moments that you understand—he is afraid of how much he feels.

- After, he does not speak. He does not hold you. He does not linger. He watches. As if waiting for something. As if expecting you to vanish. And when you do not, when you remain at his side, when you reach for him with hands that are too warm, too soft, too human—he exhales. A slow, quiet thing. As if he has been holding his breath for years.

- He will never say it. He will never admit it. But you know. You are the only thing in the universe that he has not abandoned. The only thing he will never let go. And if the world burns because of that—so be it.

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prkhaven · 3 months ago

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MOVIE STAR -s.jy-

Your friend’s attractive brother yearns for you? Well then he certainly can earn you

pairing— money struggling!jake x camgirl fem!reader

genre: smut minors do not interact, cam life au, friend’s brother au, p with very minimal plot, p with feelings, slight forbidden love

wc: 10.7k

warnings: kissing, profanity, mention of candy, heeseung cameo

smut warnings: filthy, protected sex, p in v, consented recording, masturbation, teasing, condom left behind, oral (f rec.), horrendously desperate jake, reader thinks jake is inexperienced (surprise he’s not), fingering, messy, wet, overstimulation, dirty talk, praising, usage of nicknames (baby, good girl)

The sugary flavor traced over your lip before voluntarily slipping back into your mouth. Your mouth pursed around the candy, crooking an eyebrow to your friend’s brother who fiddled with his fingers and averted his gaze away from you.

You pushed out the solid sugary candy from your mouth again with a pop before leaning back, tilting your head to the side as a side smile stretched at your face. While you heard him loud and clear the first time, you wanted to hear it again.

“Can you repeat that again Jaeyun?” You called out the foreign name you knew others rarely called him yet noticed his jerked reaction to it making your lips curl up

Jake could feel his cheeks burning up, his hand running up to his nape to fiddle with the back of his hair before poorly laughing. There was no right moment for this no matter how much he wanted there to be.

Either rip it off like a bandaid or don’t do it in the first place. Deep down he should’ve chosen the latter but it was too late to back out.

He licked his lips before diverting his gaze between you and the floor but when he looked back to you, his attention was drawn onto your chest for a split second before ripping his eyes away.

Sucking on the plush of his bottom lip, he awkwardly chuckled out a sigh before slowly lifting his eyes up from the ground. The more his gaze rode up, the tighter his chest caved in itself.

Yet, when you noticed his gaze rising up your legs, you uncrossed them without a word.

Jake gulped harshly, noticing the evident dip sitting right in between your thighs. Forcing his eyes away, he continued up until to your face trying his best to ignore the attributes he’s only seen through a screen every other week.

Unless you’re willing enough to have some mercy on him but he highly doubts that but it wouldn’t kill him to wish for that.

Your stained lips from the candy you were sucking on made him freeze, admiring how the shade matched you well. He was looking longer than anticipated and didn’t knock out the daze until you cleared your throat.

He sucked in a breath before looking into your eyes. Amusement was the first thing he noticed in your eyes but hidden underneath was something indescribable.

You smiled warmly at him suddenly causing his palms to sweat and clamped together as he discreetly tried to wipe them off with his pants. “Uh well you see, I don’t necessarily make the best pay in the world right now…”

You snort softly nodding your head, “So I’ve heard”

His eyebrows knit together in pure confusion and a slight of horror. You lightly chuckled pointing at your ear with the candy at hand, “You’re not exactly quiet when gaming”

His face grew hotter at the realization that you must hear him every time you come over. Unable to maintain the eye contact any longer, he looks away to close his eyes, hoping that if he denies the moment from happening it’ll seize to exist.

“So what about your money problem?” Jake lifted his hand to rub his sleeved arm in comfort when you circled back to the topic

“Now you see…” His voice strained trying to articulate the proper wording to form a sentence that wouldn’t come off so straight forward but enough to get his point across while also keeping himself sane which he knew was impossible whenever you were near

“You know my sister doesn’t really make the most money in the world either” The mention of your friend made you raise an eyebrow before motioning him to continue, “And there’s only so much that she can give-“

“You mean what I give?” You empathized the I in your sentence with a raised eyebrow

He tensed up, shouldering hunching up at your stern tone before slowly dropping them, afraid that any drastic movement will lead to his demise.

Nervously nibbling at his bottom lip, his fingers danced onto each other as he stared to the floor, “You’re a smart boy“ You stopped mid sentence, “Look at me Jake”

Your heavy sigh instantly gained his attention. While he’s not used to his name having such an effect on him. Oddly enough his body grows hotter the more he’s in your presence—regardless of you being his sister’s friend.

Your eyes roamed his face and neck, the smoothness and evident unblemished of it made your heart jump, “There you go” You smiled softly when he finally looked at you

He licked his bottom lip at the moment of silence, taking in the sight of your smile, “Like I was saying, you’re smart”

“You just need some confidence” You shrugged your shoulders, leaning back in the chair, your legs crossing over each other again as you rested your elbow on your propped up knee

Jake, unable to move his eyes off of you going into the exact spot that he found you not even 10 minutes ago. His interlaced fingers soon slipped out of each other, his shoulders pushed back to have his chest pump out.

You smirked at his now weak confident stance finding him cute, “Now go ahead and ask me the question” You wiggled your candy towards him

“Can I be a part of…” He took a gulp to wash away the nerves forming, “A video with you?”

Moving your head straight, your tongue lolled out to rest the sugary flavor on top of your taste buds before fully popping the candy back into your mouth and closing it shut.

Standing up from the chair you were in, you landed on your feet, dusting off your clothes. With each move you took, Jake watched you.

He shook his head to remain his eyes on the prize but the thought began to blur. “Found out that I do commission for those starring in?” You asked in a sultry way, your words melting his heart

He hastily nodded his head, unable to trust himself to say a word without embarrassing himself. His heart hammered against his chest when you took a step closer to him. You free hand motioned for him to step closer and instantly without a thought he took a stride closer to you.

Making sure he could hear you clearly, you sucked loudly on the candy humming in pleasure at the flavor on your tongue.

Jake peered at you, he saw your eyes closed and the sweet candy in between your lips sending goosebumps across his skin at the lewd sound before a familiar pop followed closely after.

