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wvnternvghtt · 6 days ago

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sex with a stoner

fratboy!choso x bestfriend!reader

wc: 16k

smut with so, so much plot.

choso kamo is the kind of boy people notice without realizing they’re staring. he’s not loud, never one to demand a room’s attention, but something about him pulls you in, the lazy grace of someone who’s always just a little bit stoned and completely at peace with himself.

he throws the best parties on campus, the kind that aren’t just about getting drunk or high, but about the vibe. incense burning in the corner, led lights set to red or purple, trap playing softly over speakers. and yet, you’re the only one who really knows him.

you, the sweet girl who never misses a single one of his parties. the one always curled up next to him on the couch with a red solo cup of something you can barely taste, your legs draped over his lap, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. it’s always been like this. ever since freshman year, when you met him during that stupid icebreaker event on campus that neither of you wanted to go to.

somehow, you’d ended up next to him. not even talking at first. just being. and then he’d pulled one earbud out and offered it to you without saying anything, and you’d heard frank ocean’s “ivy” playing soft and crackly from his phone. you’d smiled at him, and he’d smiled back. just a little.

after that, it was like something clicked. you didn’t have to try with choso. you just existed in each other’s space like you were meant to.

you’re sweet, outgoing, a little flirty, always the first one to compliment someone’s outfit or remember their birthday. people love you for your light, your laughter, the way you make everyone feel seen.

but when it comes to closeness, to real comfort? that’s reserved for choso.

it’s a mystery to most people. you, the glittering, glowing party girl, and choso, the stoner boy who doesn’t even have social media. but it makes perfect sense to anyone who’s seen the two of you together.

you show up to his parties before anyone else does. you help him string the lights, pick the playlist, bring snacks no one asked for but everyone eats. you’re the one sitting on the counter while he rolls, sipping from a straw and babbling about your week while he nods, smiling faintly, muttering things like “that’s wild, ma,” or “yo, you’re too nice for them.”

and during the parties, you’re never far. you gravitate toward each other like magnets, slipping into place the way you always do. choso’s usually on the couch, arms stretched over the backrest, and you’re tucked under his arm without even thinking. you lean into him when you laugh. he rests his chin on your shoulder. he passes you drinks and you take tiny sips before handing them back to him with a wrinkle of your nose.

and it’s so easy. dangerously easy.

choso’s never been one to push. he’s got feelings, real ones, deeper than he’ll ever admit out loud, but he keeps them buried. not because he doesn’t want you. he wants you in a way that scares him sometimes. in quiet moments, when he’s too high and you’re asleep on his chest, he thinks about what it would feel like to kiss you. to be yours for real. but he’s content, at least for now. content to have you like this.

you give choso a kind of peace he didn’t know he was missing. before you, things were kind of blurry. background noise. but with you, it’s all color. you laugh and the whole room tilts toward you. you touch his hand and it’s like static electricity under his skin. he pretends he doesn’t notice. he jokes, he teases, he lets it pass.

because he thinks he’d rather have you like this, close and real and warm, than risk losing you completely.

and you? you love him. maybe too much.

you’ve never said it out loud, not even to maki or shoko, but you know it. you feel it every time you see him laugh at something you said, every time he lifts your chin to tuck your hair behind your ear, every time he waits for you outside class just because he felt like it. choso is yours, in a way no one else is. and you don’t know what to do with that.

maybe you’re scared to ruin it too.

it’s not just the friendship, it’s the rhythm. the quiet glances, the shared playlists, the way you always, always end up in his bed after parties, clothes still on, hearts too full.

you’ll lay there in the dark, both of you wide awake, and you’ll wonder if he feels it too. if he notices the way your breath hitches when his fingers brush your waist. if he hears the way your voice gets softer when you say his name.

but neither of you ever says anything. not really. not yet.

there’s something unsaid between you, always has been, something glowing and soft and maybe a little fragile. like the chords of “ivy” hanging in the air, too tender to touch. it’s in the way he looks at you when you’re not watching. in the way you linger at his door after a party, lip gloss smudged and heart aching. in the way he lets his hand rest on the small of your back just a little too long.

it’s a love that’s still blooming. hesitant. deep-rooted. and for now, maybe that’s enough.

maybe not forever.

the party’s already full by the time you get there, but you know exactly where to find him.

bass thumps through the floor like a second pulse, red lights spilling down the hallway, laughter echoing from the kitchen where someone’s poured jungle juice into a mixing bowl. bodies press close in the living room, the air thick with smoke, perfume, sweat, but none of it touches you. not really. not when you know where you’re going.

you slip past people who call your name, who compliment your outfit, who try to keep you still, but you’re already moving, already smiling like you’ve got a secret. because you do.

he’s on the couch. he always is.

slouched like he was poured there, long legs spread, a blunt pinched between his fingers. there’s a few people around him, suguru’s sitting on the floor, half-asleep against his knee, gojo’s perched on the armrest talking to some girl, but he doesn’t really look at anyone. just stares at the smoke curling above him, the red light making shadows under his eyes.

until he sees you.

choso’s head tilts slightly. his gaze sharpens, just barely. his mouth softens, corners curling up into something small, lazy, private.

“yo,” he says, voice low and smooth like honeyed smoke. “there you are.”

and just like that, you’re home.

you drop down next to him without a word, tucking your legs up on the couch, leaning into his side like you were made to fit there. his arm lifts automatically to rest behind you, and your bare shoulder brushes against his chest, skin to skin. he smells like weed and citrus and something warm, like sunbaked cotton. familiar. dangerous.

“i brought you chips,” you say, holding up a bag. “because you never remember to feed people when you throw these things.”

he laughs, soft and breathy, and takes the bag, tossing it onto the table without looking.

“you’re the only one who eats at my parties,” he murmurs, dragging the blunt to his lips. “they’re lucky you show up.”

he inhales, slow and deep. lets it sit in his chest for a moment. then he turns his head toward you and exhales, deliberately, slow, a trail of smoke that ghosts over your collarbone. it’s not on purpose, but it is. everything choso does is like that. unbothered. intimate. effortless.

your heart stutters.

“you look good,” he adds, like it just occurred to him. his eyes dip, trace your legs, the cut of your dress, the gloss on your lips. “real good.”

you smile, sweet and slow, like you’re soaking it in.

“you’re stoned.”

he shrugs. “yeah. still true, though.”

you nudge his thigh with your knee, and he smirks that lazy, barely-there grin that never quite reaches his eyes unless it’s you.

the party swells around you. bodies dance in the center of the room, the music gets louder, someone’s yelling in the kitchen about the beer pong table. but in your little corner of the couch, everything is slowed down. hazy. sacred.

he keeps passing the blunt, and you keep refusing with that little scrunch of your nose he always teases you about.

“don’t know how you come to my house every week and still don’t smoke,” he says, flicking ash into a red solo cup.

“don’t know how you survive without eating dinner like an adult,” you shoot back.

he chuckles, tipping his head back. his throat stretches long, his hoodie slipping off one shoulder to reveal the black ink of a tattoo just under his collarbone. you don’t even pretend not to look. choso doesn’t pretend not to notice.

“you missed me?” he asks after a beat, quieter now. the smoke’s made him slow, softer around the edges. more honest.

you glance up at him, lips parted. “i was here last weekend.”

“yeah, and then the whole week happened.” he shrugs, lazily. “i got bored.”

you nudge your way closer. your knee slides between his. “you say that like you don’t have other friends.”

he hums. “don’t hit the same.”

you’re both quiet for a second. it’s a thick, heady silence, not awkward, not tense. just full. full of everything that’s been building since freshman year. everything you don’t say. everything you both feel in moments like this, when you’re a little too close and he’s looking at your mouth and his hand is resting just a little too low on your waist.

you want to kiss him. god, you do. but not yet. not here.

so instead you lean forward, just enough to rest your head on his shoulder. you feel him go still for a second, then relax, melting back into you.

you stay like that. for a long time

later, when the house gets louder and hotter and someone pulls you up to dance, you feel his eyes on you.

you’re not a wild dancer, you move like you’re in your own little world, fluid and soft and smiling. some guy tries to grind up behind you and you immediately peel away, laughing as you shake your head. but when you look over, just once, you see choso watching from the couch.

his eyes are darker now. still lazy, still half-lidded, but focused. pinned on you like he’s memorizing the way your dress moves, the way your hair sticks to the sweat on your collarbone. one hand resting on his knee. the blunt long gone.

you move back to him eventually, of course you do, and he opens the space beside him again like he knew you would.

“have fun out there, superstar?” he asks, gaze flicking over you.

you shrug, settling back into him. “missed my favorite dance partner.”

he raises a brow. “you don’t dance with me.”

you grin. “exactly.”

he snorts, shaking his head. you rest your hand on his thigh, fingers splayed over ripped denim, and he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t move. just lets you stay there. touching him. like you always do.

like you always will.

when the party starts dying down and the lights dim even lower, when suguru’s asleep and gojo’s disappeared and the couch is just the two of you again, you curl into him like you belong there.

he yawns, one arm around your shoulders, hand playing lazily with the strap of your dress.

“you crashing here?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

you nod, cheek pressed to his chest. “if that’s cool.”

he makes a soft sound, something between a hum and a laugh, and dips his chin to brush his mouth against your temple. not a kiss, exactly. just a press. warm, soft. barely there.

“always.”

you smile, closing your eyes for a second. his hand is still resting on your waist, fingers tracing absent little shapes into your skin like he’s not even thinking about it.

you could fall asleep like this. you’ve done it before.

but he shifts a little, murmurs, “come on, ma. let’s get off this fuckin’ couch. my back’s killin’ me.”

you whine quietly as he moves, and he laughs again, a lazy rumble in his chest and slides an arm around your waist to help you up.

“drama queen,” he says, tugging you to your feet with effortless strength.

he doesn’t let go.

you move through the sea of red cups and leftover smoke, past the people half-passed out in the hallway, with his hand still slung around your waist. like it’s normal. like it’s instinct. your arm hooks around his middle, and you lean into his side as you walk, slow and steady, like you’ve done this a hundred times. because you have.

choso’s room is down the hall. it’s the only one with a broken doorknob and a blacklight taped above the bed, buzzing faintly. it smells like weed and clean laundry and him.

you kick off your shoes the second you walk in and collapse face-first into the unmade bed, limbs spread.

he laughs, low and indulgent, then flops down beside you.

“yo, scoot over,” he mumbles, nudgin your hip with his.

“you scoot,” you shoot back, voice muffled by the blanket.

he doesn’t argue. just lets his body melt sideways until your shoulders touch again. you shift your head onto his chest without thinking, cheek to the soft fabric of his hoodie.

and there it is again. home.

“this party was kinda ass,” you say.

“nah,” he says softly. “you were here.”

your stomach flips.

but you don’t say anything. don’t need to. you just lie there, breathing in sync, your hands curled in the hem of his hoodie while his fingers play with your hair, slow, lazy twirls that make your eyelids flutter.

“remember the first one?” you ask, voice hushed now. “the freshman-year party where we met?”

choso smiles at the ceiling. “fuck yeah. you were wearing that little white dress and yellin’ at some guy who spilled beer on your shoes.”

“he ruined them,” you murmur indignantly.

“and i was just sittin’ on the porch, watchin’ the whole thing,” he grins. “high as shit. thought you were hot as hell.”

you lift your head to look at him, one brow raised. “you still say you don’t remember how we ended up talking.”

“i don’t. swear to god.” he shrugs. “one second i’m finishing a blunt, next thing i know you’re sitting next to me like you’d been there forever.”

“i probably just decided you looked safe,” you say, settling back down. “and hot. but, like, quiet hot.”

he chuckles, slow and low. “quiet hot?”

you nod. “like… hot in a way that doesn’t try. like you didn’t even know it.”

“damn,” he mutters. “flirting with me now?”

“always.”

his hand slides down from your hair to your shoulder, warm and broad and steady.

“that’s why i fuck with you,” he says after a moment. “you’re real.”

you blink.

“like, people show up to my parties for the vibes or whatever. you show up to make sure i eat dinner.”

you laugh. “well someone has to.”

“nah, but for real,” he says. “you’ve been showin’ up since day one. always got my back. always know what i need before i even do. shit’s crazy.”

your throat goes tight. but he doesn’t sound emotional. he sounds calm. sure. like it’s just a fact of life, gravity, weed, you.

he doesn’t say it like it’s a confession.

he says it like it’s just the truth.

“you do the same for me,” you murmur, voice small.

his thumb strokes your arm, slow.

“yeah,” he says. “i know.”

the room hums with silence after that. not heavy. not awkward. just real.

he lets you lie there on his chest, the beat of his heart under your ear, the rise and fall of his breathing making you feel safe in a way nothing else does.

you shift after a few minutes, and his hand moves automatically , tugs the blanket up over you both, settles you closer, fingers smoothing over your arm like it’s second nature.

he doesn’t flirt with anyone the way he does with you. doesn’t touch anyone like this. people know you’re close, but they don’t get it.

they don’t know how choso listens to you rant for hours about your classes even when he’s half-asleep. how he always keeps snacks in his room he doesn’t like, just because you do. how he’s seen you cry at 3am and didn’t say a word, just pulled you onto his chest and played with your hair until you calmed down.

how you’ve cleaned up after every party. how you always know when he needs water. how you never smoke but you always light his blunts for him.

they don’t know that you’ve been doing this, just like this, since freshman year.

you’re not together.

but this? this is something else.

“you good?” he mumbles, his voice starting to get gravelly with sleep.

you nod, curled into his side.

“you?”

“mhmm.” he exhales through his nose, deep and slow. “don’t leave before i wake up.”

“i never do.”

he hums, already drifting.

you close your eyes.

"night, cho."

"night, babe."

and in the dark, in his bed, wrapped in the quiet warmth of choso’s heartbeat and the hush of something unspoken between you, you fall asleep.

right where you’re supposed to be.

the sun’s too fucking bright.

choso’s got his hood pulled low, hands stuffed in the front pocket of his faded sweatshirt, hoodie sleeves bunched at his wrists like armor against the cold. his airpods are in, but he’s not playing anything. just using them to avoid eye contact. to avoid people.

his chem lecture starts in twelve minutes. he’s not rushing.

he’s never rushing.

the quad’s half-full with undergrads moving in packs, laughing too loud for this hour. he weaves through them like a shadow, dark-eyed and slow-moving, sleep still clinging to his bones.

he hasn’t showered. hasn’t brushed his hair. smells faintly like weed and sleep and your lotion, the floral kind you always keep in your bag.

he’s halfway across the quad when he hears it.

“yo.”

he looks up.

toji.

posted up on a low wall near the main staircase, nursing a large iced coffee and wearing the same zip-up he’s worn every morning since choso met him. he looks good, like he always does, jaw sharp, eyes tired, posture loose in that older-guy way that makes people think twice about messing with him.

choso pulls out one airpod. “yo.”

“you look like shit,” toji says, amused.

choso shrugs. “feel fine.”

“late night?”

“always.”

toji grins. “bet.”

choso wanders over, boots crunching gravel, and leans against the wall next to him. toji’s got that lazy menace vibe, like he could break someone’s nose or fall asleep in the sun, it could go either way. choso respects it.

they’re not close, but they’re good.

“you throw last night?” toji asks.

“yeah. packed out.”

“heard. saw some dude getting dragged out by the neck around one.”

choso huffs a little. “sukuna. again.”

“no shit?” toji laughs. “that guy’s a walking lawsuit.”

“got blood on my stairs,” choso mutters. “ruined the rug.”

“tragic.”

they’re quiet for a second. choso watches a squirrel dart across the walkway. toji sips his coffee.

“how much you make off the door?”

“couple hundred. enough for groceries. gas. weed.”

toji nods like that’s the natural order of things. “you ever think about pledging?”

choso snorts. “nah.”

“you’d run that shit,” toji says. “turn those little rich boys inside out.”

“i’m not good with rules.”

“fuck rules.”

choso grins a little. “you sound like yuki.”

“i taught yuki,” toji says, deadpan.

that gets a real laugh out of choso, low and amused, breath curling in the cold air.

“you got chem?” toji asks after a moment.

“yeah. lab.”

“tough.”

“i'm so fucking hungover.”

toji smirks. “so. last night. you go home alone?”

choso shrugs. “nah. crashed with her.”

toji looks at him. not surprised. not shocked. just curious.

“y/n?”

“yeah.”

a beat.

“you guys together now or what?”

choso looks up, brows drawn. “nah.”

toji raises an eyebrow. “huh. figured that would’ve happened by now.”

“why?”

“you’re always with her.”

“yeah.”

“you sleep in the same bed?”

choso shrugs again, easy and lowkey like it doesn’t mean anything. like it’s normal. “all the time.”

toji whistles under his breath, grinning. “you’re a better man than me.”

“not like that,” choso mutters, looking away.

“right,” toji says, smirking. “not like that.”

choso stays quiet. doesn’t explain. doesn’t elaborate. he just lets it sit in the air between them like secondhand smoke, warm, familiar, a little dangerous.

because it isn’t like that.

not yet.

but toji doesn’t push. just nods, takes another slow sip of his coffee, and claps choso on the shoulder with a rough hand.

“you’re cool,” he says. “but if you ever fuck that up, someone else won’t be.”

choso just exhales through his nose. shrugs.

he knows.

choso slouches in his stool at station 4B, safety goggles pushed up into his messy hair, long fingers lazily rotating a test tube over the bunsen flame. he’s supposed to be running a titration, but he’s running on three hours of sleep and an edible that hasn’t stopped hitting since breakfast.

there’s a small chemical fire happening at the next table over. he doesn’t care.

his partner, some girl from his gen chem section who only speaks in whispers and perfume, scribbles answers onto their worksheet like her life depends on it. she’s never once asked him to help. choso’s fine with that.

his phone buzzes in his hoodie pocket. he pulls it out without looking, thumb unlocking the screen by feel. it’s instinct. the way he always knows when it’s you.

[10:37am] you: what class r u in rn

[10:38am] choso: chem

[10:38am] you: ew

[10:38am] choso: yea

[10:39am] you: wanna meet up after?? i’m bored

[10:39am] choso: wya

the response comes fast.

[10:40am] you: bleachers behind the field. bring snacks or i’ll cry.

choso smiles.

it’s the kind of smile he never shows anyone but you. lazy. lowkey. like a secret he doesn’t need to say out loud.

he texts back a thumbs up emoji. tucks his phone away. watches the blue flame flicker under the test tube like it’s trying to tell him something.

the bleachers behind the athletic field are barely standing. rusted metal, cracked paint, half the steps warped from years of cleat-stomped abuse. it’s one of the only spots on campus that still feels untouched, still feels yours. people don’t hang out here. it’s too open, too weird, too quiet.

perfect.

you’re already there when he shows up, sprawled across the middle row like it’s a chaise lounge, sunglasses perched low on your nose and a bag of kettle chips open in your lap.

you perk up when you see him. smile wide and lazy. “you brought me snacks?”

he lifts a 7/11 bag in greeting.

“you’re an angel,” you say, and you sound like you mean it. choso climbs up beside you, drops the bag between you, and sits with a long sigh like the weight of the whole morning finally got the memo that it can fuck off.

he lets himself lean back on his elbows, head tipped toward the sky. hoodie sleeves pushed up to the elbow. hands ringed in silver, knuckles faintly bruised from last night. jaw sharp, neck tattoo peeking just above his collar.

you glance over at him, bottom lip tucked between your teeth for a second too long.

he doesn’t notice.

or maybe he does.

but he doesn’t say anything.

“what happened in chem?” you ask, voice slow with sunlight.

“almost set the bench on fire,” he says. “again."

you laugh, and it’s the good kind, low and warm and familiar, like something soft you wrap yourself in. “you’re gonna fail.”

“nah,” he murmurs. “i got you. you’ll cry to shoko for me.”

you shrug. “probably.”

he grins.

you eat chips together for a while in comfortable silence. people jog past on the track below, but it’s like the two of you exist in another timeline, quieter, slower, deeper. every time your shoulders bump, he doesn’t move away. every time your fingers brush in the snack bag, he lets it linger.

you pull out a cherry lollipop from your tote. unwrap it with delicate, distracted fingers. stick it between your lips and suck thoughtfully.

choso looks over. blinks once.

his throat bobs. “you eat candy like you’re in a music video.”

“duh,” you say. “gotta stay on brand.”

“your brand is slutty candy princess?”

you flash him a wink. “you know it.”

he groans into his hands. “you’re gonna kill me.”

“you’d like it.”

“maybe.”

you both laugh.

but underneath it, there’s a tension you don’t touch. not yet. not today. not when the sun is this warm and the wind is this soft and the space between you feels like a bubble no one else can pop.

“so what’d you tell toji?” you ask suddenly, pulling your legs up under you. “he asked about us, right?”

choso blinks. shifts.

“how’d you know that?”

“i just saw him talking to you this morning and you rushed of before i could catch up.”

he sighs. rubs a hand over his face. “just asked about some dumb shit, was surprised we aren't fucking.”

“oh yeah?”

“yeah.”

you hum. “what’d you say?”

he shrugs. “told him we’re just friends.”

you nod.

but your fingers are tight around your lollipop stick. “did he buy it?”

choso looks over at you. eyes half-lidded, lazy. “dunno. didn’t really care.”

you don’t speak for a second.

then—

“you know,” you say lightly, “if we were dating, people wouldn’t question it.”

he raises a brow. “you wanna date me?”

you laugh like it’s a joke. like the idea’s crazy. “obviously not. i’d ruin your whole vibe.”

“nah,” he says, quiet and cool. “you are my vibe.”

it knocks the air out of you a little.

you don’t reply.

he doesn’t push.

instead, he pulls a lighter from his pocket. a faded red bic with a sticker of a cartoon frog on the side.

“you mind?” he asks.

you shake your head. “go for it.”

he lights the joint behind the bleachers, careful to block the wind, and takes a slow hit like he’s been doing it his whole life. like breathing.

you watch the way his lips part. the way the smoke curls from his mouth. the way he blinks up at the sky, exhaling slow, like there’s nothing in the world that could ruin this moment.

he passes it to you.

you hold it between two fingers. bring it to your lips, but don’t inhale. you just like the closeness. the ritual. the rhythm of it.

“you always smell like weed and coconuts,” you say absently.

“you always smell like sleep and candy.”

“that a compliment?”

“you know it is.”

you smile.

and then, like always, you shift until your head is in his lap, knees bent, lollipop back between your lips.

he threads his fingers into your hair like it’s automatic. like muscle memory.

you don’t say anything.

you don’t have to.

“there’s a party saturday,” choso says, like it’s just a passing thought. his voice is mellow, dragged slow with smoke and sun.

you squint up at him from his lap, one leg kicking idly off the edge of the bleachers. “yours?”

he shakes his head, dragging another pull from the joint before it sizzles low. “nah. kappa’s.”

“toji’s place?”

“mhm. sukuna’s throwin’ it.”

you make a face. “ew.”

he laughs, lazy and low. “yeah, i know.”

“what kinda party is it?”

he shrugs, flicking ash off to the side. “dunno. probly loud. messy. overrun with freshmen.”

“my favorite,” you say sarcastically.

“come anyway.”

you raise a brow. “you want me to go?”

he nods, eyes still soft from the joint. “yeah. all our people are gonna be there. gojo’s bringing that speaker he stole from the rec center. suguru’s bringing weed from the plug that scares everyone but him. shoko said she’s pre-gaming at yours.”

“she didn’t tell me that,” you mutter, amused.

“she said quote, ‘i’m getting blackout on your floor so you better have mixers.’”

“classic.”

“maki’s going too,” he adds. “and yuuji. megumi. nobara. y’all can take over the kitchen or whatever.”

you snort. “we always end up doing that. turning some random frat kitchen into our private lounge.”

“better lighting.”

“less vomit.”

he taps his knuckle to your forehead. “so?”

you blink at him. “so what?”

“you comin’?”

you stretch your arms over your head, lollipop tucked in your cheek like a secret. “mmm, depends. who’s walking me home if i black out?”

he gives you a look. “me."

“who’s holding my hair if i puke?”

“me.”

“who’s dancing with me when they put on early 2000s throwbacks?”

he smirks. “you already know.”

you grin and nuzzle into his thigh dramatically. “ugh, fine. i guess i’ll go.”

“what an honor.”

“you’re welcome.”

he flicks the roach away and leans back again, hood falling down to rest at the nape of his neck. you stare up at him for a second, at the sharp angle of his jaw, the lashes curled against his cheeks, the faint bruises of exhaustion under his eyes.

there’s something warm in your chest.

like always.

“what time’s it at?” you ask.

“late.”

“when are we getting there?”

“later.”

you smile. “as always.”

“as always,” he echoes.

you reach over, fingers brushing the side of his hoodie pocket where his lighter peeks out, red and fading, sticker peeling at the edges.

he doesn’t notice.

but you do.

you always do.

the sun has long since set when you’re back in your dorm.

shoko’s stuff is already half-scattered across your bed, a tote bag overflowing with lip gloss and tequila, her ripped denim skirt folded beside your pillow like it lives here. your bluetooth speaker is charging in the corner. your fairy lights are glowing dim, and the whole room smells like something between vanilla lotion and sharpie markers.

because you’re painting.

your desk is a mess of scattered brushes, scratched acrylics, and an empty matcha can you’ve been using as a water cup. right in the center sits the new bic lighter you picked up after social, jet black, perfectly smooth, untouched.

you’re painting red spider lilies across the front, his favourite.

the petals curl across the plastic like veins, wet with gloss and attention. you’re careful with the details. you’ve looked up references. you’ve done this before.

but this time’s different.

this one’s for him.

you don’t know why, exactly. maybe it’s because his old one’s going dead.

maybe it’s because you love him.

not like that.

not yet.

but in the way you know exactly how he likes his ramen. in the way he texts you “home?” when it’s late and doesn’t sleep until you answer. in the way he rolls his blunts left-handed and always lights yours first. in the way he remembers your mom’s birthday even though he’s never met her.

in the way he makes you feel safe in a room full of noise.

in the way he never tries to make you anything other than yourself.

you lean over the lighter, the brush held steady between your fingers, and add the final line of gold detailing around the petals. your breath fogs the surface. you wait for it to dry.

outside, someone blasts a bad edm remix. the party’s already pulsing down the block.

you aren’t ready yet.

but you will be.

because he asked.

because you always go when he asks.

by the time you and shoko step into the kappa house, it’s already hell in there.

there’s music vibrating the walls, some mashup of jersey club and distorted britney spears, smoke curling from doorways, the reek of beer and weed and something you hope is a vape cloud drifting from the stairs. someone’s already swinging a half-finished bottle of patrón in the foyer, and a guy in a spiked collar is passed out half-naked on the pool table. red LEDs paint the room like a warning.

“jesus,” shoko mutters, pushing through a knot of people. “it’s worse than last time.”

“that’s saying a lot,” you reply, laughing.

you pass a makeshift tattoo station set up in the kitchen, a foldable table, three guys with gloves and prison-grade guns, girls taking shots with their shirts off, someone yelling about cross-contamination. someone else is already screaming into a paper towel, gripping their friend’s thigh as ink bleeds into skin.

“how much you wanna bet that guy’s not even licensed?” shoko asks, pointing with her cup.

a few feet away, a couple is practically devouring each other on the couch, hands in places that definitely shouldn’t be public, their moans barely muffled over the bassline. you and shoko share a glance.

“ten bucks says they’ll be upstairs in five,” she says.

“two,” you shoot back.

you find the rest of your girls near the island, maki’s drinking straight from a bottle of dark rum, nobara’s yelling at some guy for calling her “sweetheart,” and miwa looks like she’s trying to spiritually leave her body.

“there you bitches are,” nobara says, throwing an arm over your shoulders. “i was gonna beat some freshman’s ass for trying to say you weren’t on the guest list.”

“please tell me you’re drinking tonight,” maki says, eyes already glossy.

“i just got here!” you laugh, letting shoko pull you in tighter. “i haven’t even taken my jacket off!"

“well hurry up,” nobara insists, pouring something violently pink into a solo cup and handing it to you. “this night’s cursed already.”

you take a cautious sip, bubblegum and battery acid. “what the hell is this?”

“it’s called the thong dropper,” shoko says helpfully.

“girl.”

you let the chaos swirl around you for a bit, settling into the rhythm of things, catching up on nonsense, swapping wild stories, dodging spilled drinks and clumsy hands. nobara starts talking about some guy she hooked up with last week, rolling her eyes and groaning dramatically.

“his stroke game was so weak,” she says, slamming her cup down. “he kept asking me ‘is that good?’ like—cmon. do you not hear me faking it?”

maki snorts. “you faked it?”

“of course i did. i had to get it over with.”

shoko leans in. “rookie mistake. just tell ‘em straight up.”

“i can’t crush a man’s ego like that,” nobara defends.

“they’ll live,” maki says.

you giggle into your drink, letting the warmth buzz up your spine.

“what about you?” shoko nudges. “you getting any lately?”

you shrug, trying to hide your smirk. “define ‘getting.’”

they all ooh at that, but you wave them off.

“nah,” you add quickly. “just been… chillin’.”

nobara raises a brow. “chillin’ with who?”

you don’t answer.

you don’t have to.

because you just spotted him.

across the room, slouched low on the ratty couch like a king on a broken throne, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, blunt glowing between his fingers, is choso.

he’s got his head tipped back, laughing at something gojo just said, eyes heavy-lidded and hazy, lips pink and glossy from smoke. his legs are spread wide, rings catching the LED lights, and there’s a plastic crown crooked on his head like someone dared him to wear it and he just went along with it.

you hand your cup to shoko. “back in a sec.”

you beeline straight to him.

he sees you coming, of course. always does.

“yo,” he says, voice syrup-thick, laced in that lazy drawl you know too well. “there she is.”

you plop onto the couch next to him, thigh pressed to his instantly, as natural as breathing.

“hey, babe.”

he pulls the blunt from his lips and passes it to gojo. “you look hot,” he murmurs, eyes scanning over you. “like… stupid hot.”

you grin. “you’re high.”

“and you’re hot.”

“so high.”

gojo chuckles. “he’s been saying that about everyone for the last twenty minutes. told sukuna his chains looked ‘shiny as fuck’ and that he was proud of him.”

“and i meant it,” choso says, nodding solemnly.

“sukunas a menace,” you laugh.

“a sweet menace,” choso adds.

gojo tosses the blunt into an ashtray and stretches. “aight. i’m gonna go find the aux before someone puts on country again.”

“godspeed,” you tell him.

choso watches him disappear into the crowd before turning back to you. “you good?”

you nod. “girls are wild tonight.”

“when aren’t they?”

you smile. “party’s kinda gross, though.”

he grins. “yeah. it’s ass.”

“i missed your parties.”

he hums, dragging a slow breath through his nose. “next week. tuesday.”

“a tuesday party?”

“hell yeah.”

you laugh softly, eyes dropping to the front pocket of his hoodie. his lighter’s there again, the red one. the same one from earlier, edges worn down like it’s been used a thousand times.

without saying anything, you reach into your jacket pocket.

he watches you curiously as you pull out the lighter you painted, black and glossy, the spider lilies blooming across the surface in blood-red ink and gold veins.

you hand it to him wordlessly.

his fingers brush yours as he takes it, and something in his face shifts, softens, quiets.

he turns it over slowly in his palm, eyes scanning every detail like he’s memorizing it.

“you painted this?”

you nod.

“ma…” he says under his breath, almost like it’s too much. “yo. this is… this is fucking beautiful.”

“your other one’s dying,” you say, a little shy now. “figured you needed a new one.”

he’s quiet for a second, blinking slowly.

then—

“you’re such a fuckin’ angel.”

you laugh. “it’s literally just a lighter.”

he doesn’t let his gaze leave it. “nah. it’s you.”

you blink.

he says it so casually. so high. so him.

like it’s just a fact.

you don’t say anything, and neither does he. the music swells. the lights flicker. people scream and laugh and break things somewhere in the background.

but right now, it’s just the two of you, and a lighter between your palms.

“you’re gonna make me cry,” you joke, even though the way he keeps looking at the lighter makes your chest feel a little too full.

choso doesn’t answer, just keeps running his thumb over the curves of it like it’s some delicate artifact, black with the glossy gleam of fresh paint, those red lilies blooming across the surface like blood in water.

he flicks it once. flame bursts up.

“perfect,” he mumbles.

“it works?”

“better than my soul, babe.”

you laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder, and for a few seconds everything around you falls away, just the throb of the music, the warm press of him, and the soft flicker of that tiny orange flame between his fingers.

you sit like that for a little while, talking about nothing. him complaining about a group project he hasn’t started. you teasing him for skipping chem lab again. him promising you some “next-level weed” for tuesday’s party that “tastes like peaches and existential dread.”

his voice is slow, syrup-thick, a little slurred at the ends. he’s stoned, clearly, but you’re used to this. used to the way he leans into you when he’s like this, heavy and unguarded, every thought coming out a little slower and more unfiltered. it’s a version of him that doesn’t get tired of looking at you.

he tugs at the hem of your jacket playfully. “you gonna stay with me tonight?”

you raise a brow. “didn’t plan on going anywhere else.”

he grins, that sleepy smile that makes your heart tick funny.

then your name cuts through the room, pitched over the music.

“oh shit,” you say, glancing over your shoulder. “they’re calling me.”

choso hums, not looking away. “tell ‘em i said hi.”

you hesitate for a second, not wanting to leave the warm bubble you’ve curled into. but shoko’s waving you over, and maki’s already halfway across the room with a bottle in her hand and trouble in her eyes.

“i’ll be back,” you say, giving his knee a squeeze as you get up.

he watches you go, eyes dragging over your silhouette, that sway in your hips, the flash of your smile as nobara yells something at you that makes you laugh and flip her off in the same breath.

then he’s alone.

not really, the house is packed, pulsing with bodies and music and smoke, but alone in the way that matters.

the lighter’s still in his hand.

and it won’t stop looking like you.

'she fuckin’ made this.'

that thought loops through his head in lazy spirals. he stares down at it like he’s still not fully processing that it’s his now, the way it fits so perfect in his palm, like you painted it with him in mind, like you know his hands that well.

(which you do.)

'what an angel', he thinks again, your face still ghosted in his mind.

he’s high. so high. his body feels like a heartbeat, slow and deep and pulsing warm. and the lighter, it keeps dragging him back to that moment on the couch, your thigh against his, your fingers brushing his, your quiet little smile when he lit it up for the first time.

'she always does shit like this. just makes stuff better. without even tryin’.'

it hits him all at once, sudden and full-body.

he needs to mark this. this moment. this feeling.

he’s already pulling out his phone before the thought’s even fully formed, scrolling through the camera roll he swore he didn’t care about but secretly checks too often. blurry candids, selfies with you curled against his chest, that pic from two weeks ago when you were looking up at him from the floor of his room with a red gummy in your mouth and sleep in your eyes.

he pauses there.

your eyes in that picture. big, soft, glassy, sexy.

his thumb hovers over the screen.

“yo,” a familiar voice calls, sauntering through the haze. “you look fried.”

sukuna.

choso glances up. “am fried.”

sukuna grins. “figured. that couch is cursed, by the way. guy got a blowie on it last week during pong night.”

choso shrugs. “adds flavor.”

they lean on the wall together, easy silence for a second.

“you see the tat guys?” sukuna asks, chin-jerking toward the kitchen. “someone just got a fucking worm on their calf. like a literal earthworm. said it was ‘symbolic.’”

choso laughs, low and thick. “symbolic of what?”

“dunno. being dirt, i guess.”

he doesn’t respond. just looks back at his phone.

sukuna raises a brow. “you good, dude?”

“yeah.”

“you look like you just had a vision.”

choso finally meets his eye.

“yo,” he says slowly. “you ever just feel something and know you gotta do somethin’ about it right now or you’ll bitch out?”

sukuna squints. “uh. like what?”

choso doesn’t answer.

instead, he pushes off the wall, hoodie slipping off one shoulder again, lighter still clutched in one hand, phone in the other, and starts walking.

sukuna watches him go, a little amused. “damn. alright.”

the air is thick with smoke and bass as he weaves through the crowd, bumping shoulders, dodging a girl dancing with her heels off and her hair in her face.

he reaches the makeshift tattoo stand.

it smells like rubbing alcohol and regret.

“yo,” he says, voice smooth as silk and twice as slow.

the guy behind the table, ink sleeves up to the neck, black gloves, sunglasses indoors, glances up.

“what’s up, man?”

choso leans down slightly, eyes low-lidded and unreadable, body loose and stoned and sexy in that careless way he always carries.

he holds out his phone.

“can you do this,” he asks, “on my arm?”

the artist blinks, then looks at the screen.

it’s a close-up of a girl’s eyes, wide, seductive, yet still glowing with laughter. looking up at the camera like whoever took the photo was the only thing in the world.

looking up at him.

choso taps the screen once. “those are hers.”

the guy raises a brow. “like… your girl?”

choso shrugs one shoulder. his eyes never leave the photo.

the buzz of the needle starts soft, a low, persistent hum, and choso doesn’t even flinch. he just leans back, one arm draped lazily across the armrest, hoodie shoved halfway up his bicep where the artist wiped him down with alcohol. his eyes are half-lidded, bloodshot from whatever gojo rolled earlier, but locked on the phone he’s holding out in his opposite hand.

the picture’s still up. her eyes, warm and wide, lashes curled, looking up at him like she trusts him with her whole heart.

“pretty,” the tattoo guy mutters, angling a small light to get a better look as he sketches the stencil. “yours?”

choso’s mouth curves slow. doesn’t answer right away. just flicks his lighter open and closed, click, click, click, the red spider lilies catching the light each time.

then finally:

“nah.”

the guy hums. “girlfriend?”

he huffs a little, amused. “not that either.”

he sets the lighter down on the table beside him, keeps his eyes on the screen.

“she’s just,” he pauses, then shrugs, soft and slow, “her. y’know?”

the artist side-eyes him. “deep.”

choso smiles again, eyes unfocused. “nah, i’m just fuckin’ high.” the guy presses the warm stencil into choso’s arm, smooths it into place.

“you sure you wanna do this while you’re, uh,” he glances at choso’s glassy expression, the faint grin still tugging at his mouth, “clearly not sober?”

“i’m not wasted,” choso says lazily. “and i’m not dumb. it’s not a mistake.” the artist nods once, respects it. “alright, man.” he flips on the machine again, lines it up.

“you done this before?” choso grunts a laugh. “y’think i got these in my sleep?” he gestures vaguely at the black ink already crawling across both arms, jagged, abstract lines, constellations and waves, some faded with age. some done in basements like this one. “first time sober was the weirdest one.”

the guy snorts. “fair.”

the needle hits skin.

choso exhales slow. doesn’t flinch, doesn’t shift, doesn’t even blink hard. just stares at the wall across the room, jaw slack, hoodie sliding off his shoulder, the buzz settling into the meat of his arm like a low hum of intention. “you ever tattoo someone like this before?” he murmurs after a beat.

