#SMUG ASS COCKY ASS BIT—

[katanablue]

I just think this smug ass face he does—

[kamitv]

▷ Seven — Explicit Ver.

Synopsis . JJK men fuckin' you right on Valentines day night. / Pairings . (Separate) Toji x f!reader, Nanami x f!reader, Gojo x f!reader, Choso x f!reader, Sukuna x f!reader, & Ino x f!reader / Content . afab!reader, needy men, slight possessiveness, oral sex (m!receiving), pussy slapping, lots of teasing, handjobs, premature orgasms, subby!gojo (kinda? girl idk), soft dom!choso, lovemaking, bondage (nanami), pet names, spitting, praise, a hint of brat taming here 'n there, non-curse au, dirty talk, filth, fluff (if you squint maybe), overstim, etc. / wc . 9k (whoops lol)

A/N: Happy late Valentine’s day ladies 'n gents, hope you enjoy!! I totally didn’t get distracted by playing lads instead of finishing this. Just pretend this was uploaded on time, yeah? Thx. [MDNI]

ᡣ𐭩 Toji Fushiguro

“You can handle it, c’monnn,” Your boyfriend–, no, your fiancé (as of today) grunts out to you in between the mean thrusts he’s gifting you with.

Your fingers are busy clawing at the sheets below and you’ve got the prettiest arch for your lover. With your ass perked up in the air and his fat throbbing cock stretching your cunt so messily wide as drool slobs out your mouth and wets up the bed beneath you. You’d been fucked so dumb already and yet there he was still talking you to filth anyway.

Lopsided scared lips curving up into a smug smirk, Toji brings a hand down against the fat of your ass. Grunting, “There ya’ go, jus’ like that doll, handle that fuckin’ cock. Uhuh…”

You were–or, trying to, anyway. He’s almost always rough like this but shit even after years of being with the man, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to the girthy inches of his cock. Hence why your eyes are meeting the back of your skull and you’re babbling soft moans of his name down into the bedding.

“T-Toji,” You mewl sweetly, prompting a mean reel of his toned hips back back back until his sopping tip is left leaving a lewd lil’ kiss against the slit of your cunt. A filthy string of slick droops between the two of you and he tuts. 

“Hm? What’s wrong?” He huffs with a tilt of his head. That large hand of his gives your already hand-marked ass a gentle rub-over while he awaits your shaky reply. Your lashes are busy fluttering and you don’t even continue your statement—instead, you wiggle your hips back, urging for him to push into you again.

It’s then that Toji gets what you want and decides to tease you just a bit more, taking his heavy cock into his hands and moving to tap the head against your left ass cheek. “Whaat?” He utters breathily, almost as if he were mocking you and cooing at you simultaneously, “You want me back inside ya’?”

Nodding dumbly, you just barely angle your head to look back at him and you’re met with his intense hazy verdant gaze. “Mhm,” You grumble to him.

In comes that cocky smile of his and he completely removes his hands from both you and himself, clasping them behind his back for a moment as he redirects his gaze down to what little space remains between his cock and your pulsing hole.

“Heh,” He scoffs shortly and then nods his chin down at the lewdness below him, “Work for it. Lemme see that hand,” Toji directs, to which you hesitate little to shift your hand under your body and in between your legs, fingertips grazing his sensitive balls for half a second before you messily wrap your hand around his cock and tug on him carefully. “Fuuck,” He smiles at your fingers perfectly hugging his throbbing shaft, “That’s a pretty rock I gotcha’, isn’t it?”

Oh, right. How could you have possibly forgotten the reason he’s been acting the way he has all night. You’re engaged now. He proposed earlier that day right after dinner and it was the most romantic thing ever—of course he had you wear that ring for the rest of the night, even while he fucks you stupid.

“Mhmm…” The sound of Toji’s throaty hum makes your cunt shiver in pure need. You carefully angle his cock toward your pussy and catch a glimpse of him drooling a little before he swipes his tongue over his lips and pulls his lower one in between his teeth. Voice dipping an octave lower, “Keep goin’, guide me to her.”

Shifting your knees backwards against the bed and closing the distance between his length and you, you decide only to get back at him for a few seconds and purposefully swipe his angry cockhead up ‘n down against your slobbering folds. You watch the way his eyebrows twist up and his lips part softly, a breathy sound dangerously close to a whine falling from his dampened mouth.

“Don’t do that, baby,” Toji whispers, quickly moving his beefy hands to your hips and pushing himself forward. “Y’know how much I hate bein’...” His jaw falls open as you interrupt his sentence by merely pulling his cock an inch inside you, “...T-Teased-, shit.”

You continue on like that for a while, fucking yourself solely on his plump cockhead and getting drunk off the feeling. Not to mention the heavy grunts Toji releases as you keep control. His eyes are so greedy on you and he simply can't get enough.

Your sappy walls hug the ridges of his cock so snug that it makes his breath grow heavier by the second even though he's not fully inside you. “Fuck." Your fiancé muttered, "Look at you, all perfect jus’ f’me.”

You're slow to retract your hand and focus all your movement into your hips, feeling him give you a lazy roll forward as his cock slots back into your cunt in one slippery motion. Letting off a moan of his name once he casually reaches the hilt of your pussy, “Toji..”

He swallows down whatever pathetic noise had been on the verge of escaping his throat and gives your hips a tender squeeze, “Hmm?”

You forget why exactly you called his name for a hot second due to the way he picks up this slow but deep pace with you—a complete contrast to earlier. Your face turns into the bed for a moment and you whine, “Hnngh…" Lips parting hotly against the sheets, you eventually manage out a muffled, "'Love you."

His cock throbs inside you and you gasp at the way he snaps his hips forward unintentionally, moving his palms to the bed at your sides and leaning down to you, “You love me?” Toji taunts, earning a cute nod of your head. “Yeahhh? Go on, show me then. Show me how much you love this cock right now,” His hand slithers under you and you feel his weight press against you, deepening the aching inches inside you whilst his thick calloused fingertips meet your clit.

He doesn't even have to clarify what he means by that because you're making the filthiest mess around his cock for the nth time of that night and he's smiling over you, “Uhuh. Juuus’ like that, pretty.”

A pitched sound leaves you but you manage to find yourself again somewhere within your high, lifting your head and huffing, “S-Say it back,” Before glancing to him and shooting him a glare, accompanied with the same pout he think he fell in love with, “...A-Asshole.”

Toji rolls his eyes profoundly at that but he smiles, “Yeah, yeah, love you too, brat.” Then you feel yourself collapsing into the mattress as he leans all the way down to your ear, presses a haste kiss against your skin, and then whispers, “Can’t wait t’marry you.”

ᡣ𐭩 Nanami Kento

It's Valentine's day night and yet there you were still having to beg your husband of many years for something. Moaning, “Ken' please.” While you flash your best pleading eyes and stare up at the man.

Ever the gentleman, Nanami merely smiles at you as if he were confused, “Please, what, my love?"

Your brows twist up and you bat your eyelashes at him, glancing down to watch the way he rudely slaps his heavy cock against your cunt again, “Stop teasin’.”

Your overly handsome husband has the audacity to smile at your sudden command, “Oh? But look at you now," He says in that gentle baritone that makes your cunt clench around nothing, "You’re drooling for me..."

You wanted to say something else, y'know, argue and beg him to just fuck you already but when he lifts his cock away from your pussy entirely, all you can do is let out a pathetic whine. The sound prompts a slight spurt of precum from his tip but just to make things a lil' messier, Nanami brings his free hand up to his mouth and your eyes widen as you watch him.

Now, you've always known that your man was a gentleman during the day and a complete freak at night but god does he never fail to make your breath hitch. You watch him with glossy eyes as he spits a wad of saliva onto his finger tips, bring them down to his cockhead, smears the liquid messily over his tip, faintly moans, and then gently thrusts himself right up against your clit.

With a nasty slip against you, Nanami is left panting. His cheeks are flush with a warm shade of pink and you can feel your entire body heating up more and more by the second as he continues to tease you to tears.

You thought he'd stop there and give you what you wanted but no, the moment you moan out his name, he grows the desire to drag all this teasing out even further. Dragging his cock back against your heat and smearing his pre all over your sloppy folds, Nanami groans.

"My gorgeous girl," He murmurs to you. Though, you're not sure if it was to you or your cunt. You believe it's the later as he takes his unoccupied hand and uses his thumb and index to spread the lips of your pussy open—following this action up with another lift and mean slap of his cock, a slick wet sound entering the air as he does so.

Your back arches up a little at that and it becomes apparent to you for the first time in a while since you'd gotten to this point with your husband that, well, he's got your hands tied up over your head. You couldn't reach down and urge is cock inside you even if you wanted to (despite the bondage being your idea).

So, there you are, legs spread open like some slut-, his slut, panting and huffing at how badly you're aching for him to be inside you. Your cunt tensing around nothing with every heavy thwack of his cock and wad of spit he dribbles down onto the filthy exposure.

It's not until Nanami rolls his dripping tip around your clit in taunting circles that you start genuinely losing your mind. Your hands squirm to move at the sensation and your husband remains almost as composed as ever while watching your face twist up into pleasure. Your lashes are batting and you're releasing a soft string of moans, whispering his name, and lifting your hips in desperation.

To which he simply presses a hand down to your hip and pins you to the bed. Then he stares dead into those loving eyes of yours and starts swatting his cock head left 'n right against your twitching clit. Oh now he's just being mean.

You start pouting and open your mouth to say something, only to be cut off by a clear moan bubbling out your throat as Nanami drags his cock down, fucks himself into his fist against you, and plunges only the tip in and out and in and out of you.

"Ken please," You repeat, "Just put it in."

"I am, aren't I?" Nanami hums with a kind smile on his face.

"All of it," You grunt, trying to lifting your hips again but failing as he shoves you right back down.

Scoffing, "My wife's demanding today, isn't she?"

"You've been doing this for hours," You bite back with a bratty eye roll.

"Oh please, now she's just being dramatic. What do you say, hun?" He redirects to ask your cunt, "Think I just give her what she wants?" His cock rubs right in between your folds and you can feel the veins decorating his length throbbing. "Should I stuff you full already?"

The lack of attention to you (in a way) makes you frown, "Kento—"

"Don't be rude, sweetheart." He cuts off sharply and sternly.

You grumble something under your breath and that earns Nanami's fawn brown eyes back onto your face. It's almost intimidating the way he looks at you, a gentle glare, like he dares you to repeat yourself. Spoiler alert, you don't. If anything, you swallow thickly and wonder what's going on in his mind as to why he's staring at you so hard all of a sudden-

Nanami cuts every thought you were having off with one sharp thrust into your cunt, a nasty squelch echoing into the air along with a hitched breath from his throat. He then slumps down against you, pressing his hard chest against the softness of your own, moving his lips purposefully to the crown of your ear and tugging a bit of your skin in between his teeth.

Your arms jerk against the restrictions fastened around your wrist as the reflex to wrap them around his neck and claw at his back kicks in.

Nanami drags his hips back and the next thrust into you makes you choke out a moan right into the sex-enduced air. Your body was so so hot against his, that's why he liked teasing you so much beforehand. Sure, he could've gotten you this worked up with his voice alone but, where's the fun in that?

And as for his voice that he knows you love so much, Nanami intentionally presses his mouth against your ear and groans your name deeply. You throb so prettily around him that it makes his lips curve into a knowing smile, "I missed you.” He says into your ear.

Nanami's hands find your legs and he grips onto your plush skin firmly with those hardworking palms of his, parting you a bit wider for himself before picking up his pace.

"K-Kento, fuck!" You gasp as he angles precisely into you.

Growling hotly into your skin, “Agh, I know, I know," Nanami coos. He shifts his hips only a little and zones into that same area inside you, feeling your lips quiver around the girth of his cock, "That’s the spot, isn’t it?”

You're a bit too busy losing your mind beneath him, having already reached your orgasm the moment he slid into you and now being fucked into an embarrassing state of overstimulation. 'Guess that's where all that teasing landed you—and you have the nerve to wonder why he does it.

Chuckling at you as if he's not seconds away from stuffing you full of gooey ropes of cum, “So sensitive.” Nanami teases. He then leans up and allows his eyes to fall on your expression. You were a mess, a few tears were slipping down your cheeks, your eyes kept flickering back, and a spot of drool was spilling out the corner of your lips.

“And look at this face,” Nanami's quick to bring attention to it, to which you whine and try turning your head away from him out of embarrassment. He's been down this road with you time and time again so, all he does is bring a hand to your jaw and force you to look at him.

Inching closer to you and pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, “You look so beautiful taking all of me like this," He praises, tongue darting out to lap up the few tears you had decorating that pretty face of yours. He was so infatuated with you. "Hear me?" Nanami utters.

You manage a messy fucked-out nod but that's simply not enough for this husband of yours. No, he's a greedy man when it comes to you.

So, Nanami moves his lips over yours and sears his words right into your mouth, "Say it," He tells you, "Tell me how beautiful my wife is."

With a strong gripping clench around his cock at that, you struggle to maintain eye contact with him during this moment of intimacy and the words come fumbling out of your mouth, "Ken..."

"Tell me," He says in a gentler tone, "Please?"

"S-So beautiful," You whimper. You're so embarrassed as you say that out loud to him but, even so, your body is feeling a bit more confident than before. Leading to your legs wrapping around his toned waist and locking him into this position with you—even though you can't verbalize it, you can physically be that confident wife he loves so much.

Which is exactly why Nanami mashes his lips onto yours once you do that and starts fucking you into the bed, groaning, grunting, growling into your mouth as his tongue sloppily meets yours.

After all, what kind of man would he be if he didn't make sure you understood how gorgeous you are on Valentine's day of all days? Which is why the remainder of the night is spent with him asking telling you to compliment yourself.

ᡣ𐭩 Gojo Satoru

Oh he’s definitely surprising you with his cock on full display for you. After spending the entire week showering you with gifts and a new surprise each day, how could he not save the best gift for the night of?

“What’s with that look on your face, do you not like your gift?” Your boyfriend, who’s currently sprawled out against the comfort of your shared mattress, asks you as you stand a few feet away simply baffled.

Blinking, you try to gather the display before you as calmly as possible. “Is this why you rushed out the bathroom like that?” You’d asked in return, referring only to a few minutes prior to this as you and your lover had bathed oh-so-romantically together.

Gojo tries his best to flash an indifferent smile, as if he isn’t utterly embarrassed right now.

You’ve got to be the only women he’d ever present himself to like this—matching bathrobe hanging just barely off of his shoulders as he lays across the bed, body dampened with water that glistens under the soft room lighting, cock exposed and throbbing as it typically does when he’s around you, with a tip that’s just as embarrassed and flushed as the rest of his body is, and a bow wrapped firmly around his base.

You hardly know where to place your eyes. He’d been basically courting you all week and loved on you a bit more than normal (which says a lot in itself because this man is just head over heels for you) just for him to end the day with one last surprise for you; himself.

Crossing your arms right under your chest and taking careful steps closer to him, a smile creeps onto your face, “I can get this anytime of the year, how’s this a gift?” You tease before dipping one knee onto the mattress.

Gojo’s rolling his eyes immediately and a pout tugs at his lower lip, “Well… I put a bow on it,” He practically mumbles out to you.

Your boyfriend really had a knack for being so utterly adorable when he wanted to. Which is exactly why you can’t help but proceed to tease him a little. “I can see that ‘Toru,” You hum softly.

And honestly, who are you to refuse a gift like this? Look at the man, he went 'out of his way' just to put a pretty lil' bow on his cock juuust for you!

Obviously you waste no time in enjoying your gift.

It started out with soft banter, a slow removal of your bathrobe, a sensual approach to him on the bed, and a quick position of yourself in between his legs. Although, it didn't take long for you to clasp your teeth onto the ribbon wrapped around him and then give it an eager tug.

By then, Gojo's breath was already heavy. How could it not be? He's got the best girlfriend a man could ever ask for in between his legs and unwrapping his cock with a hungry look in her eyes—of course he's going to have unsteady breathing.

Especially when you look up at his face as you pull the bow loose and allow it to fall out against his bare thighs. Then you're sending him a teasing wink before bringing your lips to the head of his cock. And oh he was leaking the entire time, cum dripping all down the sides of his lengthy cock before your lips fully met him.

Gojo always found himself to be a weak man in the face of you, no matter what he did, and today was no different.

Your freshly manicured nails are the only thing he can focus on to keep himself from cumming on the spot as your hand wraps around his base and you lull your tongue out to meet the crown of his cock.

Giving him one teasing kitten lick, you sigh, "Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are 'Toru?"

You're trying to kill him, clearly. If his face wasn't flushed before, it damn sure is now. This is the only reason why he tries his best to avoid letting you give him head, he always ends up like this—cheeks as red as ever, cock twitching wildly in your hand before he even enters your mouth, and voice coming out with a faint crack as he tries to respond to you.

"N-No," He responds. There's this pitch in his voice that makes your cunt throb. You never knew Gojo Satoru to have a voice crack like that. You hadn't even done anything yet. He's quick to clear his throat though, "I mean, only you've told me that."

Your plumped, lightly saliva-glossed lips wrap around the tip of his cock and his head immediately flies back. Hah, yeah, he's not lasting too long like this. "Do you like it when I tell you how pretty you are?" You whisper softly.

His blue eyes are fixed up on the ceiling now and as you continue to look up at him, you just watch the violent bob of his adam's apple as he gulps. "'Course I do," Gojo tries to say confidently, "I like anything you tell me, sweets."

"Yeah?" You purr. Ah, shit. Maybe he shouldn't have said that. "Can you look at me, Satoru?" You request softly.

Mhm, he's done for. Not able to tell you no or ignore your gentle request, Gojo forces himself to tip his head back into place and look down at you. Cum starts dribbling out from his fat cockhead again but that's not what makes him lose his mind, no.

What really gets him is the way you stick your tongue out and make him watch his lengthy inches slot into your mouth. Saliva spills past your lips and wets up the rest of his length that your mouth doesn't reach, in which you spread around with your hand as you rotate your palm against his shaft.

He can't help the full body reaction that invokes. He almost immediately sits up a bit straighter and moans, "Fuck.. Can you warn me next time before you just—"

His jaw falls slack the moment you pop your mouth off of his cock and start jerking him off with whatever saliva is left lathering his aching length. Snowy white brows twisting up in a mix of pleasure and confusion, Gojo loses his breath as you lean up to his face and meet his lips with a messy kiss.

"Mmgh," He groans against you, moving a shaky hand to your waist as he kisses you back passionately.

When you pry away from him, you grin. "You like anything I tell you, right?"

He nods, "Uhuh..." Gojo's eyes are low on yours and he wonders where exactly you're going with this. He can't think too clearly with the way you're jerking him off but—

You cut his brain off with a sensual whisper near his lips, "What if I told you about how much I like havin' your cock in my mouth?"

He cums. Right then, right there, in your hand, as prematurely as ever. And that, that is exactly why Gojo hates when you give him head. You can't help but look down at the mess your boyfriend's made of himself in your hand. So much came out that it makes you giggle.

And the fact that you've get to stop moving your hand only makes him choke out your name. To which you tune out, too focused on how much cum is still spurting out of his glazed tip. Then you make this face, as if you were satisfied with just that and...

Gojo thinks he falls in love with you all over again. He spent all week catering to you, today especially, and normally he's the one who has you like this by the end of a special night but here he was—pathetically falling for how much you seemed to enjoy seeing him like this.

Seeing him...submissive.

Yeah, but don't worry. This is only a Valentine's day thing. Trust and believe he will be reversing the roles in a moment. Y'know, as soon as you remove your hand from his cock and stop staring at him like you want to devour him whole.

ᡣ𐭩 Choso Kamo

“It’s yours Cho’, take it.”

Did you have any idea what you were even asking for sometimes? 

How could you moan out something like that when he’s mid-stoke and expect him to hold back? Of course his hips are gonna start stuttering against you and he’s gonna thrust his thick cock a bit harder than intended as words stumble out his mouth, “H-Huh?” Choso gasps, dumbfoundedly. “But, I wanted to cater to you tonight..” He pouts.

Even while literally being on top of you, gently pressing your legs against your chest, and stuffing you full of his rudely curved cock, he still had a way of being so soft ‘n kind to you. A shade of red decorates his cheeks and the tips of his ears and he’s got that lovestruck look in his eyes as he admires you below him.

Sending him the same smile he fell in love with, “You always cater to me, baby. S’okay, I don’t want you to hold back anymore.” You tell him.

Choso swallows thickly and he halts the movement of his hips for a second, leaving his throbbing cock bulging against the walls of your slobbering pussy. “But, Valentine’s day…” He trails off carefully and his brows meet in confliction, “I should be making love to you—”

Your hands move to cup his cheeks into your palms and you giggle, “You make love to me all year long.” Tugging him down and forcing his eyes to focus solely on your own, “Look at me,” You breathe out, feeling his dick twitch inside you. “Tonight… I want you to fuck me.”

“Princess,” Choso grunts, falling forward a little and motioning to kiss you. Part of him wanted to shut your mouth with his own. If you kept talking to him like that, he was gonna act on desires he’s been suppressing for a long time.

You let him kiss you for a couple of seconds but soon pry your lips away with a wet pop, whispering, “I know you want to,” You point out, earning a mean press of his hips and causing his cockhead to greet your sweet spot with the filthiest french kiss, “Ah… A-And you’ve been such a good boyfriend to me, so—”

Choso tugs his hips back and his expression changes immediately. From soft ‘n loving to something more serious, more feral, “Say that again?” He rasps out.

Your eyelashes meet a couple times in shock at his quick change in demeanor but, you don’t hesitate to hum out to him, “You’ve been a good boyfriend to me.”

His eyes get lower and suddenly his voice is growing huskier, “And the other part? What you said before that.” Choso asks, leaning up slightly and letting your hands leave his face.

“I want you to fuck me,” You repeat, confused as to what exactly this is about to earn you.

The last thing that leaves Choso’s kiss-bitten lips is a low curse of, “Shit.”

Maybe it was the first thing you said that threw him off, the whole thing about how it’s his and he should just take it, or maybe it was the look in your eyes, or even those last two statements. He’s been a good boyfriend? You want him to fuck you?? Shit, how the hell is he supposed to function properly after hearing that?

Which is exactly why it doesn’t take him long to do as you’ve asked to and fuck you down into the bed in the meanest mating press.

Cock bullying into your soaking cunt, husk groans exiting his throat, and hands all over your body to grab and hold onto any bit of your hot skin he can get to—Choso’s treating your pussy ruder than he ever has before. The nasty squelch that echoes into the air after every thrust, the way you moan his name out sexier than he’s heard you before, and the cute twitch and clench of your cunt around his cock all drive him even crazier.

You find yourself embarrassed by how quickly he makes you cum by acting the way he is and you move your hands to cover your face. Choso’s never felt this way before but the sight of you being too shy to show him your expression while he pounds into you makes him a bit greedier.

“Don’t cover your face,” Choso huffs out, “Lemme see you.” Before you could even move one of your hands away, he wraps his fingers around your wrist and tugs it away from you. You gaze up at him all wide-eyed and lost in pleasure, watching pants leave his lips and the way his hair messily falls over you. Getting a bit rougher with his thrusts and watching your eyes get even wider, “This is how you wanted me, isn’t it?” Choso asks.

You’re quick to shoot your other hand to his chest and your nails claw at his skin as you give him the weakest push, jaw stupidly hanging open with moan after moan sliding out your throat. “C-Choso,” You choke when he makes this specific face—almost as if the sight of you pushing at him for a break made his brain short-circuit.

Pupil dilating and cock pulsing inside you, Choso nibbles on his lower lip for a second to bite back a smile before grunting heavily, “You’re pushin’ me away,” He points out before dropping his weight onto you even more. “S’cute…” Choso huffs thoughtlessly. He’s beyond pussydrunk at this point, and hardly even realizes what’s coming out of his mouth. Groaning, “Ugh, I-I thought you said it was mine? Didn’t you want me to take it like it’s mine?” He sears, “Fuck you like I belong t’ya?”

A whimper flies out of your mouth because he’s only emphasizing his every question with a heavier thrust of his cock, gaze locked onto your own so he can watch the way your eyes roll back in bliss. 

“That’s it,” Choso whispers to you before lifting himself a little, letting go of your wrist, and bringing that calloused hand of his down to the lower half of your tummy. Then he presses his palm down, “Can you feel me right here?”

Slurred together, “M’gonna cum,” Starts pouring from your lips over and over in a faint whiny whisper and your boyfriend simply fucks you right through it.

Smiling, Choso seems to purr his words out, “Yeahh? C’mon then, cum on this cock,” He grunts, speeding up his pace as he feels you gush all around him, “Get it nice ‘nd messy, princess.”

Your eyes are at the back of your skull by that point and your body quakes beneath your boyfriend. You didn’t know his mouth could be so nasty with you—in a verbal sense, anyway. And the way he was staring down at you, soaking up every moan and mewl that left those pretty lips of yours, fuck it made you wonder why you didn’t ask him to do this sooner. 

You’re not sure if he’s ever made you cum that hard before (he has, you’re just a bit too fucked out to remember right now). So, as you come down from your high, he slows himself down, smearing the mix of your cum and the slick that’s been drooling from his tip all against your pulsing walls. Your pants come to a steady halt once you catch your breath and you glance up at him with this dazed look plastered all over your face.

Choso brows furrow and he nuzzles every inch of his cock into you slowly, holding himself back from fucking you into overstimulation, “S-Shit, don’t look at me like that…” He mumbles to you. Aaand just like that he was back to normal, averting his gaze and everything, “Makin’ me nervous..” When his eyes do find yours again, he leans in to engage in an intimate whisper, “Was that too much?”

You fight the urge to use whatever you have left of your stamina to laugh at him. Shaking your head, you palm his cheek again and pull him down to kiss you. Then, you speak in between his lips, “Want you to do it again, Cho’.”

His breath hitches, “O-Oh, you like that?” It takes a second for that to register but when it does, he nods and leans up, confidence returning just like that. “Mh, I’ll keep that in mind for next time. Didn’t think you’d like my mouth to be jus’ as rude as my cock is with you.”

ᡣ𐭩 Sukuna Ryomen

“What a stupid Holiday…” Sukuna grumbles out to you not to long after the two of you had arrived home from a rather romantic date. “This is no different than what we normally do," He scoffs, referring to the way you're propped up on his lap right now.

You flash your boyfriend a sly smile and rock your hips back against the bulge that’s poking up against your cunt, “Yeah, but you’re twitching more than normal, ‘Kuna.”

He kisses his teeth and glances away from you dismissively, his grip on your hips tightening. “You have been depriving me of my needs all week,” Sukuna grunts out as you rub over a particularly sensitive part of his cock.

All these stupid layers in between you and him were driving him insane. He had half a mind to toss you into the back seat ‘n rip the flimsy dress you’re wearing right off but after putting him on a sex ban from the last holiday (Christmas) that he did that… he decides to control himself a bit more on this day.

“The buildup will be worth it,” Your voice sounds weirdly sweeter than normal. It’s almost though every syllable that slips off of your tongue makes his entire body react. It was weird. You were weird.

Scoffing again, “I’m sick of this ‘buildup’ nonsense.” Your boyfriend complains to you again.

Your hands trail up along his broad shoulders and you lean closer to him, breasts grazing his beefy chest as you do so, “Sukuna—”

He’s quick to snap his eyes back onto yours due to the closer proximity and there seems to be a faint softening in those typically hard red eyes of his. “Let me at least touch you,” Sukuna murmurs. You swear you notice his face flicker into something almost needy for a split second but perhaps you imagine it. 

Or at least, you thought you imagined it until your boyfriend leans closer to you and slithers one of his arms around your waist—the other slipping down to sneak beneath the fabric of your dress and meet your bare skin. Then, he stares directly at your lips, “...Please?”

You’re taken aback by the word that just left his lips. Sukuna Ryomen, your boyfriend of two years, begging you for something? Perhaps he hit his head sometime earlier. “Did you just beg?” You chuckle out lightheartedly, not exactly taking him seriously.

Sukuna remains indifferent, as if he said nothing out of the ordinary. “I did,” He hums, dropping his gaze down to your body atop his and squeezing your leg a bit, “Lift your hips, angel.”

You blink. Then, you feel his cock practically jump under you as your next word leaves your lips, “Sukuna are you…” 

Even though you trailed off, he was losing it. You hadn’t let him do anything sexual with you in weeks and today of all days was more tortuous than any other. The dress you wore to dinner, the red lipstick stains you pressed into his neck before you’d even went out, your scent—fuck, you smell ten times sweeter than normal. Maybe it’s just because it’s been a while but, either way, the simple utterance of his name for a third time in a row makes his body so utterly anxious for you.

“I am aching to touch you,” Sukuna huffs, a hinted groan lying beneath his words as he shifts his face into the crook of your neck and inhales strongly. Then, his fingernails dig into the skin of your thigh and his voice grows rougher, “Lift your fuckin’ hips.” He demands, pausing for a couple seconds to let his eyes fall to the back of his head in reaction to the throb he feels against his precum smothered cockhead. “…Please?” Sukuna whispers.

And that was all it took for you. You never knew him to beg and although it was extremely foreign to hear the first time, you wouldn't exactly ignore how sexy it sounded leaving his lips.

He always demands and sometimes asks—never forces, of course, but never ever begs… until today, that is. So how can you possibly find it in you to deny him any longer?

Slowly, you begin to raise your hips and at that very second, you look down and notice his own rolling upwards as he adjusts himself in his seat. He may have asked you to lift but he didn’t think much about how that meant he wouldn’t be feeling your warm panty-clad cunt against his bulge anymore.

With a throaty grumble, Sukuna rubs the bridge of his nose against the skin of your neck and he moves one of his hands in between your legs, “...Thank you.”

Everything about your body was so so addictive. The way you gasp lightly as he presses his fingers against your flimsy panties that hug your cunt so snuggly, the slight arch in your spine, and the way your hand meets his wrist at the touch all drive him mad with lust.

Sukuna could feel his heart pulsing in his chest in a way that was unusual. He’d never felt such strong waves of need until now.