Opening your eyes and looking ahead of you, your hand raised to his shoulder as he silently hissed upon contact causing a closed lip smile to rest upon your face.

You lightly pat his shoulder, “Sorry Jakey” The new nickname flipped his heart ignoring the clear rejection, only focusing on how you never strayed away from calling him by the name no one uses, “I don’t fuck virgins”

Then his heart sank to the pit of his stomach.

[◉¯]

Jake stared at himself in the fogged up bathroom mirror. Rubbing his hand over the glass to clear enough to somewhat properly see himself through the haze.

Pulling away his hovering hand, he pushed back his dripping hair, “Do I really look like a virgin?” He mumbled to himself before dragging his hand down his face in a loud groan

Ever since he heard your words, it’s played through his mind like a broken record. Everytime he vividly remembered the encounter, how your colorful lips uttered the words that crashed his world instantly.

There was the quiet ringing in his ears mellowing out the music playing in the background. He shook his head harshly to rid of the clutter in his head..

Bits of water flung around the bathroom as he roughly shook his head. He reached over to skip to the next song but stopped when a familiar notification popped up on his phone.

Nearly slipping at the water pooling at his feet, he grabbed the phone as his wet fingers hastily rushed to tap at the notification. However, his phone clicked on every other notification besides the one he wanted.

“Open!” He yelled not wanting to miss your live anymore than what he already has

A sigh of relief left him when he was finally redirected and your sweet smile coming into view. He could feel his heart pump out of his chest when your legs came into frame and pressed at your chest as you wrapped your arms at your knee.

He saw your eyes flickering around, presumably watching the comments, the endless high donations coming in from the moment you started the live and your viewer count growing by the second.

You softly giggle and a fluttering erupted in his chest until he felt his stomach fold in itself as one of your legs fell to the side. Your index and middle finger chased after each other slowly up your still perched leg to your knee.

The eyes that were once filled with wonder and faked innocence disappeared. You traced your knee in a slow manner before pushing your leg down to match the other side.

Jake gulped down the lump in his throat, unable to take his eyes off you. Grumbling under his breath in frustration seeing how the live comment section bursted. All those mindless praises flared something nasty in him.

He clicked to put it out of sight, only wishing to focus on you. Your hand helped stretch your neck, moving it side to side to release the supposed tension in it. You moaned in relief that quickly shot right to in between his legs.

Hearing it through his phone speakers and in real life was incomparable. No matter how good the sound system could be. Nothing could top hearing you in person.

As he stared at the screen, Jake’s eyes traveled down to the evident damping on your panties on full display. He pressed his lips tightly together as your hand dragged down from your neck down your body, passing through—stopping for a second at your chest, fingerings gliding over the material of your shirt. Your nipples harden through the tight material and his mouth salivated at the sight.

Was he insane for wondering how they would feel in his mouth? He can live with being known as insane when it comes to you.

Shaking the thought away not wanting to waste his time on that thought when you were right on his screen. Your hands continued down your body.

“Fuck” He muttered lowly when you teased the elastic band of your undergarment clinging to your body

A soft smile graced your face, bringing your legs together again before turning to the side as you hooked your fingers under and tugged at the material.

Pulling it to the side as much as you could before letting go to slap at your side making you yelp in surprise. You looked at the screen before shyly looking away to continue playing with your underwear until your finger slipped underneath again.

You peered over your shoulder to look at the camera, teasingly pulling down your panties off your covering mound. Jake who watched all of this felt his heart racing and then stopping once your panties passed your knees.

You raise your leg slightly up to have the piece of fabric hang from your ankle until you kick it off completely. And in a glory far too great for him, your wet glistening folds stared right at him.

His face dropped to appreciation the gift you granted him of such a sight bestowed upon his phone at full screen.

Your fingers inched closer to your throbbing swollen clit that begged for attention. Gracefully, you moaned the moment your finger grazed over it, head thrown out of frame.

Jake inhaled sharply, looking down from the screen for a second to see his hand wrapped about his throbbing hard on. He jerked back in surprise, just how that happened without him realizing.

Still, his attention span fell through when he heard the wet splotch erupt from his phone speaker and immediately brought his care back to you.

Left to watch you tap against your soaked self before stroking up before stroking down, spreading your folds apart to see your spasming hole.

You jerked away from your fingers rubbing against your clit until you slid a finger between. Jake watched how your finger slipped through and disappeared inside of you.

You let out a loud sigh as your body rested as you dragged your single out just a little before slipping it back in. But, after two strokes, you slipped another finger making you gasp, “So good” You breathlessly whined

Your two fingers pumped out just before your hole could flutter around nothing, you slipped them back in and through your moan, the squelch of your arousal mixing together with the collision of your hand made his head heavy.

The hand wrapped around his shaft tightened harder mimicking how you clamped around your fingers.

“W-wait” You wailed out yet your actions contrasted your plea

The whines bounced off the walls of the bathroom as you now rapidly thrusated your two fingers as far as you could inside of you. Your palm moving up and down against your clit every.

Jake felt excitement coursing through his body. While he knew he shouldn’t be watching you since you were his sister’s friend but that was the least of his concerns. Watching how you mindlessly thrust your fingers into you whilst rubbing at yourself, it was heaven.

Instinctively, Jake’s hand rose up to his tip before dragging back down to the base to match your pace. Holding tighter at his cock, his fingers ran over his slit, the leaking precum rubbed all around his tip. He loudly gasped, stumbling over his feet as he hobbled to the sink—both hands occupied until he threw his phone to the counter.

The hand holding the heft, he thrusted up into his first at your pace and lewd sound. Your strategic pitiful moans and hole taking two fingers made him snicker. “Put one more” His voice strained as his ears filled with the wet sounds of your hand rubbing harshly against your pussy

Knowing his request on the other side of the phone wouldn’t be answered, he closed his eyes shut to let his mind run wild. In his mind, you were wrapped around him instead of his hand, that it was your gummy walls tightening around him.

That those pornogrpahic but symphonic whines and moans were caused by him. He snapped his hips fasted into his hand, the sound of his precum leaking down his shaft fitted perfectly with yours.

“A little more” He whined, sweat trickling down his cleaned body as a familiar twist formed at his lower stomach, “C’mon you can take it- more!”

