#Feminine Steaming Set

[edohpa]

Fivona Yoni Care Kit 5 in 1 Feminine Steaming Set

Fivona Yoni Care Kit 5 in 1 Feminine Steaming Set

#CommissionsEarned Fivona Yoni Care Kit 5 in 1 Feminine Steaming Set Comes with an Expandable Yoni Seat for steaming, Premium Organic Yoni Herbs, Gentle Herbal Yoni Bar Soap, Hydrating Yoni Oil and a Drawstring Storage Bag. Infused with carefully curated herbal ingredients Control vaginal odor Alleviate emotional stress Relieve menopause symptoms Relieve muscle discomfort and relaxing the whole…

[st4rbwrry]

   𝐹𝐸𝐸𝐿 𝒮𝒪𝑀𝐸𝒯𝐻𝐼𝒩𝒢.

꒰ eren’s really sore from football practice and you give bby a massage. ꒱

🫧 𐀔 . . . 3.1k, fem!reader, lowercase intended, body betrayal, submissive eren + whimpers a lot, established consent aka cnc, dry humping, pain kink, eren’s pathetic fr, oral ꒰ m + f ꒱, handjob, love bites, choking, ‘daddy’ said once, creampie, rennie’s embarrassed :( , minors aren’t welcomed! comments + reblogs are appreciated!

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ꒱ . . . listened to the nastiest, filthiest sub va audio and babyyyyy, woooo! never been so turned on in my life.

“ughhhhhhh!”

you can hear the painful groans a mile away erupting from the bathroom, eyes peaked over your glasses after you spun around to investigate the suspicious sound. you’re perched up into your soft pink swivel chair where you sat cross legged and comfortably zoned out into an intense mission of call of duty, trying your best not to drool over ghost and konig. the curved monitor in front of your face brightly lit, feminine colors fading in and out from the lights planted around your pc set up. kawaii kitten headphones covering your ears muffling your surroundings.

knocking them off of your ears, you’re able to hear the shower running loudly, the noise cancellation blocking out any movement around you. there’s only one person who could be in your shower right now, and he revealed himself before you could come to the thought. steam flows towards the ceiling as the bathroom door swings ajar, your boyfriend’s sandalwood soap illuminating the room while steam levitates off of his tanned, tatted skin. a pout seeps into your expression when you see the softness in his face, every step he takes towards your bed shoots excruciating discomfort through his muscles.

“baby!” you stand to your feet, the warmth in your chest to see his presence heightening, but the worry in your eyes overtaking all. “what’s wrong, ‘ren?”

“mhmmmm,” he only groans, a towel around his neck and his skin only covered by basketball shorts as he flops face forward onto your bed, hissing from the aches and spasms. accidentally shoving your plushies out of his face and onto the floor from clear irritation.

sometimes forgetting he had a key to your apartment, you’re reminded of him telling you he was coming to see you after practice, overworking himself to the brink of death these past few weeks considering draft season was up and coming. eren needed to make a good impression, and him being an overachiever, it caused his body to slowly deteriorate. waking up at the break of dawn to gulp down green juices and muscle powder before he’s running around his neighborhood for two hours. then he’s going to the field after classes for extreme training with coaches who considered him a son. people who are in his ear constantly worshiping his achievements, including his family — pressuring him to be great. to be something.

the air in the room is cold, and it’s a serenade to his body, like icy hot. he releases a heavy sigh from his pillowed lips as he rests on his stomach in agony.

“i’m so sore, baby!” eren practically whines, the muscles on his toned back shifting as he reaches for a pillow to elevate his head. any small movement is like absolute hell. “fuck, i fucked up.”

“awee, ‘ren. i told you that you needed to slow down.”

sitting beside him on the bed, your knees sink into the memory foam, looming over his figure, putting on your motherly face. relaxing your shoulders, you bury your hands between your thighs, observing him to see what he needed.

“you’ll be limping to the ceremony if you keep this up. there’s only one more game, love.”

“yeah, and it has to count. they’ll be looking at my highlights and shit, and i need to be in their top list,” eren turns his face to look in your direction, his brown hair tied into the back of his head, slightly damp. “once i’m drafted i’ll take a break.”

“okay,” you leave it at that, knowing he’ll pursue a whole rant if you pressed any harder. it kills you to see him hurt, but you know in the end it’ll pay off. you didn’t have faith in him for nothing. “want me to massage you?”

“ooh, yea baby, please,” eren wants to clap to show his appreciation, but can barely move his upper body. he’s clutching a pillow tight to his cheek, lashes kissing his cheekbones with his pretty verdurous irises shield behind lids. lips upturned and his bushy eyebrows furrowed when your hands apply pressure to the back of his calves, kneading the skin with your thumbs gently. “thank you.”

a soft smile tugs on your full lips, glasses slipping down the bridge of your nose as you focus on making him feel better. “you’re welcome, sweetheart.”

“coach had me doing fucking agility courses today, it feels like my entire body is boiling with lava.”

“how’d you even make it up the stairs?”

the warmth of your palms soothed his body, aside from the horrible pain running through him from every touch, you made it a little better. eren whimpers softly the higher your hands go, reaching his lower back now, leaning over him some more to reach his tough spots. he nearly forgets to answer, his knuckles turning white and the veins on his hands leading up to his forearm protrude the harder he grips onto the pillow before him.

“nng, fuck,” he gasps out, muffling his sounds slightly by the cotton stuffed fabric, shifting his hips the deeper the pads of your thumbs sink into his hips, dainty fingers feathering along his skin, blood unbeknownst to you, rushing to his dick. those happened to be his sweet spots. “higher baby, please.”

he says it mostly out of panic, and you oblige, smoothing your hands flat on his back to rub there, beauty marks littered on the canvas. “you didn’t answer me.”

“sorry,” he groans when your hands come to his shoulders, applying pressure with the carpal bone of your hand, dragging straight down to his forearms with your stomach laying on his back. smelling your aroma and feeling the softness of your inner thighs. he blushes, hating his body for reacting the way it is currently. “i-i climbed up the stairs. was hunched over the entire walk to the door.”

“flip over for me.”

“shit. m’so weak right now,” eren mumbles frustratingly, trying his very best to turn his full frame, reaching out for your hand to help. you interlink your arms with his, as if giving him a hug, chest on his to flip him onto his back and position him comfortably. it felt like you were his damn caretaker.

“your knees hurt, baby? have you been wearing your knee pads?”

“mhm hmm, yea. i try to stretch a little before i run in the mornings. sometimes i . . . forget,” the salvia in his mouth glides down his throat as he swallows, seeing your spine arched and the darkly inked butterfly tattoo on your lower back as you focus on rubbing on his knees, and up his quadriceps. “unh, shit.”

“right there?” your tone is soft when you speak, doe eyes attentive when you look up at him and it makes his dick grow semi-hard.

“yes, it’s good, mama.” goddamit. he isn’t trying to sound like it’s obvious he’s turned on right now. he’s literally in too much pain to do anything to you, at least the way he wants.

you hike his shorts up for further access, massaging into the tissue to alleviate the discomfort, eren’s head knocking back as he hisses and grips onto the sheets. you watch him deliriously, trying to ignore the throb of your clit from the visual before you. but he’s making it impossible from the noises he makes. it’s not new, you’ve heard him whimper and moan before when he’s fucking you, but it’s rare when it sounds this . . pathetic. his pain shouldn’t arouse you, but it does.

your face is dangerously close to his dick, your black prescription glasses slipping even further as you try to block out the sounds he’s making by working your hands into his frail muscles. you make it back to his hips which stutter from your delicate touch, trying to hide your smirk when he whines helplessly. he’s breathing heavily, biting down on his lip as he covers his eyes with his right forearm, trying to hide his embarrassment. you’re pawing at his chest now, throwing your leg over his waist and sitting on his abdomen, feeling his dick on your ass cheek.

“fuck, what are you doing?” eren stares at you immediately, brows furrowed as you knead at his biceps, smoothing your hands up to his wrists you grip and eventually pin down to the bed above his head.

“making you feel better,” you pout, lifting your lower body to scoot your ass back and foment your pussy onto him, the subtle gasp leaving his mouth like a symphony. “you’re hard.”

“wait, baby,” eren whines again, struggling to fight the entrapment that you have on his wrists, too weak and sensitive to fight you on it. “i can’t right now. i’m too sore.”

“just lay there,” you tell him, gyrating your hips and rubbing yourself over the fabric of his shorts, barricaded by your silk black ones. his eyes glower at you, mouth going ajar and out comes another desperate whimper. “i need it. you sound too pretty.”

“baby, please. this is so embarrassing,” he goes to shimmy free, but whines from any sharp pain hitting him, entwining your fingers to hold hands as you arch over him, leaving a delicate kiss to his lips.

“you don’t want me?” you ask, batting your lashes as you roll your hips a little faster, humping your clit onto the swell of his dick. you moan, burying your face within the crook of his neck to slick your tongue over his flesh, the slow dragging making his dick pulsate.

“i-it’s not that, god,” he’s heaving now, afraid he’s going to break under you. physically, not possible. but mentally? yeah. he’s not usually the submissive one, so this was a bit out of character. “stop grinding your . . pussy on me.”

now his voice is really breaking, his moans growing high pitched and his whines dragged out and subby. you felt a high you never felt before, being the one to dominate is a rarity. it was a small conversation the two of you had briefly, but never did you think he’d actually let you pursue it. taking the lead felt too good.

“but i w’na grind my pussy on you,” you’re moaning in his ear now, eren’s turning his head to the opposite side to let you sink your teeth into his neck, leaving love bites while he groans. he couldn’t keep his composure with you. “you need to be in pain more. you sound too good. i’m so horny now.”

“you have issues,” he shakes his head, gasping when you nip at his adams apple before kissing it. licking your lips and humming, beginning to hear the squelch of your pussy in the silent room.

“you gave them to me.”

eren doesn’t even realize that his arms are free now, laying limp beside his head as he watches you crawl down his thighs to pull his dick free from his shorts, wrapping your hand around his dick that practically stretches over the shape of your face. it’s leaking precum, and you waste not a drop of it, slapping the head of his dick on your tongue. his fingers are grasping the sheets again, stationed beside his waist and watching you swallow half of him into your mouth.

“baby — damn,” his stomach caves in when he hits the back of your throat, esophagus forcing itself to laminate his dick with more saliva. he’s completely devoted to you, staying still and letting you work. if he had the strength he’d lift his hips and fuck your throat till you’re gagging. “shit. shit, i love being in your mouth.”

you moan around him, twisting your wrist at the base while sucking on what you could, his dick fat and blowing up your cheeks. his eyes fall shut to listen to how you take him, pink lips parting with his eyes drooped in pleasure. you get him wet enough for extra lubricant, popping your mouth free and removing your shorts. he licks his lips at your glistening entrance, your white toes touching his leg as you spread your legs next him to finger yourself open. pretty hair cascading over your features in dark curls, slurping up saliva in your mouth as you stare darkly at him while you grind sensually onto your two fingers.

“c’mon, baby. don’t be mean,” eren groans, hand reaching for your ankle to use whatever strength he gained to drag you closer. “lemme see. c’mere.”

whimpering yourself, you scoot closer to his face, gripping at the edge of the bed as he clutches your ankle, the good bracelet with his initial on it swinging. everything else in his body hurt, even his dick ached now and it was your fault for being so fucking sexy. one thing he could use to his full ability was his mouth, and as soon as your folds are spread wider by your fingers, that’s when he’s kissing at your clit. puckered lips sucking and pulling at her with fervor, jaw widening and clenching as his tongue dips into your hole and he begins bobbing his head, the lewd, downright filthy sounds of your pussy creaming on his tongue.

“ooh, eren,” a squeak lets out, your eyes almost falling shut and drowning your vision. the moans from the both of you are guttural, flowing in sync nearly. he’s sucking on your clit like it’s a pacifier, cocking his head back to spit on her before grunting and flicking vigorously. savoring your taste on his tongue.

your hand goes to wrap back around his dick, spitting in your hand after a prolonged moan and jerking him off, the wet sounds ricocheting off the walls.

“ahh, fuck. oh my . . god,” the moans only grow louder from you, face screwed up the faster his mouth moves. jaw shifting even quicker and you match his pace with your hand, making sure to stay near the tip to watch his hips twitch and hear him moan. “i’m g’na cum, ‘ren.”

“unt unt, sit on my dick, baby,” he immediately removes his mouth, licking his lips and laying on his back again. “you wanna tease me, so fuck me.”

your legs tremble as you crawl above him, knees indenting the bed on either side of his waist, looking behind yourself to hold his dick still and slowly slid yourself down. the stretch is always good, adjusting by now after extensive training, aka eren literally making you lay there and take it inch by inch until it fit and felt right. his dick fully sinks into you, your knees buckling instantly from the fullness, hoisting yourself up by clutching onto his legs behind you.

“f-fuck!” it vibrates through your body, that euphoric wave that he’s sucked into your own. sexual chemistry, soul tie if you will. your knees interfere, making your pussy squeeze tight and eren can do nothing but clasp onto his own angelic hair, his tatted forearm with a cuban link on his wrist killing your clit. hair long fallen out of it’s tie.

“she looks so pretty like this,” eren hums, sucking on his lip before spanking the outside of your thigh hard, trying to coax you into moving. “lemme see her suck me in and out.”

rolling your lips inward, you moan as you raise and drop your ass down, skin interacting loudly with his own. eren hisses with rouse, drinking in the view of your juices coating his cock, dripping in fact. the visual evidence of him splitting you open as you rock on him to fuck yourself makes his brain explode, unable to choke his moans down. tossing your head back, he studies the art of contour. your neck, chin, and nose. the curves, the area of fat on your tummy . . . you are beauty divine. and you’re so damn hot.

“you’re so damn hot,” it’s spoken the same way he thought it, perhaps with more vigor.

you feel yourself getting close, so you lean yourself forward and get ahold of his wrists again, that red tint coming back to his cheekbones. your body is flat to his, and you listen to your wet pussy glide up and down as you drop your ass back heavily, his strong thighs hitting it. you’re breathing into his mouth when he goes to kiss you, your pace getting harder and you hear him whimper again and again. the pain and pleasure mixing. that soreness in his body fucking with him, but serenading you.

“fuckin’ get it,” eren grunts in a hushed tone, his words persuading you to bounce harder, making it sloppy and incredulously loud. “get it, baby. make a mess. f-fuckk . . unh.”

“oh my god,” the noise you make is a mixture of disbelief and arousal, shaking above him while he throws his head back into the pillow exposing his gorgeous neck, silver chain sprawled intricately within the contours of his neckline. he’s driving you absolutely insane. “keep moaning like that, baby. it’s so good. i can’t.”

“you g’na fuck it till it hurt, too? you like hearing me in pain that bad?” he locks eyes with you again, body trembling with pathetic whines leaving his throat.

“y-yess, love it,” you admitted, swirling your ass and riding him faster, tears brimming your sockets. “you’re so pretty, daddy. you’re hitting my spot.”

he watches as you keep yourself where you want, his dick curved into that sweet part making your eyes gloss white, grinding harder while digging your nails into his wrist, mouth agape and precious broken moans escaping. that pressure in your tummy bursts, and you’re cumming while still fucking him, squealing and crying as you drench his pelvis. that sends eren to overdrive, muttering a stream of expletives before he’s nearing his orgasm not long after.

“ooh, shit. get up, get up. i’m finna cum.”

“n-no,” you add more of your strength to overpower him, keeping him flat to the bed as you lean up and roll your hips. he looks up at you with warning, your gushy walls sucking him in the more you clench and cum. batting your lashes as his hands wriggle in your grasp, upper body shifting from being overwhelmed with ecstasy. “fill me up.”

“awe, fuck me, baby. fuck, fuck, fuck!”

whimpers, shaky moans, and whines. they’re all playing a part in how he releases and makes you cum again as he’s cumming, screaming in the air as he fights through his aching body to spank your ass fervently. filling you up like you cried for. his noises are dry, like they’re fighting to get out. coming out in weak, fucked out, high pitched grumbles and keens. almost like he’s in goddamn heat. it’s all so hot. he hates his body for the ultimate betrayal of submission. but also, hates to admit he fucking loved it. excruciating pain aside.

“get off me,” eren heaves, swallowing from a dry mouth and his excessive moaning. “please, baby. i can’t take it. i’m sore. i’m asking nicely.”

smiling, you wrap your hand around his neck before sticking your tongue out to glide over his lips, tasting him and begging for entrance, giving him a nasty, overjoyed kiss.

“i’ll give you another massage, sexy.”

© 𝑠𝑡4𝑟𝑏𝑤𝑟𝑟𝑦 . all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life.♡

[potter-imagines]

Brat (Satoru Gojo x Reader)

Prompt: Satoru and his girlfriend Y/n are in an argument over his celebrity crush on Inoue Waka. Y/n is ignoring Satoru which absolutely drives him crazy.

Pairing: Satoru x reader

Warnings: some swearing, light light light smut (making out), gojo being gojo

Word Count: 7k

Notes: this is set broadly around season 2 episode 2 plot, with some clear changes from the original episode. riko and suguru are included.

“You changed your home screen?” Suguru commented nonchalantly. He took notice of the sudden alteration to his friend’s phone almost immediately. The difference wasn’t hard to spot seeing as the last two years all Satoru had used for his background images were various photos of his girlfriend, Y/n, whom he loved showing off.

Suguru was accustomed to the photos being circulated in a never ending pattern, Y/n and Satoru at the beach, Y/n in a scandalous position she beat him into removing, Y/n sleeping on his chest, Y/n and him sharing sweets, Y/n on her birthday grinning widely as she sat in front of her cake, the couple doing mud masks together, Y/n in front of the eiffel tower, and so on, however it was entirely new for him to see the famous, bikini clad Japanese model as his friend's home screen instead of his girlfriend. Suguru’s brow was raised as Satoru chuckled to himself.

“To Inoue Waka.” Gojo smiled in triumph, like he was in some war that he had finally found the upper hand in. “Y/n and I are in a fight- it’s certain to get a reaction out of her.” 

Despite his explanation, Suguru found himself lost in confusion. Only a night prior to leaving for their mission to protect and deliver the star plasma vessel, Geto had been sitting in attendance as he witnessed the couple's one of many bickering sessions. He really couldn’t blame Y/n much, seeing as he also found himself disagreeing with the white haired prodigy on the regular as well, yet this fight was one hundred percent, without a doubt in his mind, Satoru Gojo’s fault. Being as the argument was his wrong doing, Suguru couldn’t understand why his friend would sink himself deeper in the grave with his strong willed girlfriend rather than admit he messed up. And he certainly couldn’t see how an image of another woman- a model their argument steamed from, in a bikini too tight her boobs were practically over spilling from, would help his case.

The pair seemed to forget where they were until the young voice of the vessel of Tengen-sama herself reminded them of her presence. 

“Listen to me!” Riko shouted, irritation lacing her words. The young girl was set to explode off on the boys like a firecracker for their rude behavior in dismissing her heartfelt declaration on becoming one with Tengen-sama and Tengen-sama one with her, when suddenly the mention of the feminine name caught her attention. “Wait, Y/n?” She questioned. Riko didn’t see another female insight besides Kuroi but she sure hoped there was a sane female mind among the brainless men sitting among her. 

At her words, the man with hair white as snow leaned against the couch and ran a hand along his face. He narrowed his gaze, giving the girl a leer as if he found it ridiculous he had to explain who this Y/n was to her. 

“My strikingly beautiful, insanely stubborn, bratty, gorgeous girlfriend.” He moaned as his head fell back against the sofa, like the explanation was difficult enough. Through his dark rimmed glasses Gojo looked over to Riko, changing the topic all together. “I bet you don’t have many friends if you talk like that.”

“We won’t have to feel bad sending you off.” Suguru muttered. 

“I talk normally at school!” She expressed in an exacerbated tone, then quickly stepped forward pointing an accusing finger in the white haired man’s face. “And it’s you who shouldn’t have any friends! You certainly don’t deserve a girlfriend if you’re calling her a brat behind her back, you should be ashamed of yourself!” She reprimanded. 

Suguru lifted his gaze, intrigued by her final comment. Satoru didn’t actually think of his girlfriend as a brat, but of course Riko didn’t understand how the couple worked and there was no time to explain how Gojo called his girlfriend a brat in an endearing way- unlike his usage for it towards her. When Gojo used it towards Riko, he meant it. If they had the time, Geto might even explain how Y/n commonly refers to her boyfriend as a ‘trust fund baby’ or ‘a prick’, both of which are factual, yet it’s out of love between the two. 

Satoru ignored her quip, finding her opinion on his relationship totally useless. He knew his love for Y/n was larger than his will to live, yet he saw no point in expressing that to this girl. Riko didn’t know one thing about his relationship with Y/n so why did he care what the girl thought? Sure, he probably did sound like a complete jerk, however he couldn’t care less if the star plasma vessel before him found him to be a bad person for what she was hearing. 

Suguru glanced at Satoru, curious to see if the sorcerer was going to give a reaction however the six eye holder simply scrolled away on his phone, searching for the perfect image of his celebrity model crush to use as his lock screen. 

“School…” She mumbled out. “Kuroi, what time is it?!”

Satoru, Suguru, and Kuroi all sat scattered around the abandoned outdoor pool of Renchoku Girls' Junior High, all thinking of different things. Kuroi found herself reflecting on the time she spent practically raising the young girl who would soon be sacrificing herself as a vessel. Suguru’s mind wandered to how they were going to keep Riko safe until making it to Jujutsu High. All Satoru could think about was why his girlfriend wouldn’t answer his calls. Dangling his shoes above the water, Satoru kicked at the murky water in vex as yet another call went unanswered. 

“Huh?! She keeps sending me straight to voicemail- Suguru, let me borrow your phone!” Satoru failed to turn around as he extended his arm behind himself, impatiently awaiting Geto’s cellphone.

Begrudgingly Suguru dug his phone out from his side pocket and handed the cell phone over to his hysterical friend. He had already seen this play out a million times before and was positive the outcome would be no different; Gojo does something easily avoidable and pisses Y/n off, they get into an argument because it physically pains Gojo to admit his wrong doings, Y/n ignores him, he pretends he’s fine and acts as if he enjoys the distance created, that lasts for a few hours at most, then Gojo acts like a crazed person trying to get his girlfriend to respond while she is clearly still upset. 

Miles away in Tokyo, Y/n saw the face of her good friend Suguru pop up on her screen. Her brain screamed it was just her idiot boyfriend trying to convince her to speak to him. Maybe it really was Suguru calling to inform her of their mission. Hesitantly, Y/n accepted the call and lifted the phone to her ear.

“Hi, pretty girl- uh?! She hung up on me!” Gojo shrieked as the line went dead on the other end. He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared the the screen in disbelief, almost as if the mobile device had zapped him like an electrical shock. His mouth hung wide, a look of absolute astonishment polarizing his features. A few moments of staring at the blank screen passed by, Gojo awaiting a returning call from his love to declare it was all some prank, yet nothing came. Suguru outstretched his hand towards his friend,

“Satoru, can I have my phone back?”

The blue eyed man gave an over exaggerated groan then carelessly tossed the cellular device back to its rightful owner. 

“Fine. Ugh! Can’t believe how dramatic she’s being! Just wait until I get back to Jujutsu High and don’t share any of my mochi with her. She’s going to have to wait at least a week until I give her that necklace I bought.” He huffed like a child. Resting his chin in the palm of his hand, Satoru gazed out at the pool. From behind he could hear a chuckle from his friend, causing him to turn his head. As expected, Suguru was chuckling to himself at his expense. Squinting his eyes, Satoru sent a scowl, unimpressed at Suguru’s amusement over his situation. 

“Well, you did go on an entire rant to her about how hot Inoue Waka is, how she’s your dream girl, then you told Y/n you’re only dating her because Inoue Waka hasn’t returned any of your fanmail-”

“That was a joke.” Satoru dismissed his argument, shaking his head, still playing a blind eye to his wrong doings.  

“And you said Y/n is lucky to be dating you… so, one might call her response reasonable.” Sure, Suguru was Satoru’s friend first, but he was also Y/n’s friend and he had no issue telling Satoru the truth when he was in the wrong, like he was now.  “Not to mention the new background which is sure to warm her heart.” Suguru pointed out. Gojo preferred to convince himself that his partner was wrong, although the nagging voice in the back of his head claimed otherwise. An abrupt quip from Geto on two of his cursed spirits no longer roaming around Riko sent all three sprinting to find her location, and still, even while the choir girls and sensei fawned over him, Gojo could not stop replaying his earlier fight with Y/n, wondering what he could do to get a response from her. 

Satoru and Riko were currently running from the chapel on her school grounds- well, Satoru was running while he had the young school girl hoisted by the back of her uniform. An unexpected attack had caused a bump in the road and now Gojo had to protect the girl on his own until he could find Suguru, not that the task would be difficult by any means, Satoru simply had his mind elsewhere. Speaking of elsewhere, his cell phone started ringing from his side pocket, and before he could reach for the mobile device, the young girl plucked it out in one motion. Satoru went to steal his phone back when she raised the phone to her ear and, as if it belonged to her, answered the call meant for Satoru. 

“Eh? Give that here-” Gojo reached his hand to snatch his phone back from Riko, yet instead she pulled the device right to her ear and began rambling. If she wasn't on the mission Satoru was certain he’d have dropped her off the building right then and there, but he had no time to make another effort to yank the phone as he needed to reach higher ground. It wasn’t until Gojo heard the sound of his girlfriend’s voice that his heart dropped straight to his ass. ‘Oh no’, he thought. 

“Is this Y/n?” The girl eagerly asked. A far off voice replied, making Gojo reach out once more to snatch his phone back, only for the vessel to jerk her head away from his grasp. He knew there was no time to stop, he had to get to higher ground and then he could steal his phone back and make things right with his girlfriend- he just hoped Riko and her big mouth wouldn’t taint that chance for him. 

Before he could try to reason with the girl and convince her not to say anything more, Riko began rambling and there was nothing he could do to stop her. Gojo could sense another curse user in their perimeter and knew it was essential for his focus to remain on keeping the vessel safe, even if she was a pain in his ass. 

“My name is Riko- yes, I am! Listen, your boyfriend is a total selfish, inconsiderate, self obsessed jerk! He barged into my choir class all high and mighty and bathed in the attention as the girls swarmed him- he even took his stupid little glasses off for them to all swoon over his eyes! He was totally leaning into their lust for him! My sensei even gave him her phone number-”

“Ah! Hey! Give me my phone back- are you trying to get me murdered?!” Nope, ah uh, not happening, Gojo thought as he tore his cellphone away from her hands. Riko turned to look at him, but the mix of fear and absolute terror on his face kept her words at bay. He sent the girl a cold glare, electric blue eyes narrowed in frustration. “My girlfriend is-”

The abrupt sound of his beloved girlfriend screaming at him sent Satoru back to reality as he glanced at the phone screen, then resentfully lifted the mobile to his ear.

“Hi, princess- why’re you yelling?! I don’t know what this crazy girl is talking about-”

Even Riko was experiencing a small twang of regret as the manic shouting on the opposite end of the line seemed to worsen with every passing second. As far as only knowing the cocky sorcerer for less than a full day, this change in posterior surprised her. Riko was taken aback to see him practically cowering at the words the girl seemed to be seething. All day he had been ranting and raving about how powerful he was- clearly the conceited type, yet here he was nearly shaking like a leaf as his girlfriend scolds him. Riko wonders for a brief moment if she should’ve minded her own business.

A minute more of screaming and cursing passed until Satoru seemed to find his voice, or rather thought of a viable excuse, and nervously cut the girl off. 

“I’ve got to go, a curse user attacked! See you later, my love!” He hurriedly smacked his finger against the red button on the bottom of the phone, desperate to end the call as quickly as humanly possible. Riko stared up at him as she dangled above the ground, and as their eyes met, Gojo rolled his, displaying his anger towards the girl as broad as daylight. 

Gojo scoffed down at the girl as he continued to hoist her above the earth by the back of her shirt, carrying her as if she was a briefcase, or bag of groceries, though certainly not as one should hold a human. Riko huffed, folding her arms across her chest, but Gojo paid no mind to her emotions, too upset with her actions and interjecting herself in his personal relationship. Jumping to the building to their right, a childlike huff heaved from his chest. 

“Jeez, you’re really a handful, brat. Now I’ve got more of a mess waiting at Jujutsu High for me.”

After the pair met up with Suguru and Kuroi, the four were beyond ready to be inside the safety barrier of Jujutsu High and left at once. After arriving at the school, the sun had long since fallen and the sky was teetering between a navy and black shade. Suguru gave his partner a curt nod, gesturing his head towards the dorm rooms, insisting he could handle escorting Riko into the tombs of the star corridor. Satoru sent his friend a grateful smile, bid the vessel and her guardian a farewell, then took off for the dorms. A small, minute, fraction of him was going to miss the kid, but she agreed to her destiny and up until now, seemed relatively pleased with her choice. Satoru jogged up the steps of the dormitory until he finally reached the fourth floor, the floor only occupied by female students. It wasn’t hard to locate Y/n’s room as he had snuck in past curfew more times than he could count, he reached her door with ease. 

His knuckles tapped against the wooden door, allowing less than a fair second to pass before he jimmied the handle. Usually a locked door would be a sign to walk away and try again in the morning, but Satoru only saw it as a slight hiccup. Pulling a credit card from his back pocket, Satoru slid the heavy black card through the slit between the frame and the door itself, shimming the card down to the lock while simultaneously twisting the knob back and forth. He gave the handle one quick turn to the left and abruptly the door swung open causing him to stumble less than graciously into the dimly lit room. 

Creeping in, Gojo carefully shut the door behind him and fully stepped into the dorm. The pink clock on her desk flashed half past midnight, but he knew his night owl of a girlfriend was sure to be awake, despite the eerie silence in the room. Tiptoeing his way towards the bed in the corner, Gojo let out a whisper, 

“Princess, I’m home! Are you awake?”

He sat himself on the edge of the mattress, placing the large shopping bag by his feet as he cautiously examined the heap hidden under a pile of blankets. Running his hand up and down the smooth fleece, Satoru could feel someone shifting around underneath. He leaned his head down, bending his body at an awkward angel, to rest it on top of what he assumed to be her side- that was until an elbow pulled back from under and collided sharply with his temple. 

A pained yelp sounded as he jumped back in surprise and fell to the floor causing a ‘thud’ to sound out. The figure on the bed threw the covers off her head as her fiery leer met Gojo’s stunned expression. 

“No.” She sneered. Though this did not deter the boy as he had previously prepared himself for an attitude filled reunion- especially due to how their last conversation had ended. Propping himself up to his feet once more, Satoru was determined to try again. 

“I brought you presents- look!” He rustled through the paper bag and yanked out four neatly wrapped parcels, and smiled while shoving his outstretched arms towards the glaring girl. However she refused to move, and instead continued murdering the sorcerer with her deathly scowl instead. Gojo let out a dramatic sigh, gesturing to the boxes in his arms once more. “C’mon, pretty girl, you gotta open the gifts-”

“Why don’t you go give it to those choir school girls- or what about their instructor-” A taunting laugh fell from her pink lips. “Better yet, send it to Inoue Waka and see if she finally responds to your love letters!” 