“like what?”

he shrugs again. “someone who’s… y’know.” the guy doesn’t answer right away.

choso elaborates, voice softer this time. “she’s not mine. i don’t want her to be. not right now. it’s not like that. it’s just…” he trails off, brows furrowing a little, tongue tucked against the inside of his cheek.

“she just means somethin’. don’t got a word for it.”

the artist doesn’t look up from his work, but his tone’s gentler when he speaks again. “yeah. i’ve seen that before.” choso sinks deeper into the chair, breathing even. the pain’s dull and constant, but it grounds him. keeps his thoughts from spiraling too far out, keeps his high in this exact moment.

“you think she’d be mad?” he asks, voice airy. “if she saw it?”

“dunno,” the guy says. “you gonna tell her?” he blinks slow, head rolling back against the headrest.

“nah.”

another pause.

“not now. it’s just for me.” the tattooer gives a small nod. “that’s real.”

a silence settles between them, the steady hum of the needle, the sound of someone vomiting into a bush outside the window, a muffled scream from the beer pong table two rooms over.

“looks good,” the artist murmurs, wiping excess ink from the forming lines of the eyes. “she’s got crazy lashes.”

choso huffs out a small laugh. “she’d fuckin’ love that you noticed that.”

“yeah?”

he smiles again, softer now. “talked about lash serum for like a week. gave me a whole presentation.”

the guy chuckles under his breath. “sounds like she talks a lot.”

choso closes his eyes.

“she talks just enough.” the buzz continues. the lines take shape. her eyes, right there, etched into his skin. not to claim. not to confess. just to remember.

just for him.

the buzz dies down gradually, tapering into a low hum before the artist finally flicks the switch and pulls back. the sudden quiet settles like a heavy blanket over the both of them, just the soft thud of bass from the next room and the subtle scrape of latex gloves against skin.

“alright, man,” the artist says, leaning back with a stretch. “done.”

choso blinks slow, still slouched deep in the chair like he’s been there for hours, like the cushion molded around his bones. he lifts his head, eyes hazy but laser-locked on the strip of bandage being pressed to his upper arm.

“yo, hold up, lemme see it before you cover it,” he says, voice low and hoarse from either weed or reverence, maybe both.

the guy lifts a brow, but obliges. carefully wipes the skin one last time, blood and excess ink coming away in soft red-black smears. the room’s fluorescent lights hit the raw lines at an angle, shining off the freshly tattooed skin like it’s something holy.

and fuck.

there it is.

your eyes.

wide and soft and open, curved lashes sweeping upward in a way no stencil should’ve captured but somehow did. that quiet way you look at him, like he hung the stars, like he’s yours even if the two of you never say it out loud. inked permanent on the soft part of his bicep, nestled between a set of waves and the jagged edge of a half-finished constellation.

for a second, he doesn’t speak. doesn’t move.

he just stares.

it hits him slow, like a good edible, starts behind his eyes, low and warm in his chest, then spreads.

yo.

he’s obsessed.

like fully, all the way, brain-meltingly obsessed.

he turns his arm slightly under the light, eyes tracing the lines, the slight curve of your upper lid, the detail around the corners like you're mid-laugh or mid-thought or both. it looks exactly like you, his favorite version of you. the version that looks up at him like nothing else exists in the room.

god.

you look good on him. not in the possessive way. not even close. it’s not that.

it’s something else. something way quieter. something he can’t even name when he’s sober, and definitely not now, baked out of his skull with his arm still tingling and his hoodie falling half off.

but still, he’s wearing you now. and it feels like something that’s always been true, just waiting for the ink to make it real.

“you good?” the artist asks, half amused, already reaching for the plastic wrap again. “yeah,” choso says, slow, mouth crooked into a lazy grin. “looks fuckin’ sick, dude.” the guy chuckles under his breath. “kinda figured you’d say that.”

“you killed it,” choso adds, finally dragging his eyes off the tattoo. “like, actually.”

the artist nods, pleased. “appreciate it. was fun as hell to do, honestly. you sure you don’t want her name or somethin’? under it?” choso snorts. “nah. that’d make it weird.”

“fair.”

he watches the guy gently press a clean dressing over the fresh ink, tape it up. the sensation’s a dull sting under his skin, not quite pain, just awareness. a reminder that it’s real now. that it’s his, for good.

she doesn’t know. you might never know. and that’s kinda the whole point. he’s not gonna flash it at you mid-party or say anything slick when you sit beside him later like you always do, throwing your legs over his lap and stealing his drink.

nah.

this one’s just for him. a secret under his sleeve, tucked into the curve of his body like a memory.

“you gonna keep it under wraps?” the guy asks, like he can read choso’s whole plan off his face.

“yeah,” choso mutters, grabbing his hoodie and tugging the sleeve back down with a practiced flick. “at least for now. don’t need her freakin’ out or nothing.”

“bet,” the guy says with a short laugh. “i get it.”

choso stands slow, body still heavy from sitting too long and smoking too much. he sways a bit but rights himself, shaking out his arms like he’s just come up from underwater. the whole basement smells like blood and rubbing alcohol and resin, but it’s warm, and the energy buzzes low and steady around him.

he digs in his pocket for a few bills, slaps them into the artist’s open palm.

“appreciate you, man.”

“anytime, bro. take care of that, don’t go dunkin’ it in a keg or anything.” choso grins. “no promises.”

he walks out with his hoodie draped low, sleeve tugged all the way to his wrist despite the heat and the crowd and the chaotic press of bodies funneling in from the hallway. music floods back in slow, a pulse of bass syncing up with his own heartbeat.

but he can’t stop thinking about it. every step he takes, every time the sleeve brushes against the fresh ink, it reminds him.

not of what they are.

but of what you mean.

upu didn’t need to give him that lighter. you didn’t have to think about him in that little quiet way you always did, like he’s more than just a weed plug or the guy you party with every weekend. that little moment, just you in your dorm, painting red spider lilies on a bic you knew he’d never throw away? that shit went straight to his chest. and now you're on his skin. maybe you'd freak out if you saw it. maybe you'd cry. maybe you'd laugh.

maybe you'd get real quiet and never say anything again. or maybe you'd look at him the way you did in that photo. maybe you'd look at him like you knew.

but all that’s for later. for now, he’s just stoned as hell, arm warm and throbbing, and so unbelievably content that it’s almost embarrassing.

he spots gojo again across the room, already perched on the arm of someone else’s couch with a red solo cup and a grin like he owns the house. choso veers toward him, slips back into the noise like he never left.

sleeve tugged down.

lighter in his pocket.

eyes on his arm, just for him.

later that night you navigate yourself back to choso after your banter with the girls.

you spot him sunk deep into the cushions, hood half up, curls falling into his face, a bottle of water in one hand and his eyes half-lidded and sleepy with that lazy high he wears better than anyone. he’s surrounded, gojo splayed on one armrest like he owns the place, sukuna lounged sideways with his feet on the table, and suguru perched on the edge, nursing a half-finished blunt.

“yo, look who it is,” gojo grins as you walk up, already clocking the way you move like you’re headed home, not just to a guy. “princess finally found her prince.”

you don’t say anything, just slide right into the little space at choso’s side like it was made for you. his arm shifts automatically, pulling you in like it’s instinct, and you tuck your face into his shoulder, letting out the softest exhale. you can feel the thrum of his voice in your cheek when he speaks.

“hey, ma.”

his hand’s warm against your hip, steady, grounding. he smells like weed and cedar and the faintest trace of paint from the lighter you gave him. it’s in his pocket now, safe like something sacred.

“so anyway,” suguru picks back up like you didn’t just crash-land in choso’s lap, “i’m telling you, the guy had no idea what he was doing. tried to roll with a swisher, no guts, just dumped the weed in and twisted the end like a fuckin’ lollipop.”

“god, not the lollipop roll,” sukuna groans, dragging a hand over his face. “freshman?”

“of course it was a freshman,” gojo says, grinning. “those little guys think watching one youtube tutorial makes them bob marley.”

“yo, remember that one dude at the delta party?” choso says, head tilting back slightly. “rolled a joint with a bible page.”

“amen,” sukuna snorts.

“nah, for real,” choso laughs, hand tightening just slightly where it rests on your side. “he said it made the high holier.” you huff against his hoodie, and his fingers flex like he felt it, like it was the best sound he’d heard all night.

they keep going, weed stories, party war stories, the dumbest shit they’ve ever seen in a frat house at 3am. it’s relentless, loud, chaotic, but you stay quiet, tucked against choso’s side like he’s the only still thing in the room. his thumb runs in slow circles against your waist through the fabric of your top, and you feel the way he laughs before you hear it.

“yo,” gojo says, leaning across suguru to point at choso. “what’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done at a party?”

“besides adopt a girlfriend he doesn’t kiss?” sukuna adds. choso blinks slow. doesn’t rise to the bait, doesn’t even twitch.

“probably that time at theta when i fell asleep in the bathtub and woke up with a raccoon in my lap.” suguru chokes. “you serious?”

“deadass.”

“was it… alive?”

“bro. it was chillin’. just vibin’ with me.”

“you probably hotboxed the tub,” gojo says, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “raccoon was just tryna get high.”

choso grins, soft and slow, and you nudge your nose into his hoodie like you’re hiding your own smile. “what about women?” sukuna says suddenly, eyes glinting like he’s fishing. “y’all ever hook up at your own party?”

“you’re disgusting, that's against reg” gojo tells him cheerfully.

“don’t lie,” sukuna drawls. “you know you have.”

“alright, once,” gojo admits. “but i kicked her out after because she tried to name my bongs.” “you’re heartless,” suguru says, deadpan.

“you don’t name the bongs,” gojo insists. “they earn names. it’s sacred.”

“what about you, choso?” sukuna’s gaze cuts sideways. “you got bodies stacked in your stoner dungeon?” choso hums, slow and easy. you feel the low sound in his chest, pressed flush to your cheek.

“nah,” he says. “i don’t hook up with girls who don’t know how to roll.” the boys howl, gojo nearly falling off the couch.

“that’s so on brand,” suguru laughs. “you need standards,” choso mumbles, amused, and leans his cheek briefly against the top of your head.

the lighter’s still in his pocket. his arm’s still over your shoulders. and beneath the sleeve of his hoodie, hidden from the world, your eyes are inked into his skin.

you shift a little, just enough to tuck your legs under yourself, settling more fully into him, and he adjusts without thinking — arm around you tighter now, palm spread warm across your ribs, thumb grazing your side through the fabric. he’s careful. doesn’t let the hoodie ride up. doesn’t let anyone see. the tattoo’s still fresh, still tender, and it’s just for him.

“yo, you good?” suguru asks, nodding at him. choso blinks slow. “yeah man’.”

“that weed hit hard,” gojo says. “i feel like i’m seein’ sounds.”

“you ever tried dabs?” sukuna asks. “that’s when shit gets spiritual.”

“you tryna kill someone?” suguru laughs. “every time i hit one, i feel like my soul’s leaving my body.”

“shit’s a rite of passage,” sukuna shrugs.

“nah, a rite of passage is hosting a rager with a cop at your door and acting like you live there,” gojo grins. “have you?” choso asks, amused.

“bro, i’ve answered the door in a bathrobe before,” gojo says proudly. they all crack up again. you don’t say anything, but your smile’s pressed right into choso’s chest, and he dips his head for a second to nuzzle his nose into your hair.

“she’s real quiet tonight,” suguru says, noticing. “nah, she’s just comfy,” choso says easily. “she don’t need to talk when she’s like this.”

you don’t. not when you’ve got his warmth, his arm around you, his voice rumbling low in your ear with every lazy joke. it’s always like this, like no one else in the room really matters, like you could fall asleep right here and he’d keep the world spinning while you did.

“that’s love,” gojo says mock-serious.

“shut up,” choso mutters. but he doesn’t stop smiling. and the lighter’s still warm in his pocket.

and your eyes are still inked into his arm, safe and secret beneath layers of cotton and smoke.

the house is still going when you two finally get up. it’s past 2am, maybe closer to 3, but the music hasn’t let up and there’s still people on the floor, drinks in hand, voices loud and slurred over each other. someone’s passed out with a sharpie mustache, another guy’s making out with a pillow. classic kappa chaos.

choso’s the one who moves first. you feel it in the way his arm shifts, in the soft brush of his thumb against your side like a nudge. he leans in close, voice barely above a murmur.

“you good to dip?”

you nod into his hoodie, eyes half-lidded, heart heavy with warmth and weed.

he helps you up slow, palm steady at your back. when you stand, the cold air from the open back door hits your legs and you shiver a little, instinctively leaning back into his side. he shrugs his hoodie higher and throws an arm around your shoulders like he already knew it’d happen.

“yo,” choso calls out over the couch, voice scratchy and low. “we out.”

gojo perks up from where he’s still posted with a half-spilled drink, eyes bright. “tell your girlfriend goodnight for us.”

you don’t say anything, just press your face into choso’s shoulder again, and he laughs under his breath.

“night, man,” suguru says with a nod, already halfway into rolling another blunt.

sukuna lifts a hand lazily. “text if you end up in a ditch.”

“if i do, i’m takin’ you with me,” choso mutters.

they all laugh again, and it follows you both out the front door, the porch light buzzing weak and yellow above you. the night’s cooler now, quiet in a way that makes everything feel soft around the edges. your heels click against the pavement as you walk, but only for a second, choso notices and without a word, crouches down in front of you, glancing back over his shoulder.

“get on.”

you blink, amused. “seriously?”

“c’mon, ma,” he mumbles, tugging at your wrist. “your feet hurt.”

you climb onto his back with a little laugh, arms wrapped loose around his shoulders, and he stands like it’s nothing, steady under your weight. his steps are slow and sure down the sidewalk, the frat house lights shrinking behind you, the sounds of the party fading with every step.

“you always take care of me,” you mumble against his neck.

he hums low. “’course i do. you're my.. best friend.”

you walk like that for a while, his hoodie soft against your cheek, his hair brushing your face every time the wind shifts. he doesn’t say much, just hums sometimes or comments on dumb shit you pass, a traffic cone in a bush, a raccoon on the curb that freezes when it sees you, like it knows choso somehow.

he sets you down once you’re close, only when his own building’s steps are in sight. his hand stays in yours as he leads you inside, up the stairs, past the other bedrooms where people are either passed out or definitely not sleeping. his door clicks shut behind you with a soft thud, and everything goes quiet.

his room’s the same as always, warm, dim, the faint smell of weed and whatever incense he burned earlier in the week still lingering in the corners. one sock on the floor, a hoodie thrown over the back of his chair. you’ve been here a hundred times, maybe more.

but tonight feels different. softer. warmer.

he pulls his hoodie off slow, careful of the sleeve, and tosses it toward the desk chair. the bandage underneath catches the light for a second, but he turns before you see too much.

you toe your shoes off and crawl onto the bed without thinking. he follows, slower, body still heavy with high and heat and something else he can’t name.

you’re both under the blanket when he finally speaks.

“hey.”

you look over, curled on your side facing him.

his eyes are half-lidded, soft. one arm tucked behind his head, the other stretched toward you, palm open on the comforter like he’s offering it.

“i really fuckin’ love that lighter.”

your heart stutters a little. “yeah?”

he nods, slow. “like… a lot. been using it all night. even switched pockets for it, kept checking to make sure it didn’t fall out or get swiped.”

you smile, something small and full blooming in your chest. “good. it’s supposed to be yours.”

“feels like it.”

he looks at you for a long second. the space between you shrinks until his arm slides around your waist and pulls you in close.

you go easy, always do, settling into him like he’s your own bed, your own pillow, the place you always end up no matter how far you drift.

he breathes in slow, his nose brushing your hair.

“the flowers… why’d you paint those?”

you press your face into his chest.

“they reminded me of you,” you say quietly. “red spider lilies. they’re kind of… complicated. people think they’re about death or goodbye, but they also mean memory. rebirth. starting over. they grow in all the places nothing else does.”

choso’s quiet for a second.

then, soft, “you think i’m like that?”

you shrug against him, voice even softer. “i think you’re the kind of person who sticks. who stays even when shit gets hard. and you don’t always say how you feel but… you’re steady. like those flowers. like fire.”

he exhales slow.

“fuck, ma.”

“what?”

“you’re gonna make me cry or some shit.”

you laugh, a quiet huff against his chest. he wraps both arms around you now, tucking you into the space beneath his chin, his hand sliding up into your hair.

his fingers stroke slow, gentle. again and again.

“you can cry,” you mumble. “i won’t tell.”

he chuckles low, the sound vibrating through you.

“nah, i’m good. just… i dunno. not used to someone thinkin’ about me like that.”

you don’t say anything. just curl closer, your fingers fisting lightly in the fabric of his shirt.

the room settles into silence. soft and slow. your breaths even out together.

his hand keeps stroking through your hair, steady and grounding. like he could do it forever. like maybe he will.

his voice comes again, quieter this time.

“gonna keep that lighter forever.”

you smile, eyes fluttering shut. “good.”

“not even gonna let gojo touch it."

“definitely good.”

his lips brush your hair, a ghost of a kiss.

you feel it all, the warmth, the safety, the way his body curls slightly to fit around yours like a shield, like a home.

his heartbeat’s slow against your cheek.

“night, ma,” he whispers, already half-asleep.

you murmur it back, voice slurred with sleep, breath syncing with his.

his fingers keep moving, slow circles through your hair.

and in the soft dark, beneath the blanket, beneath the silence, his arm curls around you just enough to press the fresh ink on his bicep to your side, a quiet secret. a permanent truth.

just for him.

just for tonight.

just for you.

it’s been a chill afternoon, sun’s out, classes dragging, brain fried. choso’s walking out of the lab building with his earbuds in, hoodie half-zipped, replaying your last message in his head. a pic of your shoes kicked off under a library table, captioned come save me, three broken hearts. made him smile. still does.

he’s almost past the quad when a shadow cuts across the sidewalk.

“yo, choso.”

doesn’t need to look up to know who it is.

that voice, too smooth. familiar in the kind of way that feels like smoke curling up your back.

he pulls one earbud out and slows.

toji’s leaned against the trunk of an oak tree like he’s been waiting. sunglasses on, black tee snug across his chest, arms crossed like he’s got all day. his smirk’s already half-there.

“what’s up?” choso mutters.

“you got a sec?”

choso gives him a long look. he knows toji. knows the kind of calm that means something’s coming.

“…yeah,” he says anyway.

they walk.

they’ve done this before, that time a few weeks ago before his lab, once or twice after parties, when everyone else was loud and drunk and messy. toji’s always been different. sharper. like he watches the room just to see where it bleeds.

“how’s life at delta mu?” toji asks after a few steps. casual. fake.

“same shit.”

“yeah?” he smirks. “you still throwing those weed parties with your little mascot?”

choso’s jaw ticks. “you mean y/n?”

toji chuckles. “yeah. her.”

he tosses a glance sideways. too casual.

“she’s got some energy, huh? always bouncing around, arms all over you. she like that with everybody or just you?”

choso doesn’t answer. toji doesn’t need one.

“nah, i’ve seen it,” he continues. “always tucked up next to you. on your lap. wrapped around your arm. clinging to your hoodie like it’s the last blunt in the world.”

he laughs under his breath. “kinda cute.”

choso’s fists go deep in his pockets.

“she’s just like that,” he says flatly.

toji hums. “you sure?”

choso looks over.

“what’s your point?”

“just wondering,” toji shrugs, still smiling like it’s harmless. “you’ve told me before, you two aren’t dating.”

“we’re not.”

“but you hang out every day.”

“yeah.”

“sleep in the same bed sometimes, right?”

choso’s mouth tightens.

toji grins like he caught something.

“so she’s single?”

choso stares straight ahead.

“…yeah.”

“good to know.”

silence.

the wind brushes through the quad. students chatter behind them. someone’s playing music from a bluetooth speaker in the grass, something smooth, almost romantic. it doesn’t help.

“she’s just real… open, you know?” toji says. “like, warm. sweet as hell. makes you feel like you’ve known her forever.” choso stays quiet.

“i ran into her the other day,” toji adds like it’s nothing. “outside the gym. we talked for a sec.” his tone is lighter now. teasing. like he’s digging.

“she remembered my name. smiled real nice, too. said she was headed to meet you.”

no surprise there. you always say where you're going. always talking about choso like he’s the center of your world. and maybe that’s why this stings. and toji knows it.

“you ever wonder if she does that for you?” he asks. “tells other guys she’s headed to see you. uses your name like a shield.”

he doesn’t wait for a reply.

“or maybe it’s just habit. maybe she’s comfortable. you ever think about that?”

“don’t do this.”

choso’s voice is low now. warning. toji just smirks.

“look, man. i’m not trying to piss you off. just… trying to understand. ‘cause you act like you’re her boyfriend, but then you say you’re not.”

he tilts his head.

“so which is it?”

choso breathes slow through his nose.

“we’re close. we’ve always been close. that’s it.” toji nods. like he buys it.

but he doesn’t.

“damn,” he says. “you got more patience than me.”

“what’s that mean?”

“means if a girl like that was pressed up on me every night, i wouldn’t be wasting time calling her my friend.” he says it with a grin, but there’s something sharp underneath.

“you really never tried?” toji asks. “never kissed her? not once?” choso doesn’t respond. he can’t. he kisses you all the time, on the head, bebe ron the lips.

because the truth’s stuck in his throat, the way you fall asleep in his arms, the way you hold his lighter like it means something, the way you always come back to him like he’s home. and he’s the dumbass who never claimed you.

“so she’s single, then?” toji repeats.

“yeah,” choso says, barely above a whisper.

toji gives him one last nod.

“cool,” he says. “just wanted to be sure.” and then he walks away. choso doesn’t move. not for a long time.

just stands there, fists clenched, teeth gritted, watching toji’s silhouette disappear down the path like it’s a threat, because it is. he knew.

he knew before he asked.

and now he’s coming.

because choso left the door wide open.

and you?

you’re free to walk through it.

choso’s room, late afternoon

your legs are curled under you on choso’s bed, hoodie three sizes too big hanging off your shoulder, his, of course. the windows are cracked open, letting in the soft hum of birds and the echo of some guys yelling down at the basketball court. his room smells like incense, sage and something deeper, something him, warm, sleepy. you’ve been here a hundred times like this. maybe more.

his hoodie sleeves keep sliding past your wrists as you text, thumbs quick, quiet smile pulling at your lips. he’s across the room, digging through a drawer for his rolling tray. you can feel his presence without even looking. always do.

“yo, did you move my grinder?” he calls, glancing over his shoulder.

“nope,” you answer, distracted, fingers still flying over your screen. your phone lights again.

toji [3:04pm]: you looked cute at that mixer last night.

you bite your lip. thumbs hover.

then you type:

you [3:07pm]: oh you're stalking me noww?

you don’t see choso pause. you don’t see how long his eyes linger on your phone. you don’t realize he saw the name, until he speaks.

“who you texting?”

you blink up, tone of his voice unfamiliar.

“hm? oh—” you shift your phone in your hand, instinctive. “just… someone.”

he tilts his head.

“someone, huh.”

you laugh a little. “why do you sound like that?”

he doesn’t answer. he crosses the room instead, slow steps. plants himself at the edge of the bed, arms folded. you look up at him and that warm energy’s gone. replaced with something colder. sharp.

“that toji?”

your breath stalls.

“…yeah.”

choso stares at you. unreadable.

“why?”

“what do you mean why?” you ask, eyebrows tugging. “he messaged me. we were just talking.”

he hums. low. not buying it.

“just talking,” he echoes. “what about?” you sit up straighter. “what’s going on?”

“what’d he say?”

“choso—”

“lemme see.”

he gestures at your phone. you clutch it instinctively. like muscle memory. like guilt? “are you serious right now?” he doesn’t answer. jaw’s tight. eyes dark.

“what’d he say?” he asks again. your fingers squeeze your phone. you feel a flush crawl up your neck. not from embarrassment, but shock.

“you’re not serious,” you say again, this time quieter. he just looks at you. so you speak.

“he said i was cute when i was bored. and i said maybe. that’s it.”

his jaw ticks.

“you flirting with him?”

“what?”

“you heard me.”

you scoff. “no. i wasn’t. it wasn’t even- i didn’t mean it like that.” choso steps back, runs a hand through his hair. pacing now.

“you texting him while you’re in my bed?”

“what does that matter?”

“it matters.”

his voice is sharper now. rough around the edges. not loud, but tight, like it’s fighting to stay inside his chest. “you know how i feel about that guy.”

“choso, he’s been nothing but nice lately—”

“he’s not nice. he’s not interested in being friends. he’s waiting. he’s circling. you don’t see it?” you blink.

“so what, you’re mad ‘cause i texted him back?” he looks at you like you just spit on the floor. “i’m mad ‘cause you’re in my fucking hoodie, in my bed, telling some other guy he’s got a shot.”

you freeze.

the silence that falls is loud.

so loud.

your eyes widen. you stare at him, lips parted. unsure if you heard that right. unsure if he meant to say it.

“a shot?” you echo. he looks away. exhales hard.

“never mind.”

“no,” you say, voice firm now. “say it again.”

he doesn’t. but you both feel the truth echoing off the walls.

you look down. suddenly too warm. like the hoodie’s burning your skin. “…i didn’t know you’d care,” you say, almost to yourself.

choso swallows. “i do.” you glance back up.

“why?”

he doesn’t answer. but you already know. and now the air is thick with it. the unspoken thing. and for the first time, it’s not sweet. not warm. it hurts.

because it means everything he’s never said, everything he’s been, came with conditions you never agreed to. came with borders he never drew, but expected you not to cross.

you breathe slow. he watches you. you speak first.

“if you wanted to be the only one texting me like that, you should’ve said something.” choso’s face shifts. his mouth opens like he’s going to say something, defend himself, maybe, argue the way he always stays quiet because he doesn’t want to lose you,but nothing comes out.

instead, his brows knit together, lips pressed in a tight line. his fingers curl at his sides.

“you really think i don’t wanna be that?” he says, voice rough. “you think this shit’s been casual for me?” you blink at him. your breath catches.

“you’ve never said it was anything else, choso. what was i supposed to think?”

“fuck,” he growls, pacing again. “you were supposed to know. i thought you knew.”

his voice rises, not yelling, but loud with frustration. he’s unraveling in real time, and it’s shaking something loose in you, too. “how was i supposed to know?” you shoot back. “you flirt but you never say anything. you touch me like i’m yours but act like i’m just your best friend—”

“you are mine.” your voice dies in your throat.

he stares at you. and when he speaks again, it’s quieter, but no less intense.

“you’re mine,” he says again, like a confession. like a curse. “always been mine.” your stomach flips.

“then why—” your voice cracks — “why didn’t you ever tell me?”

choso runs a hand through his hair again, like he’s trying to physically hold himself together. like it hurts.

“’cause i was scared,” he snaps. “scared that if i said it out loud, it’d fuck everything up. that you’d look at me different. that you’d leave.” you stare.

“so you’d rather let someone else have me?”

he stiffens. you rise onto your knees on the bed, fire lighting behind your ribs now. “you’d rather let toji of all people try it?”

his jaw clenches. “he’s not gonna have you.” your heartbeat skids.

he moves in fast, faster than he ever has, and grabs your wrist, firm but not rough, like he can’t bear to let the distance exist any longer.

“i’m not letting him have you,” he mutters.

you’re still frozen, looking up at him. something between fear and thrill curling in your gut.

“choso,” you whisper. he doesn’t stop. he pushes you back gently onto the bed, one hand catching your waist, the other bracing against the mattress. he hovers over you, breath heavy, eyes searching your face like he’s begging you to see it, really see it this time.

“i’m fucking in love with you.”

your heart punches into your throat. his forehead dips, pressing against yours, voice hoarse.

“i’ve been in love with you since you showed up to my first party and we listened to that dumb song together.”

you let out a shaky laugh, but your eyes are wet his thumb brushes your cheek.

“i never said it ‘cause i thought this was enough. thought just having you close was better than risking it all. but i can’t—” he pulls in a breath, voice shaking now too — “i can’t sit quiet while other people try to take you from me.”

you’re blinking fast now. breath catching. every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire beneath his touch.

“you’re my girl,” he says again, softer this time. “you’ve always been mine.”

you don’t answer right away. your chest rises and falls beneath his, shallow and unsteady. your palm is still on his cheek, but your eyes have shifted, staring past him now. unfocused. wet.

“you’re only saying that,” you murmur, “because someone else finally had the balls to go after me.”

his breath catches. your voice is quieter, but sharp now, like you’re trying to convince yourself. like you want to believe it, but the cracks are there, and they’re splitting open.

“you didn’t say anything until he got involved. until he started asking about me. texting me. seeing me.” your hand falls away from his face. “and now suddenly, i’m yours?”

his eyes widen. “no—”

“you had so long to tell me, choso. so many chances.”

“y/n, it’s not like that—”

“then what is it like?” you breathe. “’cause i don’t get to be the girl you only want when someone else does.”

choso stares at you, heart hammering. like you just ripped something raw and bloody straight out of his chest.

he swallows.

and then, slowly, he pushes back, just far enough to sit up on his knees beside you. the mattress dips with the weight shift. his hands fumble for the hem of his hoodie.

he pulls it up and over his head in one quick move. your breath stutters.

there, inked into the inside of his upper arm, where he’d hidden it every time you curled up against him, is a tattoo.

of your eyes.

staring straight back at you.

your real breath, the one stuck in your throat, finally punches out of you.

choso watches your expression shift, eyes flicking from the ink to his face and back. he swallows once, hard, and says:

“got it the night of the party. when you gave me the lighter.” you blink.

“you were curled up on me. whole time i was talking with the boys, i couldn’t stop thinking about you. how close you were. how you looked at me like that was your home.” he swipes a thumb under his nose, like he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands. “so i got up, high as fuck, to the guy tatting people in the corner. told him to ink your eyes on me.”

your lips part, but nothing comes out. his voice softens.

“i didn’t say anything ‘cause i thought it was enough. just having you near. but it’s not. not anymore.”

your heart pounds so hard you feel it in your ears.

he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room. like he needs you to believe it. really believe it.

“this isn’t about toji. it’s never been about him. i wanted you long before he ever said your name.”

you’re still staring at the tattoo.

he moves closer again. his hand brushes your knee, gentle.

“you think i’d get your fucking eyes on me just ‘cause i’m jealous?” you blink fast.

his hand finds your face again. tender. grounding “you’re it for me.”

his voice is low, raspy. not just from the emotion, but from how hard he’s holding it in, like if he lets go, everything he’s ever felt for you will come spilling out and drown him.

but he lets it go anyway.

“you’re all i think about,” choso says, brushing his thumb over your cheek again. “when i’m high, when i’m sober, when you’re across the room and laughing at someone’s stupid joke, when you’re asleep in my bed, wearing my shirt, you’re in my head all the time, ma.”your breath catches.

“every song reminds me of you. every little thing you do drives me crazy. you don’t even know how much of me you’ve got.”

he leans closer, forehead nearly touching yours.

“you gave me that lighter and i wanted to kiss you right there in the middle of the street. when you paint your nails i stare at your hands for hours. when you fall asleep on me at parties, i sit still like a statue so you don’t move. i’m always lookin’ at you like i already lost you. and it kills me.”

his hand finds your jaw, warm and steady, fingers curling behind your ear. your breath hitches, and he’s close enough to feel it.

“you’ve had my heart since freshman year. and i didn’t say anything ‘cause i thought maybe you didn’t want it. or maybe you already had it and didn’t need to hear it out loud.”

you swallow, shaky. lips parted. cheeks flushed.

and choso looks down at them, your lips, like he’s been holding himself back from kissing you for a lifetime.

and then he doesn’t anymore.

he crashes into you like he’s starving.

the kind of kiss that drags a sound out of your throat before you even realize it, all heat and pressure and ache, all the months and years and everything he’s shoved down, poured out into the way his lips mold against yours. he kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll pull away, and like he knows you won’t.

your hands claw at his shoulders, winding into the mess of his hair, tugging him in even closer. and choso groans, deep in his throat, pressing you down into the bed, slotting his hips against yours.

his mouth moves fast, desperate, lips, tongue, teeth, like he can’t get enough. like the taste of you is something he needs in his lungs.

“fuck,” he breathes against your mouth, dragging his lips down your jaw, “you don’t get it, do you?”

your back arches, lips parting when he sucks lightly under your ear.

“how bad i’ve wanted this. you.”

his hands roam, over your waist, under your shirt, up your sides like he’s trying to memorize all of you at once. and every place he touches leaves a trail of fire.

you moan his name, soft and shaky, and he loses it a little more, bites your bottom lip as he grinds his hips down into yours, heavy and hot and so there.

“say it again,” he mutters, eyes half-lidded, forehead pressed to yours. “say my name.”

“choso.”

he shudders.

“again.”

“cho!.”

he kisses you so deep it knocks the breath out of your lungs. kisses you like he owns you, like you’ve always belonged to him, and like he’s finally letting himself claim what’s already his.

and fuck, you let him.

you’ve wanted this just as long. needed him just as bad.

and now, with your limbs tangled, your body burning under his, your heart thudding like a war drum in your chest, there’s no more pretending.

you’re his. he’s yours. and it’s written all over his face.

choso looks at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted, like he’s starved for you, but still savoring the moment. his eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, but soft. reverent. he cups your cheek with a hand that’s just slightly trembling, brushing his thumb along your skin like he can’t believe you’re real.

he kisses your forehead, slow and grounding, like a promise. then your nose. then your lips, and that one lingers. warm, aching, deep enough that it steals the air from your lungs. it’s not just desire. it’s everything he’s never said until now.

“please let me see you, ma." he whispers, voice hoarse, like he’s been holding back forever.

you nod, lips parted, eyes locked with his. your breath stutters as his fingers ghost over the hem of your shirt, lifting it inch by inch like he’s unwrapping something precious. he tosses it aside, only to pull you in again. his palms spread wide across your ribs, thumbs brushing just beneath your chest.

“fuck,” he breathes, low and to himself. “so fucking beautiful.”

he leans in, mouth dragging hot and open along your neck, kissing and breathing you in, his lips trembling against your pulse like he’s drunk off you. he murmurs something there, a soft, almost desperate, “mine,” before he undoes your bra with one practiced flick.

and when it falls away, he doesn’t touch you right away. he just stares, like the sight of you has knocked the wind out of him.

his hands come up slow, palms warm as they cup you like he’s afraid to break something delicate. “been dreaming about this,” he says. “about you. here. like this. in my bed. lookin’ up at me like you already know i’d give you everything.”

you shiver under the weight of it all, his voice, his gaze, his touch. and then his mouth is on your chest, lips sealing around your nipple, tongue flicking before he sucks — slow, deep, just enough to make you arch into him with a needy whimper.

“choso…”

he groans, hand sliding lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. he pulls them down with your panties in one motion, dragging his palms down your thighs on the way. and when he sits back, just to take you in, bare, breathless, flushed, his eyes go wide, like he’s trying to commit you to memory. “look at you,” he murmurs, chest rising with each ragged breath. “you don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”

you reach for him, tugging his shirt up and over his head, palms skating down the strong lines of his chest, stopping only when your fingers find his arm. your breath catches.

your eyes. inked in black and red over his skin, etched like a confession. you won't ever get sick of seeing it.

he watches you take it in, sees the exact moment you understand, and he doesn’t say anything. not at first. he just leans in, takes your hand in his, and presses it over his heart.

“see?” he whispers. “been yours. always.”

your eyes brim, chest tight with something that has no name. and then he kisses you again, slow and deep, tongue stroking yours, hand sliding between your thighs. he groans into your mouth when he feels you, warm, wet, already trembling.

“so wet for me,” he mutters, lips brushing yours. “all this for me, huh?”

his fingers dip into you, one at first, then two, slow and deep, curling just right. your back arches, mouth falling open with a gasp as he starts to move them, watching every twitch and shiver you give him like he’s memorizing the way you come apart. “fuck, baby,” he breathes. “you feel so good, been wantin’ this for so long. just wanted to take care of you. make you feel good.”

his lips trail back down, mouth closing around your nipple again as his fingers keep working you open, the room echoing with your broken gasps and soft moans. he kisses your sternum, your ribs, every inch of you he can reach like he’s trying to make up for every second he didn’t have you.

and when your legs start to tremble, when your thighs squeeze around his hand and you whimper his name into the crook of his neck, he groans, low and sexy, and pulls back just enough to strip the last of his clothes.

his cock is flushed, hard, already leaking, and still, he pauses.

he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing hard. “you sure you wanna do this hun?”

“i want you,” you whisper, voice cracking. “i want all of you.”

and when he slides in, slow, deliberate, it’s overwhelming. your nails dig into his shoulders, mouth open in a silent gasp, and he just groans, long and low, burying his face in your neck.

“fuck, baby… you feel so fuckin’ good, made for me, huh?”

his hips rock into you, slow and deep, dragging along every sensitive inch inside you until you’re trembling again, mouth parted in helpless moans. he kisses you through it, messy and uncoordinated, full of teeth and tongue and need.

he doesn’t hold back anymore. not his body, not his voice. he’s everywhere, his hands, his mouth, his words, and every thrust is rougher, deeper, hotter than the last.

“been yours since the day i met you,” he breathes against your skin. “you’re mine, baby. mine. no one else gets to have you like this. no one else even fuckin’ compares.”

you believe him. how could you not, when he’s saying it like he’s been waiting years to let it out?

you fall apart first, clenching around him with a strangled moan, whole body trembling as your orgasm crashes through you, and choso follows, grinding into you with a low growl, holding you close as he spills into you.

he doesn’t let go. not even after. he stays buried deep, forehead to yours, one hand cradling your jaw like it’s fragile.

“not lettin’ you go,” he whispers. “not now. not ever.”

the party’s already in full swing when you two walk in. the bass thrums under your feet, bodies packed tight in the kappa house. familiar faces flash by in strobes of color and sound, solo cups raised, someone laughing too loud, gojo shouting across the room with a bottle in each hand.

and then you and choso step into the chaos like it’s nothing. except tonight, it’s not nothing. it’s everything. your hand is in his. his thumb strokes over your knuckles like it’s second nature, and you’re tucked into his side like you’ve always belonged there. he’s wearing that hoodie you love, and you’ve got it slung off your shoulder like it’s yours now. he hasn’t let go of you since you walked through the door, and he doesn’t plan to. people notice.

gojo sees first. his mouth falls open around the mouth of a beer can, and he drops it on the counter with a dramatic gasp. “oh my god.” choso raises an eyebrow, smirking. “no fuckin way,” sukuna mutters, eyes narrowing. “this for real?” you don’t say anything. just smile, nuzzling into choso’s chest. and choso, god, he melts. his arm tightens around you like instinct, like he’s not even thinking about it. “you’re kidding,” maki blurts from across the room. she’s half-drunk and squinting, pointing her beer bottle at you two like she’s trying to make sense of a mirage. “you finally fucked?”