The humidity in the bathroom made the light headedness worse, his head lolling to the side as his jaw fell slack, succumbing to the pleasure of your sound.

The steamed room still has not fully dissipated and baring his eyes open just enough through his heavy eyelids, he saw the now three fingers stuffed inside of you—stretching you out beautifully.

Your free hand topped your laying one and helped guide your tired movements faster. “I’m gonna- I’m so close!” You blabbed as your legs clamped together as you chase your high

Yet, even though your core was out of sight, covered by your legs, your sound remained, growing louder by the second.

Jake fisted his hand even harder chasing the high, his knuckles burning at the cold tile rubbing against it but that thought flew to the back of his mind.

Tighter.

Resting his palm onto the counter to stabilize himself, he rammed himself in between his tight fisted hand as he let out his own growing moans until he came to an abrupt stop. Fingers wrapped around his tip as ropes of his cum shot out.

A loud noise erupted from his chest as he squeezed his eyes shut, his ears ringing from his orgasm; however, through the muffled silence of his heavy breath your loud whines ripped him back into his hazy mind.

Uncontrollably, his hips buck to the sound. His lips quivered as he tried to stop himself from moving anymore, far too sensitive to push himself even more but his body had a mind of its own.

Weakly peering open his eyes, he watched as you clenched around your fingers, painting them in your arousal.

“S-shit” Jake pitifully mumbled as his vacant hand wrapped around his other as he rutted back into his fist

His cock slipped in and out easier from his accumulated release. The blood flew from his head straight to his cock. He knew he had to stop but he just couldn’t.

As you slowly pulled out your fingers from your hole, it gaped with nothing to fill it. Your arousal smeared pussy glistened, making his cock jerk.

Trashing his body to pull away at the sensation, bits of saliva slipped down the side of his mouth to his chin as his hips kept dragging his still hard on out through his hand

The makeshift cage around him would have to suffice, “Fuck!” He painfully wailed as his second orgasm washed over him

As the white streaks shot out, his weak thrust came to a stop until clear excess spurt out. His chest heaved as he attempted to regain his breath. His hands loosening around himself, his eyes fluttering as he felt sticky all around.

The fog in the bathroom mimicked the one in his brain as he tried to stabilize himself on his wobbling legs. Shifting in between his feet as his other hand stayed to keep him from toppling over, he landed on his elbow.

His head hung low seeing the towel once wrapped around his waist discarded onto the messy floor. He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh when he leaned forward to rest his head into the crack between his bicep and forearm.

Shaking his head and gulping the dryness away from his mouth, he coughed loudly and straightened himself as he turned on the sink and rid the evidence of what he’s done.

Scrapping in between the cracks of his fingers with soap, he ran his hands under the striking cold water until his hands were clean. He made a makeshift cup to fill and splash his face with the cold water.

Turning off the faucet, he shook his head and went to grab his phone to exit out of your now ending streaming. You waved goodbye to the camera with a warm smile like nothing had happened.

Jake’s finger hovered over the clear X in the corner to leave but his attention remained on shimmering self unable to click out until you ended it yourself.

Sighing heavily, he moved his finger away but a few droplets managed to land on his screen. Jake freezes and his phone nearly slips through his hand as he looks at his screen in horror.

His recent paycheck is now gone.

Your smile now brightened as you laughed lightly, looking directly in the camera. “Thank you for the donation… Dikeu”

[◉¯]

“Do you see him?” Your friend’s voice anxious as she stood beside you

You’ve been trying to see who your friend has been trying to point out for the past 5 minutes through the crowds of people.

You shake your head which made a frustrated noise coming from her as she pulled your arm, her hands at the side of you head as she guided your eyesight.

”Hey!” You started but when the familiar fluff of hair came into view, you had to hold back the rising corner of your mouth to keep still

“I see your brother” Jake who enthusiastically ran his mouth, his plump bottom lip jutting out when he said certain words

“No!” Your friend frustratedly sighed, moving your head further towards the one talking to her brother

“Oh you mean Heeseung?” You pulled your head from her hands but shifted your gaze from the said male back to Jake, who you’d rather focus on

You could feel the questioning gaze from your friend, “Got the hots for him or something?” You looked away and faced your friend who shied away and remained silent at your question

Letting out a small chuckle at the lack of response, you patted your friend’s shoulder making her look at you. “No need to worry, let me handle this” You smiled before walking towards the two males

Your friend quietly shouted your name—wanting to avoid drawing attention to the situation but you were already too far ahead that she sighed heavily and messed around with her outfit to deal with the growing nerves.

“Heeseung I’m going to be a deadbeat before I could even say I’ve lived life!” Jake frustratedly pushed back his hair, “I’m going to go out a celibate” He painfully chuckled as he dragged his hand down the side of his face

“Celibate is by choice” Heeseung laughed at his friend but Jake brushed him off

“Might as well be by choice at this point” Jake huffed crossing his arms over his chest

“Well it could be worse Jake, you could be going out a virgin”

Jake popped his arms out in a loud sigh, “I don’t even know how I’m functioning right now”

“This is the longest I’ve gone without fucking”

Jake started rambling but his friend tried to stop him but to no avail, he only continued, “I should’ve stayed a virgin if I knew it’d be impossible to get laid when you’re broke”

Even though he felt a tug at his arm, he pulled his arm away and roughly shook his head at his friend, “What? I’m telling the truth. No one is caring enough to pay attention to me when I don’t have a dollar to my name, let alone fuck me”

But before he could continue he froze when the familiar pitch of your voice came from behind, “Jake?”

Maybe it was his mind playing a trick on him but when he heard Heeseung say your name his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach as he realized he was foolish for even thinking you weren’t real.

Jake’s shoulders deteriorated into a slouch and his mouth fell open when he faced you.

“Sorry don’t mind me but I really need Jake right now” Before Jake had any chance to say anything, your hand wrapped at his bicep before tugging him to follow you

Not saying another word, Jake aimlessly followed you as he peered behind to see Heeseung staring right back at him in amusement, “Need you to focus here dikeu”

At the new nickname, he felt his body become rigid, his finger on his mouth to hush you, “Shh! People will hear you” His eyes flickered around to see the few peering eyes towards your general direction before managing to escape them outside

Your kind smiled dropped the moment you turned around to face him and let go of his arm, “So you are dikeu” Your arms crossed over one another, you thought it was a crazy coincidence but you didn’t actually think it was him

Jake froze upon the realization of what he let slip out. His hand flew over his mouth and his eyes nearly popped out of its socket as he screamed into his palm.