The pads of his two thick fingers rub right in between your slick folds against your panties and he smirks, “All that talk about ‘buildup’ and yet you were more anxious for this than me.” He points out, feeling the twitch that follows his words.

He slowly tugs that soaked fabric to the side and as soon as his fingers rub against your cunt bare, you gasp again. Maybe you were needier than you’d let on. Sukuna retracts his hand for only a second and brings it to his mouth, pressing them against his lips and letting your slick rest there for a moment before returning his fingers to your dripping hole.

Then, you just barely watch him lick his lips and grunt at the taste right against your neck. Then he kisses you and positions two of his fingers to your entrance, easing them both in seamlessly while trailing his kisses up to your jawline.

Whispering hotly into your skin, “Look at that, took me all the way in only one thrust.” He breathes, drawing his fingers outward steadily and feeling the clench your pussy tries to hold him with, “S’warm in here,” Sukuna moans a little and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this before.

Dipping his digits right back into you, your boyfriend works your squelching cunt with ease, soon pressing his thumb against your clit and groaning while you moan over him, “Mmgh, I missed playin’ with her like this. She’s so reactive…”

You were losing your mind just as much as he was, eyes frantically traveling over to his car windows and wondering what someone would think if they passed by and saw this. He didn’t have the darkest tint in the world and even though it was nightfall, a person could gather a erotic idea of what was taking place inside the vehicle rather easily. 

A heavy pant falls from your lips, “Hah, w-we should stop, ‘Kuna. What if someone sees—”

“Who cares? I am celebrating my woman on this ‘special’ day,” He tells you, upping the thrust of his fingers ever so slightly as he lifts his head from your neck and looks at you.

He couldn’t get over how much you were soaking his fingers right now, slick trickling down along his skin, decorating his wrist with pretty filth. Oh, you were everything to him—not that he would ever tell you. Instead, he smiles and curls his fingers deep inside you, “Pleasing her special spots, watching her pretty face twist up, cherishing her… loving her.”

Your legs twitch to clamp together at the sound of that. With glossy parted lips, you flash your boyfriend a dumbfounded look, “D-Did you just say you love me?” You utter as the faintest smile of satisfaction tugs at the corner of your mouth.

Sukuna maintains eyes contact with you and shoves his fingers deeper just to watch you lift your hips a bit as if to escape, “In a way, I suppose I did say that, huh?” He laughs a little and his head tilts to the side when he feels your walls throb around his two fingers, more of your slick gushing past your messily parted folds and wetting him up even more.

“Oh, was that to your liking? What if I say it more directly?” He moves to your right ear and says confidently and heavily with that rough voice of his, “I love you.”

Your face falls forward onto his shoulder and you moan messily into him, thighs tensing, and teeth baring just to bite down on him a little as you’re fingered right over the edge. An almost annoyed groan exits your throat and you find yourself frustrated at how embarrassingly quickly you finished.

Now laughing at you, “That’s all it took for you to cum?” Sukuna teases, pulling his fingers out for a second and leaning back to get a glance at it, “Look at this mess you’ve made, ugh.” He hums, parting his fingers and watching the way your release drips all messily along his skin.

“S’your fault,” You puff out against his shoulder.

His smile widens as if he were proud, “My fault? Hm. I suppose I should take responsibility then, yes?”

You lift your head a little and look down to his lap, knowing exactly what he means by that. Then, your gaze raises to his face and you quirk a soft brow before moving one of your hands to adjust his seat.

Sukuna scoffs lightly and leans back against his steadily reclining seat, cocking his head to the side and eyeing you up and down. When your let-back of his seat comes to a stop and there’s enough space for the two of you to move your limbs more freely, your hands find their place on his chest and you trail down. “You wanna.. in here?” You murmur curiously.

“Mhm, smart girl.” Sukuna praises just as your hands meet his waistline. Then, he looks down and nods his chin to your hands, “Now, unzip me.”

ᡣ𐭩 Ino Takuma

After spending all day loving and clinging to you more than he normally does, Ino practically forgot to do anything remotely sexual with you. It wasn’t exactly a priority for him on this day. Why would it be? All he wanted to do was see his stunning girlfriend keep that pretty smile on her face all day, sex was the very last thing on his mind.

Though… it becomes rather apparent to him while the two of you are cuddling late that same night. It’s about half an hour past eleven, he’s laying big spoon to you with your back pressed against his chest and your ass flush with his crotch—not that he over-sexualized the position, it was simply cuddling. 

It’s not until the show you guys were making fun of switches to a full on passionate sex scene that his eyes ever so naturally shift from the TV and to you laying against him. One of his arms had been idly wrapped around your waist but not even two minutes into the scene and he started moving it. His fingers begin to splay across your stomach and he rubs his palm over the fabric of your shirt for a bit before deciding experimentally angling his head down into your neck and planting a kiss to the side of it.

Just as he dips down, your entire body reacts and you smile. “Takuma?” You whisper whilst his hand creeps to the end of your oversized t-shirt and then slips beneath it so that he can feel on you skin to skin.

Mumbling and trying his best to keep his smile back, “Hm?”

Your head turns back to him and he lifts his mouth away from your neck to meet eyes with you. “Did that scene get you worked up?”

It’s then that it dawns on you for the millionth time that your boyfriend is really just the most delectable man you could’ve ever laid eyes on. Curious brown gaze gleaming down at you as he sits up a little, soft set grin spreading across his face, and voice leaving his throat as gentle as silk, “Not really,” Ino whispers to you. “I jus’ wanna love on you, baby.”

“Yeah?” Your smile widens and he takes that as his sign to lean in and connect his lips with yours. 

It's a tender moment between you two at first. Soft pecks that both of you chase for as the other pulls away ever so slightly carefully turn into something more heated. Ino’s lips lock onto yours firmly and he pushes against you, his hand rising further up under your shirt before his palm meets your breasts and he gives you a gentle squeeze. 

Groaning into your mouth at the simple contact of your hardening nipple to the center of his hand, Ino can’t help the push of his hips against your own. After that, his touches only grow greedier and greedier. Few words are exchanged between the two of you—only grunts, groans, and breathy moans enter the air for a while as you both melt into one another.

You’ve no idea how much time passes before you end up with two of his skillful fingers working the inner depths of your leaking cunt. His breath is now hot against your ear, “So wet… all I did was kiss you a couple of times,” He chuckles playfully.

A whine leaves your throat and you feel his fingers rub eagerly inside you, “I want more.”

Ino gets a little nervous at the sound of that but, he plays it off as if he were still the one in control of the situation, “Aw, is this not enough for you?” he taunts.

You shake your head and move your hand down over his, guiding his fingers deeper into you.

He starts to get the idea but, instead of fingerfucking you like you so clearly want him to, he tugs his digits out and casually cocks a brow, “Hm. So, what do you want then?”

“You know what I want,” You say, groaning at the loss.

Your boyfriend shrugs innocently and a playful smile dawns across his lips before he looks elsewhere, “Maybe, buuut I wanna hear you ask for it.”

Not hesitating one bit, you lean up closer to him and briefly pull his lower lip into your mouth and suck. Ino’s eyes fall down on your movements and you go from sucking on his lip to kissing him fully, to which he folds. And if that wasn’t enough, when your lips do sever from one another, you whisper, “Can you fuck me, Takuma?”

“Hah, anything for you, beautiful,” He whispers, quickly caught off guard as you turn around to face him full and moving your hands down to his sweats, “O-Oh, we’re eager, are we?”

“Want you inside me,” You grumble, hand sinking past his sweatpants and straight into his boxers to tug his hard cock out. 

Ino had let out one last curse in reaction to your eagerness but he damn sure didn’t deny you of anything. It’s not long before you’re lifting one of your legs and he’s stuffing himself inside you as you both continue laying on your sides facing one another. Your leg hooks onto his hip and he ends up with a mean grip onto the underside of your thigh.

Your legs are all intertwined with one another and Ino’s groaning into your neck while he feeds your greedy cunt his cock over and over again, sucking your skin into his mouth, and leaving all sorts of marks on you.

At some point he lets off a moan and feels your pussy grip onto him even tighter than before in reaction, “Like that?” He whispers, taking your next moan as a response, “Uhuh, I can feel it.”

His voice is so caring and attentive with you, despite the constant stretch of his dick past your folds, slick spilling all out your lips and creating the sloppiest mess of wetness where the two of you are connected. His plump cockhead is giving the depths of your cunt the tenderest smooches, obscure sounds leave both your mouth and your pussy with his every thrust into you. 

Catching your expression particularly lewd, Ino tries to bring your attention back to him and not his cock for a second, inching closer to your face just to talk to you, “Did… ah, did you enjoy your day, baby?” 

Just as he says that to you, you feel his cock glide into that one spot that makes you see stars for a moment. Your jaw falls and you just give him a dumb nod, he’s fucks you so unintentionally good that it makes you lose all trains of thought in only a few minutes—and god when he actually puts in some effort? Now, that’s when you start letting out moans loud enough to earn complaints from your neighbors. 

But for now, Ino doesn’t have to do any of that. You’d been secretly worked up from the moment you woke up to breakfast in bed and now that he’s finally giving you want you’ve been craving, you find your body especially sensitive to his every move and word. 

Ino, as oblivious as ever, simply grins at you, “I enjoyed my day too, mhm.” He hums, eyes all over the way you’re falling apart on his cock right now. His hips snap forward a little harder and the arms you have wrapped around his neck grasp on to him more, nails scratching at his back in reaction—which leaves the prettiest bright red marks he’ll be sure to admire later.

You let out an embarrassingly loud moan at the sudden jerk of his hips and try hiding your face. Ino scoffs before pushing your body over. You fall onto your back and he remains on his side, lazily continuing the sloppy fuck of his cock into you. 

“Don’t go gettin’ all shy on me now,” He says with a kind smile, flicking a hand down to thumb at your clit, “That’s my job, remember?” Your back arches up off the bed and you struggle to look at him, “C’mon, keep those pretty eyes on mine. Mhmm, just like that.” He praises.

A gorgeous string of moans leave you as he pushes one of your legs to get you spread apart even further. Which quickly ends up with him positioning himself on top of you and thrusting into you with more eagerness than before. You’re not sure where his sudden urge to press you down against the mattress comes from but he sure as hell starts beating his leaking cockhead right into that spot he knows drives you crazy.

And as if to contrast the abrupt bullying of his throbbing inches into you, he leans his mouth up and kisses your forehead softly. It was as though his next word was a warning in regards to the way he’s about to treat your cunt, “Love you.” Ino whispers.

Yeah, he only says that during sex when he’s either about to cum—which usually consists of those two words being uttered over and over, but one single claim of loving you always leads to your legs parted nice and wide for him so that he can look down and watch his cock disappear inside you.

Which is honestly one of his favorite sights, especially when you let him cum inside you, then he gets the chance to watch the creamy mess struggle to stay in your cunt. What better gift to the two of you on this day than that?

A/N: Join my 18+ discord server for sneak peaks on upcoming works & more!

[enhaflixer]

GOLDEN BOY!

golden boy hard dom!Jake x masturbation addict f!reader

ENHA HARD HOURSSSSSSSSSSS 18+ MDNI: masturbation so much of it, really not suitable for work, weed smoking, temp play, filming, ass play, vibrator. this is the filthiest shit i have ever written in my life type shit. but also fluffy so its fine. plot? what plot

your mornings follow a strict routine: wake up. Ignore your alarm. Spread your legs and ruin yourself to the thought of Jake Sim. he doesn’t know you exist. star student, always on time. you stumble into class late, wrecked, barely holding it together. you get paired up for a project. when he figures out why you’re always late? you’re fucked.  literally.

You woke up soaked. Literally, fucking soaked, the sheets beneath you damp with sweat and slick from how hard you’d been grinding against them in your sleep. It was always like this—an unbearable need that gripped you before you were even fully conscious. And you knew exactly who caused it.

Jake Sim.

The moment your hazy mind conjured up his name, your pussy gave a hard throb, as if your body was starved for him. It didn’t matter that you’d never even held a real conversation. All that mattered was that he existed—perfect, unattainable—and you were so pathetically desperate for him that you’d turned it into a daily routine.

With a shaky sigh, you slid your hand under the thin waistband of your panties, fingers pressing into the sticky mess already pooling there. You hissed out a curse at how sensitive you were, thighs twitching as your digits smeared your own arousal around your clit.

“Fuck,” you whispered, voice breaking, as your eyes fluttered shut and your mind fed you the same filthy fantasies it always did. In them, Jake was every bit the cocky bastard you imagined him to be—towering over you, smirking with that lazy confidence, telling you to spread your legs wider so he could see just how ruined you were for him.

You could practically hear his voice:

“That’s it, baby. Show me how wet you are.”

A guttural moan fell from your lips. Your fingers trembled as you sank them deeper, sliding between your folds until you were massaging the swollen, throbbing knot of nerves that made your back arch off the mattress. Every movement sent sparks racing up your spine, and you chased the friction like a fucking addict—because that’s exactly what you were: addicted to the thought of him.

Your other hand fumbled for your phone, nearly dropping it on your face in your clumsy rush. The screen glowed to life, and you immediately opened that private folder. The nerve-wracking thrill of seeing your own explicit videos made your pulse throb.

Your finger hovered over the most recent one for half a second, heart hammering. Then you pressed play.

Instantly, the room filled with the ragged sounds of your recorded moans. On the screen, you were splayed out, hips rolling in a shameless rhythm as you fucked your own fingers like your life depended on it. The memory of that moment made your cheeks burn, but it also made you fucking wetter.

“Jake… please… fuck—” your recorded voice whimpered, your cheeks flushed and your tits bouncing with each thrust of your own hand.

The real you let out a choked noise, clit pulsing under your insistent fingertips. You drove them harder against your flesh, trying to match the frantic pace you’d seen in the video. A filthy squelch echoed in the room, your soaked folds giving you away, and you bit your lip to stifle a cry.

God, you were so damn desperate. It made you feel dirty as hell—and yet, you couldn’t stop. In your mind, you pictured Jake looming over you, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. He’d probably sneer down at you, that smug grin twisting his gorgeous mouth, telling you how pathetic you looked, cumming all over your own damn fingers just for him.

“Such a fucking slut,” you imagined him saying, and your body convulsed.

You rammed your fingers harder against your slick heat, each drag of your knuckles sending you spiraling higher. Your recorded moans continued to play on loop, mixing with your real ones until you couldn’t tell which was which. Every muscle in your body tensed, bracing for the orgasm that was cresting in your gut like a tidal wave.

“Jake,” you whimpered. It was a half-sob, half-prayer. “Jake, oh God—”

And then it hit.

Your orgasm slammed into you, white-hot and wrenching. Your hips jerked off the bed, your thighs squeezing around your hand so tightly you could barely move. A harsh, broken sound tore from your throat as your body locked up, wave after wave of bliss rippling through your core. You ground your fingers against your clit one last time, milking every second of the high until you thought you’d black out.

Finally, you collapsed, trembling, onto the mattress, breath sawing in and out of your lungs. Your vision blurred with unshed tears from the sheer intensity. Slowly, the quivering in your limbs began to subside, and you eased your damp fingers from between your legs, wincing at how oversensitive you already were.

For a moment, all you could do was lie there, the sticky remains of your orgasm coating your inner thighs, your mind still buzzing with echoes of Jake’s name. You felt disgusting, you felt euphoric—you felt alive in a way that made you crave more.

But reality crashed down the second you glanced at the time on your phone. Fifteen minutes until class started.

“Shit,” you whispered, bolting upright so fast your head spun. Your legs wobbled when you tried to stand, a dull ache centered between your legs reminding you of just how hard you’d gone. You grabbed the first hoodie you saw, yanked it over your head, and fished around for a pair of rumpled jeans from the floor. There was no time to shower, no time to even catch your breath.

As you dashed out of your room, the remnants of your orgasm still clung to your thighs, a humiliating reminder of why you were late in the first place. You couldn’t help but picture what Jake would say if he ever found out the real reason you stumbled through that lecture hall door every day, hair a mess and cheeks still flushed from your obscene morning routine.

He’d probably smirk, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “Couldn’t get enough of me, huh?”

The thought made your cheeks flare with shameful heat as you tore across campus, trying not to trip over your own feet. You’d never let him find out—you were certain it would kill you. Yet, a tiny voice in the back of your mind wondered what it would be like if he did know. If he whispered filthy praise in your ear about how you were always late because you were too busy drenching your sheets for him.

Your core clenched at the mental image, and you forced yourself to shove it down. There was no time for daydreams—you were late enough as it was, and your professor was already on the verge of losing his patience with you.

Still, no matter how many times you told yourself you couldn’t keep doing this, you knew you would.

Tomorrow morning, you’d wake up soaked again, thighs trembling, and you’d inevitably plunge your fingers back into that slick warmth while moaning Jake’s name. The filthy cycle would continue, and you wouldn’t be able to stop it, because nothing else felt as good as imagining him breaking you into a moaning, dripping mess.

As you reached the lecture hall, panting and disheveled, you couldn’t help but wonder: what if—just what if—Jake Sim ever saw exactly how bad you had it for him?

But that was a thought for another day, another dirty, mind-shattering morning.

Because you both knew: this wouldn’t be the last time you came undone at the mention of his name.

-

You were already a mess when you stumbled through the lecture hall doors, breath ragged and heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. You were late. Again. The professor’s disapproving glare followed you as you practically crashed into your usual seat in the back row, muttering a hastily whispered apology under your breath.

God, you probably looked like you’d rolled straight out of bed—which, let’s be honest, you basically had. Not that you’d been sleeping. No, you’d spent your precious morning minutes rubbing out a frantic orgasm, fueled by thoughts of Jake Sim and all the ways he could ruin you if he ever laid a hand on your needy, desperate body.

Your clit still throbbed with the memory.

You tried to steady your breathing, force your mind to focus on the lecture happening around you. But your professor’s words were just a dull roar in your ears. You caught phrases like “group project” and “semester-long assignment,” but your brain refused to process them, still half-fogged from the wave of pleasure you’d torn out of yourself not fifteen minutes ago.

Then the professor called your name.

You blinked, snapping out of your daze just in time to see that he was pairing you off with someone. The rest of the class fell silent, heads turning toward you as you awkwardly cleared your throat, cheeks warming under the sudden attention.

“Jake Sim,” the professor said, scanning the attendance sheet. “You and Jake will be partners for the entire project.”

Your entire body stiffened.

Jake Sim.

Jake fucking Sim.

Your clit gave a punishing pulse at the mere mention of his name, so strong it sent a hot jolt of need straight through your core. You barely managed to swallow a gasp, thighs clenching under the desk as if that might calm the ache.

Across the room, Jake lifted his head. He had been taking notes, or maybe doodling—hell if you knew. He looked up when he heard his name, and his eyes flicked briefly over to you. He didn’t seem particularly surprised or amused. He just…nodded. Like it was no big deal.

Meanwhile, you sat there, completely frozen, trying not to let your face betray the fact that your cunt was literally fluttering at the prospect of spending hours—hours—with him on this project. Your mind spun with a million frantic thoughts: how were you supposed to look him in the eye when you had fingered yourself that same morning while moaning his name?

You almost wanted to run.

But there was nowhere to go, and the professor’s gaze was still locked on you, waiting for some sign of acknowledgment. So you forced a nod, swallowing hard, your pulse thundering in your ears.

When class finally ended, you practically bolted up from your seat, gathering your things in a clumsy rush. All you could think about was escaping before you did something mortifying—like spontaneously combusting from the intensity of the situation.

But you weren’t fast enough.

Jake Sim stood waiting for you in the aisle. You noticed, with a sinking sensation in your stomach, that he was even taller up close, shoulders broad under that signature hoodie, a slight quirk to his full lips as he watched you fluster about.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low but clear in the post-lecture murmur. “Guess we’re partners, huh?”

Your heart just about crawled up your throat and died there. You couldn’t form coherent words. Instead, you let out some pathetic sound halfway between a squeak and a cough.

Jake’s brows rose a fraction, and that quirk at the corner of his lips deepened. “You okay?”

No. Absolutely not. Your palms were sweating, your cheeks were on fire, and your core was still buzzing with the aftereffects of your morning orgasm. Knowing he was so close—close enough to smell the faint hint of laundry detergent clinging to his hoodie—nearly made your knees buckle.

“Uh, yeah,” you managed, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. “Just—tired.”

“Tired,” he echoed, giving you an appraising once-over. “Rough morning?”

You swallowed, a traitorous flush creeping up your neck. He had no idea just how rough.

“Something like that,” you muttered, pretending to rummage in your backpack to avoid meeting his gaze.

Jake shrugged. “Well, we should probably figure out a time to meet up for the project. Professor wants a proposal next week.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, so…normal. Meanwhile, your head was spinning because you were about to be in a room alone with him, studying economics, while your body screamed for him to fuck you senseless.

“Uh, yeah,” you repeated, feeling like a malfunctioning robot. “We…should definitely do that.”

God, you wanted to slap yourself. Could you be any more awkward?

Jake tilted his head, brown eyes flicking over you again, a subtle curiosity in his gaze. “How about tomorrow? Afternoon?”

Tomorrow. That meant you had less than twenty-four hours to get your shit together—to not end up a quivering puddle of arousal at his feet. Less than a day to build up some sort of immunity to his existence.

But you nodded anyway, because what else could you do? “Sure. Works for me.”

He gave a little smile, just a quick curve of his mouth, but it was enough to make your stomach tighten painfully. “Cool. I’ll, uh—text you, I guess?”

“Yeah. Text. Right.”

Your tongue felt leaden and stupid, and your heart hammered wildly against your ribcage. You wondered if he could hear it—wondered if he’d notice the pulse beating in your throat or sense the way your entire body vibrated with the memory of your morning orgasm.

But Jake just nodded again, hands sliding into the pockets of his hoodie. “See you tomorrow, then.”

He turned and left, effortlessly blending into the crowd of students filtering out the door. You stood there like an idiot, your mind replaying the conversation, analyzing every second for hints of pity or amusement on his part.

He didn’t seem weirded out. Didn’t seem suspicious of why you were so…flustered. He’d probably forget about you the moment he headed to his next class.

Meanwhile, you?

You tried to breathe, leaning heavily against one of the desks as you clutched your notes to your chest. Your thighs pressed together, a pitiful attempt to quell the ache that refused to leave you alone. It was as if your body recognized him on some primal level and refused to let go of the fact that he was standing right in front of you.

He had no idea how badly you wanted him—no clue you literally jacked off to his name almost every morning, that you were always late because you were too busy chasing orgasm after orgasm in a delirious haze of lust.

Well, now you’d have to fake it—pretend that you were normal, that you weren’t some perverted mess drooling over him in secret. You just hoped you could keep it together, especially once you were locked in a study room together, going over spreadsheets and supply-demand curves while your body screamed for something entirely different.

And worst of all, you had the sinking feeling that tomorrow’s routine wouldn’t be any different. You’d probably still wake up, still stroke your throbbing clit to the thought of Jake’s voice, Jake’s hands, Jake’s cock…

But maybe, just maybe, you’d manage not to be late this time.

Fat chance.

-

Studying with Jake Sim was a fucking nightmare—in the filthiest, most torturous way possible.

He had this infuriating habit of showing up in the laziest outfits imaginable, usually some combination of sweatpants and a hoodie. You might’ve thought the casual attire would make him look approachable or less intimidating, but it only did the opposite. He wore those gray sweats like a second skin, settling into his chair with an ease that bordered on sinful. His legs spread obscenely wide, claiming space that shouldn’t be his to claim.

The hoodie was somehow worse. It clung to his broad shoulders, emphasizing the sharp line of his collarbones and the solid build of his chest. And since he always—always—rolled his sleeves up to the elbows, you were treated to the tantalizing sight of his forearms: faint veins tracing a path over lightly tanned skin, muscles shifting whenever he flexed his fingers or picked up a pen.

It drove you insane.

Every time he tilted his head in thought, his hair would slip across his forehead, drawing attention to the dark, intense eyes beneath. Sometimes he licked his lips—absently, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it—and every time it happened, a low, pulsing heat rippled through your stomach.

But the worst part? Jake had a thing for tits.

You first noticed it in the little stuff: the way his gaze drifted south whenever you leaned over your notes, the split-second hesitation in his voice if your shirt happened to be cut too low. His eyes would flick to your chest, then dart away so quickly you’d think you’d imagined it—except the slight tension in his jaw proved otherwise.

He tried to hide it. Tried to keep himself polite and focused on the assignment, but the more you studied together, the more obvious it became. He had to physically force himself not to stare, clenching his jaw or gripping his pen with a little too much force whenever your shirt shifted in just the right way.

Eventually, you decided to test him.

One night, you showed up at his place wearing a tight little tank top—no bra underneath, of course. The fabric hugged your curves, thin enough that your nipples peaked through whenever the room got too cold. You pretended to be completely oblivious, scrolling through your laptop as though there wasn’t a very obvious reason Jake’s gaze kept snagging on your chest.

His reaction was immediate. The second you walked in, his eyes darkened, pupils dilating as they betrayed his interest. He coughed, cleared his throat, and busied himself with the project notes, but he couldn’t hide the subtle tremor in his voice when he asked, “So, um, ready to start?”

You dragged a chair up to the small desk, taking care to sit opposite him so he’d have an unobstructed view. For a while, you both pretended to work—typing away, sorting through textbooks, exchanging random facts about supply and demand. But every time you spoke, his attention drifted down, no matter how hard he tried to stay focused on your face.

Your heart pounded every time you caught him looking. Desire coiled low in your belly, and your nipples tightened beneath the thin fabric, practically begging for him to notice. Your entire body thrummed with this heady mixture of confidence and need, and you couldn’t help but push it further.

“Ugh, it’s so hot in here,” you sighed dramatically, arching your back to stretch. The movement sent your breasts straining against the tank top, and you saw Jake’s jaw clench, the tendons in his neck standing out as he forced himself not to stare directly at you.

He tried to keep his cool, but his next words came out more clipped than usual. “I can open the window.”

You shrugged, letting the straps of the tank top slide a fraction of an inch down your shoulder. “Nah,” you said, voice laced with feigned innocence. “Don’t worry about it.”

The tension in the air was palpable, an almost electric charge crackling between you. Your thighs pressed together beneath the desk, desperate for some kind of friction. You could practically feel his gaze lingering on your chest when you looked away, fueling that simmering warmth between your legs.

Finally, Jake snapped.

“You do that shit on purpose, don’t you?” he muttered, voice pitched low and tight enough to send shivers skittering down your spine.

You fought the smirk threatening to curve your lips. Your stomach flipped with excitement and arousal. “Do what?” you asked, feigning obliviousness, even though your heart was about to hammer out of your chest.

He exhaled slowly, eyes flicking to the tank top that was barely containing your chest. “You know what,” he ground out, then made a visible effort to calm himself, dragging his gaze to your face.

It took everything in you not to let out a triumphant laugh. You could see the frustration warring with desire in his dark eyes, saw the way his fingers curled into fists as if he had to physically restrain himself. There was a fine tremor in his forearms—those fucking forearms—that made your insides clench with a perverse satisfaction.

Your own arousal pulsed, nipples practically aching as they brushed against the fabric. There was this suffocating urge to crawl into his lap, to press your tits against his chest and see just how fast you could break that composure. But you held back. Because that wasn’t the plan. Not yet.

“I’m just trying to study,” you said, tone as sweet as sugar, batting your eyelashes in an overdone performance of innocence.

Jake’s stare hardened, and for a moment, you thought he might say something brash—something that would make the air sizzle. But he merely set his jaw, took a long, measured breath, and turned back to the notes.

“Right. Study,” he mumbled, jaw working like he was trying to chew through nails.

You bit your lip to smother a grin, your pulse still thrumming in your ears from the pure, uncut tension between you. Your nipples were so stiff they practically throbbed; you had to shift in your seat to accommodate the constant, nagging ache in your core.

Nothing else happened that night—no heated kisses, no tangled limbs—but it didn’t need to. The filth was already there, simmering beneath every glance, every roll of his shoulders, every suppressed flick of his gaze toward your tits. You could sense the unspoken hunger radiating off him like heat waves, matching the relentless heartbeat pounding in your own chest.

And that was more than enough to leave you soaking by the time you finally left.

-

You woke up with a pounding need at the base of your spine. It was deeper than usual, an ache that gnawed at you relentlessly, demanding satisfaction. The worst part? You already knew exactly who you were going to picture to take the edge off:

Jake Sim.

Every nerve in your body thrummed with anticipation, remembering the way he’d looked at you during your last study session—eyes flickering from your face down to your chest, jaw clenched like he was fighting some internal battle. You’d left his dorm with slick thighs and your mind racing, your entire body aflame.

Today, you wanted to push your usual routine even further. Your fingers alone wouldn’t cut it. With your teeth worrying your bottom lip, you slipped out of bed and rummaged through your nightstand until your hand closed around the small, discreet vibrator you’d impulsively bought a few weeks ago. It was sleek, silicone-coated, made for exactly the kind of play you were craving.

You bit back a trembling sigh and grabbed your phone, propping it against a pillow at the foot of your bed. The little red light began to blink, capturing you in all your messy, unmade-bed glory—hair tangled, cheeks still carrying the warmth of sleep, and a fiercely determined look in your eyes.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you whispered, half to yourself, half to the imaginary version of Jake you conjured whenever you got off.

But you didn’t hesitate. You shed your oversized T-shirt, tossing it aside to expose bare skin. Your nipples peaked in the cool air, and you ran a hand over one breast, giving it a light squeeze before trailing your palm down over your stomach. You settled into the pillows, propping your hips up slightly so the camera had a perfect view.

“Jake,” you murmured, letting your thighs fall apart, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your free hand teased your clit, already slick with arousal, while the other clutched the vibrator. The buzzing anticipation in your veins intensified as you clicked it on, feeling the soft hum rattle against your palm.