“maki,” shoko hisses, slapping her arm, but she’s already grinning. “i knew it. i knew it.” suguru lifts his drink with a slow, knowing smile. “took you long enough.” gojo, meanwhile, is spinning in a circle like he just witnessed a miracle. “wait wait wait,” he says, pointing between the two of you. “you’re telling me this entire time, we’ve been watching you two eye-fuck each other across every frat house on campus, and now you’re just casually showing up like this?”

“what can i say,” choso murmurs, pulling you even closer, “i figured it was time.” “look at his hand placement,” shoko says, leaning into maki. “that’s not friends. that’s boyfriend hand placement.”

“yeah and look at her,” maki laughs. “she looks like she just got dicked down and praised like a goddess.” you duck your head a little, embarrassed, but choso leans in and kisses your cheek, then your temple. it’s so soft, so easy, and when he pulls back, he looks straight at toji who’s staring wide eyed, steady, calm, but with a flicker of challenge in his eyes.

“don’t look at her like that,” he says, voice low. “not tonight. not ever.” toji scoffs, raising his hands in mock surrender, but his grin is sharp. “damn. someone’s possessive now.”

“been possessive,” choso mutters, like it’s not even up for debate. he turns his attention back to you instantly, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“you okay?” you nod. “i’m perfect.” and then he kisses you. not a peck. not for show. it’s slow, unhurried, with his hand cupping your jaw and his lips moving with the kind of tenderness that makes your knees weak. the room could be burning down and he wouldn’t stop. you don’t even hear gojo’s dramatic screech until you break apart.

“yo this is crazy,” he says, spinning around and yelling to no one in particular. “choso is off the market. choso kamo, resident stoner-lover of no one but his weed and his hoodie collection, is now cuffed.”

“what’s it feel like,” suguru asks with a smirk, raising an eyebrow at choso, “to be someone’s boyfriend?”

“feels like i shoulda done it years ago,” choso says. you blink up at him, heart catching in your throat. “yo,” yuuji calls from the other side of the room. “does this mean we’re finally allowed to say you two have been in love since freshman year?” “i always said it,” nobara yells, shoving through the crowd with a drink. “don’t act like y’all didn’t see them cuddled up at every party like an old married couple.”

“wait does this mean she’s moving into his room?” gojo asks, visibly spiraling. “what’s gonna happen to the guest bed? who’s gonna roll for me when choso’s too busy being in love?”

“die mad,” choso says flatly, and everyone laughs. but even through all the noise and teasing and attention, his focus never strays from you. his hand stays on your waist. his eyes keep dropping to your mouth like he’s remembering exactly what it feels like.

“you good?” he murmurs again, like he just wants to hear you say it.

you press your nose to his chest and nod, smiling. “more than good.”

he kisses you again, slower this time, like it’s just for you. like no one else is in the room. like he’s exactly where he’s always wanted to be.

and the thing is — he is.

he’s yours. fully, finally, publicly.

more choso for you >~< 'sticky situation'

awe wasn't that sweet 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 masterlist !!

guys look at this beautiful art @ryololart did inspired by this fic i love her go like it rn omg this is the perfect visual.

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wvnternvghtt · 8 days ago

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⋆˚࿔ bitchy¡ reader && sheriff¡rafe cameron

HE'S SO EASY TO MAKE JEALOUS.

You stretch yourself across the front desk like you own the damn station, one heel dangling, skirt riding up just enough to make it look like an accident. Your legs are shaved, oiled, and crossed at the knee like art. Perfectly manicured fingers trace slow, lazy circles against Deputy Harris’s forearm. Not Rafe’s. Never Rafe’s. Because that would be too easy.

You pick the dumbest one on purpose. Wide-eyed, fresh-faced, too naive to realise that when you touch his arm like that, it's not flirting. It's war. The pink gloss on your mouth is a weapon. The perfume on your collar is another. You play dumb and play sweet, but you’re watching Rafe like a hawk. Every little shift. Every little twitch.

Rafe watches from across the room, behind his desk, pretending to work. But you can feel his eyes burning into you. His jaw clenches like he’s chewing gravel. He shifts in his seat and leans back, and you can practically hear the leather creak beneath him. He's trying not to look. Trying not to care. Failing miserably.

Then you do the final blow. You glance over your shoulder, catch Rafe’s stare and hold it. Smirk. Then you lean in and whisper something in Harris’s ear. Something meaningless. Something with teeth. The kid laughs. Rafe stands so fast his chair groans against the floor. ❝Deputy, go do a full inventory on the east-side patrol kit. Take your time.❞ His voice is sharp. Controlled, but barely. Harris blinks, confused, but obeys. His cheeks are red. He nods and scurries off.

You blink all innocent. ❝Was it something I said?❞ You hum, already sliding off the desk, hips swaying with every step. He doesn’t answer, just turns on his heel and walks back into his office. The door's open, like bait. You step inside without hesitation. He’s behind his desk, stiff and quiet. You can tell by the way he won’t look at you that he’s mad. That low, simmering Rafe anger—the kind that doesn’t explode, just festers. The kind that builds.

❝You were picked up again two nights ago,❞ he starts, voice tight. ❝Drunk. Loud. In the middle of Main. You remember that?❞ Oh yeah, that's why you're here. You flop into the chair across from him, crossing your legs. ❝Vaguely.❞ ❝You can’t keep doing this.❞ He still won’t look at you. ❝Doing what? Living?❞ You tilt your head. ❝Are you going to start writing me tickets now, Sheriff?❞ His jaw ticks. He finally looks at you. Big mistake. You’re in a barely-there top, skirt riding high, gloss thick and glinting. You’re his favourite crime, and you know it.

❝You, uh,❞ he says suddenly, breaking eye contact. Clears his throat. ❝You have a crush on Harris or something?❞ perfect You nearly laugh. Nearly. ❝Jealous?❞ you purr, sweet and poisonous. ❝Don’t be. He’s not even cute.❞ He scowls. ❝It’s not a joke.❞ You lean back in the chair like you own it. ❝Didn’t say it was. Just saying—if I did have a crush on someone, I wouldn’t waste it on some rookie with shaky hands.❞

He’s quiet. Angry. You’ve hit the nerve and twisted. Rafe Cameron is not just hot. He’s terrifying. Massive in that uniform, always so contained. Always biting back everything you want him to let out. His hair is too perfect for a sheriff. His belt sits low on his hips. His hands are too big to be doing desk work. You like undoing him. Like watching him fight himself.

You drive him insane. Not because you try. Because you exist. All glossed lips, low-rise jeans, fur-trimmed jackets, and perfume that smells like sin. You’re the reason the station has a new no-loitering rule. You’re also the reason Rafe grinds his teeth in his sleep. He won’t touch you. Not yet. But God, he wants to.

And you? You want him ruined. The tension between you could snap a bone in half. You sit in that chair like a throne, and he sits behind the desk like a man praying to God for self-control. He wants to yell at you. Wants to tell you to stop showing up like this, half-dressed and full of attitude. But he doesn’t.

Because then you’d stop showing up. He doesn’t want that. ❝Are you done lecturing me, Sheriff?❞ you ask, dragging out the word like it tastes good in your mouth. He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. ❝Why do you do this?❞ he murmurs. You shrug. ❝Because you let me.❞

That lands heavy. He looks at you again—really looks. You can see it in his eyes. He’s losing. Slowly, beautifully. You lean forward, arms on your knees, and smile like a secret. ❝Want me to behave, Rafe?❞ you ask, voice low, dangerous. ❝Tell me to.❞ He doesn’t. Because he can’t. He’s too far gone. Watching you come in here week after week, looking like a pinup and acting like a problem. He’s already broken half a dozen rules for you. He’ll break half a dozen more.

And you’ll be waiting. Perfect. Poisonous. Smiling all pretty-like, as if you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. You stand slowly, skirt rising again as you lean over his desk just slightly. ❝I’ll see you around, Sheriff.❞

He doesn’t respond. Not out loud. But when you walk past his window later, you swear you hear his chair creak again. Swear you feel those eyes. Swear you win.

── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : yuh yuh yuh. already obsessed it’s actually criminal. i will perish if this flops. send asks about them and go read their little intro pls !! that one anon better be smiling rn (love u fr)

── ⋆ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @scne-vampire @browniepop62 @urcoolgf @folksriddle @loverliner

©RAFESSECRET ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025

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wvnternvghtt · 10 days ago

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Shaving your husband Toji Fushiguro, sitting on the sink and him standing between your legs.

His large hands gripping your thighs while his eyes watch you intensely, following your every move.

“You’re having fun, woman?” he said gently, feeling your soft hands on his jaw.

“Yes i do, Toji. I like to do things for my husband.”you replied smiling up at him and noticing the shift in his eyes and stance.

His grip on your thighs tightened and he leaned in grabbing your throat softly.

“You like to do things for ya’ husband? Then why don’t you turn your cute ass around and bend over the sink to make him real happy.”

This wasn’t going to be the last time to shave your husband Toji. He even demands it…

Art by @0mxmo on X

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wvnternvghtt · 10 days ago

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TOXIC ⋆ the Masterpost

pairing: rich jungkook x brat gf reader

genre: possessive love / estab. relo / social media au

warnings: toxic relationship, reddd flag couple, mutual obsession, cursing and mature language, explicit and sexual content, heavier topics such as addiction and substance abuse (not by main couple), arguing, fuck ups, make ups, young adults young adulting, controlling behaviour, jealousy, territorial motherfuckers omfg

THE STORY . . .

Chapter 1: Girl dinner 📱

Chapter 2: Get fucked 📱

Chapter 3: Off the leash 📱+ ✍️

Chapter 4: Terminated ✍️

Chapter 5: Such a fucking empath (90%)

THE EXTRAS . . .

Drabble 1: Current boyfriend ✍️

Drabble 2: Obsessed with me (99%)

( 2021 ) MEET THE MAINS . . .

Y/N ⋅ female lead

Age: 23 (1998)

Occupation: PR Assistant at OMIÉ, a female-led lifestyle brand

Relationship status: Jeon Jungkook (2019—current)

Best friend: Olivia Kim (2010—current)

Love language: Physical touch

Likes: Fashion, photography, Patron Silver tequila, The Fray

Dislikes: Slow texters, being ignored, Jung Julie

Key attributes: Hot-headed, jealous, possessive, loyal, clingy, dramatic, spirited, gorgeous

JUNGKOOK ⋅ male lead

Age: 24 (1997)

Occupation: Tattoo artist and owner of Jeon Studios, Seoul

Relationship status: Y/ln Y/n (2019—current)

Best friend: Min Yoongi (2009—current)

Love language: Physical touch

Likes: Art, Cîroc vodka, J. Cole, cigarettes, Y/n

Dislikes: People paying for him, being blocked, Kim Taehyung

Key attributes: Jealous, possessive, controlling, stoic, trust-fund baby, blunt, loyal, gorgeous

YOONGI ⋅ best friend / confidant

Age: 25 (1996)

Occupation: Head tattoo artist at Jeon Studios, Seoul

Relationship status: Jung Hoseok (2020—current)

Best friend: Jeon Jungkook (2009—current)

Love language: Acts of service

Likes: Cigarettes, art, Hendrick's Gin, partying, Frank Ocean

Dislikes: Uptight people, cilantro, liars

Key attributes: Social, patient, clingy, protective, understanding, talented, gorgeous

OLIVIA ⋅ best friend / confidant

Age: 23 (1998)

Occupation: Culture Writer at SEOULIT

Relationship status: Kim Taehyung (February—)

Best friend: Y/ln Y/n (2010—current)

Love language: Words of affirmation

Likes: Music, literature, pop culture, Green Grape Soju, Taylor Swift

Dislikes: Long lines, cheaters, licorice, Jung Julie

Key attributes: Kind-hearted, intelligent, jealous, ambitious, sympathetic, gorgeous

disclaimers:

- the photos used in this au are not mine, all from pinterest, and are just to set the vibes and aesthetic of the story / characters. you can picture whomeverr you like x

- this is not to romanticise toxic relationships in any fucking way!!!!!!! but instead to give those of us who have been / are going through something similar an outlet in the form of a silly little fanfic. and maybe so the healthier girlies can let their dormant inner toxicas shake out their fur a little.. but these characters are FLAWED and their love is unconventional. if you don't think you're into the toxic relationship trope but feel like giving it a go, by all means!!! but if you dont end up liking it, just scroll and move on with your life baby.. i'll be okay without a comment, i promise. love you <3

- this shit takes longer than youd think to make 🫩 so pls be an angel by reblogging the chapters, and leaving your thoughts and love behind when you go 🩷

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wvnternvghtt · 11 days ago

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CRAZY IN HAWAII ⋆ JJK

the one where a waitress tries to ogle your mans on vacation and your foot accidentally slips

PAIRING crazy au [ ceo ! jk x employee gf ! reader ]

GENRE fluff & suggestive [ mdni / 2.2k ]

CONTENT out-of-timeline drabble, can be read as a standalone, hawaii vacay with yoonmin, kissing, drinking, cursing, bitchy oc, i need her, down bad jk, i need him, possessive tendencies, pda, yoongi and jimin get freaky, some semi-public pussy touching

the soft strum of ukuleles and scattered dinner chatter curled up into the warm, hawaiian sky. and next to you, your boyfriend was linen-shirted and absolutely scrumptious, scowling like a sin you’d like to commit - and have, multiple times already…

“fuckin old perv,” jungkook muttered under his breath, waiting until the elderly bald man two generations your senior caught his glare. when he did, said old man made the smart decision to stop ogling your tits before he got buried in the sand on vacation - redirecting his focus back to dinner with what was most definitely his wife and grown kids.

your fingers just kept up the soft scratchy motions in the hair at the nape of jungkook’s neck. you sipped your pineapple and rum, tilting your head toward him. his jaw flexed, hand resting on your thigh under the long, white tablecloth, thumb rubbing over the fabric that covered his tattoo.

you leaned up to kiss the pretty pout off his lips when the drums in the background suddenly picked up. your group’s table faced the beach where a line of big, beautiful dancers now moved in sync with the music, hips swaying, leis in hand as they started the resort dinner performance. you leaned back with a gasp of excitement, both you and jimin giving little claps in delight.

then, one of them - male, shirtless, tall and slippery - broke the line and walked straight toward you.

“nope.” jungkook muttered immediately.

you giggled, sipping your drink as the dancer grinned at you, spun a bright pink lei around his fingers, and with a flourish, laid it gently around your neck. he winked before his hands slid slow and showy right to your waist.

as you were about to adjust his paws, jungkook reached out and swatted the guy’s hand off your hip. the dancer blinked, you bit your lip to keep from laughing, your boyfriend’s jaw ticked.

“all good, brother?” the dancer asked with a cheeky, performative smile.

you laughed under your breath before reaching up and tugging the flower garland off your neck. “wrong girl,” you hummed, spinning and looping it around jungkook’s neck. “have this one instead.”

you winked at your boyfriend and then reached for one of the female dancers nearby, grabbing her hand with a pretty smile. she blinked at you, eyes falling to your lips for a moment, then smiled back slowly as she tugged you toward the dance circle.

you paused, turning back to the guy dancer. “grab him,” you said sweetly, pointing at your broody boyfriend, whiskey glass halfway to his lips. “he needs to loosen up.”

the dancer beamed and looked back down at your hunk of a man with an approving nod. “with pleasure.”

jungkook blinked. “not a fucking chance—”

you squinted at him.

his mouth snapped shut, but not before he let out a low string of curses, downing the rest of his drink without a wince and letting the dancer tug him by the pink lei.

jimin was already whistling from the other side of the table, yoongi chuckling under his breath while holding the recording phone as per his boyfriend’s request.

“let’s go, big guy,” the dancer teased as he led your brute into the circle with you and the rest of the cheering dancers.

you giggled at his reluctance and turned to your new dance partner, letting her twirl you under her arm and slip a red lei around your neck. the drums picked up again, the pretty harmonies of the performers and the haze of your pina coladas making everything warmer and sweeter. you and jungkook were both led into a hip-sway by the gorgeous dancers, cheered on loudly by half the resort staff and guests.

when the drums faded with a final crash of cymbals and hips, you tipsily turned to your boyfriend who gave you his pretty, crooked smile. he leaned down to press a kiss to your grinning lips just as the beach erupted into claps and whoops, the sound of chairs scraping in the sand as guests rose to join in the cheers.

you were breathless as you pressed another soft kiss to his mouth before turning back to the girl you were still laced-hands with. you gave her one final spin and she laughed, pulling you into a warm hug. you kissed her softly on the cheek with a thank you before slipping your painted toes back into your sandals.

jungkook pulled his dancer into a bro shake, clapping him on the back and laughing at something he said. you almost fucking cooed when your brood of a boyfriend gave him a smile. a real one. one of those elusive, bunny toothed smiles that were really only reserved for you and little puppy dogs.

when you both naturally gravitated back toward each other, his hand went straight to your waist. the heel of his palm pressed right over your ribs, big inky fingers splaying against the dip between your tube top and long flowery skirt.

you smiled, swaying into him as you both walked back toward yoongi and jimin who were already seated again, fresh drinks in hand and ones ordered for you and jungkook resting on the table. yoongi had his arm slung over the blonde’s chair, sunglasses still perched on his nose despite the sun having long set. jimin looked freshly wrecked from laughter, cheeks flushed and cat eyes purring.

“why was jungkook soo much better at that than i expected,” the drunk park beamed as you both moved to take your seats, his fourth chilled cocktail finally freezing off the senior honorific you’d told him to drop during the trip.

you smiled with a little nod. “jungkook’s really good with his hips.”

jimin choked on his mouthful of drink, swallowing just before it could spill back into the cup while yoongi chuckled under his breath. jungkook sat first, tongue running over his pierced lip as he bit back a laugh, then pulled you into his lap like you were carry-on he was refusing to check.

a beat of quiet passed as the breeze picked up again, making your skirt flutter over his laplike a ribbon. jungkook nuzzled into your neck. “you’re beautiful in maui.”

you hummed, turning slightly to kiss the corner of his mouth. “does that mean i’m ugly back home?”

he nipped your throat, the dazy scent of whisky and bvlgari seeping into your skin. “don’t ask stupid questions.”

you smiled, leaning back into his warm chest as you picked a piece of cheese and grape from his plate and chewed while he pressed slow kisses into your neck.

a few more minutes passed in chatters between you and the lovebirds opposite, until the resort waitress approached with her brown eyes, red lips, and long limbs. she stopped at the head of the table with a pretty smile.

“aloha ahiahi. everything to your liking?”

you nodded with a smile, brushing a loose strand behind your ear. “it was amazing, thank you.”

she smiled for a beat too long before her gaze slid an inch too far. right past you, and straight to your boyfriend. her lashes dropped, her smile turned sultry, your mood fucking shifted.

she picked up the thick tip jungkook had tucked under the edge of the wine bucket, her hand lingering beside his arm like you weren’t sitting right there on his fucking lap.

then she smiled again, a little slower, then a little lower. “wow, thank you so much… enjoy the rest of your evening,” she purred by his ear.

jungkook didn’t look at her. just took another slow sip of his scotch, eyes fixed on the ocean as he moved away from her breath. you felt his hand on your thigh give a little squeeze as he swallowed, and while it felt good, your eyes didn’t leave the waitress or the capitalised RUBY on her name tag.

the moment she turned to leave, your foot slid forward.

ruby caught the edge of your sandal and stumbled, letting out a squealy little yelp. the four fifty-dalla notes flew from her fingers and scattered like confetti, kissing the sand right next to her.

yoongi sucked in a cough to hide his laugh while jimin choked, red wine spraying from the blonde’s mouth back into his glass. “oh my shitt—”

jungkook didn’t even flinch. just watched, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly as the waitress scrambled to collect the fallen cash, her cheeks Ruby red, eyes darting around in embarrassment.

“sorry,” you offered insincerely, slipping the glass from jungkook’s fingers and turning just enough to nudge the ground with your sandal. “missed one.”

she paused. then slowly shifted her gaze to the lone fifty half-buried in the sand, wedged right under your foot.

you lifted your sandal, and like the good girl she was, she picked it up with trembling fingers and scrambled to her feet without another word.

jimin was red-faced and wheezing while his boyfriend tried to feed him water to calm him down. jungkook turned his head slowly from the retreating server to his evil girlfriend and leaned in to kiss your neck. “you’re a bitch,” he murmured fondly against your skin.

you hummed, leaning back into his mouth. “acting like you don’t love it.”

his lips dragged slowly up your neck to your ear, voice dropping low. “i love you.”

you set his glass on the table, hands sliding up and down the thick arms wrapped around your waist. “yeah?” you breathed. “how much?”

his fingers drummed lazily along your bare side before slipping lower. and lower. until the pads dipped beneath the waistband of your skirt. “lots.”

you arched subtly into his hold, but your hand shot out to catch his wrist, nails lightly denting the pretty veins that fed into his tattooed forearm. “don’t,” you murmured amusedly. “you’ll scar your poor assistant, baby.”

across the table, jimin was mid laugh at something his boyfriend said, too caught up in his own tipsy joy to notice jungkook’s fingers halfway to your pussy. if yoongi suspected anything, he didn’t mention it, just adjusted the glasses perched on his pretty nose.

your evil boyfriend hummed low against your ear. “m’sure it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.”

you didn’t quite get the chance to dwell on how unfortunately right he was, because without warning, he dug his blunt nails into the plush skin of your inner thigh, right over the inking of his name.

you sucked in a sharp breath through your nose, shooting him a little glare over your shoulder. “baby,” you warned.

he didn’t stop. his fingers moved slow and unhurried as they slid into the seam of your already wet thong. you choked on a laugh - a breathhy, scandalous little noise that barely slipped out around a moan.

his fingertips slid between your soft folds, tracing devilishly and gentle like he had all the time in the world and absolutely no morals. you grabbed his hand.

“stop it,” you hissed through a breath and flushed cheeks. you yanked the thing from under your skirt and brought it to your lap, turning to smush a messy kiss to his pout before he could complain. he immediately tried to deepen it, tongue brushing your bottom lip to get inside.

“be patient,” you whispered around a nibble of his plush lower lip. “we have the whole night, my love.”

he grunted lowly, like he was absolutely suffering and hadn’t already taken you twice this morning before leaving the suite. and once more at the secluded waterfall when you went for a dip before dinner. his fingers flexed in your lap, thumb dragging down your covered thigh like he was trying to remember what it felt like... the little sookie.

but he didn’t argue. so you gave your grump one more kiss before turning back to the boys across the table, who were now so deep in their bubble it was like you weren’t even there.

yoongi was slowly wiping a streak of wine from the corner of jimin’s mouth with his thumb before quickly sucking it off. and jimin - drunk, glowing, lovesick jimin - blinked up at him like he’d hung every single star in the sky. then he surged forward and smashed his lips to the elder’s.

there was tongue, there was wetness, there was a smothered sound of surprise that yoongi swallowed whole before adjusting and tilting his head to let jimin deepen the kiss. jimin let out a soft moan, his whole upper body curling into yoongi’s hold.

you shook your head with a quiet laugh. “okay, looks like we’ll be getting out of here sooner than i thought,” you murmured, head tilting at the very public makeout sesh across from you.

jungkook hummed behind you, his head now tucked into the crook of your neck, breath warm and ticklish as you continued.

“they’re one tongue suck away from fucking right in fr—oh. oop, yep. wow. okay-”

you blinked as jimin’s tongue buried itself deeper into yoongi’s mouth, hands tangled in his hair. yoongi’s palms had found his boyfriend’s tiny waist, and the short distance between their chairs was clearly too much because jimin was now fully straddling his lap.

“jiminie,” you laughed, lobbing a grape at his back as he wrapped his arms around yoongi’s neck and started a quick grind. “oh my god, baby, stop him! they’re drunk and he’s gonna be so embarrassed- oh for fuck’s sak—jimin!”

perm taglist #1 @4noirre @aalisiyahxstar @alessioayla @angeljmnie @apobangpogirlyyy @babigriin @canarystwin @crazy-eight17 @crisle19 @cuntessaiii @dna-black-and-blue @dutifullybeautifulperson @elinaki92 @epsilonx1 @fangirl1994 @fr0ggieth1nk @futuristicenemychaos @gaebestie @granataepfelchen @jaebae420 @jenniebyrubies @joonwater @jungkookmyoneandonlybaby @junecat18 @kimjennie @kissyfacekoo @kooeuphoria @leire-mia @lizzikoo @lllucere @lovieku @mar-lo-pap @matt122806 @mellyyyyyyx @mila-williamsblog @mimi1097 @mochibites00 @morosisxx @myjungkookthighs @nen-nyy @nikidream24 @nikkinikj @parapiop7 @photogenius-530 @rjsmochii @rpwprpwprpwprw

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wvnternvghtt · 11 days ago

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CURRENT BOYFRIEND ⋆ JJK

the one where you're the ultimate little prankster and your boyfriend doesn't find you very funny

PAIRING toxic au [ rich ! jk x brat gf ! reader ]

GENRE fluff & smut i think [ mdni / 1.3k ]

CONTENT based on this ask, can be read as a standalone, oc does the 'my current bf' tiktok trend on jk and he does not likey, mutually possessive red flag couple btw, cursing, sexual language, brief overview of oc getting absolutely fawked raw at the end, yet another one of my couples makes a sex tape, is god trying to tell me something

A/N hello my angels… this is my formal apology for lying about the toxic 5 drop 😭 i'm saur sorry omfg but she's still on her way, i promise!!!! love you <3

you’re laying in your boyfriend’s bed after a long day, his body curled around you from behind, eyes closed and sleepy after a shower and a couple rounds. tiktok’s open on low volume, your phone resting against the pillow as you scroll aimlessly.

jungkook’s warm chest is pressed to your back, arm draped over your waist, face tucked into your neck like a big baby while he rests in your scent. every so often you giggle at a video you find particularly funny, lifting a hand to scratch his messy hair when he kisses your throat at the sound.

before you both decide to turn in, you take it upon yourself to initiate your little prank, oh so sneakily opening your camera app. “baby,” you whisper sweetly as you start the recording, “we’re gonna do this cute tiktok trend livi sent me.”

he just hums, doesn’t open his eyes. you lift a hand to pat his warm cheek, then tilt your head and kiss it. your eyes flick to the camera, nose scrunching at how hot you two look together.

but then you notice your nipple’s kinda poking out of your bra from when he lazily shoved it back up earlier after sucking on them for a little. oop. you adjust it slightly, aim the camera a bit higher, and keep the recording going.

“hiiii guys,” you bite your lip to stop from laughing at how stupid you sound, “today my current boyfriend and i are going to do the ‘guess what i’m thinking’ challenge-”

you feel him tense behind you before his eyes even open. in the reflection of the screen, his expression is puzzled, but then he blinks and realises you’re filming. so you quickly go into salvage mode, chucking the phone down on the blanket and pretending to struggle.

“oh, fuck.. i don’t- what, um, let me restart, sorry baby-”

jungkook shifts behind you, a frown now forming on his pretty face. “the fuck,” he mumbles, pulling back slightly. “what?”

you shake your head quickly. “baby, i accidentally- i don’t know what that was, uh... i think i saw something earlier… let me just-”

you reach for the phone, but he instanly covers it with his bigger hand. you glance down and see it’s still recording, very pleased and still trying to bite back a giggle.

“current boyfriend?” he repeats incredulously, moving to sit up properly now. the blanket slides down his big, yummy torso, and you almost bite your lip at the delicious sight before remembering the task at hand.

“baby, no, i didn’t- uh- i-” you pull your best fake stutter, and god, it even sounds fake to your ears... but somebody hand you your fucking oscar, because your boyfriend doesn’t seem to recognise that right now.

“current boyfriend.” he laughs under his breath. a low, dark kind of laugh, a delectable mixture of amusement and anger.

he reaches for the phone to delete the video, and that’s when you all but launch forward, grabbing it first and leaning back out of his reach. you’re just trying to keep it recording, but your furious man interprets the action as you attempting to hide your phone from him. and now, he’s fucking pissed.

his jaw locks. “y/n,” he says like he doesnt know your passcode and the passwords to all your socials. “give me your phone.”

you pout, shake your head, turn slightly away from him. you can feel him fuming behind you while you try not to laugh, the edge of the camera still catching his hard face as he glares.

he presses his chest to your back again and reaches for the phone once more causing you to squeal and switch hands, hanging it off the bed like a menace.

“no baby!!! you’re not going through my phone! i just misspoke-”

“i wasn’t even going to,” jungkook spits, scoffing as he grabs your bare stomach and easily drags you right back into his grasp. “but now i fucking am.”

he’s still cussing behind you while you wiggle and giggle like a lunatic, stretching as far as possible with your arm off the bed. he grabs your wrist and now you’re both wrestling, your ass grinding against his very much now-present dick through his briefs while you cling stubbornly to the device.

“give it to me,” he growls. “give me the phone before i fucking smash it, y/n.”

you can’t stop laughing. you know he’s mad - like mad mad - because even when you turn in a last ditch attempt to distraact him by smushing your lips together (which always works...) he barely lets your tongue slide into his mouth for half a second before pulling away. oh how rude.

he flips you onto your back with a scoff and snatches the phone from your hand like its a loaded gun. you grunt into the mattress as you flop over, hair a mess, bralette twisted and boob nearly out again.

he sits back against the headboard with the phone, about to scroll through it like a sexy psycho.

and you know there’s no fucking way you can get it back from him. his strength is fucked. and when he’s mad? unearthly fucked. so you try your final card… because if he deletes it, your entire struggle was for nothing!

“wait, baby!” you cry. “wait, tigerlily!!”

your boyfriend freezes instantly, thumb hovering over the X button before his head turns to you in confusion. you’ve had sex one thousand and fifty-seven times, and you’ve only used your safe word once before.

you exhale when you see the video still intact. “it was a prank, baby...” you say, voice soft as you crawl into his lap.

your bralette is still misaligned, giving him a full show, but you’re too focused on defusing the nuke in his hand. “don’t delete it, pleasee baby. i wanna watch it back. you were so sexy, my love...”

he just shakes his head at you slowly, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek while you gently pull the phone from his grip. once you see it’s still recording, you grin happily and climb over to prop it up against the bedside lamp so you’re both in frame.

then you mount his big, beefy body again, hands sliding up his warm chest. “or...” you whisper sultrily, leaning down to rub your nose against his pretty one, “we could take the video in a different direction?”

his hands come to your ass, gripping both cheeks over your little panties with those inky hands. he’s pulling you against his now half hard length - honestly, jungkook’s default state whenever you guys are in bed - and his eyes haven’t left yours. they’re still searching, still confirming whether or not he believes you.

you hum and brush your pouty lips down his jaw, letting them trail to his neck as your big bratty eyes flit to the camera. “can show them how good my current boyfriend fucks m—”

you don’t quite get to finish your sentence.

your forever boyfriend has you on your back instantly, panties torn off like wrapping paper, his black briefs shoved down just enough to reveal your forever cock.

you grin merrily through the hard fucking in missionary, through the getting flipped onto your tummy and both asscheeks spanked raw while drilled doggystyle, through the cumming twice on his dick before he makes you beg him for his load, punching your abused g-spot with every snap of his big hips.

when he barks at you to tell him who the fuck this pussy belongs to, you cry out his name with a capital J. when he orders you to tell him who the fuck he is - and because you are nothing if not a little brat - you cry out my fucking husband...

you relish in the loud grunt he lets out at your words, savour the hot cum he instantly paints your inner walls with, moan in dazed delight as your greedy pussy sucks up the reward she so desperately yearns for.

and best of all, the recording stays on for the entire thing.

2K notes · View notes

wvnternvghtt · 11 days ago

Text

TOXIC ⋆ CHAPTER FOUR (m)

the one where you call him a fucking liar, and he lugs you up the fucking stairs

pairing: rich ! jungkook x brat gf ! reader

genre: possessive love / estab. relo / social media au

content: written chapter, around 4k, much shouting, much cussing, oc loses her shit, but when does she not, brat tamer jk isn't having any of that, but when is he ever, kinda sexually explicit flashback, backstory context on their relo and The Incident™, jk is so disgustingly obsessed, like lowkey stalker level umm, some juicy emails that took me three hours to compose, and i do this for a living, jung julie is over party, miss yn sees to that herself, extended a/n here <3

prev episode ⋅ profiles & story warnings ⋅ next episode

TODAY . . .

jungkook’s never driven so fast in his fucking life. it’s about ten past seven, and he’s just finished chucking the shop keys at danny cho with a command to lock up before getting into his truck and whipping out of the car park.

the streets are not bare. at least, not enough for him to bypass concern when he flies past the speed limit signs at double what’s listed. but care, he does not. if he fails to reach his destination before the only temper that gives his one a run for its money explodes... well then he’ll lose everything. and spoiler alert, that just won’t be fucking happening.

so he’s currently praying to every higher power and holier spirit up there that your phone is off. that for once in your goddamn fucking life, you actually listen to him.

the universe, however, chuckles at such a wish.

when his phone blares through the car’s bluetooth, he clicks his tongue and answers. “baby, turn—”

“tell me she’s fucking lying.”

your voice is so deadly low it makes his jaw tick. this won’t be easy, and he knows that. but he tries anyway. “baby—”

“tell me she’s fucking lying, jungkook!!!!” you scream before he can start a second word.

his grip tightens on the steering wheel. “i’m not saying shit until i’m right in front of you,” he grits. “you’re not running from me. you wanna yell, baby? you can fuckin yell at me in person—”

“you don’t get to call the fucking shots right now, jungkook!” your voice is cracked open amd shaking.

he hears the pacing, the panic, the way your breath hitches when your fingers rake through your hair like they always do when you’re livid. “tell me she’s lying right now or i swear to god, we’re done, jungkook. like actually done.”

he stays silent. you hear his car accelerate through the receiver and your hand clamps tighter around your phone.

“tell me- t-tell me she’s lying, baby,” your voice breaks. “you didn’t sleep with her. you wouldn’t sleep with her.”

his heart sinks. of course he wouldn’t, baby. not like that. don’t be stupid.

two minutes. he just has to keep you there for two more fucking minutes.

“baby, i need you to—”

“stop fucking stalling!” you snap. “say yes or no, or i’m hanging up and i’m taking my neighbour’s car and i’ll be fucking gone before you get here.”

“no, you fucking won’t—”

“DID YOU FUCKING SLEEP WITH HER???”

for a moment, you don’t hear anything besides your own erratic heartbeat and the sound of his heavy engine working overtime. then he speaks, and it’s just the engine now.

“yes.”

he takes a sharp right, your street finally coming into view.

“yes, i slept with her before we got together. no, i didn’t know it was fucking her. yes, it was the most forgettable sex of my life. and yes, i was fucking obsessed with you when i did it, baby.”

his tyres scream against the curb while you’re dead silent. he pulls up fast and hard outside your building. “you need to fucking listen to me, baby. nobody has ever meant anything to me before—”

click.

“mother fuck!” jungkook growls, slamming his fist against the steering wheel and hurling his phone to the floor of the truck. he skids to a stop, parks diagonally across your driveway so you can’t escape, and throws the door open before jumping out.

you’re already storming outside - barefoot, hair down and messy, tiny pyjama shorts and one of his shirts riding up at the waist. your face is bare, but your eyes are bloodshot and he can see the fury steaming out of your every pore. god, you’re so fucking hot, he thinks.

then he sees you beelining for your neighbour’s car, and maaaybe his vision turns a little red. just as you yank the handle of the jeep, he’s right there slamming it closed with his palm.

“how the fuck do you have jin’s keys?” he spits, snatching them from your hand while you screech and shove. he doesn’t even blink before hurling the fob straight into the garden ten feet away.

“fucking psycho! get the fuck away from me!” you scream, shoving his chest with both hands. he barely fucking moves. steps closer, even.

“didn’t know it was her? god, you’re such a dirty fucking liar!” anothr shove. “fuck you! is that what the tattoo was, huh? just trying to relive the moment? feel up her tits for old time’s sake??? oh my fucking god—”

he stands still as your fists slam weakly into him, tears streaming down your gorgeously furious face. “you evil, lying fucking cheater!!!”

he grabs your wrists gently, pulling your flailing arms to his chest as you sob and thrash. “i have never cheated on you,” his growl is low and seething. “i will never cheat on you. don’t ever fucking say that again.”

you try to push him off but he doesn’t budge in the slightest. instead, he bends and grabs you by the waist, lifting you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. one hand grips your bare thighs, the other holds you in place by your ass.

“put me-uhgh—put me down, jungkook!” you shriek, fists pummelling his big back. “i hate you! you’re an ugly fucking cheater!!”

his cock twitches. “yeah? you think so?” he mocks with an amused scoff. “think i’d cheat on the person i’m spending the rest of my life with? you’re cute, baby.”

you hiccup through an upside down sob as he starts climbing the stairs to your flat. “you wanna hit me, crazy girl?” he hums, soothing a hand over your left asscheek as you wriggle and thrash, then giving it a firm smack. “just wait till we’re in private, hm? then you can hit me as hard as you want..”

you let out a grunt and your palm slaps his ass so hard it echoes through the stairwell.

he smiles.