You jumped at the sudden burst of emotions, “Shh, this time people will actually hear us” Your hands moved up and down to quiet down his frantic self

Jake released the hand over his mouth to brush his hair out of his face with a shudder of his breath. This time he silently let out a groan as his eyes looked to the floor, unable to face you.

“Well I thought you heard of me because of your sister” When you spoke, Jake tried to keep himself from running in the opposite direction, “Not because you were subscribed”

Suddenly without fail, Jake’s knees gave out on him, he crouched to the floor, his caged in between his shoulders as his head hung low. His cheeks burned under his skin, the stretch of his finger playing with his nape but stopped when your hands pulled them away.

Lifting his head up to see you looking at him, your smile shining and radiating ease matching the soft rubs of your thumb against his burning skin.

“Is it true that you’re not a virgin?” When you asked the forward question, he flinched but not enough to pull away

His mouth screwed shut as his mind raced trying to find the words for a proper sentence. Harshly licking his drying lips, he looked to the floor.

Sighing softly, you called out his name to garner his attention, “Jake” The stern yet soft tone nearly had his heart ready to burst

“I’m not” His voice was quiet like a whisper that he would’ve missed it if he wasn’t already hyper aware of you

You bit on your tongue to hold back your grin. Tugging his hands to land on your lap making his gaze flicker from his hands on your lap and your mischievous filled eyes.

“You know I don’t have your number” You lowly hummed tilting your head to the side just a little, “You’ll give it to me, won’t you Jakey?”

Jake’s knees fully gave up on him only leaving him to land right on them. The words got caught in his throat so with the only option to aimlessly nod his head and for the first time, he saw your smile. A genuine smile.

[◉¯]

Groggily rubbing your eyes as a yawn slipped past as you scrolled through donations collecting your bargain for the week.

The high amount of numbers clicking into your bank a ccount until you stumbled upon the infamous username. A relatively high price paid towards you which you knew full well had just been recently added to his bank account before forfeiting to you.

Just what is dikeu doing? Your curiosity got the best of you as you decided to scroll through your account, a bigger wonder if there were any other traces of Jake left behind that you might’ve missed

Scanning through everything imaginable, it came up empty with the exception with the one recent donation. You huffed loudly as you leaned back, your arms folding over your chest.

Staring at the screen in front of you, you glanced at your phone before hastily grabbing it.

Supposed to be trying to sleep early in hopes of stopping himself from dwelling anymore on you and your sweet voice, enticing demeanor that dragged him right into your world.

However, his eyes shot open when his phone rang and his screen lit up in his dark room. Squirming his face into his pillow he heavily puffed before grabbing his phone and zeroing in on the notification.

Yet, when he did, he nearly fell off his bed when your name in bold letters with a small smile alongside it appeared. Scrambling to sit up as his fingers fumbled between the green and red button.

Pressing down on a random button, hoping that it was the one he deep down desperately wanted. He brought his phone to his ear and with a shaky voice when he heard the call go through,

“Hello?”

“I was starting to think you gave me a fake number there Jakey” Your voice from the speaker sounded clearer than anything he has ever heard before

He loudly coughed shaking his head knowing full well you couldn’t see him, “I’d be the biggest idiot if I did”

“But how come you called? You could’ve easily sent a text to check” Jake awkwardly squeaked out, his voice of pitch higher than usual making him cringe

He cleared his throat, shifting in his own bed as he waited for your response.

“Don’t know” You lowly hummed staring at your ceiling with a soft smile hearing his shuddering breaths, “Maybe just wanted to make sure that it was you”

As the silence grew more, you peered over to your computer, dikeu’s account opened and public for anyone to see that he only followed one creator on the whole app—you.

“Can I ask you something real quick?” Jake froze on his spot, his heart racing as he nervously fiddled with the collar of his shirt

“Yeah of course” His voice was soft and mellow, contrasting how he was during the beginning of the call

You smiled at his almost immediate response as you turned your body over to lay on your front. You sucked your bottom lip into an even wider smile, “Well as a clear subscriber for…” You squinted at the screen, “8 months, what concept or should I say video, is your favorite?”

Jake nearly sent himself off his bed again, the air caught in his throat. He patted his chest roughly, pulling his phone from his ear to see the call minutes going up by the second of his lack of response.

He could hear you faintly call out his name as he rushed to bring the device back to shell of his ear, “I’m here sorry”

“I was just not expecting that”

“What were you expecting?” He could feel your question gaze through the line

“I don’t know, maybe how was your day?” The tone of voice raised higher at the end of his sentence

Your laughter filled his ears prompting his own awkward one mixed with yours.

Instead of focusing on the answer right away, his fingers rubbed over Adam's apple while loudly clearing his throat to answer you, “I uh like-”

Jake took a moment and closed his eyes, he covered his face in embarrassment before going on. “I like the point of view one…” He quietly admits and your grin grows

“Oh really, why? Like imagining that it’s you?” Your slurred speech ran down to his body as he could feel his body instantly react to you

He stayed quiet for a second trying to rack his brain for something to say but it wasn’t quick enough for you, “Don’t leave me hanging, tell me what you like about it so much?”

His heart nearly jumped out his chest, he pulled his phone away as he silently screamed kicking his feet in the air before lighting patting his cheek to knock the senses back into him.

Clearing his throat, he adjusted himself to portray confidence because you can fake it until you make it, “Not even that, I just love how it focuses only on you”

You blinked at his unexpected response, you slightly perched yourself up from your bed. ”Is that so?” You gulped trying to regain your altered composure

“So you must hate it when there’s someone else in my videos” You slightly teased but he cut you off with a more factual information

“Well not really. You’ve only ever posted with two other people on your account. Everything else is just you” He corrected your previous statement and you pulled your phone to look at your screen

You brought your phone back to your ear in a hum, “Stalker much”

“I prefer the word observant actually” He chuckled unsure of where the sudden confidence came from but gripped it tightly not willing to let it go so easily,

“So then Mr. Observant, how would you like a hands-on experience? It’s better to witness it in person rather than watch through a screen” Expecting Jake to shy away from your shameless attempt

You didn’t expect for him to run head first into it.