“Oh, c’mon, pumpkin! Are you really still upset about that?” Gojo whined. Here he was, bearing gifts in hand, and she was still angry about something that happened so, so long ago? Gojo ran his calloused hand across his face. 

“Still upset? It just happened today!” 

“If it’s any consolation, those school girls weren’t even in high school so they were way too young for me anyhow.” And none of them compared to you, he wanted to add. Y/n tossed from her position in the bed so her face was now peeking out between covers as her eyes flared. If the situation wasn’t so serious, Gojo would reach out to pinch at the cute chub of her cheek and comment on how adorable she appeared, yet he knew better than to try to weasel his way out of this one. 

“Ah, so you were flirting with a bunch of children and a cougar? Sounds a lot better that way, Satoru.” She shot back, sass soaking her words. Her rebuttal had Gojo rethinking his words. The issue with dating a woman like Y/n was she was far more intelligent then himself and simply didn’t fall for his handsome looks and boyish charm, which Gojo relied on when it came to the opposite sex. Not that this was a bad thing, so to say, it was actually one of the thousands of reasons why he loved her so much- she wasn’t shallow minded and saw him far beyond his outward appearance. Setting the presents on her freshly organized desk, Satoru ran a hand through his hair and awkwardly rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Technically, it wasn’t flirting in the sense you’re thinking of, I had to distract the class with my charm and good looks so I could sneak Master Tengen’s vessel out of class- I wasn’t lying about us being under attack by another curse user, that was true!”

“What about her number, huh?” Y/n scoffed. 

“She offered it, but I never accepted it.” Luckily he was telling the truth and Y/n believed him. Despite trusting his confession, she didn’t do anything more. 

A silence greeted the couple, neither certain of what to say next. Y/n lifted the blankets from her lap and stood from her bed in front of her boyfriend. Sure the gesture was small, but Satoru took her willingness to step closer to his frame as a good thing as his arms reached out to pull her body against his in a bone crushing hug. His forehead pressed against her shoulder while he kissed the spot. Y/n thought about pulling away for a second, she thought about making him work harder to gain her forgiveness, but his arms felt far too comforting around her body for her to shake him off. With his head buried in her shoulder, Gojo glanced up to Y/n, a softness in his eyes as he spoke,

“Do you forgive me, pretty girl? I’m sorry I made you upset… I don’t like it when you’re mad at me.” 

When she didn’t answer right away, Gojo lifted his head from her so he could properly look her in the eyes. He could visibly see the clouds of anger clearing as she quietly stared back at him. His hand then moved to wrap around the side of her face, his gentleness causing her to melt against his palm. She desperately wanted to smack his hand away, curse him then send him off to his room for the night, but she couldn’t. His touch sparked a series of shivers through her body which only made her long for him to pull her closer. 

A grin broke across his features as he accepted her lack of resistance as approval for his apology and began to move closer towards her face. If she slapped him away, then he’d know he misread the signs, but she didn’t. Their faces were so close in distance Y/n could smell the welcoming scent of peppermint swirling from his parted lips. These were the times she found herself grateful for his sweet tooth, it usually made for sweeter kisses. Wordlessly, Y/n pushed herself to close the distance and pressed her lips to connect to his. Gojo hums as he dips his head lower to gain advantage as he deepens the exchange. 

His mouth is warm against hers, inviting, as he kisses her. She can feel his tongue as it slips inside her mouth, almost like it was entering its second home, seeing as easily as it made itself comfortable and friendly against her own. Her fingers gripped at his white strands, pulling his face closer. All the frustration, all the emotions she had been experiencing towards him for the last day melted into the kiss. Satoru had one hand wrapped around her waist, holding her middle against his hips and his other swooped up around her lifted arm, leaving his hand to rest on the back of her neck, not letting her pull away even if she wanted to. 

Y/n could taste the strawberry chapstick on his lips, the same chapstick he had stolen from her only a week prior. He wasn’t lying, the taste was addictive. Gojo’s lips captured her bottom in a heated move, sucking on the skin with the slightest hint of friction as his teeth light delved into the plumpness. She had no time to muffle the moan passing through her, to which he smirked at the sound. 

A sense of shame washed over her once she realized he had won the silent battle. Instead, Y/n yanked at his hair from the root and pulled his lips back against hers, kissing him with such force he nearly stumbled back a footing. Gojo’s eyes widened in the middle of the kiss, surprised at her boldness and the way her tongue was invading his mouth. He could feel the material of his uniform growing tighter as his jeans constricted against his crotch. Y/n sucked on the silky smoothness of his tongue, small smacks sounding as she dominated the heated makeout. 

A shudder danced down his spine at the feeling of her hand pressed against his groin, his hips subconsciously grinding against her palm. Rubbing her hand along the zipper Y/n toyed with the cool metal, silently teasing her boyfriend as a means of revenge for his actions. Just as she began pulling the slider down, her lips pulled away from him at once, much to Satoru’s disappointment. His mouth hung low as a small whine sounded.

Y/n simply ignored his childish ways, and reached for the bottom of her shirt, causing him to smile once more. Peeling the shirt that belonged to him off her body, Y/n threw it to the floor then fell back against her mattress, motioning Gojo over with the flick of her wrist. Satoru stalked towards her on the bed, almost like a predator sneaking up on it’s prey. His eyes held a look of hunger she rarely saw but bathed in the heat searing from it.

Climbing over her body, Satoru placed himself so he was looming above her, his zipper hanging half undone. Y/n tilted her head, pretending not to understand the look on his face. Gojo shook his head then leaned his face so his lips could skim against her exposed neck. He let his mouth trail up the side of her skin, hot breath fanning over her coolness. His hands lifted to grope at the covering of her bra, giving the material a tug. He came to a stop once his mouth was pressed against the shell of her ear, his voice sending a wave of pleasure straight to her core, 

“I love it when my princess is being a little brat… think I need to put you back in your place.”

Without warning his lips attached to her neck and harshly began to suck at the skin, surely leaving a trail of blotchy red marks. Y/n’s whole body hitched at the overwhelming rush of excitement, her hips lifting only to be shoved back into the mattress by his own which hovered barely an inch above. 

She let her head fall to the side, allowing Satoru more access to her neck, her eyes hardly opened as she basked in the tingling his mouth brought. Hands traveled up and down his back, nails lightly scratching against him as her body wormed from his lips making love to her skin. Y/n nearly closed her eyes all together, she nearly allowed herself to get lost in his kiss, that was until a distant ‘ding’ caught her attention and the phone beside her head lit up. 

A text notification from Suguru popped up on Satoru’s phone, but that wasn’t what caught Y/n’s attention, no, her fixation settled in on the nearly naked photo of the famous model Inoue Waka. The same Inoue Waka that sparked the original fight between the couple, the same Inoue Waka Satoru called hot, the one he declared his dream girl, and same Inoue Waka Satoru said he’d be dating if she’d give him a chance- Y/n was fuming in rage. Pushing both hands on his chest, Y/n physically shoved Satoru off her body causing him to tumble off the side of the bed. His hands flailed out in an attempt to grab for stability, although failed as he rolled to the wood floor, his back smacking against the ground. Gojo laid still on the floor, his mind still trying to process the whole event as he rubbed at the ache on the back of his head. Sitting up straight she reached out for his phone and held it in his face as she screamed,

“Are you fucking kidding me, Satoru?! You put Inoue Waka as your background?!”

“Hehe… that was meant to be a joke…” The fear in his voice transcribed in shaky words as Y/n chucked the phone at him, barely missing his face as he lunged to the side. She snatched his shirt off the ground and threw it back on, covering her chest as Gojo scrambled to grab his cellphone. 

“Fine, I’ve got an even funnier joke for you,” A taunting smile full of hidden anger laced her lips as her finger jutted towards her door. “Get out!” 

His face fell all at once, a deep pout tattooed on his lips. Maybe he should’ve listened to Suguru earlier when he insisted this was a bad idea- if he’d had listened to Suguru, the two would probably be tangled in her bed sheets by now, but no, Gojo had to press her buttons even further. Opening his phone, Satoru clicked on the most recent image of Y/n and faster than the speed of light, set the photo to his new lock and home screen. 

“Aw, c’mon! I’ll change it right now- see! Look, pumpkin, it’s a picture of my favorite girl-” Gojo flipped his phone around, allowing the bright screen to illuminate Y/n’s face. She glanced up, and Satoru watched in utter confusion as her expression went from upset to lividly irate. His heartbeat multiplied in rate, obviously terrified of the disturbing reaction she held to seeing her face on his phone, or what he thought was her face. 

“You fucking asshole.” She growled. If this was his idea of a practical joke, Y/n was ready to make him single. Gojo’s eyes grew like a mass, quickly turning his phone back only to see what caused such a profuse reaction. The image hadn’t changed and was the same exact photo as previously of Inoue Waka propped up on her knees sitting in the sand as her breasts nearly poured out of her excuse of a bikini.

“Shit! I promise I thought I hit save- just give me a second, I’m panicking!” He screeched. His fingers moved at the speed of light as Satoru helplessly tried to set his girlfriend’s smiling face as his background, hoping to at least save some ground between the couple. What he failed to notice in his alarmed state was Y/n reaching out for her phone, scrolling through her photo album and setting a new image on hers. 

“No, no, it’s fine, Gojo, really. I’ll just change my background to a picture of my favorite guy.” The smile she wore was not one of love, no it held more malice, evilness like she had just completed a plot to end the world. Satoru’s head nudged to the side, his eyebrows pulled together in a line of skepticism. 

“I’m already your background, princess…” He mumbled. Clarity was granted as the girl tossed her cellphone, to which he caught with ease. Clicking the power button, Gojo gave a dramatized gasp.

“Is… is that Suguru?! How’d you get this picture? Did he send this to you? Oh my god I’m going to kill him-” 

“I think he looks cute.” Y/n smirked. Obviously it was all a ruse to get back at him for his immaturity, but she couldn’t help the sense of pride creeping up at the over the top reaction from Gojo. The photo itself came from a night out the couple shared, one with their usual third wheel, Geto. Four shots in and five mixed drinks, Suguru was having quite the time, which led to a gallery full of images that he insisted the three took together- and if Gojo would look a little closer, he’d notice the small wisps of pure white hair sticking out from the edge of the cropped image, but Y/n didn’t need to tell him that, it was far more amusing to see him frantic. 

Large blue eyes pleaded up at her as Gojo kneeled in front of the bed, his hands folded like prayer.

“Princess, please put my picture back! I changed mine back to you- please!”

Her finger tapped against the blush to her cheek, pretending to be lost in thought. This was pure torture as Gojo continued to beg at her feet. 

“Hm. I’m not sure- I do have a picture of that adorable first year Haibara in there somewhere…” No, absolutely not, that was Satoru’s last straw. No way in hell would his beautiful girlfriend have a photo of that first year sorcerer always obsessed with impressing Suguru as her background- never ever! Gojo was already annoyed their peer favored his best friend over himself, but having his own girlfriend joke about giving them attention, fuck no.  Holding her phone above his head and out of her teasing reach, Satoru screeched, 

“Ah! You’re going to replace me with a first year?! What?!”

Folding her arms in a crossed fashion against her chest, Y/n gave the hysterical teen a ‘told you so’ glare. 

“Now you know how I felt.” She said matter-of-factly. 

Satoru had to physically bite his tongue to keep the word ‘brat’ from tumbling past his lips. Yes, he used the term as one of endearment, but that was when the two were in their usual jovial mood- now was not the time and now. Gojo understood what she was hinting at, he got the message she was referring to their earlier argument and the various comments he had made towards the famous model, but that didn’t mean he agreed with her. In his mind, there was a clear difference between joking about having a crush on someone in the public eye and joking about having a crush on a fellow classmate. 

“Well at least my background was a celebrity that I have no real chance with. If you asked that first year out he’d probably say yes on the spot then pass out- and Suguru would say yes just to spite me!” His voice was teetering a cry as he threw his head against the bed. 

“I would never actually ask them out, Satoru. In case you haven’t noticed, I love you. Why do you think I was so upset about all those things you said before you and Suguru left? You basically admitted I’m not your dream girl but some famous, perfectly perfect model, who I look nothing like, is. Then you went on about how lucky I should feel being with you, as if I’m not already insecure about our relationship.” Gojo’s heart sunk at her words, regret filling his insides. “It hurt my feelings, Satoru.”

“I’m sorry, princess… I really am. I never meant to hurt you, I guess I thought I was being funny but… it’s really not true.” For the first time in maybe ever, Satoru’s tone sounded different. His voice no longer held that casual cockiness and confidence it usually oozed, no, he sounded timid… possibly the most serious he’s ever sounded in his life. The man who played life like it was the board game itself now stood before the woman he loved looking scared. Y/n’s face scrunched in question, slightly taken aback by the sincerity he expressed. 

“What’s not true?”

“What I said about Inoue Waka, she’s not my dream girl, you are.” Satoru stated. He needed Y/n to see the truth to his words, to believe she was the only girl for him, because she was. As fun as it was to tease his girlfriend, it was only amusing when she was in on the joke. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her. Satoru could see now how truly uncomfortable she was with his comments and it made him feel like a piece of shit knowing he planted a seed of insecurity in her mind. 

It was almost as if Gojo could see the shield Y/n placed around herself, around her heart. She was a hard one to crack, but getting to be the soul she finally let inside meant the entire word to Satoru and he had no intention of breaking that trust ever again. 

“And I’m the one who’s so fucking lucky to get to call you mine. You’re everything I could ever ask for in a girlfriend and more. You put up with me and you’re the only person who ever laughs at my jokes- and you know all my favorite snacks and treats… you even know all the things I’m scared of, which losing you is at the top of my list. I’m sorry that I ever made you doubt us, or made you feel insecure… I really am sorry, Y/n.”

The room turned quiet as Gojo’s confession hung in the air. Y/n didn’t speak, she wouldn’t even move. Instead, her eyes planted on the blanket in her lap, mindlessly losing herself in the pattern while her mind raced, replaying his words over and over again. Gojo examined her odd behavior, part of him perplexed at her lack of response. Y/n had a response for everything, for every situation. For the first time in their two year relationship Gojo was witnessing her in a speechless state, and for as much as he joked about her bratness and stubborn ways, he hated not hearing her voice. A minute passed until Satoru decided he had enough of missing her sound. As he opened his mouth, about to ask if she was okay, a shout sounded from her throat. 

“Ugh! I hate when you do that!” Y/n cried out. There was a thin row of salty tears teetering her waterline. Dread filled Gojo at the sight. He never meant to make her cry. Standing to his feet Satoru sat himself next to her on the bed, his hands reaching out to grasp her own in trepidation. His thumb drew anxious circles across her skin, a method he’d learned that usual calmed her down, yet her tears steadily fell. 

“W-What? Do what?” He asked in a wavering voice. With her free hand, Y/n harshly rubbed at her eyes, wiping the tears that continued to roll down her reddening cheeks. A few splashed against his hand that clutched hers, but he didn’t care. A scarlet ring formed around her e/c eyes as she glanced up to Satoru, a mix of agitation and sadness filling her. 

“When you’re all sweet and say things that make my insides feel like they’re all mushy and- ugh, I hate how much I love you. It’s so annoying!” She cried out. 

A wave of solace splash his bay at her words, along with the returning embrace as her hand squeezed his. He let out a sigh of relief, grateful his words had caused good tears this time. Bringing her hand up to his face, Gojo danced a trail of kisses along her knuckles and smiled. Still holding her hand, Satoru lightly urged the girl to lay back on the mattress and he climbed in next to her. Her head rested softly against the pillow, Gojo’s arm encircling her waist as he turned her body to face his. Once he could see her beautiful face, he let his hand wrap under her chin with a feather light grip. 

“I happen to love how much you love me, pretty girl.” 

His lips pressed a sweet kiss to her temple, then placed another to her forehead, then lastly a chaste and loving kiss to her lips. Y/n nuzzled her head against his touch, the shakiness to her breathing beginning to slow. Gojo removed his hand from her chin as he felt her wiggling closer until her head was laid up on his chest. The sound of his heart beat echoed in her ear and she cuddled into his warmth. A comfortable blanket of peace took control of the room as the couple enjoyed the feeling of holding one another. Satoru’s hand ran up and down her back in an act of comfort. His touch always made her feel more at ease. The moment of tranquility lasted a good portion until Y/n briefly pulled herself away from Gojo, an unfamiliar gleam to her gaze. Satoru tilted his head, unfamiliar to the unusual look, when Y/n lifted her hand to stroke the side of his cheek, as she spoke in a mask of sweetness,

“I swear Satoru, if you ever set Inoue Waka as your homescreen again, I’ll murder you then chop your body up and dump it in the ocean.” One might expect a rational response to such a threat would be fear, not Satoru Gojo. A cheesy grin broke out as his hold tightened around her body, pulling her closer to him.

“I know you will, princess, and that’s why I love you… even if you are a brat at times.”

Her hand smacked against her arm, faking a pout while snuggling further in. 

“Shut up, you love me because I’m a brat.” She remarked. They both knew it was true. Satoru could feign annoyance over her attitude, he could pretend she was too ‘difficult’ for him, but in all honesty, bratty was exactly the way Satoru loved her. 

“You know me too well.”

[prettyboykatsuki]

call it quits or call it destiny | h. umemiya.

✮ tags ; afab + fem!reader(she/her pronouns, referred to as a girl, gets dressed up by tsubaki and kotoha), reader gets their hair braided (no desc of texture) and puts on makeup, lore heavy reader backstory + personality, deliquent!reader, gap moe, best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, themes of insecurity, mutual pining,the use of she/her for tsubaki, jealousy, confessions, loss of virginity, creampies / unprotected sex, oral (f!recieving), fingering, 18+

✮ wc ; 13.9k (dont. don't say anything)

✮ a/n ; me when i completely lose my mind because i have a weekend off. whats wrong with me.

anyways. there's no major triggers for this but be forewarned reader is meant to be very rag-tag deliquent type. she has a strong personality and generally is not feminine. she is like a mangy street cat a bit. also if u want u should listen to easily by bruno major while reading.

✮ synopsis ; you've been quietly pining for umemiya for a little over ten years with no plans of confessing.

you did not have a plan for what you would do if umemiya confessed to you first.

Once a day, everyday - Umemiya will come into your store, pause, smile, and confess his love to you before going off on his own.  

And once a day, everyday, you reject this confession with a soft huff  telling him to quit being stupid before shooing him away.  

It's become a ritual. A fixture in your daily routine that you're not allowed to ignore despite how hard you're trying.  

He's been doing it for three months, more or less. 

His reason for confessing everyday? Because he’s waiting on the day you confess back, of course. Which you've refused to do for the last few months and will continue to refuse for as long as you’ve got.  

It's not because you don't like him, alright? 

You've known Umemiya since middle school and you've liked him for about the same time. One of the core memories of your childhood is the day you met him, crying while sitting on a  swing-set, after what felt like the worst day of your life. 

( On the day you run away from home, you seriously consider not going back.  

You don’t really know how long you sit there. People walk by but most of them move on quickly. It’s mid-day before anyone bothers to stop and ask you something.  

 "I've never seen you around  before.” A strange looking boy approaches, friendly and unassuming but not entirely cheerful “Did you just move here?"  

You keep quiet, closing your eyes and hoping your lack of response is enough to push him away. Your hope fizzles out when you hear the swing creak as he sits besides you. 

"I'm Umemiya Hajime. I live close by." His voice is airy and causal. "I'm sorry you're having a bad day.”  

"Fuck off," You reply bluntly, frowning. “I don’t need sympathy. Leave me the hell alone.”  

He pauses before pushing himself slightly forward to barely swing.  

“I couldn’t leave you alone while you’re sad,” He voices willfully. "It might make you feel better to talk about it." 

In disbelief at his response, you finally look up and asses him properly. It doesn’t do much to change your initial unfavorable impression. White hair, blue eyes and a little taller than you. You’re definitely about the same age. All of that to say, there’s something weird about him that you can’t quite place.  

Despite his manner and way of speaking though, you don’t actually think he’s that weak which makes his whole aura even more unnerving to you. His attempt at being non-threatening doesn’t work for him. He’s being a real try-hard about trying to make you comfortable… 

Either way, he’s got an air about him that puts you on the defensive.  

 Talking to someone about it had never been much of any option, and somehow it pisses you off that he’s being so brazen about it.  

Maybe if you tell him about, he’ll stop prying into your business. Or maybe you’re just looking for excuses to let off steam. 

You don't care anymore. You wipe your nose with the back of your sleeve.  

"I don't live here and I didn’t move. I ran away." You reply.  

He keeps looking at you, curious, inquisitive and sympathetic.  

"Why?"   

"I broke a girls nose." You scowl. The words rise up in your throat like bile. Make you feel cornered. The wounds too fresh. "It—she bullied me for years for one. And I never fought back, it was all petty bullshit anyway and I didn't like getting calls home. I didn't care about that but she—it wasn't for nothing. She was causing trouble for Sensei."  

Umemiya keeps to himself, humming in response to your troubles. Your voice breaks on your next sentence, chest tightening.  

"It doesn't matter what she does to me but—" Your hands ball up at your first. Your throat feels thick, eyes suddenly watering as your chest throbs . "Anyway, I couldn’t let it go like normal."  

He hums. "So you hit her?" 

You shake your head, sniffling. "Not at first. Just told her to shut up. Said that she didn't know what she was talking about. She hit me first..." You screw your eyes shut, sighing. "...said she was gonna spread rumors about him just trying to get under my skin and be malicious,” You lean back slightly and look up towards the gray sky. “I punched her after that."  

You realize he's looking at your bloodied knuckles, but he isn't making an expression that you can read easily. You don’t remember the last time you spoke to someone like this who wasn’t Tsukimori-sensei.  

"Are you crying because you got in trouble?"  

“Who cares about that?” You sigh “Sensei had to put his job on the line and take responsibility for me,” Your brow furrows in frustration. “He’s the one person I don’t want to cause trouble for,” You grip the iron chains of the swing set with a closed fist and finally admit what you’ve been avoiding to say out loud. “I don’t want him to hate me…”  

The kid besides you smiles  absently at your words. Half-way between listening and recalling something else, it seems like. You can’t help but wonder what the hell his deal is. You barely know him but you’re spilling your guts. 

He speaks after a long while. "I don't think he sees it that way. I think you should try to talk to him about it."  

You make a face, rejecting the idea. "What? No way." 

Umemiya shrugs, smiling - though it doesn't quite meet his eyes.  

"He sounds like he cares about you. If he knew your reasons, there's no way he would hold it against you. And it’s important to share your burdens with people who care for you." You look over and see him smiling somberly at the mulch beneath his shoes before returning back to what you’ve grown to know as his usual self. "Anyways, I think we should be friends. Tell me your name."  

You sniffle again. What a weird guy. Well you say that but 

You still give him your name. 

"What a pretty name," 

When you tell him to shut up again, your new friend Umemiya just laughs.  

And you find you feel just a little bit lighter.)  

That night, Umemiya walked with you to take the last train and told you to come see him again  with good news. 

You aren't sure what compelled you to follow his advice. Maybe because he was the first person who sat down and listened to you about it other than Sensei himself. 

Tsukimori-sensei was your school counselor and the only adult in your entire life that seemed to worry about. You didn't have any friends in middle school and you were a scary looking delinquent girl without a mother and a mostly absent father.  

But Sensei was always incredible gentle to you and incredibly kind. And despite what rumors that girl tried to spread  - he was never anything more than an important mentor.  

It was fucking embarrassing crying in front of him but because you were honest - you got to keep in touch with him. He attended your middle school and high school graduation - supporting you as you started to sort your life out. Became the closest thing you ever really got to a parental figure.  

Over time, you got close with Umemiya and developed strong loyalty to him. You attended an all-girls middle and high school the next town over - totaling one other friend in all six years of your remaining education. Lack of socialization meant that Umemiya somewhat became the very center of your existence. 

It was easy to visit him thanks to parental neglect. You sort of melted into his life. Tsubaki once called you his guard dog as a half-joke, but there's some truth to the sentiment. Quick to defend, quick to heel, and always happy to see him.  

You, like many people, owe Umemiya a lot. His meddling over the course of ten years gave you reason to push forward. He even encouraged you to try and attend school and not give up on living a half-decent life. 

You've got a never-ending list of short-comings but being with him didn't make you hate yourself. It made you want to be better because you knew Umemiya would accept you for whoever you decided to be.  

So despite your delinquency, you managed to graduate high school. Post-graduation, you attended a vocational culinary school and became a patisserie before moving to Furin for permanent residency. You opened a bakery and supply bread to Kotoha-chans diner.  

You made something of your life mostly 'cause of Umemiya. He's not your only friend anymore but he's still your best. Even though you never really pictured things like dating or romance - in some way it only makes sense that it'd be that meddling, kind-hearted idiot that you end up falling for it.  

Lovesickness aside, you respect Umemiya more than anyone in your personal life.  

He’s stuck around with someone like you this long after all. That means a lot to you.  

Somehow the two of you mesh well despite being totally opposite.  

You decided as soon as you realized it sometime in high school that you'd keep your feelings a secret for the rest of your life. You had a strong resolve in your beliefs about the whole thing which made it easy. You hid 'em so well even Sakura's stupid accurate romance detector didn't uncover them.  

When you picture Umemiya's future - it was easy to picture the kind of woman he would end up with. Another kind-hearted idiot like him, a social butterfly. Someone a little softer.  

In any case it definitely was not you. You didn't need it to be. You've received so much from him already, you never entertained the idea. Plus, Umemiya has dated other people over the years, so in your head there was never any hope to cling onto.  

For all reasons listed above, a requited romance is at the very bottom of your expectations.  

That's why you've been in this fucking conundrum.  

To say it was a complete shock to you when Umemiya openly confessed to you many months ago would be understatement of the goddamn century.  

He confessed right on the last day of Spring, totally out of the blue. 

(It’s a little unusual for Umemiya to call you at this hour. If it were anyone else, you’d be a little upset since you’ve gotta be up around four-am to get prepared for the day.  

It’s him though so you’re particularly tolerant, yawning as you find Umemiya on a familiar swing-set, still wearing your PJ’s.  

"Why am I out here in the middle of the night with you?"  

Your words lack any real malice as you sit down. Umemiya remains totally quiet. It's unusual for him to not immediately go on a tangent upon seeing you.  

"Oi. Earth to Hajime." You frown at him. "Did ya get beat up before coming here and scramble your brain? Give me the popsicle before it melts."  

He looks over at you and chuckles as he hands you the bag from the convenience store. You ignore his odd behavior and open up said popsicle before it melts  - carefully splitting it down the middle and giving him the bigger side before going to town on your own. He takes it from you but doesn't even bring it up to his mouth.  

Weird.  

"Did something... happen? Like seriously happen?" You take a long lick of your iced treat. It's melon flavored, your favorite. "Seeing you frown doesn't feel right. Gives me the heebie-jeebies."  

He cracks a little smile at that. It makes you feel better. He shakes his head.  

"Mm, nothing happened. I just have something I want to tell you."  

You nod in understanding. "'kay. Take your time."  

He blinks, surprised.  

"Hm? Aren't you gonna scold me for wasting your time?"  

"Nah. Whatever it is must be serious if it's making you all introspective or whatever. 's fine. Bring me coffee tomorrow and I'll forgive ya."  

His lip twitches up. "I l really like that about you."  

You feel yourself flush and wave a hand at him. "Ahh, shut up."  

He pauses for a second then shakes his head. "Mm. It's more like I like everything about you, actually."  

You twist your face in confusion. "What are you on about now?"  

"That's what I came here to tell you." Umemiya says after a deep breath. He says it so casually you wonder if you're mishearing him - leaning back to look up at the stars. "I really, really like you. I just felt like I had to tell you that"  

You stare at him in disbelief.  

"Wha—huh?"  

He doesn't even flinch as he repeats it.  

"I like you."  

"No the hell you don't."  

He furrows his brow with a light laugh. "I just told you that I do, silly."  

"But that's—" You don't say the word impossible. You really want too, but you know exactly how he would react if you did. You simply shake your head. "No, you don't." 

"I thought you might respond like this so don't worry but how about you?" He shrugs then looks at you intently. "I thought you might like me too."  

Your eyes go wide. Oh fuck.  

You feel like a deer caught in headlights. You know you should be happy about this, deep down. That'd be the normal response.  

But you just feel complicated as shit instead. Fuck does he mean? Umemiya.... likes you? There's just no way that's true. Not after all of this time. And how the fuck does he know you like him back when you've been keeping it in? 

You can't bring yourself to look him in the face and lie. Your heart rises to your throat as you shakily stand to your feet.  

"Stop...thinking whatever you've been thinking. I'm going home." You reply in complete panic. 

 The minute you say it, you turn on your heel so you don't have to look at his face. You don’t even want to know.  

And before Umemiya can catch you and try to talk it out, you bolt. 

What the fuck was that?)  

For the last few months, you've been avoiding the topic of conversation as much as you humanly can.  

The possibility of Umemiya even just accepting your feelings was already far beyond your imagination, but him returning them? Confessing first? That wasn't even in your realm of possibility.  

Ever since then, you've been losing your mind trying to force your life and train of thought to go back to normal. You’ve done all of the math on it.  

Realistically, you can't ignore him. Your lives are so mixed together it'd be impossible unless you went under protection and changed your name which you briefly considered. You thought of turning him down but you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to actually do it despite how good you are at keeping it in. Either way, your best option logistically is feigning ignorance and trying to keep the whole thing out of your mind entirely which should've been easy.  

Tricking yourself into believing the whole thing was a dream? Lightwork.  

Except. Except.  

Umemiya just won't give up.  

He confesses to you again every single day. Worse, he doesn't care whose around to hear him. No one in your friend group seems even the tiniest bit shocked by it which doesn't help the situation. You can't get used to it, can't get used to him being so fucking cheeky as he stops you midway through normal conversation to tell you he loves you.  

He's persistent to a fault and while you've done well feigning immunity - you can't survive like this.  

You've graduated to tell him to go away and treating the whole thing like some big joke.  

But honestly? 

You're avoiding having a proper conversation about it. Umemiya is especially keen in not letting you forget that. And determined to make you confess.  

But you're not going to to let him sway you.  

You've got principles, after all.  

__  

After you close up shop on Friday, you get dressed to attend a kickback with all of your friends.  

It's a barbecue technically - commemorating the end of summer. Togame is really into grilling and in their weird domestic partnership, Chouji really enjoys hosting. They've done this once or twice a year ever since they started living together.  

Once you've finished cleaning up the store, you take the train to Kotoha's place - mistakenly assuming you'd leave as soon as you got there. However you failed to realize that Tsubaki and Kotoha would be getting ready together.  

You got jumped as soon as you walked through the door - so now you're wearing a different pair of clothes that Tsuabki got for you and waiting for them to finish getting you dressed up so you can leave.  

Tsuabkino is inches from your face while Kotoha braids your hair. You feel itchy and exposed but with both of them here there's no way you're going to get out of wearing it. 

"Can we just go?" You grumble, not enjoying the feeling of being poked and prodded.  

"No," Tsubaki insists, frown making her expression pinch. "You have half an eyelash on. Sit still." 

"He'll be happy to see you dressed up," Kotoha adds, trying to encourage you. You frown and look down.  

"Whatever. I don't care about makin' him happy."  