THREE-ISH YEARS AGO. . .

jungkook met her first.

julie’s loud, pretty in that snobby girl kind of way, has a giggle that makes guys think they’re winning something Grand. the first time namjoon debuted at luminous, he invited all his friends and gave them plus-ones to the vip section to watch his set. joon knew hobi, yoongi, and olivia. hobi brought julie, yoongi brought jungkook, and livi brought you.

you hadn’t run into jungkook that night. you and olivia had arrived while he was in the bathroom, and by the time he got back to the section, you were gone. when he took the blunt from yoongi, he caught in passing what he’d later realise was olivia telling yoongi that you’d only come to say hi but had to leave early because of your loser-ass boyfriend.

jungkook didn’t think anything of it at the time. he didn’t know you, and frankly, he didn’t care. though future jungkook would fucking hate himself for going to piss before getting the chance to meet you. he could’ve had two more entire months with you in his life. because two more entire months later was when he next saw you again.

you walked into the club with olivia like you owned the fucking thing - little black dress, clear glossy lips. your skin glowed, your eyes were big and devious, and he knew absolutely instantly that he was absolutely fucked. you looked like a storm. and he wanted to stand in it.

he hadn’t seen you before - he would’ve known if he had. he wanted to approach you that very first night, and he came very close to it multiple times. but deep down, he knew you were taken. he noticed it in the way you turned your head when someone asked your name or got too close, the way you kept your phone in your hand or never stayed past 1am.

patience was not a virtue jeon jungkook possessed, and he’d be the very first to admit it. but this - you - were something he would wait an ungodly amount of time for. he knew you’d be his before you even came to know his name. but that was okay. you’d get there, baby.

after that night, you came back to the club every second saturday. it was livi’s idea - a way to shake off the stress of work and be somewhere that wasn’t your job, your apartment, or your shitty underwhelming relationship. the lights were loud, the drinks were strong, and the music was surprisingly good, even with livi’s newer dj friend on deck.

you pretended not to notice, but of course you fucking did. subtlety, like patience, sat at the very bottom of jungkook’s most prominent traits. and care, he did not. you felt the way he watched you but didn’t approach. he relished the way you keened when his gaze burned your body but never touched.

you were magnetic, he thought. something about your laugh, or your little pout at the price of the cocktails. something in the way your eyes swept the room and landed on him for a dirty, lingering second before you looked away.

for two months and two weeks, he watched, he waited, and he obsessed. you didn’t cheat, and sure, he respected that or whatever. but god, he didn’t fucking want to.

then one saturday it happened. you came to the club with your boyfriend, and jungkook saw him before he even saw you. tall, classically handsome, hand glued to your waist like he was flaunting his property toall the clubgoers. jungkook’s grip tightened around his drink.

when you arrived, you barely smiled or danced. just sipped your drink and checked your phone every so often. jungkook watched as your boyfriend nodded at your best friend when she leaned down to talk to you, probably asking if you were okay. your best friend, who he came to know through namjoon as olivia, gave your boyfriend a dirty look. one hand held the guy she came with, the other raised to create some space between her and your man. jungkook tilted his head in intrigue.

he watched you twist your lips and shake your head at your boyfriend before shimmying between them both. you nodded at olivia, wrapped your arms around her neck, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. he saw olivia sigh in defeat before rubbing your hip and throwing one last evil look toward your boyfriend before disappearing with the guy on her arm.

you looked so unrelaxed. your dress was shorter, tighter, like maybe you were trying to feel something. like maybe you wanted to remember what it felt like to be wanted.

and when that motherfucker leaned down and kissed you, that’s when jungkook snapped.

he didn’t even remember how she ended up in the stall with him. some girl who’d been eyeing him for the last thirty minutes, maybe more. she said she was clean, he couldn’t have given a fuck less. he wrapped it up, fucked her angry, didn’t even finish properly.

despite her looking a little familiar, jungkook didn’t ask her name. but he’d come to know it about three years later as jung julie. and when jung julie tried to follow him out of the bathroom, he dipped into the crowd to get away.

when he stepped out of the swarm of bodies, the first thing he saw was you standing in the corner alone. he turned to find your boyfriend at the bar ordering drinks, leaning over the counter a little too comfortably, making the bartender laugh a little too easily. jungkook watched from a few feet away, rage boiling under his dirty, itchy skin.

so maybe he slid ₩100k into the hand of the random girl next to him. maybe he told her to go tell you what she just "overheard." maaaybe he encouraged her to exaggerate a little. who knew? not him.

but what he did know was that two saturdays later, you were back. and you were all alone.

you found jungkook in three seconds flat, and when your eyes locked, his head tilted slightly in curiosity. there was something different about you. he could feel it in the way you finally acknowledged instead of ignoring the heat that crackled in the air when he drank in your figure.

huh. you were fucking single.

ten minutes later, he was pulling you out the side door and pressing between your legs as he sucked on your tongue in the alley next to the club.

twenty minutes after that, he had you grinding your soaked panties over his jeans in the backseat of his car. you told him you were clean, he wouldn’t have given a fuck if you weren’t. he took you raw and rough like he’d been waiting two years instead of two months. then when you came on his dick, he pulled out just before he was about to nut, and you swallowed his load right down your dirty little throat.

thirty minutes after that, dazed and as wired-up as a fucking dog, jungkook drove you back to his place and fucked into you three more times before finally calling timeout.

it was the weekend, you didn’t have work the next day, and his bed was the comfiest thing that had ever touched your skin. so you passed right out with a sore, satisfied pussy and a warm, happy tummy when his big arms slinked around it.

you woke up some hours later to find jungkook pulling on a shirt, his damp hair amess.

“come with me to my shop,” he asked(?), brushing a wispy strand off your cheek before buttoning his tee.

“why?” you hummed, watching him through a cute, sleepy smile.

he leaned down and kissed your dry lips with his minty ones. “cause i don’t want you to go yet.”

so you didn’t go yet. you never really did.

to this day, you and jungkook still haven’t even had the official boyfriend fucking girlfriend talk. he’d been yours ever since that night. and you, his. just, maaaybe... a couple months earlier.

NOW. . .

your head is spinning after your boyfriend explained everything to you - some of it while climbing the stairs to your flat, the rest outside the door when you refused to let him in. once you calmed down slightly and he dug your house key out of your bra with a roll of his eyes, he picked you up like the dramatic brat you are and plopped you on the sofa like a pillow he was done arguing with.

now you’re watching him grumpily as he walks over to the door and locks it before chucking the key onto your kitchenette counter. he takes his time peeling off his boots, lining them up next to your sandals by the mat like he lives here.

then he pads back to the couch, sits down beside you, and grabs your ankles to throw your legs over his lap. you scoff, trying to kick free, but he just clamps a big hand around your shin and starts rubbing lazy circles into your skin.

“stop touching me,” you mumble, staring straight ahead at nothing.

“no,” he returns calmly, watching your pretty face instead of your legs. “this is mine. i’m touching what’s mine.”

your head whirls toward him and you shoot a dirty look. “was she yours when your dick was in her, too?”

his jaw clenches, but he doesn’t bite. just exhales through his nose and keeps rubbing your soft legs to keep himself content.

“wasn’t in her, baby,” he says flatly. “it was a condom. in a dirty ass fucking bathroom. it lasted ten minutes and i barely looked her in the eye.”

“stop trying to make it sound like a public service,” you snap, unsuccessfully yanking your leg away. “you still did it.”

your boyfriend nods, his pretty eyes low. “yeah, i did. i fucked the first crazy girl i could find because the one i wanted was already taken.” you continue to glare at him as he rubs an inky thumb over your heel. “but i’ve only ever loved one crazy girl.”

your mouth presses into a line as your teeth grit, and you hate how your eyes sting. he lifts your ankle and presses a kiss to it, then one to your shin, then one to your knee.

“i know how you feel, baby, cause it’s the same anger that takes over me when i think about your cunt of an ex.” your eyes hood as he presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh before shifting until you’re lying back on the couch and he’s hovering above you.

“but i need you to know that when it comes to other people, any other person,” he pauses to kiss your neck, “before or after you, baby.. they’re fucking nothing to me.”

you blink slowly, then tilt your head just enough to mutter, “after me?” your voice is pointed and offended, fingers creeping up to dig into his hip with the tips of your claws.

his smirk curves slowly into your skin as he kisses along your throat. “just wanted to make it sound like you had a say,” he murmurs, lips brushing your pulse as he takes a deep inhale of your skin. “we’re only just making up, baby... should probably wait at least a night before going back into you don’t have a choice mode, mm?”

your fingers admit defeat before your lips do, maroon acrylics sliding up his strong back before tangling in his hair. “god, you better be telling the fucking truth, jungkook. i’ll kill you and make her fucking watch.”

he sucks a little on your warm throat to draw out his favourite noise before replying. “i don’t lie to you, baby. don’t need to.. get in enough trouble as it is.”

you hum in agreement, letting him eat at your flesh a moment longer, then dragging his dirty lips right down to yours.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] CC: [email protected], [email protected] Date: 25-08-2021 Subject: Formal Complaint Regarding Employee Misconduct Attachment(s): BBW_Complaint_JJulieThreats.pdf, VIP_ID_YN.pdf

Dear Bath & Body Works Korea Management Team,

I do hope this email finds you well.

I’m writing to formally raise a complaint regarding one of your employees, Assistant Manager Jang Julie, currently based at your Itaewon Centre store.

Over the past week, I’ve received a series of unsolicited and inappropriate messages from Miss Jang across multiple digital platforms. These communications – screenshots of which I’ve attached for reference – include repeated attempts to interfere in my personal relationship, obsessive and hostile language, and intentionally distressing behaviour.

I understand this may appear outside the immediate scope of her professional role. However, Miss Jang’s actions are directly tied to her position within your company. The attachedments include messages that were sent not only from her verified personal Instagram account, but also from a mobile number publicly listed as her professional contact on your company’s website. The content of these messages, if you would care to skim through, are defaming, obsessive, and, quite frankly, alarmingly hurtful.

Additionally, her social media profiles feature dozensof public photos and videos of herself in Bath & Body Works uniform, actively presenting herself as a managerial employee of the brand. Given how visibly she associates herself with your company, it becomes increasingly difficult to separate her personal actions from her professional representation of Bath & Body works.

Given this context, I hope you can see how her behaviour is not only personally inappropriate, but also damaging to your brand’s public image - particularly when viewed by customers who may assume her conduct reflects the values and culture of your company.

As someone working in public relations (specifically as a PR Assistant at OMIÉ, a well respected and female-led lifestyle brand), I find it deeply concerning that this kind of targeted harassment is being carried out not only by someone in a position of power, but from a woman representing a company built on care, comfort, and trust.

For context, I have also attaced my VIP Membership ID, which reflects my longstanding loyalty to your brand across several branches in Seoul. However, given the emotional strain this situation has placed on both myself and my boyfriend, Jeon Jungkook (owner of Jeon Studios: Tattoos & Piercings), I no longer feel comfortable supporting a company that allows individuals like her to act under its name.

As someone closely affiliated with my future spouse’s prominent local business that holds a very dedicated and vocal client base, I feel that I have a responsibility to share this experience with our community should it remain unresolved. I sincerely hope it doesn’t come to that.

I’d appreciate a timely response confirming receipt of this complaint, along with information on how this matter is being addressed and what steps will be taken to resolve the harm caused.

Kind regards,

Y/ln Y/n PR Assistant | OMIÉ [email protected]

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] CC: [email protected] Date: 06-09-2021 Subject: Re: Formal Complaint Regarding Employee Misconduct Attachment(s): BBW_Gift_Voucher.pdf, Updated_VIP_Confirmation.pdf

Dear Ms Y/ln,

Thank you so much for getting in touch, and for your patience while we looked into this matter.

We’d like to begin by offering our sincere apologies for the unacceptable experience you and your partner, Mr Jeon, have recently endured in connection with one of our former employees, Ms Jang Julie.

Following your complaint submitted on 25-08-2021, our team carried out a full internal review. This include two separate HR meetings with Ms Jang and a thorough investigation in line with our company policies and code of conduct.

As of 03-09-2021, we can confirm that Ms Jang’s employment has been formally terminated under our employee misconduct policy and and failure to uphold the standards expected of Bath & Body Works management staff. We take this type of behaviour extremely seriously, and want to assure you that additional training and monitoring measures are being put in place across our Seoul based stores to help prevent similar issues in future.

We truly regret the distress this situation has caused both you and your boyfriend, and in recognition of your longstanding loyalty to our brand, would like to offer the following as a gesture of goodwill:

A one-year complimentary renewal of your VIP Membership (attached confirmation included)

A ₩500,000 gift voucher, valid at all Bath & Body Works Korea locations and online stores (voucher file attached)

While we fully acknowledge that no gesture can undo what occurred, we hope that this will go some way towards reaffirming our commitment to you as a valued customer.

Please dont hesitate to reach out if you have any further questions or if there’s anything more we can do to support you, and we truly hope to restore your confidence in our service.

Warmest regards,

Hana Lim Customer Care Supervisor Bath & Body Works Korea

[email protected] 555-2284-2639

leave feedback or i'm going on a seven month hiatus xx love you lots and lots!! :*

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wvnternvghtt · 11 days ago

Text

TOXIC ⋆ CHAPTER TWO (m)

the one where you flee and jungkook follows

pairing: rich ! jungkook x brat gf ! reader genre: possessive love / estab. relo / social media au read: the character profiles & warnings before proceeding

- link to the nsfw pic mentioned

prev episode ⋅ masterlist ⋅ next episode

reblogs, feedback, and likes make the chapters come quicker x love you

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wvnternvghtt · 11 days ago

Text

TOXIC ⋆ CHAPTER ONE (m)

the one where you block his ass and he's not having any of that

pairing: rich ! jungkook x brat gf ! reader genre: possessive love / estab. relo / social media au read: the character profiles & warnings before proceeding.

prev episode ⋅ currently...2021 ⋅ next episode

ps. dan is oc's building manager

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wvnternvghtt · 16 days ago

Text

Pink Hearts & Black Clouds || jjk. — 02

Love me at my lowest, I’ll love you when you’re barely holding on

↠ Pairing : Jungkook x Reader

↠ Summary : Jeon Jungkook is the epitome of a brooding grunge. Moody, distant, and always a little too sarcastic. A grumpy, tattooed college student who barely tolerates anyone… except you. Somehow, the girl who’s a whirlwind of pink hearts and strawberry lipgloss is the one who keeps dear Jungkook on his toes.

But you must admit… behind that gruff exterior, there’s a side of him only you get to see—gentle, caring, and ready to spoil you in his own way. Everyone else may see him as the tough guy with a permanent scowl, but you know better. Jungkook’s heart? It’s all yours.

↠ Genre : established relationship au, college au, grunge!bf x bimbo!gf, angst, fluff & smut

↠ Word count : 7K

↠ Warnings : swearing, explicit sexual content, riding, oral (f receiving), breast play, intense makeout, multiple orgasms, pet names, dom!guk x sub!reader, praise kink, both of them have a very filthy mouth …

↠ A/n : Hi there ; here is chapter 2! It’s been so long so I both thank you for your patience and apologise for the delay. Chapter 2 takes more of a fun ride and gives you the perfect insight to how chaotic life is for our doll and Bakugo~ There is a scene that is inspired by the voting scene from Gossip Girl. I just felt that it really worked for the two of them :) Your feedback / comments are always appreciated. Thank you for giving my story a chance & happy reading 🦢.

↠ Song : ‘Closer’ by Jungkook / ‘Good for you’ by Selena G

❧ Chapter 02 : lace & chains

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Three days before voting day

You burst into Jungkook’s apartment like a whirlwind, carrying an armful of colourful flyers that threaten to spill onto the floor. Your oversized tote bag clinks as you toss it onto his couch, the sound of perfume samples and random trinkets filling the silence.

Jungkook, seated cross-legged on the couch in his usual black hoodie and shorts, barely glances up from his phone. His dark hair falls messily over his eyes, and his lip ring catches the dim light as he scrolls through his FYP on TikTok.

“I’ve decided,” you announce dramatically, your voice ringing through his apartment. “I’m running for president.”

The statement hangs in the air like a firework that hasn’t yet exploded. Jungkook’s eyes rise slowly from his magazine, his brow arching in disbelief.

“President of what?” he deadpans, leaning back into the cushions.

“Student president!” you exclaim, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You drop your flyers onto the coffee table with a flourish, scattering glitter and pastel-colored paper everywhere.

“Ms. Choi mentioned it today? Were you not listening?” You roll your eyes, taking off your cream bowknot coat.

Jungkook picks up one of the flyers, his tattooed fingers smudging the edge as he squints at it. The text is scrawled in a glittery font so loud it’s practically yelling: Vote for Me, Because I’m Cute! Beneath it is a selfie of you holding a puppy, your face framed by glitter stickers and cartoon hearts.

Whose puppy is that?

“These look like ads for a bake sale,” he says flatly, turning the flyer sideways like it might reveal a hidden agenda.

“They’re campaign flyers,” you correct, hands on your hips.

He gives you a pointed look, holding the flyer up. “It says, ‘Vote for me because I’m cute and I’ll listen to your problems.’”

“Exactly!” you chirp, sitting beside him and crossing your legs. “Who wouldn’t want a cute president?”

Jungkook stares at you, his expression unreadable. “So, you’re running to lead the entire cohort because you’re… cute?”

“And I’m kind,” you add, smiling sweetly.

Jungkook exhales, setting the flyer down like it’s too much for him to process. “You do realise this isn’t just a popularity contest, right? There’s actual work involved.”

“I know that,” you reply with a wave of your hand. “That’s why I have a plan. And guess what? You’re gonna be my campaign manager!”

His laugh is instant and sharp, the kind that makes your pout deepen. “Yeah, no. There’s no way I’m getting involved in this mess.”

“Why not?” you whine, tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Because,” he says, shaking his head, “this is doomed from the start. And when it crashes and burns, I don’t want my name attached to it.”

You gasp dramatically, playing with your pearl necklace like he’s insulted your very soul. “I can’t believe you! You’re supposed to support me, not tear me down!”

“I’m trying to save you from yourself,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

But your determination is unshakable. “You’ll see, Koo. I’m going to win, and when I do, you’ll regret not being by my side from the start.”

“You genuinely serious about this?”

“I am! I already told Taehyung and Jimin, and they’re helping me with posters tomorrow!”

That makes him pause. “Taehyung and Jimin?”

“Yes.”

“They’re helping you run for student president?”

“Of course!”

“I regret making you all meet.” Jungkook gulps, rubbing his hands over his face. “This is just going to be a complete train wreck.”

“No, it’s not!” you argue, stomping your foot for emphasis. “I’m going to win, and then you’ll see. Everyone will love me as their president!”

“They already love you,” he says, exasperated.

“Exactly!” You beam, missing the sarcasm in his tone. “So you’re on board?”

He groans, now running his hand through his hair. “Fine. But only so I can stop you from embarrassing yourself too much.”

“Yay!” You jump onto the couch and throw your arms around him, planting a kiss on his cheek. “You’re the best!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, though his lips twitch into the faintest smile. “Now come here.”

Two days before voting day

The next day, Jungkook regrets everything.

You’re standing in the middle of campus with Taehyung and Jimin, holding up your new-and-improved campaign posters.

Well, “improved” is a stretch - Jungkook still thinks they look like ads for a daycare. Or was it a bake sale?

He stands stiffly in the middle of campus, hands stuffed into his black cargo pants as you, Taehyung, and Jimin flit around him like chaotic birds.

Taehyung is holding a stack of your revamped posters, and Jimin’s busy tying pink ribbons to the railings of the quad. And you? You’re smiling as though you’re the happiest person in the universe right now.

“Vote for Y/N: She’s cute, and she loves puppies!” Jimin reads aloud, snickering. “This is gold!”

“I do love puppies,” you say proudly, twirling a strand of hair.

Jungkook groans. “This is embarrassing.”

“Don’t be so grumpy, Koo,” Taehyung teases, snapping a picture of you holding up a sign. “You’re dating the future president. Show some pride.”

“Pride,” Jungkook repeats flatly, eyeing the glitter stuck to his hand. “Right.”

You tug on his arm, your lace-trimmed beige cardigan brushing against his tattooed sleeve. “Stop sulking and hand out some flyers!”

He doesn’t move. “Why did I agree to this?”

“Because you love me,” you say with a wink.

Jungkook groans but walks over anyway, taking a stack of flyers from your hands. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Believe it, Daddy,” Taehyung teases, earning a glare from Jungkook.

“Shut up.”

Taehyung just laughs, holding up his phone to take more pictures of you posing with your flyers.

“Make sure you get my good side!” you call out, striking a pose.

“They’re all your good side,” Jungkook mutters under his breath, though no one hears him.

“Okay, next we need to practice my speech,” you say, clapping your hands together.

“Speech?” Jungkook repeats, already dreading it.

“Yeah, for the debate,” you explain, but not without sending a glare Jungkook’s way.

Obviously there was going to be a speech!

Jimin’s eyes light up. “Oh, now this I’ve gotta see.”

That Same Evening

Later that evening, you’re sprawled out on Jungkook’s couch, surrounded by ribbons and glitter glue as you design yet another poster.

Your lace-trimmed socks dangle off the edge of the couch, while Jungkook sits on the floor, leaning against the coffee table with his laptop. His silver chain necklace gleams under the dim light, a sharp contrast to the pastel chaos surrounding him.

Jungkook is drained.

You, on the other hand, are still buzzing with excitement as you recap your “successful” campaign efforts on the walk home.

“Everyone was so nice!” you gush. “They all said they’d vote for me!”

“Mhm,” Jungkook says, not pointing out that most of those people were just being polite. And because they wanted a homemade brownie…

“And did you see how cute that dog was? I can’t believe I got to pet it!”

“That’s what you’re focusing on?”

“Obviously. Oh, and Jimin said he’d help me edit my speech later tonight!”

Jungkook groans. “Why do I feel like this is going to end in disaster?”

“It won’t,” you insist, grabbing his arm and flashing him a confident smile. “You’ll see, Koo. I’m going to be the best president ever!”

Jungkook sighs. He really doesn’t have the heart to tell you otherwise.

“Why do you want to do this, Doll?” he asks, glancing at you over the rim of his glasses.

“Because it’s fun, Bakugo” you reply, your voice muffled by the pen cap you’re holding in your mouth. “And because I’m going to win.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he mutters, though there’s a faint smile tugging at his lips. Your confidence deserved to be applauded.

You lean over, poking his cheek with a glittery finger. “You love it.”

He catches your wrist, his grip firm but gentle, and pulls your hand away. “I do love you. This? Not so much.”

Your eyes soften at his words, the teasing grin fading into something quieter. “You really do, don’t you?”

Just a few months ago, you couldn’t have imagined Jungkook looking you in the eyes and saying “I love you” with such steady, unshakable certainty.

He sighs, setting his laptop aside to look at you properly. “Yeah, I do. Even when you’re driving me insane with this campaign nonsense.”

You grin, leaning closer until your nose almost brushes his. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re the best campaign manager ever.”

“I’m not your campaign manager,” he grumbles, but his lips twitch into a smile when you kiss the corner of his mouth.

“You are! We need a team name,” you chirp, gazing off as you try and think of something. “Doll and Bakugo!”

The lace of your cardigan brushes against Jungkook’s heavy chain as you pull back, and for a moment, everything feels like it fits - your softness, his edge, the chaos you bring into his carefully ordered life.

“Lace and chains,” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head.

“What?” you ask, tilting your head, not exactly catching what Jungkook had said.

“Nothing.”

But the way he looks at you, with a mixture of exasperation and affection, says everything he can’t.

Voting Day Eve

The campus is filled with students, curiously walking around the hall examining the posters of all the class president candidates. Your station is right at the end, hard to miss due to all the pink.

You’re holding the poster in both hands, eyes wide with determination as you stand in front of Jungkook. “I can’t believe I’m actually running for president!”

Days later, the statement still hangs in the air like an uninvited guest. Jungkook stares at you, unblinking, while Taehyung and Jimin - because, of course, they’re here - exchange looks before bursting into laughter.

No one could believe this was actually happening.

“President? Of what?” Jungkook sarcastically asks, deadpan, voice full of that grunge skepticism that could level buildings.

“Of the whole class, obviously!” you announce, puffing out your chest like you’ve already won. “I’ve even got a - what’s it called - a manifesto!”

Taehyung’s practically chokes on his laughter. “You don’t even know what a manifesto is.”

You roll your eyes. “Yes Tae, I do! It’s, like, when you tell everyone what snacks you’ll bring to meetings and stuff.”

Jimin’s doubled over now, wheezing. “Snacks?!”

Jungkook’s still standing there, arms crossed, watching you like you’re an alien that just crash-landed in his life. “I still don’t get why you’re-. You can barely-” He stops himself, probably realising that anything he says will sound meaner than it’s meant to be.

“I can barely what?” You narrow your eyes at him, ready for a fight.

Jungkook sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can barely decide what to eat for breakfast without flipping a coin.”

“That’s called strategy,” you argue, pointing at him with your infamous glittery pink gel pen. “And don’t act like you wouldn’t benefit from me being in charge. I’d be the people’s president. Free parking for everyone!”

Taehyung raises his hand like a student in class. “There’s no paid parking on campus.”

“Then I’ll invent it! And then make it free again!” you declare triumphantly.

Jungkook groans, running a hand through his messy hair. “You don’t even know what you’re saying anymore.”

But your enthusiasm is unwavering. “Just you wait! I’m going to get elected and change this school forever.”

“What’s your slogan?” Jimin asks, still snickering.

You hold up your poster proudly. On it, in hot pink marker surrounded by glitter stickers, is your face in an unevenly drawn heart. Below it, the words: ‘She’s cute, so vote for her!’

Jungkook stares at the poster for a long moment, then looks back at you. “This is a joke, right?”

“It’s not a joke! Cute presidents are more approachable,” you explain, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“And what happens if you don’t win?” Taehyung teases.

You gasp, horrified. “I have to win. I’ve already planned my victory speech.”

“Let me guess,” Jungkook says flatly. “It’s just you saying, ‘Thank you for voting for me because I’m cute.’”

You blink at him, offended. “You think I’d be that shallow?”

“Yes,” all three of them say in unison.

You ignore them, flipping your hair over your shoulder. “Whatever. When I win, you’ll all be begging me for favours.”

“I can’t wait to see how this turns out,” Taehyung mutters, already texting someone.

Jungkook grabs the glitter-covered poster from your hands, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably presidential,” you correct, snatching it back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a campaign to run.”

Jungkook watches as you march off, shoulders square, your sparkly pen tucked behind your ear like a weapon. He shakes his head, muttering under his breath. “I can’t believe I’m dating this lunatic.”

“Hey,” Jimin says, leaning closer. “Admit it. You’d vote for her.”

Jungkook scoffs. “I’ve never voted for anyone. A day like that is a day off for me.”

However, later that afternoon, when you’re texting him about poster designs and debate outfits, he replies:

‘You’re an idiot.’

But when he sees your reply - selfie of you holding a new poster that reads ‘Vote for me because my boyfriend’s hot!’ - he can’t help but laugh.

Okay, maybe voting wouldn’t hurt after all.

That Same Evening

You’re walking through the campus courtyard with Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jimin, your campaign flyers clutched in your hands. The sun has started to dip, and you’re all finally heading home after another long day of plastering your posters everywhere you could think of.

Nearby, a group of students sits in a semi-circle on the grass, casually chatting. At first, you’re too busy laughing at something Jimin said to pay attention, but their conversation drifts over, loud enough for all of you to hear.

“As cute and nice as Y/N is,” one of the students says, their tone hesitant, “I just feel like we need someone serious for student president. Someone who’ll actually get things done.”

Hearing your name, you slow your steps, glancing over curiously.

Another student chimes in, nodding. “Yeah, I mean, she’s sweet and all, but this isn’t just a popularity contest, right? We need someone with a real plan.”

Around them, a couple of others murmur their agreement.

Before you can fully process what’s being said, Jimin throws his arm around your shoulders, tugging you close with a grin. “Y/N! You know what we need to do? Get you a campaign mascot. Like a dog! Or a tiger. You’d look great standing next to a tiger. So fierce!”

You blink up at him, momentarily distracted. “A tiger? Where am I supposed to get a tiger, Jimin?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got connections,” he says, waving his hand dramatically. “Just trust me.”

While you’re occupied with Jimin’s theatrics, Taehyung leans closer to Jungkook, lowering his voice. “You heard that, right? I’ve been hearing stuff like that all day. A lot of people aren’t planning to vote for her. She’ll be crushed.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightens as he glances back at the group of students. For a moment, his expression is unreadable. Then he lets out a low breath, shrugging. “Honestly, it might be for the best.”

Taehyung looks at him sharply. “What?”

“She doesn’t realise how much work this is going to be,” Jungkook says, his tone steady, almost detached. “She’s always in her own little world. I don’t think she understands what she’s getting into.”

Taehyung frowns but doesn’t argue. He knows Jungkook too well to push when he’s in one of his gruff moods. “Maybe,” he mutters, glancing back at you.

And there you are, smiling up at Jimin as he spins some absurd story about how he once met someone who owned a pet tiger. Your laughter rings out, light and carefree, completely oblivious to the conversation happening just feet away.

Jungkook’s gaze lingers on you for a moment too long. The corners of his mouth twitch, and something flickers in his eyes - an idea taking shape.

“Actually,” he begins, tone softening ever so slightly, “wait, never mind.”

Taehyung tilts his head, studying him. “You say somet, bro?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer. He’s already turning away, hands shoved into his pockets, a hint of determination in his stride.

Voting Day

The auditorium buzzes with anticipation as the student body crowds into the seats, the chatter growing louder with every passing second. You’re seated near the front, sandwiched between Jimin and Taehyung, your knee bouncing with nervous energy. Jungkook sits at the end of the row, his arms crossed as he leans back in his seat, his usual stoic expression betraying nothing.

The student council advisor steps up to the podium, clearing her throat as the microphone squeals. The noise quiets instantly, the crowd leaning forward in anticipation.

“Thank you all for joining us,” she begins, scanning the room. “After a record-breaking number of votes this year, it’s time to announce your new student president.”

You suck in a sharp breath, clutching Jimin’s arm in a death grip. “Oh my God, oh my God,” you whisper, your voice high-pitched and shaky.

“You’ve got this,” Jimin whispers back, patting your hand reassuringly. Taehyung gives you a thumbs-up, though his grin is teasing.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything. He’s staring straight ahead, his jaw tight, his fingers drumming against his armrest.

The advisor opens an envelope, the sound of ripping paper echoing through the silent room. “And the winner, with a significant margin, is…” She pauses, glancing at the paper before smiling broadly. “Y/L/N Y/N!”

For a moment, the words don’t register. The room erupts into applause, some laughter, and you sit frozen, your mouth slightly open as your brain scrambles to catch up.

“Wait… what?” you squeak, turning to Jimin.

“You won, dummy!” Jimin yells over the cheers, shaking your shoulders excitedly.

“I… I won?” you repeat, still stunned.

Taehyung laughs, shoving you out of your seat. “Go! Get up there before they think you passed out!”

Your legs feel like jelly as you make your way to the stage, your heart pounding in your chest. The applause grows louder, and you spot a few familiar faces cheering for you from the crowd.

The cheers from the crowd fill the air, and the stage is lit with bright light. You stand confidently beaming as you clap along with everyone else, your heart racing in disbelief. Flowers are handed to you by random students, and your smile could light up the entire quad.

This is it - the moment you’ve worked so hard for - even though you didn’t expect it to actually happen. But now, standing on the stage in front of all your classmates, your heart is a mix of excitement and pure shock. You don’t know how it happened, but here you are. You’ve won.

The advisor hands you the microphone, her smile encouraging. You glance out at the sea of faces, your eyes wide and slightly panicked.

“Erm… hi?” you say nervously, your voice echoing through the room.

The crowd laughs, and you relax slightly, your trademark grin breaking through. “I honestly don’t know what to say. I didn’t think I’d win - like, at all. But, um, thank you? Thank you so much for believing in me. I promise to make this the most fun year ever!”

More cheers erupt, and you can’t help but laugh, the sound bright and genuine. You feel like you’re on top of the world.

From his seat, Jungkook watches you, his expression softening as you beam at the crowd. Taehyung leans closer to him, nudging him with his elbow.

“You didn’t think she’d pull it off, huh?”

Jungkook smirks faintly, his gaze never leaving you. “Guess I underestimated her.”

Taehyung raises an eyebrow, but before he can respond, Jimin pipes up from Jungkook’s other side. “You’re proud of her, aren’t you?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but the hint of a smile remains. “Shut up.”

On stage, you clutch the microphone tightly, your confidence growing with every second. “And to everyone who didn’t think I could do this - haha! Joke’s on you!”

The crowd laughs and claps, your infectious energy impossible to resist. As you step back from the podium, your eyes scan the audience until they land on Jungkook.

He’s sitting back, his expression calm but his eyes warm, the faintest tilt of his head acknowledging you. And for a brief moment, everything else fades away.

You grin at him, your heart swelling with joy.

As you wave to the crowd and enjoy the praise, you feel like the luckiest person on earth. You’re so focused on taking it all in that you don’t even notice Jungkook leaving his seat to stand off to the side, leaning against a pillar and watching you from a distance, arms crossed.

Jimin and Taehyung join him, but are engaged in their own conversation as Jungkook busies himself with his phone.

Taehyung leans over to Jimin, grinning like the little troublemaker he is. “Dude, I don’t get it. How the hell did she win? I thought she was just being her usual bubbly self, handing out flyers and acting cute… But look at her now.”

Jimin laughs, nodding. “Yeah, man, what’s up with that? I mean, she’s sweet, and all, but… I didn’t think people would actually vote for her.”

The two of them glance over at Jungkook, who’s still standing quietly, his face unreadable. Taehyung smirks, nudging him lightly. “What do you think, Kook? How did she even win? Who’s voting for her, really?”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, not bothering to look at them, but there’s a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He stands there, arms crossed, silently watching you, who’s now trying to juggle the flowers while still looking out at the crowd with that infectious grin of yours.

Jimin tilts his head, eyeing him suspiciously. “Come on, Jungkook. You know you have some sort of opinion. Tell us, who voted for her?”

Taehyung adds, “We can’t be the only ones. Did she really have this big of a following?”

Jungkook finally speaks, his voice calm, as he looks at Taehyung and Jimin, not making any effort to hide the slight amusement in his eyes. “Me,” he says, his gaze still fixed on you, who’s now blowing kisses to the crowd.

Jimin blinks, confused. “Well duh, but what was that going to do?”

Taehyung on the other hand scoffs, failing to believe Jungkook actually voted. “Bro, did you seriously vote? That’s a first.”

Jungkook glances at him, his lips curling into a small but knowing smile. “Yeah, about 120 times.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence, as Jimin and Taehyung exchange wide-eyed looks.

“Wait,” Taehyung starts, his tone of disbelief almost comical. “You really voted for her that many times? Dude, you’re joking.”

“No,” Jungkook responds, his voice laced with casual indifference. “Why would I fucking joke?”

Jimin can’t help but chuckle, looking over at Taehyung, who’s still in shock. “Wow, we had no idea. You’re soft for her, aren’t you?”

Jungkook shrugs nonchalantly. “She deserves it.”

The two of them fall silent for a moment, digesting what he’s just said.

Jungkook, the grungy, distant guy who typically didn’t care much for things like this, voted for you - his ditsy, but incredibly endearing girl - 120 times.

“She won because of you?” Taehyung asks, his voice almost in awe.

Jungkook finally shifts his gaze away from you and looks at the two of them. There’s still a quiet smirk on his face, but his tone is serious when he speaks again. “She’s the best choice. They need her.”

Jimin looks back at you on stage, a soft smile forming on his face. “Damn. I never thought I’d see the day.”

Jungkook’s eyes flick back to you as well, a subtle warmth in them that he doesn’t bother to hide this time. “Come on hyung, get over it.”

The two of them stand there, silently processing Jungkook’s revelation, while you continue to beam up at the crowd, completely oblivious to the conversation happening just a short distance away.

Your joy is contagious, and for the first time in a long while, Jungkook feels like he’s part of something bigger than himself. You make him feel that way, without even trying.

“Should we go congratulate her?” Taehyung asks with a grin, nudging Jimin, who looks lost in thought. “I mean, she’s our president now, right?”

Jimin laughs, shaking his head, still processing the revelation about Jungkook. “Yeah. Let’s go before she starts thanking everyone except us.”

As the two of them start to walk toward you, Jungkook stays behind, watching them for a second before his gaze drifts back to you.

When you finally make your way off the stage and into the crowd of friends and classmates congratulating you, your eyes lock with Jungkook’s. You smile at him, that soft, bright smile that always catches him off guard, and you laugh, still holding the flowers in your hands.

You’re quick to thrust your bouquets into the arms of Taehyung and Jimin, who both lean in to try and hug you, but you’re off and throwing yourself into your Bakugo’s arms.

“Jungkook, I don’t even know how I won! I don’t know what happened!” you exclaim with a cute laugh, clearly overwhelmed by everything happening around you.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you, his eyes softening with something unreadable. Finally, he pulls you in, engulfing you in his bulky arms.

Home.

“It was your daily speeches doll,” he whispers quietly, almost to himself. “You’re special.”

You beam back at him, your joy too big to contain. “Thanks, Koo! I couldn’t have done it without you!”

Jungkook says nothing, but the way he looks down at you, with the faintest smile on his lips, says it all.

For once, it’s clear: he’s always believed in you, even when you didn’t know it.

Later that evening, after the excitement has settled and the crowd has dispersed, you find yourself in Jungkook’s apartment again, sprawled on the couch with your victory flowers placed haphazardly on the coffee table.

Jungkook sits beside you, shirtless and looking hot as fuck as he flips through his phone.

You nudge his side with your elbow, catching his attention. “So, Kookie…” you start, drawing out the syllables in a singsong tone.

He raises a brow but doesn’t look away from his phone. “What now?”

“I won student president,” you remind him, grinning as you scoot closer.

“Did you? I didn’t notice,” he says dryly, still scrolling.

Back to his usual self it seems…

You pout, tugging on his sleeve. “That’s a big deal, you know.”

“Sure is.”

You lean in even closer, practically draping yourself over him. “Big enough for a reward, don’t you think?”

At that, he finally looks at you, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “A reward?”

You nod enthusiastically, your smile turning mischievous. “Yep. I worked so hard, and I think I deserve something for all my efforts.”

Jungkook smirks, his tongue running over his bottom lip in that way that always makes your stomach flip. “Oh, you think so?”

“I know so,” you declare, sitting up straighter and crossing your arms. “I handed out flyers, made speeches, posed for pictures. It was exhausting!”

You pout, knowing it will help you win your case.

He tilts his head, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up to your eyes. “And what kind of reward are you looking for, Miss President?”

You pretend to think for a moment, tapping your chin with your finger. “Hmm… Something meaningful. Something memorable. Something…” You trail off, leaning closer until your face is just inches from his. “Fun.”

Jungkook’s smirk widens, and he sets his phone down, finally giving you his full attention. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Unbelievably deserving of a reward,” you correct, grinning shamelessly.

He shakes his head, his hair falling into his eyes as he leans back against the couch. “Alright, Miss President. What do you want?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you slide onto his lap, straddling him, your hands resting on his shoulders. His hands instinctively settle on your hips, and his brows shoot up in surprise.

“This,” you say, your voice dropping to a softer, more playful tone. “This is my reward.”

You grind down on Jungkook, moving forward to rest your nose against his cheek.

Jungkook chuckles, low and warm, his grip tightening slightly. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“Maybe,” you admit, leaning in until your lips are a breath away from his. “But you like it.”

He doesn’t deny it. Instead, Jungkook closes the distance, capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss that sends shivers down your spine.

When you finally pull back, a satisfied smile on your face, you whisper, “Best reward ever.”