“How does tomorrow night sound for you?”

Your wide smile unable to be contain anymore as you reply, “Sounds perfect”

[◉¯]

Jake was confident in his ability to please people, even if it’s been a while since he’s gotten together with someone. Yet, he’s so nervous around you.

His leg bounced up and down, unable to get rid of the jitters by screaming or moving around; he had to opt for a more discreet approach which failed either way.

“Damn you’re on the edge of the bed” You pointed out in a laugh, “It looks like you’re about to fall off”

“Sorry” Jake unconsciously apologized keeping his eyes trained to the floor instead of you

Hands on your waist as you focused on him. Shamelessly checking him out and the outfit he was wearing. You were finding it hard to believe that he wasn’t a virgin.

The white long sleeves that neatly cuffed past his wrist, a navy blue t-shirt with letterings you didn’t bother to pay attention to and light khaki baggy pants that suited him perfectly jumping up and down with each shake.

Your fingers ran over your lip with a laugh as you lightly shook your head, “Are you okay Jake?”

He slightly jumped at the sound of your voice growing nearer and he flickered his eyes around as you quickly nodded his head, shooting a thumbs up your way.

Both of you cringed at his antics, him finding it embarrassing while you found it endearing.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You tilted your head to the side, “I can just give you the money, free of charge”

Turning your body to rummage through your desk cabinets as you searched the packs of envelopes that held your emergency money in but froze when two arms landed on each side of you.

Your shoulders tensed up making you appear smaller the moment his breath tickling against your ear, “No. Let me earn it”

“Please”

You blinked as you twisted your head to see a fiery look in his eyes as he stared into your eyes. The previous look he once had disappeared into nothing as his plump lips hesitantly planted a kiss to the side of your head.

He pulled away for a second to take in your reaction but seeing a glint cast over your eyes for a second, he caught himself leaning in again to plant more pecks against your face.

“Jake” He jolted when you called his name so breathlessly but he didn’t stop—or more like he couldn’t

His lips messily parted from your head as he made his way down your face until he reached your jaw. His arms being the only thing keeping him up from toppling over. “What are you doing?” Your words contradicting your actions as you provided more access to your neck

The feel of his plush lips melted into your skin as you felt the faint smirk against it, “Starting to get ahead of ourselves aren’t we?” He nodded his head at your words while he softly sucked on your skin

You heavily breathed out as you slowly turned your body around to properly face him. Immediately his arms wrapped at you as your hands raked up until they reached the fluff of his hair before sliding through them, filling the cracks between your fingers with it.

The wet mouth never left your skin as he pressed kisses everywhere that skin showed. His hands softly digging into your side as he pressed his body against yours, “Hold on- Have to get the camera” You sharply inhaled when he nicked at your skin with his teeth

“Depriving me more of you huh? How cruel” He chuckled slightly pulling away to hover at your side as you rummaged around for your camera

“Let’s just use the phone camera. Makes it feel more natural” He pitched in making your scoff

“Or more amateur” You shot your head at him to see the sheepish grin he had plaster across his mouth

“Then let’s make sure it’s a hella good one” He giggled because making it feel more natural and real reminds you of the circumstances of this moment

This was your friend’s brother yet, you grinned aimlessly nodding your head in agreement. “Want to make your own point of view video?”

“Yeah… But might not be willing to share it with the world. I think I’ll be selfish and keep it for my eyes only” Jake hummed, his eyes flickering between your mouth and eyes, silently pleading for permission

“Kiss me Jake” Without having to be told twice, he captured your mouth with his

Your hands grasped his forearm as his hands shook, cupping your face. Feeling a dizzy sensation filling your mind when his hands retightened at your cheeks. Your hand traced up his arm to grab a fist full of his hair.

Lightly tugging at the fluff of it you giggled in the kiss, “Thought you so desperately needed money”

He chuckled, his mouth detaching and reattaching themselves onto yours, “Being with you is better than getting a penny”

The harsh flutter in your heart after his words made you press harder against his lips to keep him from saying anything more. He noticed your efforts and allowed his hands to roam freely over your back.

His fingers dug deeper into your side causing your mouth to part enough for his tongue to slip in. Your hands gripped his broad shoulders, his head tilting further to the side to deepen the kiss.

“Phone” You muffled into his mouth, a silent roll of his eyes he fished out his phone with one hand while the other remained holding you close

With his eyes still closed putting all the faith into his finger to click the right buttons and start recording. As he could hear the faint ping, he peeked his eyes open to see the red dot flashing with the timer running.

He smirked in the kiss before closing his eyes again, praying you both were in frame.

Your hands grabbed his face to not break the kiss. Your head begins to feel heavy and light at the same time as all the oxygen in your lungs left and mixes with Jake’s.

Your body was pushed back until the back of your knees hit your bed frame and immediately you fell back with Jake topping over you. For a split second, he pulled away to suck in an uneven breath before diving back into your lips.

His arm extended out as he tried to balance the phone whilst focusing on you. Being able to feel the light shake that ran through his body, you softly giggled before forcefully pulling away.

Yet, he couldn’t get enough—he didn’t want it to stop. Jake chased after you, messily pecking at your lips. He babbled something incoherent making you laugh and pushed at his chest to properly break apart.

You heaved with each pant you took as you gulped down a waft of air to even out your breathing. Jake stared at you with a crazed look in his eyes, his tongue running over his swollen lips before breaking out into a fit of giggles.

Quickly matching his energy, you broke out into a weak laugh with him as he landed his head into the crook of your neck. Your hands reach to hold him close.

Your arms snaked around his neck, he flushed his body onto you when he felt the faint shake of your head, he wasn’t sure what it meant but he couldn’t help but laugh at it.

“Prop the phone up. It’ll be better for you” You whispered loud enough for him to ear but he roughly shook his head

“I want to show you off” He murmured lifting his head and carefully leaning down to softly kiss you

You hummed happily when his mouth reattached to yours. The plush of his lips messily pressed softly against yours, the arms at the side of your head crawled into your side, his grip on his phone loosened while he poorly recorded the two of you.