Normally, you’d sink it straight into your cunt, but today, you were craving something more depraved. Your breath hitched at the thought of that taboo stretch you barely ever indulged—your ass. The mere idea of Jake guiding it inside you, watching you squirm as you took it deeper, was enough to send a fresh gush of heat through your body.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, heart hammering as you angled the toy behind you. “Jake, I want you…want you here.”

Carefully, you smeared your own wetness over the silicone, letting your middle finger gather some of the slick so it’d slide in smoothly. A gasp broke from your throat the moment you pressed the vibrator’s tip to that tight ring of muscle—just the tiniest bit of pressure made your nerves light up like a live wire.

You couldn’t help the shameless moan that echoed off your bedroom walls. Even though it was just the tip, the sensation had you delirious. You spread your cheeks with one hand, guiding the buzzing silicone in a fraction of an inch, your body tensing and then relaxing around it. A ragged whine tore from your lips.

You could almost feel Jake’s hands there, big and warm, whispering filth in your ear:

“Relax. You can take it. Just like that—fuck, look at you…”

Your other hand found your clit, rubbing messy circles that turned your moans into broken sobs of pleasure. Each slow push of the vibrator inched deeper, stretching you in a way that made your eyes roll back.

“Nngh—Jake, please,” you babbled, voice shaking as you tried to push it just a bit further. “Wish it was your cock…wish you’d pin me down and shove it all the way in…”

You couldn’t hold back. The pressure and vibration melded into something explosive, your clit throbbing under your frantic fingertips. Every muscle in your body coiled tighter, lungs seizing as you hovered on the precipice. The camera recorded it all—the sweat beading at your temples, the flushed curve of your cheeks, the wet, filthy sounds filling the room.

Then it hit. Your orgasm came crashing down, ripping a strangled scream from your throat. Your legs shook, your ass clamping around the toy, your cunt pulsing in sympathy. You writhed against the sheets, half-blinded by the force of it, tears pricking your eyes from the overwhelming relief.

It felt like forever before you could breathe again, the buzz in your nerves slowly receding. You eased the vibrator out, wincing at the hyper-sensitivity, then stopped the recording with a trembling hand. On the screen, the thumbnail showed a glimpse of you with your mouth open in a silent cry, body arched off the bed, pure rapture etched on your face.

Fuck. If Jake ever saw that…

But there wasn’t time for guilt or second thoughts. A glance at the clock made your heart plummet—it was late, and you had to scramble to get to class before your professor threatened to fail you for tardiness. Again.

You only managed a quick wipe-down, barely rinsing the toy and tossing it in a drawer, before you yanked on clothes and sprinted out the door, phone still warm in your pocket from the video you’d just recorded.

The lecture hall was already half-full when you snuck in. You found your seat, cheeks still hot from both the run across campus and the memory of the vibrator filling your ass less than an hour ago. You avoided Jake’s eyes completely, which was easy because he was focused on the front of the class—though you could still feel the tension that seemed to magnetize you whenever he was close.

Throughout the lesson, your mind wandered, replaying the moment of penetration, the hum of the toy, the fantasy of Jake’s hands gripping your hips. You clenched your thighs under the desk, wishing you could burn the images out of your head.

Little did you know, in just a few hours, your world would implode in the filthiest way imaginable.

That evening, you met Jake for a study session in his dorm. The room was small but cozy, a lived-in space with a single bed in the corner, textbooks piled on the floor. He greeted you at the door, wearing a fitted T-shirt that stretched across his shoulders in a way that made your pulse flutter.

“Hey,” he said, stepping aside so you could walk in. “Let’s try to knock out the rest of the research tonight.”

You nodded stiffly, mouth dry. You were always too aware of him—his scent, the way the muscle in his jaw worked when he concentrated, the slight furrow of his brows. It didn’t help that you’d spent your morning taking a vibrator in your ass, moaning his name like you were possessed.

You settled at the small desk with your laptop, while Jake sat on the bed flipping through a shared Google Doc on his phone. The tension was thick enough to taste. Sometimes you swore you caught him watching you from the corner of his eye, but every time you glanced over, he was scrolling or typing, expression neutral.

After about twenty minutes, the soda you’d chugged on your way over came back to haunt you. You needed the bathroom—badly.

“I’ll be right back,” you muttered, closing your laptop’s lid but not fully locking it. Nerves and bladder pressure made you forget the simplest precaution: you’d left a minimized window open from transferring your new “vibrator video” into your private folder.

Jake just nodded. “Sure. Down the hall, last door on the left.”

You slipped out of the dorm, heart still fluttering, mind on autopilot. The hallway was dimly lit, and you disappeared into the bathroom, exhaling a relieved sigh once the door clicked shut.

Alone in the room, Jake glanced at your laptop, noticing the faint glow beneath the lid. Curiosity—mixed with something deeper—bubbled in his chest. He’d been suspecting something was up with you, ever since you arrived late looking thoroughly wrecked every morning. The tension you carried around him was obvious, and he’d caught glimpses of…subtle clues.

With a swift move, he lifted the laptop’s lid. The screen flickered back to life, revealing a folder half-tucked behind your research notes. A folder labeled something simple, but ominous: “Private.”

He should’ve stopped. Should’ve told himself it was none of his business. But a stubborn, electric thrill spurred him to open it. A series of video files stared back at him, each with a plain name—things like “Vid001,” “Vid002.” And the most recent one? Time-stamped that morning.

His heart thudded. He clicked on it.

What loaded made his blood run hot.

You. Naked. Bent back on your bed with a vibrator in your ass, face scrunched up in a mix of pain and pleasure as you eased it deeper. The audio kicked in, and Jake’s eyes went wide when he heard your moans:

“Jake…God, I want you so deep in me…wanna be stretched by your cock…”

His pulse roared in his ears. The image on the screen was so explicit it felt like a punch to the gut. You whimpered, back arched, your hand working your clit with desperate speed, all while the vibrator buzzed between your spread cheeks. And the filthy things you were saying—how you wanted him to shove it all the way in, how you wished it was his cock instead of cold silicone.

Jake’s cock twitched in his pants, heat pooling low in his gut. He watched, transfixed, as your face contorted in a mind-blowing orgasm, your body jerking, thighs trembling. You were screaming his name through it all.

A low, shaky exhalation left his lips. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Sure, he’d suspected you had some kind of thing for him, but this? This was on another level. You were a wrecked, filthy, ass-play-obsessed mess, and all of it was for him.

He paused the video at the peak of your orgasm, hand nearly trembling with adrenaline. Blood pounded in his ears, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Part of him wanted to keep watching, to see every second of your depravity, but he had to be quick. You’d be back any minute.

With an almost reverent care, he closed out of the folder and gently lowered the laptop’s lid. Then he dragged in a ragged breath, trying to get his heart rate under control.

His mind raced. You were a shy presence at times, stumbling over words, blushing whenever he looked at you too long. Yet behind closed doors, you were filming yourself stretching your ass with a vibrator, moaning his name like he was the only person in the world.

Jake could barely contain the predatory thrill that coursed through him. He tried to shove the arousal down, adjusting his position on the bed so he didn’t look painfully hard if you walked in that second. But there was no ignoring the fact that everything had changed.

You had no idea what you’d just handed him, and Jake was more than ready to see how you’d squirm now that he had proof of just how desperately you wanted him.

-

You barely made it through class without combusting.

Your skin felt too hot, every nerve in your body on edge, a lingering burn still coiled between your thighs from the morning’s routine. As if that wasn’t bad enough, every time Jake so much as shifted in his seat, your body reacted—trained by weeks, months, of late mornings spent getting yourself off to the very thought of him.

And then, class ended.

The moment you stepped into the hall, still shaken, still barely holding it together, Jake was waiting for you.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, looking infuriatingly calm while you felt like you were on the verge of collapsing. His dark eyes flicked over you, a slow drag, lingering just long enough to make your stomach tighten. He wasn’t just looking at you—he was studying you, examining you, as if piecing together a puzzle that had finally clicked into place.

A slow curl of heat unfurled in your belly. Something about the way he held your gaze, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, made you feel exposed. Laid bare.

Something was wrong.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, breath uneven as you tried to keep your face neutral. “What?” you asked, attempting to sound indifferent, but your voice betrayed you, cracking slightly on the single word.

Jake didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch, dragging his tongue over his lower lip in thought. His fingers twitched against his arms where they were crossed over his chest, and his gaze dipped lower—not just over your body, but like he was seeing straight through you.

Your stomach clenched. He knew something.

“Didn’t sleep well?” he finally asked, voice deceptively casual.

Your heart lurched. He was playing with you.

You forced yourself to scoff. “What are you talking about?”

Jake hummed, tilting his head slightly, and your stomach sank at the knowing glint in his eyes. You felt yourself locking up, body screaming at you to flee, but it was too late.

“I wonder…” he mused, tapping his fingers against his arm. “Is that why you’re always late?”

The world tilted beneath you.

Your throat closed, fingers twitching at your sides, because he didn’t say it like an accusation—he said it like a revelation.

Jake took a step closer, and you swore your knees almost buckled.

“You’re always late,” he murmured, voice smooth as sin, laced with amusement. He tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving yours as he leaned in just enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. “Always looking like you’ve just been fucked.”

Your breath hitched. Your pulse roared in your ears.

“What—” Your voice barely worked, caught between panic and something even deeper—something raw, electric, dangerous.

Jake’s lips curved, dark amusement flashing across his face. “You get off before class, don’t you?”

Your entire body went up in flames. Your thighs clenched so tightly that you swore he could see it, see the way his words wrecked you from the inside out.

Jake didn’t wait for you to answer. He already knew. He had proof.

The realization crashed into you like a truck. The video.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Your laptop. The folder. The fucking recording from that morning.

The vibrator. The way you moaned his name. The way you begged for it to be him.

Jake had seen it.

Oh my god.

He had fucking seen it.

A low chuckle vibrated from deep in his chest, his lips twitching upward at the sheer horror that must have been written all over your face. His eyes darkened, filling with something lethal, something triumphant.

And then came the final blow—the words that shattered you, sent that familiar ache between your legs into something unbearable.

“You could’ve just asked me to help, baby.”

Your stomach dropped. Your knees almost buckled.

You were done for.

The world tilted on its axis. Everything else around you—the bustling students, the muffled sounds of conversations, the faint scraping of chairs against tile—blurred into meaningless background noise. All that existed was him. His smirk. His words. The absolute certainty in his voice that left no room for denial.

Your mouth opened, some kind of weak protest forming on your tongue, but Jake moved closer, shutting you down before you even had a chance to breathe. His presence was overwhelming, his body heat radiating off him like a furnace, his scent—clean, musky, laced with something so distinctly him—filling your senses, making your knees weak.

“You get off before class,” he repeated, softer this time, almost teasing, like he was savoring the confession he had yet to hear from your own lips. His voice dropped lower, becoming something dark, possessive. “And you think about me when you do it, don’t you?”

Your lungs seized. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe.

Jake tilted his head, studying you, watching the way your fingers twitched at your sides, the way your lips parted in a silent gasp, the way your thighs pressed together instinctively—as if that would do anything to stop the inevitable, the brutal ache between your legs that he had just made ten times worse.

“Tell me I’m wrong.” His voice was smooth, dripping with mocking confidence, because he knew you couldn’t.

Your brain scrambled for an escape. For an excuse. For anything that might get you out of this, because if you admitted it—if you said it out loud—there would be no turning back. You’d be his. Completely. Utterly.

Jake was too close now, his breath fanning over the shell of your ear, his tone taunting. “What is it, baby?” His fingers ghosted along your wrist, not quite touching but close enough to drive you insane. “Cat got your tongue? Or are you too busy thinking about the way you spread your legs for me every morning?”

Your breath left you in a shattered gasp.

You shouldn’t have reacted. You knew better. But your body betrayed you—your thighs clenched harder, your nipples tightened under the thin fabric of your shirt, your entire core clenched around nothing, desperate for the friction you had been denying yourself all class.

Jake saw it. He saw everything.

He chuckled, voice dark and satisfied. “Oh, you really are a filthy little thing, aren’t you?”

Your body burned.

Jake smirked. His fingers—strong, veined, perfect—finally reached you, just the barest brush of his knuckle against the inside of your wrist, but it sent a violent shudder through you.

And now, he fucking knew it.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said smoothly, turning away like he hadn’t just left you a trembling, soaking mess in the middle of the hallway.

-

You spent the entire day in a state of absolute wreckage.

After Jake’s confrontation in the hallway, after his words had wrapped around you like a noose, you had barely functioned. Your thoughts were a mess, your body useless, stuck in a constant loop of shame, arousal, and anticipation. He had seen it. He had seen you—spread out, stuffed full, moaning his name like a desperate, filthy thing. And now, tonight, you had to face him again.

Your stomach flipped violently as you stood in front of your bathroom mirror, gripping the sink, forcing yourself to take slow, measured breaths.

You had to get it together. You had to act like you weren’t already falling apart before you even stepped into his dorm.

But the problem was—you were. You so were.

The moment you let your mind wander, it all came rushing back. Jake’s voice, low and taunting. His gaze, dark and knowing. The way his fingers had hovered so close to your skin, how he had whispered filth into your ear like he already owned you.

And now, tonight, he would.

Your breath shuddered. Your thighs clenched.

You couldn’t go to him like this, already weak and needy. You needed to take the edge off, just enough to think clearly, just enough to face him without completely unraveling the second he looked at you.

Your hand slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts before you could think twice.

You sighed, the relief instant as your fingers slid through the ridiculous mess between your legs. You were soaked, soaked, had been all day. It was humiliating, how little it took. The heat, the tension, the memory of him catching you—it had left you dripping, thighs sticky and aching since the moment he walked away from you in that hallway.

But tonight, you needed more than your fingers.

Your eyes flicked to the cool bathroom sink, and your breath hitched.

You turned around, hands bracing against the counter, angling yourself just right before slipping your fingers behind you, dragging them through your folds from the back, teasing your entrance in a way that made your legs tremble.

A gasp ripped from your throat as you pressed two fingers inside, stretching yourself open while your hips rocked forward, grinding your clit against the cold, smooth porcelain. The sensation was overwhelming—the deep, slow stretch inside you paired with the delicious friction against your swollen, aching clit.

“F-Fuck,” you whimpered, forehead pressing against the mirror as you humped the sink, fingering yourself deeper, imagining it was Jake standing behind you, one big hand on your hip, the other sliding down between your legs to keep you in place while he filled you up.

Your breath came ragged, hips stuttering, thighs quivering as you rode the edge, grinding your clit down harder, fucking your fingers deeper, thinking about how Jake would hold you still, how he’d groan against your ear, whispering, “You’re such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

Your stomach tightened, the orgasm coiling, building, about to—

And then your phone buzzed.

You froze.

Your heart stopped. Your stomach plummeted. Your fingers stilled immediately, guilt crashing over you in suffocating waves.

You scrambled for your phone, unlocking it with shaking hands.

Jake: Don’t. Touch. Yourself.

Your blood ran cold.

You swallowed, staring at the text, heart pounding as another one came through.

Jake: You’ll do that when you’re here.

Your breath left you in a shaky exhale, thighs clenching involuntarily at the absolute authority in his words. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, could only sit there, fingers still buried inside yourself, aching, trembling, waiting.

Then—

Jake: And when you get here? You’re going to show me just how much you need it.

Your entire body shuddered.

Your clit pulsed beneath your untouched folds, but you didn’t dare move. Not now. Not when you were seconds away from finishing, and Jake had just ripped that privilege away from you.

Another text buzzed onto the screen.

Jake: If you’re even a second late, I’ll make you wait even longer.

You swallowed a whimper. You had to go. Now.

Your legs felt like they barely worked as you stumbled up from the sink, heart hammering, stomach twisting into knots of frustration, anticipation, arousal so thick you could choke on it.

You had no idea how you were going to survive this night.

-

You hesitated outside Jake’s door, hands clammy, thighs pressed together so tightly it almost hurt.

Your body wasn’t over it.

Not even close.

The bathroom incident had left you on the brink, your body still buzzing, still needy, still aching for something you weren’t allowed to have until you stepped inside. You could still feel it—the cool sink against your clit, the way your own fingers had stretched you open from behind, the way Jake’s texts had snapped you back to reality at the worst possible moment.

And now you were here.

You wiped your palms on your thighs, forced yourself to breathe, forced yourself to knock even though every part of you screamed run.

The door opened almost immediately.

Jake stood there, leaning against the frame, one hand braced above his head, the other resting casually in the pocket of his sweatpants. His eyes raked over you, scanning your body like he already knew what kind of state you were in.

Like he could smell it on you.

You swallowed hard, barely holding back a whimper.

“Come in.”

His voice was smooth, deep, dripping with something dangerous. He stepped aside, leaving just enough space for you to squeeze past him. The second you moved, his hand brushed against your lower back—a simple touch, barely even there, but it felt like a brand.

Your breath hitched.

The door clicked shut behind you.

You were alone with him now.

The air felt thick, suffocating, charged. You could hear your own pulse pounding in your ears, the faint sound of your breath coming in quick, uneven puffs. Your nerves were a mess, anticipation tangling with embarrassment because—

You knew why you were here.

And so did Jake.

You took a shaky step forward, barely processing the way Jake moved behind you. Slow. Calculated.

“So,” he murmured, the heat of his breath suddenly right at your ear. “Are you gonna tell me how close you were?”

Your entire body seized up.

He wasn’t touching you—not yet—but his presence alone was suffocating, pressing against you like a heavy weight.

You licked your lips, swallowed hard. “W-what?”

Jake chuckled.

“Don’t play dumb, baby.” His fingers ghosted over your hip, just enough to make you tremble. “I told you not to touch yourself. And yet…”

You sucked in a breath as his other hand trailed up, dragging two fingers over your exposed throat, pressing just lightly enough that your head tipped back on instinct.

“You couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

Your thighs clenched.

His touch was barely there but it was too much. Too much, because you were already soaked, already aching, already at the point where you’d do anything—

But he wasn’t giving it to you.

Not yet.

Instead, he pressed his fingers just a little more firmly against your throat, tilting your head back so you had no choice but to look at him. His dark eyes held yours, and the corner of his mouth curled.

“Be honest with me.”

You swallowed hard, heat pooling between your thighs.

Jake’s fingers brushed down your throat, slow, teasing, until they rested just beneath your collarbone. His thumb dragged lower, just barely dipping beneath the neckline of your shirt.

You could barely breathe.

You shouldn’t have been this turned on just from a few words. Just from the way his thumb traced your skin, from the way he was looking at you like he already owned you.

But then he leaned in, so fucking close, lips just barely brushing against your ear as he whispered—

“How close were you when I told you to stop?”

A whimper escaped you before you could stop it.

Jake groaned, low and satisfied. His fingers tightened, just enough to make your breath catch, just enough to make your body scream for more.

“I bet you were close.” His breath was hot, his tone mocking. “I bet you were right there, fingers dripping, about to make a mess of yourself.”

You bit your lip hard enough to sting, trying to stop the truth from slipping out.

Because if he knew the full truth—if he knew what you’d actually been doing—

Grinding against the bathroom sink, rubbing your clit against the cool porcelain like some desperate, shameless thing—

You’d die on the spot.

Jake must have sensed it. Felt it. Because his fingers curled against your chin, tilting your face up. His eyes searched yours, his smirk deepening, his voice dropping even lower.

“What else?”

Your pulse skipped. “W-what?”

His lips nearly brushed yours. “You were doing more than just touching yourself, weren’t you?”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Your silence was a dead giveaway.

Jake chuckled, dark and knowing. His grip on your chin tightened. “Tell me.”

Your stomach dropped.

“I—I…” The words got stuck in your throat.

His smirk widened. “You’re gonna say it out loud, baby. Or I’ll make you.”

Your breath shook, your entire body on the verge of collapse. You wanted to fight it, wanted to pretend you still had some dignity left, but Jake’s gaze was relentless.

And he wouldn’t let you go until you gave him what he wanted.

A deep, humiliating heat spread over your body as you finally whispered, “I—I was…grinding against the sink.”

Jake inhaled sharply, his entire body going still.

His grip on your chin tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might snap. He didn’t move, didn’t speak—just processed what you’d just admitted.

Then, slowly, so deliberately that it made your stomach flip, he let out a low, dark chuckle.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his free hand flexing at his side. “That’s what you were doing?”

You nodded weakly, shame pooling in your stomach.

Jake exhaled through his nose, his jaw clenching, and suddenly, his hand slid from your chin to your throat, holding you there—not squeezing, just keeping you still.

“You’re a filthy little thing, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Jake smirked, something dangerous flashing in his gaze, something calculated.

“You’re gonna show me,” he murmured. “Later.”

Your breath hitched.

“And I’m gonna take a video.”

Your knees nearly gave out.

Jake sat back on his bed, legs spread wide, leaning against the headboard with an ease that only made the situation worse—or better, depending on how you looked at it. His hoodie was gone, discarded somewhere in the room, leaving nothing but smooth, bare skin, the sharp lines of his collarbones, the toned muscles of his chest, and the faintest trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

But what really ruined you was the bulge straining against the soft fabric of his grey sweats.

It was… big. Heavy. Obscene. The kind of size that made your stomach clench with something dangerously close to desperation. He wasn’t even touching himself, wasn’t even adjusting—just sitting there, watching you like he had all the time in the world.

And then he did something that made your breath stutter.

He reached over to his nightstand and grabbed his phone, unlocking it with a single flick before tilting his head at you, smirk lazy, expectant.

“I’m filming this,” he murmured, voice dripping with authority. “Start stripping.”

Your stomach flipped.

Your body burned.

You should have hesitated—should have felt embarrassed, should have tried to argue—but the only thing you felt was a deep, thrilling pulse between your legs.

You didn’t even question it.

Your hands moved before your brain caught up, fingers gripping the hem of your shirt, peeling it up slowly, dragging it over your stomach, higher, teasing yourself as much as you were teasing him. The air felt thick, charged, electric as you bared more skin, the camera recording every second.

Jake hummed approvingly. “Good girl. Keep going.”

The shirt hit the floor. You reached for your shorts next, hooking your thumbs into the waistband, dragging them down inch by inch, knowing exactly how much of a show you were giving him.

By the time you stood before him, stripped down to nothing but your soaked panties, Jake’s smirk had sharpened into something dangerous.

“Lose those too,” he ordered, tilting the phone slightly to capture your every movement.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t stop.

You slid your hands down, curling your fingers beneath the waistband, peeling them down agonizingly slow, letting the fabric drag over your thighs before stepping out of them completely.

Now you were bare.

Jake exhaled through his nose, pleased. His free hand dragged over his own thigh, fingers flexing, his grip tightening the moment you stepped forward, fully exposed, completely his.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded. “Let me see what you do when you think about me.”

You obeyed instantly, trailing your fingers over your stomach, your thighs, your hips—everywhere but where you needed it most. Your breath came in slow, teasing gasps as you let your fingers finally slip lower, grazing your clit, a sharp whimper escaping as you made contact with the aching heat between your legs.

Jake groaned, the sound low, filthy.

“Louder.”

You whimpered, fingers pressing deeper, moving slower, dragging the pleasure out just to tease him, just to see how long he’d let you keep control.

“Louder,” he said again, voice darker this time. “I want to hear every filthy little sound you make.”

Something inside you snapped.

You moaned. Loudly.

Then again. And again.

It was like you couldn’t stop. The moment the first shameless, desperate noise slipped past your lips, your mouth wouldn’t close, your voice wouldn’t stop spilling every thought you had.

“Jake—fuck—I think about you all the time—”

Your fingers slid deeper, your hips rocking into the pressure.

“I think about your hands, how big they are, how rough they’d feel on me—”

Jake let out a low, ragged groan, his fingers twitching against the bed.

“I think about your mouth, how you’d ruin me with it, how you’d hold me still and make me take it—”

Your breath hitched as you spread your legs wider, rubbing yourself faster, your mind a mess of filth.

“I think about your cock,” you gasped, your fingers slick, sliding in and out shamelessly. “How big it is, how you’d stretch me open, how you’d fill me so fucking deep—”

Jake exhaled sharply, his jaw locked, his knuckles turning white against his thigh.

Then, in an instant, he moved.

You barely had time to react before his hand wrapped around your throat, gripping firm, dominant, unrelenting as he dragged you forward. Your breath caught, a choked gasp escaping as he pulled you right into his lap, forcing you to straddle him, the heat of his body pressing against you.

His grip tightened, not enough to hurt, just enough to make you feel it.

“Stop pretending,” he growled, his breath hot against your lips, his other hand pushing between your thighs, feeling how soaked you were. “You want to act like a shy little thing? Like you’re so innocent?”

His fingers dragged through your slick, making you tremble, making you whimper as your hands gripped his shoulders for support.

“Enough of that.” His thumb pressed against your throat, tilting your head back, his gaze dark, dangerous. “Start acting like the filthy little slut you actually are.”

Something in you broke open.

You whimpered, thighs clenching, your fingers digging into his skin as your hips rolled forward, grinding against his sweatpants, against the huge, heavy bulge pressing against you.

Jake groaned, his grip on your throat flexing, his lips twitching into something darkly amused as you completely fell apart for him.

“There she is,” he murmured. “That’s what I wanted.”

Your mouth ran wild, the words spilling before you could stop them—

“I want you to ruin me, Jake—”

You rocked against him, panting, desperate, his hand tight in your hair now, keeping you in place, making you take it.

“Want you to spread me open—make me take every inch of you—”

Jake groaned, low and wrecked, his hands gripping your hips, holding you against him as you rubbed yourself raw against his cock, soaking his sweatpants with how desperate you were.

You did exactly that.

You pulled your fingers out, spreading your slick between them, before shifting positions—

Turning around.

Bending over.

Spreading yourself open for him.

A sharp, gritted curse came from behind you.

Jake’s fingers flexed against his thigh, his entire body going rigid as he took in the sight before him—your ass up, your fingers teasing at your entrance, the shameless, dripping mess you were making of yourself.

He let out a slow, heavy breath, one that sounded so ragged, so fucking strained, that you almost moaned just from hearing it.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, voice low, wrecked.

And that was the moment you knew.

Jake was going to destroy you.

Jake let the silence stretch, let the weight of his gaze sink into you, let you feel just how much he was holding back—barely.

You were still bent over in front of him, still spreading yourself wide, still waiting, dripping, panting, desperate, while he sat back and took his time.

His voice, low, rough, taunting:

“You think this is how I’d fuck you?”

Your stomach plummeted.

Jake exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his jaw before shaking his head, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment.

“That’s cute, baby,” he murmured, shifting forward until you could feel his heat against you, his presence looming over your back, his breath hitting your spine.

But then—

He grabbed your hips, both hands firm, controlling, and yanked you back against him. Your breath hitched, a choked gasp slipping from your lips at the sudden contact—your bare, slick heat pressing against the thick, hard outline of his cock.

Jake groaned, low, deep, wrecked, his fingers tightening, his chest heaving as he held you there, perfectly still, completely at his mercy.

“First mistake,” he muttered, voice rough against your ear. “You wouldn’t be in charge of how fast or slow I fuck you. That’s my job.”

A shudder ran through you, your hands clenching against the sheets as Jake’s grip ground you against him, making you feel every inch of his cock through his sweatpants.

“Second mistake?” he continued, dragging his fingers over the curve of your ass, featherlight, teasing. “You think I’d let you touch yourself first?”

Your breath caught as his hand moved lower, closer, his touch just barely skimming over your soaked entrance, not enough, not even close, just a tease.

His fingers—elegant, veined, strong—dragged through your slick, gathering it, smearing it over you, spreading you open, making you tremble.

“I’d have you like this first,” Jake murmured, voice silk and gravel, his breath hitting the nape of your neck as his fingers teased, circled, prodded, but never gave you what you needed. “Dripping. Begging.”

His fingers brushed over your tight, untouched entrance, slicking it up with your own mess, and you whimpered, hips jolting forward on instinct, trying to escape the sensation—

But Jake just chuckled.

“Oh?” His tone was mocking, amused. “That got your attention?”

Your whole body seized, heat flaming through your spine, burning at your core, because—

He was still teasing your ass.

Just barely, just the pad of his fingertip, smearing your slick in slow, lazy circles, pressing, nudging, teasing, but not pushing inside.

And he wasn’t letting you run from it.

His free hand pressed into your lower back, keeping you right where he wanted you, keeping you spread, exposed, open.

“You think about this too?” he murmured, voice dark, edged with pure sin. “You think about my fingers stretching you out?”

Your throat closed, your body burning, your breath hitching in a desperate, humiliated whimper, because—

Yes.

Yes, you did.

Jake chuckled, pleased, tilting his head as if piecing it all together.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, his fingertip pressing just a little more insistently, not pushing in yet, just teasing, just threatening to. “You should’ve seen yourself.”

Your pulse pounded.

“I bet you don’t even know how messy you looked,” he continued, mocking, condescending. “Whimpering, drooling all over your pillow, fucking yourself open for me.”

Your entire body jerked, because you knew exactly what video he was talking about.

Jake just laughed under his breath, slow, deliberate, dragging it out.

“I don’t even think you knew what you were saying, baby,” he murmured, voice almost affectionate, like he was reminiscing. “Kept whining about how you wished it was my cock stretching you open, stuffing you full.”

A wrecked, desperate moan tore from your throat before you could stop it.

Jake groaned, low, pleased.

“There it is,” he murmured. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

His finger pressed harder, circling, coaxing, never giving you enough—just teasing, just pushing your body past what it thought it could take.

His other hand moved.

His fingers found your clit, pinching, rolling, flicking over the swollen bud with zero mercy.

You gasped, your legs nearly giving out, your moan high, broken, utterly wrecked.

Jake groaned at the sound, his own restraint hanging by a thread, but he wasn’t done yet.

“Stick your tongue out,” he ordered, voice deep, commanding.

You barely had time to process the words before your mouth obeyed, tongue slipping out, slick and needy, desperate for whatever he’d give you.

Jake exhaled through his nose, satisfied.

He shoved his fingers inside your mouth.

You whined, head tilting back as he pressed deeper, letting you taste the salt of his skin, letting you soak them, letting you understand exactly what he was about to do.