“But I’m not satisfied,” Jungkook says in a husky tone, playing with the hem of your short, silk nightgown. “I think I deserve a reward too.”

As Jungkook’s fingers continue to trace lazy patterns on your thigh, his voice drops further, laced with that teasing, husky tone that always makes your cheeks warm.

His lips brush slightly against your ear.

You pull back and blink up at your man, your glossy lips parting slightly in confusion. “Huh? But you’re not the class president, silly. I am!”

Jungkook pauses, pulling back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes narrowing like he couldn’t believe what you’d just said. And then he laughs - deep and low, the sound rumbling from his chest and vibrating against you.

A sound you’re not quite used to, but is your saving grace.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says, shaking his head, the smirk tugging at his lips betraying his exasperation.

You pout, your perfectly glossed lips sticking out just enough to tempt him further. “I’m not wrong though,” you argue, tilting your head innocently.

“Mhm.” His grip on your waist tightens slightly, his thumb brushing against your skin as he leans closer, the warmth of his breath fanning against your cheek. “Still think I deserve something… presidential, don’t you think. You know, for being the best campaign manager?”

You stare at him for a second, trying to piece together what he meant before your face lights up. “Ohhh! You mean, like, a sticker or something? I think I have some in my bag! Wait here!”

Jungkook groans softly, the sound half-amused, half-defeated, as you attempt to wriggle out of his grasp. But he wasn’t going to let you go anywhere.

“Forget the sticker, doll,” he mutters, tugging you closer and pressing his lips firmly against yours once again.

Jungkook laughs softly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your waist. “You’re lucky you’re- never mind.”

“You’re lucky I’m your president,” you quip, earning an eye roll and another kiss that leaves you both grinning like fools.

Jungkook pulls your closer, groaning. A deep, throaty sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “Why don’t you remind me how lucky I am?”

Your fingers trail down his buff chest, teasingly slow, until they reach the waistband of his jeans. You toy with the button, glancing up at him through your lashes. “I think you already know,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But if you need me to spell it out…”

Before you can finish, his hand shoots up, gripping your chin gently but firmly. “You’re such a tease,” he mutters, his gaze locked on yours. “Always pushing buttons, seeing how far you can go.”

A thrill runs through you at his words, your body responding instinctively as you nod, your lips parting slightly.

“Yes,” you breath, the single word laden with meaning.

That was all the encouragement he needed. In one swift motion, Jungkook flips you onto your back, pinning you beneath him as his mouth crashed into yours.

The kiss is hungry, desperate, his tongue claiming yours as his hands roamed over your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You moan into his mouth, arching into his touch, your hands fisting in his hair to pull him closer.

When he finally breaks the kiss, both of you are breathless, your chests rising and falling rapidly.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, lips trailing down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. “Class president. Always so perfect, aren’t you?”

Your head falls back against the couch cushions, a whimper escaping your lips as his teeth grazed your collarbone.

“Only for you,” you gasp, your fingers tightening in his hair.

Jungkook chuckles darkly, his hands sliding under your skirt to grip your thighs. “Is that so?” he asks, voice laced with amusement. “Then let’s see how much of a good girl you can be for me tonight.”

With that, he shifts lower, his lips following the path of his hands as he kisses along your inner thighs.

You squirm beneath him, the anticipation building as he teases you mercilessly, his breath hot against your skin. When his tongue finally finds its target, your back arches off the couch as a cry tears from your lips.

“J-Jungkook!” you moan, your hands clutching at the cushions as waves of pleasure wash over you.

“My love, I’ve missed this” Jungkook murmurs, voice thick with lust, his breath ghosting over your slick heat. “Missed my mouth all over this filthy cunt.”

Your fingers tangle in his dark hair, nails lightly grazing his scalp as you tighten your grip, hips arching in desperate search of contact. The need is maddening, your body trembling with want.

“Please… Koo,” you whine, your voice barely more than a whimper, every syllable laced with urgency. “Please, I need you.”

He hums against your thigh, the sound sending a jolt straight through your core. His gaze flickers up to you, hungry and impossibly tender. “I need you too,” he admits softly. “Need to taste you. Need to be inside you. Need to ruin you.”

Then, with infuriating patience, he drags the tip of his tongue along your folds - a featherlight stroke that leaves you shuddering. You writhe beneath him, chasing more, the teasing making your heart pound.

Jungkook groans low in his throat, clearly affected by the sight of you already in bliss.

“Baby, please… need more,” you whine, voice high and trembling, your body begging louder than words ever could.

And that is all it takes.

“Koo’s teased you long enough, hmm, doll?” he taunts, cupping your thighs and settling in deeper. “If it’s too much, you’ll tell me.”

Jungkook licks a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit, savouring every drop of you. His tongue lingers, his lips sealing around your cunt as he begins to truly devour you … hungry, reverent, insatiable.

He moans into you, the vibration making your toes curl. His mouth is everywhere - sucking, kissing, lapping - and when his tongue flicks over your swollen clit, you cry out his name like a prayer.

You rock your hips against his face, seeking more, always more, as he flattens his tongue against you and groans at the taste he’s been craving. His hands roam upward, brushing over your chest, thumbs circling your hardened nipples, sending sparks of sensation through your already trembling frame.

“Oh my god, Baby—please! I-I can’t—” You gasp, the first orgasm crashing into you hard and fast, your thighs clamping around his head.

But Jungkook doesn’t stop.

He already knows.

“Baby wants more?” he teases against your heat, voice muffled but devilish.

And despite the pressure, you find yourself nodding.

Jungkook is then licking you again… up and down, over and over… shameless, worshipful and like he’s starved for you.

You can barely breathe, pleasure building again far too soon, and all you can do is hold on as he pulls another climax from your trembling body, whispering your name between every lick like it’s the only word that’s ever mattered.

You whine, tears spilling from your eyes as you reach for your Koo to hold you.

“Not yet,” he says, voice rough with lust and desire. “We’re not done.”

Before you could protest, Jungkook is kissing you again, his hands roaming over your body as he guides you to sit up.

“Ride me,” he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You obey without hesitation, positioning yourself over him as he unbuckles his jeans, freeing his hard length.

Slowly, you sink down onto him, moaning at the sensation of being filled so completely. All while the tears continue to spill.

You love… you adore… you could die for the way this man fucks you.

Jungkook’s hands grip your hips tightly, guiding your movements as you begin to ride him, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony.

“That’s it,” he growls, his eyes locked on yours. “Take what you want, baby. Show me how much you’ve earned this.”

You whimper, pace increasing as the heat between you builds to an unbearable level. Jungkook’s hands move to your breasts, kneading and teasing as you grind down on him, each movement sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

“Look at you,” he rasps, his voice guttural and raw. “Riding me like you own me.” His words send a thrill through you, spurring you on as you pick up the pace, grinding down onto him with increasing urgency.

“You’re- you’re mine,” you manage to utter, grip tightening on Jungkook’s shoulders as you reach down to kiss him.

Jungkook, however, seems occupied with your urgency. And being his usual determined self, he cannot let you win.

His hands grab hold of your hips again, guiding your movements as he thrust up into you harshly, meeting you stroke for stroke.

The pleasure builds rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter in your core with each thrust. You feel it building, that sweet pressure threatening to break you apart, but you hold on, determined to make your handsome man come undone first.

“Koo, I—” you whine, your voice breaking as you feel yourself teetering on the edge.

You clench around him, drawing a strangled groan from his lips as his rhythm falters.

Leaning forward, you capture his mouth in a messy, passionate kiss, your tongues battling for dominance as you ride him harder, faster, chasing that peak together.

“Come for me,” he demands, tone firm but gentle. “Fall apart on my dick.”

It was all the permission you required.

With a cry, you come undone, your body shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.

Jungkook groans, the feeling of your sticky cum decorating him consuming him.

And before he can continue his usual post-orgasm shenanigans, you cut him off with a sharp roll of your hips, driving him over the edge.

His release hits him like a tidal wave, his body tensing as he spills inside you. He holds you through it, his groans muffling against your skin.

The sight of him cumming inside you, the feel of him pulsing within you, is all it takes to send you spiraling once again.

Another orgasm crashes over you, waves of ecstasy washing through your body as you clench around him, milking every last drop of pleasure Jungkook has to offer.

Both of you breathe heavily as you try to regain your senses. Jungkook’s arms immediately wrap tighter around you, holding you close as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice filled with satisfaction and pride. “You did so well, my princess.”

You smile faintly, your body still tingling from the second orgasm. “Does this mean I get a reward every time I win something?”

Jungkook chuckles, his grip on you tightening slightly. “If this is how you plan to collect, then maybe we should make more bets.”

You laugh softly, leaning into your boyfriend as the TV continues to flicker in the background, forgotten by both of you.

For now, all that matters is being lost in the heat of the moment and Jungkook’s promise of more nights like this.

—

And done! Hope you enjoyed 🫶🏻 I would appreciate feedback :)

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wvnternvghtt · 16 days ago

Text

𝘿𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙧

𝗙𝗨𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗚𝗨𝗥𝗢 𝗧𝗢𝗝𝗜 𝘅 𝗙𝗘𝗠!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

Summary: Toji comes home after a long shift to you, his sweet roommate, asleep on the couch. His innocent admiration turns into something darker as he gives into repressed desires

Warnings: dark content!!—dubcon, somnophilia (touching over clothes, reader orgasms while asleep), age gap (toji's in his 40s, reader's in her early 20s), pet names, smut, 18+, do not read if any of these are upsetting to you!!

Word Count: 2.75k

Author's Note: This is loosely based off of @holeforzenin's Roommate Toji series. That version of Roommate!Toji would not do something like this, but the idea of that dynamic had us both reeling and I absolutely had to write something about it!!

Toji was tired. No, exhausted.

He’s honestly not sure there’s a word in the dictionary that can truly sum up the total depletion of energy from his overworked muscles. Each work day is never just as short as the schedule says and with him working a blue collared job, there’s absolutely no way he gets to clock out unscathed.

Every night he comes home to a silent apartment, a cold bed, and dinner already packed up in two tupperware containers in the fridge. They have matching sticky notes attached to them; one says “dinner!” and the other says “for lunch!”, and if he’s honest, he finds the little smiley faces you draw beside the messages endearing. But he probably would never admit to it. Not to your face, at least.

He’s used to the hum of the microwave as he lets the scent of spices from your cooking fill the small space of the kitchen. Toji may not be good at expressing it but he’s truly quite thankful to have you around the apartment. It’s hard enough having a job that demands every waking moment from him—not to mention the stacks of billing statements sitting on the dining table—but having to plan meals after each night is truly something he doesn’t have time for.

But tonight, he has something better than a homemade meal waiting for him.

Toji unlocks the front door with one of the keys attached to the old carabiner hanging off his belt loop, the simple action feeling immensely laborious. Grabbing hold of the doorframe, he toes off his shoes one after the other and neatly sets them beside your pair of converse, the soles scuffed and worn with their age. When he finally raises his head, he’s met with your sleeping form draped across the couch.

Typically, you finish separating his meals after eating a portion yourself and spend the rest of the night in your room studying until your brain physically can’t cram any more information inside of it. He never asks for your attention, though he misses it dearly at night, and tends to cling onto the memories of your laughter filling the living room.

A sudden applause snaps him back to the present and he turns his head toward the sound. The television is still on, one of the old cartoons you mentioned you grew up watching plays softly in the background. He scoffs and shakes his head at some joke that falls flat before stepping with heavy feet further into the apartment until he’s towering over the couch where you lay.

The light from the screen bathes your face in a warm glow. He takes this moment to really commit your features to memory, although he doesn’t know the exact reasoning behind his actions. The scene from the show changes and the colors illuminating your face alter their hue. He thinks you look pretty like this, peaceful at last after all your running around between chores, classes, and work.

Toji doesn’t even think before reaching down and tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. Your nose crinkles from the tickle of his finger brushing across your cheek, but your eyes remain shut. A smile tugs at his lips as he finds the action kind of adorable.

His eyes begin to wander lower as he focuses on each one of your steady breaths. The rise and fall of your body is accentuated by the thin tank top that clings to your chest, the strap beginning to slip off your shoulder and exposing another inch to the line of your cleavage. He feels heat slowly begin to crawl up his neck and he immediately fixes his gaze on the wall above your head.

“Fuck, Fushiguro, you know better,” he scolds himself.

Has it been a while? Yes. Has he ever viewed you in that light before? Well, if he’s honest it has crossed his mind. He can’t exactly blame himself. All he’s had time for is work and barely getting enough rest before doing it all over again the next day. There hasn't been time to even think about getting into a relationship, much less having time to find someone for sex.

However, having a cute, young girl in the house certainly makes things interesting. He’s only had thoughts that involve you for a brief moment, and the second he realizes what he’s imagining, he forces himself to stop.

Though, there’s something about this scene that stirs in his stomach before settling below his belt. It’s a feeling he can’t name, but one that isn’t altogether unfamiliar. It’s something akin to lust, but there’s another emotion curled around it—guilt, or maybe shame. He knows the role he plays in your life and he knows damn well he shouldn’t even be considering something like this.

But today Toji is just too tired.

That indescribable feeling in the pit of his stomach returns but for once, he allows it to stay. His fingers reach for the remote to the television, sparing only one glance to press a soft button to mute the sound before placing it back on the table.

You look so pretty like this: hair sprawled out across the throw pillow, lips parted slightly with silent snores, pretty legs draped along the length of the couch. He doesn’t know why, but even with all the immense tons of guilt, he can’t stop himself from sinking down on the cushions beside you.

He tells himself he’ll only touch for a second. That’s all—he just needs one second to feel your warmth. But once his hand finally touches you for himself, he wonders why the hell he hasn’t done it sooner.

Soft doesn’t even begin to scrape the surface of just how heavenly you feel. His calloused palms lightly trail over the length of your shin, fingers curling around your smooth skin before brushing his thumb over your knee. Each touch is soaked in affection in its own specific way. Toji’s emotions blend and create something new he’s never felt before.

He lets out a heavy sigh through his nose as he halts his movements altogether. Reasoning and desire fight within him, his head is screaming protests that are ignored as his body’s instincts win the internal battle.

As he shoves the remaining guilt aside, that small spark in his stomach roars to life.

Toji leans down and presses his scarred lips to the bend of your knee. The touch is featherlight and innocent in its own way. With the close proximity, he can smell the scent of your body wash layered underneath the sweet smell of the lotion you lather yourself with after each shower.

The contact of his warm skin is met with goosebumps and he watches with awe as they scatter along the expanse of your leg. A smirk tugs at his mouth when he sees just how sensitive you are, even while unconscious. His eyes trail along your thigh, watching as the bumps spread higher and higher before they disappear under the hem of your pajama shorts.

The thin matching set you’re wearing does nothing but aid in the sense of guilt he’s already drowning in. It reminds him of how vulnerable you look like this, but he tries to reason with himself that he’s been good up until now, right?

His rough fingertips glide over your thigh but come to a full stop when they’re engulfed in the warmth pooling from your core. He hasn’t felt anything so welcoming in months—he doesn’t remember the last time he felt another person’s presence, besides the little moments he’s spent with you. But sexually? He feels like a goddamn teenager all over again.

The twitch of his cock behind his jeans is undeniable and he’s gritting his teeth in frustration at just how easily this is getting to him. But still, he presses on, his thumb swiftly pulling the hole of your shorts to the side and exposing your pink panties.

“Shit,” he mutters to himself in the otherwise silent room. The tension is so thick he wonders if choking on the air would be enough to kill him or if his racing heart would give out first. His hand moves of its own accord, traveling down to the worn denim and cupping the growing bulge below his belt. It’s screaming for relief, for any kind of friction, and his palm does little to stop the continuous blood flowing to the area.

Toji hesitantly reaches for your clothed center, his fingers pressing gently to the supple skin between your thighs. The heat nearly makes him flinch and he swears he hasn’t felt something this soft in his entire life. You let out a quiet sound from his touch as you stir in your sleep. His eyes widen like a deer caught in headlights but you merely change the angle of your arm before drifting back off once more.

Toji swallows once before continuing, his eyes trained on the barely noticeable line along the center of your panties. His thumb reaches blindly to the gentle slope of your body and makes contact with your clit. He applies the slightest bit of pressure, smiling as he notices the way your leg twitches, unsure of whether to close or not.

Your head turns and your eyebrows pull together in pleasure at the slow circling of his thumb. On a particular hard press, your breath hitches before breaking off in a pitchy whine. He’s absolutely certain he’s never heard anything sound as sweet as that noise and he’s determined to hear more.

He runs his pointer finger along the center of your folds and watches in awe as the fabric darkens immediately from your slick. He feels his body react strongly to the sight and suddenly his own underwear are sticking to him after a rush of precum leaks from his swollen tip. His freehand curls around his cock and squeezes just underneath the head, refusing to loosen his grip.

The sensation of the damp fabric sticking to your most sensitive area has a shiver creeping up your spine and your skin pebbles once more. Toji’s lust-filled, green eyes follow them in their wake up until they dive under the thin material of your tank top. Your nipples harden in response, peeking the fabric as they stiffen.

This is the most restraint Toji has ever shown in his life, he’s absolutely sure of it.

Every nerve in his body is set alight and is screaming out to touch you more, touch you the way he truly wants. His mind floods with the most perverted images: your eyes shiny with unfallen tears, his name falling from your swollen lips, you seeking him out when you just can’t finish yourself off. Every scene piles on top of the one before until anything left of his conscience is fully submerged in the thought of you.

“T…Toji?” Your voice weakly calls out into the quiet space, shattering the silence. His eyes immediately lock onto yours, taking in the dazed expression on your face. You’re blinking sleep out of your eyes but still drowning in the unconscious fog you were just under.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Toji placates gently, neither of his hands even attempting to stop their motions.

“W-What are you doing?” The tremor in your voice is notable as your gaze casts downwards, watching his wrist moving between your thighs. You gasp at the feeling, suddenly aware of how alarmingly tight the coil inside your stomach already is. “Mmm, Toji, I don’t know if you should be—,” you attempt to warn him, but he cuts you off once more.

“Let me take care of you. Just like I always do, right?” His deep voice is different than you’ve ever heard before. It’s rougher now, something gravely laced into his tone that isn’t the usual fatigue that you’re used to hearing after his late night shifts.

“I take care of you, don’t I, sweetheart?” He presses further, awaiting an answer. You hesitantly nod your head before resting it back against the pillow you had been sleeping on, letting the sensations of his experienced hands roll over your tired body.

“Attagirl, there she is. I got you,” he mutters to himself as he sees your eyes beginning to flutter shut. He pulls his hand away from your clit and begins to rub the inside of your thigh soothingly. His touch makes the slight panic flea your mind, he can physically see the tension leave your body as you give into your unconsciousness lulling you under the waves once more.

“So good for me…” The whispered words fall on deaf ears but he smiles at your features falling back into the peaceful state again. His cock is pulsing faster than the rise and fall of your chest, aching to be freed from the old denim of his jeans. But he focuses all his attention on you instead.

He brings his calloused palm back between your legs to cup your covered pussy once more. This time, he tugs at the bow at the center of the waistband, watching with a stifled groan as the panties bunch up between your folds. The action only defines your body even further and he has to bite back the urge to tear the fabric entirely.

“You’re fuckin’ ruining me,” Toji grunts as he presses his thumb back to your clit. He moves quicker this time, determined to make you feel good. He applies more pressure on each circle around your sensitive spot and your body begins to reel from it all.

Your thighs shut around his hand, rocking up into his touch subconsciously. Small whines begin cascading from your mouth and it only spurs him on further.

Toji doesn’t slow his actions when he notices you coming for him. He merely watches as your back arches, hips chasing after your orgasm as breathy, broken sounds spill past your parted lips. Your stomach clenches, thighs tensing as your hand comes to weakly push his larger one away when the pleasure blurs into overstimulation.

“Tojiiiii.” Another weak whimper escapes your slumber as your leg faintly twitches with his slow circles. Pride soaks the smile that adorns his face and he can’t even help the whispered praise that leaves him.

“Good girl. Did so, so well,” his speaks softly, the words dripping with adoration. You begin to move again and his eyes follow to your fingers that softly curl around his palm. There’s a fondness in his chest as he watches you reach out to him, looking for his support even in your subconsciousness.

Any remaining energy is completely drained from your body after the orgasm he brought forth. He watches your body fall into a deeper sleep than before he even interrupted, your chest reverting to its slow rise and fall. He gives a light squeeze to your curled fingers before standing up to finally retreat to his room for the first time tonight.

“Get some rest, pretty,” he whispers against your forehead as he bends down. His lips press a gentle kiss to your temple as he cups the back of your head, the act completely innocent in nature.

When Toji finally sinks into the soft mattress of his bed, he’s drowning in the memories of what just occurred. His cock still aches for his attention, swollen tip flushed and shiny with precum. He frees himself from the confines of the denim, wincing when his hard length slaps up against his stomach. The same hand that brought on your orgasm wraps around his thick dick. It doesn’t take long until he’s spilling white, a choked back grunt stuck in his throat as he pictures your soaked panties.

The next morning, the both of you dance around each other with a thickness in the air. Toji’s unable to meet your eyes due to the knowledge of what he’s done.

“Did you sleep well?” You ask innocently from the kitchen counter, your back facing the man twice your age. Toji chokes on his coffee, setting the mug down all too fast while clutching his chest.

“Shit,” he curses as he catches his breath. “Y-yeah. Guess I did?” The statement twists highest at the end and comes across as more of a question. “Late night. ‘M beat. How about you, kid?”

“I slept okay, I think? Had a weird dream last night,” your voice grows quieter as the flashes of Toji’s face foggily return to your brain. “Felt so realistic, though…”

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wvnternvghtt · 16 days ago

Text

To Have Your Eyes - T.F.

Synopsis. Toji Fushiguro - strong, hot, and your steadfast personal knight. And his duty to the crown means that Toji should…help the princess he’s always loved with obtaining an heir, right? Right?

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!princess!reader, knight!Toji, ROYAL AU, childhood-friends-to-Iovers, arranged marriage, Naoya gets NTR-d, PlNING, oraI (fem rec.), spítting, improper uses of armor, thigh ríding, dry húmping, matíng presses, BRÉEDING, dúmbifícation, marathons, D slipping, he’s BIG, size kínk, tummy buIges, cúmflation, slight exhíbitionísm, forbidden Iove, not actually unrequited, Undressed by Sombr references, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 11.1k (wow)

A/N. TO HAVE THE EYES OF THE GIRL I WON’T FORGEEET-

“Q-quite a grand affair- wasn’t it, sir?”

Toji lets out a gruff, noncommittal grunt in response, seconds away from rolling his damn eyes as he listens to the newly-stationed recruit babble on and on about ‘seeing a royal wedding up close.’

Toji Fushiguro has always known that he didn’t deserve you - no one did.

No prince, nor duke, but particularly not that prissy, pompous Zenin heir you’d supposedly been betrothed to since birth. What was his name-

“Naoya!”

Ah, yes. Toji’s scarred lips curl when he watches the prince slam the staggering mahogany doors of your royal room open, stomping down the winding hallway in all his sour-faced glory. Not quite Prince Charming if you asked him.

“Ijichi-” He sends a sharp nod to the bespectacled knight, signalling him to follow the heir. As much as he hated the brat, it wouldn’t do to widow you so soon- especially not on your wedding night.

And with that, Toji goes where it’s most important - to you.

As the metallic padding of his armor clanked! with each determined step, so did the ringing thought that if anything - absolutely anything - had happened to you, he would kill that damn Zenin boy. Prince or not.

Treason or not.

He didn’t climb and elbow and fight his way through the ranks of knights to become your very own personal guard for nothing. From the very moment he’d met you, his duty was to you.

As was his heart.

Though, that last sentiment didn’t matter much - not when he was nothing but your lowly protector.

Completely out of place in the decadent, dimly-lit chamber of your bedroom; it was sprawling, and the entire Keep where knights slept would take up about only half the size of your chamber. It was obvious that this place was readied for the newly-wed couple - a faint mist of flowery fragrance clouding the air, white sheets so sheer that they looked like phantoms fluttering in the moonlight, and you.

You, seated on the center of your plush mattress, still dolled-up in your gauzy ivory wedding dress. Looking as angelic as ever- though, when have you not?

To Toji, it was routine to snap his jade eyes away from whom he never could have.

Throat slightly rusty with hoarseness as he whispers, “My princess?” Before shaking his head free of any more of those stupid notions of ‘his.’ “You alright, princess? Must I slay a haughty royal neck tonight?”

That, at the very least, seemed to get a watery chuckle out of you as he’d wickedly hoped. Then you’re finally turning-

And oh, Toji thinks he might do very well to fulfill his promise of bringing you the head of your so-called new husband.

Because right there - in the corner of your gorgeous face that he’d grown up admiring through every year, every emotion - was a singular, silvery tear track. Glittering in the rays of moon, Toji can’t stop himself from the way his body viscerally wrenches a step forward-

-before you hastily wipe away the evidence of your sorrow before he can. Fighting to keep your sweet voice even, “Oh, don’t bother, Toji. Naoya just seems to be having a…bad day?”

He narrows his eyes- you were unhurt, at the bare minimum. Though, that won’t stop him from bribing the kitchen staff into overloading that damn Naoya’s meals with a bucket of salt from now onwards.

“Tch, the worst date to have a ‘bad day’. Don’tcha think, princess?”

“You’re telling me.” Throwing your hands up in exasperation, the silky sleeves of your wedding dress ripple as you huff. And Toji takes a few guilty moments to memorize the vision, one he never thought he would see.

It’s only with how long you two had known each other that you’re not bothering with any plastic court manners as you pull your knees to your chest. Groaning in quite an unlady-like way, “And all because I simply asked him to help me take these damn laces off-”

“The bastard ran out because of that?” Toji suddenly interrupts, jaw slightly sagging as he dares to take a peek at the mass of ribbons and strings knitting the back of your stuffy dress together.

Honestly- years in the royal palace and he still didn’t understand what it was with you people and these damn layers.

Your embarrassed silence was enough of an answer, and Toji’s bowing. “If I may-” Letting his gloves drop to the polished marble floor with a clunk! “No, I will if he won’t. Turn around.”

Slightly yelping, you’re letting yourself be tugged closer to the edge of the bed once Toji walks his way ‘round. Gruff, grouchy, and yet he was still making gentle work with your frilly back - unplucking you free, one by one.

“He said this was a woman’s work.” You sigh over the whoosh–! of creamy white ribbons being loosened from your outer corset. Lips twitching, “And I asked him if he’d rather I spent my wedding night with a woman, then.”

“Ya think? Anyone would be better than that pig-headed, brutish, fucking-”

“Language, Sir Toji.”

“Tch.”

As the last of your stringy restraints are untied, you have to bite back a moan at the roughened padding of Toji’s fingertips. Dexterous digits digging into where your muscles were tender from being cooped up like this all day, “You’re…surprisingly talented at this- practiced much, Toji?”

“Been watching you get dressed since I came to this palace, princess, don’t underestimate me.” He’s growling, and if the very tips of his ears burned at the thought of being the one undressing you - on your wedding night, of all things - then, well, he’s only glad the flickering chamber candles were too dim for you to tell.

“O-oh shut up.” You’re scoffing at the way Toji leers. Eyes darting anywhere but his and falling on- ah, your bed.

Your very un-mussed, very un-desecrated bed.

“Oh.”

Toji perks alert instantly, “Did I hurt-”

“No no–” Waving him off, “It’s just…the bed.” And as his face tilts in confusion, you feel a slight twinge of envy at the way he wasn’t aware of this particular royal custom.

Sighing, you pinch the plain sheets between your fingers. “The sheets- tomorrow morning, the courts will check and see that the marriage hasn’t been consummated. Of course, they’ll blame me for not trying hard enough to secure an heir. And I don’t trust my lovely husband to be over with his tantrum by then, so…”

Oh.

The realization strikes - as do those words slip-

“I can help with that.”

Toji thinks he’s about to pass out- no, he thinks he’s already dead.

Because, surely, he was in heaven right now?

Or as close to heaven as he possibly could be - because with only a nod of yours, within only a few minutes he’s between your legs, kneeled at the very foot of your bed. The circles of his nostrils flaring in sweet, sweet anticipation the nearer he’s dragging his straight nosebridge in a meandering line towards your hot core.

Sniffing a deeeep few lungfuls of your body, your cunt’s saccharine aroma. Baritone so primally guttural n’ wet, “And yer sure? This isn’t just you talking out of- her?”

You’re whimpering once the honed, gleaming edges of his canines punctuate that last word by sinking into your drenched panties, gnawin’ until he lets it fall back with a sharp snap! that makes your heated skin sting.

You’re so wet that your inner thighs were gluing together with a thin sheen now, letting off the most sticky plap! of flesh-on-flesh as Toji throws one leg over his broad shoulder. The other pushed and pushed and pushed to spread apart with one of his rugged palms.

Hips squirming restlessly on your ancient bedsprings, “I’m positive. H-how bad can it really be?”

“Oh, princess, it won’t be bad.” The edges of Toji’s lips stretch at the way he hasn’t even started, and yet, you were already stuttering oh-so-cutely. The thickened curve of his thumb thumps against the top of your cunt, dragging a sultry touch down, down, doooown your sopping slit.

His eyes widen at the way it makes that flimsy fabric of your undergarments drench with a lil’ puddle of slick. And Toji feels his mouth water, “But don’t you take me for some priggish, posh prince that won’t eat out such a pretty pussy.”

“H-how crass!”

“Heh- if you think that’s crass…” Your knight doesn’t finish his sentence, only hooking a roaming index underneath the hemline of your panties.

Toji bores his half-lidded eyes straight into yours when he tugs- when he rips your starchy white underwear off. Absolutely nothing against his monstrous strength as your personal guard— “Skirts up.”

And you’re barely registering his grunted words fast enough to pull your numerous inner layers up to your heaving chest, barely on time before Toji jerks his head slightly back and spits.

Straight onto his target of your pussy, it cakes such a warm layer of sap that trickles down n’ in between your puffy folds.

“Messy giiirl–” He’s more than happy to spank the pad of his thumb down on your swollen entrance and smear the glossy mess. “Hidin’ this away under all those layers. How dare you.”

Prying the edge of your cunt open just enough so that he could sneak a teasing look at your sloppily soaked hole.

Toji’s scorching hot breath hits your skin in gusts once he’s leaning closer, nibbling on your fleshy pussylips until you whine. “O-oh my- s’it always this rude when one does…this?”

“No.” Gurgling out those syllables right where you were the most sensitive, he’s toying with you. Playing. Driving you mad with the tickling sensation of his scarred lips latching nose-deep into your pussy, “Just me.”

You buck, you keen, you spray him in even more gooey wads of slick that slip n’ slide riiight down Toji’s throat. And he stays there, maw agape so that you could watch each slithering trailway he drinks up like a man parched.

Like he was thirsting for water for years before coming across your leaking pussy, Toji spanks the underside of his palm against your cunt and makes you still.

“Now now-” Non-dominant hand latching to your waist to help you hold still, your knight snarls. “Enough runnin’, tell me what you want, princess.”

You claw desperately at the shaggy black strands of his bangs, a shrilling noise escaping you that you’ve never made before. Pulling him- “Want it, Toji. For you to do the…thing.”

“Ah ah-” Oh, he was having sooo much fun making his pretty royal beg for him like this. “The what? Didn’t you take all those ngh- elocution lessons, hm?”

Pulling away, in response your breath hitches with what sounds like a strangled sob, and it’s enough to make his aching cock twitch. Mindlessly humping the bulging outline of his girth against the cool wood of your bed frame, “Like my mouth?” Rubbin’ the line of his scar up and down your cunt, “My scar?”

Nodding and nodding because that’s all you can do, he watches on with a hooded gaze at the way your legs twitch with need.

Lengthy tongue flopping out even further, your mouth drops ever-so-slightly as you take in how long he was. And he was going to use that? Slathering the very edge of his temperate muscle over your folds, “Then uuuuuse- your-” Pokin’ his nubbed end just back in between your soppy lips to make you bawl- and right out again. “-words.‘

“P-please!”

“Hmm–?”

“Please-” Tears bubble up by the corners of your eyes, and your chin drops down to your chest as you wail out the rude, un-ladylike answer he’s been dying to hear these past few minutes. Past few years, really. “-e-eat me out?”

He was ruining you.

And did your command even have to be a question with the way that Toji was instantly diving his face between your trembling legs like his life depended on it.

Swirlin’ the textured buds of his tongue smack-dab on top of your swollen, sensitive folds to give you a goood, long lick. Once - just a taste before he pulls away with a short ‘fuck’, before surging back in.

Twice, before- thrice, he was addicted.

Smack after smack of his dewy wet lips that were simply drippin’ wet with all your juices, Toji’s gluing his maw against your core and sucking you all in.

He’s fighting to keep his verdant irises from rolling all the way back, he couldn’t even bring himself to even breathe before smushing his handsome features between your legs.

Gulping, “So fuckin’ sweet, princess. Sweeter than any wedding cake.” Toji’s knees go weak at the syrupy wet taste of you splashing on his tongue. “N’ I haven’t eaten allll day.”

And it wasn’t anything innocent - nothing sweet about it - you’re feeling the slimy tip of his tongue ease out further from between his puckered lips and swipe the dewy droplets of slick back into your hole.

Filling up your entrance with his fat girth until the only thing you were cutely clenching ‘round was his tongue. Your mouth shapes into a soft circle as he starts thrashing his dextrous tongue all the way back n’ forth. “Ngh- ngh, fuck, Toji. It f-feels so…”

Fuck- not even the gossip of the court ladies talked about it being this good.

“Ohhh– what’s that? Using such expletives, where are your manners, hm?”

You’re fisting the expensive coverings of your bed as the tender, velvety underside starts scraping along just where you were fountaining out beads of slick the most. Toji’s high cheekbones hollow out with a slurp as he pumps his tongue in furiously. “How can I have manners when- oh fuck!”

Surprising yourself with the sheer carnal need that was seeping into your voice, your hazed pupils travel in circles inside of your eyes in synchronized tempo with his swirlin’ tongue. Rough, rugged.

“Tha’s it- that’s it.” Toji has the audacity to knock his pointed chin against the base of your cunt and snicker, spitting out yet another stringy wad of saliva that makes your pussy glisten damply. Splat! “Any louder and the entire hah! palace is gonna hear, princess.”

“And whose fault is that- oh!”

“Yours.” He answers, simply.

Already having located your swollen, perky clit and giving it a playful bite. Your spine arches back into the soft blankets as you see fucking stars, clawing through his sweaty scalp. “I-I should admonish you for cheek, Sir Toji.”

“Go on, then.” His gravelly tone was dangerous, sounding oh-so-vulgar from down below once Toji’s plastering his mouth in an open-mouthed smooch against your cunt and prying your pussy further open.

Breath hitching, his prolonged middle finger tugs on your swollen folds and slips just the plush pad in. Groaning at just how wet n’ ready you were for him, “Tell me to stop.” Stretch-stretch-stretching your snug entrance around his bullying digit, “Hmm– command me, princess.”

Sloppy and aching.

Eating you out like he was starved, you’re barely given the time to catch your breath.

Damn near crying out by the time he’s scouring your glossy folds with the curvature of his finger. So big that Toji’s reaching every geysering nook and cranny without even trying– “I-I– fuck! More-”

He gasps, “More?”

“M-more.” Your chin slaps stupidly against the treacly puddle of drool on your chest, one you didn’t even realize was there before. Hazily lidded eyes blinking down at him, “More, please?”

Even when you were this gone, you still used your adorable manners.

And that fact was enough for Toji to slip his free hand between his legs and massage the mountainous plane of his palm down on his throbbing length. Snaking a hand between his trousers, he silently thanked the wedding dress code for making it so that he didn’t need to wear his full metal armor today.

“My cute princess wants more. You- do you even know what you’re haaaa- asking for?” Toji pants - he heaves. Your cunt singing out a carnal squelch! as he’s crowning just the tip of his nimble index past your filthy hole.

Nearly the entirety of his upper weight crushing your body to the bed, movements jittery with desperation. He’s suckling on your clit like his favorite gummy whilst stretchin’ out your glutinous insides as if he was trying to mold you to his each shape.

Tracing your mushy channel in zig-zagged lines, the bed creaks each time you’re bucking to follow his lecherous movements. “D’you even know what I can do? How much I can streeeetch this tight pussy out?” Squeezing in another finger, he’s rawly opening up your cunt with crazed thrusts. “How much I’ve yearned-”

And more to shut himself up than anything, Toji stuffs his mouth full of your pretty lil’ clit. Craning his neck to let him drag his unfastened mouth over n’ over in slobbering drags.

Letting your restless hips ride his features, “O-ohhh Toji– it feels so good.” You mewl, your entire body burning after each knocking thrash of his barreling fingers.

He had three- three of them inside you. Slick, glissading, searching.

“Promise to hah- scream my name, princess.” He pipes up, still salivating all down your slit with ribbony wires of spittle that start formulating a puddle beneath you. Sexily-placed scar rubbing a lecherous massage as the curling tip of his tongue draws a few hearts on your clit. Like he was strangely…distracting you. Before-

“T-Toooji! There! There-”

He strikes your g-spot, mercilessly.

Whack after whack he’s pushing until the knobbled bumps of his knuckles are rawly red, poking into your deepest depths.

“Yeahhh- just like that, atta girl.” Toji utters on your tender, wet pussy and you see stars. Circling cartoonishly around and around your head while he keeps on probin’ your favorite spot.

A place you’d only read about in those steamy romance novels your attendants smuggled, and now your knight was treating it like some cute glossy button he kept on squishing. The steady pushes of his digits bruising a few circumferences onto that spot, he was leaving your head feverishly empty.

And you can feel his smug smirk on your pussylips, faltering ever-so-slightly when he’s twitching in his hands.

Oh, Toji could cum from just this.

Forced to dab the heavy padding of his thumb over his weeping divot, he knits his dark brows and tries to make sure that this was real. That he really had you like this - all whimpering and drooling with both pairs of pretty lips, the crevice of your mouth opening with the loudest, most broken sob of- “Feels so strangeee–” Hips jutting, “I’m close.”

“F-fuck.” And if his voice broke on that last line, you were too far gone to recognize it. Like a madman, he’s twisting his mouth to now drink in all of you.

Everywhere from the puffed-up nub of your clit, to where your sappy entrance was bulging with all of him. All his rummaging size that dug against your delicate sweet spots, Toji was kissin’ you everywhere and anywhere.

Until his mouth burned, and your thighs quaked. “G-gonna…I’m gonna-” You’re croaking out, throat turning husky every time his tongue rolled over your clit, snaking up and down your folds.