Purposely letting out a louder sigh as your hands moved to his broad back, “Sound so pretty baby” He muttered against your lips before tugging at the bottom out then releasing them with a loud pop

You giggled at the action but your mouth suddenly dropped when he traveled down and planted wet kisses at your check to the shape of your jaw before trailing down to your neck.

The fingers that played with the fabric of his search divulged straight into the follicles of the fluffy hair, tugging at them which only urged the heavy sighs from him.

Turning your head to the side allows more access for Jake to lather himself over your body. With your peered open eyes you catch the discarded phone. You look back to your body whether both of Jake’s hands roamed your body.

Instead of being able to garner his attention, softly pleasurable noises left your swollen lips. You loosened your hold on his hair in an attempt to grab the phone and prop it up enough where you two show but Jake stopped you midway.

He yanked your hand back into his hair. “Let me take care of that” Your eyes widen in shock but your body shifted into a pliant state when you heard those words

Allowing your mind to drift away and appreciate the moment instead of focusing on anything else but Jake

You tilted your head back into the mattress, allowing yourself to get caught up in the way his hand glided across your body until it slid under your shirt.

A faint hiss escaped when the cold rough feel of his hands grazing your skin, his sole attention focused on you, “You’re so pretty. So fucking gorgeous. You’re just the prettiest person I’ve ever seen”

Jake’s voice was heavy but soft, something you hadn’t experienced with other guys before ever. Especially not with the two who showed up in past videos.

Your hands tangled deeper into his hair when you felt a wet stride trail down your stomach.

Suddenly catching your wide eyed gaze at the camera pointed towards you, Jake smirked, his plump lips bit down on the waistband of your pants.

Instinctively, your hands attempted to peel the phone away from his grasp to try and pan it towards him but he stopped you from doing so.

“I already told you, I want it to be on you” He told each trace of his skin on yours left goosebumps in its wake. Your body shakes when he fumbles over your lower body. It was swift and quick that you were left in your undergarments

Jake froze when he caught sight of the cling of your panties to your core, hugging and molding your folds through the thin material. His heart picked up in pace, he felt like he was in cloud 9. He shakily panned the camera over to capture the sight.

However it didn’t last long when his thumb ran over the growing wet patch on your underwear to worsen the damping.

Pushing further between your folds, slightly applying more pressure each time he slid in deeper, he focused on how the material caved inwards, spreading your folds apart.

“Ja-“ You mewled but stopped when his hand slipped from underneath and rubbed away at your flesh

He bit harshly down on his bottom lip to stop the pitched noise to leave his throat when he touched your glistening entrance. It soaked his thumb as he pressed it deeper in while the rest of his fingers pushed away the undergarment to the side.

The camera closed in on your soaked entrance as his fingers rubbed harder igniting soft moans from you. “I got you this wet? Could get used to see you like this” He hummed more for you than the camera before dipping his head to place a soft kiss against you

You jerked away from the plush of his lips instead of on your lips and neck, now on your sensitive folds. Jake smirked and was able to feel the cheesy smile, you lightly smacked the top of his head erupting a giggle out of him.

As he adjusted the camera to capture your wet folds, he stuck out his tongue to take a long stride against you. Your hands flew to his hair as tugging at the strands allowing you to press further into the sheets.

His freehand roamed over your body, tracing at your knee before prying yourself open even more. Scooping all that leaked out of you, he messily slurped your mess.

“So wet” He moaned into your glistening self, his quick nibbles at your making your body wither beneath him

Tugging harder on his hair, your back arched off the bed as the lewds noises filled the room. The shameless slurps, the heavy pants and growing moans as he messily pressed himself deeper in, his nose grinding into your clit.

His tongue flicked up at your folds, the wetness leaking from the corner of his lips and dribbling down to his chin. Jake’s free hand traced under your trumbling thighs, placing them on his shoulders.

Your legs tried to squeeze together for a moment forgetting that he was there but his hand dug into the flesh of your thigh, “Trying to keep me in place baby? Don’t worry I’m not going anywhere”

The deep rumble of his voice ran up your spine and clouded your head. Every calculated glide of his tongue left you dizzy but you yelped a broken moan when a finger slid into your gaping hole.

He was infact not a virgin nor inexperienced, just highly unlikely.

“J-Jake” You squeaked when another finger joined parting your spasming self more

The entire time, Jake never once looked away from you. He watched how your chest rose with each breath you took. Your bottom lip quivers and he smiles at you.

He adjusted the camera to zoom in on where his mouth was attached to you but his grip slipped when your legs caged him against your pussy as you grinded against his face and fingers for more friction.

“Someone is eager” Jake lightly chuckles but simultaneously curled his fingers into your gummy wall, grazing at them causing your eyes to roll back to the back of your head

“D-don’t tease” You huffed but he didn’t listen because he knew you didn’t mean those words, not when your legs hooked him into place as you chased after his mouth

The camera fell from his hand and landed perfectly on a bundled up blanket. Jake didn’t bother to check if it was catching the two of you.

Both his red knuckles and swollen mouth were deep in your pussy. As he pumped into you, his tongue flicked around your folds to gather any spilling wetness. There was no way he could risk losing what you taste like, needing it embedded into his mind forever.

With each curl of fingers, he would extend them out to scissor your fluttering hole open. The rapid kisses at your glistening spread apart folds as he lathered his tongue around, “I’m going to- Please”

“Come for me baby” Jake pushed deeper with his fingers and matched the ruts of your hips against his face

Throwing your head back, a louder moan ripped out of you as you tightly clenched around his fingers. Jake slurped up what you released making sure that he didn’t miss a single drip.

His fingers moved in pace to help you throughout your orgasm making you slightly jerk at the stimulation to which he only said, “Helping you”

He choked on his breath when he was pulled from between your legs and you slammed your lips right onto his. Jake stared at you in shock as he watched your screwed shut eyes while your mouth moved with his in sync.

Your hand tangling in his hair, legs wrapping at his torso to flush his body to flush on top of you, not wanting to let him go. His hand dug harshly into your side, his freehand perking up your leg as teeth clashed together from improper correlation, your tongues meeting another as you kissed each other silly.

His hand tightly grasped at your breast and squeezed it making you whine. You pulled at his hair, the lack of oxygen making you and him dizzy but unable to pull away from each other.