“Suck,” he murmured, and you did, your lips wrapping around his fingers, your tongue laving over them, your moans vibrating through your chest.

Jake cursed under his breath, his cock twitching hard beneath his sweatpants, his control hanging on by a fucking thread.

He pulled his fingers out, slick, wet, dripping with your spit.

And then he shoved that same finger inside you.

Your whole body jerked, your breath stuttering, your mind blanking completely as the wet stretch burned, as your body took him, clenched around him, pulled him deeper.

Jake groaned, his free hand slamming onto your lower back, keeping you still, forcing you to take it.

“God,” he muttered, voice strained. “Look at you.”

His finger slid deeper, fucking into you, spreading you open, filling you slowly, deliberately, ruining you.

“You were made for this, weren’t you?” he murmured. “Made to be filled.”

Your moans shattered, your legs trembling, your hands gripping the sheets, your whole body unraveling under him.

Jake just smirked, watching you come apart.

“That’s okay, baby,” he murmured, his lips curling against your ear. “I’m gonna make sure you take it better than that next time.”

Your stomach dropped.

Next time.

Jake just smirked.

“Oh,” he murmured, voice lethal. “And don’t forget—I’m filming the next one.”

Jake had had enough.

Enough of teasing, enough of waiting, enough of holding back while you squirmed, while you whimpered, while you dripped all over yourself without him even needing to try.

Now he was going to ruin you.

His fingers slid out of you slowly, deliberately, letting you feel every inch of the slick drag, letting your body clench around nothing, aching, desperate for more.

You whined, shifting, pushing back instinctively, chasing friction, but Jake’s hands were already on you, pushing you down, flipping you onto your back in one smooth motion.

Before you could even catch your breath, he was on you.

His grip locked onto your thighs, spreading you wide, forcing your legs apart so you had no choice but to bare yourself to him completely.

Your pulse roared in your ears.

Jake exhaled slowly, his eyes dark, hungry, his gaze locked onto the messy, dripping heat between your legs.

“Fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself, his fingers flexing against your thighs, holding you open like you belonged to him.

Your stomach flipped. Your breath hitched. Your body throbbed.

“Be a good girl and show me how bad you want it.”

Your brain blanked.

You knew what he meant. Knew he was testing you. Knew he wanted to see if you were still pretending, still holding back, still playing shy when you were already dripping for him.

He would stop.

He would kick you out.

His voice was low, slow, unforgiving when he spoke again. “If you don’t act like the whore I know you are, I’m gonna stop. And I’m gonna make you leave.”

Your breath shattered.

The weight of his words hit you like a slap to the face.

No more hesitation. No more nerves. No more pretending.

Your whole body flushed hot, heat spreading from your cheeks down to your core as you swallowed your pride, swallowed your shame, and did exactly what he asked.

You let your thighs fall even wider, your hands sliding down your stomach, past your hips, until your fingers spread yourself open for him, letting him see everything.

Jake’s breath left him in a ragged curse.

“That’s it,” he muttered, almost to himself. “There she is.”

His mouth latched onto you immediately, tongue dragging through your folds, hot and wet and messy, licking up every bit of slick that had spilled from you since he started his torment.

You screamed.

Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands, pulling, gripping, holding on for dear life as Jake ate you alive.

He groaned against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your core, making your hips buck, making you writhe beneath him.

But Jake was ready for it.

His arms hooked under your thighs, locking them over his shoulders, his hands gripping your hips tight, pinning you down as he worked you over with his tongue, messy and relentless, like he was trying to drown in you.

“Oh my fucking—Jake—”

You gasped, sobbed, choked on your own moans, because he wasn’t just licking you,

He was devouring you.

Sucking, flicking, rolling his tongue over your clit, dipping lower to fuck you with it, groaning into you every time your walls fluttered around the slick muscle.

Your body twitched, overwhelmed, shaking under the pressure of his grip, the raw, unrelenting pace of his tongue.

He was merciless.

No teasing. No holding back.

Just Jake, consuming you, controlling you, wrecking you.

Your thighs tensed, your stomach tightened, your breath coming in short, sharp, desperate gasps, and Jake fucking felt it.

He knew you were close.

So he got mean.

He pulled away just enough to whisper against your swollen, drenched folds—

“Make a mess of my face, baby.”

Your stomach dropped.

He sucked your clit into his mouth and flicked his tongue over it hard.

Everything snapped.

Your whole body bowed, your mouth falling open in a silent scream, your vision blurring, blanking, as pleasure slammed into you, violent and unforgiving.

You came hard, your body convulsing, your legs trying to snap shut around his head, but Jake just held you there, kept you wide open, kept his tongue right where you needed it, licking you through it, dragging it out until you were a shaking, sobbing mess beneath him.

When it finally became too much, when your whimpers turned into soft, wrecked sobs, Jake eased up, pressing slow, teasing kisses against your oversensitive clit before finally pulling away.

Your chest heaved, your skin flushed, your whole body buzzing, as you blinked up at the ceiling, completely wrecked, ruined, destroyed.

Jake sat back, grinning, his lips and chin shiny, slick, messy with you.

His voice was smug, satisfied, when he finally spoke.

“That’s my girl.”

You were still panting, still trembling, your body wrecked from the brutal pace of his tongue. But Jake wasn’t done with you yet.

Not even close.

Before you could recover, before you could even think, his hands were on you again, flipping you onto your stomach with zero effort, pressing his weight down against you, his body hot, heavy, overwhelming.

You barely had time to catch your breath before you felt it,

The thick, hot length of his cock pressing between your thighs, dragging through your slick, coating himself in the mess he’d made of you.

Your whole body shuddered.

“Gonna fuck you now,” he murmured against the shell of your ear, voice dark, dangerous. “You ready for me, baby?”

You barely managed to nod, your hips tilting up, your back arching, offering yourself up to him in the filthiest display of submission.

Jake groaned, his breath shuddering against your shoulder.

“Yeah, you are,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You’ve been ready for me since day one.”

Your breath hitched when he pulled back, when you felt him shift, when you felt him line himself up,

You felt it.

The thick, heavy weight of his cock sliding between your folds, dragging over your clit, teasing your entrance, spreading you open inch by inch, but not pushing in yet.

You whimpered, a wrecked, frustrated sound, trying to push back, trying to take him, but Jake’s hands were on your hips immediately, holding you still.

“Not yet,” he murmured, voice taunting, smug. “You feel that?”

Your whole body tightened as he dragged himself over your entrance again, so close but still not giving it to you.

“Feel how big I am?”

You nodded furiously, eyes blown wide, unfocused, needy, trying to breathe through the overwhelming feeling of his cock stretching you open already before he was even inside.

Jake chuckled, one hand leaving your hip, gripping the thick base of himself, dragging the fat, swollen head against your entrance over and over, smearing your slick across his length.

“Bet you thought about it, huh?” he murmured, his free hand sliding up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades, forcing you further into the mattress. “Bet you imagined how deep I’d be.”

A wrecked, whiny little moan tumbled from your lips.

Yeah. You had.

And now you could feel it.

Jake was thick. Heavy. Long enough that you knew he was going to ruin you completely.

The head of his cock was flushed a deep, angry red, already slick with precum and the mess you’d made of yourself. A thick vein ran down the underside, pulsing against your entrance as he dragged himself over your folds again and again, teasing, taunting, letting you feel every single inch of what was about to wreck you.

Your thighs shook, your hands fisting the sheets, your whole body fighting to stay still.

Jake smirked.

“Want it that bad?”

You nodded frantically, whimpering, pressing back against him, desperate to be filled.

Jake groaned, low, dark, lethal.

He spat directly onto your asshole.

Your whole body jerked violently, your breath choking out of you, a sharp, desperate gasp breaking from your throat at the filthy, messy sound of it.

Jake chuckled darkly, rubbing the wetness into you with his thumb, spreading it over your tight entrance, teasing, circling, smearing it with your own slick.

“Thought about this too, huh?” he murmured, pressing just the tip of his thumb against it, making your thighs tremble, making your stomach flip, making you whine.

But he didn’t push in.

No—he dragged his spit-slicked thumb down, tracing it between your folds, pressing it against your clit in a slow, taunting rub just as he finally—

Pushed inside.

Your mouth fell open in a wrecked, silent scream, your entire body going taut, because Jake didn’t ease in.

He split you open.

A long, low groan rumbled in his chest, his fingers tightening on your hips, his breath shaking as he forced you to take every inch.

“Fuck, baby,” he hissed, his voice strained, wrecked, strained as he buried himself to the hilt. “So fucking tight.”

Your fingernails dug into the sheets, your legs shaking, your breath completely gone, because the stretch was unbearable, overwhelming, perfect.

Jake didn’t move right away.

He let you feel it.

Feel how deep he was, how full he made you, how there was no more space inside you for anything else but him.

He pulled back, 

And slammed back in.

Your whole body jolted forward, a sharp, shocked moan spilling from your lips as Jake set a brutal, punishing pace immediately.

“You’re gonna take it like a good little slut, yeah?” he growled, his voice low, rough, filthy. “Gonna take it just like you do in those videos?”

You sobbed, whimpered, nodded frantically, barely able to form words, barely able to breathe.

Jake groaned, watching you fall apart, watching you drool all over his cock, watching your mouth fall open in perfect, wordless pleasure.

He leaned down, teeth grazing your ear, his pace never faltering, pounding into you so deep you saw stars.

“Push back on it,” he ordered.

You barely even registered the command—just obeyed immediately, rocking back against him, meeting every thrust, taking him like you were made for it.

Jake growled, his grip tightening, watching the way his cock slid in and out of you, watching the way you took every inch, watching the way you spread yourself open for him completely.

“Good girl,” he gritted out, sweat dripping from his temples, his breath ragged. “That’s it, baby. Show me what a good little whore you are.”

His fingers slid back down, toying with your clit, rubbing it in tight, filthy circles, his thrusts getting harder, deeper, meaner.

Your vision blurred.

Your body shook violently.

“Jake—fuck—I can’t—”

He chuckled darkly, leaning over you again, his lips brushing your ear as he ruined you completely.

“Yes, you can.”

“Be a good girl and come all over my cock.”

Your whole world shattered.

The air in the room was thick, heavy with the scent of sex and sweat and everything filthy you’d just done.

Your body was still shaking, your limbs still boneless, every nerve still buzzing from the way Jake had just completely, utterly wrecked you.

His hands were on you again.

Gentle.

You barely registered the shift at first—too dazed, too exhausted, too blissed out to notice the way Jake’s grip had softened, the way his rough, dominant touch had turned into something careful, careful, careful.

You blinked, still coming down, still floating, as Jake slowly eased himself out of you, hushing you immediately when you whimpered at the loss.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice softer now, a stark contrast to the filthy, merciless way he’d been talking to you minutes ago.

Your brows furrowed in confusion.

Because Jake sounded different.

You barely had time to process it before he moved, scooping you up effortlessly, pulling you into his lap like you were the most precious fucking thing in the world.

Your stomach flipped.

“Jake—”

“Shh.”

His lips brushed your forehead.

Your heart skipped. Your breath caught.

Because Jake had kissed you.

For the first time. But not on your lips.

Not yet.

His hands rubbed slow, soothing circles over your back, his voice a quiet murmur against your skin. “Are you okay?”

You blinked at him, completely thrown. Because what the fuck?

Where was the cocky, filthy-mouthed Jake who had just spent the past hour ruining your entire existence?

Where was the smug, insufferable bastard who had made you beg for it, who had spat on your ass, who had laughed while you drooled all over his cock?

Because the guy holding you now? Was someone else entirely. His hands were warm, steady, grounding. His gaze was soft, searching, real.

Your lips parted, still stunned, but before you could say anything, Jake let out a quiet, almost nervous chuckle.

“Fuck,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face before looking back at you. “I should’ve kissed you first.”

Your breath hitched.

Jake exhaled, shaking his head. “Before all of that.” His fingers traced light, delicate patterns up and down your spine. “Didn’t want the first time I kissed you to be during sex.”

Something in your chest ached. You didn’t know what to say.

Because this wasn’t what you expected.

Jake had spent weeks taunting you, teasing you, pushing you past your limits— Now he was holding you like he never wanted to let go. You swallowed, watching him carefully, studying him, trying to understand.

“Why?” you whispered.

Jake’s lips curled into a small, almost sheepish smirk.

His fingers found your chin, tilting your face up to his.

“Because I wanted it to mean something.”

Your entire body stilled. Your pulse roared in your ears.

Jake held your gaze, serious now, voice soft but firm.

“I don’t share,” he murmured.

Your stomach plummeted.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. Jake tilted his head, his fingers sliding up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, so gentle, so intimate, so fucking real.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” he continued, his voice low, steady, certain. “I don’t want you fucking anyone else.”

Your breath shuddered. Jake’s eyes flickered down to your lips, slowly He finally kissed you.

Slow. Deep. Consuming.

And just like that, you knew you were done for.

-

Jake’s words from that first night still haunted you.

“You’re gonna show me later.”

You were.

The bathroom lights were dim, the mirror already fogging up from the heat of the room, but none of that mattered. Not when Jake was standing behind you, one hand gripping your hip, the other holding his phone, recording every filthy, desperate second.

Your palms were pressed against the edge of the sink, your body bent forward, the cold porcelain digging into your clit as you grinded against it, mimicking exactly what he had caught you doing before.

Only this time, Jake was fucking you through it.

His cock dragged in and out of you, slow at first, deep and deliberate, splitting you open, making you feel every thick, devastating inch as you rocked your hips forward, rubbing yourself against the sink just like you had before he ever touched you.

Now, Jake was watching.

Now, Jake was inside you.

His breath was hot against your neck, his free hand trailing up your spine, fingers pressing between your shoulder blades, pushing you further down against the sink, making you spread your legs wider, making you take more of him, making you completely his.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his voice wrecked, low, approving, his free hand digging into your hip, holding you exactly where he wanted you. “Just like that. Just like you did for me before I ever fucking touched you.”

Your moans were high, gasping, desperate, bouncing off the tile walls, growing louder and louder as Jake’s thrusts grew faster, sharper, filthier.

“Look at yourself,” he growled, angling the phone so you could see the reflection—see the way your face was contorted with pleasure, see the way your tits bounced with every thrust, see the way his cock disappeared inside you, stretching you wide, filling you completely.

You locked eyes with him through the mirror, and something snapped.

A slow, wicked smirk curled on your lips, and suddenly, the whimpering mess you had been was gone.

You arched your back further, pushing your ass back against him, grinding onto his cock, fucking yourself onto him even harder, your mouth spilling filth without hesitation.

“You see that, baby?” Your voice was thick with sin, sultry and commanding. “See how good your cock looks inside me? Stretching me open like I was fucking made for it?”

Jake groaned, dark and wrecked, his grip tightening on your hips.

“Oh, you like that?” you cooed, deliberately clenching around him, making him hiss through his teeth. “Like watching me fuck myself on you?”

He gritted his teeth. “Jesus Christ.”

“Thought about this for so long,” you purred, rolling your hips. “Thought about you taking me like this—filming me—showing me what a good little slut I am for you.”

Jake cursed under his breath, his thrusts growing harder, faster, deeper, his control shattering as he pounded into you, forcing you against the sink, making you feel every fucking inch.

“You wanna keep talking, baby?” he gritted out, his hand snaking up to grip your throat, making you hold his gaze in the mirror. “Or do you wanna fucking come?”

Your moan broke, your whole body trembling, your legs shaking violently.

“I—I want both,” you gasped, a shameless, breathless mess. “Wanna come all over your cock while you fucking record it. Wanna make the dirtiest fucking video for you—so you can watch me fall apart over and over—”

Jake groaned, his restraint snapping completely.

His hand slid between your thighs, rubbing you mercilessly, his cock slamming into you faster, harder, filthier, and before you could even process it—

You were screaming, your orgasm ripping through you violently, your whole body convulsing, shaking, breaking apart.

Jake got every second on video.

-

Jake liked to smoke weed after long days.

He liked to do it while wrecking you.

The air was thick with smoke, the room hot, hazy, suffocating in the most intoxicating way. You were sprawled out on his bed, your thighs spread wide, your wrists pinned beside your head as Jake’s tongue dragged lazy, filthy circles over your clit, lapping at you with zero urgency, completely unbothered by how fucking desperate you were getting.

In his free hand? A joint.

Burning slow. The smoke curling through the air, weaving between your tangled bodies, seeping into your skin, into your mind, into your bones.

Every nerve in your body was on fire. Every slow, teasing flick of his tongue felt magnified, every inhale he took deepening the fog that was swallowing you whole.

You moaned, squirming, your fingers digging into the sheets as your hips lifted, chasing his mouth, trying to get more, but Jake just chuckled darkly, pinning you down, refusing to let you take control.

He lifted his head slightly, blowing a long, slow stream of thick, warm smoke over your drenched, swollen clit.

Your body jerked violently, a sharp cry breaking from your throat, the sensation too much, too overwhelming, too fucking filthy.

“Fuck—Jake—”

He groaned, lazy, satisfied, licking his lips before dragging his tongue through your folds again, so slow, so teasing, so fucking unbearable.

“Sensitive, baby?” His voice was thick, taunting, dripping with amusement. He took another deep inhale from the joint, holding the smoke in his lungs, letting his fingers slide through your wetness, teasing, circling, rubbing—but never giving you enough.

He exhaled another thick, slow drag of smoke, letting it roll over your heat, watching as the wisps curled around your trembling thighs, your stomach, your completely wrecked, ruined body.

A wrecked, filthy moan spilled from your lips.

Jake smirked against your inner thigh, watching you twitch, tremble, shake, watching your chest rise and fall rapidly, watching the way your fingers clawed at the sheets, desperate for more.

“You like that, baby?” he murmured, his fingers sliding deeper, pressing inside you so fucking slow, dragging against your walls, curling just right.

You whimpered, back arching off the mattress. “Yes—fuck, yes—”

Jake hummed approvingly, the sound low and sinful, his lips dragging over your inner thigh, nipping at the soft flesh, teasing, taunting.

He did something unholy.

He brought the joint down,

And pressed the burning tip directly to your clit.

It didn’t hurt—it was barely a graze, the heat of the ember just close enough to send a violent shockwave of pleasure-pain through your entire fucking body.

You screamed, your legs snapping closed around his head, but Jake just growled, gripping your thighs and spreading them wide again, forcing you open for him.

“Ah, ah,” he tutted, bringing the joint back to his lips for another slow, deep pull. “Keep those legs open, baby.”

Your chest heaved, your mind spinning, every part of you hypersensitive, overstimulated, teetering on the fucking edge.

Jake watched you, eyes blown, hungry, dark, as he reached between your thighs again, his fingers finding your swollen, overstimulated clit, rubbing messy, lazy circles, smearing your slick, keeping you right there, right on the brink.

He exhaled another cloud of smoke, letting it roll directly over your heat.

Your moan broke, a sharp, wrecked sob, your body tensing, shaking, fighting the unbearable pressure building inside you.

“Oh, baby,” Jake mocked, his voice thick with sin, his fingers never stopping, never slowing. “You’re gonna fucking come just from this, aren’t you?”

You nodded frantically, whimpering, writhing, your whole body fighting to hold itself together.

Jake’s lips twitched, his cock straining against his sweats, his own control slipping as he dragged the joint over your soaked folds, rubbing the tip against your clit, watching you jerk, watching your legs tremble, watching you fall apart for him.

You said it.

Your voice was high, wrecked, desperate.

“Please, Daddy.”

Jake froze.

He let out a deep, low groan, something dark flashing in his eyes. His grip on your thighs tightened, his body tensed, his restraint snapping completely.

His voice was rough, strained, wrecked beyond recognition.

“Say that shit again.”

You whimpered, grinding against nothing, teetering right on the edge of something violent.

“Please, Daddy,” you repeated, voice syrupy sweet, dripping with sin. “My pussy wants a hit too it needs it. Need you to make me come so fucking hard I forget my own name—”

Jake growled, his entire body shuddering, his control obliterated.

He took another slow inhale,

He pressed the joint back to your clit, the heat searing, shocking, sending a violent shudder through your entire body.

Your legs spasmed, your stomach tensed, and suddenly you were gushing, soaking his face, his chest, the sheets beneath you, every single muscle in your body seizing as you squirted all over him.

Jake groaned loudly, his hand gripping your thigh bruisingly tight, his tongue lapping up the mess you made, drinking you down, humming against your dripping folds like he’d just found his new favorite way to get high.

Jake took the joint, still damp from where he’d pressed it against your soaked heat, brought it back to his lips, and took one final, slow hit.

His exhale was slow, deep, pure sin as he looked down at you, wrecked, spent, twitching beneath him.

He leaned in, grabbed your jaw, and kissed you.

Filthy. Deep. Destroying.

Smoke still lingered on his tongue, on his breath, invading your lungs, intoxicating you more than any drug ever could.

His teeth tugged at your lower lip, his hand gripping the back of your neck, holding you exactly where he wanted you.

And as he pulled away, leaving you breathless, ruined, completely fucking gone, he grinned against your lips, voice nothing but a low, wrecked murmur.

“Bet you taste even better than the high, baby.”

-

The bathroom was already steaming, condensation rolling down the glass shower door, the air thick with humidity—and the sounds of Jake fucking you senseless.

Your body was pressed against the glass, the cool surface a stark contrast to your feverish, flushed skin, your nipples dragging against it with every brutal thrust, leaving streaks of your desperation across the fogged-up surface.

Jake’s hands were everywhere—one gripping your hip tight enough to bruise, the other wrapped around your throat, holding you in place, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

Fucking lethal.

“You wanted this, huh?” he growled, his breath hot against your ear, his cock slamming into you from behind, deep, ruthless, unforgiving. “Wanted Daddy to take you like this?”

You whimpered, your forehead pressing into the glass, your nails scraping uselessly against it, because you had no control over anything anymore.

Jake wasn’t just fucking you. He was owning you.

His hand on your throat tightened, forcing you to lift your head, making you stare at your own fucked-out reflection in the glass.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his tone condescending, filthy, dripping with amusement. “You see yourself, baby?”

Your mouth hung open, your lips puffy, swollen, wrecked, your body shaking with every deep thrust, your nipples dragging against the slick surface of the glass, leaving desperate little streaks with every movement.

Jake chuckled darkly. “So fucking dumb for me, huh?”

You tried to speak—tried to say something, anything—but all that came out was a wrecked, helpless little sob.

Jake groaned, his free hand sliding down, gripping your jaw, forcing your head back, forcing you to keep looking.

“You wanted to fuck me in the shower?” he mocked, his hips snapping forward, burying himself so deep you saw fucking stars. “Now you can barely even stand.”

Your whole body convulsed, your walls clenching tightly around him, and Jake felt it.

Felt how fucking wrecked you were.

Felt how close you were.

And he wasn’t having it.

Not yet.

His thrusts suddenly slowed, the brutal, relentless pace shifting into deep, slow, torturous rolls of his hips, dragging his cock out of you so slowly, before slamming back inside.

You sobbed, the glass fogging up from your panting, helpless gasps.

“Oh, you don’t like that, baby?” he taunted, his grip on your jaw tightening, his thumb pushing into your mouth, forcing it open. “Thought you wanted Daddy to fuck you. What happened, huh?”

You whimpered around his thumb, your tongue lapping at the rough pad, sucking instinctively, needing something to hold onto before you fucking lost your mind.

Jake groaned, his pace picking up again, faster, harsher, filthier, his cock hitting deep, devastating spots inside you that made your legs buckle beneath you.

Your moans grew louder, more desperate, high, gasping little cries that bounced off the tile walls, mixing with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the shower running, the heavy panting of both of you completely fucking falling apart.

Jake leaned in, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear, his hand on your jaw sliding down, wrapping fully around your throat.

“You’re gonna take everything I give you,” he murmured, low, dark, dangerous.

You nodded frantically, whimpering, your hands bracing against the glass, leaving messy little fingerprints in the condensation.

Jake groaned, watching you lose yourself, watching the way your body responded to him, the way you trembled, the way you fucking fell apart for him.

“Go ahead, baby,” he murmured, his thrusts turning erratic, ruthless, brutal, perfect. “Come for me.”

Your whole body snapped.

A shattered, broken moan spilled from your lips as your orgasm slammed into you, your walls clenching, pulsing, milking him, your body shaking violently as wave after wave of pleasure consumed you.

Jake cursed, his grip tightening, his own breath shattering against your ear as he thrust into you a few more times, then he buried himself deep, groaning through gritted teeth, coming inside you, his body tensing, shaking, completely fucking wrecked.

The only sound left in the room was your panting breaths, the steady patter of the shower, the faint creak of the glass as your bodies pressed against it, spent, ruined, completely fucking gone.

Jake’s hands slid to your hips, his grip softening, pulling you back against his chest, wrapping his arms around you as his forehead pressed against the back of your neck.

A quiet, breathless chuckle escaped him. “Damn, baby.”

You laughed, weak, fucked-out, completely ruined.

“Next time,” he murmured, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder. “You’re riding me.”

-

Jake had never been gentle.

Not really. Not when it came to you.

Because you pulled something reckless, desperate, uncontrollable out of him.

Tonight was different.

The candles flickered softly, the scent of warm vanilla filling the air, mixing with the faint traces of Jake’s cologne on his sheets. The playlist he made for you played quietly in the background, soft, slow, achingly sweet.

Jake was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

His hands were slow, careful, reverent as he traced your body, fingertips ghosting over your bare skin, leaving shivers in their wake.

He hovered over you, his gaze heavy, intense, the way he always looked at you when he was about to ruin you.

Tonight, he was going to love you.

“Happy one month, baby,” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours, soft, teasing, unbearably tender.

Your stomach flipped, your chest aching, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him down, needing more.

Jake chuckled against your mouth, letting you kiss him, letting you taste the slow, burning affection behind every drag of his lips.

“You always so needy for me, huh?” he teased, grinning against your mouth, teasing but soft, always so soft.

You pouted, fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper, slower.

Jake groaned, his body pressing into yours, his warmth wrapping around you, completely engulfing you.

And when he finally—finally—pushed inside you, it was the slowest thing you’d ever felt.

A sharp gasp slipped from your lips, your head falling back as Jake’s body sank into yours, inch by inch, stretching you, filling you completely.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath uneven, wrecked, completely lost in you.

You clenched around him, your thighs tightening around his hips, pulling him deeper, needing more,

But Jake just smirked, shaking his head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your jaw.

“Not rushing tonight, baby,” he murmured, voice low, gentle, soothing, but firm. “Gonna take my time with you.”

Your chest ached, your breath shaking, your fingers sliding down his back, gripping onto him, holding him close.

Jake moved slowly, agonizingly so, rolling his hips into yours in long, deep strokes, his body pressed flush against you, his lips tracing every inch of your skin.

It was everything.

The way he whispered against your lips, soft, teasing, murmuring about how perfect you felt, how much he loved being inside you.

The way he kissed you between every word, slow, messy, deep, like he needed you to feel every bit of how much he wanted you, adored you, fucking loved you.

The way his hands caressed your body, memorizing every inch of you, fingertips dragging over your waist, your ribs, your thighs, like he needed to burn you into his skin.

It was soft.

It was overwhelming.

It was Jake, giving you every single piece of himself.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, voice thick, wrecked, raw, his lips pressing against your temple, your cheek, your jaw, before finding your lips again.

And when he finally—finally—pushed you over the edge, it was like drowning.

Your orgasm hit slow, deep, all-consuming, your whole body melting into his, your fingers gripping his shoulders like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to this earth.

Jake followed right after, burying himself deep, shuddering, groaning into your mouth, completely fucking lost in you.

When you were spent, ruined, completely wrapped up in him, he didn’t move.

Didn’t pull away. Didn’t let you go.

Instead, he cupped your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek, soft, tender, adoring.

He kissed you.

Slow. Lingering. Perfect.

“I Love you,” he murmured, lips still pressed against yours, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart skipped.

Your breath hitched.

When you whispered it back, Jake smiled against your mouth.

-

Jake had been staring at you for a full ten minutes.

Not subtly. Not in passing. Full-on, pouty-lipped, arms-crossed, lovesick puppy-dog-eyes staring.

You had noticed, of course—you always noticed when Jake was desperate for attention—but you had been trying to see how long he would hold out before cracking. You scrolled through your phone lazily, sipping from your water bottle, pretending to be completely oblivious to the fact that your boyfriend was sulking next to you like you had just broken his heart.

A deep, dramatic sigh.

You smirked, tilting your head just slightly to catch him in your peripheral. Sure enough, he was still pouting, still glaring at you like you had done something terrible.

You raised a brow. “What?”

Jake let out another, even heavier sigh, rolling onto his side to face you, his arms curling around your waist, pulling you against him like you were his last source of oxygen.

“You haven’t kissed me yet,” he muttered, muffled against your shirt.

You blinked. “What?”

Jake lifted his head, his expression pure devastation.

“You haven’t kissed me,” he repeated, dead serious.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up in your throat. “Jake—”

“Jakey,” he corrected, pointing to his cheek expectantly.

You bit your lip, eyes glimmering with amusement, but leaned in anyway, pressing a soft, slow peck to his cheek.

Jake let out the happiest sigh, his lips curling into the softest, sweetest little smile, eyes fluttering shut like he had just been granted salvation.

“Mmm,” he hummed, squeezing you tighter. “Better.”

You shook your head, laughing softly, trailing your fingers through his hair, but before you could pull away, he was tilting his chin up, tapping his other cheek.

“Missed a spot.”

You rolled your eyes, but indulged him, pressing another gentle kiss to his other cheek.

Jake sighed even deeper, his hands tightening around your waist, his grin growing even wider.

“Good girl,” he murmured, pressing his face into your neck, breathing you in.

You bit your lip, heart melting at how soft, sweet, and completely in love he was. Jake had his moods—he could be cocky, insatiable, dominant, but this? This was your favorite.

He nuzzled against you, sighing softly. “You know, I’ve been thinking about our wedding.”

Your breath hitched. “Oh?”

Jake just nodded, his smile so content, so blissful.

“Yeah. I’ve got it all planned out,” he mused, tilting his chin up expectantly again.