The both of them pause and stare at you until you fold under the pressure - screwing your eyes shut and making you flush.  

“Such a blatant lie.”  

Tsubaki giggles. “Right?”  

Your face feels hot. "Ahhh, alright already. Shut up."  

"Honest girls are much cuter," Tsubaki coos. You give her a half-assed glare.  

"Don't you like Hajime? Why're you trying to set me up with him still?" You mumble. You always think they’d make a perfect pair.  

"Of course I like him. He's my prince." She smiles at you. “But it’s a little different to how a certain someone loves him. And well, if you knew the way he looked at you…"  

You frown, feeling hot all the way up to your ears as you ball your fists up and look down at your lap. "Whatever." 

"You should stop trying to worm your way out of it," Kotoha adds, much less sweetly. "You know how he is. He couldn't give up on you for ten years like some idiot."  

You blink. "Huh? But ten years would mean -"  

Kotoha braids your hair even tighter making you wince. "I know. You're both stupid like that."  

"Don't be mean, Kotoha-chan. And you, be a little more honest, okay?"  

You sigh deeply. 

"Ain't like anything is gonna happen either way. I already told you both I'm not accepting his confession," 

"Cause you're a huge wuss, yeah we know."  

You elbow Kotoha lightly.  

"Maybe nothing will," Tsubaki hums mischievously.  "But it feels nice to dress up for him, right?"  

You pretend the thought doesn't make your hear flutter.  

Tsubaki does you the kindness of laughing lightly before moving on. 

__  

You arrive to the function an hour later than planned and stick mostly with Kotoha and Tsubaki until half way through the evening.  

Loosening up with a few drinks, the three of you part ways to catch-up with different people. It's not rare you see them, but it's not often everyones schedules allow them to be in the same place.  

Lucky for you, Umemiya does you the courtesy of not confessing during the first half of the night before food comes out.  

(Though you do spit beer in his face after he calls you pretty, which he takes on the chin after cleaning up.)  

After dinner, the function simmers down significantly. People quietly break off into groups and chat to each other into the late night. About that time people split whatever desserts they brought among guests.  

You brought cookies and something specifically for Chouji and Togame as thanks for hosting.  

Towards the end of the night, you find yourself sticking sort of close to Umemiya. Though he's having his own one-on-one conversation with Hiragi while sitting next to you , turned the other way.  

You busy yourself catching up to Suo, Sakura and Nirei - all of whom you consider yourself close to.  

Of them, you're the closest to Nirei which always surprises people. 

The kids a total wimp but he helped you years ago study to graduate so you're a little closer to him than everyone else. He's a great guy though and you hang out alone sometimes too.  

The conversations gone far left at this point in the evening.  

Suo leans back against his chair and looks toward Sakura besides him with a lazy smile.  

"Sakura-chan would make a great wife." 

You snort listening to them bicker. Sakura grows beet red, throwing an empty beer can at Suo's head that he catches gracefully.  

"Go die."  

"What? You're good at domestic work and you have a cute side, Isn't that all you need?"  

"Shut up. I'll kill you."  

As Suo breaks out into laughs, Sugishita comes down from the kitchen just in time to catch the argument. He crinkles his nose up.  

"Oh, Sugishita-kun. 'Sup."  

He nods to your greeting as he leans against the wood railing of the outdoor deck.  

"What the hell are you two talking about?" 

'What? You mean about Sakura being a good wife?" Suo asks. Sugishita crinkles his nose. 

"Don't phrase it so repugnantly but yeah I guess." 

"We were talking about marriage 'cause I was complaining at work."  

"What's happening at work?" 

Nirei sighs as he lays it out again to Sugishita after having given the spiel to the three of you once.  

"One of my superiors at work is a lot older than me and keeps bringing up marriage," Nirei explains woefully. "It's all he talks about. He thinks I'm seeing someone."  

Sugishita frowns. "Eh? What gave him that impression?"  

A good question you hadn't considered asking.  

You raise your brow at Nirei who laughs awkwardly while he holds your gaze.  

"You know that picture of us from highschool? When he came to the cafe at your school festival?"  

You smile spitefully, crinkling your nose in faux distaste. "The one wear we wearing those stupid maid costumes?"  

"Yup. That's the one. It's a good picture of us so I keep it on my desk and he saw it so..."  

"You keep a picture of just the two of you on your desk? No wonder he got that impression.” Suo adds.  

You sense Umemiya suddenly tense which you find weird. He's still talking to Hiragi though when you glance from the corner of your eye. You brush it off.  

Nirei blushes, elbowing him.  

"Shut up. I've got group pictures and stuff too. But he just singled out that one cause you know,"  

You nod in understanding before it dawns on you. Your eyes widen. "Oh, shit? Does that old man think you're dating me?"  

Nirei closes his eyes and sighs. "He won't even let me correct him." 

You pause before breaking out into genuine laughter.  

"Pfft, that's terrible." You reply sympathetically, taking a sip of your beer before giving a mischievous grin. "Maybe you can make it work for you though, eh? Tell 'em we got hitched forreal and then I'll call you on the phone and nag you to get home for dinner so you can leave earlier."  

Nirei acts like he's touched making you laugh even harder. "You'd do that for me?"  

You give him another toothy grin. "I'll even help you fake some wedding photos. We'll be accomplices." You lean back with a shrug. "You gotta wear the dress though." 

Sugishita laughs at that. "You being a blushing bride is a little..."  

You snort, shooting him a dirty look "Shut up."  

"Deal. Not a bad plan honestly." Nirei says with a sigh. "Whatever gets me out of the office early."  

"Even if that means being married to me?" You joke.  

He smiles at you. "Aw, what do you mean? That's the best part."  

You chuckle at him good-natuedly and the conversation quickly moves on.  

The alcohol is starting to make you dizzy so you eventually tune out as the four of them talk, glancing at Umemiya from the corner of your eye.  

You swear you catch a glimpse of his jaw ticking.  

__  

For the rest of the night, Umemiya is off.  

No one else can tell. You know that because the atmosphere remains light until everyone leaves around two-am. There's no blips or tension, no awkward pauses. 

But you know Umemiya. He's been real weird all night and it's bugging the shit out of you.  

It's a well past two now, and you've just left the late night cab you took with him. Umemiya lives close so he's walking you home.  

He's usually energetic after a get-together like that so his dead silence is weirding you out. You're pretty good at figuring his feelings out but for once you feel totally clueless.  

It feels as if even the cicadas and crickets have gone to sleep. There's nothing bu the streetlights overhead and soft glow of the moon, coupled with the soft click of your shoes on the pavement. Occasionally, a car will pass by.  

At one point, it becomes too much. There's still a few minutes until you're home.  

You stop in the middle of the sidewalk and turn around to look at him. Umemiya pauses, startled as he stops with you, and doesn't smile which only makes your concern worsen.  

"Oi. What's up with you?"  

"Hm?"  

You cross your arms over your chest.  

"Don't 'hm' me. You've been in a bad mood few for the last few hours. It's gonna bug me all night if I don't ask, so what's up?"  

He stares at you.  

"You noticed?"  

"How could I not notice?"  

"I was hiding it pretty well, I thought." He states more than asks, half-smile on his face.  

"Yeah. But well," You shrug. "I'm always looking at you for better or for worse. So. What's wrong?"  

He stares at you a long time before sighing, running his fingers through his hair. You've never seen him like this. You've seen him pissed off before, seen him mildly irritated - but never this... pouty? It's not like he's pissed.  

He's quiet, taking a deep breath of cool night air before sliding his hands into his pockets and taking a good look at your face. 

"Do you know that I like you?"  

Your eyes widen as you blink wildly.  

This is what he wants to talk about? 

He pins you down with his stare, hands in his pockets and intense as ever.  

"Don't even think about bolting this time, okay? I'm asking you seriously. Do you?" 

Your eyes flicker down the concrete - feeling extremely uncomfortable and suddenly sweaty. You shrug, unsure of what else you could say or do.  

"Hard not to know." You mumble. "You tell me everyday." 

"But do you get it?"  

Your frown deepens.  

"Of course not. How could I possibly get something like that, stupid?"  

He takes a deep breath. "But you like me, don't you?"  

Panic sets in. If you could sink straight into the Earth you would.  

"...Never said that." 

He calls your name quietly. "Look at me, at least. Stop running away from me and just look." 

You know you're being stubborn but you can't help it. You've kept it a secret for ten years and all of a sudden he wants you to tell him you like him? You've held it in for so long already and he's telling you not to run away.What other choice is there?  

One wrong move move and everything will come crashing down inside of you. You can't even lie about it either.  

Damn it.  

"I won't look." Your voice is warbly and it makes you feel so pathetic you could die, tucking your chin petulantly "Don't wanna,"  

Umemiya frowns at you.  

"If you say you don't like me I'll let it go."  

You remain very quiet and close your eyes tighter. He sighs softly, making your chest hurt.  

After a minute, you muster up the courage to be dishonest - determined to drop it at all costs. You're slow as you pick your head up.  

"I don't like you," You repeat slowly, carefully - trying not to stumble the words. "So quit it, alright?"  

He laughs humorlessly and holds your gaze.  

"That's the first time you've ever actually lied to me. You're terrible at it," 

"I'm not lying." You snap. Umemiya smiles somberly when he sees tears on the corners of your eyes. He steps closer to you. You freeze. When his hand reaches cups your cheek, you feel your legs lose all their strength and close your eyes. You're terrified to even look at him, not wanting him to see what you know is obvious on your face.  

He wipes them as he tilts your face towards him slowly. 

"Tell me, at least. If you're going to refuse me, don't I deserve to know why? Do you hate the idea of dating me that much?"  

You shake your head. "Stupid. How would anyone hate that?"  

"So I deserve to know why you're turning me down."  

A long moment of silence draws you out of your feelings. You guess that's fair enough. Maybe this way he'll leave you alone  - as long you're clear about your reasons. He’s the earnest type after all.  

You manage to suck up all your tears and clear your throat enough to give him an explanation. 

You step back a little from him, putting some distance between you as you stare down at the sidewalk. 

"You know... I respect ya more than anyone else. You've always been someone I admire. And I uh, owe you a lot. So I only want the very best for you and all." You scratch your neck, taking a deep sigh. "For me... regardless of my feelings, I want you to be with someone who really fits, you know? Well put-together and everything. Someone that suits you better"  

He pauses before frowning.   

"Regardless of your feelings? Does that mean you were willingly pushing them aside?" He says distraught. "For how long?"  

You shrug, trying to lighten the conversation. It’s too devastating otherwise. "About ten years, give or take." 

The sheer distress in his face makes you want to keep talking, just he doesn’t look so disheartened. Like some explanation will clear things up.  

"It ain't a bad thing, Hajime. You've given me a lot and I'm serious when I say I want the best for you. I love you, if that's what you wanna hear. I'm content just being besides you as your friend." You say with a shrug. "I can be kinda selfish but there's a limit to my greed,yknow."  

He looks like he's in shock. 

"Wanting someone to love you back isn't greedy or selfish."  

You find you don't have anything to say with that, but hope he drops it for the time being. 

Umemiya stares at you seriously. It makes your breath hitch meeting his eyes, blue with all the depth in the world. You feel like you can't pull yourself from his gaze.  

"And there was never a possibility? Not once that I could've liked you? That I wanted to be with you?"  

"It doesn't matter." You say. "And no, it never crossed my mind.."  

"Stop saying it doesn't matter. Of course it matters. Your feelings matter the most so don't toss them aside so easily. Do you really believe that you're not right for me?"  

You aren’t sure how to answer him.  

"You think you're not good enough for me." He says with some realization more than asks.  

It's the first time you see his face change. When you look up, he looks well and truly angry. The whole thing is confusing.  

"I'm sorry," You say. It’s such a timid thing to say but you don’t know how else to fix.  

"It's not—I just don't like hearing you talk about yourself like that. I don't like hearing someone I love get spoken about like that.” 

You ignore the sentiment again and wait in the quiet. You always thought this would be an easier conversation to have but it hurts.  

He sighs a bit, getting closer to you again. He’s less upset than before but there’s something else in his expression.  

"You wanted to know why I was upset earlier right? It's because of you and Nirei-kun." He admits.  

"What about him?"  

"You talked about marrying him so casually. I overheard and it bothered me all night."  

Your eyes go wide.  

"I—it wasn't serious."  

"I know that. I never thought I was that childish either but you being married to someone else as a joke." He laughs humorlessly. "I really hated it. That’s why I asked if you know how much I like you."  

You feel frozen in place by his admission. 

Umemiya steps towards you faster than you can muster up a counter for why he shouldn’t bother.  

His arms around you feel sudden. His grip on you is so tight, like you could slip through his arms all at once if he loosens it. He smells like cologne and beer and summer but it's not unpleasant. He rests his chin on your head and lets out a deep breath.  

Your chest is throbbing for different reasons now. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.  

"If you won't be greedy, then you should at least let me be." He lets out a long, tense breath "At least let me have what I want." 

You're stuck. Your mouth moves faster than your brain.  

"Why me? And why now?"  

Umemiya pulls away to stare down at you. You can't bring yourself to turn away from him. 

"It was always you. I felt guilty... for wanting to you that way when you were a precious friend. Wanting to treat you delicately when you were strong and proud." He admits. Hearing him say that out loud embarrasses you to no end, “But it was those things that made me love you. Strong yet clumsy. Prideful yet honest. Awkward yet trying to be gentle. Loyal. And always considerate of everyone. Of me, when I was taking care of everyone else."  

Your stomach feels like it's going to erupt. You're losing your resolve faster than you know how to mend it.  

"Stop saying stuff like that."  

Umemiya holds you tighter and shakes his head. "No. How else will I get you to change your mind?"  

"I won't change my mind." You say stubbornly.  

"I love you." He repeats.  

You squirm.  

"Stop it,"  

"I want to be with you. I want to kiss you. I want to hold you. I want to stay by your side forever. I want to do things with you and make you feel good. I want to make you smile. I want to grow old with you." 

Your hearts fluttering. Fuck.  

"Idiot. What are you saying? Let me go."  

"It has to be you for me. I won't have anyone else no matter what you think. The person I love is you. I love you."  

"Hajime." Your voice is shaking. 

His drops down to a whisper.  

“I can’t change how you think of yourself overnight but I can tell you that there’s no point in trying to push me away. Whether or not you accept  me, we’ll never stop being side by side - so please stop fighting it.”  

You put your hands on his chest, trying to push him away. “Stop it,” 

"Please tell me it's okay to love you how I want too," He says, soft and doting while he crushes you in his arms. "And please love me in return."  

You put your hands up to your misty eyes wanting to wipe them away as he melts through the rest of your resolve like it's nothing. It's hard not to be moved. You've been pretending for ten long years that you don't love him at all and he's declaring his love for you like it's the easiest, most sensible and sane thing in the world.  

A kind-hearted, willful, meddling idiot. How you are you supposed to push him away when he's holding you this tight?  

"Shit," You voice, huffing as your voice shakes. "Don’t be stupid, alright? If you’re so insistent, I wont let you back out if you meet someone else."  

He laughs wetly.  

"I already tried meeting other people, but it's still you. Always was."  

He smiles above you. 6'2 with watery eyes with the look of pure relief like it's the best news he's ever heard in his life. It's too much for you. Your heart is racing so fast you wonder if you're gonna die.  

"Can I kiss you?" He asks.  

Your eyes go wide as you look away, not wanting to look too eager. "That's..."  

He makes another puppy-dog kinda face. "Please?"  

You're embarrassed by how easy it makes you give in. "...Do whatever you want."  

He laughs bright and warm as his hands slide up to cup your cheeks and kiss you with all the passion he can muster. It's intense, almost suffocating the way he slots his lips against yours and breathes you in. He doesn't let you up from it, doesn't part from you for a second even when he pulls away - noses brushing and stealing the air from your lungs.  

It's your stupid first kiss and it's perfect - so perfect you wonder if you're going to wake up in a dream. He kisses you hard and makes you stand on your toes to chase his lips when he pulls back. Elated. Ecstatic when you grasp the front of his shirt and keep kissing him when he stops. 

He pauses before littering your whole face with pecks even as you weakly protest, unable to stop frowning but feeling the happiest you've ever been.  

There's so much longing in between you, you feel like you could die. You feel helpless.   

"Can I come home with you?" He asks, once he stops - only holding your hand a short distance away. "I want more time together." 

You feel your skin burn hot as you nod, all while trying not to read too much into it. 

"Yeah."  

__ 

You barely get to lock your door behind you before Umemiya crowds you in the door way.  

His arms circle around your waist, chin resting against your shoulder.. Broad chest against your back, you try not to flounder as his warm voice caresses your ear.  

You're going to die young if he keeps this up.   

"I love you,"  

You flush. "Enough already. And let me go so I can wash up."  

"Do you need to sleep early? Thought you were closed tomorrow. Wanted to talk a little longer."  

You pause.  

"...Sleep?" 

"Hm?"  

You both freeze as the miscommunication dawns at the same time. You try to pull away from him as soon as you realize, skin burning hot. You're quick but Umemiya is quicker.  

"Hajime." You say gravely. "If you don't let me go, I'm gonna kill you."  

"No way," He laughs  as you attempt to wriggle out of his grasp. "Is that why you let me in? Were you expecting something?"  

"Shut up! Don't say anything, I swear I'll —"  

"Don't be like that, baby. I'm not making fun of you. Hey, turn around. Look at me."  

You're upset but you think the reason is more embarrassing then the feeling.  

"Don't wanna,"  

Umemiya laughs as he gently turns you around to face him. In your utter mortification, you can barely bring yourself to meet his gaze.  

"Stop staring."  

He doesn't.  

"Do you normally invite guys in just 'cause they ask?"  

"Wha—no! It's because it's you, stupid!"  

He smiles in satisfaction.  

"You shouldn't say yes so easily even if it is me. What if I took advantage of you?"  

You think he's just being smug for the sake of it, which is pissing you off. You grab him by the front of his shirt.  

"Fuck off. Maybe there's a reason I said yes."  

He pauses before his eyes widen. You push your hand against his mouth before he blurt anything else out but he's quick to pry your hand away.  

"Don't say it." You hiss.  

"I was planning on taking my time. I cherish you and I want to make sure you know that. I'm just a little surprised you’re moving so quick when you were telling me not too long ago."  

You can feel the tips of your ears growing hot, feeling even more self-conscious. "Whatever. If we're just going to sleep I still need to wash up."  

He keeps his arms behind your back so you can’t move.  

"Hey. Didn't say that. It's not like I don't want to do it with you. Just don't want you to regret anything."  

You give him an flat look. "I was prepared to give you my virginity and you're worrying about that. Unless you're planning on backing out, there's no way I would."  

"Your—" His jaw drops a little.  

You drop your voice down just a little close as you grab his collar.  

"If you get it, then hurry up and fuck me. Stupid Hajime."  

He gives you the dopiest smile you've ever seen while your face grows increasingly hot, leaning to in to press a kiss to your lips. He brushes his nose with yours. Laughter from deep in his chest.  

"Yes, ma'am."  

__ 

Once you give Umemiya permission to have you, you get the feeling that there really is no going back from here.  

You both know it. The tension in your bedroom is so thick you can barely breathe around it.  

Umemiya lands gently onto your bed - sitting up as he holds you by your waist and pulls you over to him. You're so aware of his touch it makes your nerves feel they're on fire. You're not a total virgin - at least not enough to be feeling this worked up over someones hands lingering on your waist.  

But they're Umemiya's hands—Hajime's hands, so you can't rationalize your thoughts of out it. His hands are strong and big, a little calloused and rough from the gardening and fighting. You can feel how much he adores you in a gesture so small it makes you concerned for your own heart thinking about how the rest of the night will go.  

He invites you into his lap gently, so pleased by the way you go to him so willingly. You spread yourself over him with your knees on either side of his thighs. He's big - wide and broad.  

Your barely hovering over his bulge as you lean your weight onto him. His hand barely brushes underneath your top, just barely touching the skin.  

You shiver.  

"Are you really sure this is what you want?" He asks. "I don't mind waiting as long as you need,"  

You give him an bored look. "Not very convincing when you're makin' a face like that,"  

He chuckles nervously. "That bad?"  

You nod before adding a little bashfully. "Dunno if I mind, though."  

He buries his fact against your chest all of a sudden making you jump.  

"The hell?"  

"You're so cute when you're honest like that," He mumbles into your chest, cheek pressed against your tits.  

"Jeez, shut up. What're you talking about?"  

Umemiya pulls back and leans forward - enough to breach the inches of space between you. Nose to nose, your eyes meet. A bated breath, you put your hand on his shoulders and work up the nerve to kiss him.  

It's chaste. Mostly for you to break the ice otherwise you're sure you're gonna pussy out.  

He smiles at you when you pull away.  

"See what I mean? So cute," He hums, and leans in again. "Come on. Kiss me again."  

Something about him is different when he tells you to kiss him. It's not smug or cheeky. But it's not casual either. Softness tinges his words, his touch - his whole demeanor screams like he loves you absolutely. It makes your heart rate pick up again, hands shaky as you try not to lose your nerve.  

He's restraining himself though. How he intense he could be vs how soft and calm he is being. You know Umemiya like the back of your hand so you want him to do what he wants. It's hard to find your voice.  

"You don't have to.." You cast your eyes down in embarrassment. "…hold back with me, either. I'm not some maiden."  

He smiles at you a little. "You really do know me better than anyone, huh? I was keeping it together pretty well."  

"Look I know I’m kinda difficult…I'm not real good with stuff like this either," You fidget with the collar of his shirt with your free hand. "But once I say yes I don’t back out. So don't worry about scaring me off or putting too much pressure on me or whatever. ...'s fine to just do what you feel like. I’m scared out of my mind but I wouldn’t do that to you,"  

“Don’t know how long it’ll take but I’ll do my best to make you feel secure. Might take some time but we’ve got our whole lives.” You flush at the implication. He smiles a little. "Whatever I want seems like a lot to give, though."  

"Well...depending on what, I'm might not be good at it,"   

He shakes his head. "I don't want anything like that."  

"What do you want then?"  

"You." He says easily. Your stomach flips. "All of you. I just want to make you feel so good you can't stand it. Want to worship you top to bottom. There's not a single part of you I don't want."  

You flush. "The hell... I meant like a blowjob or some shit."  

He laughs. "I know. And I want that too, another time." He hums, taking a deep breath. "Right now I just want you to feel so good for me. Is that okay?"  

You can't look at him. You can barely stand how bashful you're being, but you can't even play coy. Something in you is bursting at the seams.  

You love him so much you don't recognize yourself, or your voice, or how you're acting. It makes you sick but you can’t do anything but go with it. "Yeah. 's okay, if it's what you want."  

"It is," He says, leaning in. "All I've ever wanted."  

You ignore the latter half of his comment as he finally goes to kiss you again.  

He pulls your body close to him as you do. Until your chest to chest, arms wrapped around the span of his shoulders as you press your lips together soft and slow.  

He slides a hand underneath your top, undoing the clasp of your bra. He lets his palm stay on the center of your back while you keep kissing - straps of your bra falling down your shoulder as he splays his fingers to feel more of your skin and hold you. Hugging you close to him, his other arm wraps around your torso. His forearms feels especially strong they way they hold you by the waist.  

You're so close to him. Kissing him so deep, his tongue sliding against your lips. Something about the kiss is languid but the touch is so hot it makes your skin burn. You feel wrapped up in him, can't even tell whose heartbeat you're hearing. 

More of your weight ends up in his lap as you feel your knees go weak. Something hard presses against your clothed cunt and you gasp a little into his mouth.  

"Oh, shit." You mumble in surprise. Umemiya laughs.  

"You're making me feel good." He hums.  

Your face heats up. "I barely did anything." 

"You just being on my lap is more than enough."  

You make a face at him before rubbing yourself over the zipper of his jeans, slow and deliberate trying to get a feel for it. You hear him moan, nearly jumping out of your skin in surprise.  

The way Umemiya moans is a lot for you to process. Breathy and a little low. It resonates through your whole body like a caress.  

You make a few more tentative passes over his bulge, just to hear him do it again. Driven by your instinct more than anything, you lean into kiss at his jaw - making use of the limited experience you do have to try and draw more sounds from him.  

"What're you thinking about?" He asks, still breathless. Maybe amused.  

"Like the way you sound." You mumble in reply.  

"I thought I told you I wanted to take care of you, hm?"  

You frown. "So what? I can't touch you at all?"  

He thinks on it. "You can touch me everywhere else and you can have your way with me later, if you want it. I don't wanna cum too fast."  

"I'm just..."  

He shakes his head. "You're underestimating me. I'm still a guy, you know? With a woman I love at that. There's no way I would make it through our first time if I didn't focus on you. Don't pout,"  

Hearing him describe you in such an embarrassing way makes you flush. You roll your eyes half-heartedly. "Fine, whatever."  

He smiles.  

"Good girl. C'mere. Lay down."  

You decide not to think about how effected the praise makes you as you comply.  

Umemiya lays you down carefully, making sure you're comfortable before hovering over you. He looks a lot more imposing from this view - the dim lights of your room making his face seem more well-defined. Your nipples harden in arousal, peeking from underneath your shirt as he stares long and hard.  

"You're so beautiful to me."  

He leans down and presses a hot kiss to your jaw, just underneath your ear before slowly kissing down your neck. Open-mouthed kisses along delicate skin, tongue sliding over every patch he scrapes lightly with his teeth. You fidget underneath him, a dull throbbing between your legs. You try to figure out what to do with your hands but you’re too nervous.  

He kisses your throat where it's extra sensitive and you bite back and involuntary noise. 

"Don't hold your voice, please?"  

"It's embarrassing,"  

"It's not," He assures, bumping his forehead to your shoulder lightly. "I want to know what makes you feel good. Let me pay attention to you."  

You frown but nod ultimately.  

Umemiya isn't the first sexual encounter you've had in your life. You've done other things, but you've never really gone all the way with anyone. All of your other partners were mostly strangers - people mutually interested in using someone else to try and get off.  

This is the first time anyone has taken this much time with you. A little kissing and groping, sometimes touching your chest.  

No one's ever touched you like this, though.  

His hands feel like they're all over your body no matter where they actually end up being. Makes your heartbeat rain drumming on a tin roof. Makes your stomach tingle, a heat in your calves and a prickly feeling on your back. Your whole being drowning with pure anticipation.  

"Take this off for me." Umemiya mumbles. You nod, feeling absent as you wiggle yourself out of your tight little tee and toss it somewhere.  

The air shifts again when you're naked. His eyes drink you in, tracing the soft lines and edges of your body. Looking over scars and stretchmarks with pure, blown out wanting that shoots lust straight into your veins.  

You want him to fuck you so bad it's killing you but the very thought makes you feel so shy you could die.  

"You're beautiful," Sounds dirty the way he says, makes it spill from his lips like wine tipping over a glasses edge. "Perfect. Every inch of you is so perfect."  

He proves this to you by kissing you again. Running his hands over your skin. Up against curved sides and down against your arms, brushing the back of your biceps and forearms.  

Infatuation in his touch ruins you. Makes your voice let out. You can't think of anyone whose treated you so preciously in your entire life and you find you don't resent it as much as you should.  

(You find it feels so good to let someone touch you so kindly. A touch like you're being loved.)  

Nonetheless it's embarrassing. Of course it is.  

But it's so hard not to feel pulled in when you feel the way he kisses you. Draws a trail with his lips and tongue from jaw to shoulder blade - kissing down your biceps with his hands on your body, taking  gentle inhales of your scent.  

Anticipation makes your stomach tie in knots but finally he relents. Both hands squeeze the soft weight of your chest, palms brushing your hardened nipples.  

"Fuck."  

He laughs a little, heavy with want. "Yeah? Do you like being touched here?"  

"Mm." Is the best reply you can get out.  

He brushes against the tips with his fingers in a feather-light gesture, testing the waters before rubbing with a little more pressure. Your body jolts from the stimulation, wetness pooling and dampening your underwear. He leans in and takes one of your nipples into his mouth making another dull wave of lust wash through you.  

And he makes sure to pay attention to both. It's just like him to be so attentive to some shit like that. Your spine arches as he sucks on your sensitive nipples, letting his tongue flick across them and giving into a sweet friction. You buck your hips up against instinctively, gripping onto the sheets as your sense of restlessness grows.  

Your voice is whiny to your own ears but you can't calm down to save your life.  

"You're taking too long," You huff. He laughs lightly, looking up at you from underneath his lashes.  

"Don't be impatient." He tsks.  

"It's enough already," 

He shakes his head. "Nope. Still got a long ways to go. Promise you'll have me when you're ready for it, so just try and focus on feeling good."  

You make a frustrated sound. "It's embarrassing being the only one feeling good,"  

He pauses before standing up on his knees. He takes his black t-shirt off in one swift go until his torso is bare, and undoes the top button of his pants. He gives you a little glance. "Better?"  

There are too many layers of that to process in the moment it happens. You mumble. "A little,"  

He beams. "Good. Now let me take good care of you,"  

Sliding down lower, he kisses you from sternum to navel. Hands gripping at the softness of your sides, smoothing over the bare skin as he his thumb finds the waistband of your skirt. He glances up at you, silently seeking your permission. You nod back at him, watching him slide the short skirt away from your waist.  

The sudden air feels cool against your skin. He presses his cheek against your belly, both hands on your hips..  

"You're gorgeous. Even more gorgeous than I thought. I feel so lucky being able to touch you when you're this perfect.” He praises endlessly.  

You cover your face with your arm.  

"Ugh. Quit it. You're sayin' too much."  

"Seeing you get so shy when I praise you a little is so cute." He trails his lips down further and further - just above your sex before stopping. "You're so cute."  

He sits back, standing up and bending your legs slightly at the knee. You hold the position as you feel him massage your calve. Thumb drawing hard circles in the muscle, slowly working his way up to your knee. He kisses you afterwards trailing the same spot his hands were touching seconds ago before moving onto the other side.  

There's nothing you can call it short of worship. The nagging feeling that it's undeserved is washed away each time Umemiya holds your gaze.  

Devotion colors every touch no matter how small. And it’s so obvious, so prominent - it feels outright wrong to deny the fact it’s there.   

You think the closest thing you can compare it too is the way Umemiya gardens. A patience as his fingers root through earth and soil, a kindness towards delicate things that makes even hours of work under the sun look beautiful and easy. His expression is what's most uncanny - what makes you you feel so hot. 

An expression that says he loves doing it from the very bottom of his heart - not even a hint of apathy or complaint.  

A face that says he loves every long, drawn out motion and actions of repetition all fro the very core of him.  

Having it directed at making love to you so blatantly makes you more aroused than you know what to do with. You don't know how to let yourself be treated like the most cherished flower in Umemiya's garden - and you aren't so sure how you're meant to get used to it no matter how much it makes you feel...nice. You don’t have any other experience.  

Which is why you're trying to be patient. Trying to be at least temporarily secure in whatever he sees in you that makes him worship every inch of you, memorizing all your ins and outs.  

Umemiya places hot, wet kisses on your inner thigh before laying himself between your spread legs - breath barely hovering over your sex.  

By the time he gets there, you feel utterly melted into your sheets. Your mind is hazy, impatient and wanting as strong hands secure your thighs. He's so close.  

"I wanna eat you out. Is that okay?"  

"If you don't do something soon I'm gonna kill you."  