“I need to be inside of you please” Jake pleaded in between kisses as he chased after you when you tried to pull away for even more than a second to respond

“Condoms in my drawer” You panted out when you could’ve, hoping he managed to catch what you said

Yet, instead of freaking out since it’s been a while that he’s actually used one, he didn’t think twice of climbing off to rustle through your drawer and taking out two.

Perching yourself onto your elbow, you raised an eyebrow when you saw two packets between his shining fingers. It must’ve been written on your face because Jake chuckled and pressed a chaste peck to your cheek, “Trust me, we’re going to need ‘em”

The corners of your lips yanked up as you stifled a laugh but your smile quickly faltered when you saw how serious he was. You opened your mouth to question but Jake stood up from your bed and began fumbling with his belt.

Your eyebrows jumped as your eyes flickered down to notice the large bulge poking from within the restraints of his pants. Your mouth dropped when his pants did and he was left in only his boxers.

“W-what?” He asked when he noticed your surprised expression, “Is something wro-“

“You’re huge” You interrupted him as you gawked at his size

You’ve seen some different bulges before but never like this.

The wet patch changed the color of his boxers around his leaking tip making you gulp down the nerves. But those two words were like a switch in Jake’s head.

Something consumed his sense of rationality and sanity and threw it out the window, he took strides straight to you. His mouth twitched into a smile as with each step he took, he tugged his boxers down.

“Don’t worry, you can handle it” He hummed and you watched how a dark cloud filled his eyes

Your mouth opened to respond but when you caught sight of his hung self in all its glory, no restraints holding it back, you closed your mouth.

Your nerves skyrocketed when you heard the plastic ripping sound and you looked back up to see Jake leaning against his arms to whisper into the shell of your ear. “Want to put it on for me baby?”

Tilting your head to the side to see his cheesy grin, you bit on your bottom lip to hold back your gleaming smile. Grabbing the offered plastic and pushing his leaning body away from yours just enough to grab his twitching cock.

Jake whimpered at the tight hold you had around him, your thumb rubbed at the side of his shaft as you watched the precum leak more out of him.

Looking up through your eyelashes, you smirk as you leveled down to his cock. “Wh-Wait!” Jake’s voice strained yet it was too late as you dragged your tongue across his tip, licking him clean of the mess

Jake threw his head back as he moaned when you engulfed his bulbous tip into your mouth. Having to try his absolute best to stop himself from toppling over, he rooted in himself in your bed.

Although, you didn’t say much. Jake did. “O-Oh so good”

“Shit your pretty mouth is perfect to me” You dragged your tongue from the tip down his shaft to the base and you smirked when you felt an even heavier weight

Jake blushed when the next words fell from your full mouth, “You’re heavy Jakey”

His face burned in embarrassment but the pleasure was too good to care anymore. Using everything in his power to stop himself from ramming his cock into your welcoming mouth, he pushed your body back to the bed.

“Turn around” He snatched the condom from your hand in an unwarranted haste and you jerked at his sudden change of demeanor but a gush leaked out of you at the stern tone and hard gaze glaring into your soul

Your body was like fire and Jake was willing to get burned.

In all the times you’ve been around Jake, you had never seen this side of him before. Naturally, you were curious by how much you could poke at him before he snapped.

You knew testing your luck was dangerous considering how he could leave you all hot and bothered. But you remained sprawled on your back, your hands riding up your shirt to expose your skin.

You tilted your head to the side as you saw his jaw clench and his tongue poking the inside of cheek in annoyance. “I said turn around”

But he noticed your continuous lack of obedience, leaving him to sigh loudly and pinch the high nose bridge. The rationality that was already out the window dug a deeper hole followed by his dignity and sense of self as he was consumed by need and desperation.

“Be a good girl baby… Turn around for me” He stopped your treading up shirt and rested his hands at your hips, softly tugging at them to help flip you over

You looked up at him with a slight frown, “Why?”

Knowing better than to try and test Jake even more with the chance that he could leave you like this but you knew the chances were slim.

Jake landed back on his arms leaned down into your ear, his breath fanning over the shell of your ear, “How else would I fuck you nice and open?”

A cold shiver ran up your spine, unable to dwell on the thought any longer. Your body moved on its own onto your knees and below but before you could lay down, Jake stopped you.

“Hands and knees for me” He ran a hand over the middle of your back before trailing down your spinal cord softly grabbing at your hips and tugged you lower half back, “Good girl”

The chilling accented voice only lasted for a second in your head when you were suddenly stretched open as he slid into you. “Shit- So fucking good” He grunted as he pushed himself further into the confinedment you provided to him

Your jaw dropped as your head threw back as your folds pulled apart from each other at the intrusion. “Jake” You mewled his name

Jake dug his fingers deeper into your hip in response, loving the way you called out to him that he needs to hear it forever.

“C’mon baby you can take it” His thumb rubbed at your side to soothe your frantic self with hopes of helping you accommodate to his size that made you feel like you were being split in half

“You can take more than that-“ Jake grunted as he eased his cock more into your spasming hole, “Take a fucking cock in that sweet pussy of yours”

“P-please” You wailed, clawing at your sheets that crumbled underneath your bodies

Jake pressed his hand flat onto your back before snapping his hip drilling his cock to fill you up in one thrust. Your arms nearly gave up on you from the harsh jolt but Jake helped you stay up. Your fist gripped the sheets, making your knuckles turn white as your mouth fell slack.

“Please what?” Jake cooed trying to ignore how you gripped around him

Your mind felt like a jumble, not much thoughts coursing through but there one clear thing in it, “Fuck me please”

Jake smacked his tongue against his teeth into a giggle, “Well who am I to deny you”

He dragged his cock leaving only the tip inside before slamming his hips forward to meet your back. Your arms and legs felt weak and wobbled but the stretch overpowered any other sensations.

Repeating the same motion of his hips, each time filling you up more and more until he was balls deep inside of you.

Your eyes screwed shut when he soon found his pace. A rapid but steady pace that ensured his tip to poke your insides perfectly, teasing at your g-spot with each thrust. “So good for me- Taking me so well”

Your head hung heavy, your shoulders hunched up to your neck as moans slipped past your lips. You felt like you were floating on a cloud, each slam of his cock drilled your forward.