You smirked. “What?”

Jake pointed to his lips.

You giggled, leaning down, kissing him slow, savoring the soft little hum he let out, the way his fingers curled tighter into your sides.

When you pulled away, he was grinning like an idiot.

“Okay, so,” he started, eyes glimmering. “It’s gotta be on a beach. You in some flowy-ass dress, looking like a literal angel.”

You smiled at the thought, pressing another kiss to his temple.

Jake sighed, eyes slipping shut for a moment, his body completely relaxed, completely wrapped up in the idea.

“And our honeymoon?” he continued, his voice getting even softer, even dreamier. “Bora Bora. Or the Maldives. Somewhere I can keep you in bed for a whole week.”

You gasped, swatting his chest playfully. “Jake—”

“Jakey,” he corrected again, glaring immediately.

You sighed dramatically, leaning down and pressing a peck to his nose.

Jake sighed, so blissed out he could barely speak for a second.

“God, I love you,” he murmured, pressing tiny kisses to your collarbone, your shoulder, anywhere he could reach.

You smiled against his skin, your lips still ghosting over his temple. “Love you too.”

Jake hummed, shifting so he could press his forehead against yours, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on your back.

“You know,” he started, his voice lower, softer, full of something even deeper. “I was thinking three kids. Two boys, one girl.”

You smiled. “Oh yeah?”

“Or,” he continued, grinning, “what if we get twins? Like, one of each?”

You kissed his cheek. “You’re ridiculous.”

Jake huffed, tugging you closer, burying himself into your warmth. “Not ridiculous. Just in love.”

He closed his eyes, sighing. “You’re gonna stay home, right? Take care of the house, the kids, let me take care of you?”

Your chest tightened. “You’d be okay with that?”

He snorted, pulling back to look at you like you had lost your mind. “Baby, I’d love that. I’d spoil you rotten.”

Your stomach flipped.

“Think about it,” he murmured, his voice turning lower, teasing. “You, waiting for me when I come home, wearing one of my shirts, telling me how much you missed me.”

You felt hot all over.

He smirked. “God, you’d be the best little housewife.”

You pressed your face into his chest, flustered, overwhelmed, completely wrapped around his finger.

Jake just laughed, holding you so tight, so safe, so his.

“And the house?” he murmured, squeezing your waist. “We need something big, but cozy. A huge kitchen—‘cause I know you love to cook. A fireplace, maybe? A backyard for the kids. A big-ass bed so I can keep you all to myself.”

You whined, squeezing your eyes shut. “Jake, stop.”

Jake grinned. “Jakey,” he corrected one last time, tapping his lips.

You rolled your eyes but leaned down anyway, kissing him slow, soft, deep.

He sighed into it, his fingers curling into your hair, holding you there, kissing you like he had all the time in the world.

And when you pulled away, breathless, hearts pounding, he whispered against your lips, “You’re gonna marry me.”

Your chest ached.

You couldn’t wait to. “Yeah, Jakey. I’m gonna marry you.”

-

The morning had started innocent enough.

At least, as innocent as waking up naked and tangled with Jake Sim could be.

You were supposed to get up early. You were supposed to go to class on time for once. But then Jake shifted, his warm, bare skin pressing into yours, his breath heavy against your ear, his hand already sliding between your thighs before you were even fully awake.

“Morning, baby,” he murmured, raspy, teasing, completely unbothered by the fact that you were already running late.

You lost all track of time.

Jake didn’t need to touch you to ruin you.

Sometimes, all it took was his voice.

“You’re not gonna make it to class, are you?” he mused, low and smug, his lips brushing against your ear.

You shuddered, squeezing your eyes shut as you pressed your thighs together, trying to ignore the way your body reacted to just his words.

Jake chuckled, shifting so he was propped up on one elbow, looking down at you like he was already planning how much worse he was going to make it. Slow, teasing, torturously confident.

“You always do this,” he murmured, tracing lazy patterns along your stomach. “Pretend you’re gonna leave. Act like you’re strong enough to walk away from me.”

You swallowed hard, gripping the sheets, your chest rising and falling too quickly.

Jake smirked. He noticed.

“What’s wrong, baby?” His voice was taunting, almost sympathetic. “Already shaking and I haven’t even touched you yet?”

You exhaled sharply, squeezing your legs tighter together.

Jake tsked. “Oh, sweetheart.”

His hand ghosted down, his fingers dragging over your hip, down the outside of your thigh, barely there, completely teasing.

“You’re already soaked, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, biting your lip, refusing to answer.

He hummed, shaking his head. “So easy for me.”

You turned your head, hiding your face against the pillow, but Jake wasn’t having that.

“Look at me,” he murmured, low and firm, the kind of tone that made your stomach flip.

You hesitated, but turned back, meeting his gaze. His eyes were dark, heavy, filled with pure amusement.

“There’s my good girl,” he murmured, running a finger down your cheek, his voice turning softer, but still full of that unbearable smugness.

You swallowed, trying to keep your breathing even, but Jake could see right through you.

“You don’t wanna go to class,” he whispered, pressing his lips to your jaw, so soft, so slow. “You wanna stay right here, let me ruin you all over again.”

Your fingers dug into the sheets.

“Say it,” he coaxed, his hand sliding lower, his mouth hovering just above yours. “Tell me you’d rather be late.”

Your lips parted, your breath shaky.

Jake smirked, running his nose along your cheek, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth.

“You wanna be good for me, don’t you, baby?”

You whimpered, your resolve crumbling.

And that’s all it took.

Jake chuckled, shifting over you fully, pressing you back into the mattress.

“That’s my girl.”

-

By the time you both finally dragged yourselves out of bed, you were already doomed.

Jake smirked as you struggled to stand on shaky legs, his grip on your waist firm as he steadied you, smug as ever.

“Careful, baby,” he murmured, biting his lip as he took in the mess he had made of you.

You shoved him, grumbling under your breath as you pulled on your sweater, knowing full well that no amount of adjusting was going to hide the way you looked thoroughly ruined.

Jake didn’t even try.

He pulled on the first hoodie he could find, rubbing a hand through his already-mussed-up hair, his lips still swollen from kissing you senseless.

By the time you actually left, you were beyond late.

Your professor narrowed his eyes immediately.

Jake grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulders like it was no big deal, guiding you to your seats with zero shame, zero regret.

“Nice of you to finally join us,” your professor said dryly, crossing his arms, glancing between the two of you.

You swallowed hard. “Uh, yeah, sorry,”

Your professor raised a brow. “You both look… disheveled.”

You felt your entire body heat up, shifting in your seat as Jake just smirked.

“Must’ve been the wind,” Jake said smoothly, kicking his feet up under the desk, looking completely unbothered.

Your professor wasn’t convinced.

He squinted, glancing at you, then at Jake, then back at you.

“Uh-huh,” he said slowly. “The wind.”

Jake grinned wider.

Your professor exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “You know what? Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

You nearly collapsed in relief, but Jake?

Jake was having way too much fun.

He leaned over, whispering in your ear, his voice low, teasing, smug.

“Baby, I think we’re getting too obvious.”

You resisted the urge to kick him under the desk.

From then on, every time you and Jake showed up late to class, looking like an absolute mess— Your professor just sighed, shook his head, and looked the other way.

fin.

-

TL: @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @naurwayyyyy @somuchdard @ijustwannareadstuff20 @ddolleri @annybah @zzhengyu @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex

[sakuraszn]

ft. timeskip katsuki bakugo

summary: you and katsuki got into a fight last night but he’s not leaving the next day without his kiss.

“You Still Mad?”

The sun had barely risen, casting a warm, hazy glow through the bedroom window, but you were still wrapped up in last night’s argument like a thick-ass winter coat. You hadn’t even looked at Bakugo since you both woke up, let alone spoken a word to him.

He noticed. Of course, he did.

Now, he stood by the front door, arms crossed, already in his hero gear, watching you with narrowed crimson eyes. His gauntlets hung from his belt, meaning he was giving you extra time before heading out.

“Tch,” he sucked his teeth. “You still actin’ like that?”

You didn’t answer, just sat on the couch, scrolling through your phone, legs tucked under you.

Bakugo took a slow step forward, then another. “Y’know I ain’t leavin’ without my shit, so you might as well quit actin’ funny.”

Silence.

His jaw twitched. “Oh, so we playin’ this game?”

Still nothing.

Bakugo exhaled sharply through his nose before yanking his gloves tighter. “Alright.”

Before you could react, he marched over, plucked the phone right out of your hands, and tossed it onto the couch.

“The fu—Bakugo!” You snapped, looking up at him.

“There it is.” He smirked, tilting his head. “Finally got your attention.”

You folded your arms, scowling. “You really that pressed over a damn kiss?”

He scoffed, looking down at you like you were the dumbest person alive. “Uh, yeah? That’s my good luck for the day. You want me out there fightin’ villains without my daily dose of you?”

Your lips twitched, but you forced the smile down, turning your head away from him.

Bakugo, not having any of that, leaned down, caging you in with his arms on either side of you. “Oh, so now you mute?”

You rolled your eyes. “Katsuki, go to work.”

“You know I’m not leavin’ without my shit.”

He was so close, his breath tickled your skin. His scent—warm spice and a little bit of leftover sleep—wrapped around you. You hated how familiar it was, how much you’d miss it if he actually left without kissing you goodbye.

“Why do you even care?” You muttered. “I’m still mad at you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you say that,” he murmured, fingers slipping under your chin to tilt your face up. “But I know you. You don’t wanna be mad anymore.”

You huffed, but his touch was soft, gentle. A contrast to how brash he usually was.

His thumb traced your bottom lip. “Lemme fix it.”

Before you could protest, he kissed you. Slow. Deep. It wasn’t just some quick peck or heated make-out session. It was that I-know-you-love-me-so-stop-frontin’ kinda kiss.

And, like a damn fool, you melted into it.

His hands slid down, gripping your waist, pulling you even closer. His lips moved with yours, lazy but demanding, like he had all the time in the world. Then, right when he knew he had you, SMACK.

His palm connected with your ass, making you gasp into his mouth.

Bakugo smirked against your lips. “There she is.”

You shoved at his chest, but he barely budged. “Your so damn annoying.”

“Yeah?” He nipped at your lip before pulling back, smug as ever. “But you still love me.”

You exhaled, finally giving in. “Yeah, yeah. I love you.”

“Damn right you do.” He leaned down, stealing one more kiss, slow and sweet, before finally stepping back.

You watched as he grabbed his gauntlets and strapped them on, the usual cocky attitude in full effect. Right as he reached the door, he turned back, grinning. “Oh, and don’t think I didn’t catch that lil’ smile. You ain’t slick.”

You rolled your eyes, but he saw the way you bit your lip.

Bakugo chuckled, shaking his head. “See you later, dumbass.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you sitting there, heart still racing.

© sakuraszn! xoxo

[meowdei]

“What’s got you so grumpy?”

Sukuna dodges your finger. It fails to meet its destination of his cheek as he tilts his head to the side, earning a frown from you before you huff and try again.

He looks up from his phone with an irritated glance when your fingertip digs into his face.

“What are you talking about?” He grunts.

He knows exactly what you’re talking about. Normal Sukuna is irritable enough—grumpy Sukuna is about as bad tempered as a hornet who’s had its nest kicked. (Which is to say: he’s pretty fucking unfriendly at the moment.)

“You’re sulking,” you point out—and that statement earns a sharp glare from him as you seat yourself on his lap. (Still, he makes room easily for you, leaning back on the couch and putting his phone down to the side so his hands can rest on your hips. Grumpy Sukuna is never grumpy enough to push your body away—if anything, it’s the one way to get him less agitated).

“I’m not fucking sulking,” he says. It’s almost petulant, but you have enough grace to spare his dignity and not point it out. “I don’t sulk.”

“Are you sure?” You raise a disbelieving brow—he clicks his teeth at the way you choose to question him, but it softens considerably when your lips peck his jaw delicately. “You look pretty sulky to me.”

“Get your eyes checked.”

“Can’t. Then I might see you for all your ugliness. We wouldn’t want to throw years down the drain once I come to my senses do we?”

It’s his turn to raise a brow, sarcastically snorting as you give him a cheeky wink. “If you wanna try ‘n be a smart ass, at least be realistic about it. Saw you checking me out just this morning through the mirror.”

“Maybe you need your eyes checked,” you huff, “I was not checking you out.”

“Pretty sure you were,” he smirks, lips pulling into a haughty grin. Getting under your skin with his smugness is about the only way to cheer him up, it seems, because he looks rather pleased when he adds, “it’s okay. Don’t blame ya for bein’ possessed by my impressive physique.”

“Too bad your personality isn’t as dazzling,” you quip back easily.

It’s meant to be lighthearted, of course—but it seems to be the wrong thing to say. Quite wrong, in fact, because as soon as the words escape you, he tenses before locking his jaw.

There’s a flash of something in his eyes. Something you don’t think you’ve ever seen in Sukuna’s face—doubt. It’s a little odd, in all realness. Sukuna is not a doubtful person. He’s confident, and he’s confident enough that it’s almost to a fault. He’s cocky and smug and sometimes a little too self-assured for it to be considered good for his health.

It’s a bit unsettling to see his face almost fall at something you say, especially when you just say it for the sake of light banter.

“Yeah?” He chuckles dryly. It sounds dangerously self-deprecating—enough that it makes you frown. “Good thing I have my abs to keep you glued to my side then, huh?”

“Well, it’s not just your abs,” you hum, one hand smoothing over his shirt to feel the ridges of his muscles through the shirt. “Your boobs are pretty great, too.”

To prove your point, you give his left pectoral a gentle squeeze. He scowls before shoving your hand away as blush creeps along the back of his neck.

“You fucking freak,” he mutters.

Something is bothering him. You know you can’t directly ask it out of him, otherwise he’ll deny it left and right, but something is bothering him. Sukuna is not good with words or emotions. In fact, he’s pretty awful at anything that has to do with anyone’s feelings. (He’s better about yours more than other’s, but he’s pretty far from good.)

You don’t mind. There’s something oddly charming about witnessing the way he navigates softening up for you—it’s like watching a baby take their first steps. Wobbly. Slow. Unsure. Pretty badly executed, but endearingly rewarding all at the same.

Except, this time, it’s not your emotions he’s navigating. For some reason, yours are easy than his own. Navigating yours means he doesn’t have to try. He knows you better than he knows himself. Knows when your feelings are hurt by the twitch of your brows alone. Knows you’re sad by the dimness in your eyes. Knows you’re pretending joy when your laugh is quieter than usual. Knows you’re faking it when your smile is a much more tight lipped and a less bright version.

But his own feelings are complicated. A lot more than he cares to try and understand them for. In true Sukuna fashion, he always aims to ignore his problems until they seemingly disappear.

But you’re too difficult to let that slide. He brushes things under the rug, and you pull the rug from under his feet and make him fall face first into his problems.

“Hey,” you nudge him, cupping his face with your hand gently, “what’s gotten into you? It’s weird when you’re not pissing me off a couple of times every hour.”

“And that’s supposed to be a good thing?” He challenges, like your words seem to tick him off more, “what are you sittin’ here for if I’m always pissing you off?”

Oh, you think. So that’s what it is.

You smile, humming before you gently tilt his face up. Something vulnerable is attached to that frown of his. Like he’s waiting for your answer because he needs something to hold onto. Some metaphorical lifeline where your feelings are attached to his own, just to keep you chained together. Where you’re always somewhere that he also is. Where he doesn’t have to care about his emotions because what you feel is what he feels, too, and as long as you’re okay, so is he.

But you care. You seem to care a pretty great deal because you lean in and brush your nose against his as you kiss his lips softly.

“Who cares if you piss me off?” You snort, “I piss you off better. I’m pretty good at it.”

“You are,” he agrees instantly.

You give him a fleeting huff against his mouth as you mumble, “you don’t have to agree so fast.”

It pulls a small laugh from him, making his arms snake around your waist and tug your body closer. Chest to chest, heartbeat thumping in two, synchronized rhythms.

“What happens when I’m all old and expiring and my abs are gone?” He raises a brow. You hum, stroking a thumb along his cheek as you smile and admire him.

“We’ll still be pissing each other off, I bet.”

“That’s supposed to be good?” He repeats, this time much more unsure. Anyone else could hardly catch the air of hesitance in his words, but you catch it instantly.

“Why not?” You shrug, “it always worked for us, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “that’s until it doesn’t.” He spits the words out, not meeting your eyes. It’s like they taste acrid is mouth and he can’t bring himself swallow them down.

You don’t say anything. Instead, you lean in and just press a line of kisses from his chin to the corner of his lips, purposely dodging his mouth and littering small, delicate pecks along his cheek. And then his forehead. And then the bridge of his nose.

Never his lips, though. And he gets increasingly frustrated by it.

“What are you waiting for?” He grumbles, eyeing you with a look that screams: quit fucking around.

You fight back an amused smile. “Does it piss you off?”

“Course it does. Kiss me properly or back off my face—”

“Cause you love me right?” You ask cheekily. He pauses, thinking on it for a moment before slumping wearily.

“And if I do?”

“You piss me off too. Because I love you too,” you whisper, forehead against his as your hands cradle his cheeks. Because you do.

When he texts late, and makes your blood boil, it’s only because you love him. When he’s brutally honest and doesn’t say what you want to hear, you’re only mad because you care what he thinks so much. When he’s stubborn and refuses to meet you halfway, you’re only angry because there’s no one else you’d rather cross the bridge with than him.

He pisses you off. You care enough to be pissed because it’s him. And when you piss him off too, he cares enough to deal with it because it’s you.

It’s a funny, twisted little way to love and be loved, but it works. For some odd reason, it does. It’s a seamless, smooth, crackless road.

You don’t ever fix something that’s not broken.

“That doesn’t make sense,” he sighs, resigning himself to your weird, roundabout explanation. You laugh, pinching his cheek as you grin brightly.

“That’s because you’re a bit dim.”

“Yeah,” he rolls his eyes, “okay. Anything else?”

“Yeah, actually. I love you.”

He pauses. Swallows for a moment before his arms tighten their grip on your hips just a smidge before burying his face into your neck and mumbling, “me too. Love you so much, it pisses me off.”

“I like to get under your skin like that,” you stroke his hair, beaming as you add, “guess you’ll just have to deal with it.”

His lips stretch into a small grin before a low, rumbling chuckle breathes itself against your skin. “Guess so.”

————————

a/n: insecure modern! au sukuna who doesn’t admit it and refuses to acknowledge that he’s aware he’s difficult to love and can’t understand why you love him but he also doesn’t want to question it for fear of scaring you away is very near and dear to me and i’ll be talking about it from my grave still. you’ll just hear my ghostly voice spooking you through the night talking about how he’s a softie deep down under all the layers. like an ogre okay? ogres have LAYERS.

[fvsm4x]

Manwhore Roommate - gojo s.

synopsis. After a string of failed attempts to find a new place to live, you reluctantly agree to share an apartment with Satoru Gojo—a cocky, flirty, and insufferably attractive guy known for his endless roster of hookups and carefree lifestyle. From the very first day, his personality clashes with your grounded, no-nonsense demeanor. You’re determined to keep things strictly platonic and avoid getting caught up in his games, but Gojo thrives on breaking rules

+ warnings/content. Roommate! Satoru Gojo x fem! reader - roommate AU - gojo is a manwhore - pinning - MNDI/mature themes - suggestive - teasing/touching - reader is described to have an big ass - gojo is annoying - eventual smut - not proofread

+ wc. 9 k

The apartment smelled faintly of old takeout, worn leather, and something warm and musky—like cologne. Not an overpowering scent, but the kind that lingered, deeply embedded in the fabric of the place. You paused in the doorway, fingers tightening around the handle of your suitcase, staring at the chaos ahead.

The living room was barely holding it together. A hoodie—black, probably expensive—was slung haphazardly over the back of a couch with stuffing poking out of one armrest. The coffee table was an explosion of clutter: unopened mail, a stack of coasters that clearly weren’t being used, a half-empty bottle of water lying on its side. Sneakers were scattered like an afterthought near the door, and one single sock lay abandoned under the TV stand.

You inhaled slowly, letting the air out through your nose. “So…this is it?”

Behind you, Satoru Gojo leaned lazily against the doorframe, the picture of smug satisfaction. He didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed about the state of his apartment. If anything, he looked like he’d just scored some kind of victory.

“Welcome to Casa Gojo,” he said with a grin, spreading his arms wide as if presenting a five-star hotel. “Cozy, huh?”

You gave him a flat look. “Cozy isn’t the word I’d use.”

He laughed, shameless and loud, brushing past you into the living room. “Don’t worry, you’ll warm up to it. It’s got character. Charm. A certain je ne sais quoi.”

“It’s got a mess,” you muttered under your breath, dragging your suitcase inside.

Gojo either didn’t hear you or pretended not to. He was already in the kitchen, yanking open the fridge. The door creaked ominously as he surveyed its contents, completely unfazed by the questionable state of the shelves. From where you stood, you could see a carton of eggs that looked suspiciously close to their expiration date, a pizza box taking up an entire shelf, and…was that a single slice of cake just sitting there, uncovered?

“You hungry?” he asked, grabbing a soda and cracking it open with one hand. “We’ve got, uh…” He leaned in for a closer look. “Eggs. And, uh, mystery leftovers. Oh, wait, there’s pizza.”

“I’m good,” you said quickly, already regretting this decision.

-

You never imagined your life would lead to this—standing in the doorway of Satoru Gojo’s chaotic apartment, wondering if you’d made the worst decision of your life. Just a few weeks ago, things had been fine. Stable, even. You had your own one-bedroom apartment—a tiny but cozy space that you’d worked hard to afford. Sure, it wasn’t perfect. The shower had a slow drip that your landlord swore wasn’t “worth fixing,” and the heating was practically non-existent in the winter, but it was yours.

Then the pipe burst.

You’d come home after a long day to find your kitchen under several inches of water. Your landlord, of course, didn’t pick up your frantic calls until hours later, and when he finally showed up, all he could offer was a half-hearted apology and a shrug. “It’ll take a couple weeks to fix,” he’d said. “Maybe more. I’ll call someone.”

“Where am I supposed to go in the meantime?” you’d demanded, trying to wring water out of your socks without screaming.

He’d just looked at you blankly, as though it wasn’t his problem.

The next few days had been a blur of packing, moving what little you could salvage into storage, and hopping between temporary places to stay. Your best friend let you crash on her couch for a while, but she lived with her boyfriend, and you felt like a third wheel every time you stayed too long. Hotels were an option, but they were expensive, and your savings were already taking a massive hit. Every apartment you found online was either laughably out of your budget or in parts of the city you wouldn’t visit during daylight, let alone live in.

You were running out of options—and patience—when a mutual friend brought up Satoru Gojo.

At first, you thought it was a joke.

“Gojo?” you’d asked, incredulous. “Satoru Gojo? The guy who can’t take anything seriously? The guy who’s practically a walking HR violation?”

Your friend had laughed. “I mean, yeah, that’s one way to describe him. But his old roommate moved out, and he’s got an extra room. Rent’s dirt cheap, too. He could probably use the help.”

You’d bristled at the idea immediately. Satoru Gojo was infamous—not just for his looks, which, fine, you could grudgingly admit were objectively attractive, but for his personality. He was the type of guy who could charm the pants off anyone—literally. A shameless flirt, perpetually smug, and somehow always the center of attention, Gojo wasn’t exactly what you’d call roommate material. The thought of sharing a living space with him sounded more like a punishment than a solution.

But the more you thought about it, the more you realized you didn’t have many other choices.

It wasn’t like Gojo was a bad person—annoying, yes, but not bad. And the friend who suggested him had insisted that, beneath all the arrogance, he was actually pretty decent. “Besides,” they’d added with a grin, “it’s not like you’re gonna fall for him or anything, right? You’ll just be roommates.”

You weren’t so sure. You’d heard the stories—how Gojo had serenaded someone’s girlfriend at karaoke, how he’d once flirted his way out of a parking ticket, how he never seemed to take anything seriously. But your savings were dwindling, your patience was running thin, and no one else was offering you an affordable place to stay.

So, against your better judgment, you’d dialed his number.

“Yo,” he’d answered after the second ring, his voice casual and teasing, as if he’d been expecting you. “Calling to confess your undying love for me? Finally?”

You’d rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. “No, Gojo. I need a place to stay. Someone said you’re looking for a roommate.”

“Oh?” His tone had shifted slightly, curiosity laced with amusement. “And here I thought you hated me.”

“I don’t hate you,” you’d replied through gritted teeth. “I just don’t like you. Big difference.”

He’d laughed, loud and unbothered. “Well, lucky for you, I don’t need my roommates to like me. I just need them to pay rent on time and not steal my snacks or. So, what do you think? Wanna shack up with the great Satoru Gojo?”

You’d hesitated, gripping your phone tightly. The logical part of your brain screamed at you to hang up and find another option, but logic didn’t have a flooded apartment and a rapidly draining bank account.

“When can I move in?” you’d asked finally, your voice resigned.

“Tomorrow, if you want,” he’d said, sounding far too pleased with himself. “But, uh, fair warning—my place is a little messy. I wasn’t expecting company.”

“How messy are we talking?”

“…You’ll see.”

-

Now here you were, standing in Satoru Gojo’s living room, suitcase in one hand, a growing sense of regret in the other. The place wasn’t just messy—it was alive with chaos. The kind of chaos that didn’t just happen overnight but had clearly been cultivated over weeks, maybe months.

Gojo sauntered back into the living room, his soda can dangling from his fingers as he leaned against the counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the apartment. He tilted his head at you, a crooked grin tugging at his lips.

“You look tense,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “What’s wrong? Not a fan of the open floor plan?”

“It’s not the floor plan I’m worried about,” you muttered, eyeing the lone sock under the TV stand. “Do you even own a vacuum?”

“Sure do,” he said, pointing to a closet near the hallway. “It’s, uh…in there somewhere.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Do you ever use it?”

He grinned, shameless. “Why bother? You’re here now. I’m sure you’ll whip this place into shape in no time.”

“Excuse me?”

“Relax, I’m kidding,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Mostly. But hey, it’s not so bad, right? It’s got character.”

“Character,” you repeated flatly, glancing around at the cluttered surfaces, the mismatched furniture, the pile of laundry peeking out from behind the couch. “Right.”

Gojo didn’t seem the least bit bothered by your disapproval. In fact, he looked like he was enjoying it. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he watched you take in your surroundings, his grin never wavering.

“Come on,” he said, pushing off the counter and gesturing toward the hallway. “I’ll show you your room.”

You followed him reluctantly, dragging your suitcase over the uneven floorboards. The hallway was narrow, lined with a few framed photos that looked like they’d been thrown up haphazardly. One was crooked, and you resisted the urge to straighten it as you passed.

“Oh, heads up—the walls are kinda weird. My old roommate had this thing for, like, anime posters or whatever. I didn’t bother taking them down.”

“Great,” you muttered,

“Here we are,” Gojo said, stopping in front of the last door on the left. He pushed it open with a dramatic flourish, stepping aside to let you in. “Home sweet home.”

You stepped inside and stopped in your tracks.

The room wasn’t bad, exactly—it was bigger than you’d expected, with a decent-sized window and a closet that didn’t look like it was falling apart. But the walls…

Gojo hadn’t been kidding about his old roommate. The walls were plastered with posters—bright, garish, and all of them anime-themed. Characters with oversized eyes and gravity-defying hair stared back at you from every surface, their poses dynamic and exaggerated. One corner featured a particularly dramatic sword-wielding figure, while another was dominated by a group of girls in school uniforms mid-pose.

You blinked. “What…is this?”

Gojo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, clearly trying not to laugh. “What? You don’t like anime? My old roommate was a big fan.”

“This isn’t a room,” you said, gesturing at the walls. “It’s a shrine.”

“Hey, don’t knock it. You might learn something.”

You turned to glare at him, but he was already laughing, the sound echoing down the hallway.

“If it bothers you that much, you can take them down,” he said between chuckles. “Or leave them up. Maybe they’ll grow on you.”

“I’m taking them down,” you said firmly, setting your suitcase down by the bed.

“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug, straightening up and heading back toward the living room. “Dinner’s on me tonight, by the way. Consider it a ‘welcome to the madhouse’ gift.”

“Generous of you,” you called after him, already making a mental list of everything you’d need to clean, fix, and replace.

As his footsteps faded, you sat down on the edge of the bed, letting out a long sigh. The apartment was a mess, Gojo was insufferable, and you were pretty sure the next few months were going to test every ounce of patience you had.

But at least it was a roof over your head.

For now, that was enough.

-

You spent the rest of the afternoon settling into your new room. The posters came down immediately, but not without a fight. Whoever had put them up had used enough tape to secure a small building, and by the time you’d peeled off the last one, your fingers were sore, and you were pretty sure you’d taken a chunk of paint with you.

The bed was another ordeal. The mattress wasn’t terrible, but the sheets Gojo had left on it were…questionable. They smelled faintly of old laundry detergent, with an underlying note of cologne. You made a mental note to wash them tomorrow and just threw your own blanket over the top for now.

The rest of the room wasn’t much better. The closet door creaked ominously when you opened it, and the lightbulb in the ceiling fixture flickered every time you turned it on. But it was manageable. Barely.

As evening rolled around, you finally emerged from your room to find Gojo sprawled across the couch, a gaming controller in his hands and the volume on the TV set way too high. Some kind of fast-paced shooting game flashed across the screen, the sound of gunfire and explosions filling the living room.

“Hey,” you said, stepping into the chaos. “What happened to dinner?”

“Huh?” He glanced over his shoulder at you, one hand still expertly working the controller. “Oh, yeah. About that…”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“Forgot? Never.” He grinned, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “I ordered takeout.”

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door.

“See?” he said, pausing the game and hopping to his feet. “I’m a man of my word.”

You rolled your eyes but followed him to the door, curious about what he’d ordered. When he opened it, a delivery guy handed over two large bags of food, the smell immediately filling the apartment.