He laughs warmly. "I'll take that as a yes."  

You pause. Umemiya waits.  

"I didn't uh," You clear your throat. "Wasn't planning on getting laid so y'know. Haven't shaved in a while."  

"Were you worried that I'd change my mind? I like it for the record. Feels natural." Umemiya says. "It's your body so there's nothing I would dislike about it."  

"You're too much." You reply back in earnest. You cover your face with your arms. "So cheesy."  

"I'm being serious." He says suddenly solemn with how sincere he is. 

The sudden change is amusing. You pause before breaking into genuine giggles, unable to help yourself.  

"You're really somethin', yknow that?"  

He's quiet for a long time. Long enough for it to catch your attention, turning your gaze more clearly towards his face. Swiftly, he pushes himself up to catch your mouth in another kiss. It stuns you a bit, very different to all the rest. More teeth and tongue than lip.  

"I like you," He murmurs, forehead to yours. "How can someone be so cute?"  

"Would you quit embarrassing me and get on with it?" 

He smiles. "As you wish,"  

Umemiya settles back down between your legs after easing your panties off and putting your feet flat on the bed to give himself more access. You can barely look down at him doing it. His fingers brush the slick hairs back gentle as he uses his thumbs to spread your pussy apart and look at you more intimately.  

You can feel him. Feel his every breath and movement. He stares at you awestruck. "How is all of you so pretty? Even here it's such a beautiful color."  

"Stop looking so much,"  

He takes a breath, taking in your scent one more time before pressing a kiss to your clit. You make an attempt to squirm away from his grip as his finger dig into your thighs and hold you down. The strength of it knocks the wind out of you, forcing you into place. Umemiya pushes his tongue and gives you a long, tentative lick through the seam of your cunt.  

Your whole body breaks out into shivers at the sensation. The warm weight of his tongue on your sex makes feels like an electric current through water - your toes curling as he makes the same few passes over and over. He collects your pooling arousal on the tip as he drags upwards and flicks your clit tentatively. You grind against his face instinctually, hips chasing the pleasure. Amused laughter vibrates against your core as you do, mumbling at you to be patient while he's still face deep in it.  

You let out another pitchy whine before he finally stops teasing. He lays his tongue flat against your clit, cupping it lightly before drawing it around experimentally. He watches carefully as he plays around with pressure and angles - trying to see what makes you react the most. You can feel how closely he's watching you. 

You cover your mouth with your hand when he does find it, your voice breaking off as he licks carefully right where you need. He smiles into your cunt as he toys with your with the sensitive bundle of nerves, pleased by the change in your reactions. The obvious pleasure he's making you feel.  

Something blooms into your chest. You've never— 

"You're—" You close your eyes, hands tangling in the sheets as you break out into a fever. "Ngh, never had someone l-lick me,"  

He must've heard you because he seems to laser in his focus the minute you say it. He's lapping at your clit so deep, licking precisely and holding you with nose against your bush.  

You reach down tentatively, pushing back the hair falling in his face and he gives you a look so lovesick you want to run away. The pressure changes gradually, more intensely.  

It feels better somehow. Makes you feel restless. Your whole body curls in tight with want at the sensation of it, the lower expanse of your belly tensed. You're shaking as you drift closer to the edge, arousal upped by the wet sound of him sucking your clit.  

"Hajime," You warn, spine starting to arch as you helplessly try to pull away from the intense sensation. It's not familiar to your body, so much so your mind can barely make sense of what's happening to it, "Cumming—c-cumming!"  

Something in you goes undone as Umemiya keeps pace during your orgasm. All the tension inside of you suddenly comes loose - specks of white matter behind closed lids as you screw your eyes shut. Your back curves up into arch, your hips trembling, your insides pulsing. It comes running into you, crashing into your body as waves of pleasure drown out the noise in your head. He eats you out until you feel borderline hysterical.  

You feel melted and reshaped by him - yanking him off when he continues to be insistent after you're too oversensitive. He laughs when you pull him away, resting against your thigh as you take worn out heaving breaths.  

He kisses the inside of your knee as you calm down, bright smile on his features - painted pink with a slight flush. "You came. I'm so happy."  

You look at him in shock. "You're a scary guy."  

He pushes up to kiss your temple, voice soft. "Did I scare you?"  

Your stomach flutters, tucking your chin. "You were intense, but I didn't... hate it or anything."  

"Yeah?" He grins, pressing a few kisses to your cheek and face before whispering against your ear. "Then, is it okay to go farther?"  

You nod silently. Umemiya smiles.  

He stands up on his knees, pushing his hair back as your eyes are drawn to his pants. You reach out for the waistband of his pants unthinkingly, hooking your finger into it. "Isn't it stuffy?"  

He blinks, frozen before rubbing a hand across his face. "Ah a bit, but it's fine."  

"Take 'em off. Please?"  

Umemiya looks unusually distressed by the request, but follows through without another word. You watch him undress - revealing the tight black fabric of his boxer briefs snug against his waist. Your eyes go wide as you see the outline of his cock - head still half hazy. You voice your unfiltered reaction.  

"Your dick is so big,"  

He laughs breathlessly. "Are you trying to stir me up? What's with you?" He pauses to lay down besides you. You turn to lay on your side and face him a little better. "You're being cute. I'm not used to seeing you so docile."  

"Shaddup," You reply half-heartedly. Your body is still on fire but it knocked the wind of you to cum once already. "Your fault."  

He grins, a hint of smugness as he laughs. "That's true."  

"You gonna fuck me?"  

"Mm, yeah. Gotta open you up first or it'll hurt."  

"I've put stuff in before. Toys. Should be fine."   

"Still wanna play it safe. It's your precious first time after all."  

You make a face before pulling him into you, hugging him tight as your whole body breaks out in a shameful flush. "Then hurry up and do it already."  

His arms slide underneath where your laying, holding you to him as he hikes one of your legs up. He slides his free hand in over your leg - his forearm holding your thigh. You press your face to his neck and shoulder - hiding your expression. "Guess I should huh? You were always impatient,"  

You can barely tell him to shut up, the way your body waits for it. A warbled little noise leaves your mouth as he slides his middle finger through the sticky folds of your cunt - careful as it catches on your hole. Wet and so aroused, the first finger he puts in goes in completely smoothly with no real effort 

Umemiya speaks low and soft as he holds you. "I don't know if I can get used to seeing you like this. I'm glad no one else but me ever wil You’re really all I think about lately," He catches the lobe of your ear between his teeth gently. Your head spins. "People misunderstand you because you're prickly, you know? For a long time, only I knew what it felt like to be liked by you. I liked that,"  

"Why are you—mmgh," 

He slides another finger in carefully after the first one slides inside of you with no resistance. His voice is so hot against your skin, the low bass of it in your skull as he speaks so close to your ear.  

"Don't get me wrong I'm happy seeing you with so many people surrounding you. But I was a little sad too. And it kept getting worse over the years until I couldn’t ignore it. I couldn’t figure out why for a long time and then it clicked,” Umemiya explains. You realize half way delirious this is his real confession. God, you’re gonna kill him. “Suddenly it was all I thought about. I wanted to be special to you. I wanted to monopolize you. It was my first time having thoughts like that,”  

Another finger slides into you easily. Umemiyas fingers are so much bigger than yours. Thicker than they are long. The stretch is enough to make you gasp.  

“Hajime—“ 

He curls them up, careful until he finds the spot he’s looking for. Your body reacts, another sensation of pressure as his middle finger rubs tenderly against your gspot. You weakly try to wiggle away as he holds you firm.  

“I felt a little guilty, too. You’re my very best friend. You’re independent and diligent. Tough. But you know, when I saw you for those few months - all I could think about was how much I wanted to spoil you,” He whispers. Something in your body shifts the way touches you. Pushes in further and further - stretching until it’s easy for him to be inside. “Somehow everything I liked about you became so cute I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t help but want to dote on you over every little thing even though I knew better than anyone you didn’t need something like that.”  

Your eyes well up but not necessarily from emotion. Totally overwhelmed. You don’t feel like you’re gonna cum but there’s something else that’s waiting and each time he thrusts his fingers into you it comes a little closer. Your voice is shaking.  

“It—fuck, quit talking. Somethings gonna—“  

His smile grows a little. It’s the first time it looks so hungry.  

“I was happy in general when I realized you liked me too. Even when you were being stubborn, I liked the way you couldn’t turn me away. I liked how happy you looked talking to me as usual as if that alone was something so precious,” He hums, so focused and precise as he stretches you open on a third finger but never once losing his train of thought. Like saying all of these comes to him so easily it doesn’t matter. “I didn’t want to corner you. But it felt like I couldn’t rest until you were mine completely. Which is why I’m being so unfair to you. Why I’m so persistent. ” 

Your voice breaks on a whine. “It’s gonna come out—“  

“You make a pretty face when your heads filled with nothing but me. I don’t think it’s bad to wanna stay that way,” He hums, almost conversational as he presses a kiss to your skin. “Go on. Let go,”  

Something hot sprays between your legs as Umemiya fucks you open on all three of his fingers.  

A rush of warm liquid squirts onto your sheets as your legs shake wearily. Umemiya marvels at the mess. Your hands curl into fists, nails digging in your palms as he finally pulls them out - leaving you stretched, almost gaping.  

You lay limp in soaked sheets as you pull away from Umemiya with a very weak glare.  

He’s smiling at you, dopey and lovesick.  

“Too much?”  

Angrily, you smack at his bare chest over and over, trying to recover your pride.  

“You’re insane. What’s,” You swallow thickly. “What’s with you.”  

He shrugs. Wordless, he flips you onto your back again before hovering over top of you. Pressing his forehead to yours, he brushes your noses together and plants a tentative peck on your lips as if trying to gauge whether or not you’re upset. He melts when you kiss him back, smiling happily.  

“Were you like this with your other girlfriends? No wonder they broke up with you,”  

He laughs. “Mm, no? I was more of a gentleman.”  

You break out into another exhausted fit of laughter.  

“Pfft, yeah? Guess I’m pretty special,” 

“Yeah. You are.” He kisses you again. “Wanna keep going or are you too tired? I don’t mind if we sleep.”  

“Stupid. I said it already didn’t I? Hurry up and fuck me.”  

“Okay, okay. Let me go get the condom from my wallet,”  

You wrap your legs around his waist and stare up at him plainly as he tries to move, keeping him pinned in place. You’re frowning, brows furrowed with a hard glare. He stares at you.  

“Did you want something else? Water?”  

“Want you to fuck me,” You restate, arms reaching up to circle around his neck. “Just do it already.” 

He pulls back to look at you seriously.  

“Do you know what you’re asking?”  

You flush. “Of course I do. Stupid. Are you trying to get me to say it out loud?”  

“I might think I’m deluding myself otherwise.”  

You sigh, looking at him flatly as you try to tamp down the part of you that’s screaming to be more tactful.  

“Don’t bother with the condom, a-alright? Or pulling out,”  

He looks like he’s experiencing the shock of his life. “But…” 

“Stop being dumb or I’m never gonna have sex with you again.”  

He nods suddenly solemn. “Fine. But,”  

You give him another look that silences him. He sighs again, getting the message before kissing your cheek and pull back to sit up on his knees between your legs. Pulling his briefs down, his cock springs free. It looks a lot bigger than you saw underneath the fabric, weighed down from it’s own weight even though it stands up stiff. He opened you up with three but you wonder if it’ll be enough not to stretch you open.  

You reach your hand out to touch it tentatively, feeling it’s weight and heft. He clears his throat but seems content to let you. The palms of your hands cup the shaft, feeling all the veins pulse. The tip is sticky with precum. You pull your hand away, another sudden wave of self consciousness overwhelming you.  

Umemiya hovers over you again, placing he length of his cock against your pussy. You shift a little feeling it slide against you, hard and hot.  

“Gonna put it in now, okay?”  

Nodding, you put your legs up. You take a deep breath when the head pushes in, letting out an involuntary noise. You feel well-stretched but the thickness of his cock is still enough to make you feel it in your legs. Umemiya is focused above you, barely sliding the tip through your folds as you open up around him. The air feels punched out of your lungs on just the first inch.  

His face is strained is he holds his hips steady, leaning down to tap your foreheads together. “Feeling okay?”  

“Mm,” You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Fine. Feels different.”  

“Different?”  

“Yours is bigger than all the stuff I own,” You explain. “Feels hotter. Harder, too.”  

You feel his cock twitch inside of you suddenly, shocking you. He smiles sheepishly.  

“Gonna push in a little more, okay?”  

You nod, watching as Umemiya so slowly presses his cock into you further. Enough that it doesn’t hurt when you take him, as much as it just feels like something is inside of you. You feel a warm sense of satisfaction at how full you feel. You feel like him like he’s in your stomach, taking up so much space. After a while of pushing, stopping, and going again  - he finally bottoms out.  

“You feel incredible,” He murmurs, half-smile on his face. Your stomach flutters. “It’s hard not to cum right away. Feels so good inside of you. I love you.”  

You feel yourself twitch, frowning at the expression of delight Umemiya has. You put your hand against his fact to keep him away but he kisses your palm and moves it. Bottomed out, he grasps both hands and holds them  - pinning them to the bed as you watch him wide-eyed.  

“Think you’re used to it?” He hums, clasping your fingers together. “Is it okay if I move?”  

You feel so damn bashful. “It’s okay.” 

He kisses your forehead. “I’ll go slow.” 

As promised, Umemiya pulls out carefully before pushing back into you. You’re so wet that it slides in without any real friction. It takes a few thrusts of him going slowly for your body to get adjusted to the sensation. After a few motions, though - it starts to feel different.  

Starts to feel good. Really, really good.  

“Oh,” Your eyes flutter open. “Shit. You c-can go faster.”   

“Yeah?”  

You nod, trying not to seem too eager. 

When Umemiya picks up pace, you feel your  the whole lower half of your body weaken all over again. Something in your legs, your spine go soft against the bed underneath, a sudden unusual arousal swelling. Somewhere in deeper as he cocks thrusts against your gspot, knocking against it with more force than before. The change in pace coupled with the visual of Umemiya over you, face drawn together in focus as he fucks you is too much. Split open on his cock, you can hear how wet you are each time he moves.  

“Feels…” Your words come up empty. “’s so much.” 

“Yeah? Is it too much for you, baby?”  

You shake your head as your thoughts get increasingly cloudy. It’s like there’s nothing else your body can focus on. The way his cock drags against your sensitive, silken walls. The feeling of being full to empty and then full all over again. The way your pussy gets so much wetter each time he moves, sloppy and sucking him in so tight. You can feel your body want for him.  

Umemiya lets go of your hands, sliding one between your bodies. Palm resting on your sex, he lets his brush against your clit. The difference it makes is significant, makes your eyes go wide. He smiles a little, hair falling in his face as he pushes it up with his free hand.  

“That’s it,” He hums, contented to keep at it like this. “Feels good, right? Your holding onto me so tightly it’s hard for me to pull out even though you’re so wet.”  

You make a whiny noise and wonder if other peoples first times feel this good or if you’re just outrageously lucky. You decide on the latter he fucks you faster and matches his thrusts with the movement of his fingers. You’re warm all over - skin scorching as your hands find his biceps and shoulders to cling onto.  

Your voice is so whiny when you call out for him “You’re so deep, ngh.”  

He laughs, deep and raspy. “Yeah? Tell me what you’re feeling,”  

“It feels good when you’re in me.” You reply drunkenly. “Want it faster. Please,”  

He complies with your request almost immediately. You cry out loud, physically incapable of holding the sound in as he gets to fucking you faster and harder. Your pussy is throbbing. Senselessly horny, you pull Umemiya closer to you as he fucks you and smash your lips together. You feel so good, so thoroughly fucked and completely out of it. He’s in you but you want him even closer, want the scent of his skin to mark you.  

A second time your body builds up to that familiar feeling but it’s so much farther inside. An orgasm pulled right from your core. Stomach tied in knots as Umemiya fucks you hard, you wrap your legs around his waist and take him. 

“That’s it. You’re so good. Cum on my cock, sweet girl. Let me feel it” He murmurs against your skin, holding you close. “You’re making me feel so good. So cute. Go ahead, it’s okay. Let me see how good I’m making you feel.”  

Pliant to his request, you hold onto Umemiya for dear life as your body gives into second orgasm. Your nails dig into his biceps as the built up arousal gives way pleasure - and you cum hard with his cock sheathed all the way inside of you. All the wind gets stolen from your lungs as you press forward with another kiss, your whole body trembling violently as you let go.  

Umemiya sweet talks you through without letting go once, only stopping to take a pause when you’ve fully ridden out your high.  

You stare up at him in a daze as he takes a breather to kiss you, still hard as he’s bottomed out inside of you.  

“You gonna cum soon?”  

“Mm,” He nods. “Yeah I’m close. If I move, I will.”  

“’s okay to cum in me,”  

Umemiya laughs warmly. “I’m already about too. You’re not helping,”  

You smile a bit as you hug him close to you and tell him again that it’s fine. Before long, he holds you too, whispering the same three words into your neck as he finally lets it out. It’s a weird feeling, thick white ropes of seed spilling into the deepest parts of you.  

You don’t really hate it, though.  

“I love you,” Umemiya repeats. Tired you don’t try to fight yourself.  

“Love you too,”  

__ 

The next morning, you’re stirred away by the sound of your front door unlocking and the sound of Kotoha’s voice echoing through your apartment.  

You’re still half-way asleep, so it barely dawns on you that anything is off. Not cognizant enough to think twice, your body tries to go back to sleep.  

Or it does until you hear a very loud shout coming from your kitchen that wakes you up with a start.  

“No fucking way,”  

You sit up suddenly, hearing faint conversation before the sound of steps barreling towards your door. You just barely manage to pull the sheets up over your chest before she comes storming through the door of your bedroom.  

You watch her eyes scan your entire room, mentally collecting data before she finally lands on you. As your brain starts to load back in, your eyes go wide with horror at the look of pure scandal on her face.  

Fuck. You were supposed to be having dinner with her and Tsubaki tonight. Usually you confirm with them in the mornings since your up. It’s not uncommon for her to drop in when you don’t reply to check in since you live close by. 

Fuck.  

“You—Oh, I have to text Tsubaki-chan, I can’t believe—“  

Before she gets to finish her sentence, Umemiya appears behind her in your door way. The sight of him only adds fuel to the flame of your embarrassment. You went another round or two before bed last night and it looks like it too. Shirtless in sweats he left over a while ago, his biceps are covered in scratch and with a few hickies, he’s wearing his hair down with a cup of tea and a very apologetic smile.  

You cover your face with your hands unsure of how to deal with the feeling of pure mortification.  

Kotoha snaps a picture of your room that causes even more distress.  

“If you don’t delete that right now, I’m gonna kill us both.”  

“In your dreams.”  

Umemiya laughs warmly. “Please don’t kill each other.”  

He slides past Kotoha coming over to you. Bending down to kiss your forehead, he pulls the blanket up over you so you’re more well-covered. You give him an incredulous but Umemiya is unfazed - smiling as bright as ever. 

“Good morning,”  

“I can’t believe my eyes,” Kotoha says. She points at Umemiya. “You, go put on a shirt.”  

“Fine, fine. Stay for breakfast,” Umemiya says with a smile. “It’ll be nice having it with my two favorite people.”  

You make another face as Umemiya gives you a long, affectionate look before disappearing. She sighs as she looks at you, pinching the bridge of her nose.  

“I would ask if you’re gonna meet us for dinner but you don’t have a choice anymore so show up at seven. I’m gonna leave before that tactless idiot comes back. We’ll talk later.”  

You nod in understanding. She turns to leave but then turns back with a genuine smile.  

“And, well - congrats. He’s a tactless idiot but he does love you or whatever. Cherish each other,”  

You flush, nodding your head. “Yeah…thanks.”  

With that Kotoha leaves quickly. Umemiya returns still shirtless, pouting a little when he notices she’s gone.  

“She left already?”  

“Of course she did. I can’t believe you would invite her for breakfast.”   

Umemiya shrugs. “No point being coy about it. I thought it’d be nice. I was looking for a shirt but I guess I don’t need one now,” He sits besides you on the bed, turning to face with a goofy smile. “Anyways, good morning.”  

“You already said that.”  

“You didn’t say it back,”  

You frown. “G’morning,”  

He smiles suddenly  before grabbing you from underneath the blankets and sheets - pulling your naked body ontop of him as he grins. Sunlight pours through the window as he holds you to his chest, kissing the crown of your head before pressing his cheek into your hair.  

“Mm, yeah. It’s a really good morning after all.”  

“You’re stupid.”  

“And you love me,”  

You fail trying not to smile.  Damn him. You're so happy it hurts. You roll your eyes.

“I guess so.”  

[hoseoksluna]

STEAM | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: smut

word count: 9.2k

summary: one video call awakens your neediness for two cocks.

playlist: steam / pinterest board: steam

warnings: female masturbation, mentions of shower sex, praise kink, toying with the idea of polyamory, a hint of voyeurism, oc rly goes through it and faces mental battles, fear, intoxication, punishment, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, choking, cum eating, manhandling, degradation, provocation, mutual masturbation, rough & raw sex, brief oral sex (f. receiving), pet names

note: IT'S FINALLY HEREEEEEE SKFDSFLSFJ, okay so—let me introduce to you a new yoongi series featuring JUNGKOOK oh my god. i am SO EXCITED about this and i wanna apologize for my insane ideas in advance... i'm so sorry, guys. nevertheless, i hope you like this as much as i do, i literally went mad writing this and i smoked so many cigarettes i lost count. please, let me kNOW UR FAVORITE PARTS CUZ I HAVE SO MANY AND I WANNA TALK ABOUT THEM. oh fuck, guys. ENJOY READING SDKFJSD. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

side note: btw, the playlist i made is literally perfect and depicts the fic wonderfully. you can listen while you read! <3

The scent of mangoes finds its way up your nostrils, heating your senses through its balmy touch as you rub the body butter over the damp skin of your arms. Fingers graze along your décolletage, tucking in the fragrance for your boyfriend to breathe in when he comes home. He’s out for the night—said something about his friend finishing his military service, so the whole group was going out to celebrate it. Yoongi was so frantic in his excitement, hastily putting on the first outfit that sparked his eye. Didn’t even touch his hair, only sprayed a mist of his sandalwood and tangerine-tinged perfume. Grabbed his phone, keys, wallet. Barely kissed you goodbye before he fled out of the door.

He didn’t even ask you if you wanted to come along.

You didn’t mind, though—you’re only in the early stages of your relationship. It hasn’t even been half a year since you’ve started dating. And you figure he deserves a night out with his closest friends because you’ve been attached to the hip since the beginning. Funnily enough, you no longer live at your own place. Somehow, you’ve settled in Yoongi’s apartment, never setting foot outside, save for your walks, grocery shopping, the few dates with your friends and work. There wasn’t any conversation about it; you just mostly spend your free time with your boyfriend.

And all you do is fuck, eat and watch movies.

The last time Yoongi took you out was during the first two months you’d been getting to know him. The realization of how long it’s been sends a trail of chills down your arms and you rub it away.

But because you’ve been spending all your time together, you’re glad to have a moment to yourself—glad to be able to take a long hot shower, to do your hair and skincare. Perhaps, you’ll even have time to do your nails and that energizes you, propels you to spread the body butter further down the rest of your body. It is your rose garden, these night times reserved for your hot showers. The place you go to—your hideaway from the pressure and nerves of life that the steam loosens and soothes, especially when you let your sultry playlist echo through the mightiness of Yoongi’s bathroom, your favorite singer’s voice reaching your veins like the growing stems of those roses; pretty, pink and so feminine. Yes, Yoongi’s therapy sessions and thick length might have been a great help, the best in fact, but there’s something about letting yourself be burned off of all that’s been weighing you down and watching it trickle down the drain that is just so satisfying.

It was all that you were once used to. That is, until you met Yoongi.

Showers with him are something else.

Something you never thought you could ever have the blessing to encounter. Showers with Yoongi are intense, so out of pocket that you find yourself thinking about them fondly whenever you’re alone with your thoughts. There, beneath the downpour of the warm water, he lets you see the other side of his ever unyielding stern façade. While holding you, he would make you laugh, then make you moan and break that sound with each hard plunge of his cock. Hair slicked back, smirk adorning that delicious wet mouth, causing him to look like a Mafioso bent on absolutely ruining you. He would tell you the most insane story he heard from his friend, then talk you through the build-up of your orgasm while continuing to the point of that story—seamlessly waving through, never losing tempo. “Then, he went up to his hyung to ask him about what he did—yes, just like that, honey, take it. I know you’re almost there, just listen.” You would come all over his cock, sprinkling him with your essence, right there at the end of his story and like a hungry man, he’d get on his knees and eat you up, muttering how good you are and how well you did along with each swipe of his tongue. Your lungs would heave due to the overstimulation, your legs would tremble, unable to stand and he’d gather you into his arms, fold you like paper into the crooks of his body and let his thick duvet drape over you. He’d fall asleep first, breathing in the scent of your shampoo, snoring softly behind you while spooning you, never letting go of his deathly grip around you. And while you would breathe in the haze of lilac sprayed on his pillows, you’d become aware of the drowsy rhythm of his heartbeat, the lift and fall of his chest against your back, the snug heat of his body and it would lull you to sleep.

That has become your new version of hot long showers.

And if it isn’t this, then it’s Yoongi letting you quickly wash yourself before he’d steal you away, dragging you into this bed, only to carry you back there an hour later.

You speculate he has a serious, adorable case of attachment issues.

That is why you enjoy your exceptional alone shower all the more—you haven’t had it in so long. Only this time, it’s quite different.

You feel him everywhere.

You feel him in the drift of your hand down your tummy because you recollect the way he likes to pepper kisses there on his way to eat you out. You feel him when you round your palms across your backside because you know he particularly likes to leave traces of saliva when he presses open-mouthed kisses there. His love for you circulates in your bloodstream, mingling with the little love you have for yourself, making it bigger, turning it into a turbulent rush of liquid. You sense it tapping beneath your skin, asking for more of your body just like Yoongi does, always begging, begging for more—for more skin to kiss and lick, for more sensitive parts of you to find and nibble on.

Your hands sense the ghost of him even when your fingers slip past your mound and realize that the film of your memories dampened your cunt. You hear the words of praise he’d utter into your ear at the discovery and you sigh at your tender touch. 

That’s a good girl. Messy for me. 

The rotund case of your body butter remains opened, forgotten. You suddenly have better things to do—like give your body the self-care, the self-love it deserves.

It’s a part of the solo girl's night.

A mewl comes out of your mouth at the first round of circles on your clit. Furrowing your brows at the pleasure, you prop your free hand on the edge of the bathroom counter, riding the pads of your fingers. And then, just like Yoongi taught you, you take your digits away, edging yourself, taking them elsewhere. You cry out at the contact of your wet fingertips on your stiff nipple and you pinch the nub, a spasm of delight coursing through your sensitiveness.

You imagine Yoongi standing behind you. Not touching you, merely guiding you, telling you when to stop, when to pick up the pace—when to fill your hole. Watching you in the mirror, hands in his pockets, having a perfect view of your slick-caked folds, of your clit swollen and asking for his tongue. Determined to make you lose your mind by teasing you, letting you only slap your pussy once you’re close. Your essence drips out of you at that thought, making a mess on the floor and you plug it in with your finger, fucking yourself steadily, inflamed by how slippery your heat is, how easy it is to slip the digit inside. Hot flashes close over your body, pearls of perspiration kissing the crook of your neck. You fuck yourself faster and—

A sudden ring of your phone jolts you. And the picture of your boyfriend, half dressed, with the early morning sunlight leaking over the scars and tattoo on his shoulder, crammed inside your screen, greets you.

You pant hard, your finger still inside of you. Delirious.

He must be on his way home. You don’t even know what time it is. 

Leaning forward, you hide your breasts behind your forearm and you swipe your finger to accept his video call.

Blurry Yoongi. The night sky, starlit and alive, behind him. A shoal of silhouettes, some lanky and some buff, all short-haired and all as woozy-lidded as you. The picture smooths into a crystal clear view and there you see your boyfriend, the nocturnal breeze brushing his ebony hair back. Not just him, however, but another male craning his neck to regard you fully. 

His eyes flicking from your neck to the smallest of your exposed décolletage, a smirk blossoming on his face like your imaginary roses. 

Yoongi slaps his phone face down. You withdraw your finger from your heat, a cacophony of giggles, whiny cries and the exclamations of his name emitting out of your mouth. 

He is not, in fact, on his way home. 

It is a warning, his low and strict call of your name back and, heeding it, you take your phone into your hands, so he’s only able to see your deeply flushed face. Device back in his hand, he’s not looking at you at all. As a matter of fact, he’s shooting daggers fueled with deadly nightshade at his friend, grumbling something that you can’t quite make out amidst the chaos and bustle of the outing. The shoal of the rest of his friends and strangers disappear out of the perspective, as if threatened by the cold energy. 

You wish you knew what he’s saying to him. Even your pussy aches to hear it. The principle of him scolding his friend for looking at you at your most private moment scorches you and you’re red, flattered and majestically horny. 

Yoongi turns his head to see if you’re well-behaved and you beam at him, the pulse on your clit intensifying, forcing you to say, “come home, Yoongi.” 

He chuckles, aware of the reason behind your words, pretends he isn’t. “What were you doing, baby?” 

The growth of your grin doesn’t falter. You show him the sheen of your wet finger in the ivory bathroom light, the glint, the stickiness as you push your index finger to your middle and pull away, your arousal on full, filthy display. 

He curses under his breath. Doesn’t give a fuck that his friend sits beside him and adjusts in his seat. Bites his lip briefly. “Stick it in your mouth for me.” 

Doesn’t say the words that so very often follow after in that sentence. Taste yourself. 

Why he doesn’t step aside to take this video call eludes you, but something about you being watched by two pairs of eyes excites you. Enough for you to do as he says. Perhaps it’s due to the fact you don’t know the male sitting beside him and Yoongi is letting him keep his sight glued to the screen. 

Two sharp inhales of breath. Not one of yours. Yoongi readies his hook to feignedly lash out at his friend and you press your thighs together to alleviate yourself of the unbearable feeling between your legs. Confidence, a bad, bad version of confidence suffuses you whole, turning you into a person gone mad by lust. You swirl your tongue around your digit, the tanginess of your taste causing your eyes to narrow, the principle of driving not just one, but two men mad just the same intoxicates you, as if you were there among them, drinking. 

A pair of round eyes peek at the corner of the screen. Soft, naive, so terribly innocent. A dash of sobriety washes over you, owed to those brownish effervescent orbs, a sprinkle shame pooling low in your core. A reality check. You sense some kind of stability of that reality beneath those eyelashes of his, the stability that whispers—is this the right thing to do? 

It’s not rough, it’s not stern, it’s not Yoongi coded—it’s anything but. Gentleness is what you detect, free of any prejudice. 

You sigh. Millions of thoughts about how you could toy with them pass through your mind, but you decide against them, the stability a pillar that blends into your spine, helping it unbend. You can’t do this; you can’t do this to Yoongi and you need to keep your dignity intact in some way, despite the fact that every fiber of your body compels you to do the opposite. You distract yourself by screwing the lid of your body butter back on. 