“Cum- cum on my tongue, princess.” Toji bores his dilated green gaze straight up at you as he grins. Lovingly. Pussydrunken. “That’s an order.”

And then you cum- and it’s right all over his mouth like he’d hoped.

All down his tongue. Pooling at the back of his raping throat. Thick, splashing waves of sap that he’d love to drown himself in - to drown himself in your sweet, orgasming pussy.

Toji’s riding you through each peak of your high on the dot, slashing his tongue in a slanted drag across your clit repeatedly. It’s such a primal back n’ forth that leaves your hips slamming back into his mouth.

Voice wavering, it takes you a few seconds to blink away the blotches of pure white staining your vision. “Th-that feels so–” Still suffering from each ravaged shake that wrecks you, “Wait- are you…”

And as your vision finally clears just the slightest bit, you’re catching the sight of Toji’s beefy arm disappearing underneath your bed posts. Moving to and fro angrily–

“Nothing to w-worry about, princess.” His smoky croon makes the line of your spine shiver, lavishing your cunt with another polish of his mouth. Allll the way up to your pulsing clit, he gives your g-spot another merciless thump. “Nothing to worry about at- fuck-”

He might be the strongest of all your knights, but he can’t handle this.

Can’t handle you looking so damn dazed on his tongue, twitching with even the tiniest graze over your sweet spots. Tearing out of your pretty pussy all for him - that he can’t help but reach his high.

And Toji wasn’t going to let it go to waste, no- in a quick split-second, he’s forcing himself from his kneeled position at the edge of the bed and hiking a meaty thigh beside your hips. Straddling you with all his bulky bodyweight, grabbing ahold of his reddened fat cock as he cums.

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck–” He’s nibbling down on his rosy lower lip and still can’t hold back the sheer amount of moans that escape him.

Your eyes widen at the voluminous droplets of seed dribbling from that circular end of his shaft, throbbing and glittering with wiry strands of cum clinging to him. “Th-there’s so much, Toji.”

Head slouching forwards- “S’all for you, princess.” Toji’s orgasm hits him like a damn carriage, and it’s pure adoration to keep on creaming himself to the way you looked underneath him that he isn’t simply collapsing on top of you right now.

Whimpering, your cunt starts throbbing needily once more at the splatters of syrupy ivory sap staining your sheets now. Making a mess.

Husking, “S-s’all-” Still airy n’ half-lidded, Toji moves as if he’s in a dream when he creeps his cherry-red tip towards your plush lips. Inch by inch. Toned hips moving forward, toes curling as his angry cock cums even more– “-for you.”

“Oh- mmmm—” You’re looking up at him through your lashes once the last few pearly droplets of seed trickle down to your maw like a white gloss, mouth all full. Toji’s mushroom tip was as pink as a strawberry and just as massively thick, scraping your jaw with the puffy edges of his veins.

Finally stealing a proper look at him, he just looked so attractive with your slick sparkling on his chin. Plastering a wet gleam all the way from the tips of his cheeks down his sharp jaw.

Just dripping wet - he was wearing the mess he’d made of your pussy like a medal.

“Oh. Oh.” Toji’s dark pupils dilate, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d have said he had heart eyes. Shuffling further down to give your soaked mouth a looong, thorough kiss. His first, in fact, that he’s been saving for either you or no one. Not that he would tell you that. “Congratulations on the wedding.”

You’re whining, as if you’d just remembered what today was. “And what about the problem of an heir?”

“O-one thing at a time, princess. Besides…”

Toji didn’t have to finish his sentence for you, too, to register what his keener ears had picked up. The distant thundering of footsteps-

“They’re back.”

And just as soon as he’d arrived, he was gone.

A fever dream that never happened- or, at least, Toji would never believe it happened if not for the cloying treacly taste of you still sticking to his lips. And if Ijichi arrived alone, with Naoya still in the throes of his tantrum, and sleeping over at some other ward of the palace - well, he may have just cracked a smile.

“What a great affair today- eh, Ijichi?”

“Y-yes, sir!”

Naoya accepted your explanation of using oils to trick the court into thinking the marriage was consummated, but what wasn’t accepted was the fact that weeks had passed and you still weren’t with child.

With an heir.

And right now the pressure from the court was crushing–

“You must understand, my lady. You’re already at that age, and our majesties aren’t getting any younger!”

“Quite right quite right, an heir- if we can have an announcement before the upcoming ball-”

“It is imperative we have a newborn soon. Our enemies will see this as a weakness-”

“Right, and I believe Naoya will attend to that.” You’re throwing a bored glance at the way your husband lounged near the end of the council table. Stood tall, and aloof with power. And you didn’t mean just the matters with your kingdom’s enemies, Naoya hadn’t even tried to touch you since that night.

To which you’ve been quite grateful, frankly.

You cringe at the thought of what this arranged marriage may come to, and the fact that there was certainly no way Naoya could even hold a candle to how good Toji was-

No, subtly, you’re shaking your head. You couldn’t be thinking about these sorts of things during an official advisory meeting - especially not when your personal knight stood guard right beside your bejeweled chair.

“-and his highness Naoya was so passionate on your wedding night.” Tuning back into the important conversation at hand, you’re almost regretting it.

The elder that’d just spoken up sounded almost giddy with excitement, and you’re realizing - at his red-blotched cheeks - that he must have been part of the group to assess your bedsheets on the morning after your wedding night.

Plowing on, almost conspiratorial, “I mean- the way those fine silks were torn- surely you must try harder, my lady, to replicate that night. Otherwise we might have to consider additional royal consorts.”

Beside you, you’re feeling Toji’s towering figure stiffen- recreating that night with Naoya was the last thing he wanted. And he’s growling out through his helmet before he can control himself, “We have no ongoing wars. We have no rebellions. I’d say we’re quite at peace without rushing the princess, minister.”

“And who gave you permission to speak, knight?”

Oh, you don’t have to look up to know who seethed.

The shards of vicious ice cutting through his voice was enough for you to already envision the glare that Naoya was sending Toji’s way. “And you’re one of the lower-born ones- a peasant, are you not? Aren’t you the one that had to get on your knees and beg to be able to take training?”

Toji grits his teeth so hard he tastes rusted metal, “I am.”

“So it is much above you to even breathe so loud during a meeting such as this- is it not?”

“It is.”

“Then why do you butt in like some- some lover when we talk of her duty-”

“Because my duty is to the princess you impotent lout.” Toji’s voice was thunderous, making the long wooden table tremble and the court advisors to hold onto their breath. You were quite sure you saw at least one faint.

And Toji would let anyone mouth off against him - but one word against you and he would stand up to the king that knighted him himself. Nevermind some arrogant prince who couldn’t count the blessings he had.

A prince who, he was sure, was on the verge of bursting right now.

Face an unseemingly shade of red, veins popping, mouth spitting with what were surely punishments–

“I will remind you, husband-” Your voice speaks up, with all the regal authority that half this court wouldn’t be able to muster up. And every head snaps to you as if watching a particularly complex jousting competition. Your eyes narrow down at Naoya, “-that you are not king, yet.”

It didn’t even matter if he was - you would still not allow him to lay a hand on your steadfast knight.

And there was nothing more to say.

Gingerly, the senior advisor, Gakuganji, is slamming down the tiny golden gavel to adjourn the court session. And every huffy elder nearly tumbles out of their seat to escape the stifling tension between you three.

“You-” Naoya declares, as he stands up. With a jolt, you realize that he’s glaring venomously at none other than Toji. “I might not be king but I am next in line. And you shall do well to stay away from my wife-”

Those razor-sharp eyes now falling on you, and even though Toji’s body moves- his heart can’t help but ache at the fact that he had no right to stop the future king - your husband - from daring to look at you with anything but love. Suspiciously, “-or else.”

In a flutter of velvety capes, Naoya is dragging his court entourage off - each one undoubtedly buzzing to gossip outside about the scandal of your knight as they slam the door behind them.

And then, you’re alone.

It’s tough to be alone with someone as princess - always in the presence of elders, guests, or subjects - and this is the first time the two of you have been together in a room, unsupervised, since…that night.

Toji’s mouth runs dry at his blatant disrespect- not only did he have to embarrass you, but he had made you fall within Naoya’s line of sight so vile. “My p- princess, I am sorr-”

“Touch me.”

Fuck.

It’s only once your face breaks out into a tentative smile that he’s realizing he might have just said that out loud. And you’re standing- walking, cornering him, “Well…if you really want to, Sir Toji.”

“But your husband…”

And he didn’t really care for that prince, he only cared for what they might say about you if anyone saw. If anyone knew-

“Since when—” You’re drawling, eyes dipping lower. He really was oh-so-sculptured in his armor, all broad lines and chiseled curves. And it made the thin silk of your dress rub lewdly when you’re clenching your thighs, “-have we cared about him?”

Suddenly, you’re getting a demonstration on why exactly Toji Fushiguro was the fittest of all your knights - the one chosen specifically for you.

Because your back hits the frigid coldness of the table before the recognition hits you- as soon as you blink, as soon as you can gasp, Toji’s lifting you clean off the ground and sprawling you out so prettily.

Right then and there in the middle of the meeting hall.

The velvety fabric of your dress draping across half the chairs, legs flying up into the air in such an unroyal way until Toji’s grabbing ahold of your ankles. Stretchin’ them out to lock around the back of his neck with one big, beefy hand.

You ogle the way his plates of armor shift as his biceps flex from underneath, pushing apart your too-many layers and twisting your undergarments just to the side. “Toji wh-what are you…”

“Sayin’ those things and expecting me not to lose it.” Comes out the answer - rough, hoarse. Like every syllable was wrenched from the back of his smoky throat, sensual. “Maybe I’ve been too- nice- princess.”

You’re whimpering, hips bucking needily off of the flat surface when Toji punctuates the very end of his sentence by rovering the blunt, glinting hilt of his sword between your legs.

Safe. He would always keep you safe. Letting that scalding coldness drag down, down, down between them–

“Oh- fuck!” Before pressing down so meanly on the slope of your throbbing pussy with his metal shaft, you’re seeing stars once he’s nudgin’ apart your puffy folds just enough to locate your clit and massage.

“Seems like we’ve taught my lil’ princess some baaad manners, huh?” He’s snickering, ‘round and ‘round go the gyrations of decorated hilt.

And you’re so wet that every swerve of his blade leaves the barren air ringing with a muffled squelch! Thighs twitching further apart, he takes the opportunity to clunk his muscular thigh up on the ledge and let it grind just teasingly against your cunt.

Watching in awe as a puddle of silvery sap starts polishing his knee-plate, “Why don’t you get yourself off, princess? Hah- use me.”

“S-so crude.”

Latching onto the broad deltoids of his shoulders, Toji’s bending and bending you all the way in half like a parchment. Smooth fringes of his knee sinking in past the plush of your thighs and draggin’ up your slit.

The metallic surface of his armor squeaks when you prod up into it sloppily, riding his knee. All the way up to his thigh-

“And this, princess–” He gruffs out from above you, scorching hot pants sending goosebumps down your neck. Your hamstrings buuurn when he pushes against you, mounted, almost like he was fucking you- just with clothes and armor unfortunately on. “-is called a mating press. Never taught that one in elocution classes before, huh?”

A mating press- oh, Toji had you in a mating press, and he was rutting down into you until your joints popped in protest.

Wrangling the fronts of your knees until they hit your tits, he’s lavishing his tongue on the crook of your neck and biting.

“Oh, what I would ngh- give to have you like this.” Scarred maw tickling your skin, he’s humping you like he’s in heat. “Would absolutely ruin you.”

“S-so why don’t you-” You’re whimpering once he’s gripping a good handful of your left ass cheek, usin’ the lewd leverage to motion you in a manhandled pace. You’re not just being angled, he’s lifting you almost into midair so that you could hit the most perfect spots on your pussy against his thigh.

Crushing the front of your perky clit against his muscles, he snarls when your riding becomes more erratic. His ears burning, “Don’t- haaaah- don’t tempt me, girl- m’already so-”

He doesn’t even have to finish his sentence for Toji’s mossy eyes to drop and for you to realize exactly what he’s talking about.

The firm, rock-hard outline of his cock that was peeking out through the gaps in his armor- you don’t even consider what you’re doing before you’re undoing one of his tight laces to let the metal drop and show you all of his bulge.

“Oh, shit-” Toji gasps, eyes sprinting to the back of his skull when you tug down his black trousers to palm his throbbing erection. “Oh shit oh shit-”

“I-I thought these were padding-”

He smirks, “Heh- not for me.”

And, truly, you hadn’t gotten a good enough look at Toji’s fat, veiny cock when you had the chance to on your wedding night. Because he was just so damn big that you’re finding trouble wrapping your hand around his entire girth, palm tingly where you could feel all his prominent veins pulsing across.

Zig-zagged patterns that Toji hunches over and makes you feel-

“M’not fuckin’ breeding ya.” He spits as soon as he lifts his dripping knee off with a sopping plap! Though, he still keeps his sheathed sword hilt positioned on top of your clit. “Just let me…just…”

Toji couldn’t even begin to explain how filthy it felt to be doing what he was doing.

Holding you all spread apart for him while he fucked you- all without putting it inside like he so badly wanted to. Just lazed, sensual draaaags of his lengthy shaft straightly across your slit. All the way from where his pointed mushroom tip poked your clit, to the innocent smooch of his balls against your cunt.

Bass voice hitching with a crack, “I can’t- I-I can’t I can’t-” It sounded as if he was losing it- Toji’s given an inch and he takes a mile. Rearing the bulbous end of his cockhead to slip underneath your panties- “M’gonna go fucking crazy like this.”

“F-fuuuck- feels like you’re ngh- really fucking me, Toji–”

“Don’t say that- ohhh, don’t say that, princess.” Warning you from above, Toji’s free hand grabs a handful of your sopping soaked underwear so that he can wrap the useless fabric around his shaft whilst he grinds down on you. Faster. “S’fuckin’ dangerous, might just end up giving birth to a heh- Fushiguro.”

Mewling whines, “I-I don’t mind-”

The only thing you can get out before Toji crashes his mouth into yours and makes you shut up before you made him even more feral. Vulgar groans departed into your lips as he thrusts across your pussy, barely audible over the sluuuurp of your two juices mixin’.

“Now whaaat have I said about talking out- of- her-” His sensitive pink slit scratches the nub of your clit along with his blade haft, and that makes you see white.

Again and again and again- so close. Toji was just so unintentionally sexy as he pushed you closer n’ closer, meaty thighs sticking against yours, beads of sweat splattering down onto your body, and it only made you even wetter to imagine how much better it would feel if he actually–

“Oh-” Your knight gruffs out, stern lips twitching into a smirk when he snaps his eyes down to your furiously fluttering pussy. “-you’re cumming, princess.”

You- Clenching your eyes as you throw your head back and mewl. You were.

And you didn’t even realize it until Toji was pressing one particularly prominent vein between your bloated pussylips, letting the gleaming curve of it dig back n’ forth against your cunt and grind you through your high.

White-hot bolts of fire sparking, spine arching into his armor.

“O-oh please–” Such pretty noises of pleasure escape your lips, and right now you’re too far gone to wonder or even care if someone might hear from outside. Toes curling, “Toji Toji Toji- Toooji—!”

Chilling metal hilt scraping your pretty clit, “That’s it- thaaat’s it- might not get to stuff you like I want to, princess. But you-” Darkened green eyes stare into yours seriously, “But you’re cumming for me.”

Toji keeps on staring right into your eyes as he fucks himself against your pussylips- straight into his own high. Forcing himself to milk out every drop, to cream all over your puckered lips with a froth of sappy white.

Hissing, it’s all he can do to stop himself from throwing his head back at his orgasm - not wanting to miss a single nanosecond of your expressions.

You’re blubbering out stupidly, “Will it always ngh- feel this good, Toji?”

“I can’t always have you, princess.” With a saccharine-sweet squelch! he dabs the thick end of his thumb into the pool of white that’d collected near your entrance. Letting it drip a few speckles of cum on its way to plop! right between your pouty lips. Making you suck.

It’s all Toji can do to not keen as he responds, “And- and when you…” He gulps, and in all the years you’ve known him, you don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound so pained. Sage eyes narrowing, he gazes into yours as if he was trying to memorize each blink. Each twinkle. Each shade. “-when you have children, please- please don’t let them have…”

Your eyes, the ones he’d never forget. The ones he’ll see till his dying day. He could handle watching you grow your family, raising heirs while he stands by your sides as he always has.

But if he has to look at them and be looked at through your eyes- ones that never knew him as you did, he doesn’t think even the strongest knight could bear it.

It’s what he wanted to say.

It’s what he would’ve never forgiven himself if he said- because who was he, really, to demand such a thing from you?

So it was only because the universe had finally taken pity on poor Toji Fushiguro and his hopeless love that they decided to spare him this. Because just before he could dare finish that sentence, there’s a soft gasp from the other end of the doorway.

Your blood crystalizes into ice, and Toji’s immediately covering your body- shining blade honed in on the faint figure of Ijichi, who’d very obviously been handed the task of bringing you two back to court.

“S-sorry for interrupting!”

With a bow so low that his wiry glasses clatter briefly onto the marble floor, Ijichi shuts the door fast enough that your mind - still reeling from your recent orgasm - starts to wonder whether he might even have been a figment of your imagination.

Until Toji breathes out a ragged sigh of almost relief, “I have a new recruit to teach about knocking, princess.” Before staring back at you - and that ivory puddle of cum between your legs, and he grins. “Keep that there.”

Toji Fushiguro knew you had a penchant for wandering off- it’s how he met you, after all.

That starry-eyed lil’ girl, just a few years younger than he was, who was roaming around the bustling streets of the town market with absolutely no sense of danger or emergency. Seriously- why the hell were you entertaining that hawker trying to sell you glass as real pearls, when you were obviously wearing the real thing?

And even from a distance, it was obvious that you were out-of-place. So Toji, with all his wizened fourteen years as an actual townsfolk, was the one to help you.

“-from the greatest depths of the greatest sea, I tell you, little miss! And only for you I will give you the low, low price of-”

“Absolutely nothing.” Toji had snarled, signature scowl on his face - he was the most feared of the neighborhood boys for a reason. “That’s what tha crap’s worth.”

Pawing a hand on the silken sleeve of your dress, it’s only after he’d tugged you away from the shop and by his side that he’s remembering something you nobles (even badly disguised ones) had called ah- etiquette.

But no matter, it was too late for that now, and you weren’t complaining either. Only peering up at him with a questioning gaze as Toji pulled you closer to his dirtied undershirt with a hand on your shoulder, “Scam the rich not the kids, fuckin’ conman.”

That seemed to draw a reaction from you, “Oi- who’re you calling a kid-”

“And who’re you calling a conman.” Indignantly, the older man eyeballed the two of you menacingly, “Who even are you, little twerp- I can’t imagine you’re her boy-”

“Gods yeah, I’m her- boy.”

The words made his ears hot with blood, Toji wasn’t popular with anyone in the neighborhood - all finding him too frightening and big - let alone with the daughter of some aristocracy like you. But you weren’t correcting him, either!

“S-so–” The hawker seemed to have believed him, at the way his tannish cheeks were boiling bright red more than anything. It was enough embarrassment for him, and Toji’s turning to tug you away, “-you better- stay away from my girl!”

Hell, that was worse than embarrassing.

Toji’s noticing that damn near the entire market turns at his cracking voice and wishes the ground would swallow him whole.

Even more so when he’s out of earshot of the marketplace and you speak up- “So, my…boy, huh?” Shit- he was still holding onto your hand. You giggle when Toji lets go as if you burned, finding the older boy hilarious. He turns to you and oh- oh, his breath catches at your smile. “Guess that makes you the future king- you seem quite a lot better than that Zenin boy, anyways.”

“Future…king?”

It’s only then that he hears it- the galloping of horses so powerful that they could only be part of the palace’s special forces. The call of ‘princess! There you are-’

Oh, shit.

Toji Fushiguro was fucked.

Go-home-and-think-about-the-princess-you-accidentally-propositioned fucked.

Wreck-your-humble-abode-into-a-training-ground-so-you-can-beg-to-try-out-for-the-royal-knights fucked.

Toji Fushiguro was very, very-

“-out of it.” Wafts Ijichi’s tremoring voice through his little reverie. Tone slightly raised over the humming orchestra, “Toji, sir- sir!”

Toji jolts as he’s brought back- right, here he was. Stationed guard inside the ballroom of one of the most important annual functions of your kingdom, to bless the first few months of the newly-married couple.

He’d zoned out just as your father, the king, had introduced the two of you, and Naoya had led you by your hand for the honored first dance - nothing worse than seeing you in the arms of another.

He’d rather live in his memories with you, than a real life without.

And that brought him back to Ijichi- whispering, though Toji wasn’t sure if it could count as whispering if half the surrounding nobles could likely hear. “Is this because of the other week when I caught you and the princess-”

“You will shut your mouth, Ijichi.” He cuts him off, tightly.

“Yes, sir!”

Bored eyes refocusing back on the middle of the dancefloor, it seems the first dance was finally, torturously over. And Toji’s licking his dry lips as his gaze instantly finds you, as they always can’t help but do.

Always looking at you.

Two parts of the same heart when they meet yours- and Toji feels a part of his break at the sad glimmer in your eyes when you’d wandered to the side of the polished floor, smearing one of those aching faux smiles he’s learned to distinguish. You wanted to leave.

How could you stand there like that?

So bothered and beautiful in your flowing gown, looking as if the rays of the chandeliers above were bouncing off of your sparkling dress - like they, too, knew they wouldn’t shine half as bright as you. And where was your husband-

Oh.

Toji feels something ugly twist at the sight of Naoya talking with a court lady, a smizing smile on his lips. Too close. Too hurtful. And it’s a damn miracle he didn’t slay the heir right then and there.

“Ijichi-” He hisses out, suddenly. Nodding as the other man yelps into rapt attention, “Hold my station- I have fuckin’ important business to attend to.”

The new recruit almost looks as if he was about to argue his superior orders, that is, until he follows Toji’s line of sight to meet you.

“Understood, sir. Please take care of the princess.”

It takes Toji almost fifteen years to reach you, and only three steps.

“Toji!” You gasp, seeing your lifelong friend bound up to your side, pointedly away from his station. “What are you doing here-”

“Do you want it to be him?”

Eyes boring into yours, hands itching for your own. He can apologize and grovel at your feet later for cutting the future queen off, but right now he just needs to know. And you already know, too.

Your eyes darting to the middle of the dancefloor, where the string quartet had started up a new romantic melody, and Naoya was dragging a giggling noble lady into a dance.

You could feel the eyes on you, and not just Toji’s. “Consorts. I told him I didn’t want- and then- about the heir- I think he just wanted consorts from the beginning. That’s why…but even though we’ve never consummated, our marriage is a contract so I can’t.”

“Do you want it to be him?” And Toji never repeats himself - not to eager new knights, generals, or those court elders - always listened to.

But he would echo those very words to you as many times as you wanted until he was heard.

Your voice was almost a whisper- “No.”

There comes your answer, and there comes that familiar scarred grin of his.

“Then come with me.”

“M-mm right there, Toji–” Your cries rip through the empty atmosphere of the knight’s quarters, right in unison with the rickety creak! given off by Toji’s shabby bed as you buck your hips in tandem.

The glossed walls of your cunt scouring for the touch of his roughened fingertips, scraping and stirrin’ right between your pussylips and hitting the bottom deeply. It’s driving you mad how easily he’s spotting your sultry g-spot, clawing at his ruthless wrist-

“Impatient giiirl.” He croons out cockily from above you, words huffed through clenched teeth. And Toji’s pressing his capped knee against your restless thigh to make you take it- “Unless you want my fat fuckin’ cock to hah- stretch the princess out then take it.”

You’re whimpering, spine arching off of the clammy blankets when his middle finger flicks your sweetest spot. “I-is it always that big that you have to stretch it out this much.”

“No.” Comes the answer - and Toji’s free hand toying with your left hand. Particularly the diamond ring on it, one he’s unapologetically plucking off of your finger and pushing onto his own - his thick pinky finger being where it would fit.

Before slipping the banded digit past your dewy wet folds with a pryin’ squeeeelch, the noise is so loud and lewd that Toji groans as your greedy cunt swallows his fourth finger inside. “Jus’ me, princess.”

Just what- your brain can barely even compute past the stretch. The firm ridges of your knight’s lengthy fingerpads barreling straight past your elastic hole.

Opening you up so much on his digits that it takes you a few breaths, a few seconds staring between Toji’s meaty thighs for you to understand what he meant- oh.

He was just that big.

Whimpering, the chilling royal insignia creeps along your gummy walls and presses deep into your tender areas. Splotchy puddles of sap dribbling down Toji’s wrist, “Chatting to me from there too, huh? So loud- they’ll hear us at the ball, princess.”

They wouldn’t - the Keep too barren with every knight stationed, and the music of the orchestra too loud. You’re sure that the royal event was so bustling that no one’s even noticed you were gone, yet.

But you mewl anyway, “Th-then- ngh! Then just wan’ you inside, Toji- please.”

Oh, the sound of your cute begging makes Toji’s ravaged, aching cock twitch. “Ohhh- I wanna fuck those manners outta you-” He groans, head slouching backwards once he’s assessing your driveling cunt.

Faster, harder.

Toji’s fingers carnally itch your pussy like he was crazed, pumping feverish in n’ out like he wasn’t even letting your slick, bulging folds get used to the stretch. Just watching with a leer as you struggle.

Gruffing, “Open those pretty legs for me wider- yeahhh–” Toji’s sweaty, armorless body nuzzles the insides of your sheeny limbs. His bulky legs spread apart until his heavy erection throb-throb-throbs by the side of your inner thighs.

“Wh-what are you-”

“Shhh watch.”

You can’t do anything but gawk once he’s rovering his free hand over your tummy- doughy thumb pressing down on the button of your clit, index streeeeetching upwards.

He was measuring you. Measuring just how far his cock would go inside you.

Once the curve of your knight’s index draws a horizontal line about halfway down your stomach, he grins. “There-” X marks the spot, and you yelp once the stern point of his finger taps right there. “-m’gonna fuck an ngh- heir into you there, princess.”

“Th-then do it, Sir Toji.” You huff, brows knitting with impatience.

“Well…” He drawls, and for a second you think that Toji’s about to pull away and leave you all high and dry. But, really, he’s just tugging on his snug white undershirt, dampened and clinging onto him with sweat in a way that made it look painted.

Your mouth waters as you peek at the curly black happy trail which was lining the middle of his abs - so toned and tense that you could count exactly eight. Maybe more.

A pearly droplet of sweat clings onto one of his shaggy bangs, and drips- slithering between Toji’s pectorals, his bumpy core, disappearing into where his heavy cock was fat n’ throbbing.

In the dimmed lighting of Toji’s bedroom, you can already make out just how red and pretty his bulging tip was, curved just slightly right and weeping fat globules of frothy pre. It collects in a sleek mess over your pussylips, damn near ten inches of veiny shaft settled between your slit and waiting.

He was weighty.

“-if my queen asks.”

And Toji knows you. He waits just until your mouth opens to snark back- before kissin’ your glistening entrance with the edge of his mushroom tip and pushing—

“O-ohhh fuck–!” You’re letting off a shrill wailing whimper, hands reaching somewhere- anywhere for you to hold onto for dear life while Toji fit himself inside your tight pussy.

Slurring, you grasp onto the rippling muscles of his deltoids and claw such red, red lines. “Shoooo big-”

Toji’s leaning himself closer, he’s slouching. He’s swabbing his plump, swollen tip deeper-

“A m-mating press.” Barking out a sudden laugh - octaves higher, wild like he was still in disbelief. Toji snakes his beefy arms underneath both your thighs and lifts you up until your ass cheeks are almost off the aged mattress. Folding and folding- he really was pushing you into a mating press. “I have you in a mating press- you. Like I’ve always dreamed.”

Before the words have even left his mouth, he reaches down to swab your bloated folds with the edge of his thumb. Straightly smoothing your pussylips and watching how you gulping down each solid, rummaging inch.

“And yer taking me-” Gasping, just the slightestshift closer leaves his pointed cockhead gliding off your walls and burying even deeper. Snagging his tender veins on your orifice and making him hiss, “-taking me allll up inside. O-oh, you’re so fucking- tight-”

It’s the first time you’ve ever been stretched out this much. Toji’s so damn big that it’s like your soppy walls were clinging to him like a second skin.

Not even thrusting properly, quick, rapid half-ruts that make him feel more like an animal. The curves of his spine bowing against where your syrupy pussy was being stretched out, “But will it even fit, then?”

“M’gonna make it fit.” He growls, slowing down the mindless cadence of his hips to a lazy tempo that makes you keen at the sensual lightning bolts of his veiny shaft.

Feeling every twirling coil and pulse shoveling through your entrance.

Possessively, Toji’s guiding one of your sweaty palms within his. Placing it right down on your tummy and pushing on the back to make you press- “Here- feel.”

“Oh-oh!”

You’re seeing white- the walls of your pussy being sagged by his cock’s weight.

Toji was making you massage where his pounding shaft was creating a lil’ bulging outline. Feeling every mazing bump where his slimy tip was snaking to your deepest depths. “Feel the way you’re sluuuurping me up s-so good. S’like you’re made for me.”

Crying out- you can’t keep yourself from planting your feet flat and leaning into his touch. “Don’t tease me and j-just put it all the way in, To- fuck!”

“Awww, but I’ve waited years, princess.” He snickers, kneading harder on the cylindrical ridge of your cute tummy bulge. And oh- Toji can feel that precise moment he’s bottoming out.

When he’s bubbling out a fat wad of precum that smears against the very back of your cervix, the edge of his ballsack hitting your cunt. Finally. Finally.

Panting- seething through his teeth at the gooey warmth, “Princess- princess princess- oh, princess, m’finally inside you.”

Experimentally, Toji reels his hips all the way back - all the way until the cherry-red end of his cocktip was sticking to your hole like adhesive. Before slamming right back in- “And again.” Another. “And again. And again and- hngh- again.”

“Shit- shit shit shit y-you really are all the way inside.”

You caress the mean bulging swab of his cocktip against the top of your tummy, confirming to your melted mind that he wasn’t actually thumping your damn lungs - even though it might feel like it.

“Of course I am-” Toji doesn’t end his hoarse declaration with any punctuation. He’s finishing it with a quick splat! of saliva gluing your lips shut, “You’re mine.”

With a hand on your tummy to balance himself, he leans just the barest inches backwards until he can do the same to your puckered pussy. Splatter! It’s so wet and gleaming with moisture that forms the most sinful pool, “All mine. And I’m yours.”

And now he’s fucking you like a madman, drilling the split-ended circle of his orifice against your mushy walls until you sob.

The size of him was insane. It was stretching you out so good that all you can do is flap your mouth-watered tongue wetly inside and yeowl. “Ngh- feels so good- feels so full inside with you, Toji.”

“Yer gonna feel ngh- even fuller when I fuck a baby into ya, girl.”

He scoffs once an especially hard thrust leaves the base of his cock stinging, and you shoved up to the headboard. “And n-no running.” Before you know it, Toji’s maintaining a rude chokehold of your neck and using it to drag you after every recoil. “How m’I gonna fuck a nghhh- baby into ya if you run, hm?”

Fuck- Toji’s jackhammers were vulgar - almost vicious.

Every spank of his v-line let off aggressive paps! that made your eardrums pop. Your lips wobbling each n’ every time his bulging tip was stirrin’ around your insides to pinpoint every sensitive orifice.

You feel the thin line running down his plummy tip scrape right along the bundle of your g-spot, dolloping out a stream of precum as hello. Grumbling, “Hmmm– how cute. Hope our heir’s just as cute as ngh- you.”

“Gonna be j-just as rude as you.” You’re mumbling, and his absolute favorite moment was whenever your hips would be so stimulated that you’re perking away from his thrusts.

All the better for him to tighten your airflow and bring you back down- humming at the erotic jiggle of your ass cheeks against his chiseled pelvis. “Heh- then I guess I’ll be the fun parent, meanwhile you…”

And fuck- fuck, he almost doesn’t finish his sentence with the way your tight, circular-shaped insides clench.

A glittery gloss of slick dripping down the sides of your pussylips, Toji’s scarred lips curl once he drags your pliant body back to his again. Relishing in the harsh smack! against his abs, “You can sit there while I give you a pretty lil’ heir. Make my h-hah! pretty lil’ princess all round n’ glowing. All-”

He doesn’t know what not to do. He’s touching you everywhere - anywhere.

From the underside of your thighs to the perky nub of your clit, Toji brandishes his thumb against your nub and watches you quake.

“-all pumped- full- until you can’t take anymore. S’my damn duty. I’ll wash them- dress them, put them to sleep, feed them- don’t have to do a nghh- damnnn thing. Just- get- pregnant.”

With the fringe of his muscular thigh lifting to keep you from running, you can only throw your head back and trill at the dual knocks of his cock against your g-spot, fingers against your clit. “I’m close- close- haaah not gonna last, Toji.”

“Already fuckin’ know.” He could feel the way your cute insides were clamping after every sweet ba-dump! of your racing heartbeat. The heavy curve of his balls begging him to milk himself on you, “Cum for me. Cum on my cock- fuck! The mama needs to cum if we’re gonna get you pregnant, princess.”

“Please- mm–”

“Deep breaths, deeeeep breaths.” With every heaving deep breath, his rams only grew deeper, too. Before ultimately Toji spreads his sweat-sheened thighs wider and groans— “Cum.”

It’s impossible not to listen - not when his fat, vein-decorated cock was splitting you open just so. Swervin’ your sticky walls apart and shoveling himself all the way near your throat whilst you reached your high.

“It’s sooo- oh.” Your vision dazed with stars, and it took so much out of you to even grind your hips down and meet his sloppy tempo. Keening, “Cum…inside.”

Oh-so-dumbified that you didn’t even realize Toji was already finishing himself off on your dripping wet cunt until he’s guiding one of your hands to feel your driveling pussy. Letting that saccharine white sap slip allll the way between your digits and wad up.

“Already- hah- already did. And fuck- girl, you’re loving this, huh?”

Nodding, your eyes just kept on criss-crossing after every knot of seed that bundled up near your cervix. Sloshing like waves against your womb-

“Oh look.” He’s manhandling your own hand to tease and sluuuurp down your overstuffed slit, pushin’ back in the knots of creamy white that leaked out. “Even she agrees- oh, aaaand you wanna know what else she’s sayin’?”

“Wh-what?”

Gruffly leaning in closer, Toji’s skin was so burning hot against yours that you feel your slam-impacted flesh break out in a fresh layer of perspiration. “She says it’s gonna be a girl.”

It was unsteady, animalistic the way that your knight- your lover was creaming out every ounce of cum on your pussy. Squishing it past your tight hole and letting his base slather in such a thick ivory ring, you whine. “O-oh, fuck, m’so sensitive, To- ah!”

But he wasn’t letting go of you that easily.

Fuck how electric skitters of your orgasm left your legs thrashing weakly, oh-so-overstimulated.

Toji hisses at the springy recoil of his knobbled tip against the entrance to your womb, rugged fingers dragging you back-

“How about…” Pressing down, your pretty bulge wasn’t simply filled with his cock anymore. It was jiggling around with the inflation of his masses of cum. “-we make it twins?”

And it could have been Toji simply greedy for a second round, for a lucky third, a fourth- but the only thing you’re sure of was that his wooden bed was brokenly sagging on one side by the time early day had begun breaking through the shutters of his drafty windows. Lighting your eyes ablaze once you’re lolling your head forwards and slamming your grinding hips down onto Toji’s.

You don’t know who’s more ruined now - him or you.

Whimpering at the slight scratch of his tufted happy trail, your thighs twitch weakly at the sensation. “H-haaa- just a little more- mmm a bit more, Toji.”

He sounds utterly fucking gone as he coos up at you, eyes half-closed. “You’ve been saying that for ngh- aaaages, greedy girl.” And yet, the cracked bedframe protests when he’s bucking his hips in tandem to puncture your battered g-spot with a spank. “G-gonna milk me d-ry–”

Toji’s voice was breaking, he was whimpering.

You gasp, “Did you just-”

“Shut up.” His veiny shaft enters your hole mercilessly- and each time you thought you were used to the textured stretch of his sheer size, he always manages to surprise you. “Sh-shut up and-”

Toji can’t even tell you to take it because you were- over n’ over until his bulbous, weighty balls were all tender, and each time your hips swerved in that wiiide heart shape left him drooling. Hypnotized.

A creamy circle of cum brands on his hilt and Toji gulps, “Get pregnant.”

“That’s what we’re doing.”

“Yes- yes, I want- no. I need it.” It wasn’t just enough to have you riding him, Toji’s rutting up in half-dazed ruts until he was seeing stars. “Need you to- get- pregnant.” One hand pawing at the bulging cumflation on your tummy, the other clinging onto your hips to make you bounce. “Get pregnant get pregnant- get- pregnant.”

He wasn’t just animalistic, he was feral. Filthily streaking your walls with a wisp of pre, every slight gush only makes his slip n’ slide probe deeper.

Blinking back fucking tears when your sopping wet walls clamp down - just the tiniest bit, but he was so damn fucked-out. He’s gasping, feverish, bucking-

Only to make the fleshy tip of his crown slip out of your sloppy entrance with a loud plop!

“N-no-” Toji’s lips depart a murky pant, entire body shuddering when one of his hands clasp his ravaged n’ red cock. “No no no no- no- inside, need it i-inside.”

“O-ohhh fuck the stretchh–”

Maw dropping, voice hoarse with calling his name - if the ball hadn’t heard you before, then they sure as hell were now.

Whining, you’re cumming on Toji’s cock for the nth time in the past few hours. Well, ‘cumming’ was an understatement - you’re downright drenching him in sparkly bucketloads of your squirt.

Letting it drip down the sides of his ripped, flexible hips, showering him in a thin spray of your cloying wetness. You find it easy to use that sticky moistened texture as a way to glissade your front down his abs and ride him to insanity.

Milking Toji’s fat, bludgeoning cock until he was wrung dry.

Hitting and hitting the goopy spots inside you that clamped down on him the tightest, and yet, all his achingly hard tip could do was flinch. Jolting with a few sparks of pleasure once he’s hitting his wave of bliss. “Shit- shit, ya fucking milked me sucked me- hah- dry. Sucked me all dry.”

Cumming.

Cumming and cumming so hard that Toji half wonders whether he could cum again. The softened smooch of his ballsack makes his head feel numb, teeth grit as you just keep on riding him in slight motions repeatedly. As if you couldn’t stop anymore.

“I-I love you.” Toji breathes, voice cracked. Holding you tight against him, “I’ve always- always loved you. I’ve loved you so long that I’d tear down any world where I don’t.”

“Toji- I love you, too.”