Deep down, if it felt like the roles were reversed, the upper hand you once had over him, flipped into him having the upper hand over you.

“Knew you’d be able to take me so well. Such a good fucking girl” Jake spewed, his hands running over your body before grabbing your sides as he slammed his hips to meet your

The warm wet confinement you provided for him was beyond anything he had ever felt before, it changed something in his mind and he’s sure he would rather lose everything than have to give you up after this.

The lewd sounds of when you and Jake met, his light grunts and strained out noises from each other you bounced off the wall. The supposed video long forgotten as Jake continued to piston his cock in and out of you

”M-More Jake please” You wailed as you body landed forwards, your head landing onto the pillow as you fisted the sheets turning your knuckles white

“You want more? Do you think you can take more?” He laughed but when you were going to respond he answered for you, “Actually, I know you can take more”

“Always saw how you were never truly satisfied” You clenched around him making him chuckle, “Am I right?”

You weakly nodded as a response, not trusting yourself to use words that wouldn’t only come out as a moan. Jake’s hooded eyes gleamed when he saw your action.

Slamming his hips harder against your back, he watched how sweat trickled down the side of your face. Your mouth falling slack when his tip teased at your g-spot, rearranging your insides to mold him.

The stretch of his cock left you delirious and full. In an attempt to push yourself back up on your arms, Jake put a hand on your upper back to hold you in place.

“Jake!” You squealed his name as his thrust soon grew unrhythmic

“C’mon. Fucking take it- Just a little more” Jake grunted when he felt you clamp tighter around him, forbidding him from leaving anymore than an inch out of you

His free hand wrapped at your hip moved across your stomach down until his fingers found the bundle of nerves to circle it. Your wails and moans turned into louder ones when he pinched at your clit to soothe over it before repeating the same process.

“Please! Please!” The weak pleas fell deaf on his ears but filled his mind instantly

“Please what? Talk to me” Jake groaned but was only met with strained silence as replies the more he rubbed down on your bud, “What were you asking for baby?”

Your mind was reeling, you weren’t sure what you were asking for but you just needed more of Jake.

“A-Anything please-Jake, just more of you please” Your slurred words weren’t nearly considered a proper sentence than what you had hoped but Jake easily managed to string them together

Placing his palm onto your clit, timing it perfectly to roughly rub at it with his thrust made you squeal.

“Take it baby. ’m going to fill you up so nicely” Your heart fluttered as any rational thought was long gone

“Please Jakey!” You whined when his thrust became faster

“Come with me please. Please. Please” The weak pleas from him made your stomach flip as the knot in your abdomen snapped

Jake gasped when you tightened as you came on his cock that was covered by the rubber plastic. Even through the material, he could feel each spasm holding his place deeply in you.

Your body shivered when you entered the state of pleasure, your head drifting into an ecstasy you hadn’t felt before. But that didn’t stop Jake.

He needed more—to take you to heights you have never seen before.

“Tightening around me so good baby. Just a little more. Promise” Jake’s erratic pace picked up again and the coil of where you met burned into his mind as he stared unable to look away from the masterpiece that was you

You loudly shudder at the continuing stimulation to your spasming self. Each glide into your slicken entrance was easier and messier. You released accumulated around his protected shaft until it was pushed to the base of his cock with each push.

Jake continued to move his hand over your clit, his thrust growing unrhythmic as his abdomen tightened. You felt the twitch of his cock inside your walls and you knew he was getting closer to his climax.

Consciously, you clamped around him earning a grunt from behind as the sound of skin slapping on skin grew faster, louder and more frequent. Pressing harder down on your bud, rubbing at the wetness making you moan loudly.

And with one deep thrust, he stilled himself buried inside of you. Jake’s ragged pants formed into strained whine and whimpers as his cum filled the condom.

The juts of warmth spurted inside but not painting your velvet walls white of him. Your hand fisted at your sheets as you buried your head deep into your pillow to conceal your shivers.

However, your breath got caught in your throat instead when Jake flushed his chest to your back. His hand hovered your fist to slide underneath to replace your sheets with his hand.

You tightly held his hand when wet splotches landed at your neck to trail under your ear making your shudder “Never doubted you for a second that you couldn’t take me”

You scoff, peering over your shoulder to meet his sparkly eyes staring right at you. Your scoff turned into a weak chuckle as you melted at his thumb rubbing over your hand.

“Take a deep breath for me baby” He softly soothed your side and you followed through

Sucking in a deep breath and shakily letting out a gasp at the foreign feel of emptiness as Jake slid out of you already too accustomed to being filled up by him.

However, instead of feeling completely empty like you anticipated, you felt something heavy still in you.

Jake got off of you only to push you onto your side where you silently hissed at the ache of your body but you looked behind at him to see him grabbing the discarded phone and it clicked in your mind.

“Jake! The recording!” Instead of being in a panic like you, Jake gracefully planted butterfly kisses over the side of your face

“What are you-“ You stopped mid-sentence when he raised your leg and brought the camera’s focus your gripping self

Your mouth drops when you see the left behind condom stowed deep in your pussy. Whipping your head towards him to see his prideful smile as he placed a finger onto your cheek to guide your attention back to the recording screen.

His freehand snaked around your waist to your swollen clit and softly rubbed at it making you whine and him chuckle. You watched as he inched down to where the rubber was still lodged in you until he stuck his fingers into the opening.

Your hand ran to grab his wrist, “S-sensitive” You warned before two of his fingers pushed into the buried condom to open it

The two of you watched through the screen, the seeps of his cum spilling out and landing to the surrounding folds as he messily rubbed over your coated pussy.

“Messy and sticky” Jake tooted his lips together, “What do you say? Do we clean it up or do we make it worse?”

The dark whisper into your ear had your heart hammering out of your chest that you were fearful he would be able to hear how close he was to you.

You gulped down the rising excitement, however it must’ve been written all over your face because Jake was already gleaming before the words, “We do need more content” left your mouth

“Good because I did tell you we were going to need two”

[◉¯]

You: I’ll send you the final product once I’m done editing

You: But I can’t deny that I have a feeling this will do numbers

Jake: Is this you basically inviting me to do another video with you?

You: Possibly

Jake: How about we do a little twist next time?

Jake: Let me hit it raw

You: Not yet

Jake: Aw :(

——

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