“Good girl,” Yoongi coos, causing you to whisk your eyes to the screen in perhaps disbelief, shame or your still pending arousal—you’re not sure. How can you be a good girl when you let another man see something so lewd? How can your boyfriend validate something like that? “One more beer and I’ll be home. Wait for me on the bed. As you are.” 

Naked. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks, to the surface of every part of your skin, dragging away small ounces of shame. You curse, mentally, running a hand down your face. Yoongi downs his drink without taking his gaze off of you, watching your reaction, adds once he swallows, “and don’t touch yourself.” 

And with that, he hangs up. 

The harsh comprehension of what the fuck just happened envelops you in a confining embrace, the precipitately increasing weight of shame now a burden on your shoulders that you just can’t shake off, even when you slink your arms through sleeves of your silky robe and welcome in the summer breeze coming to caress your face on the balcony—even when you burst your lighter to a flame and light up your cigarette, inhaling the smoke that you hoped would rid you of its such uncomfortable hold around you. 

You licked your cum clean under the gape of a guy you don’t know in front of your boyfriend. 

His friend heard the order. Don’t touch yourself. Yoongi didn’t whisper it. Didn’t camouflage his words in any way. Uttered them straight and bare, allowing his friend to hear them, despite the fact he almost fought him then and there for sneaking one glance at your moderately naked form. 

Question marks hover in your mind and the pulse on your clit cries, seemingly knowing the answer. 

Did Yoongi like it as much as you did, the aspect of having an audience? 

The wetness in your heat dribbles out, staining your thighs. You squeeze them together, the drag of your cigarette hard and long, expecting to feel your nerves burn off. You gain no such thing—no relief, no lifting of the burden, just constricting tangles in your tummy, zippy spasms of butterflies going mad, mad, mad. 

Perhaps Yoongi didn’t like it at first until he perceived the auspicious debauched look on your face. Saw the way you didn’t hesitate to oblige him when he told you to stick your finger in your mouth. And perhaps the fact that you didn’t express any signal of discomfort was the key to unfastening the leash on his possessiveness over you. 

What have you done? What have you so selfishly and disgustingly done? 

You hang your head in your hands, the white smoke intertwining with the burden on your shoulders and pressing down harder on you. 

That’s why he let his friend hear the command. Don’t touch yourself. He saw the way you indulged in it, and that awakened his liking for it.

Yoongi lied when he said he’d have one more beer. 

By the time you hear the thunder of his voice, all the roses in your garden have wilted, leaving faded, withered petals in its wake—leaving a path of your internal battle all around the apartment for Yoongi to follow. You’ve paced, your bare feet stepping on them. Tried to untangle yourself from the incarceration of your mind by chain-smoking, but to no avail. The only change that took place in your body was the decline of your shame, for you couldn’t help but imagine what could have happened, had you let free rein to your desire—had those round eyes never looked at you with such purity. You figured there wasn’t anything bad about letting your imagination be colored like that, and so you sat on your boyfriend’s couch, cigarette switched to a coconut-flavored vape, and dreamed.

You dreamed about those two men being of service to you, right here on the same couch, where they would lay you down and make you squirt over and over again, betting between each other who could make you come the fastest, counting down your orgasms until the number was a mere blur to you. 

The throb on your clit heightened to heavenly levels and when you emerged from your dream, you found yourself being able to breathe—your momentary disappearance tricking your shame into leaving. It was difficult for you not to touch yourself and you opted to adhere to Yoongi’s wish, not risking to feel worse than you already had. 

The war ended, undeterred by the fact you never expected it to. 

Loud swear words roar in Korean. You rise to your feet to open the front door for Yoongi and you discover that he’s not alone at all. 

The same pair of round eyes, the cause of all the ruckus you just departed from, meet yours, hauling you back there with a force. Your mouth falls agape and before you can react any further, Yoongi stumbles into you. You almost topple over, realizing you didn’t care to steal a glance at the state of him, but the male grabs a hold of Yoongi’s jacket and pulls him back. You wish you had tumbled over and the floor had opened up and swallowed you whole. It would have been less embarrassing than to be stuck in this situation. You want to run, you want to scream— 

“He’s drunk out of his own mind,” the male says, his voice deep like the warm wind before a tumultuous storm, fitting just right with the thunder of Yoongi’s intonation, his gaze wandering over the entirety of your shock-stricken face, taking it in; giving you the same attention that fucked you up hours ago. Yoongi begins to mumble something you can’t momentarily focus on, his hands grasping your waist, lips latching onto your neck. No, you cannot for the life of you focus because the man steals you all over again and you hate how easy it is for him to do that, when you’re far from being available. “Don’t ask what made him drink this much.”

Did Yoongi get drunk because he let his friend in on your most intimate moment? 

Humiliated, turned on and angry altogether, a concoction that simply worsens everything, you draw back from your boyfriend. You want to beat at his chest with your fists just to have some sort of relief from blaming him—because if you blame yourself, only doom consumes you. Why did he call you? Or, essentially, why didn’t he step away to take that damned video call? 

“Thanks for walking him home,” you say eventually, your voice smooth, despite the violence of your feelings, despite wanting to say something else entirely. Your first words to him and, wholeheartedly—despite it all, you hope they aren’t last, even if that possibly makes you a despicable person. 

Yoongi’s friend nods. Chews his bottom lip and lowers his gaze to the ground for a split second. You wonder if he feels the need to remove himself from this uncomfortable situation as much as you do because you can’t read anything in that paleness of his countenance. Not a hint of any emotion whatsoever, just blandness of expression, slightly dimmed by the few thick strands of black hair that have fallen from his disheveled, pushed back mullet. As if they did fight after all, perhaps on the way home, or wrestled if Yoongi was being difficult. 

You don’t realize you and the male are just staring at each other until Yoongi places his hand on your cheek, brushing back a wisp of your tresses. Only then do your eyes flick to Yoongi’s and you finally notice him, the gloss in his hooded irises searching and searching for you, the rosy blush on his cheeks, dry parted mouth and the dart of his tongue as he wets it, softening the flecks that have been created there. 

This is it. If you are focused on him, all things are made right—all things that have been stained get purified and dreams get turned into dust. This is the man you’ve fallen for, who puts you before himself and has done so every day since the moment he made you his. You can’t let anyone else get in the way of the home that your relationship has become, you can’t let your feelings flee—

“For the record,” Yoongi’s friend starts, hand massaging circles on the nape of his neck, the leather of his jacket tight around his arm. Your heart jumps and beats against your chest ferociously. “I didn’t see anything, if that helps you sleep better tonight.” 

It’s such a fat lie and you’re about to shake your head, but then he looks at you with such sincere regret that, ultimately, you choose to believe him. Just to keep your peace of mind unscarred. 

Yoongi tightens his hold around your waist, which grounds you, and a small part of you begins to bloom in healing, disseminating little by little across your whole body. 

A healer with big, round eyes. A good man. 

With a swing, Yoongi closes the door but you don’t hear the click. No, the light spills in from the hallway. Your hands reach for the doorknob but Yoongi blocks them and wraps them around his waist while swaying on his feet. He traces the shell of your ear with his lips, his alcohol-reeking breath wafting over you, and softly, you whine his name. Shuffling beyond the door, feet never entirely moving—the male is still standing outside and he hears as Yoongi hums at your call, as the sound grows into a groan at the feeling of being alone with you at last, at the feeling of all that makes you feminine under his hands. He hears your gasp as Yoongi pushes your chest flush to his body, kisses you harshly and cups your bare pussy. Hears the smack of your mouths, the pop once he withdraws, the squelch of your wetness. Hears as Yoongi murmurs, “you been horny, baby? Wet for me, hm?”

It’s those words that make him shut the door for you.

You made Yoongi drink a lot of water. 

And while he downed the glasses, you ordered him Thai food from his phone, which he now devours. You had wanted to change out of your flimsy robe into your plush pajamas, but Yoongi stopped you with a tight grip on your shoulder and with the nastiest puppy eyes he could manage, considering his plastered state, he begged you not to. Informed you that he wanted to fuck you in your little robe and you told him that if he wanted that, he needed to get sober. 

He’s your boyfriend and you trust him, but you don’t feel comfortable having sex with him while he’s wasted and you’re not. It’s a dangerous territory you don’t ever want to cross. 

So, now he eats as quietly as a mouse, feeding you every other bite with his chopsticks, meanwhile you’re jittering your leg with your arms crossed across your chest, mind full of the male who walked him home. Of the way he pulled you under and resurfaced with you soon after. Of the calm peace you feel all over the perimeter of your mind that peculiarly stresses you out. Of what would happen if you voiced your little dream to Yoongi, especially. 

Was it out of the question or would he consider it? 

Your leg jitters harder. 

You want to tell him, badly. Seeing his friend in real life changed fucking everything. If you hadn’t, you would’ve forgotten about it in the days to come. Yoongi would’ve fucked it out of you in most probability. But those eyes… those eyes got under your skin. 

“Stop fidgeting,” Yoongi scolds with his mouth full of food, no hint of slurring. The hot meal and hydration worked a miracle. “You’re making me nervous.” 

He picks up two cut pieces of chicken with his chopsticks and stuffs your mouth, adding a few pieces of vegetables as you’re chewing. Watches you swallow it, noticing how your eyes are focused on nothing in particular on the other side of the room. Tucking his utensils under his palm, he places his hand on your thigh, halting your restless motion. 

You still won’t look at him. Too lost in the overthinking maze, debating whether you should speak or remain quiet about your desire. A strong part of you fears his reaction and the other half is horrified at the possibility of being turned down—

Yoongi takes his hand away. Props it on his cheek. 

“I can see your pussy from here,” he says, licking his lips. “You’ve shaved?” 

You breathe a soft laugh, turning your head to face him, covering yourself with the small fabric. Dark, but tender eyes, void of any glossiness, awake and stirred—amused. Cheeks awash with color. Lips puffy, a dark tinge of red coating them. A sturdy fist on his cheek, the milky jawline underneath. That messy hair, the slicked-back look ruined by the constant rake of his fingers through them, now falling to the side from the middle. That slender body, clad in the night from head to toe—legs outstretched under the table. So fine, so delicious. A beautiful strong man—all yours. Why do you want another one? 

You slide your leg across his thighs and Yoongi slouches in his seat, discarding his chopsticks. 

“I shaved everything,” you respond, cocking your brow at him—a sly invitation for him to feel its smoothness. 

And he does. Runs his hand up and down your skin. Goes as far as lifting your other leg onto his lap, cradling them both, thumb caressing your calf. The movement causes your robe to expose you again and, cursing the fabric, you go to cover yourself, but Yoongi stops you. 

“Don’t bother,” he mutters. “I wanna look at it.” 

You raise your brows altogether, looking up at him. “You wanna look at her?” 

Yoongi smirks. That dangerous tug of one corner of his mouth to the side. Your death, your undoing, the root of your submission to him. “I want to have her at my disposal.”

You gulp and Yoongi catches it, chuckling. Drifts his hand down your calf, to your heel, to the middle of your foot up to your toes. He plays with your pinky. You note the fact he changed the pronoun after you did. 

Your arousal returns at full speed.

“Did that make you wet?” Low, low is his voice—you feel it prodding at your core, thrumming vehemently. 

You blossom like your roses, thoughts put to the side. 

“I’ve been wet this entire time,” you say, zeroing in your gaze on the flick of dimness that whirls past his eyes. “For hours.” 

He makes a sound of pitiful nature. “Poor baby.” Furrows his brows and juts his bottom lip out, making you weak. Lets his hand roam on your thigh. “So you listened? You didn’t touch yourself?” 

You merely nod your head quickly. You were too distressed to give your body the pleasure it sought. Too busy flaring your lungs with the burn of smoke. And you respected his wish enough to keep your hands to yourself. 

Yoongi coos. “Good girl.” 

A flashback—your lips wrapping around your slick-coated finger, Yoongi praising you and… another pair of eyes watching. Chills spread across your arms, your stomach flipping. Thankfully, your shame is kept at bay. It relieves you. 

“Can I feel how wet you are?” 

A sweet, devious smile. “If you can manage to get to her.” 

You press your thighs tightly together. Yoongi looks at you as if you’ve greatly offended him and alas, he turns your chair so you face him head-on. Forces your thighs apart without any strain at all—and there you feel it, the embarrassment of fucking with him, once your pussy is at complete disposal to him just like he wanted. 

“If your pussy wasn’t so pretty, I’d make you regret your words,” he purrs, eyes fixed on your drenched flesh, hands pushing your thighs back until your knees are at level with your shoulders, folds parting with the movement, revealing more of you. Yoongi wets his mouth with his tongue. 

He thumbs your gleaming lips back and forth, collecting your essence, mesmerized by them. Looks at you intently. 

“It wouldn’t hurt to say sorry, though,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. “Would it?” 

You grin at him. “Sorry, Yoongi.” 

He rubs your swollen clit in slow circles, still with his bedewed thumb, still with his eyes on you. You choke out a moan at the delight permeating through your being. “That’s not the proper way to apologize, now is it?”

You lean your pelvis into his touch, a natural body reaction unfolding. He disapproves. You scrunch your face. “What should I say?” 

Yoongi tuts. “I’m barely touching you and you already forgot your manners?” 

The only answer you emit is an uncouth whine. 

He shakes his head, putting pressure into his circles for a mere beat of time before he slaps your pussy curtly. A vivid spasm of pleasure fills you and you moan. “Needy girl. Don’t I take care of this pussy enough? What’s this behavior?” 

Another whine. A roll of your body, asking for more of his touch. “Spank her again.” 

A cock of his brow. Harsh, stern, evil. His hand remains propped on his thigh, shoulders hunched. “I didn’t hear you say please. You wanna be bad? You want me to make you cry?” 

You know just how much he’s capable of doing that. You shake your head ‘no’. You want gentleness, the kind you saw in his friend’s eyes—

You flutter your own shut to get rid of that thought. Take a deep breath. 

“Spank my pussy again, please.” 

Yoongi massages the apex of your thigh, dangerously close to your cunt, squeezing the flesh every once in a while. 

“Apologize first.” 

“You didn’t tell me how.” 

He clicks his tongue and pinches your folds and your clit between his fingers. You cry out, and then Yoongi gets up to his feet, leaning over you, propping his hand on the back of your chair. He begins to swiftly spank your pussy over and over again. You just jump at every contact, moaning, eyes flicked to his, never breaking apart. Taking it, taking it so well that Yoongi kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Then, he grunts. Fingers flat against your clit, he moves them from side to side. Roses, a myriad of them, flood your form with their freshness and dewiness, with their beauty and delectation and you shudder, you scream, you arch your back off of the backrest—

“Say, ‘I’m sorry, Yoongi. I’m such a bad girl that I deserve every spank and I’ll take it until it hurts.” 

Flabbergasted and horny beyond measure, your mouth falls agape. Your brain turns into mush, the pleasure paralyzing you, your sounds now loud and obscene, the roses in you flitting, growing and murmuring. Yoongi adds more pressure to your clit and your eyes sink back into your head, his darkness wafting over to you, seeping into your skin—now completely yours. 

You repeat after him—word for word. With a simper on your face that causes him to scowl at you, as if you dared to toy with your punishment he bestowed upon you. But then, a tongue prods the inside of his cheek and he laughs, taking a hold of his dominant role and making sure you know. He spanks your clit twice in a row, hands lifting to fondle your nipples. 

“Good,” he praises. “You like that, don’t you? Spanks on your pussy?”

You don’t like that softness. Like the personified thunder he is, it is the calm before the storm. It unnerves you, the expectation of what might come next and your disliking of it. Nonetheless, you brim with the craving to have his fingers inside of you. Your hole clenches at that and Yoongi notices, hissing under his breath. The language of the darkness rises on your tongue and you figure that if you let loose, you’ll get your wish fulfilled.

“Yeah, it feels so good—” He pinches your nipples between his knuckles and you mewl, your lashes shaking at the impact, another set of wetness coating your folds. “Please, fuck me with your fi—”

You don’t even get to finish your sentence. Yoongi plunges his middle finger into your heat, cursing at your tightness, at how slippery you are and at the delight of being filled at last, you knit your brows. With his other finger, he traces the outline of your puckered mouth, his breathing hard and ragged. 

“I’ll do anything for that pout of yours, fuck, no matter if you deserve it or not,” he utters, slipping the digit inside. Instinctively, you suck on it and only then does Yoongi begin to pump you slowly. “You just need a little roughness to be good, don’t you?” 

Dumbly, you nod, swirling your tongue around him, but a faint, silenced part of you begs for the gentleness that you know hides somewhere deep inside his chest, never once unfurled during such intimate times. 

You pay it no matter, too fucked out to think. 

When he adds a second finger into your heat, he does the same thing with his other hand. Two fingers in your cunt, two fingers in your mouth. And he fucks you with both until you gag and a light flashes in his eyes—then, he withdraws all together, leaning against the table, his bedewed fingers coming to rest at his hardened length in his pants. 

Roses, opening. Roses, sighing. 

You breathe heavily, needing to finish, needing to have him in your mouth—

“You liked being the center of attention today?” he husks, surveying your whole body, bent in half. 

There it is—the storm. Just what you expected. Cold sweat dribbles down your spine. And it is fear, what you feel, even when you refuse to admit it. Stiff, tempered fear that pervades each and every vein on your body, regarding being possibly degraded, being made feel dirty—regarding, even, tasting the dark wine of his wrath. 

Such a stark, sudden change. 

You don’t want this. You don’t want any of it.

Abruptly, an internal question comes and pokes you in the middle of your forehead.

Will you succumb to it or will you, with the wildly fresh darkness within you, fight against it?

You take a deep breath, and in with the air also follows, with the little rationality you have amidst the sensuality of your lecherous appetite, the decision to take a hold of it all. To take charge. Just like he did.

You shall prioritize yourself. Your feelings, your desires—your roses.

Your choice envelops your fear in bubble wrap. It doesn’t dissipate. And as much as it pains you, you take a mental note of that. 

“I did,” you spit out, angered by the fact you’re afraid of your boyfriend, and so you stand your ground. “It made me so fucking needy and I want more.” 

The relief that hits you almost causes you to weep and you lower your legs to the ground. Not wanting him to see the film of tears clouding your eyes, you avoid his gaze. Yoongi crosses his arms across his chest and clicks his tongue at you, disapproving. 

“Keep your legs where they belong.” 

“No.”

A lift of his brow. He crouches down to your level and cradles your face in his hand, forcing you to look at him. And there he sees, under the waterfall of your hair, your emotions at his disposal. Yoongi studies you, frowns at you and you want to sob, you want to go home. Shame slithers towards your spine like a ghost, and although it keeps a distance, you feel its presence prickling your back. You cover your cleavage. 

“Why are you crying?” Yoongi asks, a silky murmur, eyes flicking between yours. His fingers don’t caress your skin; they merely hold you firmly, making dents in the skin. 

You don’t trust that voice, dismayed by what might lie under. 

“Why did you do that to me?” you ask in return, and it’s a blue fire shooting out, engulfing the room in stifling heat. You catch a glimpse of its sparks in the dimness of his eyes, of how he’s momentarily stricken by it before it folds beneath the shadows.

“You want to get fucked by someone else?” 

A question for a question. 

You swallow down the lump in your throat, caused by your frustration. 

Your devotion to him didn’t let you go as far as to imagine being fucked by his friend while Yoongi watched, but the brief flash of it in your mind is enough incentive for the heat to spill into you, mingling with the darkness, turning you candescent, traveling through you until it finds your core—and there, it stays. There, it finds home. 

The pulse on your clit returns, filling you with abrupt energy. 

There’s something about him coming up with it that makes you unhinged, but you’re so utterly sick of the instability of your feelings. You need it to stop.

“And what if I do?” you retort. “What will you do?” 

Truthfulness, at last.

Yoongi takes in a sharp inhale of breath, and that is the only reaction you receive from him. Nothing else on his face flickers; no wrath, no sliver of jealousy, not one thing. You stare at an empty canvas, ready for you to paint on. And you simply decide that you want to start. 

You push his hand away from your face. Stand up to your feet. But the hardened look he gives you inclines you to sit back down. 

You fight against it. 

Untangling the knot on your robe, you let him see your bare femininity. The perkiness of your breasts, the long dip of your stomach that he likes to pepper kisses on. Yes, you’re aiming for his weakness. 

And you decide to repeat history. 

You reach your hand down, lower and lower while he stares you down, and you collect your glimmering essence. Sinking your finger into your mouth, you make a show of rolling your eyes back and moaning faintly, softly. Your other hand, in the meantime, unbuttons his pants. 

The breath Yoongi inhaled hitches in his throat. 

“Is this not evidence enough?” you purr, dragging down his zipper. “How else am I supposed to show you?” 

You pull his manhood out as you suck on your finger, all while maintaining eye contact. You don’t touch him beyond that. In fact, you withdraw your hand altogether. 

And then, you collect your essence again. 

This time, you smear it across his bottom lip. Yoongi lets you. Your heart thuds, threatening to jump out of your chest. 

“Your actions during the video call told me everything,” you whisper, catching the sliver of wooziness scattering along his narrowed eyes. “And I think you liked it more than me—the thought of sharing me. You can’t hide it. Not when I saw it.” 

Yoongi growls. Then, he surprises you. 

He parts his lips for you. 

And the contact of the pad of your finger with his wet tongue coaxes a string of your dewiness to drip down the side of your thigh. You moan for him. Relieved, fucked up, woozy just the same. Finally, finally, finally. 

You’re in charge. And it feels divine. 

His length twitches against the fabric of his T-shirt. Long, hard, drooling. Such a delight for you—and so you continue. 

“I also think it made you hard. Not just because you called me when I was touching myself, but because your friend was right there beside you,” you purr, your voice a seductive sound of silk—leading him to wrap his lips around your digit. You moan for him, showing him how much you like that. “Isn’t that right, baby?” Your walls clench at the pet name, solely due to the fact that these soft terms of endearment have always been addressed to you, never the other way around. It thrills you. “I’d always be devoted to you, even if he fucked me. I’d look at you the entire time. If that’s what you want. I had a different idea, but yours is just—” you pause, and again you make a show of sighing and rolling your eyes back, “better.” 

A straight hit to his core. A glee for you. 

But you don’t realize how much you fucked up until Yoongi grips your waist and the hold hurts enough that you wince. 

And then—then he manhandles you. 

Lifting you and laying you down on the table, Yoongi spreads your legs. Watches you drip, watches as the satiny fabric follows the movement of your limbs and reveals you in all your entirety. He pulls you closer to him with a sharp tug until you collide with the tops of his thighs. Bends over you. Hovers his lips above yours. You expect him to kiss you—he even angles his head and rubs the side of his nose against yours—but he never does. 

He only leaves you waiting. Leaves you submitted to your empty expectations, taking charge, taking his control back from you. You shiver in anticipation, reaching for him, however he pins your hands down on either side of you. An angel in a rose garden. 

Yoongi chuckles, darkly, his teeth glinting in the yellow light. You fight against his hold, hips rolling against the underside of his length, beckoning him to do something, anything. You merely manage to prolong the thunder of his laughter. 

“One cock isn’t enough for her, so baby wants two,” he spits. That smirk, the crinkles around his eyes—he’s enjoying this. The hint of degradation doesn’t reflect what’s swarming inside of him, doesn’t reflect the face of pleasure coursing down his body. You smile and he scoffs. “I have enough friends for you to choose from in case you want more. I think you’d be stellar at taking three cocks. Four, even, huh? Would you have enough then? One in your tight little virgin ass, two in your cunt, one down your throat?” 

You gulp, frozen, eyes widening. 

Yoongi bites his shiny lips, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. Kisses you once. Begins to rock his hips, his length sliding across your wet fleshiness. The moan that escapes your throat trembles with each delicious motion. 

“You watch too much porn, honey,” he coos, giving you tiny kisses on the mouth. “I’d kill anyone who would come near this pussy. And I’d kill Jungkook, too, if he so much as glanced at her.” 

So that’s his name. You mewl, knitting your brows. That’s his pretty name. The entirety of your form shivers at the discovery, at the pleasure given to your throbbing clit. 

Yoongi pulls back, setting your hands free. 

You prop your elbows on the table, pouting. Yoongi grasps his length, spreads his arousal and begins to jerk himself off. 

“You’re not fucking Jungkook. You’re mine.” He groans, squeezing his tip; your hole clenches. “Rub your clit.” 

Like him, you spread your arousal on your seashell, the arousal long caused by his presence and now the mention of his name—the reason behind your frustration and his, the reason why you’re spread on the dining table, why your boyfriend is hard. You rub your clit from side to side, amused. 

“No,” Yoongi disapproves, knowing you do the motion when you want to prolong the build-up. “Circles. Make yourself come.” 

You change direction, obeying him. A sly grin blossoms on your lips, dark eyes looking up into his, permeating them, permeating into his soul. You pick up the pace, moaning into your expression of elation. 

“Jungkook is such a pretty name,” you provoke and you heighten your sounds in volume and intensity just to piss him off, just to have your way. 

A grunt escapes him, matching your pace. He wraps his fingers around your throat and squeezes. You hum. 

“A pretty name to moan in my opinion.” A layer of sweat coats your body. Yoongi grasps your jawline firmly and your satisfied laughter inches you closer to your orgasm. You feel the hot flashes, roses surrounding you—its tender petals grazing your feverish skin. You give in, watching Yoongi do the same, his mouth in a tight line, hissing and sizzling, an open fire, an open fire you want to be radiated by, burned whole by. “Just imagine him here, watching us. Oh my god, imagine him knowing he’s the reason why you and I are doing this.” 

Yoongi has had enough. 

He pushes you down harshly. Fills your hole to the hilt without letting you adjust, observing himself disappearing inside of you and begins to pound you into the table. The sound of skin slapping, the hard and quick strokes, the ravaged grunts he lets out, the fast change—it all takes your breath away, so much that you can’t, in fact, breathe. He grabs your face and makes you look at him. The dead of the night captured in his features, you absorb it, whining like the brat you are onto his mouth, mingling into your noises your approval, your yes’. 

Swallowing it, he kisses you, keeping his eyes open. “He could never fuck you like this.” 

You laugh. He swallows that, too, moaning. “What if he could?” 

He taps you on the cheek, a warning, giving you an exceptionally hard stroke that causes you to scream. He pauses. Does it again. Over and over—and your screams echo across the room, your own soul slipping out of your body. Petals flutter against you and you’re done for, hanging off the edge. You’re close, so terribly close. Your eyesight blurs and Yoongi pulls out entirely and rams into you. Again and again, abusing your cervix. 

You moan his name, gone—entirely gone. 

“Yes, moan my name like that. Just mine,” he mutters. “Who’s fucking you this good? Who’s gonna make you come?” 

He rams into you more rapidly than before. Your senses leave you until all that you know is Yoongi. His name, his scent, the wholeness of the night encompassing him. 

“You, Yoongi, you. Fuck, I—”

Yoongi laughs maniacally. “Yes, that’s right. That’s my good girl.” 

He rolls his hips, slowing down the coming of your orgasm, owning you. Lets your senses come back to you momentarily. You swallow, your throat dry and you blink, dazed still. Yoongi kisses you, giving you all that he took from you. 

“Who’s only capable of fucking you like this, honey, hm?” he asks, his voice tender and sing-song. “My pretty honey, so fucked out. So out of it.” 

You whine and you don’t control what comes out of you, your body answering for you. “You, Yoongi. You’re fucking me so—so good. I can’t—fuck. You’re the only one.” 

He smiles down at you fondly, kissing your nose, then your lips, parting your mouth and swirling his tongue around yours briefly. Then he withdraws, begins to fuck you again, slowly, reaching to the side for something. 

Once you see his phone in his hand, your heart stops. And when he puts the device to his ear, your throat dries up even more. You suddenly become aware of the silence all around, especially in your chest. You can’t breathe, you can’t blink—

Yoongi jackhammers into you, purposefully luring your loud noises out of you. “My girlfriend wants to fuck you.” 

You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut, the suddenness, the quickness of pleasure you haven’t yet felt piercing you. Fuck hot flashes and petals, you feel a heavy urge of your orgasm closing down on you. 

“She’s so desperate for you, even when I’m fucking the life out of her.” 

You flutter your eyes open to see Yoongi surveying you. You scrunch your face—so close, so fucking close—and then he puts the phone to your ear. Breathing, hard, ragged breathing fills all of your senses and you come. 

It’s an explosion. Roses bursting, their dew soaking you and Yoongi whole and you exit. You exit out of this situation, this world, this universe while your soul remains here with them. Vibrancy, colors so beautiful and sensations so vivid, ardent and fierce. You don’t know what it is you’re feeling or where you are. That is, until Yoongi’s voice yanks you back to planet Earth, back into this world, this situation—back to them. 

“In fact, she just came for you. Squirted.” 

You sob. Overstimulated, rhapsodic, but effulgent. Yes, you emit light and glow. You can see it in Yoongi’s softened eyes. 

“Think about it. No pressure. Just know she won’t shut up about you. I recall her saying your name would be pretty to moan while she played with her pussy. I think it’s only right you fuck it out of her.” 

With that, he hangs up. 

You brim with so many emotions that it numbs you. Happy tears flow out of your tear ducts—and happily, endearingly, Yoongi chortles. You don’t even feel humiliation or shame. On the contrary, you’re ready to come again. 

Yoongi kisses you and the sounds he slips into your mouth divulge how happy he is about this, how pleased he is with himself. 

You pout, burning your eyesight into his. He begins to rut into you. 

“What, you’re not even gonna thank me?” he says, grinning, as if he wasn’t fucking you at all, as if you two were still sitting at the dinner table, conversing. 

You stammer, head empty, silencing yourself and trying again. “What—what made you change your mind?” 

Yoongi places open-mouthed, wet kisses along the bone of your jaw, and there he seals his answer. “I made up my mind the moment you admitted you wanted to be fucked by him, but you wouldn’t shut up about him. I wanted to hear you babble for me. About me. I just had to mess you up to get to that point.” 

You mewl, running your hands through his sweat-slicked hair. Like a cat, he perks up to your touch, lifting his head, angling it. He kisses you, deeply. Kisses your relief. 

“Where are your manners, hm?” he whispers onto your mouth, giving you hard strokes that erase your vocabulary. You want to make him come and so you push against his thrusts, but to no avail. The intensity won’t allow you. 

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you murmur, cradling his face, pecking him, giving him the softest eyes you could muster so you can show him how much it means to you. 

He approves of your effort on bettering your manners and to reward you, he lifts you up and fucks you in the air. Your breasts bounce against the material of his T-shirt, stimulating you and he alters between jackhammering into you and sliding you up and down on his length. Your pussy squelches around his girth, tightening and Yoongi—

Yoongi loses his mind. 

And it’s him who begins to babble when you snap your hips down on him in circles. 

“Just like that, honey, oh fuck. So good, so good for me.” 

He takes it until his sounds grow in volume and you focus so much on his pleasure that you forget about yours. 

But you don’t let him take charge. 

“Let me fuck you, please, Yoongi. I wanna make you come.” 

Just like you, he’s out of it and because of that, because you asked so nicely, he lets you. 

His chest heaves, staccatos of his choked out breaths sail through the room and you can see it on his face that he’s close. Brows furrowed, bottom lip bleeding due to the way he bites hard on it, the way his mouth pops open and his eyes flutter closed. 

You hold onto his neck with your dear life. 