“Hope you like ramen,” Gojo said, setting the bags down on the coffee table and plopping back onto the couch.

You eyed the bags suspiciously. “That’s a lot of ramen for two people.”

“Is it?” He pulled out a container and handed it to you with a pair of chopsticks. “What can I say? I like to keep my options open.”

You sat down on the far end of the couch, making a point to keep some distance between you. The ramen, at least, smelled incredible, and you had to admit you were starving.

“So,” he said, between bites, his voice annoyingly casual. “First impressions? How do you like living with me so far?”

You gave him a look, setting your container down on the coffee table. “Do you want the truth, or should I sugarcoat it?”

“Truth,” he said, grinning like he already knew what you were going to say.

You leaned back, crossing your arms. “Your apartment is a disaster. You’re loud, you don’t clean, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to regret this decision within a week.”

Gojo didn’t look remotely offended. In fact, he looked downright entertained. “Wow. rough. Just the way that I like it”

You groaned, picking up your ramen again. “I don’t know how anyone puts up with you.”

“Oh, plenty of people put up with me, if you know what i mean—” he said, winking. “But you’ll see. By the end of the month, you’ll be begging for more of me.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” you muttered, though you couldn’t help but crack a small smile despite yourself.

Dinner turned into a strange, semi-comfortable routine faster than you expected. Gojo, despite being an objectively messy person, was surprisingly good company when he wasn’t actively trying to annoy. The conversation shifted effortlessly between lighthearted topics—like his absurd stories from college—to things you didn’t expect to discuss with someone you’d just moved in with.

“So, why’d you move out of your old place?” he asked suddenly, leaning back on the couch with his half-empty ramen container resting on his stomach.

You hesitated, chopsticks frozen in mid-air. “It’s not like I had much of a choice,” you admitted, poking at your noodles. “My landlord is incompetent, and my kitchen turned into a swimming pool. Not exactly livable conditions.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow. “No kidding. And he didn’t offer to put you up somewhere? Like, isn’t that his job?”

You snorted. “You’d think, right? But no. He told me to ‘figure it out’ and just…disappeared.”

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “asshole.” Then, after a moment, he said, “Well, his loss. Now you’re here, and let’s be honest—you’ve upgraded.”

You gave him a pointed look. “This is what you call an upgrade?”

“Obviously.” He gestured vaguely at the cluttered living room. “I mean, come on—free entertainment, great company, world-class ramen delivery and if you want— someone to keep your bed warm.“ he smiled at you,“What more could you ask for?”

“Clean floors,” you deadpanned.

“Touché.”

He grinned, unfazed, and reached for the TV remote. “Alright, you’ve earned your place on the couch. Let me properly welcome you to Gojo’s world.”

“What are you doing?” you asked warily as he scrolled through a streaming service, the remote clicking in rapid succession.

“Movie night,” he said matter-of-factly, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s tradition. New roommates get to pick the first movie. Consider it a rite of passage.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off with a dramatic gasp. “Wait—don’t tell me you’re one of those people who’s never seen Star Wars. Or, God forbid, Lord of the Rings.”

“Relax,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I’ve seen them. And I’m not watching them with you.”

“Fine, fine,” he said, mock pouting. “Your call, then. But choose wisely. This moment sets the tone for our entire roommate relationship.”

You sighed, leaning forward to grab the remote. “No pressure or anything.”

Eventually, you settled on a movie—a rom-com you’d seen a hundred times but couldn’t resist—and to your surprise, Gojo didn’t complain. He sprawled out on the couch like he owned the place (which, to be fair, he did), one arm draped lazily over the backrest, the other digging into a bag of chips he’d somehow produced out of nowhere.

“This is cute,” he said about halfway through, his voice dripping with faux sincerity. “Do they fall in love in the end? Kiss in the rain? Ride off into the sunset?”

You shot him a glare. “If you’re going to talk through the whole thing, I’m turning it off.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No more commentary. Scout’s honor.”

But, of course, he didn’t stay quiet for long.

By the time the credits rolled, he’d managed to make at least three sarcastic remarks about the leading man’s haircut, two unsolicited critiques of the soundtrack, and one entirely unnecessary comment about how he would’ve handled the grand romantic gesture at the end.

“For the record,” he said as he turned off the TV, “I could totally pull off that rain scene. Probably better, actually.”

“You? Running through the rain for someone?” You laughed, shaking your head. “I don’t buy it.”

“Hey,” he said, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know I’m a very romantic guy. People line up for the Gojo Experience™.”

“I don’t doubt that,” you said, grabbing the empty ramen containers to take them to the kitchen. “But romance and whatever it is you do are two very different things.”

“Oh, you wound me,” he called after you, his voice light and teasing.

In the kitchen, you rinsed out the containers and stacked them neatly on the counter, trying not to think too hard about how easy it had been to banter with him. It was strange—living with someone like Gojo, who seemed to thrive on chaos and charm. You’d expected to be annoyed, and you were. But there was something oddly comforting about how effortlessly he filled the space.

When you returned to the living room, he was still lounging on the couch, flipping through his phone. He glanced up as you walked in, a lazy smile spreading across his face.

“Not bad for a first night, huh?” he said.

You shrugged, suppressing a small smile. “I’ve had worse.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, sitting up and tossing his phone onto the coffee table. “I’ll grow on you.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” you shot back, heading toward the hallway.

His laughter followed you all the way to your room.

As you shut the door behind you, you couldn’t help but feel like, for all the chaos and noise, this arrangement might not be as terrible as you’d thought. Maybe.

But oh. How wrong you were.

The morning started off deceptively quiet. When you emerged from your room, the sunlight streaming through the blinds made the living room look almost…peaceful. The kitchen was spotless, the couch was miraculously free of clothes and clutter, and the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.

For a brief moment, you thought Gojo might’ve actually cleaned up his act overnight.

Then you saw him.

He was leaning against the counter, sipping coffee like a walking ad for morning perfection. His silver-white hair was damp, his loose hoodie hung just right, and his sweatpants rode low enough to remind you he probably didn’t own a single pair of fitted jeans. He looked like someone who just woke up that hot—not a single ounce of effort needed.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said, flashing you a grin that was as disarming as it was infuriating.

You ignored the way his voice sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine. “Do you ever not sound smug?”

“Nope. It’s part of my charm.” He smirked, leaning back against the counter. “Coffee?”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “You made coffee?”

“Of course. What kind of host would I be if I didn’t caffeinate my lovely new roommate?”

“The kind of host who leaves his socks on the coffee table,” you muttered under your breath.

He pretended not to hear that, holding out a mug. “Come on. One sip, and you’ll see I’m full of surprises.”

Reluctantly, you accepted the mug and took a cautious sip. To your utter annoyance, it was good. Like, really good.

“You’re welcome,” he said smugly, reading your expression.

You gave him a pointed look. “Don’t get used to this dynamic. I’m not falling for your weird, ‘charming’ roommate routine.”

“Who said anything about charm?” He tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’m just being myself, baby. If that’s irresistible, it’s not my fault.”

You nearly choked on your coffee. “Did you just call me baby?”

“Hmm?” He feigned confusion, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, sorry. Roomie. Same thing, right?”

“No, it’s really not,” you said flatly, setting your mug down.

„By the way, just a heads-up—I have someone coming over later.”

You frowned. “Someone?”

“Yeah, you know. A friend.” He smirked, the word friend dripping with suggestion.

You set your mug down on the counter. “You couldn’t even wait a day?”

“Hey, don’t judge me,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ve got needs. And besides, You knew from the start—this is who I am.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “I moved in less than twenty-four hours ago, and you’re already—”

“Relax, it’ll be fine,” he interrupted, brushing past you to grab a bag of chips from the cabinet. “You won’t even know we’re here.”

By the time his “friend” arrived that afternoon, you were safely holed up in your room, pretending to be engrossed in a book. You had already resigned yourself to enduring Gojo’s antics, but as the knock sounded at the door and his voice rang out in greeting, you felt your stomach twist.

Her laughter echoed through the thin walls—a bright, bubbly sound that grated against your already frayed nerves. You couldn’t make out their words, just the ebb and flow of conversation, the occasional rise and fall of her giggles mixing with Gojo’s smooth, low voice.

They moved to the living room, and the indistinct murmur of their voices grew louder. It was maddening—like trying to tune out a conversation happening right outside your door. You couldn’t tell what they were saying, but the rhythm of their tones was unmistakable. The lighthearted teasing, the easy banter—it all set your teeth on edge.

You clenched your book tighter, trying to focus on the words in front of you, but your eyes kept darting to the wall as if you could somehow will the noise to stop. It wasn’t your business, you reminded yourself. You didn’t care what Gojo did with his spare time, or who he brought over. It didn’t matter.

But when their voices softened, becoming more intimate, you felt your chest tighten with dread. The murmurs grew harder to distinguish, and soon, all you could hear was the faint rustle of movement and the occasional low chuckle from Gojo.

And then the real noise began.

At first, it was subtle—the creak of the couch, a muffled laugh that was cut short, followed by a sharper sound, like something hitting the floor. You froze, dread pooling in your stomach.

When the rhythmic creaking started, punctuated by the occasional muted groan, your heart sank.

No. No, no, no.

You pressed your hands over your ears, as if that would somehow make it stop. But the thin walls of the apartment offered no escape. Every sound seemed amplified—the shifting of weight, the faint hum of voices, the occasional laugh that broke the tension.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, tossing your book onto the bed and pacing the room.

For a moment, you debated knocking on the wall or even storming out there to put an end to it. But the thought of interrupting whatever was happening made your skin crawl. Instead, you grabbed your headphones, shoved them over your ears, and cranked up your music.

But it wasn’t enough. No matter how loud you made the playlist, the creaking and muffled sounds seemed to filter through, like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

When the noise finally stopped, you yanked your headphones off and slumped back onto your bed, letting out a heavy sigh. The room felt unnaturally quiet now, as if the apartment itself was holding its breath.

The front door opened, followed by the woman’s voice, light and cheerful.

“Thanks for today,” she said.

“Anytime,” Gojo replied, his voice dripping with charm. “Drive safe, gorgeous.”

You cringed at the sound of the door clicking shut and the silence that followed. A beat later, you heard Gojo’s footsteps padding toward the kitchen.

Summoning every ounce of patience, you stepped out of your room, determined to at least get a glass of water. You found him leaning lazily against the counter, a smug grin plastered across his face.

“Well, look who’s finally out of hiding,” he said, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

You ignored him, walking to the sink and filling a glass with water.

“Rough day?” he asked, clearly enjoying himself.

You slammed the glass down on the counter and whirled around. “Seriously, Gojo? Can you not keep it down? I could hear everything.”

His grin only widened. “Everything, huh? Guess I should’ve warned you about the acoustics in here.”

You glared at him, crossing your arms. “You’re impossible.”

“Aw, come on,” he said, stepping closer. “Don’t be mad. If it makes you feel better, I’ll keep it quieter next time.”

“Next time?” you snapped.

“What can I say?” He shrugged, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I’m a people person.”

You rolled your eyes and turned to leave, but his voice stopped you.

“Hey, for what it’s worth,” he said, leaning casually against the counter, “you’re more fun to talk to than she was.”

You froze, your face heating. “Don’t even try it.”

“Try what?” he asked, his tone playful. “I’m just saying, if you ever want to hang out, you don’t have to hide in your room.”

You glared at him over your shoulder. “In your dreams, Gojo.”

He chuckled, watching you retreat to your room. “Every night, sweetheart.”

You slammed the door behind you, but not before you heard his soft, self-satisfied laugh echo through the apartment.

A week passed, and life in the apartment settled into a grudging rhythm. You’d managed to avoid another direct confrontation with Gojo, though the memories of that first encounter still made your skin crawl. You convinced yourself you could manage this arrangement if you just kept your distance and stayed in your lane. To his credit—or maybe just your luck—he hadn’t brought anyone else over since that mortifying incident.

The apartment remained mostly quiet, aside from his occasional antics: music playing at odd hours, the clatter of snacks in the kitchen when you were trying to focus, and Gojo humming to himself as he wandered around like he owned the place.

But living with Gojo wasn’t just about tolerating the noise. It was about tolerating him. His overwhelming presence. His insufferable teasing. The way he seemed to enjoy pushing you just far enough to elicit a reaction, like a child poking at a caged animal for fun.

Case in point: the morning you stepped out of your room to grab breakfast, still half-asleep, only to find him lounging on the couch, shirtless, with a bag of chips balanced precariously on his chest.

“You know,” he said without looking up from his phone, “it’s rude to stare.”

You blinked, your brain taking a moment to catch up. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, flashing you a lazy grin as he finally looked at you. “I get it. I’m irresistible.”

You narrowed your eyes, resisting the urge to smack the smugness off his face. “Or you’re just in my way,” you shot back, walking past him to the kitchen.

He craned his neck, following you with his eyes as you moved. “Feisty this morning. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Maybe because I’ve been trying to avoid you,” you muttered, rifling through the cabinets for your coffee mug.

“Aw, you wound me,” he said, clutching his chest dramatically, which sent a few chips tumbling to the floor. “I’ve been nothing but welcoming to you, and this is how you repay me?”

“Welcoming?” You scoffed, finally finding your mug and filling it. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

He grinned. “Of course. Didn’t you feel welcome when I made breakfast last week? Oh wait, never mind—you hid in your room.”

You ignored him, stirring sugar into your coffee and silently counting to ten. He thrived on attention, and you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction.

“Hey,” he called again, his tone turning almost conversational, like he wasn’t intent on annoying you. “Do you ever, like, not wear sweats?”

You glanced down at your oversized hoodie and joggers, then shot him a pointed glare. “Do you ever, like, mind your own business?”

“Ouch,” he said with a mock wince. “Just saying, you’ve got potential. Might even clean up nice if you tried. You‘ve got an big ass.“

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. “Good thing your opinion means nothing to me.”

His laughter filled the space as you grabbed your coffee and headed toward your room, your patience wearing thin.

“Oh, come on,” he called after you, his voice taking on a teasing lilt. “You’re not even going to hang out? What kind of roommate are you?”

“The kind who values her sanity,” you shot back without missing a beat.

His laughter followed you as you reached your door, hand on the knob, ready to escape his relentless teasing. But as you glanced at the clock on the wall, a realization hit you. Your eyes widened slightly.

You turned on your heel abruptly, nearly colliding with Gojo, who had apparently taken the opportunity to stand and stretch—still shirtless, of course. His smug grin faltered for a second as you stopped dead in your tracks.

“I’ll be late today,” you said quickly, sidestepping him to set your coffee down on the counter.

Gojo tilted his head, his grin returning with full force as curiosity flickered across his face. “Late? You? Didn’t think you had a social calendar.”

You rolled your eyes, opening the fridge and pretending to look for something. “People can have plans, Gojo. Even me.”

“Plans?” He leaned against the counter, his tone dripping with mock surprise. “Wait a second. Are you… going somewhere exciting?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” you replied, focusing intently on the fridge shelves as if the milk carton was suddenly the most fascinating thing you’d ever seen.

His eyes narrowed slightly, amusement dancing in them. “You’re being cagey. That means it’s something good.”

You grabbed the milk with more force than necessary and shut the fridge door with a pointed look. “Or maybe I just don’t want to deal with your incessant need to pry into my business.”

“Touché.” He chuckled, watching as you began pouring milk into your coffee. His voice softened slightly, the teasing edge giving way to something more casual. “But seriously, where are you going? Work? Errands? Hot date?”

Your hand faltered for the briefest second. It was the tiniest movement—so small you hoped he didn’t notice. But the sharp glint in his eyes told you he absolutely had.

“Just out,” you said, keeping your tone neutral. “Don’t wait up.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow, straightening from his lean. “Out, huh?” He crossed his arms over his chest, the picture of exaggerated skepticism. “You’re not denying it’s a date.”

“I’m not confirming it either,” you shot back, grabbing your coffee and brushing past him toward your room.

“But you didn’t deny it!” he called after you, his voice full of glee. “Come on, who’s the lucky guy? Is he tall? Handsome? Rich? More charming than me?”

“Literally anyone is more charming than you, Gojo,” you replied dryly, not even turning around.

His laughter followed you down the hall, loud and unbothered. “Oh, you’re killing me, sweetheart! At least tell me if I should warn him about your sweats obsession!”

You slammed your door shut before he could say anything else, but his laughter still echoed faintly through the walls.

Inside, you set your coffee on your desk and let out a long sigh. Gojo was insufferable. But even as you tried to focus on getting ready, his teasing words stuck with you.

It wasn’t his business, you reminded yourself. He didn’t need to know about your date—or the nerves twisting in your stomach at the thought of it.

Still, as you changed out of your usual oversized hoodie and joggers, you couldn’t help but wonder how Gojo would react if he saw you now.

And for reasons you couldn’t quite understand, you hated that the thought even crossed your mind.

The minutes ticked by as you debated between two outfits: a casual but flattering dress or a sleek, semi-formal ensemble that screamed confidence. You settled on the dress, deciding it struck the perfect balance—nothing too over-the-top, but enough to make an impression.

You checked your reflection in the mirror, smoothing down the fabric nervously. Your hair was styled neatly, and you’d even put on a bit of makeup—not something you usually did unless the occasion called for it. This definitely qualified.

Gojo didn’t need to know the details of your plans. Still, his voice echoed in your head, taunting and teasing. Hot date, huh? You clenched your teeth and took a steadying breath, determined not to let him get to you.

Stepping out of your room, you found Gojo still sprawled on the couch, now munching on what appeared to be a chocolate bar. His phone was perched on his knee, and he scrolled through it lazily, not even glancing up when you walked past him.

For a second, you thought you might actually escape without another comment. But then his head snapped up, his sharp blue eyes locking onto you like a predator catching sight of prey.

“Whoa,” he said, sitting up straight and letting his phone drop onto the cushion. “What is this?”

You froze mid-step, your heart sinking. “What’s what?”

“This,” he said, gesturing broadly at you. “You. Looking like that.”

You crossed your arms, trying to appear unfazed. “It’s called getting dressed. Some of us do it properly.”

He smirked, standing up and sauntering closer, his eyes raking over your outfit—not in a leering way, but with an exaggerated flourish that made you bristle. “Are we sure this isn’t a completely different person? Because you clean up way better than I expected, Roomie.”

“Gojo,” you warned, your voice clipped.

“Relax.” He grinned, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just saying you look… nice. Stunning, even. Makes me feel all tingly. The kind of nice that makes me wonder who you’re trying to impress.”

You stepped past him, heading for the door. “It’s none of your business.”

“Oh, it is my business,” he said, following you like an oversized shadow. “If you’re going on a date, I have a responsibility as your roommate to make sure this guy’s good enough for you. Do I need to give him the talk?”

You snorted, pulling on your shoes. “The talk? What are you, my dad?”

“Worse,” he said smugly, leaning casually against the wall near the door. “I’m your roommate. I see all the little things he doesn’t. Like the fact that you leave your underwear all over your room—”

You glared at him, your cheeks flushing,“Wh— were you in my room, you pervert?!“

He smirked, but you quickly turned around and grabbed your bag, not letting him ruin your mood. “Don’t wait up.”

“Oh, I won’t,” he said, his grin turning sly.

“Wait—,” he started, his tone light but laced with something almost mischievous, “if you are going on a date, you know the rules, right?”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring him. “There are no rules because it’s none of your business.”

“Wrong,” he said, pushing off the wall and stepping closer, his grin widening. “Rule number one: if the guy so much as breathes wrong, I’m allowed to deck him.”

“Gojo—”

“Rule number two,” he continued, holding up two fingers as if this were a serious negotiation, “if he breaks your heart, I’m always here to fix it.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Fix it? What, with chips and bad jokes?”

His grin turned downright devilish, and he leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Not exactly what I meant, sweetheart. But if you know what I mean… well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Your face burned instantly, and you glared at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a flustered reaction. “You’re disgusting.”

“Hey, I’m just offering my services,” he said, backing up with a mock-innocent shrug. “I’m a giver like that.”

You threw your bag over your shoulder and turned toward the door. “Thanks, but I’ll take my chances with the real world.”

His laughter followed you, low and teasing, as you pulled the door open.

“Don’t come crying to me when the real world disappoints you!” he called after you. “But seriously—don’t let him screw this up. He’s lucky to have your attention, even if it’s temporary.”

For a moment, you faltered, caught off guard by the unexpected sincerity buried in his words. You glanced back at him, but the cocky grin was already back in place.

“Goodnight, Gojo,” you said, stepping out and shutting the door behind you.

As you walked away, his last comment replayed in your mind, a mix of genuine care and infuriating arrogance. You hated how easily he got under your skin. And worse, you hated that part of you couldn’t quite stop thinking about it.

-

The date had started out decently enough. He’d been polite when he picked the restaurant, complimented your outfit, and pulled your chair out for you when you arrived. For a brief moment, you thought this might actually turn out okay. Maybe, just maybe, you’d get through the evening without regretting every decision that led you there.

But it wasn’t long before the cracks began to show.

He started checking his phone a few minutes into the conversation. At first, it was subtle—a quick glance here, a soft buzz there. You told yourself it was probably work, something urgent that couldn’t wait. But as the evening progressed, it became increasingly obvious that it wasn’t. His chuckles at the screen, the way he tilted it away from your line of sight—it all screamed disinterest.

Still, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was nervous. Maybe he didn’t realize how much it bothered you.

But then came the comments.

“You don’t seem like the type to like action movies,” he said, after you mentioned your favorite film. His tone wasn’t curious or surprised—it was dismissive, like he already had you pegged as someone who wouldn’t understand explosions and car chases.

“Wow,” you said, forcing a polite smile. “What type do I seem like?”

He shrugged, smirking as he leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know. Rom-coms? Something light and fluffy.”

You bit back the urge to roll your eyes. “Right. Because girls only like light and fluffy things.”

He laughed, completely missing the edge in your voice. “Hey, I didn’t say that. But, you know, it’s not a bad thing. It’s cute.”

By the time dessert arrived, you’d had enough. His phone buzzed again, and this time, you didn’t bother hiding your irritation.

“Do you need to get that?” you asked, your tone sharper than intended.

He glanced up, finally noticing your expression, and smiled sheepishly. “Nah, it’s nothing. Just some friends in a group chat. You know how it is.”

“Right,” you said flatly, setting your fork down. “Well, don’t let me keep you from your important group chat.”

For a moment, he looked genuinely confused, like he couldn’t figure out what had gone wrong. But then his confidence kicked in, and he leaned forward with a smug grin.

“Come on,” he said, his tone dripping with self-assurance. “You have to admit, I’m a pretty great catch. You’re lucky I’m even single.”

You blinked, stunned by the sheer audacity of his words. “Lucky?”

“Yeah,” he said, laughing like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, how often do you meet someone like me? Smart, successful, good-looking—”

You stood up, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Thanks for dinner,” you said, grabbing your bag. “But I think we’re done here.”

“What?” He gaped at you, his grin finally faltering. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Completely,” you said, throwing some cash onto the table for your share of the bill. “Good luck with… whatever this is.”

You didn’t wait for a response. You turned on your heel and walked out, leaving him sitting there, stunned and silent.

By the time you got back to the apartment, your irritation had morphed into something else—a mix of regret, exhaustion, and the dull buzz of the wine you’d downed at dinner. You’d stopped at a bar on the way home, hoping to wash the memory of the date away, but all it had done was make your head spin.

You fumbled with your keys at the door, muttering under your breath about arrogant men and wasted evenings. When you finally managed to unlock it, you stumbled inside, kicking off your heels with a groan.

The living room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the TV illuminating Gojo, who was sprawled on the couch in his usual carefree manner. A bowl of popcorn sat in his lap, and he turned his head at the sound of the door opening.

“Well, well,” he said, sitting up slightly and smirking at your disheveled state. “Look who’s back. And drunk, no less.”

You glared at him, wobbling slightly as you made your way to the kitchen. “Not now, Gojo.”

“Oh, I think now is exactly the time,” he said, following you with a smirk. “Let me guess—date didn’t go so well?”

You grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filling it with water and drinking deeply before slamming it onto the counter. “You could say that.”

He leaned against the doorframe, watching you with that infuriating grin of his. “What happened? Did he turn out to be a secret serial killer? Or worse—a guy who calls movies ‘content’?”

You snorted despite yourself, grabbing another glass of water. “Worse. He thought he was God’s gift to women.”

Gojo let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Ouch. Tough break, sweetheart.”

“I don’t need your pity,” you muttered, brushing past him toward your room.

He caught your arm gently, stopping you in your tracks. “Hey,” he said, his voice softer now, his usual teasing tone replaced with something almost genuine. “I’m not pitying you. Just saying you deserve better.”

You looked up at him, your vision slightly blurry, whether from the alcohol or the sincerity in his words.

“I know I do,” you said quietly. “But it’s not like guys like that are exactly rare.”

He frowned, his grip on your arm tightening ever so slightly. “Then maybe stop wasting your time on losers who don’t know what they’ve got.”

You snorted, pulling your arm free, as you entered your room. “Oh, right, because the perfect guy is just going to fall into my lap?”

Gojo grinned at your sarcastic remark, that infuriating spark of mischief lighting up his eyes. Before you could process what was happening, he moved quickly, closing the distance between you in a couple of long strides.

“Gojo, what the—”

Without warning, he gave you a gentle push, and your knees buckled, sending you backward onto your bed. You landed with a soft bounce, your protest cut short as he followed, dropping down beside you in one smooth motion.

But instead of stopping there, he shifted lower, placing his head directly in your lap. His face nestled against your thighs, his hair brushing against the soft fabric of your dress.

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding in your chest. “Gojo!”

He tilted his head to look up at you, his grin widening as though this were the most natural thing in the world. “What? You said you were waiting for the perfect guy to fall into your lap. Here I am.”

You stared at him, half in disbelief and half in a panic at the heat creeping up your neck. “Get off me!”

He didn’t budge. Instead, he made himself more comfortable, his arms casually draping across your waist like he belonged there. “Why? Your thighs are pretty nice. You’re comfortable, and I’m saving you from wasting time on all those losers out there.”

Your hands hovered uselessly in the air, unsure whether to shove him off or cover your face to hide the blush spreading across your cheeks. “You’re insane,” you finally managed, trying to ignore the way his breath tickled your skin.

“And you’re cute when you’re mad,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something softer, almost teasing, as his head shifted slightly against your lap.

Before you could snap back, he turned further into your thighs, the movement deliberate, nuzzling deeper as though testing just how far he could push you. Your breath hitched, caught between outrage and something you didn’t want to name.

It wasn’t until you felt the warmth of his breath, hot and steady, against the thin barrier of your panties that you froze completely. The realization hit like a jolt—your dress had ridden up when he pushed you onto the bed, leaving the bare skin of your thighs pressed against his face.

“Gojo,” you said, your voice coming out sharper than intended.

He didn’t immediately move, his lips quirking in a way that told you he knew exactly what he was doing. There was an unmistakable smugness in the way he exhaled, a low hum vibrating against your skin.

“You smell nice,” he remarked lazily, his words sending a shockwave of mortification through you.

Heat flooded your face “You’re disgusting!”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “What? I’m just being honest. You should be flattered.”

Before you could fire back, he leaned in again, catching you completely off guard. His tongue dragged a slow, deliberate line up the fabric of your panties, the warmth and pressure sending an involuntary shiver down your spine.

Your breath hitched as your hand shot out, fingers tangling in his hair. You yanked, forcing him to pull back slightly. “Gojo—what are you doing?” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper, your cheeks burning hot enough to rival the sun.

His eyes locked onto yours, half-lidded and teasing, as his hands rested firmly on either side of your thighs. “Satoru,” he corrected, his voice low and smooth. “Call me Satoru.”

You couldn’t tell if it was his tone or the way he said it, but something about the moment sent your thoughts scattering. His gaze, piercing and unrelenting, didn’t waver as you tried to form a coherent response.

“Satoru,” you repeated, the name slipping out more out of shock than agreement.

He hummed in approval, the sound vibrating through him and straight into you. “See? That wasn’t so hard.” His grin softened, still playful but laced with something heavier, something you couldn’t quite place. The weight of his gaze was nearly unbearable.

“What are you doing—?” you asked again, your voice catching in your throat. Your eyes stayed locked on his, searching for any hint that he was joking, that this was just another one of his games.

Instead, his expression softened further, the teasing edge of his smirk shifting into something far more deliberate. “Remember what I said before you went out?”

You frowned, confused and thrown off balance, but before you could respond, he reached up. His hand closed over yours where it was still tangled in his hair, his touch uncharacteristically gentle as he pried your fingers free. You let him guide your hand down, watching in stunned silence as he brought it to his lips.

The kiss he pressed to your knuckles was warm, lingering, and shockingly intimate. The sensation sent a jolt through you, your breath hitching as his lips brushed against your skin.

“‘If he breaks your heart, I’m always here to fix it,’” he murmured, his tone lower now, almost a whisper, like the words were meant for you alone.

His eyes stayed on yours, and for once, they weren’t filled with amusement or mockery. There was something raw there, something that made your stomach twist painfully, though whether it was from unease or… something else, you couldn’t say.

You couldn’t find the words to respond, your voice caught in your throat. Your heart hammered in your chest, and your head felt too foggy, too clouded with alcohol and the heat of his touch.

“So…” he said after a moment, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of your hand, tracing absent patterns into your skin. “What do you say? Will you let me fix your heartbreak?”

His smile returned, slow and deliberate, but it wasn’t as infuriating as before. This one was softer, almost tender, though it still carried that maddening confidence that was so inherently him.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the air growing heavier with every passing second. You felt his free hand move, his palm sliding to rest against your thigh. His touch was steady, the warmth of it searing through your skin.

You knew you should say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come. Your mind was spinning, and it felt like all the blood in your body had rushed to your face. Every instinct screamed at you to pull away, to break whatever spell he was weaving.

And yet, before you even realized what you were doing, you nodded. It was subtle, hesitant, but unmistakable.

His smile widened, a glimmer of triumph flashing in his eyes. “Good answer,” he said softly, his hand squeezing your thigh just enough to make your pulse quicken.