Toji feels the scouring end of his mushroomy tip skim deeply into your womb, letting it brand its spongy circumference and stay there while he babbles. Hopelessly pussydrunk. Hopelessly in love. “Run away with me…?”

Took him long enough.

“My princess, I told you not ta handle heavyduty tasks when you’re-”

“And I’ve already told you, my Sir Toji, that reading a book isn’t heavyduty.”

“Just let me read it to ya.” Toji rolls his shoulders from a long day out in the field. And you’re roaming your eyes over him appreciatively, all this extra manual labor had only made your husband more naturally swole.

He trudges up to where you were sprawled out serenely across your cute cottage couch, tucked safely away in a kingdom where nobody would find you. None of your furious, heirless ex-husband, or those nosy elders.

Well, almost nobody-

“Ijichi wrote to say he’ll be visiting this week.” You’re tittering over Toji’s dramatic groan, poking his beefy biceps whilst he lays across your lap, restful. “Oh, c’mon, our daughter loves him. Speaking of- you should get her from the garden, it’s getting dark.”

Waving an airy hand, though his heart swoops as it always did when he thought of you and his little daughter, his exact carbon copy - except for that one feature, of course. “Builds immunity.”

His little family.

Including-

“I hope…” Gently, oh-so-gently as if this was a dream on the verge of shattering, Toji lays his palm across your swollen tummy. Awe striking through him at the slight movement beneath your thoroughly stretched-out stomach- and your daughter chose that exact moment to barge inside, sprinting to cuddle right on top of him.

Looking at you, and you’re finally looking back. “-our son has your eyes, too.”

A/N. Daddy’s been listening to this song and going THROUGH it- Anyways, this was supposed to be PWP what HAPPENED?

Plagiarism not authorized.

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wvnternvghtt · 17 days ago

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02 | SHADOWS OF OBSESSION ⭒ JJK

“You think you can scream at me? Threaten me? You’re nothing. You hear me? A little girl playing hero, and now you’re all over my head; you’re my fucking obsession. I don’t do love or believe in anything related to it, but you—you’re in my head, and I can’t rip it out. It pisses me off, you know that? You’re too soft, too pure, and I want to break you. I want to hear you scream just to see if you’ll look at me with those innocent eyes again.”

pairing — criminal dom!jungkook x student sub!femreader

genre — criminal au, dark romance, forbidden attraction, enemies to lovers, murderer!jungkook, stalker!jungkook, innocent shy!reader, virgin!reader, medical student!reader, violence, stalking and obsession, contrast of worlds, crime, thriller, smut, angst, fluff

warnings/tags — 18+, explicit smut, argument, emotional vulnerability, crying and screaming, mentions of being scared, non-consensual undertones, solo masturbation, he steals her panties, panty sniffing, cock palming and fisting, he cums on her panties, voyeuristic and obsessive elements, possessiveness, rough making out, bruising/marking, oral sex (f. receiving), cunnilingus, rough handling, angry confessions, pussy inspection, eating out, fingering, clit sucking and stimulation, tongue fucking, face sitting, face riding, cum swallowing, hair fisting, clothed sex elements, dirty talk, praise kink, restriction, slight aftercare

wc — 5.4k

series m. list | main m. list

────୨ৎ────

The damp night air clung to Jungkook, with the threat of rain, a cigarette between his lips, its burning tip the only light in the dark.

He was in front of your apartment, hand twitching towards the knob, a boundary he was about to break that he tried so hard not to. His obsession with you has turned into something monstrous, and it was eating at his insides, demanding more than just watching you from afar.

He couldn’t keep away, not from you, not from the feminine warmth of your apartment, so different from the coldness in his life.

Tonight, the pull was even stronger, dragging him to your door. His lock-picking ways were a skill from his past experience as he slipped inside, intruding your place like a thief.

The door clicked shut, and he stood in your living room, boots ruining the same rug that he had ruined that day with his blood, the rug fully tainted by him despite how much you tried to clean it.

The place took him back to the night when he last came here when you insisted on treating him—your apartment was like a cocoon to him, all soft pink. It was you, every inch of it. The lingering smell of you drove him crazy, so fragile that he could smash it with one hand.

He wanted to. God, he wanted to. But instead, he was here, drawn to it.

He moved through your space like a predator, fingers brushing over your belongings; each touch felt like a violation, yet his claim.

The couch squeaked as he sank onto it, still warm from where you'd sat earlier. He lit another cigarette, the lighter's snap loud in the stillness; he exhaled, the smoke souring the sweet air in your home.

His dark eyes scanned the room, memorizing every inch. Your life was laid bare here for him to see, every detail—your dreams, your fears, your innocence—laid out for him to devour.

His gaze fell on the laundry basket in the corner, almost hidden. His pulse quickened, a dark thrill twisting in his stomach. He crossed the room slowly and lifted the lid. There among your sweaters and tees was a pair of panties—pink, delicate with lace that made his jaw clench.

He picked them up, the fabric soft against his calloused fingers, and brought them to his face. Your scent hit him—musky sweet with a hint of your lotion so purely you it made his head spin.

His cock twitched, straining against his jeans, and he let out a low growl in the silence.

He returned to the couch and sank back down again with his thighs spread, the panties in his tight fist. The room felt smaller, the air thick with his own need, and his heart racing.

He unzipped his jeans slowly, fingers shaking slightly. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, tip already glistening with precum, veins pulsing and achingly hard.

He wrapped your panties around his length, the roughness of the lace sending shivers down his spine, he hissed at the sensation. His hand squeezed his cock, making him feel the throb of his arousal.

He dragged the fabric up harshly as it engulfed his entire cock, making him groan. He tipped his head back, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. It felt so damn good—your softness against his hardness, like you were touching him even if you’d hate him for it.

His hand moved slowly at first, savoring the moment even though he knew how wrong it was, that just caused his cock to harden even more. He didn’t give a single fuck about rules, when it came to you; he was a madman.

He twisted his wrist, letting the lace drag over the tip, the friction made his hips buck, a growl escaping his mouth, couch creaking from his movements. The panty was growing slick with precum dripping from his cock.

He imagined you—your eyes wide and innocent as your lips parted in shock, the way you’d gasp with a blush coating your cheeks if you saw him like this.

The thought made him harder, his grip tightening around his cock. “Fuck, baby,” he muttered, voice rough, “you’d hate me, wouldn’t you? But you’d stare…. You’d fucking stare.”

His hand sped up, the panty sliding over his cock faster; the lace was both like a torment and bliss to him. He tugged, and the slight pain grounded him made him fume with pleasure.

His hips started thrusting. “Fuck yeah,” the sensation was more than he had ever felt in his life, just from your flimsy panties.

His chest heaved, and the room was filled with the smell of his arousal and your sweetness, with the hint of cigarette smoke that he was smoking earlier, and it was messing with his head.

“you’re in my head little girl” he snarled, “every fucking where. I can't stop.”

His hips started bucking harder as he pressed the panties to his nose again, inhaling your scent now mixed with his—the smell of your essence, so you—his tongue flicked out, tasting whatever slickness, you left, and he groaned at the taste.

His other hand gripped the couch, nails digging into the fabric, leaving marks in your couch.

He imagined you—on your knees, mouth on him, your innocence broken by his touch. Your tongue tracing the shape of him, whimpers vibrating against him. Your cheeks flushed as you’d look up at him, trusting and trembling, and it was too much. It broke him.

His orgasm hit hard, vision blurring. His hand froze, keeping the panties pressed against his cock tightly as he came in hot, thick spurts, soaking the fabric, ruining it, he bit his lip hard enough to taste blood. His cock was pulsing, and he stifled the moan that threatened to spill out. Your panty was a mess, stained with his cum, his shame, and his obsession.

The release was violent, and his body shuddered. He sat there, panting, cock still twitching. “You’re mine,” he rasped in the empty room

He slumped back, panting, cock hard again, not even close to being relieved, it was a pain only you can help with.

The room was quiet again, with only the distant hum of the city. He stared at the ceiling and felt the weight of what he’d done.

He wasn’t a good man. He didn’t do gentle, didn’t do kind. But you—you were a fire in his blood, and he hated you for it. Hated how your softness made him weak, how you threatened to crack the shell he’d built around him

He tucked himself back into his jeans, zipping up, shoving the panties into his pocket, a dirty secret he couldn’t leave behind. He stood, legs unsteady, and lit another cigarette. He took a drag, smoke burning his throat, helping his mind to get distracted, even just a little bit.

He moved to your bedroom door, pausing to look at your bed—the soft sheets tangled with a dent from where you’d slept. He pictured you there, body vulnerable and exposed, nightie riding up, and his fists clenched, nails digging into his palms.

“You’re too fucking delicate,” he muttered, voice angrily low, with a softness he couldn’t name. “This world will break you. I’d break you.”

The words were like a warning. He turned away and slipped out of your apartment, leaving the cigarette butt on your table, marking his claim and his promise to return.

۶ৎ

Your apartment felt suffocating, trapping you in a danger that you’d built yourself. The air in your home was mixed with cigarette smoke, a reminder of the stranger who’d invaded your world.

Your heart pounded loudly as you stood in the living room, tears streaming down your cheeks.

The signs were everywhere—cigarette butts on coffee table, a pink rose on the counter or sometimes you'd find them in other random places, the small dent on your bed indicating someone's presence there, and everything in your place reeked of a male and smoke. Someone was watching you, following you everywhere, unfolding your life.

The money—envelopes of cash had kept you grounded and saved you from debt—kept you silent, but tonight, it was too much; everything was too much all at once, and you were about to burst.

You gripped the cushion tightly as your voice came out shaky. “Who are you?” you screamed into the empty room. “What do you want? Just leave me alone! Stop this! Stop torturing me!” Your voice broke, a sob left your lips, and you sank down to your knees.

The room spun, and you knew it was your fault. You were a fool for not calling the police, for letting the money involve you to this. You tugged at your hair, the pain helping with frustration

The silence was loud, swallowed by your cries. Then—a creak, a noise in your bedroom. Your breath hitched, body freezing as a shadow moved, stepping from the darkness like a monster into the night, his presence in your place attracting everything to him.

Jungkook stood there, filling the room with threat. His leather jacket hung open. Showing the hardness of his chest, with the tattoos all over him. His hair was messed up, falling into his dark eyes, burning with an intensity, pinning you where you sat.

He didn’t belong here, in your world, but he stood there as if he owned it, as if you were the one intruding

You gasped, recognition hitting you. The man you’d saved—the one whose blood had soaked your rug, who haunted your dreams—was here, real, in your home.

Your heart raced, tears drying on your cheeks and you scrambled to your feet, legs shaking. “You,” you whispered, voice barely audible over the pounding in your ears, “it was you. All this time… it was you.”

Jungkook didn’t move. His eyes locked in yours, dark and unreadable, like they could swallow you whole. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, the smoke invading your space like it's used to it now.

“You shouldn’t have helped me that night,” he growled, the gravel sending a shiver down your spine. “You should’ve run, sweetheart. Should’ve locked your door and prayed I’d bleed out on the street.”

His words cut sharp and cold, you stumbled back, hips hitting the couch. Fear and anger twisted inside you, as you pointed a shaky finger at him.

“I’m calling the police.” Your voice quivered but gaining strength from the betrayal, “You’ve been in my home, touching my things, leaving your… filth everywhere! Why? Why are you doing this? I saved you! I saved your life, and this is how you repay me?” You rambled, fueled by your own anger.

His eyes flashed dangerously, making your stomach lurch, and in two long strides he was on you. He towered over you, blocking everything from your view with his large frame. Before you could react, he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head, slamming you against the wall.

The impact shook you as your lips parted in fear. His body was radiating heat and danger, his scent overwhelming—cigarettes, leather, something so wild and primal. His grip was bruising, fingers digging in, and you whimpered, tears welling in your eyes.

“Don’t you dare,” he snarled, face only a few inches away from yours, breath hot against your lips, anger palpable. “You think you can scream at me? Threaten me? You’re nothing. You hear me? A little girl playing hero, and now you’re all over my head; you’re my fucking obsession. I don’t do love or believe in anything related to it, but you—you’re in my head, and I can’t rip it out. It pisses me off, you know that? You’re too soft, too pure, and I want to break you. I want to hear you scream just to see if you’ll look at me with those innocent eyes again.”

His words hurt you, and you shook as tears spilled down your face again. His eyes followed them, something hungry flickering in them, he leaned forward, catching a teardrop with his tongue making you gasp, the act so obscene and dirty, like he was possessing you; even the tears you spilled, he wanted to own them.

It scared you, thrilled you in ways you couldn’t understand. “I shouldn’t have saved you,” you choked out, voice filled with regret. “I should’ve just let you die out there, let the street take you. You’re a monster, and I was stupid—stupid to think I could help someone like you!”

His grip tightened, fingers almost crushing your wrists, nostrils flaring from his anger, and he leaned closer nose brushing your cheek, lips so close you could feel their heat.

“Say that again!” he roared, his voice shaking you to the core. “Say it, you little brat! Tell me you regret it; tell me you hate me! Go on, scream it because I’ll make you feel every second of my anger.”

His eyes were wild, burning with a fury that wasn’t just at you but at himself as well, at the obsession that had chained him to you.

You sobbed, body shaking, but you couldn’t look away, caught in his intense gaze. His face was full of rage, yet beneath it there was something else—wounded pain that he cannot heal from. Your lips parted, but no words came out, only a whimper, a sound of defeat.

The air was full with tension, almost electric yet suffocating; the space between you blurred until it was just him taking over your senses, and nothing else existed except him—his scent, his fury, his presence.

His eyes dropped to your lips, and for a moment, time stopped. Then with a growl he crashed his mouth against yours, claiming you with a force that stole your breath. The kiss was hard and consuming, full of anger. His lips moving against yours in a rough and consuming way, yet full of need. His tongue pushes past and forces into your mouth, claiming you.

It was messy, his teeth grazing your lower lip, the sharp sting making you gasp, his mouth swallowing that noise, as the kiss deepened. He tasted of smoke and salt, and it was overwhelming, pulling you under even more.

You moaned, and he growled at the noise, gripping you harder, tongue exploring all over your mouth, tangling with yours, fighting your tongue for control even though it was very obvious he would win.

His stubble brushed against your chin, rough and grounding you. His lips moved in a punishing way, sucking your lower lip before diving back in your mouth for more.

You suddenly came back to your senses, and your hands pushed at his chest, fingers curling into his shirt, making noises of protest, but he was a solid wall full of muscle and rage, body pressing you harder against the wall.

The kiss slowed, but his tongue was still coaxing noises from you, high and needy. He stole your first-ever kiss, and you felt your knees getting weak just from the kiss alone. For years you have imagined what it would be like to get your first kiss after reading about them in your silly romance books and getting it for the first time, from a criminal made you want to cry and push him away, not from anger directed towards him but towards your own self for enjoying it and making you ache.

Your own body betrayed you, a heat between your legs, skin tingling where his hands gripped your hips, sliding down your arms with a possessiveness that made your knees weak.

You were a virgin, untouched, and the sensation was overwhelming, a wave of fear and want crashing into you. It was too much—the kiss and being touched like this, drowning you in sensations you didn’t know how to name. His hands were rough against your soft skin, and each of his touches felt like he was marking you as his.

You hated him, terrified of him, but your body arched into him, your breasts pressing against his hard chest, craving everything he was willing to give you.

His taste and his raw hunger clung to your tongue. Your heart was thundering in a wild rythm, each of your gasps now filled with the scent of him—cigarettes, musk, and also with his promise of ruin just from his kiss.

He pulled back, chest heaving, eyes dark with desire and hunger. His jaw was tight, hands still gripped your hips, bruising yet firm, as if he was steadying himself.

His cigarette had fallen in between both of your makeout, forgotten for once

“You’re mine,” he said, hoarsely, trembling with an emotion he couldn’t name himself. “You don’t get to run; you don’t get to hide. I'll tear this fucking world apart before I let you go.”

You panted, lips swollen, body alive in a way you didn’t know was possible. The wall was cool against your back, but you didn’t even feel it because of the heat his body was radiating; the air between you both filled with anger, fear, and something else that could destroy you both.

Slowly he sank onto his knees. The sight of him—Jungkook, the cold, merciless criminal, kneeling for you—made your head spin; it felt wrong, like a king bowing in front of you.

His hands slid up your thighs, their roughness scraping your soft skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. You gasped, hands gripping the wall for support, nails scratching the wall.

“Tell me to stop.” He rasped, almost a plea, a desperation that you’d never heard from him, and he sounded like he was fighting himself.

His breath was hot against your inner thigh, lips hovering so close that you could feel them against your skin. “Say it, and I’ll walk away. I'll leave you alone.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out, throat tight, your mind a mess of fear, want, and something deeper, something that scared you.

His eyes met yours, searching and demanding, and for a second you saw something break in him—a flicker of vulnerability and a crack in the man who lived for himself alone.

Your silence was your answer, your surrender, and he saw it, gaze darkening, hands tightening on your hips until you let out a soft, trembling whine.

He didn’t wait any longer. With a low growl, he shoved your skirt up, the fabric bunching around your waist, baring your panty—white lace, a small piece that was your only barrier. His eyes locked on the wet patch on your panty from your arousal, the fabric clinging to your folds adorning the shape of your pussy, and he snarled.

He knew no matter how much you tried to resist him, push him away, or cry for him to let you go, your body said otherwise, always reacting to him like it had a mind of its own. He relished in that knowledge, knowing that he can control your body however way he likes.

He couldn’t wait any longer because he has spent way too long watching you from afar, wanting to consume you, and the hunger from such pent-up longing has turned into animal need.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and tore them apart, the rip loud and final as he took away the only part that was covering your dignity. The scraps fell, and you were exposed, pussy bare, for his gaze.

You gasped instantly, trying to put your legs together, tears welling in your eyes from shame of being so exposed, but his hands held you open and in place, thumb pressing into the soft flesh of your hips. His hold rough and demanding, your strength nothing compared to him.

His eyes locked onto your bare core, jaw clenched as he saw your little clit hiding under the hood throbbing under his gaze, begging for touch.

Your hand covers your own face as you let out a soft sob, with embarrassment and shame, this is the first time someone is seeing you so bare and open.

Your pussy soft, pink, and glistening with arousal; a faint sheen coated your folds, proof of your want, and Jungkook groaned lowly, the sound making your breath hitch.

His eyes drank you in, almost inspecting you everywhere like a man who has never seen such beauty before, tracing every curve like he wanted to etch everything in his memory, and your arousal dripped more the longer he stared, pooling on the floor, shyness and fear turning you on even more.

“Fuck,” he breathed, “you’re so damn perfect. Look at you—wet, bare, just for me. Like you were made for me.”

His reaction lit something in you, and you moaned, “Oh God…” That made his eyes snap to yours, wild as his thumb brushed the sensitive skin near your folds, you mewled, and he cursed, pressing his forehead against your thigh, he was trying to hold himself together for your sake.

The sight of you so vulnerable seemed to break him, his breath uneven, hands shaking with want. Nothing in his life had given him so much satisfaction or adrenaline like this exact moment; nothing, not even killing men or feeling blood spill on his hands, can compare to the feeling of owning you like this.

Without wasting time, his mouth was on you in an instant, hot and urgent, lips closing over your clit, and the first suck was like lightning to you, never having experienced this before, and the pleasure was so sharp it hurt.

“Jungkook!” a keening cry filled the room. His tongue flicked against your clit, slow at first, then faster, a pace that was both precise and feral, like a man starving for something he’d never tasted.

The wet heat of his mouth was overwhelming, lips sucking and drawing out sensations you didn’t know your body could feel, your pussy sensitive and clit pulsing under his tongue.

Your thighs trembled, threatening to give out, his hands slid to your ass, gripping you tight, holding you spread for him.

“Gosh, ahmm, nghh.” You cried, letting out noises you didn’t even know you could make, your head spinning, eyes half-lidded.

He groaned, the vibration hitting you, you moaned louder, “Fuck, Jungkook, please,” not knowing whether you were begging him to stop or keep going, the curse slipping out—something that rarely happens due to your innocence.

His mouth was trying several experiments on your overstimulated pussy. His tongue circled your clit, teasing it, tormenting and then flattened it, lapping with slow strokes that made your thighs shake.

“You taste so fucking good. So sweet. Like you were made for me,” breath fanned against your pulsing heat. His words making you clench around nothing, as you forget about all your defenses.

Head falling back, your hand finding his hair as you clutched onto it. His tongue finally stopped abusing your clit and went to lapping at your entrance, tasting the slickness that gathered there, probing your entrance, tasting you.

You were embarrassingly wet, the sounds of his mouth against you—wet obscene—filling the room, mixing with your gasps and whimpers.

Your cheeks burned with shame and need, but you couldn’t push him away, not when his mouth felt like this. His tongue thrusting in and out in lewd motions like he wants to consume you entirely, and it was too much, almost breaking you

“Ahh, oh god, too much!” You hiccupped between your cries. He dove back, lips sealing over your clit, sucking hard, tongue flicking quickly, and your vision blurred. “Jungkook, I can’t no—"

“Look at you.” He pulled back enough to speak, giving you a moment to breathe, his lips glistening with your arousal, some dripping on his chin, and the mess made you squirm, cheeks pinking. “Falling apart for me. You’re mine, you hear me? This pussy is mine. No one gets to see you like this. No one gets to taste you.”

His possessiveness sent a thrill through you, intoxicating, and you nodded, unable to form words as his fingers slid to your entrance.

He pushed one finger inside slowly, digit thick and rough against your untouched walls. You croaked out a sobbing gasp, never having had anything penetrate you before, and he cursed under his breath.

“So tight,” he murmured, voice thick with lust, “fuck, you’re going to ruin me, aren’t you? My little virgin, so perfect, so untouched. I’m going to break you, and you’re going to love it.”

He added a second finger, stretching you; the burn mingling with pleasure, your head dizzy. His lips returned to your clit, sucking in time with the thrust of his fingers, “Ah, ah, ohmm, Jungkook, hah!” You let out uncontrollable noises as his fingers curled inside you.

He scissored his fingers, searching and hitting the spot that made your legs shake, moans turning to cries, it felt like your body was a live wire that was only capable of feeling.

The room smelled of sex and cigarettes, mixing with your arousal, and it was overwhelming.

“Jungkook, please,” you croaked, throat aching from all the loud noises leaving you, hips bucking against his mouth as you chased the release, unknowingly tightening the coil further. “I can’t, I can’t—I’m going to—”

“Come for me, let me feel it, let me taste it,” he growled. “Come on my tongue, baby.”

His tongue and fingers fucked your pussy together, then back to your clit sucking and licking, repeating again and again until you broke, with his words which were your undoing. The climax hit, squirting your release until you saw stars beneath your vision.

“Jungkook!” You screamed, hands yanking at his hair, thighs clamping around his head, but he didn’t stop.

His tongue and fingers worked you through it, tongue lapping your release, drawing out every shudder until you were a trembling, a gasping mess, his fingers still lightly thrusting. Your pussy was achy and way too sensitive, even the lightest touch made you wince; your moans were now of pain mixed with slight pleasure.

“Please, no more.” You breathed as you slumped against the wall, legs weak, his mouth still on you as he kissed your swollen mound with a softness that made your heart ache, never receiving such a treatment from anyone

He pulled back, mouth soaked with you as his eyes burned into yours. He stood towering over you again and kissed you, deep and possessive, letting you taste your own release. You moaned into his mouth, hand clutching his shirt, twisting the fabric under your fist, holding onto the man who unraveled you.

“You’re mine,” he spoke gruffly, his voice almost broken, “don’t forget that.”

Your body was spent, mind still in a haze of pleasure and confusion. Your hands still clinging to the man who was both your savior and your stalker, who’d knelt for you and made you feel alive for the first time

The weight of everything and your orgasm—it was too much and your eyes fluttered shut, no longer having any energy to keep your eyes open or even move.

He didn’t let you fall, his strong arms holding you up. Your body safe in his arms, a fragile weight in Jungkook's arms. Your breath hitting his chest, his heart pounding from your proximity, not used to such tenderness.

He carried you towards your room. Each step felt like he was fighting against the urge to stay with you; he couldn't just leave you, not when you are so vulnerable like this. He wanted to claim you as his own.

Your head rested against his chest, your hair spilling on his arm, and your scent—with that floral lotion of yours and the smell so uniquely yours—clung to him, a drug that he needed even if it was dangerous.

Your warmth seeped into his skin, a huge contrast compared to the coldness of his world, and it terrified him because he craved it and wanted all of it and more.

۶ৎ

Your bedroom was soft like you, even in the dark. The smell of you even more evident now that he entered your bedroom, it always haunted him.

He laid you down with a gentleness he didn’t know he had, your body sinking in the mattress, skirt riding up enough to reveal the smoothness of your thigh.

Your lips parted in sleep, cheeks flushed with messy hair from the first orgasm of your life, and the sight of you made Jungkook's chest tighten with a sharp ache that felt like a knife was twisting inside his chest.

He knelt beside you, hands hovering but scared to touch you, afraid to ruin even though he knows he has already done it, your softness tainted by him.

He wondered how someone so innocent and alive could exist in this ugly world.

You were a flower, a delicate petal, and he will eventually rip you up, crushing you until the life snuffs out of you like it was nothing.

His fingers twitched, wanting to trace the curve of your cheek, to feel the warmth of your skin one last time, but he held back, even though he touched you and tasted you so intimately a few moments ago, his jaw clenching so tightly, it ached.

“You don’t belong with me,” he whispered voice ragged.

The words were like a confession: “You’re too fucking pure, too good, and I’ll break you, petal. I’ll crush you, and you’ll hate me for it.”

His eyes burned with an unknown sting he refused to acknowledge. He wasn’t soft. He wasn’t weak. But you—you made him feel things he’d buried long ago, things he’d sworn off his life.

The memory of your cries, your body trembling under his touch, flashed through his mind, and he gripped the edge of the bed, knuckles white.

He wanted to keep you, to lock you away in a cage of his own making, where no one else could touch you, a place where you’d be his alone. The thought was sweet yet deadly, and it made him glare with a possessiveness.

He leaned closer, his breath hitting your face, and pressed his lips to your forehead in a gentle kiss. Your skin was impossibly soft, and he lingered, memorizing the feel of you, knowing it was the last time.

The weight of his decision settled heavily in his chest. He stood, his shadow falling over you like always.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice breaking, “I can’t do this to you. I won't. You deserve someone who’ll hold you like you’re made of glass, not shatter you like I will.”

He backed away, each step making his chest ache as the distance grew between you two.

He paused at the door, turning back one last time. You were still asleep, oblivious to the war inside him, your chest rising and falling, your lips parted and swollen, and the sight of you—so small and trusting—made his jaw clench.

“I won’t come back,” he swore, the words painful but a promise, for the sake of you, for both of you, “I’ll stay away, even if it fucking kills me.”

He slipped out in the night, the door clicking shut behind him, his decision final. He lit a cigarette, and it tasted like regret, like you.

His enemies waited for him, revenge was calling for him, and he could no longer ignore that.

But you—you were something he’d carry; he cannot ever shake the obsession of you, and as the darkness closed around him as he entered the world of crime once again, he wasn’t sure that he’d ever be free from you.

────

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wvnternvghtt · 17 days ago

Text

01 | SHADOWS OF OBSESSION ⭒ JJK

“You don’t know what ‘people like me’ do, little girl. You don’t know the blood on my hands or the lives I’ve ended. You’re playing with fire, and you’re too damn naive to see it.”

pairing — criminal dom!jungkook x student sub!femreader

warnings/tags — 18+, possessive!jungkook, angry!jungkook, graphic violence, blood and gore, unhealthy obsession, both characters have traumatic backgrounds, dark themes, injury, several mentions of blood, medical procedure, mentions of death and murder, emotional manipulation, smoking, isolation and vulnerability, mild sexual tension, dangerous attraction

wc — 5.3k

a/n — I decided to bring back this series because you all adore it so much, and so do I, absolutely love this couple, and I hope you all will show SOB the same love you gave it before. Love you all !! <3

series m. list | main m. list

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The city was alive in the night; the air filled with the smell of trash and the metallic scent of blood.

Jungkook leaned against the wall, his black leather jacket clinging to his broad frame, the hard wall grounding him in a world that had never once shown him kindness. A cigarette between his lips, he exhaled, blowing the smoke out lazily. In his thirty years of life, he has always found himself involved in things related to violence.

Tattoos all over his neck, chest, and arms—all of them a story of his scars, betrayal, and a revenge that ran through his veins. His dark, messy hair fell over his dark eyes that flickered with a cold sharpness.

He was orphaned at ten, raised in the city, and being a street kid has taught him to steal, fight, and survive before he even learned anything about the world itself. The streets were like his mother, who taught him harsh and unforgiving things, also teaching him that trust was a trap and love a lie that blinded people. He had seen several people get betrayed due to their kindness, and such harsh experiences have taken away his own childhood and innocence.

The memory clung to him: when he was sixteen, he had taken his first life—a rival gang member who decided to come at him with a knife. He still felt the spray of blood on his hands and the feel of a dying man’s throat, the way his own heart had pounded not with fear but with power.

Now, years later, his name was a whisper of fear in everyone’s mouth, his frame moving like a shadow through the city, a criminal now who lives for himself and no one else, his heart long gone and made of stone now due to his hope being taken away. Redemption wasn’t something he believed in at all; he thought it was a lie. All he had in his life was his revenge, which burned every time he got a new scar or got into a fight for blood.

Tonight, that need burned further. His latest deal with a rival has gone to shit, a betrayal that left him with a bullet in his arm and a fresh urge to use his own knife to dig into someone’s flesh. Blood seeped through his fingers as he pressed his hand to the wound. The pain was dull, something he was used to from years ago. But the blood loss was fucking with him—his head was hurting and his vision blurred. He clenched his jaw tightly, with a glare.

“Fucking cowards,” he rasped, voice dripping with venom, “you think you can bury me?”

He flicked his cigarette to the ground; the alley he was in stank, and even though his mind was fogging, he scanned the area sharply, high on alert. His enemies were out there searching for him.

“Come on then,” he sneered, his eyes dark, “I’m right fucking here.”

But his body was betraying him. His knees buckled, and he had to grip the wall for support. Blood dripped even faster now, pooling on the dirty ground. He needed to move and find a place to treat his wound. His hands tightened around the knife in his pocket that was always there, always supporting him at rough times more than anyone ever did.

“I’m not dying tonight,” he growled, “not until I have buried every one of you.”

۶ৎ

Across the city, your calm world couldn’t have been more different. At twenty-two, you were a medical student; that’s why your life is a mix of late-night study sessions with textbooks and your own thoughts. Your tiny apartment was a haven for you. Its walls were cream-colored, with curtains that swayed with the breeze. Your bookshelf was full of several novels and medical books. You were shy, an introvert, your voice a soft murmur, only rising when you had no choice. Your world was gentle, fragile, nothing compared to the brutality of Jungkook’s life.

You were orphaned at fifteen, and you have learned to live life alone, your heart bruised, but it kept you going. Your parents died from a car crash, with no other family of yours to lean on. You filled the ache and emptiness in your heart with dreams of becoming a doctor. You wanted to heal; fix others' wounds even when your own still ached.

You were innocent in a way Jungkook could never grasp, your eyes always bright with hope and your heart too soft and open despite all it endured. You shied away from the crowds and found peace in books over people and blushed or felt embarrassed at even the smallest attention. Your days were always simple, following through the same routine: classes, study, and nothing more.

Tonight you were walking home after class, tired to the bone. Your backpack is heavy against your shoulders, stuffed with books and notes. Your mind was already thinking of your bed and cozy blankets. The street was still, the only sounds the rustle of leaves and a distant traffic noise.

Your heart felt light, with a rare flicker of happiness—the exam went well today, which you had been preparing for an entire week, a small win in your life.

You hummed softly, your steps quickening as you neared your apartment. Your hand digging in your bag to bring out your keys

“Almost home,” you murmured, a habit from years of talking to yourself. The thought of sinking into your warm blankets, forgetting about the world, brought you peace.

Then, a shadow moved, almost subtly but enough to make your heart jump. You froze, fingers clutching the keys tight. Your eyes darted to the alley across the street, and there he was. A tall, broad man, his muscles bulging from how tightly his jacket hugged him. His right hand gripped his left arm; blood dripped slowly, staining his hand in the process as well. The sight hit you, with the air carrying the sharp smell of blood.

You gasped silently, a trembling sound slipping out before you could stop it as you felt fear gripping your chest. The man still hasn’t noticed you yet. Your heart pounded loudly, your legs screaming to run to bolt for your apartment and lock the door before the man can even get a small glance of you. He looked like he’d walked straight out of a nightmare.

A whimper lodged in your throat as the man slowly lifted his head, his eyes—dark with a mix of something wild—locked onto yours, and it was like you were caught by a predator. You couldn’t breathe, your body no longer your own, just from his simple stare. He was danger in human form, and every instinct screamed for you to flee.

But then you saw it—the sway of his body as blood oozed out from his fingers, and the sight twisted something inside you, a small flicker of sympathy in between your fear. He wasn’t just dangerous—he was dying.

Your mind was a mess. Run. Lock the door. Call the cops. He will kill you. But another voice spoke inside you: he’s bleeding out, you can help him, and you’re almost a doctor.

You breathed shakily as your hands shook. You decided to take a hesitant step forward and then another, each one a battle against the fear in your heart. You stopped several feet away, close enough to see the way his chest heaved with shallow breaths, sweat beading his forehead, but far enough to run if he lunged. The distance was nothing close to a shield, useless against a man like him.

“Hey,” you called with a trembling voice, barely heard in the night’s silence, “you’re hurt. Badly. You need help.”

His head snapped up with narrowed eyes, and he scoffed with a low growl, sending a shiver down your spine. “Mind your fucking business, girl,” he rasped, his voice thick with pain and venom.

“Go home and play with your dolls.” The words stung as heat crept up your neck. You weren’t a child, but his tone made you feel small, like a little mouse.

Normally, you’d shrink from rudeness, but the blood—God, the blood—held you there. It was starting to pool at his feet until all you could smell was the metallic scent and a hint of cigarette smoke. He was hurting, and you couldn’t walk away. Not from this

“I’m a medical student,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady even though it trembled slightly, “you’ve been shot. You’re losing too much blood. You’ll die without help.”

His lips quirked as his eyes flickered with something sharp and amusement, “You think I give a shit about dying, little girl?” He said, his voice amused, “I’ve been dead for years. Walk away before you join me.”

His threat made your breath catch as your nails dug into your palms. His words were not just a warning but a promise, and you believed him. He could snap you like a stick, and no one would know.

But you saw the tremor in him, the way his fingers slipped, blood flowing faster, and it kept you rooted to your spot. You were shaking, but you couldn’t leave him, not when you could help him. Your knowledge and hands could stop the life draining out of him.

“I live right here,” you said, pointing towards your apartment, your voice firm in a way you never thought was possible. “I have supplies. I can stitch you up and stop the bleeding. Please… let me help you.”

He stared at you with his heavy gaze, almost like he was stripping you open and bare. His black eyes were pulling you in, and you almost thought he’d grab you and end you right there. You held his stare despite your heart pulsing loudly and goosebumps erupting all over your arm.

Then he laughed, a harsh mocking sound that filled the night, bitter and broken, like he was laughing at the absurdity of you.

“You’re fucking insane,” he said, shaking his head. “Stupid or suicidal, I can’t decide. Fine, princess. Lead the way, but don’t cry when you regret it.”

The words were a dare that caused you dread at the pit of your stomach. You nodded, barely, and with a shakiness you turned towards your door, your keys trembling as you unlocked it. His large presence was behind you, and you wondered if you’d just invited death into your home.

۶ৎ

Your hands shook as you opened the door of your apartment. The air inside was warm, mixing with the scent of the lavender candle you’d left burning. His heavy boots hit the floor with each step. You flicked on the light, your room a soft world of light colors and pink pillows, a stark contrast to the man standing in its center. His blood started dripping onto your rug, staining it.

“Sit,” you whispered, pointing to the soft couch.

Your heart was racing, and you wondered if he could hear how hard your heart was pounding or if he could smell the fear and stubbornness inside you. He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his eyes, but he obeyed and sank down onto the couch with a grunt as blood smeared the couch. You winced, your tidy instincts pricking, even now.

You hurried to your bedroom. Your medical kit was under your bed, packed with tools—antiseptic, bandages, and other items all neatly arranged. Your hands shook as you pulled it out, carrying it back to the living room.

Your mind was screaming that you were crazy to let this man inside your house—this bleeding, dangerous stranger. You, the girl who flinched at loud voices and who loved to stay alone, were ignoring every instinct to help him.

He watched you return, his gaze heavy, tracking all your movements as you tried your best not to meet his eyes because you were already trembling. You knelt before him, the rug under your knees, and set the kit on the table. The air was thick and silent. You opened the kit as your fingers moved carefully, bringing out bandages, tweezers, and other necessary things.

“Why the hell do you have all this?” He asked, his voice as always carrying that mocking edge but with a hint of curiosity, “Are you some kind of wannabe surgeon, playing doctor in your pretty little apartment?”

You kept your eyes on the tools, your cheeks pinking at his words as you nibbled your bottom lip, a nervous habit that caused Jungkook’s nostrils to flare instinctively.

“I’m a medical student.” You uttered quietly, even though it wavered slightly, “I need those for practice and to learn.”

He snorted, “Of course you are. Little Miss Perfect saving lives with her pink things. You think you’re going to fix the world, don’t you?”

Your fingers paused, his words cut deeper than you realized, hitting the hope you held that was the dream of healing a world you barely knew. You didn’t answer, focusing on his wound, his skin warm and rough.

The bullet had torn through his shoulder, leaving his flesh raw and bloody. You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting as you wondered, how did he end up in such a situation? Was he a victim, or did he do something to get shot? Your inner thoughts hinted at the second option. You shook your head, setting the thoughts aside, focusing on his wound, your training kicking in.

The room felt smaller as you worked; the walls felt like they were pressing in. You cleaned his wound, wiping away the blood, which revealed the damage. You grabbed the tweezers, your hands steady despite your chest pulsating, and leaned closer with a shallow breath. His arm was all muscle, veins bulging under his inked skin, and your lips parted unknowingly.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet yet dark, making your skin prickle, “helping someone like me. You don’t know what I am, what I’ve done. You’re too soft, too…”

He paused before talking again, “Innocent, and the world’s going to eat you alive, and you’re out here patching monsters.”

The tweezers hovered above his wound, his words sinking in. You lifted your head, locking eyes with him. His irises were nearly black, burning with an intensity that stole your breath.

“Maybe it will,” you whispered, “but I can’t just walk away when someone is bleeding like this, not when I can help.”