“Look at me,” you demand and swirl your hips in slow circles around his tip. “I want you to look at me when you come.” 

You’re so stunned that he allows you to be in charge, even more when he truly does open his eyes and pierces his gaze into yours. 

“I need to pull out,” he breathes, but you shake your head, snapping your hips down on him harshly.

“No, I want your cum in me. And I want it to be inside of me when Jungkook fucks me.” 

Yoongi grunts and this is it for him. His cock twitches in you, over and over again and then you feel it—the hot, thick ropes of his cum stuffing you full. You’re so mesmerized by the feeling, by the blissfulness evident on his face, by the smoothness between his brows at last that you can’t even milk him dry. You’re frozen, stupefied by his beauty, by his personal rapture and you want to feel it in unity with him. You kiss him. 

It’s him who fucks him cum into you, burying it deep, moaning into your lip lock. 

It’s him who lays you down to your original position and briefly, feebly licks the sheen on your spread lips before devouring your clit. 

It’s him who gives you the fastest orgasm of your life. 

And it’s him who tells you—in the shower—the story of how he almost beat up Jungkook black and blue once he heard him say how pretty you are.

And it’s you who checks up on him. 

“You sure you’re okay with this?” 

You’re stroking his hair in the bed, the duvet heavy and warm around your body and his, the night overflowing into morning—Yoongi, too. 

He’s falling asleep, but still conscious, still here with you, purring. 

“I wouldn’t be waking him up in the middle of the night if I wasn’t,” he whispers, opening his eyes to look at you, to see you enveloped in the extra blanket of the dawn’s rosy light—glowing, throwing the sun off of its throne. “Poor guy just got out of the military and you’ve already rocked his world.” 

You smile, fondly, thumb caressing his temple. Yoongi hums in appreciation. 

“I’m happy for him he’s getting pussy—one that’s mine. Before he enlisted, he spent all his time painting and getting drunk alone,” he pauses in a thought, blinking at the light. “You still want this?” 

You nod, settling into his chest. Yoongi pulls you closer, tucking the duvet into the lines of your form, bringing in comfort and sleepiness. 

“I’ll make sure you have the time of your life. I’ll be here the whole time, taking care of you,” he promises against your hair and you squeeze him. 

“He hasn’t said yes, though. He could turn me down.” 

“I’ve seen the way he looked at you. You have nothing to fear. He’ll come to you like a puppy.” 

Yoongi sinks the promise onto the plane of your forehead and holds you as you drift to sleep. Happy, relieved, steamed off of all the negative things you went through. It evaporates into the dawn—far, far away from you. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[powderpinkandsweeet]

Thinking about comphet Abby… specifically about how shit of a lover Owen was, and how reader can show her what love feels like

C/w: 2.7k word count, nsfw, reader is referred to with feminine pronouns and descriptors, compulsory heterosexuality, Abby’s a brute for a sec but you take over, oral (A! Receiving), fingering (A! Receiving), thigh riding.

Based solely on appearances, Abby was a top. She had a casual dominance about her that was magnetic. Upon first meeting, you were surprised at the mention of her partner, Owen. You’d chalked it up to you jumping to conclusions, making an assumption just by Abby’s appearance. The two of them had been an item for years at that point. Somehow, you weren’t surprised by the news of their breakup. Word spread quickly, especially rumors about what the end of their relationship could mean for Abby.

You were at the fringes of her social circle, admiring from afar as she laughed and smiled. You hoped to grow closer and make her smile because of you.

Abby had been around you long enough to notice your passing fancies. She heard the mutters in the locker room from girls who had briefly caught your attention. Most of the time she could tune them out, but not when they’d talked about how good you were in bed. Abby’s hands would stray from washing herself at stories of how your tongue was sinful, that your moans were like music, and that you tasted like honey wine, but all with the con that you didn’t want anything serious. They talked of a far away look in your eye when you were near the edge, as though you were seeing through them, mind elsewhere.

You’d found her sitting outside alone one night, and she ended asking how you knew you’d liked girls. Though initially caught off guard by the question, you both eased into a conversation about compulsory heterosexuality. She didn’t know you well but she didn’t feel worried of your judgment. You met her at her own level, and the questions grew more personal.

You’d grown tired of her hesitance and made the first move, rising on tip toes to press your lips softly to hers. She had been in the palm of your hand ever since. You could tell though that she had limited experience with girls. Her movements were always curious but hesitant. Owen had been her first and only for a number of years, and you could hardly call it intimacy. The max ten minute exchange was to be bent over and fucked with little prep until Owen got his nut. If she was really wound up then she could manage an orgasm, but it was truly never the goal. It’s always been a release of aggression, a way to blow off steam akin to weight lifting. Never had it been an expression of love or a show of devotion. Whether it be after a mission or an argument, it was always the same thing. A rush to the finish line where Owen would get his release.

She knew how you admired her broad, towering frame. More than once you’d made teasing comments about how you wanted to be thrown around by her. When the moment came that she was atop you, Abby found herself grasping at straws for what to do, only knowing how to pleasure a woman from how Owen had treated her.

You enjoyed the tight grips and biting kisses, but then it was going all too fast. After what felt like only a minute of kisses and heavy petting, Abby had you manhandled onto your stomach with your hips pulled high in the air. Your panties were ripped off, and you turned back to see Abby with eyebrows furrowed and a hand approaching your center. You thought you would feel her warm hands groping you, but you wince in discomfort when two dry fingers enter you.

You assumed she was just enthusiastic, skipping right to the good part. So you set your jaw and wait for the ache to subside. It doesn’t though when Abby starts pistoning her fingers into you. Her palm smacked against your pelvis as her calloused fingers rubbed your insides. Instead of pleasure, the friction felt more akin to a rugburn.

Through gasps, you attempted to call out for Abby. Singularly focused on the push and pull of her fingers, she misunderstood your calls of her name as those of bliss. She was proved otherwise when your nails bit into her wrist and your whimpers turned to sobs. Caught in your trembling grip, Abby stilled her hand. “You okay, honey?”

It took you a moment to catch your breath, still recovering from the beating your cervix had received. You strained to speak, “what’d you go so hard for?”

Abby looked puzzled, and withdrew her fingers. “Just trying to make you come,” she scratched the back of her neck with the other hand. “I didn’t think I’d be that bad at it though,” and she let out a humorless chuckle. Her face was like that of a kicked puppy, deeply apologetic despite not knowing what they did wrong.

“I mean yeah I’d like it if you made me come, but I don’t like when it hurts, Abby.” She looked back down at your legs, seeing the discomfort in your tense muscles for the first time.

“It always hurts though,” Abby responded. She’d said it as though it were common knowledge, but your wide eyes indicated otherwise.

“Always?” and you know the answer by the look on her face. “It’s not supposed to hurt if you warm up to it, y’ know. Like get me wet and stretched out and all.”

Abby felt almost like she were being scolded. She’d given you the wrong answer, and she felt a twinge of shame at her naivety. Louder than intended, Abby countered, “well with Owen it was just always like that, okay?”

Abby huffed and watched you, expecting you to laugh at her misconception. But you only shuffled to sit in front of her and hold her hands gently. “I’m sorry, Abby. I don’t want it to be like that between us, like I’m some tool to use and toss aside.” You brought her fingertips to your lips, planting a soft peck on each and every one. “Call me sappy all you like, but I don’t want us to fuck, I want us to make love.” Abby watched you in a trance.

From your perspective, Abby looked akin to a deer in headlights. She had one move in her playbook and it wasn’t the right one. You took mercy on her, gently pushing her onto her back. “Here baby, just relax. Let me take care of you instead,” you hum with a soft smile.

You straddled her sitting frame and pressed a sweet kiss to her forehead. You pressed your forehead to hers, closing your eyes in contentment as you’re immersed in her scent and can feel the heat of her breath. Your weight in her lap was comforting, like gravity keeping her grounded. You were her stability.

You trailed kisses down her neck and toyed with the hem of her shirt, “can you take this off for me, baby?” She eagerly nodded, crossing her arms to peel the fabric over her broad shoulders. She was left in a weathered white sports bra, and you cheekily snapped one of the shoulder straps, “this too please.” You watched amused as Abby wrestled out of the tight fabric.

Unsurprisingly, Abby was built like a brick house. You caressed her waist softly, attempting to soothe her nerves as you admired her. Her chest was pale, contrasting sharply with the golden, freckled skin of her biceps. On her back, Abby’s breasts lay flat on her chest with pretty pink nipples hardening in the open air. You lay your cheek on her left breast to listen to her heartbeat. You smiled, it pumped steadily and quickly, betraying Abby’s excitement. Your hands didn’t cease their wandering, groping up and down her torso. Her tense muscles were slowly releasing, “I’ve got you, honey, just relax and let me make you feel good.”

You eagerly unbuckled her belt and slipped it through the loops. Abby lifted her hips, and you were able to wriggle the cargo pants off of her thick thighs. From the inside of her knee to the crease of her thigh, you pressed wet kisses.

You lowered onto your forearms and deeply inhaled the sweet and salty scent of slick and sweat. Your tongue was inches from her soaking lips, but you couldn’t help but give into an urge you had been suppressing for a long time. Your arms wrapped around Abby’s thighs, pulling each leg in with all your might to trap yourself between them. With squished cheeks and a blissed out smile, you hummed in contentment. Once satisfied, your grip relented enough to accommodate the width of your shoulders. Abby startled and hissed through her teeth when your teeth clamped onto her thigh. You gave the bite an apologetic kiss and leaned your cheek against her inner thigh, “Abby?”

Flushed red and sweating at the vulgar display, Abby nodded for you to continue. “Can I taste you? Please?” Your hand rested on her public bone, thumb coming down to trace feather-light circles around her throbbing clit. “I can make it feel so so good, I promise.”

Almost mortified, Abby held you back with a palm to your forehead. “Wait! Baby, no, that’s dirty you don’t have to do that.” She resisted her urge to let you touch her, but her hips were twitching in response to your teasing regardless.

You were practically sticking your tongue out to try and get a taste, pressing your forehead against her palm. “Huh?” you ask incredulously, “dirty? What makes you think that?”

Abby looked unsure, eyes darting to the side to focus on formulating an answer. “Well, it’s just… gross.”

Despite knowing the answer, you ask, “you’ve never had someone give you head before, then?”

“…no” Abby grumbled.

Lips pursed, you hummed. “Well if it’s gross then I must be too, because I love to eat pussy.”

She “tsk”ed, “you know that’s not what I meant, you’re not gross.”

You looked up at her with those pleading eyes she could never say “no” to. “Please, Abby? I’m so hungry and you smell so good.” A teasing kiss was pressed to her pubic bone, inches away from where she needed you most. You scattered kisses and bites across her hips and thighs, hoping for a taste of something more. Her breath was hitching at your attention, and you could hear an almost imperceptible “okay…” over the sound of a wet smooch.

You leaned against her thigh with an excited grin, “‘okay’ what?”

Abby relented, arm across her face to cover her burning cheeks, “you can taste me.”

You eagerly sealed your mouth against her pussy in a passionate kiss. Your tongue slipped against her clit softer than her fingers ever could. It was warm and slippery against throbbing clit, coaxing it to hardness until it peeked from its hood.

Abby’s breath caught in her throat at the feeling of you placing a loud, squeaky kiss to her clit. You leaned back to lick your lips. Your eyes slipped closed at the taste, sighing contentedly. “See? Not gross. And you taste really fucking good too.” Her face burned with the compliment. She could hardly believe how blissed out you were just from your mouth on her pussy. You hummed and moaned into her like you were getting off on her taste.

A slow, firm lick up Abby’s pussy had her clenching around nothing. The tip of your tongue and her clit were linked by a string of saliva. The string snapped, and you spat crudely on her cunt to follow it. Abby flinched at the contact, hypersensitive and aching. As if pleading, her hips bucked toward your mouth.

A minor panic took Abby when she saw you sit up. You stroked her aching thighs, attempting to soothe her. “Shh, shh it’s alright, I’m not done yet, don’t worry.” Her tensing muscles released and she melted back into the mattress.

Abby puffed out a long breath at the familiar feeling of being left on the edge. It was an almost tingling numbness left by your absence.

You kissed her and laid on her side, draping one of her arms over your shoulder and slinging a leg over one of hers to trap it in place. You draped an arm over her waist and kissed her tenderly. Satisfied that you had her complete attention, you tuck your chin into her shoulder. Your lips grazed the shell of her ear as you whispered, “can I fuck you with my fingers, Abby?” The heat of your breath against her ear and your indecent proposal had a shiver running up her spine and a plea leaving her lips.

Your hand slid down Abby’s clenching stomach, nails scratching lightly through her happy trail and the thatch of hair at her center. You started slow, two fingers rubbing her clit back and forth. You eased her back into the rhythm you had reached before, desperation showing in your quickening movements. You bit and sucked an array of marks into her neck and shoulders. The press of your teeth stung, always followed by a soothing and apologetic kiss.

Your treatment to Abby’s clit had slick covering her labia and sliding down to form a puddle beneath her. From flicking back and forth over her clit, your fingers were soaked base to tip. You reached further between her toned thighs, shuffling a few inches down the bed to reach. Your middle and ring finger traced the rim of Abby’s dripping pussy, only dipping inside at the sound of her whining.

You eased Abby into the stretch, penetrating her to the first knuckle and slowly pulling out before pushing just a little deeper. Each time your fingers hilted inside her, Abby felt like she’d have the wind knocked out of her. Your fingers didn’t reach far, but it was more than enough based on the rhythmic clenching of her walls. You made a beckoning motion with your fingers, grazing a soft spot that sent Abby’s eyes rolling back in her head. Abby had whimpered and whined from your tongue, and your fingers were sure to have her screaming. She no longer had the bandwidth to feel embarrassed, guttural moans escaping from deep within her chest. Your hand jerked back and forth to repeatedly hit Abby’s soft spot. The heel of your hand slapped and ground against her clit with the motion.

Where your leg wrapped around Abby’s to keep her thighs spread, your pussy ached. You ground your hips against the firm muscle, a wet and sticky mess spreading over her. It wasn’t enough to push you to orgasm, but it was enough to tide you over as you fed off of Abby’s pleasure. She quickly approached her orgasm as you were edged on her thigh.

Her thighs trembled and her walls pulsed, so you doubled your efforts. You were desperate to see and taste her come, so you begged. Abby groaned through gritted teeth at your pleas. You begged to feel her hug your fingers, to let you lick up the slick that dripped slow and sweet like honey from her lips. You sought it out selfishly, moaning with Abby as she was overcome with heat.

Her thighs snapped closed around your hand, trapping it against her pussy. Your hand was still, but you didn’t quit the curling of your fingers or the grinding of your palm to her clit. Abby’s hips rolled into your digits, groaning shakily as she clenched around you. You felt her clit pulse in time with her throbbing pussy. The base of your fingers were wrapped with a white, foamy ring. The palm of your hand was sticky with Abby’s release. She’d made a right mess.

Abby panted, flushed and weak from all the exertion. She sighed and relaxed into the feeling of feather light kisses being traced up her neck. She was melting into the mattress as you pressed little giggly kisses all over her face. Days, maybe weeks, of tension was pulled from her shoulders. She felt blissed out, sleepy, content. Most of all she felt loved.

A/n: this was in the drafts for a long while. When I saw Abby and Owen’s “love” scene, it felt more like an act of aggression, so I wanted to explore how Abby might think she should top based on her experience.

[amywritesthings]

press four for more options. | part one.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 4.6k Summary: After seeing your ex with his new girl at a work party, you take the not-so-smart advice from a friend to call a sex hotline to get over him. Your match? A baritone bossy dom named Levi.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - alternate universe (modern), slow burn, eventual smut, sex work, phone sex, dirty talk, dom!levi, light dom/sub Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

part two. | masterlist

“Thank you for calling the Scout Services Hotline. You’re only a dial away from your wildest fantasies with the sexiest singles near your area.”

God, even the automated voice sounds porn-y.

A breathy feminine voice straight out of a 1975 VHS tape croons into the dead air of your small apartment bedroom, setting your nerves on edge.

God forbid the noise travels through the walls into your next-door neighbor's bedroom. Harriet and Miro do not need to hear what you’re up to this Friday evening.

Maybe, up to this Friday evening.

You haven’t decided yet, though one could argue that calling was half the battle.

Dressed head-to-toe in an emerald cocktail dress with a face full of tear-stricken makeup, you feel utterly ridiculous sitting at the foot of your bed — not even the edge of the mattress, but the goddamn floor.

Even your black heels, now scuffed from someone stepping on them on your way out to fetch a cab, remain dangling at your toes.

(As non-committal as your last relationship, ironically enough.)

The experts say don’t shit where you eat. Dating someone you work with typically goes up in flames as fast as a rogue wildfire — and you should have listened to all of the warning signs, but Porco Galliard had been so damn charming that you’d forgotten just about everything.

Including your dignity, apparently, since you seemed to conveniently forget the part where he has had an on-again, off-again relationship with Pieck Finger well before you got hired at this place.

Not exactly side chick behavior, since he technically didn’t cheat, but the sting of being second place before the race even started lingered deep.

(Didn’t you know? He always chooses Pieck. It’s just one of those things.)

Well, no missing that now.

Especially since the two of them were so cozy at the annual shareholder event — right in front of your fucking salad.

The event’s slated to end at eleven so you’ve been nursing a wild array of drinks since seven, with little breaks.

In retrospect, the napkin with scribbled chicken scratch that Annie Leonhart, your closest colleague, shoved into your hand in the midst of your brooding at the bar may have been a joke:

You need to loosen up. Call this stupid sex line and get that stick out of your ass.

She wasn’t kidding. 

Every muscle in your body is too taut, including your brain.

So you took a cab, stumbled into your apartment, and landed — here.

Your phone sits right in front of you next to one of your half-worn heels, on speaker at the lowest setting.

Maybe it’s best to let the pre-recording list the entire numerical menu.

Maybe it’ll deter you from pressing anything at all.

“If you already know your match’s extension, press one.”

Yeah, that wasn’t happening.

You tap the napkin carelessly against the stem of your glass of wine, contemplating exactly how Annie Leonhart managed to find the information for this service to begin with.

Did she already have a match?

Did she regularly call them to blow off some steam?

She's always so chill. It would make sense.

There’s a chance this is a nasty prank at your lowest moment, but you don’t think Annie cares enough about other people to plan such a masterful takedown. 

At the work event, she seemed pretty serious about the legitimacy of Scout Services Hotline, and honestly?

Even if you had been drinking all night at the event, you were going to need way more liquid courage to even consider trying your hand at calling a sex line to quell weekend loneliness.

So naturally, you opened a new bottle of wine.

At the first glass of wine, you still weren’t ready.

The second? The napkin sat adjacent to your laptop as you played compilations of sad break-up songs further aggravating your spiraling depression.

The third was the charm to get you to pick up the fucking phone to see what the fuss was all about.

“If you’re looking for someone specific — whether it’s the man, woman, or person of your dreams — press two.”

Tempting.

Your finger reaches out for the ‘2’ on your screen, but you wait it out.

“If you don’t have a preference for your delicious match, press three.”

“You could’ve done without the delicious part,” you mumble to yourself, picking up the glass of wine to take a generous sip. An involuntary grimace tugs at your cheeks.

“If you’re looking to speak with one of our representatives or need more assistance, press four for more options.”

For a solid five minutes you wait.

Contemplating.

Deciding.

You could press the red circle to hang up and go to bed.

It wouldn’t be the first time you rubbed one out and called it a night.

After all, what’s one more lonely weekend?

The spiel starts up again on a loop with the same seductive, breathy feminine voice.

“Thank you for calling the Scout Services Hotline. You’re only a dial away from your wildest fantasies with the sexiest—”

You smash a button, but you’re not sure which one you’ve clicked.

Before you can lean over to see on your screen, a different feminine voice comes over the speaker.

It’s a little higher pitched than the menu screen voice, but it’s still inviting. Warm.

“Thank you for choosing the Scout Services Hotline. You’re speaking to Petra. May I have the pleasure of knowing the name of the person I’m speaking to this evening?”

A name.

You should give a name that isn’t your real name.

But technically wouldn’t your name be on the credit card if you go through with this anyway?

“You can give a nickname, too, if that makes you feel better,” the woman named Petra adds as if she's a mind reader, breaking the running silence on your end of the line. “A lot of our clients like giving a fake name for security and anonymity.”

“Doesn’t that break once you put in your credit card information?” you blurt, not realizing the thought has spilled on your lips.

Petra laughs musically.

“Technically yes, but if you prefer to be called something, then we’ll be sure to add that to your profile. I take it it's your first time calling.”

Why are you doing this again?

“Painfully obvious, right?” you lament, staring down at the scribble on the napkin. 

Did Annie have a fake name with this service?

“Not painfully at all,” Petra promises. “It’s a learning curve. So what may I call you?”

Real or fake?

Committed or just testing the waters?

“Scarlet?” you suggest, wincing immediately at the on-the-nose literary reference.

Letters, passion, blah blah love — it’s about the only creative thing your wine-addled brain can muster.

“I like Scarlet,” she hums, and immediately your brain is set on fire.

Are you going to be seriously this easy?

“Are you female, male, non-binary, genderfluid, prefer not to say…?”

“Female.”

"Pronouns?"

"Um, she and her."

“And you’re over eighteen?”

“Definitely over eighteen.”

“Perfect. So, Scarlet — did you have a preference on who you wish to speak to today? If you have a fantasy you wish to fulfill, then I can select someone for you.”

You want to scream.

Neurons fire as you try to come up with a cool and collected answer, only to allow the elixir of truth on your tongue to spill the beans.

“Just someone who’s got their shit together, honestly.” You exhale an awkward laugh. “I don’t know. I’m just calling because — I mean, I know you don’t care, but I like… um, deep voices? Stronger voices. Honestly I have no idea what to—”

“I have just the person.”

You pause.

Blink.

But you didn’t even describe anyone, not really.

A voice, maybe, if they cater to kinks of that nature.

You can only imagine they do — it’s a sex hotline, for crying out loud.

“Wait, you do?”

“Mhm!” she perkily states. “Is a man alright for this evening?”

A man with a deep voice who allegedly has his pretend shit together.

Granted it isn’t the opposite of Porco, he’s fairly capable at his job and out living his life just fine, but maybe you were just looking for a copy.

(Or a clue.)

“A man is… fine,” you hesitate. “Wait, so when do I give you my credit card information? My friend hooked me up with this, um — I don’t know if you have her name or if I should even say it, I know there’s probably some confidentiality—”

“Hold that thought,” Petra interrupts cheerfully. “You get the first fifteen-minute session for free, actually — you called just in time before our first-timer coupon expires.”

You can’t hide your surprise.

“Really?”

“Really!”

Ha, your fucking luck.

“If you're enjoying the call, just tell your match and we can set up your card and keep it going. All we ask is that you take a survey after your session. Then you’ll be in our system with this phone number! We’ll never solicit you for calls, but it’ll make the process faster the next time should you call our hotline again.”

You drop your head back on your mattress, sighing heavily.

“...okay, yeah. That sounds great.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure.”

“Give me one moment, Scarlet,” Petra giggles.

You hear something shift on her side. 

Maybe she’s swiveling her chair. Are they located in an actual office building?

God, an office where people just do this for a living sounds larger than life.

“I’ll connect you with your match in a moment.”

Then the line cuts out to the opening notes to Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get It On, and you’re pretty sure you’re this close to chugging the rest of this bottle in one gulp.

“Is this seriously what you do on weekends, Annie?” you mumble to yourself, enduring the brutality of the waiting music while Petra connects you to your alleged match.

A man with a deep voice who has his shit together.

Is that even a real kink?

Has the bar really gotten that low?

Should you have described someone’s appearance? It wasn’t like it mattered over the phone.

As soon as it gets to the high note of the song, the line cuts again — silence.

Immediately you scramble to sit up taller, your hands fumbling to grab the phone from the floor.

You bring it up to your face, cupping the device in both palms to muffle the noise if it becomes downright pornographic in seconds.

Moment of truth.

With bated breath you wait — the person on the other line sighs, heavy and deep, before answering with the most nonchalant tone.

“Thank you for calling the Scout Services Hotline. You’re speaking with Levi. May I ask whom I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

Holy fuck.

Immediately you forget your own voice listening to the hum of the receiver.

While you’ve only joked in passing that you have a voice kink, it’s screaming in neon lights here and now: this man’s voice may be monotone, but there is a growl to it. 

A rumbling.

At this very moment, you completely forget that this man is on speaker phone and you’ve just returned home from the worst work event in the world.

You don’t have an ex-boyfriend.

You don’t even know your home address.

You’re simply… existing, lips parted, taking in the sheer tingle rolling through your torso.

“You there?”

Right, you’re meant to talk back.

“Huh? Oh — yes! Yeah,” you recover poorly. “Hi. It’s, um, it’s Scarlet.”

“Mm, Scarlet… Scarlet, Scarlet, Scarlet…”

The way the name drags along his tongue nearly makes your mouth water. 

His voice — Levi — is smooth, like the velvet on your dress you’ve yet to take off.

“A pretty name for a pretty thing like you.” Something ruffles and Levi makes a small noise on the other end, likened to a cut-off hum. “Tell me what you look like, Scarlet.”

All you can do is stare at a chip in your wooden dresser directly across from you, listening to him speak.

“I’m…” 

What do you even say? 

How come you have to say anything at all? 

Can’t he just read a takeout menu to you and call it a night?

Before you can answer, there’s an amused huff. “Someone’s nervous.”

Your face turns — well, a certain shade of scarlet.

“Ha. Sorry, I’ve—”

“Never done this before?” he finishes for you.

How mortifying. 

“Is it that obvious?”

“It’s cute,” he relents, and you feel your face turn a degree hotter. “Don’t worry — I’ve been told I’m a great teacher, so you’re in good hands.”

“You’ll have your work cut out of you, trust me,” you breathe, feeling like you’ve been injected with an overdose of a truth serum. “Because I just got home from this stupid work event. My ex-boyfriend brought his new girlfriend — who also works with us — as his date — yay, me — except I feel like I was the side-piece-in-waiting for them. So he’s off getting laid and I’m calling a complete stranger on a random Friday because my work colleague recommended this phone sex hotline for a quick solution.”

Silence.

You blink twice as dread settles in your cut. You tap the phone off of speaker and push the device close to your ear, balancing it with your shoulder.

Did you scare him away? 

Was that too much of a depressive dump? 

You suddenly want to crawl under your bed frame and hide there forever.

But then — a gentle chuckle sounds from the other end of the line, and arousal shoots straight to your lower belly.

“Good thing all of the dirty talk is my job, then,” he muses. “You’re supposed to lay back and listen.”

“Listen?”

“Yeah, unless you weren’t looking to get bossed around.”

It isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever heard, that’s for sure.

“If I’m honest with you, Levi, I don’t know what I’m looking for,” you confess, running a hand down your face.

“Then let me figure it out for you. We have time.”

The man calling himself Levi pauses on the other end.

“Did you want to get fucked, Scarlet?”

Well, shit, he didn’t have to say it like that.

“Yes,” you blurt without thinking, then fumbling to recover. “I mean— Sorry, clearly I called thinking about sex, and your voice is extremely lovely and actually very hot—”

“Oh, you think so?” Levi interrupts, honey-smooth voice humming with amusement with that same hum that’s going to make you scream.

“Absolutely. Completely. Are you serious?” you sputter. “You’re like an ASMR wet dream.”

“A what?”

“A wet dream?”

“No, the other thing — ASMR?”

“Um, like when people make really niche quiet noises to a microphone with their mouths, and it gives you the tingly sensation in the back of your head.”

“Interesting,” Levi says. “So are you saying that’s what I do to you?”

For the umpteenth time, your brain blanks.

God, you could scream into your pillow.

If you weren’t so afraid you’d forget to mute your microphone first, then you already would be.

“Yes! — I mean, yes, but — wait, can we just pause this for a second?”

For a moment he doesn’t answer, but the tone of his voice shifts: still just as sultry, but with a hint of confusion and a dash of concern. 

“Of course. Is everything alright?”

No, this entire night is weird.

If you don’t say something, then this is going to just keep looping and wasting his time.

“Okay,” you start, mustering the courage to get through your speech, “I know I’m spoiling the first-caller coupon for a free call and I’m sorry, I’ll totally pay for the session since you’re great and sound insanely hot and I’m sure you’re amazing at your job, but I just…” 

You trail off, collecting your swimming thoughts.

“...I’m something like six or seven drinks in, I am craving potato chips, and I’d really like to just talk to someone for a few minutes.”

There.

It’s out in the open, your confession to the liminal altar.

You half-expect him to hang up rather than wasting his time with someone like you, but to your surprise, there is no click. No call ended. No new automated message.

“Six or seven is a lot,” he comments, and you can picture a brow furrow even if he doesn’t have a face. “Does this mean you handle your liquor, or is this a one-off rager?”

“I think I’m only still functioning because I ate my weight in dinner rolls at the party.”

“Do you have a glass or bottle of water near you?”

The switch up lessens the tension in your shoulder blades in an instant.

His voice is just as crooning, deep and inviting, but it’s nice to simply be asked.

“Nope.”

His voice sharply changes, authoritative and firm. “Then go get one.”

The demand does something to you. 

Without thinking twice you begin to rock up on your heels, standing at full height.

“Okay, Mr. Bossy.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asks with a sprinkle of sarcasm. “Someone who has their shit together, if I read the notes right.”

“They write that stuff down?” you ask genuinely, minding your step as you pad barefoot across your apartment to your fridge.

“It’s your session,” he reminds softly. “We do whatever it is you want to do.”

“Even if it’s just to talk?”

“You’d be amazed at how many people call just to talk. Though I can’t say it’s my specialty.”

“No?”

“No. I’m not much of a small talker.”

The refrigerator door swings wide. “What’s your specialty, then?”

“Kink play, mostly. Dom and Sub. Guided masturbation. Edging. Making decisions for people who want to forget about making them for a while.”

One second the bottle of water is in your hand.

Next it’s on the floor.

“That’s, uh… a wide array of specialties,” you say. “And your rate, it’s…?”

“Not cheap.”

“Got it. So I’m really flubbing this free call.”

It’s small, but you hear a chuckle on the other end. “You said you wanted to talk, Scarlet, so we’re talking.”

Bending to grab your water bottle, you untwist the cap.

“Does this bother you, wasting your time talking?”

“You’re not wasting my time, Scarlet,” he says with such a promise that you almost believe it’s genuine. “You have a pretty voice, and you’re funny.”

“Shut up.”

“You do, and you are.”

“Uh-huh. And do you talk to a lot of people during your shifts?”

“That’s confidential.”

“So a lot.”

“Confidential.”

“And the length of calls,” you test, “are they hypothetically confidential, too?”

“It’s per minute, so.”

“Per minute?” you gawk. “Jesus, I’d go bankrupt talking to you.”

“Well, premium members receive bills per half hour,” he explains. “More bang for your buck.”

“Quite literally," you mumble. "And what’s a premium subscription get you?”

“Didn’t you check out the website before calling?”

“I told you I stumbled out of my cab and called the number on my napkin, Levi,” you chide. “I didn’t exactly do my research in my sexually frustrated state.”

“Fair, can’t blame you there.”

There’s something of a grunt on the other end, like he’s stretching his arms over his head.