You swallowed hard, your breathing uneven as he leaned in closer, his face still pressed near your lap, his thumb still tracing lazy circles into your skin. Your thoughts felt muddled, trapped somewhere between disbelief and the hazy warmth spreading through your body.

Somewhere deep down, a small part of you screamed to stop this, to regain control of the situation. But in that moment, with the alcohol clouding your judgment and his touch grounding you in ways you couldn’t explain, you didn’t move.

You barely had time to register what was happening before his hands found your shoulders, gently pushing your upper body back against the mattress. The soft give of the bed beneath you made it impossible to resist as he shifted your position, leaving you staring up at the ceiling.

His movements were deliberate, slow enough to let you protest if you wanted to. But you didn’t. You felt the brush of his hands against your thighs, warm and confident as he worked your dress higher, inch by inch, until it bunched at your waist. The cool air hitting your skin made you shiver, and you became acutely aware of just how exposed you were.

Your damp panties were now on full display, the fabric clinging to you in a way that made heat bloom across your face. A small voice in your head begged you to snap out of it, to push him away and demand he stop. But the alcohol’s haze dulled that voice into a faint whisper.

The you from a week ago would be screaming at you right now. She’d call you an idiot for letting this happen, for giving him this satisfaction. You knew Gojo—he’d never let you live this down. Tomorrow, he’d smirk and tease, and you’d be left trying to figure out why you hadn’t stopped him.

But none of that mattered right now. You were too drunk, too tired, too overwhelmed to care.

Just this once, you thought. You’d let him have this one, even if you knew it was a terrible idea.

His fingers slid over the damp fabric of your panties, his touch cold enough to make you shiver but firm enough to send a spark of something foreign racing through you. He pressed his palm against the growing wet patch, massaging gently, as if testing your reaction.

“So wet,” he murmured, his voice low and almost reverent. His thumb brushed over the edge of the fabric, dangerously close to your bare skin.

Your breath hitched, and you bit down on your lip to keep from making a sound. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, your gaze glued to the ceiling as his words hung in the air, taunting you with their boldness.

You should have stopped him. You knew you should have. But instead, your body betrayed you, your hips shifting just slightly into his touch. It was all the encouragement he needed.

a/n: get cockblocked loser ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

© fvsm4x : do not translate, plagiarise or steal my work.

[thisrots]

thinkin’ about showing Vi who’s really boss <3

𖦹 warnings: public sex, bar restroom, sub!vi, dom!reader, ur kinda mean in this, cocky vi, fingering, 1 singular ass slap.. lol

𖦹 word count: 676

imagine making Vi wear a lacey thong underneath her pretty boy clothes when you go out to a bar with friends, her legs widely manspreading as she pulls you into her lap. her hands greedily wandering your body and squeezing your thigh, fingers digging into your plush skin, like she was claiming you in front of everyone.

Vi leaned into your ear, murmuring rather loudly, “Princess,” she’d call you, almost tauntingly, like she wanted to piss you off. like she wanted your shared friends to know who’s boss. “You look so fuckin’ good sittin’ on my lap. Bet everyone in here’s jealous they don’t get to touch you like I do.”

her arrogance further pressed onto the illusion that Vi had all the power in the relationship, leaving little to no room for your dominance to shine through. your head whipped around once her hand reached the hem of your dress, fingers slipping into it. you glared at her in response, slapping her hand away, trying to play it off as a joke.

of course, you played along until you had enough of her little game, pulling her into the small single bathroom as you locked the door behind her. she’d complain at first, saying how her drink was gonna get warm or how people could see you dragging her away.

you ignored her bitching, bending her over the sink, unbuckling her pants as you yanked them down, fighting against her writhing. you gripped onto the plush ass that was decorated by a lacey red string, slutty hips and cheeks hugging onto it perfectly. god, you’d been thinking about spreading her open all fucking night.

she’d scoff, still trying to hold onto her cocky little smirk, but the way her thighs spread oh so easily for you told a completely different story. “What—What the hell are you—?”

“Vi,” you’d start, your fingers beginning to tug the lace aside. “Let’s not forget who really runs shit between us, okay?” you’d coo in her ear, spreading her right cheek far enough until her obscenely sopping cunt was exposed and on display for you.

the scene was pornographic, Vi bent over and whimpering, pink drippy hole glistening in the dim lighting, her puffy folds sliding up and down against her slick, the ruby lace giving color to her naturally pale skin. she tensed up at the coldness hitting her sensitive clit, letting out shuddering gasps, your fingers making their way towards it as you gripped onto her jaw, forcing her to look at herself in the faded bathroom mirror.

“Tell me, Violet,” you started, your digit poking at her twitchy bud, legs automatically spreading further apart for you. Her knuckles white from her grip against the metal, muscles tightening at the sensation. “Who exactly do you belong to?”

her face was flushed in a rosy red color, lips pouty as her big puppy eyes stared at you in the reflection, whimpering at the smug expression on your face. when your palm met her cheek with a sharp slap!, her whole body jerked, a broken sound spilling from her lips before she could stop it. you sighed in annoyance, rolling your eyes at her reaction. “C’mon, Vi. Use your words.”

she tried to hold herself up, but the moment your two fingers made their way inside her, her grip on the sink faltered, forehead pressing against the mirror like she couldn’t hold herself together anymore. she sucked you in, fluttering pussy clenching around you, pleading for any kind of movement. Vi had you in shambles on the inside, your thighs sticky with warm wetness. she was fucking addictive. “Who does this tight, slutty little cunt belong to?”

“I-I belong to—”

She bit her lip, eyebrows knitted together like she was trying to hold onto any ounce of control she had left. once you forced your digits all the way in with a sharp thrust, a whiny, guttural moan ripped out of her throat, eyes rolling back, stripping her of any power she had left. her juices pooled up inside your palm, once hardened expression twisted up into nothing but pure, blissful pleasure. “Mmhff—Fuck! I belong to—to you, p-princess—”

[sturnslutz]

biting fixation, “good girl”, fingering

matt had that smug little smirk again, the one that made you wanna wipe it clean with your teeth. literally.

“you gonna bite me again, baby?” he asked, voice all low and cocky, hands sliding under your shirt like he owned them which, fair—he kinda did.

you were half in his lap already, knees on either side of his thighs, grinding slow just to feel the heat of him under you.

“maybe.” you muttered, nipping at his jaw. “you like it.”

he chuckled, head tilting back to give you more skin. “i dunno. think you’re startin’ to develop a problem.”

“you’re the problem.” you said, and bit his neck. not hard enough to mark, but enough to make him hiss through his teeth.

“fuck.” he breathed out, hands tightening on your hips. “okay, yeah. definitely a problem.”

you smirked, dragging your tongue over the spot. “what, scared i’ll ruin your pretty boy image?”

“nah,” he said, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it somewhere behind him. “just think it’s cute how obsessed you are with it.”

“not obsessed.”

“mhmm.” his thumbs brushed over your nipples through your bra. “then why’d you bite my shoulder last time we fucked? and my chest. and my thigh.”

“you were askin’ for it.” you said, mouth on his collarbone now, teeth scraping just enough to make him twitch.

matt’s hands were under your ass before you could answer, flipping you onto your back like it was nothing. he hovered, pressing a kiss to your jaw, then your throat.

“go ahead.” he said, breath hot against your skin. “bite all you want. just know i bite back.”

you grinned. “that a threat?” “promise.”

you barely had time to catch your breath before his fingers were on your lips, two of them pressing against your mouth like he already knew you’d open.

matt laughed, low and smug, as you wrapped your lips around them without hesitation, tongue swirling lazy and slow.

“jesus,” he muttered, watching you like he wanted to ruin you right there. “you really are obsessed.”

you gave him a look, sucking just a little harder, letting your teeth graze the pads of his fingers. not enough to hurt—but enough to make a point.

he groaned. “fuckin’ tease.”

he pushed his fingers deeper, just a bit, watching the way your eyes fluttered when he hit the back of your tongue.

“look at you.” he murmured, cocky as hell. “so desperate to bite somethin’ you’ll take whatever i give you.”

you hummed around him, cheeks hollowing a little as you sucked harder, just to be a brat.

he pulled them out with a wet pop, hand gripping your jaw right after, thumb smearing spit across your bottom lip.

“gonna let me put those fingers somewhere better?” he asked, and his voice was rough now, like he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

you nodded, but your teeth found his wrist before he could move-just a quick nip, sharp and playful.

“fuckin’ menace.” matt muttered, laughing as he shoved your panties to the side. “you bite me one more time and i swear”

“you’ll what?” you taunted, breath hitching as his fingers slid between your folds, slow and teasing.

“guess you’ll find out when you’re beggin’ me to stop and i don’t.” you grinned, hips rolling into his hand. “good.” you whispered. “’cause i don’t want you to.”

his fingers were soaked already, sliding through you so easy it was obscene. matt was watching your face like it was his favorite show, eyes dark, lips parted just a little.

“this wet just from suckin’ on my fingers?” he asked, voice all smug and full of heat. “you that needy, baby?”

you didn’t answer, too focused on the way he was circling your clit, barely touching, just enough to make your thighs twitch.

“use your words.” he said, leaning in, teeth brushing your earlobe. “or i’ll stop.”

“don’t you fucking dare.” you breathed, grabbing his wrist. “please.” “that’s better.” he murmured, and then two fingers were sinking into you, slow and deep.

you moaned, head tipping back into the pillows, legs spreading wider for him without thinking.

“fuck, matt” “so tight.” he muttered, fucking you slow with just his fingers, dragging them out and pushing back in, knuckles deep. “you grip me like you’re scared i’ll leave.”

you rolled your hips up to meet every thrust, jaw slack, whole body buzzing.

then he crooked his fingers just right, brushing against that spot that made your vision go white at the edges.

“there it is,” he said, grinning as your back arched. “that’s what i wanted.”

“don’t stop” you gasped, nails digging into his bicep. “right there, don’t please!”

“yeah? you gonna cum on my fingers like a good girl?”

you nodded frantically, eyes glassy. he fucked into you faster, thumb back on your clit now, rubbing tight little circles that had you gasping with every pass.

“go on,” he said, voice all low and sweet and fucked-out. “bite me if you need to, baby. just let go.” and you did—mouth on his shoulder, teeth sinking in as your whole body went tight, then shaking, coming so hard you swore the world split open for a second.

matt groaned when you bit him, didn’t stop moving his fingers until you were whining, legs twitching, hips jerking away from the overstimulation.

“fuck.” he whispered, pulling his fingers out, shiny and dripping.

then he brought them to your mouth again.

“clean ‘em up.” he said, like he knew you would.

and of course, you did.

[claireswhisperings]

baby, we don't need no towel • i'ma be the one who rub your body now

paige bueckers x fem!reader

synopsis: you can’t help but stare at paige when she comes over to build furniture for your dorm

warnings: suggestive, but no smut

wc: 1.5 k

masterlist

When Azzi enlisted you, Paige, and Jana to build her some shelves, who were any of you to say no to her? You all found your way onto yours and Azzi’s shared living room floor, each building a different part while Azzi sat there ‘encouraging,’ as she put it, all three of you. Two hours have passed with almost no progress being made due to you being constantly distracted by your blondie.

It’s sinful, really, the way Paige looks right now. Toned arms flexing with every move of the power drill, back arching when she leans back up to admire her and Jana’s hard work, her abs that tense when she lifts the shelf she is currently drilling. A thin layer of sweat covers her entire body, glistening when your girlfriend moves in the soft yellow lighting. Your eyes shamelessly rake over the upper half of her body, fully appreciating the fact that only a thin black sports bra is covering the top half of her body.

Azzi sits on the couch behind you, smiling silently when she notices the way you’re gawking at your half-naked girlfriend, not even noticing how quiet you’ve become, or how many pieces of the shelves you’ve dropped into your own lap.

“Hello?” her hand waves in front of your face, breaking your concentration on Paige’s abs. “Little distracted, are we?” she’s subtly teasing you, biting her hand slightly to keep from laughing out loud at you.

Paige, sporting a very cocky smile, ego growing by the tenfold at Azzi’s comments, taking a few steps closer as she turns her back to you to work on the part of the shelf Jana has been doing alone.

“Yeah, anything to share that’s interested you lately?” Paige’s smug voice rings out, slightly raspy. She fucking knows how good she looks to you right now, and you can see it in her eyes before she moves, choosing to turn back around so all you can see is her smooth back.

You roll your eyes, looking back at the building instructions while Azzi and Jana immerse in a conversation about a movie they had both recently seen. From her crouched position on the floor, Paige can feel your eyes subtly admiring her exposed body, choosing to arch her back slightly, leaning up to stretch her arms over her head, and offer you a side view of her body. Her face is painted with a huge smirk as your eyes catch hers, and you know she’s got you right in her trap.

You don’t notice Jana waving her arms and calling for you to get your attention, determined to finally finish one set of shelves. “Yeah?” you ask, slightly annoyed by all the distractions that prevent you from thinking about Paige for longer than you have been.

“Would you please help me, and hold this part of the shelf?” Jana’s voice is riddled with laughter at how long it takes you to respond and help her lift a section of the shelf frame so she can drill it in place.

Jana manages to drill in the last bit of the bar you’re holding, and you can take a small break, dropping your hands into your lap, and leaning back onto your heels. Paige slinks up beside you, nudging you with her shoulder to divert your attention away from Jana, who is muttering to herself about her next plan of action of building the shelf.

You and Paige exchange smirks, and you roll your eyes when her eyes drop to look at your tits, slightly visible in your own bra. “Come on now, eyes up here,” you point to your own eyes, hand dropping down to slightly caress and squeeze Paige’s bicep that she had moved by your head to entice you into feeling her up.

“Hey, no touching each other while I’m hard at work, please,” Jana’s voice rings out in front of you, and you and Paige roll your eyes playfully, squeezing her bicep one last time before you stand up move past Paige to sit next to Jana to help the girl. Paige pats your ass as you walk by, earning a quick swat to the head that she can’t dodge, but does get a laugh out of the girl, and she slumps down and looks at her phone.

Morgan props herself up behind Paige, showing her Azzi’s story, featuring her, Jana, and you. Flashing you a quick smile behind your back, she raises her voice, “Oh yeah, I get the appeal of this.” you turn around in curiosity, rolling your eyes to turn your back on Paige when she flashes you her screen, and you see Azzi’s story.

Paige turns back to her screen with a smile on her lips, seemingly done with teasing you for now. Her eyes zero in on you, sitting on your heels, looking at something way off the screen that shows off your side profile. Your tits and arms are on full display in your sports bra, and Paige’s eyes rake up and down the muscles you’re straining to lift up the shelf. Morgan notices this, laughing a little as she says, “Yeah and I bet you get the appeal of that.”

She gets up to go back to her place on the couch, passing by you to send you a small “Looking good champ.” You smile at Morgan, before turning your head back to Paige.

Azzi had shown you the photo before she posted it, and while you certainly weren’t denying Paige looked good in it, you did too. And you knew Paige liked how you looked in it, just as much as you liked how she did. She sends you a genuine smile, never one to not tell you how beautiful you are.

The shelves are more or less done, and everyone is unwinding for the night, all agreeing that finishing the shelves tomorrow is definitely a better idea. Will they be done tomorrow? Probably not. Does Paige care, when you’re in the kitchen, drinking some water after your work? Definitely not.

The girls are lounging on the couch and floor, moving the previously organised bolts and objects around. Paige finds her way to you, pressing a kiss to your temple when she passes by you to fish around for something in the fridge. You smile at her actions, busying yourself with playing with the rim of the glass with your finger, still eyeing your girlfriend in front of you, who still can’t seem to find one shirt to wear.

Paige’s head emerges from the fridge, face a little flushed from her knowing you’re still checking her out. 3 years together, and her heart still runs when you eye her the exact way you’re doing now. She leans into the counter beside you, eyes locked with yours while she eats something she found in the fridge.

Your own eyes drift down to her toned arms, one hand reaching out to caress her muscles. “You know, you should come by more often like this. I’ll break some things so you can repair them,” you mumble into her ear, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

Her face turns a deeper shade of red, finishing the last bite of her food. Your nails slightly scrape at the skin of her bicep, grazing up and down her arm as she tries, and fails, to keep her composure. Your eyes are drifting down to her lips, biting the inside of your cheek playfully up at her.

“Put a shirt on Bueckers, come on now,” you playfully push her away. “Should you be saying something like that to the hired help?,” she takes the cup out of your hand, and puts it on the counter to move closer to you,

“Kidding, you know I don’t mind, baby,” her tone is seductive in your ears, and you briefly glance at the girls lying in various positions among the shelf pieces, all too tired and on their phones to even pay attention to you and Paige.

You grab her hand, leading her swiftly down the hall, and into your room. Paige shuts the door behind her, and you’re quick to push her against the wall, and grab her face to finally feel her lips on yours. Her hands grab your waist, pulling you closer to her, and feeling the curve of your bare hips that she had been eyeing all night.

You’ve both worked yourselves up, both of you too eager to do anything other than jump the other’s bones. Her face slowly heats up as you continue keeping her body against the door, enjoying the feeling of your hands running across her abs and arms, feeling her up even more than you were before.

“Been needing you all night Paige,” you let out, pressing open-mouthed kisses on her jawline. “Fuck, me too baby. I need you so bad, please,” she pants out in your ear. Her voice has lost all calmness when her hands slip under your bra, fingers grazing over the slightly exposed skin. Her head leans down to suck marks onto your neck, hand landing back on your hips to guide you onto your bed.

You both fall down onto the bed, you landing on top of her, as she whispers promises into your neck of making all your time staring at her worth it by the end of the night. You let out a sigh in her ears when she tugs your bra off, fingers massaging your tits while she lowers her mouth down to your chest.

[stnkiconverse]

Hii :3 could I have sum of the creep boys (Ej, Toby, Jeff, Masky and Hoodie) with a reader who likes marking (bites/cuts/hickeys) their thighs? Pls and thank u 💛

This has been collecting dust in my drafts for months, im so sorry bby, i just needed to have my masky and hoodie headcanons in place before posting this😭😭

Also- Ik you said thighs, but i did mention some other places, i hope you don’t mind :3

E Y E L E S S J A C K

Jack is surprisingly unbothered by your habit. He views it with a mix of curiosity and amusement, often analyzing your techniques silently. (like this = 🤨)

"Hmm. Is this an attempt at branding? Or is this just for fun?" His DRY ASS humor makes it hard to tell if he's teasing or genuinely questioning.

He’s not fond of pain but does not shy from it either. The marks don't bother him, they heal faster than you think anyway.

If you center the attack on his thighs, he'll arch a brow and say something quick and sarcastic, like, "I'm honored you've chosen me as your personal canvas."

Jack has super sharp senses, so he's super aware of your touch. If you bite or leave cuts near sensitive spots, hips, or neck, for example, he might tense for a moment but never stop you.

His favorite places for you to mark? His shoulders or his ribs. He finds the sensation grounding in a strange way, though he'll never admit it. (he moaned once)

If you tease him about it, he'll deadpan: "Just don't expect me to reciprocate. My claws aren't…delicate." (😏)

T I C C I T O B Y

Toby is a little awkward about it at first, not used to someone being so physically affectionate in such an intense way. But once he gets used to it? He's all in. (fucking weirdo 😒 / lovingly)

He doesn't actually feel pain like others do, (obv) so he lets you go wild without flinching. "You're gonna have to try harder than that to leave a mark on me," he'd tease, looking down later to grin at the faint bruises or bites.

If you target his thighs, he might giggle a bit, kicking his leg. "That tickles, stop- stop!"

Neck and collarbone marks fluster him the most. He'll try to hide them with his hoodie but secretly love that they're there.

Sometimes, he'll encourage you in his chaotic way: "Oh, you missed a spot. Try here!" and point to random places like his back or ribs, sometimes even shoving his wrists in your face 😭😭

If you ever leave too many marks, he'll grin like a maniac and joke: "Guess I'm your chew toy now, huh?"

J E F F T H E K I L L E R

Jeff would be cocky about it, but secretly flustered. He'd smirk and say something snarky like, "Didn't know you were that desperate to get your hands on me," but the redness creeping up his neck gives him away.

He doesn't mind pain and might even enjoy it a little. If you bite too hard, he'll laugh and go, "Is that all you've got? You're gonna have to try harder."

Loves when you leave marks on his neck, it makes him feel a twisted sense of pride. He'll strut around the manor like a smug idiot, showing them off.

His thighs are a sensitive spot, though he won't admit it. If you target them, he'll squirm slightly and mutter, "Don't get any ideas..." but he won't stop you. (bcs he likes it 😏)

If you leave cuts or scratches, he'll trace them with his fingers absentmindedly, secretly loving the way they look.

"You're turning me into your personal art project, huh? Not that I'm complaining."

T I M / M A S K Y

Masky (Tim)

Tim is not immediately comfortable it, especially if it's in a more vulnerable spot like his neck or inner thighs. He'll tense up and grumble, "What are you doing?" but he won't push you away :3

Over time, he warms up to it, especially when he realizes it's your way of showing affection. He won't admit it, but he finds it oddly reassuring :p

Marks on his shoulders or upper back are his favorite. He won't say anything, but you might catch him subtly glancing at them in the mirror (😏)

If you bite too hard, he'll sigh and mutter, "You know I have to cover that up, right?" while pulling on another layer of clothing (i love him guys)

Surprisingly, he doesn't mind if you mark his thighs when he's sitting or lounging. He might roll his eyes but secretly enjoys the attention.

"You're a little too into this, you know that?" he'd say with the tiniest smirk, though the faint blush on his face betrays him.

B R I A N / H O O D I E

Hoodie (Brian)

Brian is surprisingly chill about your habit and takes it in stride :D

He'll joke, "Do I look like a notebook to you? Or is this some modern art thing?"

He's not huge on pain, so if you bite too hard or draw blood, he might flinch and gently push you away. "Careful, I'm not indestructible."

Loves when you leave hickeys or gentle bites on his shoulders or chest. He finds them oddly comforting and will trace them when he's alone, smiling softly.

If you go for his thighs, he'll laugh and tease you: "That's bold. Didn't take you for a thigh person."

Occasionally, he'll play along and say something like, "You missed a spot," pointing to random areas just to see you flustered.

Brian enjoys the possessive nature of your markings but is too reserved to admit it outright.

Instead, he'll say something teasing like, "Guess I'm yours now, huh?"

I hope this was good enough!! :D

sorry to keep you waiting so long 😭

[tadpolesonalgae]

Lost In Paradise

Azriel x reader

a/n: I don’t know what the fuck overcame me when writing this—heads up they’re in the Day Court, by the way

Warnings: dear gods Azriel, Azriel in jewellery—diamond piercings to be precise, with kohl lined/smudged eyes, biting, oral (f receiving), smut, overstim, Azzie being a bit mischievous—implied orgasm denial, light wing play, light breeding kink

word count: 3,009

“We have a dinner to go to, Az,” you insist, inclining your chin as he noses along your throat, broad palms running slowly, reverently, up and down the bare skin of your back. Calloused and scarred hands rasping against the smooth, shimmery expanse of your skin, fingers touching along the knuckles of your spine.

“You’re a three course meal all on your own, pretty thing,” he murmurs beside the shell of your ear, gripping your waist lightly, letting his touch span across the sheer silk of your dress, marvelling at your feel, your shape beneath his hands—how finely you fit with him. 

Your pulse spikes at the flattery, heart beating quick in your chest, head tipping back as his lips press firmly to the small notch in your throat, kissing down to your collar bones, keeping you tight to his front, grip firm and unrelenting. “We’re guests,” you try faintly, already lost in his heaven, “it would be bad etiquette to not show up to the first meal—Az…!”

In one smooth motion he’s swept you off your feet, guiding your legs around his waist, thighs squeezing his hips while his palms appreciatively support your ass. “Bad etiquette would be not eating you out before I fuck you,” he drawls atop your mouth, a cocky smirk on his softened lips, staring down at you with his kohl-smudged eyes, diamonds swinging from his ears, the gold fastenings gleaming in the burning yellow sunset, setting the ocean on fire with molten metal as the sun melts atop the glistening waves. 

“Bad etiquette would be wasting a perfectly romantic evening for the sake of one measly dinner that we aren’t even required to attend,” he murmurs, that smug, self-satisfied look in his shining hazel eyes, flecks of amber and jade set alight through the refraction of the setting sun. Gleaming and swirling like they’re precious stones infinitely more valuable than even the tiny, glittering diamonds making up the jewellery adorning his marvellously handsome features. 

“You look good in Day Court attire,” you mumble breathlessly, clinging onto him as he walks you out onto the balcony, laying you down atop the pillowy, padded massage table, creamy fabric turned a perfectly-baked, golden-brown in the evening light, fitted over the cushions.

“You like how much skin it shows,” he drawls, palms settling either side of you, your hair splayed out from where he’s set you, strewn in lustrous glory against the pillow. “You like how easy it is to manoeuvre around.” 

Sure enough, with the soaring temperatures during a sun-filled day, with heat beating down upon the marble-carved pillars, the attire is perfectly suited for the arid climate. Clothing comes in light colours—mostly cream or off-white—and it contrasts the colour of his skin perfectly. The flush on his cheeks despite the cocky look highlights the hunger delightfully. And thanks to the opulent nature of the Court itself, it gives reason for your mate to wear some of the piercings he rarely adorns himself in for the sake of practicality. The ones you love—his ears the main focus, but with wandering hands your fingers clutch the hem of pale, heated linen, raising it from his toned stomach to reveal the incredibly self-indulgent piercing he’d gotten for his belly button, white diamonds set around the narrow golden band. 

“Gods you’re edible,” you pant, the shallow breaths having little to do with the heated evening and more to do with the hot and hungry look he’s pinning you with as he pulls the troublesome shirt off and over his head. His wings flexing and flaring now they’re rid of the fabric brushing the base of the great limbs. Showing off his well-endowed magnificence, as he should.

“Feel better about skipping that dinner now, pretty thing?” Azriel asks roughly, fingers catching the hem of your dress and swiftly pulling it out from under you, pushing it away further along the pale, padded table. “Maybe you had a point about my bad etiquette,” he drawls hotly, open palm coasting up your stomach, fingers grazing between your breasts. He leans over, dark silky hair flopping across your brow, kohl-rimmed eyes making the hazel of his irises simmer with the ravenous intensity of the setting sun, setting you ablaze. “I’ll be eating first.” 

“How brash,” you breathe, fingers dancing up the bare muscle of his upper arms, nails squeezing lightly at his shoulders, raking teasingly over his gloriously powerful back. He begins laying kisses to your collar bones, teeth nipping at your shimmering skin—you’d spent some time refreshing and making use of the scented, swirling lotions available—slowly trailing down between your breasts, tongue flicking over your nipples teasingly. “Weren’t you ever told not to play with your food?” 

“How can I resist when there’s such a beautiful meal before me? Taste is important but it’s more than that, wouldn’t you say?” Fingers hook beneath the golden strings at your hips, guiding them down your thighs as his mouth trails lower, kissing down your stomach. “I need to appreciate all of you. Not just with my mouth, but with my skin, and touch. How can I enjoy you without indulging all my senses?”

“All of them?” You question, back arching as he reaches your abdomen, fingers threading through his hair to encourage him closer. 

Azriel laughs, the sound coming from deep in his chest, splashing over your skin like melted butter and honey, bathing you in arousing sweetness. “All of them,” he whispers. 

“Sight.” Dark rimmed eyes flick upwards, licking over your form as he connects with you, lashes thick and heavy atop his gaze—equally heavy. 

“Smell.” He noses the intimate skin of your inner thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he parts your legs to make room for himself, your ass resting just at the edge of the cushioned table.

“Touch.” Fingers slip between your parted thighs, trailing up and down your centre, slicking himself in your wetness. Circling your clit twice before dipping back down. 

“Sound.” His thick digits slide in, a cocky smirk on his mouth as he curls them causing your back to arch, beckoning you forward, a heady moan spilling from your mouth as he pushes deeper, rubbing against spots he knows you like. 

“Would you like to tell me the fifth one?” Azriel drawls, dangerously low, arousal thickening his tone to something dark and syrupy. 

“Taste…” You breathe desperately. “Taste…Azriel!” 

“Good girl.” His lips curve in a sinful grin, diamonds twinkling their mirth as he lowers himself to your cunt. “You’ve earned it.” 

A rich, heady moan spills from your mouth as his tongue flattens over your clit, fingers working you with heavenly ease while his mouth remains at the apex of your thighs. It’s nothing short of paradise, floating high above in the clouds, nestled in a pillowy cushion as he bathes you in pleasure, rubbing it into you in ways that shouldn’t be permitted—how can something so good exist on this plane of reality?

Your head tips back into the cushioning, moans rising from your chest unabashedly, singing your pleasure with every curl of his fingers, every lovely flick of his tongue. The high approaches far faster than you ever would have expected, spine arching, grinding down on his mouth, hips swirling as he suckles at your clit, able to feel the impending high as your muscles brace for the powerful onslaught. 

You cry out as you come, nails raking through his hair, his wings flaring with male satisfaction as you orgasm, feeling you tighten and flutter around his thick fingers, clit pulsing as pleasure rapidly fires through your body, racing up and throughout your skin, spreading right to your fingertips. Your mouth opens as sound fails you, eyes squeezing shut, Azriel’s rough palms gripping your hips tight as you begin to squirm and writhe, seeking to crawl away from the pleasure—but he likes seeing you like this, and won’t allow it to end anywhere near prematurely. 

His forearm bands across your hips, pinning them down as you try to buck upward, forcing you through the aftershocks that have your body trembling, strength draining, leaving you powerless to resist his dominating touch. Azriel’s relentless in the pursuit of your pleasure, keeping his fingers tucked inside of you, keeping the pace, keeping his tongue swirling around your hardened clit, dragging it between his lips when he feels you coming down and teasingly tugging on it with his teeth.

A lovely whimper graces his ears, mouth parting into a wicked grin as you muster the strength to look down at him, your legs spread with slick gleaming on his lips, threading between your inner thighs where he’s gotten you especially messy. 