He laughed bitterly, “You’re going to regret that, sweetheart. Kindness like yours doesn’t ever end well. You think you’re saving me, but you are just calling danger your way.”

The words hurt, but you pushed them aside, focusing on his wound. You dug the tweezers into his flesh, searching for the bullet. He didn’t flinch, his face remaining blank; his lack of reaction surprised you. A reminder of how different he was, how hardened by a life you couldn’t imagine

His eyes never left you, watching your trembling fingers, the flush on your cheeks, and the way your lips parted as you focused. It was as if he was memorizing you, his gaze burning through you as a knot tightened in your stomach.

The candlelight painted his face with a soft glow, catching all the sharp angles and a faint stubble that you can see now that you are so close to him.

You found the bullet, small and glinting, and pulled it out as more blood oozed out. You quickly put pressure on the wound to stop the blood flow, and the contact sent a spark through you, sharp and unsettling. His arm was warm, and you pulled back quickly, your cheeks warming.

“You’re shaking,” he said lowly with a growl, “scared of me, aren’t you? You should be”

You swallowed, your throat dry, and focused on stitching his wound. “I’m not scared,” you whispered, knowing very well that you were lying. “I just… want to help.”

“Bullshit,” he snapped, his tone sharp enough to make you jump, “you’re terrified. I can see it in your eyes and the way you’re shaking. You don’t even know me, and yet here you are letting me bleed all over your little apartment. Why? What’s wrong with you?”

Tears brimmed your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let him see. “Nothing wrong with me,” your voice cracked. “I just believe in helping people. Even someone like you.”

“People like me?” He leaned closer, his face just a few inches away from yours, his breath fanning against your lips, smelling of cigarettes and something so uniquely him. “You don’t know what ‘people like me’ do, little girl. You don’t know the blood on my hands or the lives I’ve ended. You’re playing with fire, and you’re too damn naive to see it.”

Your heart pounded; his words terrified and hurt you even more, but you refused to pull away, your own confidence shocking you. You met his gaze with wide, glistening eyes, “But I’d rather be naive and help than hurt someone.”

He went quiet after that, his eyes searching yours, his own mind full of confusion because he wasn’t used to such innocence and fragility. Then he leaned back, with a smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

You finished the stitches, your fingers quick despite your racing thoughts, and wrapped his arms in a bandage. Your hands lingered too long, his heat soaking through you, and you pulled back with a racing heart.

You stood, legs shaky, and grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen. When you handed it to him, your fingers brushed his, rough and calloused, and you nearly dropped the glass, a gasp escaping.

“You need to rest,” you said, avoiding his eyes, your voice barely audible. “Moving too much will tear the stitches. You’ll bleed again.”

He didn’t answer, just stared, his expression unreadable as his fingers curled around the glass. You felt the weight of his gaze like a physical touch, heavy and pressing into you. You mumbled something about getting a blanket, your voice tripping. You fled to your bedroom with pink cheeks, your heart pounding. The door clicked shut, but it did nothing to block out his eyes or his voice, the way he’d filled your space with a threat you couldn’t name.

۶ৎ

The first light of dawn crept through your curtains. The air was heavy with the lingering smell of antiseptic and blood, a reminder of the stranger who’d invaded your quiet world. You lie in bed, your body still, breath shallow, thinking any sudden movement will bring the man back from the darkness. Sleep didn’t come to you easily last night; your heart was pounding the entire night, caught between fear and a strange warmth you couldn’t place, something that made your skin prickle.

His rough touch felt like it still lingered on your fingers, his dark, almost black eyes still haunted you, those eyes that seemed to see through you, into you, almost unraveling secrets you didn’t know you kept.

You clutched the sheets tightly; it grounds you against your thoughts. Your mind replayed his low mocking voice that made your stomach twist. “Kindness gets you killed, little girl.” The words echoed, and you wondered if he was right that your softness is a weakness that will eventually get you into danger.

Finally, you couldn’t stay in bed any longer. You swung your legs over, your bare feet hitting the floor. Your faded baby blue sleep shirt clung to your frame. You crept towards the living room, each step slow and cautious, your heart pulsating so loudly that you were sure it would betray you if he was still here.

The living room glowed softly in the morning light. Your eyes darted to the couch, and breath caught in your throat. It was empty. The stranger was gone, as if he’d never been there at all, leaving no traces of him, almost like he was a part of your dream you’d woken up from. The only proof of his presence is the blood-soaked rug and the blanket you’d given him; it was folded neatly, as if he’d meant to erase his presence himself.

You stood frozen, your fingers twisting your shirt in order to ground yourself. The silence was too loud, and you should’ve been relieved—he was gone, you were safe. But a strange ache settled in your chest, something unnamable. It wasn’t just fear, not entirely. It was the ghost of his presence, the way he’d filled your little space with danger and threat, leaving you both shaken and alive.

“Who are you?” you croaked, your voice breaking the quietness. The question hung there, unanswered. Why was he shot? Was he a criminal or a murderer? The thought sent a shiver down your spine, goosebumps erupting.

You’d been reckless, letting him in without a second thought. Your need to help had blinded you to notice the danger. And yet the memory of his intimidating presence, dark eyes, and inked skin made your cheeks flame. You let out a shaky breath, pressing your hands to your face, wanting it to go away, but it stayed against your will.

You sank onto the couch; it was still warm from where he’d been, his scent lingering—cigarette and something darkly masculine like him that made your pulse quicken.

“You’re an idiot,” you muttered to yourself. “He could’ve killed you. He could’ve…” Your words trailed off, imagining his hands, calloused and tattooed, around your throat. But instead of fear, the thought sent a strange warmth pooling in your stomach, and you hated yourself for it.

You stood, needing to move, to shake off his spell. You paced the living room frantically. The blood on the rug is a constant reminder of his presence. You grabbed a sponge and cold water from the kitchen and scrubbed the stain. Your movements were desperate, your breaths coming out in shaky gasps.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” you chanted, tears pricking your eyes. You didn’t know if you were crying for your naivety or for the stranger and the way his absence left you feeling hollow.

When the stain was as faded as possible, you sat back on the floor, your chest heaving with your pants. The room felt too big, too empty. You hugged yourself, seeking comfort.

“He’s gone,” you whispered, as if saying it out loud would make it real, erase the memory of him, the gravel of his voice, and his intense eyes. “He’s gone, you’re fine, you’re fine.”

But you weren’t fine. You felt exposed, like he’d peeled all your layers and seen the soft, trembling thing beneath. You stood up on shaky legs, moved to the window, and pulled back the curtains. The street was quiet, no sight of him, gone with the night. But everything in your place proved that he’d been real, that you’d touched the edge of something dangerous and lived.

“Why did I do it?” You whimpered, “Why didn’t I just walk away?” You pressed your forehead to the glass, your breath fogging it. You’d always been the good girl, the one who helped and believed in healing. But now that belief felt like a curse that could’ve cost you everything, even your own life. And yet, the thought of him bleeding alone, dying—it twisted something inside you, something that said that you’d do it again, even now.

You turned away from the window, body restless with an energy you didn’t understand. You needed to study and focus, reclaiming the quiet life you are so used to. But your eyes caught the blanket and the rug again. He was gone, but he’d left a mark, a question that burned your chest. Who was he? And why, despite everything, did you hope to see him again?

۶ৎ

Jungkook’s world was full of edge, a place full of spilled blood and betrayal, where trust was a debt paid in bodies. But you—you were a soft, maddening intrusion he couldn’t cut away. He tried to push you away in his chaotic life, to forget your memory under the weight of his revenge. He hunted his enemies through the city, his gun heavy and a knife in his pocket.

But no matter how many bodies he killed, your face lingered—your wide, innocent eyes, the way your hands trembled as you stitched his wound. It drove him crazy, a memory he couldn’t break, pushing him deeper into his own darkness.

He soon started watching you, not by choice but by need, like a starving man drawn to you. The city at night would hide him as he stood across from your apartment, a cigarette between his lips. He would lean against a lamppost, exhaling smoke. His muscles would twist as well, his tattoos itching as if they felt your presence as well and how they affected him.

Your routine became his obsession. At 7:30 am, you’d leave the apartment, backpack over one shoulder. Your hair, often loose, as you tucked it behind your ear, a habit of yours that Jungkook learned. He memorized the way you paused while walking, your lips moving slightly as you talked to yourself; he noticed even the simplest detail.

By 8, you were at the university, getting into the lecture halls where he couldn’t follow, though he pictured you there, bent over a notebook, with a pen or pencil between your lips when you were in deep concentration, that act of yours that tightened his jaw and always boiled his blood enough to kill a man.

Evenings, you would always visit the library. He’d linger outside watching you read with your head down, pink lips moving as you read the words, that tongue peeking out sometimes when you licked your lips, his cigarette crumbled in his tight fist at the sight

Other times, you’d stretch, your sweater riding up to reveal a small bit of the soft skin of your waist. It was a reminder of your vulnerability, how fragile you were, and it made his blood boil with a mix of protectiveness and possession. He hated it—hated you for being so breakable and unaware of the constant danger around you, the one that was stalking you.

Fridays were his favorite. You’d stop at the campus café, walking in. You always ordered the same thing; he memorized that as well—iced tea and a strawberry pastry. You would drink the tea contentedly, sitting by the window, hands wrapped around your mug.

Once you licked icing from the cake off your thumb, your tongue quick, Jungkook snarled from where he stood. He wanted to barge in, to wipe that sweetness off your lips himself, to taste the sugar and you on his tongue as well. The thought was sharp and dangerous, and he forced it away, his teeth grinding.

“Why can’t I stop?” he muttered, his voice a growl. “You’re nothing. Just a girl. A fucking distraction.”

But you weren’t. You were like a poison, one he craved even if it would kill him eventually. He learned everything about you. Your favorite books—romance novels and your thick medical textbooks. Your scent—floral lotion, sweet and clean, always clinging to the air in your space along with your clothes and blankets.

The way you blushed, the rare softness of your laughter that angered him wanting to see it often—he craved it even though it felt like a gift he didn’t deserve. How you hummed softly when you cooked, a melody that he always strained to hear even from outside your window. He hated how you made him weak, how you made him want to see you happy, make you smile, and the things he’d sworn off completely from his life.

He was jealous of everything, jealous of anyone you even glanced at, even though it didn’t mean anything. His hands twitched towards his knife, wanting to kill and carve out the flesh of the male professor you had or the guy who helped you carry your bags that day.

You didn’t interact with a lot of people in general, so he held back. During his time of stalking, he realized exactly how much self-control he had else he would have been on a killing spree of any males who even dared to breathe near you, and that included items you wore or touched; yes, he was fuming towards even those, because even such items didn't deserve your touch. He was going crazy, his own possessiveness towards you angering him, but he cannot stop it, even if he wants to.

He also knew that you were alone, no family, your parents dead, and your life was only held by small dreams. It pissed him off at how exposed you were, how easily the world could crush you. He could crush you. The thought was a dark temptation, one he fought every time he saw you.

He watched you from everywhere possible: alleys, rooftops, a presence and a shadow of someone you felt but couldn’t see. You often felt your skin prickle and goosebumps arise all over your body from the feeling of constantly being watched. You’d pause sometimes, your movements pausing, your eyes scanning the darkness, feeling the weight of someone’s stare, brow furrowed

He'd hold his breath, blending into the darkness, his heart pounding—not from fear, but from the pull you had on him without realizing.

“Look at me,” he’d rasp quietly, his voice rough with longing and hate. “See me, damn it!”

۶ৎ

One night, he’d learned about your student loans, the debt that kept you up at night, your window open for him to see as you stared at the bills. He saw the way your shoulders slumped, eyes welling with unshed tears.

It was a weakness he couldn’t ignore, a crack to a part of him he’d buried a long time ago. The next day, without thinking, he acted. He left an envelope on your doorstep stuffed with an insane amount of cash, your name written in his sharp handwriting. The bills were blood money from his world. He told himself it was a debt repaid for the night you saved him.

But when he saw you find the money, your eyes wide, fingers trembling as you counted the bills, he felt a twist in his chest, a sick pride, and a hunger to see that look on your face again.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me.” He hissed, watching you from a distance, the envelope pressed to your chest as tears of gratefulness streamed down your face, “You’re going to ruin me, and I’ll ruin you back.”

He kept doing it, leaving cash when you weren’t home, each stack a claim, tying you to him. He’d watch you use the money, paying your rent and loans. Your eyes are bright with relief but full of confusion.

“Who are you?” You’d whisper to yourself, voice soft and trembling as you clutched the money in your hands. The softness of your voice made his fists clench.

“I’m your fucking shadow, princess,” he wanted to say, the words stuck in his throat, “and you’re mine.”

As time went by, his obsession grew, a beast fed by every glimpse of you. “I don’t need you,” he snarled, his voice loud in the empty alley, “I don’t need anyone.”

But he did. He needed you something fierce, and it was a truth he couldn’t ignore, no matter how much blood he spilled. You were his weakness, his obsession, and he was a man drowning in it, watching you from afar, his soul in a war he couldn’t win.

────

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wvnternvghtt · 18 days ago

Text

──── REWRITTEN IN GOLD ────

WARNINGS: Explicit Sexual Content, Emotional and Psychological Trauma, Dubious Consent (Transactional Dynamic, Power Imbalance) Alcohol Use , Mild Violence (References to Physical Altercations, Bruising) Themes of Shame, Objectification, and Emotional Vulnerability

WORD COUNT: 5,365

A/N: very much inspired by the movie “Pretty Woman”

The neon sign above the shuttered club flickered like a dying star, its pink glow bleeding onto the cracked sidewalk, painting your silhouette in shades of ruin. Your heels were a cruel sentence, straps slicing into your swollen feet, the leather stained with sweat and regret. Your makeup was a battlefield—mascara smeared into shadows beneath your eyes, lipstick faded to a ghost of crimson, a testament to a night gone sour. Your purse hung limp from your wrist, its contents a mockery: three crumpled dollars, a dead phone, and the weight of your own fragility. Your friend had vanished into the arms of a stranger, her laughter fading into the city’s pulse—car horns blaring, laughter spiking from distant alleys, and the sour tang of spilled beer and asphalt stinging your nose. Summer heat clung to your skin, heavy as shame, and you stood alone, a sparrow in a storm, wings too delicate for this hard, hungry world.

You weren’t supposed to be here, not like this. You’d grown up in a house where love was a guest that never lingered—parents too consumed by their own wars to notice you, their screams echoing through thin walls, your dinners of cold cereal eaten in silence. You’d learned to be small, to need little, to expect less. Boys came and went, each one a promise of forever that crumbled to apologies and empty beds. There was the one who’d sworn he’d stay, his hands warm on your skin, only to leave a note on your pillow: I’m sorry. It’s not you. Another who��d taken your savings, your trust, and disappeared into the night. Each one chipped away at you, leaving you this: a girl in a too-tight dress, stranded under neon, starving for something you couldn’t name—warmth, safety, a gaze that saw you as more than a fleeting thing.

A blacked-out SUV rolled to a stop, tires crunching gravel like brittle bones. The window slid down, and your breath snagged in your throat. A man leaned out—mid-30s, jaw carved sharp as a blade, eyes dark as oil, glinting with a predator’s hunger. His knuckles were bruised, raw, as if he’d just split skin or gripped something too tightly, the red marks stark against his tanned hands. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a sliver of sculpted chest, and the faint scent of whiskey curled from him, sharp and sinful against the humid night. He was money, but not the polished kind—like he’d crawled from a fight or a deal that left blood on the table, his edges jagged, dangerous, and intoxicating, a storm in human form.

“How much for the night, sweetheart?” His voice was low, amused, like he’d played this game a hundred times, each word a hook sinking into your skin.

Your stomach twisted, a knot of indignation and dread. He thought you were working, a girl for hire under the neon’s cruel gaze. You opened your mouth to spit venom, to claw back your pride, but the ache in your feet, the emptiness of your purse, stopped you cold. A reckless spark flared in your chest, and you tilted your chin, defiant, your voice a dare. “More than you can afford.”

He smirked, intrigued, leaning closer, elbow propped on the window, his gaze pinning you like a butterfly to a board. “Try me.” He fanned a stack of cash—hundreds, crisp, obscene in their abundance, the bills catching the neon’s glow. But his eyes stayed on your face, not your body, and that was worse—his gaze wasn’t transactional; it was ravenous, like he’d seen something in you he hadn’t meant to unearth, something he wanted to claim, to devour.

You hesitated, pride and desperation wrestling in your chest. You weren’t that girl, not the one who climbed into strange cars for money, but the promise of safety, of warmth, of one night where you weren’t invisible—it was a siren’s call, luring you to the rocks. You thought of your childhood, of nights spent listening to your parents’ screams, of the boy who’d promised to stay but left you with a note and a broken heart. You were tired of being left, tired of being small. “No promises,” you said, your voice steadier than your heart, your eyes locked on his, challenging him to see you. “Just… company.”

“Company’s all I need.” He jerked his head toward the passenger seat, a command wrapped in velvet, his eyes never leaving you, a storm circling, waiting to break. “C’mon get in.”

The leather was cool against your thighs as you slid into the SUV, the door thudding shut like a verdict, sealing you in his world. He drove too fast, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming on his thigh, a restless rhythm that echoed the city blurring outside—neon bleeding into darkness, streetlights smearing like tears on glass. The scent of his cologne—sandalwood and sin—filled the space, wrapping around you, heady and dangerous. You stole glances at him. Rafe, he’d said, his name clipped and casual, like it was a throwaway, but it felt like a key to something locked away. His knuckles were red and scabbed, and you wondered who or what he’d broken—a rival, a wall, or himself. The question burned, but you swallowed it, letting the silence stretch, heavy with unspoken things, the air crackling with what neither of you would say.

“You’re not like the girls I usually pay,” he said, eyes flicking to you at a red light, the crimson glow painting his face in shades of sin, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the shadow of stubble on his jaw.

You arched a brow, leaning back, playing braver than you felt, though your hands twisted in your lap, betraying your nerves. “You’re not like the men who usually do.”

He laughed, sharp and low, like you’d cut him, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine, warming your core despite yourself. “What’s your story, then? Stranded princess waiting for a knight?”

“Something like that.” You kept it vague, a shield, your voice light but your heart racing, memories of your past flickering—your mother’s slammed doors, your father’s empty chair, the lovers who’d used you and left. “What’s yours? Bruised knuckles don’t scream ‘white collar.’”

His lips twitched, a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes, which held a shadow of something haunted, a life of wealth that cost more than it gave. “Bad day at the office,” he said, but the words were heavy, laced with a past you could almost taste—betrayals, deals, a father who’d shaped him with fists and expectations, and lovers who’d wanted his name, not him. You didn’t press, but you saw it, the weight of his secrets mirroring your own, a silent understanding blooming in the space between you.

The hotel was a cathedral of wealth—marble floors gleaming like ice, chandeliers dripping light like liquid gold, and the air thick with the scent of citrus and smoke. Rafe led you not to a room but to the bar, all dark wood and mirrored shelves, where the clink of glasses and low laughter filled the space. He ordered you a gin and tonic without asking, the glass cold against your lips as you sipped, his eyes on you like a weight, a caress, a challenge. He talked—about a deal he’d closed, a city he loathed—nothing deep, but the way he said it, low and deliberate, felt like a confession, like he was starving for something real and didn’t know it. You listened, your heart a traitor, drinking in his voice, his presence, the way he filled the space like a storm waiting to break.

“You don’t belong out there,” he said suddenly, nodding toward the street beyond the windows, where the city gnashed its teeth, its neon claws bared. “Downtown. It’s, well dirty.”

You bristled but kept your tone light, teasing, a spark of defiance. “Not exactly my choice.”

His eyes darkened, a storm gathering, and for a moment, you thought he’d reach for you, pin you to the bar with those bruised hands, and claim you right there in front of the glittering crowd. He didn’t. Instead, he booked you a suite next to his, handed you a keycard, and walked you to the door, his shadow trailing you like a promise, his cologne lingering in the air. You fell asleep in sheets crisp as snow, his jacket draped over a chair, the scent of sandalwood and sin wrapping around you like a second skin. He didn’t touch you, but you felt him through the wall, a hunger pacing, unsatisfied, and your dreams were restless, tangled in his gaze, his voice, the weight of what you’d stepped into—a dance with a man who could consume you.

—

Morning light clawed through the suite’s floor-to-ceiling windows, harsh and unforgiving, exposing the smudges of last night—your dress crumpled on the floor, mascara flaking on the pillow, your reflection in the mirror a stranger’s. Your eyes were too wide, lips too soft, a girl caught in a game she didn’t understand, your heart bruised from years of being left. Rafe was in the living area, already in a tailored suit, sipping coffee, his silhouette sharp against the city skyline, a king in his domain. His eyes were bloodshot, like he hadn’t slept, but they sharpened when you walked in, tracing the bare length of your legs and the mussed hair framing your face, and you felt like prey, like treasure, like his.

He slid a wad of cash across the table, the bills fanning like a taunt, their crisp edges catching the light. “For last night.”

You stared, pride warring with necessity, a bitter taste flooding your mouth. He still thought you were for sale, a pretty thing to be bought and discarded, a doll to dress up and discard. You wanted to throw it back, to burn his money and his assumptions, but the weight of your empty purse, the looming threat of unpaid bills, and the memory of nights spent hungry and alone won. You tucked it into your bag, voice tight, barely a whisper, your eyes stinging. “Thanks.”

He leaned back, studying you like a puzzle he couldn’t solve, his gaze both tender and predatory, a paradox that made your skin prickle. “Stay for the week. I’ve got events—dinners, parties. I hate going alone. I’ll pay you to be… decorative.” He named a figure that stole your breath—enough to cover rent for a year, maybe two, enough to buy a sliver of freedom, a chance to breathe.

Your throat tightened, shame and want twisting together, a knot you couldn’t untangle. “Why me?” you asked, voice small, searching his face for something real, something beyond the transaction, your heart aching for a reason to stay.

“You’re different,” he said, voice soft but eyes hard, daring you to say no. “You don’t look at me like I’m a paycheck. Not yet.”

The words stung, a blade dipped in truth, but they also lit something in you, a dangerous curiosity. You thought of your childhood—nights spent alone, the echo of your parents’ fights, the boys who’d used you and left you hollow, their promises as empty as the bottles they left behind. You were tired of being nothing, of being left. Rafe saw you, even if it was through a distorted lens, and that was enough—for now. “I’m in,” you said, the words a surrender, a rebellion, a step into his world, your heart pounding with fear and want.

He didn’t smile, just nodded, a flicker of relief in his eyes, a crack in his armor. “Good. We’re shopping first.”

The boutiques were a world apart, all glass doors and velvet curtains, the air scented with jasmine and wealth, the hush of money palpable. Rafe was in control, picking dresses, lingerie, and heels, his hands brushing the fabrics like he was touching your skin, each choice a claim, a chain. “You’ll wear this for me tonight,” he said, holding up a silk gown, emerald green, that shimmered like a deep sea, its fabric flowing like water, its price unspoken but obscene. His voice was low, possessive, each word sinking into you like a hook, and you felt both owned and desired, a paradox that made your pulse race, your body humming with a need you didn’t want to name.

In the dressing room, you tried on a black lace lingerie set he’d chosen—delicate but obscene, the fabric barely covering your curves, leaving your breasts half-exposed, your hips framed in thin straps. The curtain didn’t close fully; you felt his gaze through the gap, though he stayed seated outside, legs spread, a king on his throne, his presence a weight. “Show me,” he called, his voice rough as gravel, a command you couldn’t refuse, though your hands trembled as you adjusted the straps.

You stepped out, heart pounding, the lace clinging to you like a second skin, your skin flushing under his stare. His jaw tightened, fingers flexing on the armrest like he was fighting himself, his eyes burning with something feral, something that made your thighs clench, your breath hitch. “Good enough for you?” you teased, spinning slowly, your voice a dare, though your knees trembled, your body alive, electric under his gaze.

“Too good,” he muttered, barely audible, his voice thick with restraint, his eyes stripping you bare, lingering on the curve of your hips, the swell of your breasts, and the pulse at your throat. He stood, paid for everything—thousands, like it was pocket change—and walked you out without a touch, his restraint a taut wire ready to snap, the air crackling with what he didn’t do, what he didn’t say. You felt his want, a storm held at bay, and wondered how long he could keep it leashed, how long you could resist the pull of him, the way he made you feel seen, wanted, and alive.

Back at the hotel, you stood in your suite, surrounded by bags, the weight of his world pressing in. You slipped into the lingerie again, catching your reflection in the mirror. The girl staring back was his—dressed in his money, shaped by his gaze, her edges blurred by his desire. You touched the lace, your fingers trembling, and thought of the girl you’d been—alone, invisible, starving for a touch that didn’t leave. Rafe’s touch was fire, but it was something, and you were tired of nothing. He knocked, his voice muffled through the door: “Be ready by eight.” You nodded, though he couldn’t see, already too deep in his orbit to escape, your heart a traitor beating for a man who could break you, who might save you, who was already changing you.

—

The yacht gleamed under a sky pricked with stars, its deck a stage for the elite—men in tuxes, women dripping diamonds, their laughter sharp as shattered glass, cutting through the salt air. You wore the emerald gown Rafe had chosen, its silk clinging to your body like a lover, the fabric whispering against your skin with every step, but you felt like an imposter, a soft thing among wolves. The guests were cruel, their eyes slicing you apart, whispering about your cheap earrings and your unpolished edges, their voices like needles under your skin. A woman—tall, blonde, with the polished cruelty of old money, her perfume sharp and cloying—leaned in, her smile venomous. “Didn’t I see you serving drinks at that dive bar last month? Or was it cleaning tables?”

Your face burned, the truth too close—a memory of spilled beer, sticky floors, nights spent scrubbing to make rent, your hands raw, your pride rawer. You tried to laugh it off, sipping champagne to hide the sting, your voice light but brittle, cracking at the edges. “Maybe I just have one of those faces.”

She smirked, unconvinced, and the table tittered, their amusement a blade, carving you open. You felt Rafe’s eyes on you from across the deck, dark and unreadable, a storm gathering in their depths. He crossed the space in three strides, his hand finding your waist, possessive, grounding, his fingers digging into your hip, a silent claim. “Say that again,” he told the woman, his voice lethal, quiet as a drawn knife, “and you’ll be swimming home.”

Her face paled, the table falling silent, the air thick with his menace. He didn’t shout, didn’t need to—his presence was a blade, cutting through their whispers, their smug superiority. The other guests shifted, uncomfortable, their eyes darting away, but you were mortified, grateful, and something else—wanted, in a way that scared you, his protection a fire that could burn you both. You touched his arm, whispering, your voice trembling, “They’re not wrong about me.”

His eyes flashed, a flicker of something raw—anger, hurt, need—but he didn’t respond, just led you off the yacht, his grip firm, unyielding, his thumb brushing your hip in a way that felt like an apology, a promise. The car ride was silent, his jaw clenched, the city lights streaking past like comets, each one a fleeting wish you didn’t dare make. You tried to lighten the mood, your voice soft and trembling, your hand resting on his thigh, a tentative bridge. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He snapped, voice raw, a wound laid bare, his hand tightening on the wheel. “They don’t get to talk about what’s mine.”

The word mine hit you like a drug, flooding your veins with heat, with want, with fear, a pulse that settled low in your belly. Back at the hotel, he shoved you against the suite’s floor-to-ceiling window, the city sprawling below, indifferent to your ruin, its lights glittering like a thousand eyes. His hands found your throat, his thumb brushing your lips, his eyes wild, unhinged, a man on the edge of himself. “You let them get in your head,” he growled, his breath hot against your skin, his cologne enveloping you, sandalwood and sin. The first kiss was brutal—teeth clashing, tongue claiming, a starved thing unleashed, tasting of whiskey and desperation, his lips bruising yours, his hands everywhere, like he needed to touch every inch to believe you were real.

He ripped the gown at the seam, silk tearing like paper, the sound raw and final, leaving you half-clothed, trembling, your skin bared to the cold glass, your breasts pressed against it, your breath fogging the surface. He dropped to his knees, hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open, his mouth on you, desperate, sloppy, like he was worshiping and punishing at once. His tongue was relentless, circling your clit, sucking hard, then soft, teasing with flicks that made your hips buck, your moans loud and broken. He dragged his teeth along your inner thigh, biting down, marking you, a bruise blooming under his mouth, a claim that sent a jolt through you. “You taste too good to be trash,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with possession, his words a blade and a caress, his fingers sliding inside you, curling, pumping, drawing gasps, your hands fisting in his hair, anchoring yourself to him, your body a live wire.

He stood, belt clinking as he freed himself, his cock hard and thick, pressing against you as he pinned you to the window, the city watching, indifferent. He teased you first, dragging the tip through your wetness, circling your entrance, making you whimper, beg, your hips rocking toward him, your voice a plea. “Please, Rafe—please.” He growled, low and guttural, loving your desperation, feeding on it. “So fucking perfect,” he rasped, praise laced with venom, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot. He thrust into you, hard, filling you, stretching you, each movement a claim, a ruin, his hands gripping your hips, bruising, his rhythm relentless, the glass cold against your breasts, your body pinned, owned. “Mine to ruin,” he growled, his voice a prayer, a curse, his teeth grazing your shoulder, biting down, marking you again, a second bruise to match the first, his thrusts deeper, harder, shaking you to your core.

You came undone, trembling, your body clenching around him, your moans echoing in the suite, raw and unfiltered, your nails digging into his shoulders, drawing blood. He followed, finishing inside, groaning your name, not pulling out, his warmth a brand, a claim that sank into your bones, his body shuddering against yours. The city glittered below, a witness to your surrender, your ruin, your want, its lights a mirror to the fire in you both. After, he was silent, cleaning you with a warm towel, movements gentle but face closed off, his eyes haunted, like he’d seen too much of himself in you, felt too much to bear. He laid you in bed, stroked your thigh absently, his fingers tracing the bruises he’d left, but didn’t sleep, his touch lingering like a ghost, warm and heavy. You drifted off, unaware of the storm in his chest—he’d felt too much, and it terrified him, a man unaccustomed to needing anything, his heart a vault he’d locked long ago, now cracking open for you.

—

Morning light was cruel, exposing the cash on the nightstand, a gift bag—emerald earrings, glittering like the gown, their green stones catching the sun—and a note: Be ready by 7. It was too much, the weight of it crushing, a chain disguised as a gift. You weren’t a girl anymore, just a doll, dressed and posed for his pleasure, your heart a casualty of his world. The money burned, the earrings mocked, each glint a reminder of what you’d become—a thing to be bought, to be owned. You thought of your mother, her absence a wound that never closed, her voice sharp in your memory: You’re too needy, always wanting more. Your father’s indifference, his empty chair at dinner, taught you to need less, to be less. Lovers had used you, taken your trust, your body, and your heart, and left you hollow, their promises as empty as the bottles they left behind. Rafe was different, but not enough, not when he saw you as his to buy, his to keep.

You packed your things, left the gifts, the cash, the earrings, their green stones winking like cruel eyes, and walked out, heart splintering with every step, the city swallowing you whole, its neon now faded in the daylight, its claws retracted. You couldn’t be his pretty thing, not like this, not when it cost you yourself. You returned to your cramped apartment, the walls closing in, the silence louder than your sobs, the air thick with the scent of mildew and regret. You worked shifts at a bar, pouring drinks for men who weren’t him, their eyes greedy but empty, their hands brushing yours with no warmth, no fire. You missed his intensity, his rare softness, and the way he made you feel seen, even if it was through a lens of possession. You cried in the shower, water drowning your sobs, hating yourself for caring, for wanting a man who’d caged you in gold, who’d made you feel alive, and then left you to drown.

Rafe returned to find the suite empty, the cash untouched, the earrings glinting like a taunt, their green stones a mirror to your eyes. He was furious, then panicked, snapping at his staff and canceling meetings, his world tilting without you in it. Flashbacks haunted him—your soft gasps, the way your eyes saw through his armor, like he was more than his money, more than his rage, more than the man his father had carved him into. He drank, whiskey burning his throat, and punched a wall, blood smearing the plaster, a physical echo of his unraveling. He thought of his own past—his father’s cold expectations, his mother’s absence, the lovers who’d wanted his name, his wealth, never him. He’d built a life of control, of power, walls of steel and gold, but you’d slipped through, a crack in his fortress, a light he hadn’t known he needed.

His sister, Sarah, found him, her voice sharp, cutting through his haze, her eyes seeing too much. “You finally meet someone who doesn’t want your wallet, and you scare her off. Fix it, Rafe. Or you’ll lose her for good.”

He didn’t argue. She was right. He stared at the earrings, their green stones catching the light, your absence a wound he couldn’t stitch, a void he hadn’t known he could feel. He’d thought he could buy you, keep you, and hold you at arm’s length, but you’d wanted him—his flaws, his fire, and his broken pieces—and he’d pushed you away, too afraid to let you in, too afraid to be seen.

—

Rain poured, drumming against the bar’s windows where you worked a late shift; the neon outside blurred to a smear of color, its pink glow a faint echo of that first night. The door swung open, and there he was—Rafe, soaked, no suit, just a T-shirt and jeans, knuckles bruised, eyes red like he hadn’t slept in days, his hair plastered to his forehead, water dripping to the floor. The other bartenders stared, whispering; he ignored them, crossing the room to you, a man stripped bare, his armor gone, his heart in his hands, raw and bleeding.

You were angry, defensive, wiping down the counter like it could shield you, your heart a traitor racing at the sight of him, your hands trembling. “What do you want, Rafe? Another week?” Your voice was sharp, but it cracked, betraying the hurt, the want, and the love you’d tried to bury.

He stood there, water pooling at his feet, his voice raw, breaking, his eyes bloodshot, pleading, his hands shaking like he was afraid to touch you, afraid you’d vanish. “I was trying to buy time with you. But it wasn’t enough.” He stepped closer, his voice trembling, his words spilling like rain. “You make me feel human. No one’s ever looked at me like you do—like I’m more than what I’ve done, more than what I have.”

Your throat tightened, tears spilling despite yourself, hot and angry, your hands gripping the counter to keep from reaching for him. “You made me feel like a thing. Not a person. Just your pretty little doll, dressed up for you to play with.”

He flinched, like your words were a slap, his hands hovering, desperate to touch you, to fix it. “I fucked up. I know. I was scared—scared of how much I wanted you, how much I needed you. But I want you—not the dresses, not the act. You. Your heart, your fire, the way you see me.” He grabbed your face, gentle but firm, his thumbs brushing your tears, his lips trembling as he kissed you, through your anger, through the rain, desperate and real, tasting of salt and need, his body shaking against yours.

You fought, your hands pushing at his chest, then melted, clutching his shirt, the kiss a surrender, a collision of need and hurt, your tears mixing with the rain on his skin. He led you to the back room, the bar’s noise fading, the world shrinking to just you and him, the air thick with the scent of damp wood and whiskey. He undressed you slowly, reverently, his hands trembling, kissing every inch—your collarbone, your wrist, the curve of your hip—like he was memorizing you, atoning for every moment he’d made you feel less. “You’re not a doll,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re mine. And I’m yours.”

He laid you on a cluttered desk, papers scattering, his hands gentle but firm, spreading your thighs, his eyes locked on yours, a vow in their depths, a promise he’d never break. He kissed down your body, slow, deliberate, his lips lingering on your navel, your hip, and the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His tongue found you, tasting you, worshiping you, his movements soft but intense, sucking your clit gently, then harder, his fingers sliding inside, curling, finding that spot that made you gasp, your back arching, your hands gripping the desk’s edge. He marked you again, a soft bite on your thigh, a claim that felt like love, not ownership, his tongue soothing the sting, his praise a litany against your skin. “So good for me, baby,” he murmured, his voice a lifeline, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, holding you there, tethered to him. “So fucking perfect, every inch of you.”

You pulled him up, needing him closer, your hands fumbling with his jeans, freeing him, his cock hard, thick, ready. He entered you slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, his forehead kissing yours, his breaths ragged, and his hands cupping your face. “You’re everything,” he whispered, his thrusts deep, measured, each one a promise, a plea, his body worshiping yours. You rode him after, his hands gripping your hips, guiding you, his voice a litany of “mine” against your throat, marking you with whispers, with kisses, with him, his eyes burning with need, with love. He finished inside, pulling you onto his chest, wrapping you in his arms as the rain drummed outside, relentless, a mirror to your hearts. No coldness now—he stroked your hair, your name a prayer on his lips, his warmth a balm, a home you’d never known.

You were both raw, unsure, but together, the fight drained from you, your bodies tangled, your hearts laid bare. He drove you to his place, his hand on your thigh, promising no more games, no more cages, his voice soft, steady. You fell asleep in his passenger seat, safe in his orbit, the rain a lullaby, your heart full, your wounds beginning to heal.

—

Months later, his penthouse was your home, softened by your touch—books you loved on the shelves, a throw blanket you’d picked draped over the couch, a vase of wildflowers you’d bought on a whim, their petals bright against the sterile marble. Rafe was still intense, still possessive, but he listened now, learned to let you breathe, to be a partner, not a keeper. He bought you a car—practical, not flashy—stocked your desk with notebooks, and let you paint his walls with color, his sterile world blooming under your hands. You were in school or working a job you cared about, his support quiet but steady, a foundation you hadn’t known you needed, a love that didn’t demand you shrink.

You’d both healed, slowly, your wounds laid bare in late-night confessions—your childhood of neglect, his of betrayal, the parents who’d failed you, the lovers who’d used you. You talked about the boy who’d stolen your savings, the woman who’d worn Rafe’s ring but loved his bank account, and the way you’d both learned to guard your hearts, only to find them cracked open by each other. He held you when you cried, kissed your tears, and promised you’d never be alone again, his arms a fortress, his heart yours.

One evening, you called him at work, your voice light, a smile in every word, the neon of that first night a distant memory, its pink glow replaced by the warmth of your shared home. “I miss you.”

He left a meeting mid-sentence and came home to find you on the couch, reading, wearing his shirt, your hair spilling over the pages, a vision of everything he’d never known he wanted. He pulled you into his lap, kissing your neck, his hands warm and sure, his lips tracing the curve of your shoulder, his cologne wrapping you in sandalwood and sin, a scent that was now home. You laughed, teasing, your heart full, your body alive under his touch. “You still think I’m pretty?”

He looked at you, eyes soft, unguarded, the man you’d unraveled, the man who’d fought to be yours, his gaze holding you like a vow. “No. I think you’re perfect.”

You were never just for the weekend, never just a pretty thing. You were his, and he was yours—messy, real, and whole, a love carved from the ruins of a hard world, a home built from the pieces you’d both reclaimed, a fire that burned brighter than neon, stronger than rain.

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