Maybe he’s sitting in an office chair, too, going through the motions of his profession the same way the Petra lady had been.

You keep wanting to imagine what he’s doing on the other line, but you realize you haven’t asked the titular question yet.

“Hey, Levi?”

“Yeah, baby?”

It’s breathy, a roll of thunder in his tongue.

Instead of an office chair, you imagine a man lying on his bed.

Maybe his tie is half-done, hanging loosely around his neck.

Button-down open, exposing the planes of his chest; dress trousers unbuttoned and loose around his hips, so he can easily slide a hand—

Whoa.

You stop walking back to your bedroom and blink twice. “Oh, so you like pet names.”

Your face, in miraculous humiliation, grows another degree hotter at how amused he sounds with himself. “I never said that.”

“Sure,” Levi replies with a smirk to the concession. “What is it, Scarlet?”

(Maybe you’ll permanently change your name to Scarlet after tonight if it sounds this good on a man’s lips.)

You finally unzip the side of your dress and wiggle out, before finding a cozy spot in the middle of your mattress.

“How much time do I have left on this freebie?”

“Approximately three minutes.”

Time flies when you’re too busy gawking over someone’s voice, apparently.

“Can I ask what you look like?” you finally decide, playing along.

“I’m surprised it took you this long to ask,” Levi responds, returning to that same seductive tone he’d used when he first picked up the line. “Black hair, guess it’s a little shaggier than usual. Undercut.”

You squint to your ceiling. “I’m thinking of Dimitri from Anastasia right now but with black hair.”

“I have no idea what that is.”

“You’ve seriously never seen Anastasia?”

“It’s a movie?”

“Oh my god, Levi, I’m so sorry for your childhood.”

“It’s an animated movie?” he scoffs. “Even worse.”

“You wound me,” you joke, pressing a hand over the cup of your beige bra. “What color are your eyes?”

“A gray-ish blue,” he tells you. “Sharp nose. High cheekbones. I’m a daily gym go-er, so I’m mostly lean muscle. I can probably pick you up, easily.”

So a fit man with an undercut hairstyle with gray-blue eyes and a relatively sharp face. 

Now you have a face to the image of a man lying on his bed, still in that button-down shirt and dress trousers.

His happy trail is probably dark, too, disappearing just under the waistband of his boxer briefs.

Or boxers?

Maybe nothing.

Your hand moves on its own accord to the waistband of your panties, toying with the fabric.

Contemplating.

Wondering if it’s wrong — when it really shouldn’t be wrong at all.

“You sound handsome,” you murmur. “I wouldn’t mind being picked up.”

“Wouldn’t be the only thing I’d do to you,” he flippantly states, and your brain blanks to pure putty. “You sound a little more winded than before. Doing alright over there, party animal?”

“It’s late,” you lie even when you damn well know you don’t have to lie. “Lots of drinking, first water of the night, lying down…”

“Better make it two waters before you fall asleep,” Levi states. “That’s an order, Scarlet.”

“Uh-huh.”

Your hand dips under your underwear, testing the waters.

But—

“Final sixty seconds,” he adds. “Any last words you want to get in before the line disconnects?”

“Only one minute left?” you protest, ripping your hand out of your underwear to pull the phone away from your ear.

14:02

So it really had been a fifteen-minute call.

God damnit.

Tapping the speaker icon once more, you stare at your phone and press your tongue against the inside of your cheek.

“What’s your extension?”

Because you have to know.

Even if you don’t call again, it’s a comfort to have it on hand.

Levi waits a moment before responding.

“Two-five-one-two.”

2512.

You swipe away from the call to quickly pull up your notes app, tapping the number down with a noted reminder: the guy with the hot voice!

“Are you going to call me again, Scarlet?”

You open your mouth, but you struggle with an answer.

(You only have a few seconds! Think, idiot, think!)

“I’m not sure if—”

Click.

“Hello? Levi?”

“Thank you for calling the Scout Services Hotline. Please stay on the line for a quick two-minute survey so we can better serve your fantasies in the future.”

Out of time.

You drop your phone to your stomach and groan.

Instead of calling back, you close your eyes — and, not before long, fall asleep to a dream of only one voice.

.

.

— —

.

.

    Saturday is a wash.

You wake late, missing an invitation to brunch.

For the better half of the day, you wonder about him.

Levi.

Your arbitrary match that doesn't feel so arbitrary anymore.

(It's placebo effect, you tell yourself. They're supposed to make you feel wanted.)

Punishing yourself for your excessive liquor and stupid plans, you trudge to your local gym and do your best to stay focused on your workout.

Every nameless person with dark hair that walks past you on the sidewalk from your apartment; anyone could be him.

The man waiting in line at the coffee shop.

The man who accidentally walked into you while you were switching the song on your playlist at the crosswalk.

The man weight training in the corner of the room, fringe cascading down his face as he drips sweat.

You keep the napkin in your gym bag, then transfer it to your purse as you run errands.

You could call.

It isn’t like you’re strapped for cash at the moment.

Granted it’s very wish fulfillment and it isn’t like he’s actually into you, but the attention is nice.

Besides — you haven’t thought of your ex once since you woke up.

Annie texts you twice within ten minutes of each message, which is unheard for her.

 [A. LEONHART]: So? Did you call?

[A. LEONHART]: Hello, earth to moron. At least like my message to tell me you’re alive. I’m not being interviewed by Dateline for you.

(Ah, there she is. Classic Annie.)

 [YOU]: Yeah, I called. Not sure if it’s my thing.

[A. LEONHART]: Sometimes they match you with a dud. 2nd time’s the charm ;)

[YOU]: Do you ever use someone’s extension?

[A. LEONHART]: Duh. I’m a regular of one guy.

Okay, so she talks to a guy. Something grips your stomach as you type your reply.

 [YOU]: Can I ask his name?

[A. LEONHART]: Why, so we don’t eiffel tower this?

[YOU]: jfc annie

[A. LEONHART]: lmao his name is Bert

    So not Levi.

For some odd reason, you breathe a sigh of relief as you close out of your messages.

Maybe you're one of a million, but at least you're not sharing with Annie.

Once you return home from your errands, it's close to dinnertime.

You cook something simple for yourself, occasionally glancing over at your purse like you can x-ray vision through the fabric to see the napkin.

Then again, it isn’t like you actually need the napkin.

The number is already in your phone.

Pulling out your device, you set it on the kitchen counter and draw a slow, calculative inhale.

One more call can’t hurt.

Levi may not even be working.

Hell, he could be talking to someone else. 

A regular.

Several regulars.

For over five minutes you stare down at your most recent calls list, willing yourself to just get brave for one second to press the button.

(It isn’t like Porco’s going to call you.)

The soured thought propels your hand without thinking, fingertip pressing the green phone icon faster than you can think. 

You brace for the ringtone, fists balled tight on the cool kitchen surface.

“Thank you for calling the Scout Services Hotline. You’re only a dial away from your wildest fantasies with the sexiest singles near your area. If you already know your match’s extension, press one.”

You continue staring.

Are you really doing this?

It isn’t like it means anything, which is exactly what you need with the upcoming work week.

A distraction.

A very expensive distraction, but hey — you’ll avoid takeout for a few weeks.

How bad can it get?

“If you’re looking for someone specific —”

You press one.

.

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading part one of my zany little 'Sleepless in Seattle' modern au! This has been a bluesky idea for a while now, and I needed a little reprieve from my other angsty Levi longfic silver underground, so I hope you enjoyed the ride.

There will be actual smut in part two, but as a Reader!Writer I had the thought of 'would I be suave enough to do the first phone call flawlessly or totally waste my free coupon'? and this chapter was born, lol. I promise this is not Porco slander.

Thank you for likes, and even more love to those who choose to reblog this to help spread the word of this new series or reply in the comments. ilu xo

[chocobochaserstories]

Scent Dynamics

Simple, surface level take on scent dynamics, including diagrams for locations of key anatomical points. Diagram sources: Blank anatomy models from Pinterest, then I uploaded them into Woodnotes and edited them to my own needs. CW: If you can't read my handwriting, just ask! My handwriting is messy, sorry!

Omegas

Compared to alphas, omegas generally have softer, more delicate scents. While there are exceptions, scents often include flowers, sweet scents like vanilla or caramel, fruity scents such as sweet berries, are among the common scent patterns. Scents follow a more “feminine” pattern while alphas have more “masculine” scents, although gender norms in terms of male or female are more loose in omegaverse as they’re overridden by alpha and omega. Omegas enjoy scenting their partners the most, and it is not specific to sexual settings. Scenting for omegas is an intimate act, and is ingrained from birth. Omegas generally scent their pups, beginning at birth and extending to the offspring’s mating. (So an omega will scent their pup until they have a mate of their own). Generally, omegas scent over the primary scent gland, which is the most major scent gland and the one located in the neck. The primary scent gland is the gland that is the most sacred to an alpha or an omega and is where a mating bite is placed. Betas do not have a primary scent gland. In addition, an omega’s scent intensifies during their heat cycle and may take on a more “pleasant” aphrodisiac note. During pregnancy, the scent is often sweeter.

Side note: Unpresented pups often have a scent like steamed milk, or a milky, soft scent.

Diagram: Attached

Diagram: Attached

Betas

Betas do not have scent glands, so they do not have individual scents. Occasionally, if a beta is in a relationship with a omega or alpha, it can be emotionally and instinctually satisfying for the partner to let them scent them.

Alpha

Alphas often have hardier scents, such as wood or sawdust (especially more fragrant ones such as pine or cedar), nature scents such as fresh rain, earthy scents such as wet soil or limestone, or crisp scents like ozone. Alphas tend to have “masculine” scents, granted masculine and feminine aren’t particularly solid concepts within the omegaverse as male/female is overridden by the overarching concept of alpha/omega. Alphas can also carry undertones to their scents, for example, an alpha may smell of fresh rain and iron, but carry a sweet scent as well of apples (FFVII Angeal Hewley’s scent in my headcanons). Alphas are territorial and scent their partner as a marking, similar to omegas. Alphas are more likely to scent their partner after mating, a rut, or their partner was around another alpha. 

Diagram: Attached

[margueritedaisies]

Hubba bubba😔🤌🥀✨

And so the plot thickens:

I have a plot idea where Pentious writes steamy selfshipping romance books involving his self insert and The Radio Demon as a hobby. Somehow he gained popularity and money out of it. He goes by a feminine pseudonym to hide his identity. Quite popular among the female audience, he just has a way with satisfying the female gaze through words.

Most of his works always follow psychological horror ,mystery, crime, and maybe gothic romance tropes lol. His mastery is comparable to Anne Rice with a mix of Dostoevsky. I mean what do you even expect from a Victorian man in writing fanfiction?😂

***************

(To our standards his works are a literary masterpiece but tbh he aint even trying , probably just his silly fantasies and took inspiration from his fave reading material. To Victorian standards his work would be considered frivolous and mediocre even scandalous. I mean he lived a life where he has the privilege to interact with artistic geniuses, discuss politics/social/philosophical ideologies among the elite in parlors.

And most likely really influential since he was an inventor who was involved in creating the new fangled steam powered machines.)

*****************

Praising his achievements and background aside let me get back to continuing my plot😂I just love him sm

Alastor knows about the book series but doesnt know the author's identity, he has no interest in dwelling on their existence any further. He already used to this side of his fanbase and only wishes to be left alone by them, at least they got an outlet already.

When Pentious started staying at the hotel he had to be extra careful not to let anyone know of his hobby while at the same time trying to continue it. But one day he got sloppy, Niffty figured him out for a few days. Either noticing weird behavioral patterns.

Once she purposefully tripped him so the suspicious manuscripts he was carrying were dropped so she can"help" him collect them but he reacted paranoidly to her on coming close.

She caught a glimpse anyway but not enough to satisfy her curiosity. And then her suspicions were solidified when she sneaked inside Pentious's lair/suite for cleaning duty and came across his typewriter.

After discovering Pentious was the author whom she was a huge fan of (yes she has a copy of his works) she set out on a mission to befriend the snake so she can have premium access to his drafts😂

[hotyanderedaddies]

you are legit my fav author on here your stories are amazing, could I possibly request yandere wolf daddy with a forced feminized male reader ( who secretly enjoys it)

and can I be 🪬 anon? :3

[Yandere! Werewolf Daddy x Male! Reader]

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

"Princess, it's time to wake up," Daddy whispered into your ear as he tightened his hold on you, squeezing you in closer to his hairy chest. He leaned down and placed a large kiss onto your forehead, exaggerating his kissing noises.

You grunted in response, already rolling your eyes at the older werewolf's foolishness.

The big werewolf rolled out from under you and stood up from the bed, stretching his powerful arms over himself. He looked down at you and mock-frowned when he saw that you haven't budged, too tired to get out of bed at such an obscene hour (7 AM).

Daddy crossed his muscled arms over his beefy chest, tsking at you. "Princess," he warned, putting on an authoritative air, "it's time to get up so we can get ready for the day. Now be a good girl and listen to Daddy."

"Shut up..." you whined, shoving the bubblegum pink pillow over your head in frustration.

You heard Daddy utter out a low growl.

Before you knew it, Daddy threw your tiny body over his broad shoulder. He stomped over towards the bathroom, plopping you on your feet in front of the tub.

"I'll lay your clothes out on the bed," Daddy said as he reached over and turned on the hot water for the shower, steam already billowing out. "Unless, you want some of Daddy's help?"

"Pass," you muttered, slamming the bathroom door shut so that you had some semblance of privacy.

As you washed yourself under the hot water of the shower, you couldn't help but sigh as you lathered up your hair with the sickly sweet strawberry scented shampoo. It was such a girly smell and the bottle was even bright pink with flecks of glitter garnishing it- you wouldn't have been caught dead using it at the gym with all of your buddies around.

Still, even you had to admit that it did smell a little good. You couldn't resist taking a big whiff of the sweet strawberries as you lathered up your longer hair that Daddy forbade you to cut.

Normally, you opted for buzzcuts since it was an easier style to manage, but now your hair was shaggy and starting to cover up your ears due to its longer-than-normal length.

After rinsing out the suds from your hair, you grabbed your equally sweet smelling body wash (this one shaped like a red candied apple), and washed yourself.

It's been four months since Daddy stole you.

You'd been packing up your stuff to move out of your freshman dorm at college. You'd been all set to leave the next morning and had lied down to get some much needed sleep.

That'd been when Daddy had snuck in through your open window, and had snatched you out of bed.

He'd taken you to the cabin he calls "Home", where he'd claimed that you were soulmates and where he dotes on you hand and foot...

and where he insists on calling you "Princess", "Baby Girl", "Sweetiepie", et cetera.

Daddy dresses you up in the girliest clothes that he can find, and he keeps on giving you gifts that would traditionally belong on the more feminine side of the spectrum (roses, jewelry, vibrators).

It was mortifying for a manly athlete such as yourself... or at least, it used to be.

Despite your annoyance, even you had to admit that having such a strong, hunky, muscly wolf daddy pampering you constantly was sorta nice.

Ignoring your irritation for the time being, you stepped out of the shower and dried yourself off. You walked back into the bedroom and nearly wailed at the hot pink hoodie and light blue skinny jeans that Daddy had picked out for you to wear. It was a rather tame outfit considering that there were no frills or glitter this time; but you were never a big fan of pink to be honest.

Still, not wanting another spanking, you yanked on the clothes, surprised at how soft the fabric of the hoode was. Despite its garish color, the fabric was soft to the touch like fleece, and you could definitely smell Daddy's musk on it from when he absolutely rolled around on it to scent it.

As you examined yourself in the mirror, the bedroom door swung open and Daddy sauntered in, wearing tattered blue jeans and no shirt, allowing his buff chest muscles to be on display.

The split second his eyes landed on you, Daddy rushed forward and wrapped you up in his arms, nuzzling you lovingly.

"You look so cute, Princess," Daddy gushed happily. "You're Daddy's Baby Girl, right?"

The way Daddy looked at you with such love and adoration in his eyes, combined with the softness of the hoodie, the sweet scent of the strawberry shampoo, and the firmness of Daddy's large muscles caused you to completely melt into the wolf daddy's hold.

"Yeah, yeah," you mumbled, blushing slightly as you rested your head on Daddy's chest, hearing the deep rumble of contentment as he kissed your forehead.

[lalunanymph]

sucker punch (m) — sae itoshi

in the pivotal moments leading up to the most significant fight of his career against his estranged younger brother, sae meets a girl who turns his entire world upside down

warnings:- underground fighter!sae, fem!reader, heiress!reader, reader is coded to be feminine (wears dresses, makeup, heels, etc), language, cursing, mentions of blood, mentions of food, mentions of alcohol, suggestive content, unprotected sex, hate sex, oral sex, rough sex, petnames (princess, whore, slut, daddy's girl), power play between sae and reader, degradation, exhibitionism, sae's repressed emotions™

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ masterlist ࿐ྂ

✯ chapter 2

Aiku was furious when he heard the truth. 

“You slept with her?” he hissed. “With an investor?” 

At 7AM, it was too early to be harassed and lectured by his long time friend. Sae could barely keep his eyes open. 

“Yeah,” he muttered nonchalantly, picking up his cup of coffee and blowing steam off the surface, ignoring a vein popping from Aiku’s forehead. 

“You asshole.” 

Sae never did admit he was a particularly nice or smart guy. “Yeah, yeah. Pile it on me.” 

“You don’t get it, huh?” the other man groaned. “Sae, this isn’t some floozy girl you took back home after a night out. This is L/N Y/N. Her family could buy us out ten times over! You’re messing with the wrong woman.” 

Pausing the cup halfway to his mouth, Sae scrutinised his exasperated friend with a raised brow. When he didn’t say anything else, Oliver let out a heavy breath. The despair in his friend’s mismatched eyes almost made him feel guilty. Almost. 

“Tell me you at least promised to see her again.”

Sae’s silence stretched on. Oliver’s expression crumpled in disbelief. 

“Fuck,” Aiku groaned, like he was in pain. “We’re dead meat.” 

“I will,” Sae insisted, frowning. He set his cup down and fixed his friend with a determined look. “I can still make this right for us.” 

“You better,” Oliver warned, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Or else we can say goodbye to the Ult Match and spend the rest of our lives in petty rings.” 

Despite how apathetic he was on the outside, Sae wasn’t an asshole on the inside. Aiku was an inch away from ripping out his hair, and he wasn’t a sadistic bastard to sit back and watch him do it. Sae would try to make it right with you for his best friend’s sake. 

“Fine. I’ll go to her office tomorrow and apologise.” 

A pair of green and purple eyes fixated on his neutral expression. “Sae… you can’t fuck it up for us.” 

Hard not to when Aiku was constantly harping on him to do better. But, his next words snatched Sae’s snark back before it had a chance to spew out of his mouth. 

“The boys… they believe in you, Itoshi.” 

Sae flickered his teal eyes to catch Aiku’s gaze. For once, his friend and manager was dead serious. “They see you as a way out of this life. Everyone is rooting for you to win. Don’t let them down.” 

A pedestal truly was a lonely place. Sae had never given much thought to how daunting the burden on his shoulders were until Aiku pointed it out through his less-than-poignant warning. The other boys in U20 had their eyes on him. They were waiting for his move; the blueprint to their next actions in this violent world resting upon his unwilling pen. 

Sae never asked for such idolisation or those inexperienced necks craned up towards him. He only wanted to fight. 

“Fine.” A million plans were running through his mind, starting with how he could get an audience with you. “I’ll try to convince her. Though, I am not going to stoop low enough to lead her on. I can’t afford to be distracted.”

Returning to his bastard ways when it came to women, Aiku smirked. “I know you won’t fall for her. Just charm her enough till the purse strings loosen. You’ll succeed. “

His friend’s faith in him restored, Sae stood up, slinging his suit jacket over his rumpled button down. 

“See you later.”

“Sae?” 

He craned his head back to find Aiku struggling with his next words. Eventually, the heterochromatic-eyed man pursed his lips. Sae expected another warning or a threat. Not what Oliver said next. 

“Good luck.” 

Foreboding. Hopeful. Oliver’s hopes and dreams were hinged on this entire meeting. 

A twitch appeared in the corner of his mouth. 

“Thanks. Expect good news later.”

His knee was bouncing rapidly up and down, a nervous tick he had not managed to get rid off since his childhood. 

Against his expectations, you had agreed to another meeting with him, the message relayed back to his stiff figure seated in the waiting room by your bored, matronly personal assistant. He wished he could pinch himself that this was real, but that witch behind the desk would judge him. Sae settled for looking around, drinking in your beige walls and calm lights. 

He wasn’t an artistic person per say, but your expert eye was obvious from the tasteful furniture you laid around this calming office, down to the stack of timeless fashion magazines on the coffee table. Sae thumbed through the thick stack when your assistant called his name, gesturing to your slightly ajar door with a roll of her eyes. 

Aiku’s voice chimed in the back of his head, lending him strength. Do this for the boys. 

Sae stood up, nodding his thanks. He was dressed in a casual sweater and jeans, which in hindsight, was making him sweat like a sinner in church. Sliding his clammy palms down the acid wash denim, he squared his shoulders and pushed your door open further. Your office was designed in the same scheme as the outside decor; elegant beige and wooden furnishings with gold accents. He suddenly felt too shabby standing in the middle of this space.

He hated to admit how his mouth ran dry at the sight of you. You were clad in a simple A-line dress and stockings, heeled foot gently tapping a sprightly rhythm against your desk. The morning sun bounced off your skin, giving it an admirable inner glow. Your ruby red lips were set in a neutral pout and you nodded in greeting when you caught his eye. 

“Hello again.” 

Sae wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, so he stuffed them into his pockets. “Hey. How’re you?” 

You shrugged, and he tried to not eye a loose strand of hair brushing your neck. “I’m fine. Tired, but nothing too bad.” 

He hummed and hawed, unsure of how to break the ice. Just last night, he had you pressed into your own sheets and screaming his name. Apparently, you were recalling the same memories he was. Your face flushed, and you were no longer an unattainable woman; right now, you reminded him of a young girl speaking to her crush in broad daylight. 

“What do you want, Itoshi Sae?” 

A repressed shiver fought to run down his spine. He liked it whenever you said his full name.

“Funding,” he mumbled, not sugar-coating his real intention. The young man took a deep breath, not above begging for your help. “I know we had a rocky start, but I’m doing this for my team and would like to humbly request your backing during the next match.” Balling his hands into fists, he waited for your answer. Sae was never good with words so he hoped his honesty more than made up for his standoffish personality.

Those pretty lips of yours pursed into a deeper pout. 

“Ego-san spoke to me this morning.” 

At the mention of Blue Lock’s infamous coach, Sae struggled to hold back a grimace. Had you already struck a deal with that asshole? He hoped you didn’t—if not he would’ve wasted his time coming over here to convince you. 

“And he shared with me Rin’s stats.” Scrutinising him from head to toe, you blinked. Innocent and curious. “That’s when I realised both of your last names match—Itoshi.” 

Sae’s heart sank slightly. As much as his entire family history was left out in the open for investors to pour over, something about the thought of you being privy to it made him nervous. Like he was about to fail an exam he didn’t study for. 

Your pretty, deep eyes met his, and in them was a world of curiosity. 

“He’s your brother, right?” When he didn’t reply, you pressed on. “And you’re standing before me, asking for money to injure and potentially kill your own younger brother.” 

His mind turned fuzzy, thoughts slowing down. You slid your gaze right to his tensed and closed fists. 

“Why?” 

Sae’s reaction was immediate. He pivoted on his heel and marched right towards the door.

“Wait.” 

A dark, deep anger was unfurling in his chest, but your command that was spoken from a higher power than his own standing made him instinctively pause. Sae’s entire body was rigid, and if anyone were to look closer, they would find his clenched palms trembling. 

He heard the crisp click-clack of your heels on the floor. Felt your hands sliding down his back in an empathetic touch. It took every ounce of his self-control not to turn around and bury himself in your embrace.

“I’m sorry.” Your tone was soft, regretful. “I only wanted to understand where you were coming from. I can give you the funds, but I want you to think this through. No matter what anyone says, a brotherly bond can never be destroyed.”

It was, Sae swallowed hard. It is destroyed beyond repair. But, he didn’t have the courage to put those thoughts into words. 

“I can handle it,” he chose to reply in a gruff, aloof tone. You let your hands fall to your side, at an impasse with the notoriously stubborn prodigy. 

“Okay,” you finally whispered. Sae turned around, and for a split second, you were graced with the rising sun of hope burning through his beautiful teal eyes. It was a breathtaking view, better than any scenic seaside you had seen throughout your life. “I’ll give you the money.” 

Without a caveat or a requirement. You sat back down behind your desk and nodded towards the door. “Ask your manager to send me an email. I’ll make the transfer latest by tomorrow.” 

Sae felt like someone had just punched him right in the noggin. Did this really just happen? His ears were ringing.

You had gone back to scribbling in your notebook, your brow furrowed and attention resolutely not on him. He couldn’t help but to admire the slope of your neck or how your messy bun made you look much younger than you were. 

“Why’re you still standing here?” 

You sounded amused more than hostile. Sae unwittingly took one step forward. 

“I’m sorry for this morning,” the words tumbled free from his loose lips before he could stop them. “If I made anything awkward or I hurt your feelings… I’m sorry.” 

Your forgiveness was given to him in a flash, a grace which he didn’t deserve. 

“We’re fine.” 

Till his dying day, Itoshi Sae would never know what compelled him to reach for your hand or for the next words to spill from his stiff lips. 

“Let me make it up to you. Have dinner with me.” 

Your wide, unblinking eyes spoke volumes of your shock. “Um. O-okay.” 

Gingerly letting your hand go, he bowed his head forward. “Thank you. I’ll pick you up.” 

“I can drive—”

“No,” his earnestness radiated beyond his exclamation, catching himself off guard. “Let me do it. It’s the least I… I can do.” 

Your answering smile was both unsure and sincere. “Okay. I’ll send you my address again.”

Sae returned your grin with a brittle one of his own. Then, he turned on his heel and left your office, feeling lighter than he dared dreamed; filled with a dangerous sort of optimism. 

And in his dark and bloody world, nothing was more lethal than hope.

As much as he liked to pretend that he was unaffected after every meeting with you, Sae could not lie to himself.

The days passed in a haze. One dinner became two, and then he was seeing you for the third time in a week, driving to your apartment where you always greeted him with a smile and a kiss. Sae found he liked how your mouth felt pressed to his own. It was like a sedative he could never get tired off, leaving his lips tingling and heart strangely full. 

Maybe this was how addictions began.

First, it was an innocent need to try it out for the sake of his curiosity. Then, one hit became four, and before he knew it, he was drowning in your magnetic field. You were the sweetest addiction he had ever encountered. Better than cigarettes or alcohol—he actually liked how you tasted on his tongue. 

“Sae,” your airy moan touched his neck. “Mhm… more… please…”

If you were his vice, he was your addiction. 

No one had ever touched you the way Itoshi Sae did. Not like you were a relic or a fragile piece of glass. His rough palms clasped your hips in a bruising grip, tightened around your neck when you begged him to let you cum; giving your cheek a small slap whenever he noticed your eyes rolling too far back into your head.

“Yeah?” he licked his kiss-bitten lips. “Wish your daddy could see his little girl now—how much she’s begging for some low class cock.” 

You preened and gasped, back arching at his taboo words. “Sae… d-don’t be mean…”

He nudged his face into the crook of your neck, adding another mark onto your already decorated throat. “You love it when I’m mean,” he whispered in between sloppy sucks and kisses. “Makes you cum harder.”

Your star-filled eyes strayed down his bruised chest in wonder, your own scratches and mouth leaving the same amount of destruction as his own marks had on your skin. 

He was fucking you nice and deep in your own bed, a pillow wedged under your hips and his fingers laced with yours, bringing them to the side of your head as his hips continued to languidly snap forward. You bit your lower lip, undulating your hips in tandem with his thrusts.

“True,” you laughed breathily. “But, you’ve been—mhm—denying me.”

He had, hadn’t he? Everytime you whispered you were about to cum, Sae switched the pace or the position. Going deeper, going slower. Fucking you shallowly. Slamming his entire cock into you until you could feel his head ramming your cervix. Taking his time to rebuild and orchestrate your climax.

Your hands were released, and they wound up in his hair, pulling him closer. In this position, your hips were tilted high enough for his pubic bone to grind down on your clit. It was also a perfect position to kiss him deeply while he grinded his hips sensually against yours. Doing his best to make you cum this time.

He barely noticed your smaller palm sneaking in between your two bodies until he felt your knuckles graze his hip. Glancing in between your joined sexes, Sae sucked in a sharp breath when his eyes zeroed in on your index and middle finger rubbing your clit. 

“Such a little slut,” he cooed, deep voice sending shockwaves into you. “G’na make me lose my fucking mind.” The last part was whispered under his breath, but you heard him all the same. 

Your giggle was both light and profound. “Yeah? Am I gonna make the big, bad Itoshi Sae fall for me?” 

His cool teal eyes appraised you, leaving no room for his mock displeasure when he circled his hand around your throat, choking you lightly till you gasped and your smile disappeared.

A shark-like grin and teeth flashing like knives lit up the dark room. “Don’t get too far up your head, Princess. This is purely physical for me.” 

Despite getting the upper hand, you would never let him win without a fight. “Good,” you choked out, baring your teeth. “Makes it easier for me to watch you die in the ring.” 

His thrusts sped up, fueled by your hatred. A thick thumb pried your lower lip down, pulling the plush flesh aside to run the calloused tip over your teeth. You sucked on his digit without prompting, earning a hazy flash of satisfaction in his softening teal eyes. 

“Feisty,” he murmured. “At least I know you won’t miss me. I won’t feel bad when I do this—”

With raw, untameable strength, he hoisted you from the bed, carrying you in his arms as your legs locked around his waist.

“Sae!” you squeaked, but he was already moving towards the huge, glass windows. Setting you down back on your feet, his cock slipped out of you with a lewd ‘pop’, stained with your juices. His tall and broad frame crowded you against the cool glass, and you whimpered when he pressed his aching dick to your hip. 

“Suck me in front of the city,” his order reached your heated ears as a silky whisper. “Show the world how much you truly hate me.”

For a split second, he could see a glimmer of surrender in your eyes. Maybe you would beg him to take you back to bed. Maybe you would promise him to be a good girl.

But, whatever your determination was made out of, it was the same as his. You would never back down from a fight. 

Taking him up on his challenge, you slid to your knees, ferociously beautiful eyes devouring his whole body with the intensity of his opponents in the ring. You wanted to kill him; Sae knew that. 

But, instead of driving a deathly fist into his sternum, you chose to wreck him in a different way. 

Uncaring that you were naked and covered in sweat right in front of a set of high windows which anyone from the opposite building could peek into, you glanced up at him, and slowly parted your mouth. Your eyes rippled close at the first taste of yourself on his cock. Sae watched, deceitfully unfazed as you licked up and down the prominent vein on his length, gathering enough spit in between your pursed lips to smear it over his weeping dick. 

The look in your eyes was breathtaking. 

He could physically taste your discomfort, but your ego was feeding off his own. Despite you being naked and on your knees with submission, Sae knew the truth.

It was you who controlled the entirety of this scene.

You held the strings when you raked your nails down his abs, scraping your perfect manicured tips over his balls. It was your hot mouth and tongue he was succumbing to.

His thighs were starting to tremble. Your mouth stretched into a grin, despite his length impeding your devious joy. With one simple push, you had him pressed against the windows, shuffling on your knees slightly so that you were bracing your hands on the cool glass and fucking your throat up and down his cock. 

Sae’s fingers tangled in your hair, roaming down your neck and shoulders. His expression was openly vulnerable, filled with an unravelling surrender which men had whenever they were at the precipice of their pleasure.

It took one flick of your tongue for him to spurt down your throat, thick and hot.

You pried your mouth off his length quick enough for his seed to splatter down your chin and neck. Some of it dribbled onto your heaving chest. Without his prompting, you locked eyes with him, drawing your trembling hands right to your tits and massaging his cum into them.

“Do you believe me now?” you whispered, voice hoarse and scratchy, kneading your tits in a way that had him hypnotised. You leaned forward to kiss his sensitive cock head, even as you spewed venomous words to contradict the tender gesture. “Do you believe how much I hate you?” 

Not as much as he hated you the very second he yanked you off your knees and drove you back to the edge of your bed. Sae’s snarl would be terrifying if he hadn’t followed it up with his mouth on your denied and desperate pussy. Peering down the line of your body, his auburn hair was dyed black by the night’s shadows, its sharp edges tickling your bare thighs. 

You tossed your head back, curling your fingers in his locks. 

The pent-up anger and heartbreak pushed you down the teetering edge of your most painful orgasm. Your clit pulsed against his tongue, your abdomen contracting rapidly as your body expelled a gush of slick which stained his chin and nose. Sae continued to lap through your folds even in the throes of your orgasm. He didn’t care that your legs were shaking or if you were begging for him to slow down. He wanted your surrender to be as agonising as his own.

After the world had stopped spinning, you found yourself in his arms, your face pressed into his chest. Sae was fast asleep, knocked out from the potent oxytocin cocktail.

You stubbornly tried to stay awake for longer, not willing to let the fight go even if there were no winners between your bruised and exhausted bodies.

Eventually, your eyelids must’ve slipped close on their accord, and you nodded off to sleep, curling your hand over Sae’s left pec and nuzzling your nose into his pulse point, comforted by these simple signs of his steadiness and strength. 

“You look like someone mauled you twice over.”

Aiku’s annoying lilt greeted Sae the moment he arrived into their makeshift gym. Setting his bag on the ground, he narrowed his eyes, not in the least bit embarrassed by the marks on his chest and neck.

“Shut the fuck up. It’s too early to deal with you.” 

The heterochromatic-eyed man laughed. “Whoa, slow your roll, you usually leave the swearing for 10AM.” 

Sobering up, his friend took one good look at him. “Were you with her?” 

Sae stiffened. Why should this fucker care? 

“Fuck off. And tell Shidou I’m ready for our training,” he mumbled coldly, completely ignoring Oliver’s innocent question. 

Knowing how stubborn his starfighter could be, the other man sighed. “I’ll get that roach in. Just—” he pursed his lips, eyeing the marks you left around his pecs and nipples. “—you know what… never mind.” 

Sae slipped on his gloves, ready to start the day. His schedule was easy to track: wake up, stretch, meditate, work out, lunch, workout, snacks, workout, tussle with Aiku or Shidou, and then hit the hay. Every wedge of the clock was decided for him to be as productive as he could.

But, he never factored in you. 

Instead of a clear mind and fresh air, he started the day with your arms curled around him and the sight of your sleepy eyes cracking open. Where are you going? Your hoarse voice reached him from where you were swaddled in your blankets.

“Out,” he muttered curtly, unable to turn around and face you. Knowing he would see your crestfallen expression.

When Aiku told him to charm their biggest investor, he never expected to be wrapped up in her body almost every single night. Sae didn’t hate it per say—but it was encroaching a dangerous territory. He was starting to grow comfortable beginning his day with you. 

The sandbag bore the brunt of his displeasure. He worked his muscles down to the ligaments, stopping for five minute water breaks and nothing else. The gym Aiku had rented for U20 was slowly emptying out, other fighters leaving for home or lunch. Even Oliver had packed up and left with a cheery wave, tossing the keys onto the counter and telling him to close up. 

Sae grunted in acknowledgement, returning back to his heavy hits and feigns. He was half an hour into his workout when he realised he wasn’t alone. 

Through the blurry exhaustion, he faintly made out your smile.

“Hey, champ,” you murmured, looking absolutely gorgeous in your tank top and linen shorts. So very different from the business-class woman he was used to. 

Sae blinked, standing up straighter. “Hey. What’re you doing here?” 

Shooting him a smile, you shrugged. “I was driving by the area and decided to survey the U20 gyms… you know, to make sure my investment is sound.” You approached him, and Sae felt something in his chest bump up a notch. Without hesitation, you yanked yourself up the firm ring skirt and into the ring itself. 

You surveyed the space with interest. Before Sae could open his mouth and gruffly tell you to leave, you rooted him to the spot with a sweet smile.

“Can you teach me some moves?” 

This time, Sae was too stumped to refuse you. He nodded, unsure of what power you held over him to make him agree to something stupidly dangerous for his heart. He walked over to you, engulfing you in his heat when he adjusted your stance.

“Part your feet wider.” When you hesitantly did as he ordered, Sae clicked his tongue, and nudged your ankles apart further with the tip of his foot. “Get into a steady base. Keep a neutral spine.” 

He taught you how to throw a hit, and almost smiled when you got it right the first time. Fighting comes naturally to you, he wanted to compliment, but the words were stuck in his throat.

Flushed and eager, you flashed him a smile that had his stomach flipping on itself. “How do you train everyday and not want to eat all the time? I’m starving!” 

Sae pretended to look over his shoulder at a blinking exit light so he could hide his half-smile. Your innocence was infectious. 

He turned back to you with his signature serious look, and said, “Let’s go for lunch, then.” You perked up. 

“Okay,” with a small chirp, you walked to the edge, but Sae beat you to it. He got down the ring, parting the rope and offering you his hand. 

“Some asshole broke his neck when he tripped,” he began to explain, in case you got the wrong idea, judging from your wide-eyed stare. “Don’t want you to end up dead on my watch.”

You fought back a smile, taking his hand. Sae surprised you by grabbing your waist, nudging an arm underneath your thighs to literally sweep you off your feet in a bridal style carry, until you were gently set back down onto the floor.

“Just how strong are you?” you managed to exhale when you got your breath and wits back. The imprint of his touch burned your skin and you swore you felt like your face was about to explode with heat. 

In answer, he flashed you a grin. The first time he had ever fully smiled at someone. 

“Really strong,” he bit on his tongue before he could add ‘princess’. He shouldn’t be calling you a pet name outside of the bedroom; not because it was wrong but because he would slip up and confuse you—confuse himself. 

Killing the voices in his head, he gestured for you to follow him to his car, enticing you with an offer you couldn’t refuse. 

“Ramen? My treat.” 

Boy meets girl, boy falls in love. 

At least, it was close to love as Sae could fathom. 

Without even realising it, his days and nights with you grew longer. The meticulous hours he portioned during his day growing out of whack the longer he spent time with you. Sae used to think he was above petty distractions; that he had a will of steel. 

Little did he know how much it started to creak and crumble whenever you reached out to touch him. 

Yesterday morning, you had found him in your living room, perusing through your stack of paperbacks. When you called out his name, the auburn-haired fighter nearly threw your copy of Before The Coffee Gets Cold under your couch. 

“You’re not very discreet,” you mumbled, coming over to him and pinching his blushing cheek. Sae huffed and withdrew the book from behind his back, scowling at the cover. 

“Why do you have this book?”  

His tone sounded almost accusatory, but, weeks of knowing him made you understand it was his embarrassment hidden behind his gruffness. 

“Because I love it,” you mumbled, and somehow, found yourself sitting on his lap, flipping through the pages and reading out your favourite parts. 

This little sliver of knowledge about your literary tastes gave Sae a burst of courage to invite you back to his own apartment. At first, he was worried it would be too threadbare for you, but you never commented on the lack of furniture or personality. 

“As long as you have a bed and hot water, you’re better than so many others,” you told him bluntly. Sae quietly agreed, his childhood on the streets flashing into his mind.

The pile of romance novels he had saved from the old bookstore down the street was the subject of your intense scrutiny. He thought you could’ve dug up his past through those yellowing pages; unearthed his every insecurity from studying which book was the most weathered and annotated. His fists were clenched at his side, teal eyes rapt on your relaxed figure.

Then, you snapped your eyes back to meet his and smiled so brightly, he almost forgot what he was afraid of. 

“Read this for me,” you gently pushed an old copy of Romeo and Juliet into his hands. Sae glowered, and he opened his mouth, about to refuse you when you stood on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “You have a nice voice. Read to me, please?”

For the second time in his short life, Sae found another person bundled in his arms, enjoying the simple delight of reading a book out loud while rain pattered down the grimy windows. 

There was a hollowness appearing in his chest, not from sadness, but an ache he couldn’t quite control. It reared its spiked head whenever you nuzzled his chest or kissed him softly. Demanded for him to devour every goodness in his path whenever he caught you smiling at him fondly.

Sae sensed you were falling in love with him.

And he was helpless to stop you. 

Yet, there was a gaping hole right above that monstrous hollowness. It clashed heads with the beast, demanding for a piece of your attention. Demanding to hold you till you solidified within his grasp. Until he could finally get rid of the knives lodging in his lungs and breathe freely. 

He curled a lock of your hair around his finger, tugging on it gently enough not to wake you up from your nap. You had nodded off to sleep when he was twenty pages into the book, curling into the crook of his arms. 

Sae snapped the crumpled paperback shut, and set it on your thigh. 

Your breathing was steady, lashes casting shadows over your cheeks. He ached to kiss each mark on your face, holding himself back from the monster looming in the back of his mind. 

But, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to press his lips right to your cheek. He pursed his lips in his own awkward rendition of a kiss, leaning back immediately when he felt your breathing stutter. The scent of vanilla and coconut from your skin stung him like a sweet rush of electricity.

I love her. 

Simple and kind. Those words did not strike him with fear, but a sense of realisation. 

Swallowing hard, Sae tried to tame the butterflies exploding in his belly. They fought to escape, ramming past his ribcage with the ferocity of a stampede. 

I love her.

He should’ve been afraid of such a revelation, but all Sae felt in this moment was pure, unadulterated peace. 

Boy falls in love with the girl.

And so, the story begins.

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

[torchwood-99]

And this is even when Gandalf literally spells out that one of the reasons she's depressed is because she'd been forced into a feminine role that didn't suit her.

Sometimes I still think about that "Eowyn is only depressed because she rejects femininity. That's why she's happier when she becomes a healer and Faramir's pretty little housewife." post and I just want to throw up.

Tell me you didn't understand her character and Tolkien's whole message without telling me, I guess. Also why are we still at war = masculine and healing = feminine???

[richarlotte]

more things you swear by?

Japanese Lingerie.

I swear by Japanese lingerie, especially if you love detailed sets. My body doesn’t suit American-made lingerie now that I’ve lost so much weight, and I learned about Japanese lingerie from r/abrathatfits on my journey to find what suited me. The bras are forward projecting and give me a much better side view. I love buying matching lingerie sets, and the sets I usually go for are lacy and intricate; they’re incredibly well priced for the quality they are, and they fit me the way I like my sets to fit me. Buying lingerie is extremely feminine to me, and I love finding sets that complement my body. I’m still not as secure in my new body as I’d like to be, and good lingerie makes me feel beautiful again.

French Tips.

French tips are my go-to. They look good, they’re low maintenance, they’re universally acceptable, and they look clean. When done right, they make my hands look longer and thinner than they are, and I love that with a thinner white line, they look and feel delicate. I mostly do French mani-pedis; it’s a habit I got into when I first went to Chicago, and it’s served me well, so I doubt I’ll ever stray from it. The nail salon combo is widely accepted to be DND865 and DND473, and I do an acrylic overlay on top of my natural nails, keep an oval shape, and request a thin tip if I’m not doing BIAB again. I won’t get into the acrylic vs. BIAB debate at the moment, but I will say that when properly done, BIAB looks amazing, is better for helping you retain length, and it lasts longer than acrylic while looking better.

Classic Makeup and Flicky Layered Hair.

I love styling my hair and doing my makeup; it’s like a reward for waking up in the morning. I get to sit down, make myself pretty, and enjoy the entire process. I figured it was time to update my skincare and makeup routines once again, so I took the time to start watching makeup tutorials (Uma Jammeh, amazing) and using what products I already have to adapt certain looks to my face. As for hair, I’m obsessed with Sarmadina de Beaute as of late and layers. I think my hair looks best with heavy, flicky layers (Remington curls) if I don’t have the time to do a blowout, and I’ve really embraced the process of both finding styling inspiration and actually doing my hair. I found my ultimate inspiration the other day, ordered hair immediately, and cut and styled one of my synthetic wigs to get the look in the interim, and I’m smitten.

Minimal Jewelry.

I’ve always worn minimal jewelry; I’m a major fan of Cartier, and I’ve curated a small collection that I wear nearly every day. I love accessorizing, but I don’t like wearing a million things that have no meaning; I prefer to only wear things I love or things that have a story behind them. Gold is my metal and diamonds are my jewel. I prefer this combo over all of the other combos I’ve seen or worn before, but I also occasionally wear mother of pearl when the time is right. I dislike being weighed down by poorly made pieces; I think jewelry can be used as a statement (when needed), and putting thought into what I wear and what I want my jewelry to say has saved me a lot of misery. With the exception of my charm necklace or lavaliere necklace, I try to wear the same sets every day.

Lymphatic Massages and Red Light Therapy.

Now that it’s November and the weather is soon to turn cold again, I’m much more focused on cardio and my diet. Because I’ve filled my weekday mornings with Pilates and my afternoons with the elliptical and stairmaster, I’ve added lymphatic drainage massages and red light therapy to my weekend schedule. I’ll be in Europe, on the slopes, in the freezing cold for the majority of my winter break, and I’m preparing for that now. Lymphatic massages are a lifesaver for me, especially during allergy season, and full-body red light therapy is just an additional benefit. I’ve also switched from studio yoga to hot yoga and from the steam room back to the sauna, stopped drinking coffee, and really started focusing on increasing my flexibility.

Tinting, Tanning, and Toning.

I love having dark skin already, but I do tend to go wild with the self-tanning in the winter. In my mind, there’s nothing more beautiful than dark skin against white snow, and the darker I am, the better I look. I grew up being told that I was too dark, but I’ve embraced it. I’m proud of my skin, and I love the richness of it, and I use tanner as a way to cover up the scarring on my body and contour my face. As for tinting, I tint my brows and lashes darker than I normally would in the colder months because they don’t turn over or fade as quickly. I never ever tint my eyebrows jet black; that color is far too harsh for my face, and I can’t pull it off at all. I use the darkest brown on my brows and jet black on my lashes. When it comes to toning, I spray my entire body with the Ordinary’s glycolic acid and let it dry after showering for the best results. I swear by it for clearing body acne and preventing any body odor.

It’s similar but different.

[venuslcver]

CAR RIDE TO SCHOOL ⋆

pairing: season4!robin x cheerleader!reader

synopsis: a standard car ride while dating robin.

tw: feminine described character, fluff, kissing, au without standard 80's homophobia (no use of y/n)

any type of interaction including likes, comments, and reblogs is appreciated! but ultimately not necessary. let me know if im missing any warnings!

the screech of your, neon pink-colored, alarm clock filled your room. echoing throughout the vicinity of your large, pastel bedroom. finally easing up in noise when your palm collided against the base of it. letting out a huff, while laying your head back against your plush pillow, blatantly ignoring the alarm.

trying to dose off back into a slumber, although you were extremely tired. it happened to be just your luck— you couldn't fall back to sleep for the life of you.

great.

now fully awake, you turn to push your face into the pillowcase that incased your pillow, asperatedly screaming into it. seeing that it is 7:05, you began scrambling out of the bed, feet colliding against the cream, carpeted floored room. making your way towards your bedroom connected bathroom.

sliding the spaghetti straps off of your shoulder, hips wiggling out of your pajama slip-dress. throwing you hair into hair-style that would keep it from getting wet. slipping into the steam filled shower, you began suzzing the entirety of your body in raspberry scented soap, loofah in hand.

hearing steve's car pull into your driveway, you began scrambling down the second story of your house, slamming your pristine, bleached white cheer shoes against the stairs. walking with haste to the kitchen, greeted with the smile of your mother, plate in hand, stacked with pancake after pancake, enough food to feed you, steve, and robin— your girlfriend.

swiftly pecking the cheek of your mother, you took the plate out of her hand. slamming the front door, a smile, now, written on your face as you saw robin— head poke out of the semi-rolled-down window.

"yess, steve i told you that she would make food!"

seeing robin open up the passenger door to steve's car, she left a quick peck on your forehead before getting in the very middle, back seat. robin always, without fail, gave up the front seat for you. the one, and only time that you joined her in the back seat, steve accused robin and you of making out.

"you guys better not be sucking face back there"

ever since then, you had to spend all your time in steve's car, in the front seat. throwing your backpack into the passenger seat of the car, you slid into it while balancing the plate of pancakes. setting it on the center console, the hands of robin and steve began plucking them off quickly.

mouth stuffed to the brim with pancakes— yet you were still able to understand the insulting words that steve was hurling at you, "mhm these are good! there is no way that you made these"

the whole entirety of the car ride to school was usually spent on steve obnoxiously singing music from the cassette tape he made. At the same time, you leaned back in the passenger seat allowing robin access to your face to apply makeup.

it isn't abnormal if robin quickly glances over to steve, and when she sees his usual distracted-self dancing. barely even paying attention to the road, let alone paying any mind to the two of you— every fiber of attention paid forward, towards doing your make-up dissipated from robin's mind.

she would swiftly lay a passionate kiss on your lips, just lengthy enough to satisfy her need for affection, at least till you got to school. steve was even more strict than your mother, hell, you could go as far as to say the same about your father. but not too long, not lasting long enough for mama steve to start nagging you and robin, along with the over-dramatic fake gagging that would ensue.

though it needs to be said, that you would be the one that would be pulling away no matter how annoying you found steve. you thought that robin's friend was rather very kind for offering to drive you guys to school, even if that meant that he would have to leave his house extra early than he usually would for work.

arriving at your high school, robin is swift to vault out of the car, peeling the passenger door gaping open. now, clutching your backpack, for you, with her right hand. her other hand guided you out of the car, before gliding her palm against your cheer skirt, flattening it, to avoid you flashing the entire school your ass.

[auspicioustidings]

Kinktober Day 14

Moniker: Calisto Risk Level: Low. Calisto is a part-time resident who is detained as needed. She is currently not detained and is visiting freely. Brief: Daddy kink Safeword: Refer to first brief.

Let Calisto look after you as she needs, I will be watching habibi - Farah

“No mon amour, you let daddy take care of that hm?”

Calisto’s strong shoulders muscled between you legs. You weren’t sure that her being on the floor between your thighs as you sat on the sofa was the best way for her to blow on the steaming cup of tea you were holding, but it certainly made your cunt pulse pathetically for her.

It was some cruel and unusual punishment being with Calisto today. She was gorgeous for a start but that wasn’t the bit that was making you want to bite your own hands off. No, it was that for the last hour she had looked after you perfectly and made everyday things unbearably erotic without actually touching you where you needed her.

Taking your hoodie off when it got too warm? Her strong hands had slowly ran up your sides as she took it off for you. You wanted to get comfy on the sofa? Her corded forearms popped as she had fluffed up the pillows while you were sitting there, brushing against your ass and then patting it to get you to move where she wanted. Hungry? You got hand fed little bites of food. Crumbs on your mouth? She dragged her tongue against them to clean you up. Tea too hot? Well now here she was, right between your legs kneeling up so she could blow on it for you.

And as with every other time you knew the polite response she wanted.

“Thank you daddy.”

Again, like every other time those words left your mouth, your pussy flooded with arousal and your nipples peaked almost painfully. You weren’t sure it was a daddy kink as such, more a calling this woman specifically daddy kink. Christ when you walked into the Kennel you thought you were straight, or at least you had never really thought about it. But now with her in a greyish white tank top (wifebeater style, the kind of top you imagined on some vicious husband before bedtime in the 1920s), you wanted to bite her fucking shoulders.

They were so decidedly masculine even in their feminine slope. You had never considered that shoulders would make you salivate before but here you were. She was driving you fucking crazy.

“Um… daddy?”

“Yes mon amour?” she said adoringly, sweet and solid and sounding like the perfect person to look after you.

“I would really like to touch myself.”

She considered for a moment, overacted it really, before gently taking the mug of tea and setting it on the table behind her.

“Keep your pretty hands where they are, daddy will take care of it oui?”

Her hands were nimble and efficient in pulling your sweats and panties down and you eagerly lifted you hips so they could slide past your ass. She took care in dragging them all the way down, lifting one ankle at a time to get them fully off before folding them neatly and setting them next to the tea.

She looked at your leaking pussy and then up at you with expectation.

“T-thank you daddy” you sputtered, so over eager to have her touch you that it was making you tongue tied and having you lightly humping air.

“Settle” she said, pressing firmly on your mons to get your hips to go down so your ass was once again on the sofa and not pushed up into the air. “You should have told daddy sooner mon amour, how can I take care of you if you do not tell me what you need?”

“Sorry daddy. I need you to make me cum, please. Please daddy” you begged, pushed well past what was a reasonable amount of pure pulsing need. You were pretty sure you passed it sometime around her licking the crumbs from your lips.

“Shh, daddy’s got you. Let’s see now” she said as she circled the pad of her delicate middle finger on your clit. “Poor thing, so swollen and needy.”

You could only whine while she methodically played with you. Fuck, her forearm flexing was making you insane. Your poor brain was imagining it was her fist instead of Mace’s yesterday, it was her hand pushing inside you while that gorgeous forearm tried to follow.

Or what if she played with your clit just like this while Farah pushed her cock inside of you from below? Or maybe you could just sit and watch and fucking struggle as Calisto and Soap made out with each others cunts.

“Keep going mon amour, what else? Perhaps you want me and Keegan to punish you together when you are being naughty hm?”

Fuck you had been spilling all of your fantasies out loud.

“Yes! God daddy please, I know you’d take good care of me!”

She rewarded your candor with two slim fingers diving inside of you and rubbing your walls while her thumb took over on your slippery clit. You were launching towards an orgasm at record fucking speeds.

“Of course I would, but you wouldn’t need it hm? Such a good girl mon amour, maybe instead of punishment it would be a reward for you. Would we slap this juicy clit so hard you suffer la petite mort?”

Oh God, oh God, oh God. She wasn’t even thrusting harder or speeding her thumb or by any account trying to make you nearly pass out from the rush of pleasure, but you hurtled headlong into an orgasm so fast and hard that your whole body spasmed violently, your toes curled and then after what felt like an endless glut of euphoria your body went weak and slack.

You gave a valiant twitch when she cleaned you up with her tongue, a little ‘mmm’ vibrating against your slit because this was very much a fine wine to her. After she deemed you sufficiently proper, she dragged your panties and sweats back up your legs, slipping them on one ankle at a time.

She had to pat your ass a few times before you managed to weakly lift it for her to get them past and on properly.

You couldn’t hold the tea anymore, you weren’t sure you’d be able to hold a feather. But your daddy was there to take care of you so brought it to your lips for you to sip. It had cooled to the perfect temperature, almost like she had planned it all out.

Honestly you could believe it, after all, who could ever look after you better than daddy?

[finepotato]

"𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮.." (Rodrick Heffley x Camboy!Male Reader) #1

𝘊𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘢𝘶…

(None of the pictures are mine and I don't take credit for them.)

"See you all next week..", you wave at the camera and switch off the stream. You sigh and change into more comfortable clothes. You lay on your bed, scrolling through your phone.

You had transfered to Crossland high school. And within a few weeks, you had instantly become quite popular,partly because of your flirtatious persona. With your cute face and feminine body, you were the perfect pretty boy at school. You stayed at a dorm for students. You were a clean and tidy person and managed things on your own. But rent along with groceries was not exactly cheap. So, you decided to do the most sensible thing; become a camboy.

It wasn't difficult either. Your face card was enough to bring in viewers fast. You were a bit nervous during the first stream but within the next few weeks, you became much more confident and a favourite too. With generous donations rolling in every stream, you were practically rolling in dough. It had been 3 months since you started. Nobody except your bestfriend, Carl, knew about it. And you planned to keep it that way.

It was Sunday and time for your stream. You did stream twice a week at 9pm. You switch on the website and see many people already waiting. Your set-up was nice. Light purple light flooded the room and the decoration was minimal. You adjust the camera and start streaming.

Axlace has started the stream.

"Hey, guess who's back..." You smile with a wave. "How was your day today?" You ask. Comments roll in as you read some of them.

girlyapa: It was kinda stressful today...

luckyduck567: Good. Also you look really cute today..

mr_mister: Just wanna let off some steam with you rn...

You smile. "Tiring day? I understand...it does become tough but you've just gotta keep going, right?", you speak thoughtfully. "Anyways, I got a new toy today.." You pull out a black prostate vibrator. "I found it online...you like it?" You ask.

yourgoodboi7: It's perfect...

calebrb: It's my fav color too :)

"I like it too..." You speak. You take off your shirt, the cold air hitting your lean and slightly toned body. You slide off your pants. Donations roll in as you rub yourself through your boxers. "So....any ideas?" The viewers go crazy. Some suggest you suck on it while some say you should put it in. You lick the vibrator before taking some of it in.

itsnotme27: Could you stroke yourself a bit?

"You want me to?" You lay on your bed and pull off the boxers. Your cock springs out. You stroke it gently at first, applying some lube on it. You palm yourself, tightening your fist at the bottom. You let out soft moans, feeling the prominent vein on your underside. You lie face down and lift your pale ass to the camera. "Should I put it in?" You ask, giving the camera a good view of your puckered hole.

hubnon03: God, you're such a slut..

notyoboi: Put it in, you know you want to...

You give the vibrator one final lick before putting it to your hole. You move to give a good view of your hole. You read the comments and see the donations. One catches your eye.

lodediper donated 100 moras

Lodediper? That sounded kinda familiar. You had heard that somewhere. But where? It's not like it mattered. You shake that thought and focus on the task in hand. You push the vibrator inside slowly, ragged breaths escaping your mouth. Donations were coming in fast. You start to move the vibrator, wet squelching sounds and your moans filling the room. You switch it on and a pleasurable current runs in you. Your back arches a bit and your eyes shut as you let out strangled moans. "Ah.....feels..good..." You try to look at the comments.

kikae: Don't cum yet...keep going and don't touch yourself..

You oblige. Your cock was painfully hard in a few minutes, precum leaking from it's angry, red tip. You let out a loud moan as the vibrator hits your prostate. You were close. "C-Can...I come? Please?" you speak, voice cracking and drool collecting at the side of your mouth.

As the commenters agree, you switch the vibrator on to the highest setting. You let out a loud whine. "M'gonna come.....gonna come..." Your back arches as you come, white ropes of cum spilling from your cock. Panting and covered in sweat, you move to the camera. "Was I a good boy?" You ask, your cheeks flushed and hair, messed up. You looked like heaven, with your beautiful green eyes, hooded as you pant.

jongtim80: You were the best boy...

You smile at the comment as you blow a kiss to the camera. "Thanks for all the love. See you next week.." You speak as you turn off the camera. You get up to go clean yourself. "I don't wanna cook.." You huff. "Meh, Doordash today, I guess..", You shrug and order yourself a meal for your hard work. You check the donations for the day. A grand total of $2879.

You smile, satisfied and go to take a bath. You eat some of the food, keep the rest in the fridge and quickly go to sleep. It was a school day tomorrow. You look at your ceiling, comtemplating about life and when you realized that you were getting nowhere, you pull the blanket above your head and settle in comfortably, your eyes heavy with sleep and soon, fall asleep.

You wake up on time the next morning (thank god) and rush to put on some clothes and grab your back, headphones and head out. Texting Carl on the way, you grab the bus to your school.

You: omw, wby?

Carl: i think im preg

You: are you high again?

Carl: .....no.....maybe...idk

You: did you take too much vervain?

Carl: how tf do you know?

You: lucky guess..idk..yo ass better be at school...

Carl: kys

You: m trying but m too hot

Carl: tf...that's true tho

You put your phone in your pocket as the bus reaches your stop. You get off and head to the school. As you enter, you see Carl running towards you. "What happened? All ok?" You whisper, looking concerned. "No, apparently some guy knows about you being a camboy." Carl huffs out. Your eyes widen. "Who?" "Me....." You turn around to see a boy, your age, with messy-ass hair, looking at you with a smirk. You turn to face him. "You are?"

"Rodrick.." he responds. "Shall we take this somewhere private?" he asks. You sigh. "Ok...". You two move to an empty corner. "What do you want?" You snap. "Chill, I'm not doing anything.." he responds with a smug smile. "I just want something as.....well.....payment." he states casually. "What kind of payment?" You ask. "Hmm....I don't know..what do I want?" His eyes light up. "Be my servant for a week." he says with a flourish. "Like hell, I'm not doing that." you speak angrily.

"It's that or I'm telling everyone..." he responds. You grit your teeth. Fucking asshole. You glare at him. "If I do that, you won't tell anyone?" you ask. "Not a word." he confirms. You sigh. "Fine but don't expect me to do any weird stuff..and if anyone gets to know,I'm gonna kick your ass..." you say. Rodrick chuckles. "Yeah, yeah..but you'll have to deal with it. Also, my class is the one at the corner. Meet me after school. See you later, loser.." He walks away, satisfied as you fume with anger.

"SeE yOu LaTEr, lOsEr..." you mimic him. "Fucking weirdo..." You murmur as you walk to class. The whole day, you remain sulking and rude. During lunch, you catch up with Carl and tell him. "He's a pervert..I'm calling the cops..." he states. "I can't do anything about it either.." You sigh. "I could get him kidnapped or some if you want." Carl suggests. "No, are you nuts?" you exclaim and take a deep breath. "I'll do it. It's not like I have a choice." Carl pats your shoulder. "If that fucker troubles you too much, just call or text me, ok?" You smile at him. "Thanks."

You wait for school to be over. As the bell rings, you walk to his class tentatively. You stand outside, leaning against the wall. As the students come out, you glance at them. Rodrick catches your eye and walks to you. "Hey.." he says smugly. "Shut up and get to the point." you speak. "Ooh, fiesty....anyways..since you're my servant, you'll do everything I want." "And how the fuck will I do that? Telepathy?" you respond sarcastically. "Here's my number, loser...no need to sweat it.." he says, rolling his eyes. You sigh. "Ok, can I go now?" Rodrick turns to you. "Who said you were going?" You look at him, confused. "You're coming home with me.." "What the fuck? Why?!" you look at him.

"I'm not gonna kill you, turd burglar..geez....I need you to finish my homework..." he says. You groan. "Can't I do it later?" "No, I need to hand it in tomorrow." "Asshole..." You murmur as you glare at him and you two walk to his place.

This is gonna be a long week, you think as Rodrick gets into his van, gesturing for you to sit on the seat beside him which looked like it would fall apart with one more move. You look at him incredulously. This was definitely gonna be a long week....