“Ready for the main course?” He drawls, your nipples peaking at the rough, rolling timbre of his voice, skin prickling as awareness sweeps through you. “Main course?” You pant, already falling out of it, unable to grasp what he’s referring to with that wicked smile as he stands, wings looming over his shoulders. Shadows pull the band of his loose, pale linen trousers from their already low placement on his hips, allowing his hands to settle either side of your waist as he presses flush to your messy heat. 

“Both of us,” he whispers, leaning down atop your mouth, “together?”

You think your eyes roll slightly at the reminder, nails threading through his inky hair as you pull him into a hot kiss, thighs wrapping snugly around his hips. His cock rests hot and heavy against your cunt, slowly riding back and forth to coat himself thoroughly, before aligning his tip with your entrance. 

“Go slowly,” you beg, clutching onto him with anticipation—you’re far to sensitive for any of his rough treatment. But he smirks over your lips, hips drawing back so his tip drags down over your hardened clit, his leaking cock nudging the entrance of your drooling cunt, messy and sloppy from previous attention—about to be made much messier. 

“Go slowly?” He muses, a low laugh in his voice that makes your skin prickle, hairs standing on end. “You’re perfectly warmed up, aren’t you? All ready and pliable, huh? What could you possibly want me to go slowly for?” You flush deeply, hands twining together over his broad shoulders, trying to push as much sternness into your gaze as you can manage—which isn’t much, judging by the way he chuckles. 

“Is my girl too sensitive?” 

That smirk. That sinful fucking smirk. 

“Whatever you do to me I’ll be delivering right back,” you warn, thighs squeezing his hips. “I’m getting you in my mouth after this, remember…” 

“How could I forget?” He groans, hips pushing forward. “Gonna taste both of us.” 

A pleased moan sighs from your lips as he fills you up, gripping one leg to bring it up his chest—the underside of your thigh pressing to his lower stomach as he pushes tight against you. Azriel’s gaze is nothing short of ravenous as he takes in the arch of your spine as his palm splays across your abdomen, applying a slight pressure to really get you to feel him. 

“Like that?” He asks, short on breath. Mouth curved in that smug grin. So self-satisfied. “Look at you,” he coos, shifting his hips, dragging them back so his head is again at your entrance, before pushing his cock all the way back inside. “So hot and flushed. All of this for me?” His thumb swipes across your clit, and you moan helplessly, tossing your head to the side as your eyes squeeze shut, nails scraping over the cushioning. 

Before you can formulate a reply he’s setting his pace, giving deep, almost punishing thrusts of his hips that roll firmly to your own. Sharp and decisive, just as you like, spine arching with every buck. 

“Can you even count to three right now?” He taunts, shadows swirling over your breasts, teasingly playing with your nipples, curling around them and tugging lightly. You try to shoot him a glare—that side of him has been coming out more frequently as of late, and you really don’t want to deal with his mean streak right now. Not on such a perfectly set up evening for romance and intimacy. 

So you extend your arms toward him, fingers opening and closing as if to grasp onto him. “Azriel…” you moan, reaching. His hips buck sharply of their own accord, swearing you could feel him twitch from pleasure—he might enjoy being mean from time to time, but it’s all for getting you nice and needy. He’s an undeniable soft spot for your desperation. Like putty in your hands once you reach for him, your toes curling from pleasure.  

“Fuck,” he curses low under his breath, driving his cock firmly into you as his palms splay either side of you, letting you touch and feel all over him, practically shivering with the greed in your fingers as they explore and grope. “Such a sweet little thing to everyone else, aren’t you? Such a wicked little devil when you’re with me.” 

Teeth tug on your lower lip as you try to keep your smile to yourself, but you fail miserably, smiling wide as your head tips back into the pillow, relishing the pleasure. “Wicked devil?” You moan out, forcing yourself to meet simmering hazel, heat sizzling just beneath your skin, clit itching for release as his abdomen grazes the apex of your thighs. 

“Like this?” 

A startled noise slips from his lips as you reach further over his shoulders, stroking his wings slowly. Teasing out his pleasure to have him playing nice with yours. His forehead drops to your own, brows pressing together, close enough to share panting breaths, your breasts grazing his chest with each heaving inhale. 

His lips part on an unabashed groan that licks up your spine, pooling between your legs at his deep confessions to pleasure, repeating the slow strokes to his wings. 

“Like that,” he confirms, jaw wound tight as he tries to cope with the overwhelming onslaught of stimulation. Hazel eyes warily open, a sharp glint in them as his instincts snarl and grapple with reasoning, but you want him to yield to them, not fight them. 

It seems he gets the message. 

Azriel’s palms snatch at your wrists, slamming them down on the cushioned table to keep you pinned, forcing you to take every brutal buck of his hips and you can feel as both of you swoop for that high that’s rising. His wings flare wide, their total span easily twice his height, casting a dark, dominating shadow that you know is an instinctive show of possession. 

Shadows wrap beneath the arch of your spine, clutching your hips to raise them from the table, and the angle has you going dizzy. Moans spill and babble as he pounds into you, grip remaining tight on your wrists to keep them trapped, driving in and out relentlessly until you think you might have screamed from overstimulation, panting and out of breath when you return to reality beneath him. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he growls against your skin, teeth scraping the tender length of your throat, searching for a spot to choose, to bite down on. He picks a section, pushing his teeth in, licking and sucking to push a feverish kiss into your skin, only pulling away once he’s satisfied. 

“Az,” you whine, cupping his cheeks in your hands, squeezing lightly as you arch into him. “It’s my turn.” 

“Your turn?” His hand wraps around your wrist, nosing the centre of your palm, pressing a kiss to its heel, delivering a small lick that zaps straight to your clit. His hips pull away, then push back in, able to feel as his cum begins seeping out of you. “You’ve hardly taken any of it, pretty thing. You need to be full up before moving onto me. Can’t have you going on empty, hm?” 

“Azriel!” You yelp as he rolls his hips to yours more firmly, bucking against you with enough force to nudge you further up the table. “That isn’t fair,” you squawk indignantly.

“My sweet little devil’s going to tell me what’s fair now, is she?” 

His lips curve into that smirk, and your willpower crumbles, legs wrapping themselves tighter around his waist to press him deeper. Azriel’s subsequent laugh reignites arousal in the pit of your stomach, tightening around his cock, urging him to follow through with his taunts. “Do it,” you whisper, “hurry up.” 

“You wanted me to go slowly earlier. I said you needed to be filled up, not that you needed to come.” 

“Azriel!” You gasp when he pulls out entirely, flipping you onto your front so you’re bent over for him, arms forcefully dragged behind your back to give him full control. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get to me,” he muses, lining himself up. “But the evening’s too good to waste, don’t you agree? It would be a shame to have it over and done with so quickly.” 

“And you called me the devil,” you mumble into the cushioning, squirming lightly beneath him to feel the unrelenting strength of his grip. “You’re going to cry when I get my mouth on you.” 

He chuckles again, shackling your forearms to the base of your spine with his shadows, rough palms easily gripping your hips. “It’s adorable you think you’re going to make it through that far. We both know you’ve never managed.” 

Azriel leans over you, cock slowly sliding in as he settles at your back. You can feel his lips against your ear, breath fanning the sensitive expanse of your neck. “I’d tell you to hold on tight, princess, but you can’t even manage that most nights. So tonight all you need to do is lie still, and take it.” 

His palm slides beneath your jaw, raising you from the cushioning, a mocking note to his deep and honeyed voice. “How does that sound?” 

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya @starlitlakes @kksbookstuff @feerique @ratgirl2020

[cinnaleaf]

「 Drunk &. Nasty | In Your DMs 」

summary: you said u weren’t into footballers, yet somehow you end up in jude’s bed after a night at the club | pt 2 of In Your DMs | MDNI 18+

warnings: smut, oral (f & m receiving), overstimulation, slightly public sex via phone call, alcohol consumption, themes of public attention/fame, language wc: ~3.9k 💌: pt 2 as requested! pls remember me different, i am ovulating 🤸🏾‍♂️ song inspo: Party Girls x Victoria Monét ft. Buju Banton

Cool night air slapped you with reality when you stepped out of the club with Jude, but it didn’t last long. He walked you toward a black Mercedes parked in front with tinted windows. You could see a driver already holding the door open and inside there were galaxy lights shimmering on the ceiling.

“Go ahead” Jude motioned inside the car, smirking because he knew you’d be cursing his name for the next few hours, and not in the way you did earlier at the club. You hopped into your seat and he followed shortly after, filling the car with the scent of seat leather, your creamy coconut perfume, and alcohol wafting from each others lips. Jude spread his legs out, encroaching your space while you tried to keep a respectable-ish distance. You tilted your head back, pretending like you weren’t hyper aware of him watching you. The second the car door shut, he broke the silence.

“C’mere.”

You didn’t look at him, knowing he was probably trying to pull you into a compromising position in the car. “I’m good right here.”

“Are you?” He leaned in close, giving you a smug look while trailing his hands up your thigh. You tucked your lips in and blew out through your nose to try and gather yourself. Thighs were a very sensual zone for you and the higher he trailed, the wetter you became. “Stop the act Y/N.” You bit back a whimper when he kicked your legs open with his own foot for easier access. “You want it so bad you’re shaking.”

“I’m not shaking” you lied even though your thigh was flexing against his hand. You shifted in your seat, trying closing your legs to avoid the heat pooling from his touch but his leg was in the way. You didn’t want give him the satisfaction of watching you squirm around like that, but when his hand crept up even higher, you bit back a gasp. “I’m g-good,” you repeated with twitching legs from the feathery light feeling of his fingertips.

Jude tilted his head up with a cocky smirk, searching your eyes to catch you in your lie. “Yeah? You sure about that?” He squeezed your thigh and rested his hand right below the spot he wanted to touch the most, making you glare from his confidence.

“What point are you trying to make Jude?”

“My point is…” he began while dragging his hand back down to tease you. “You’re sitting there acting like you don’t want me but we both know you do.”

You were crumbling faster than you wanted to, so you scoffed a laugh to mask wanting to hop on him right then and there. “What???”

“You heard me. Stop pretending and come here.” Jude came in closer and trailed his lips over your neck, making you lean into it while you bit your lip.

“We’re in a car…” you answered just as Jude scraped his teeth over the pulse point on your neck, making you whimper in response. Having decorum was your plan, but something about being drunk after a night of dancing with Jude in the club had you ready to risk it all.

“Never cared” He leaned back just enough to look at you and you swore he was undressing you with his eyes. Once you saw him wet his lips with his tongue and drop his eyes to where your dress rode up, you knew you were done for. In one swift motion, he gripped your hips and pulled you to straddle his lap before you could push back. Your knees hit the plush leather and he smirked at you while trailing his hands down to rest on your ass. “If you don’t want it, tell me. Use your words.”

You definitely wanted it now, so you stayed hush which satisfied Jude but also pushed him to tease you even further. His large palms gripped the cheeks of your ass to pull you against him and your head dipped back in a mix of frustration and arousal. “You’re so cocky.”

“Say that again,” Jude laughed, pressing you tighter against him so you could feel how hard he was for you. The contact made you stifle a moan and clench your thighs against his instinctively. “Say it while you’re grinding on me like this.” He shifted his hips under you to press his cock against your core, making you dig your fingers into his shirt while he guided your movements with his hands. “You thought you had it under control tonight and now look at you.”

“I-” you wanted to fire back, but his hand dipped under your dress to trail the edge of your panties, making you jerk into his hand out of pure desperation.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He gripped the sides of your neck and pulled you into him for a kiss that was all tongue and love bites on the bottom lip. When he finally pulled back to catch your dazed expression, he brushed his thumb over your lips with a sinister grin on his face. “You’re soaking my jeans, angel. You need it that bad?” The cocky lilt in his voice set you on fire and you wrapped your lips around Jude’s thumb to give him a sneak peek of what was to come. He sucked in a breath and took his thumb from your mouth to pull the top of your dress down, making your boobs spring free. 

“Fuck. Such pretty, perfect tits,” he whispered while raking over your chest in appreciation. His mouth latched onto your nipple and you arched toward him, gripping the back of his head. He swirled his tongue around, lightly biting the sensitive bud.

“Shit” you gasped from the sting, clencing your thighs tighter around him to grind down while his other hand squeezed and kneaded your other boob.

“You’re so beautiful” he spoke against your skin, switching to your other nipple with the same greed and tugging it between his teeth just to hear you hiss. “And you’re making the sweetest fucking noises for me.” When Jude finally pulled back to look you in the eye, his pupils were blown with hunger. “We can keep going here,” he muttered, still kneading your chest, “but I’d rather fuck you properly in my bed.”

“You sure you can handle me for that long?” you quipped while grazing your hand over his hard-on.

“Keep chatting shit and I’ll show you how long I can go.”

Jude lifted you off his lap and signalled for the driver to drive faster while you sat back in your seat bewildered. He was acting like he hadn’t just been latched onto you like a starved man while you sat down with Niagra Falls between your legs. The ride back to his place was filled with heavy breathing and teasing touches that had you ready to snap, but when you finally arrived at his house, he seemed to be in more of a rush than you did. Jude barely gave you time to take in the size of his place before he was opening the door and leading you inside with him. The second the front door closed, his hands were back on you. “Let me show you around,” he teased, pretending to be polite when in reality he really wanted to put you through the mattress. He kissed the corner of your jaw and moved his lips to your ear, nibbling. “Or I can show you around after I ruin you?”

You fumbled with the button of his jeans, eventually unzipping them to grab his dick right through his briefs. “I think we both know the answer to that question.”

Jude groaned, forcing himself to step back. His hand wrapped around your wrist as he led you through the house. “Bedroom’s this way,” he said as if you had any fucks to give besides the one he was about to give you. You didn’t care where the bedroom was, you would’ve taken it against the front door or even the stairs but you didn’t want to seem too eager after your hard-to-get performance at the club. When you made it to his room, you were barely holding it together when he pulled his shirt over his head to reveal his muscled, shirtless body. His jeans came off next and he pulled the bottom hem of his briefs up to show off his thighs and massive bulge. It made you shake your head because you saw him do the same thing at some of his matches when he wanted to tease his fans, but this was just for you.

You couldn’t pull your eyes away.

“Like what you see?” Jude smirked. His briefs joined his jeans on the floor and your jaw opened from the shock. You heard he was big but seeing his dick in front of you made you audibly gasp. It was thick, heavy, and had its own gravitational pull. It swung toward you with each step he took forward and you couldn’t stop yourself from squeezing your legs together. Jude caught the shift immediately and reached for you. “What’s wrong, angel? Don’t tell me you’re scared now.”

You swallowed hard, trying to get it together. “Please. I’m not scared.”

“Good.” He grabbed your neck gently and brushed his thumb under your jaw as he tilted your head to look up at him. “Take this dress off.”

“Take it off me.”

You weren’t boldly challenging him in the way you thought you were. Jude didn’t need to be told twice and took the dress off of you in a quickness, leaving you only in your soaked panties. “Look at you,” he muttered in appreciation. “So fucking gorgeous. Let’s see how ready you are for me.” His hand slid up your thighs and he spread them for you, kissing his way to your core. He hummed when he saw the wet patch on your panties and dragged his thumb over it with enough pressure to make you whimper. “You’re so wet” he cooed with awe. Jude had to peel your panties off of you because you were so wet they clung. When his finger slid inside of you, your eyes rolled back from the fullness. If he had you like this from one finger, you had no idea how you were going to react from his dick. Jude smiled as he watched your face contort, then he added another finger in. “You gotta open up more for me baby. I don’t want to hurt you. Relax for me.”

The way he softened his dominance to make sure you were ready somehow made you even hornier, and you grinded against his fingers already a mess from his touch. Jude had you hanging on by a thread from the way he thrusting his fingers inside of you. Every time you clenched around him, your hips bucked in a pathetic attempt to make yourself cum, but everytime you were about to, he’d pull his hand back and leave you gasping for air while kissing the inside of your thigh to soothe the ache.

“Jude” you whined, barely able to breathe from how good it felt.

“Shhh, don’t start begging now. Took you long enough to answer me so I’m gonna take my time with you.” He kept you spread for him and trailed his lips closer to your pussy, yet not close enough for what you wanted. You were a goner and he was loving every second of it.

“Pleaseee,” you begged while squirming around from the heightened sensation of his warm breath between your legs.

Jude tilted his head, smirking against your skin as he kissed higher and skimmed the edge of your folds with his lips. “More?”

You nodded frantically, grabbing at his head to pull him down but he was stronger than you so you had to settle for begging now that he was in control. “Jude please. I need your tongue.” As soon as you said it, he flicked his tongue out with one long stripe between your lips, making you clench your thighs against him. He wrapped his arms on your thighs and slurped between them, teasing your clit with light suction and rhythmic licks while you pushed up against his tongue. He refused to let you cum and pulled away just as your moans pitched higher. “Why are you like this? Just fuck me please.” you begged, gripping his wrist in an effort to pull him back to you to no avail. You fed his ego to fullness with the stark contrast of yourself at the club and between your begging, he grabbed a condom and slid it down his shaft.

“You ready?” he coaxed, spreading your folds with both his thumbs. You moaned a ‘yes’ which made him smirk, lick over his lips, and spit on your clit as a silent way to claim your pussy as his. When he tapped his tip against your clit to mix his saliva with your wetness, you clenched around nothing, fueling you to take matters into your own hands. You reached down to grab his cock while biting your lip, slowly guiding him inside of you. 

But then your phone rang.

“Answer it” he grinned, even as his dick twitched from your touch.

You looked at him dumbfounded. “What?”

“I said answer it. Right now.” Jude leaned down and brushed his lips on yours, but then he pulled back. He was beating you at your own game now and it had you dizzy with lust while he reached over and handed you your phone.

Your hand shook as you swiped the screen. “H-hello?”

“Did you guys fuck yet?” Bri’s voice loudly came in through the phone, making you wince. “On a scale of 1 to 10 how was it? Was it everything you imagined? Does he eat it off the bone?? Is the girth to length ratio good? I need to know everything girl.”

You were barely paying attention to her questions while you watched Jude place your legs on his shoulders. He dragged his dick through your folds and rubbed his tip against your clit, making you open your mouth.

“Well?!” Bri’s impatient voice snapped you back to the phone.

Jude pressed his tip inside of you, stretching you out and making you quietly mouth a ‘oh my god’ at him with creased brows. 

“Y/N?? Hello?”

“Uh–I–yeah it’s good.” you managed in a shaky voice just as Jude pushed in a little more with a smirk. “Sooo good.”

“And?!” Tasha’s voice chimed in way too clear, making you realize you were on speaker.

“And…” Your voice broke into a sharp gasp just as he gave you a teasing thrust to keep you on edge.

“Wait, is he still there?!” Bri gasped. “Because you’re not really giving us a proper dick report. What about aftercare? Is he a cuddle after kind of guy or did he already call your Uber? He seems like the cuddle type honestly.”

Jude leaned in, loud enough for them to hear over the phone. “Tell them you’re busy.”

“Y-yeah,” you stammered as he pulled out slightly, only to slide back in deeper. “I’m–um..really – oh fuck – busy. Very. Busy.”

“Was that him?!”

“Mmhmm,” you nodded, looking up at him as he rubbed his thumb against your clit. He was pushing you closer and closer to orgasm, making your vision blur from pleasure. 

“I can’t” you whimpered quietly as he continued to thrust slow enough to keep you hanging on by a thread.. “I-I’ll call back later.”

“Yeah, she’s still working on the report.” Jude called out, even louder this time. He slid out of you and turned you on your knees, making you arch your back before deep stroking back in with a smack to your ass just as he pressed the end call button. You buried your face in a pillow to muffle your moans when he started hitting a spot that had you squelching into a wet mess on your thighs. 

“Jude, Jude, Jude,” you repeated in a chant, grasping at the sheets beneath you. “Deeper.” A dick like his wasn’t something you got to have often, so you were going to indulge, even if it did seem a little greedy to have him fill you completely. He pulled out slowly for you to feel every bit of him, then he gave you deep, calculated strokes with his balls slapping against you for extra sensation. You felt him smack your ass and you arched your back more to throw some back shots of your own.

“That’s it, angel. Keep fucking me back.”

Jude slid his hand between your legs to massage your clit and your legs shook from the feeling. You didn’t know if you wanted to cum, cry, scream, or beg so you gripped his wrist instead, squirming. “I’m..I– oh god.” 

“So fucking good for me. I need to feel you cum on my dick.” The roles flipped. Jude’s arousal was being fueled by your sounds and now he was begging for you; the way he sounded while talking to you spurred you on.

“Don’t stop talking.” you moaned, throwing it back heavier on him. 

“Yeah?” He smacked your ass loudly. “Now you don’t want me to stop talking?” With another deep thrust, he felt you begin to flutter around him and he held your hips down to push you into the mattress. “You gonna cum for me?” You nodded as best as you could with your face pressed against the sheets, strangling out a moan.

“Tell me.” He demanded, feeling your muscles choke his cock with a tight grip.

“I’m gonna cum. Just for you, all for you.” you whined between the sounds of his skin meeting yours. 

“Give it to me then. Let me feel it baby.” In a quick motion, Jude wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you against his chest. He gripped your neck, turning your head toward his lips while peppering kisses on your jawline. “You can’t believe you waited so long for this, huh? Such a good girl now.”

The moan that came out of you after he said that could only be described as pornographic. You clenched around him, flying higher and higher until your body shook against him from the intensity of your orgasm. He held his grip on you, talking you through it while telling you how sexy you sounded coming undone. Once you finally came down to earth again, he released his grip on you, making you fall against the mattress, shaking from orgasm aftershocks.

Jude removed the condom and rubbed your back, laughing at your predicament. “You okay?”

His laugh irritated you so you rolled over and sat up with a nod. “I’m fine. But you didn’t cum?” Your eyes shot down to his dick that was drooling with small beads of precum leaking onto the sheets. You trailed kisses from his thigh vein to the tip of his dick, pampering it with soft, short kisses while he twitched in your hand. 

“I thought I’d give you a break.” Jude saw you look up at him through your lashes and he licked his lips, caressing underneath your chin while you continued to tease him. “You clearly don’t want one though, huh?”

You answered by running your tongue along the vein of his dick, licking from base to tip in one long stroke. Jude’s head tipped back with a groan when you wrapped your lips around him, sucking just enough to make him flex toward you. His fingers tightened on your hair, guiding your movements while you took him deeper, choking a little when his tip grazed the back of your throat.

“Goddamn Y/N” he threw his head back in shock, but then quickly looked back at you because he couldn’t get enough of the sight. “Don’t stop.” Your tongue swirled around the tip as you pulled him out of your mouth enough to twist your hand around the base. Jude groaned, breathing heavily to hold on to the feeling for as long as possible. “Shit... do that again.” His voice was low but needy. You unhinged your jaw and took him deeper, swallowing to tighten your throat around his cock. Jude’s breathing got heavier and his hips thrusted involuntarily into your mouth for more. You started to feel him pulsing against your tongue as he strengthened his grip around the back of your head. “Stay right there and taste it angel.”

You swallowed around him again, milking him for everything he had while you massaged his balls. When you finally pulled off of him, his chest was heaving, he was sweaty and his eyes were half open while looking down at you. “Your head game is mad dangerous…” Jude leaned back to prop himself up on the headboard and pulled you in a straddle on top of him. 

“Is it?” you giggled as he gripped your ass to pull you just above his dick, which was starting to get hard again. When you felt him, you realized you were in for a treat. Jude’s refractory period was damn near nonexistent and the more you kissed, the harder you felt him get beneath you. When he finally pulled back, you were out of breath and riled up all over again. “Round two?” he asked, tapping himself against your folds. You nodded and he grabbed another condom, ready for a long night of ‘meeting your standards’ now that he was outside of your DMs and inside of you.

The next morning, you winced from the sunlight and cracked an eye open – only to be greeted by a room that looked nothing like yours. You shifted around, groaning quietly against the weight of Jude’s arm wrapped around you with his chest pressed against your back.

“Wait. What?”

Scattered condom wrappers were all over the floor. You froze, thinking in a daze while the puzzle pieces of last night came together in your mind. The club, the drinks, an answered DM, and Jude Bellingham. You turned your head to make sure you weren’t imagining things and sure enough, he was laid up next to you with a stupid smug smile on his face even in his sleep.

“Wait..did I– oh my god, I did.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” you muttered, scrambling to grab your phone from somewhere in the tangled sheets. You found it buried under a pillow, unlocked it, and opened Instagram. Your stomach dropped. At the top your feed was a still image of you in the club with Jude.

“It’s been like–what? Six hours? How are these people so fast??” You rubbed your hands over your face but it did nothing to undo the situation. You checked your messages and opened your group chat:

Bri: goooood morninggg to the latest star of Bellingham Baddies! i hope the D was worth it babe. i tried to defend you but they kinda ate me up too!!

Tasha: no bc why’d someone make an entire thread about you following jobe but not jude?? i’m sorry but i laughed

You groaned, wincing from your hangover as the text notifications kept going off.

Bri: she’s 100% regretting her life decisions right now

You glanced at Jude who was stirring awake. He gave you a lazy smile and kissed you. “Why are you up so early? C’mere.” he hummed against your skin, pulling you into him. You wanted to be mad at him but when he kissed your neck, mumbling, “Don’t leave yet. Need you to stay here a little longer with me,” you sunk right back into him like you did the night before, biting back a smile. You texted your group chat while Jude continued to scatter kisses across your skin.

You: No. 100% worth it.

You locked your phone and faced Jude who was grinning wide and had his eyes half closed from hangover grogginess.

Yeah. 100% worth it.

[aweina]

౨ৎ. MANSPREAD ( 17﹢) ; mike schmidt

tags fem reader. established relationship. dry humping / heavy petting. begging. no reader orgasm ( boo ! ! ). cocky to submissive mikey + 1.8k words.

mike cannot seem to keep his legs closed. literally. sitting next to him was a total hassle. his legs covering every perimeter of leg space he could reach — leaving your knees buckled together and tucked in whatever corner you’re forced into.

you’ve mentioned his bad habit before, in which he mumbles an indolent “sorry” and then the next day, continues to do the same thing he’s half heartedly apologized for. at this point, you’re not sure he was doing it to press your buttons or his permanent restlessness has caught up with his memory.

then playful slaps on the knee became another idea. a quick sting to his skin kept his reactions stunned, buckling his knees together from your sharp touches. each slap garnered a short cry and a sudden flinch like some invisible string tied his legs together.

it worked, but only for a few days.

now mike catches your wrist halfway from making contact on his knees, gently tugging you down in the corner of the linen couch with a delighted chuckle. either that or he tosses you a knowing glance when you come by the couch, a raised brow and his hands protecting the caps of his knees — glancing his soft hazel eyes towards the tiny empty space beside him.

what a total ass.

all your solutions to stop his leg spreading habit seemed to do nothing for mike. instead, it made him even more repulsive — the spatial width between his legs could nearly reach the arms of the couch, leaving your poor body folded to regain any left over space. then his arms spread along the plush pillows — his rough hand would ever so often teasingly tug at your ears or play with the loose strands of your hair, pulling the ends while playfully twirling it in his finger.

in the corner of your eye, you swore there was a smug smile etched onto his face.

yeah, he’s totally doing this on purpose.

you thought a bit harder after that day. re-enacting different scenarios in your head without it resulting in some unneeded argument — nearly burning abby’s lunch in the process. but like a flash of light, it suddenly hit you. if mike was going to rob you of personal space, why can’t you do so to him?

“um … are you okay?” abby glances up at your blank eyes in concern, the chicken that was supposed to be golden brown violently sizzled from the bubbling oil, grimly layered under a blanket of black charcoal.

“o – oh, yes i’m fine abs.” you assured the smaller schmidt, transferring the hot pan away from the scorching stove — your inner victory delayed by your own clumsiness.

to salvage her burnt meal, you both shared a box of fresh delivered pizza for lunch.

but now it was that time.

it’s nighttime, mike was comfortably splayed on the couch, mindlessly flipping through channels. as it always was, his legs covered every crevice of the couch — body propped completely in between the plush cushions. the gray baggy sweatpants he changed into clung to his frame well — heavily ruffled on the parts you would love to get an eyeful of. his shirt was slightly damp from a warm shower, the gentle curl patterns in his brown hair glistened under the colorful glow of the television.

mike catches your lingering gaze, a pleased smile on his face.

“you’re not going to sit down?” he slurred a quip, patting down on the other end of the couch — seized by his thick thighs.

he refrains from teasing you for your blatant staring, but instead, for your multiple failed attempts to get him to stop his obnoxious leg spreading.

“oh yeah i will.” you mocked his sluggish tone, going to get yourself a cold drink before you make your way over to the couch.

blocking his view from the blaring screen, you purposely bent down in slow motion — distracting him from his vacuous browsing to simply put your drink down. mike quirks a brow at your little act, but still makes no effort to scoot over, barely moving a muscle.

then your body began to engulf his vision, fluorescent light spilling in the sides of your shadow. confusion knitted into his brows until suddenly, the air in his lungs were punched out from an added weight. the heavy crash of your body made mike rasp a curse, making him pathetically adjust himself after being nearly sunken in the folds of the aged couch — one hand clawing at the cushions for some stability.

“r – really? on my lap?” mike managed to breath out, holding your waist steadily with his free hand — your body felt so good flushed against his.

the innocent attempt to adjust himself ended up with him grinding on your ass, eliciting a low groan from his lips.

gosh, he’s too loud.

you hurriedly fish out the remote from his weak grasp, changing the channel to something that could hopefully muffle the pathetic noises that spill from mike’s mouth. abby’s room was still nearby the living room, the lights off and the door completely shut.

“well … you never give me room on the couch, so i think this is fair.” you explained leisurely, tossing the remote to the side as you grappled onto his spread knees, lifting off some weight to rub slow, shallow circles over his clothed cock.

mike fought back a needy whimper, biting his lip until fleshy pink turned paper white. the cooling sensation of his damp hair did nothing from how much his body was burning up. both his hands cling desperately onto the handles of your waist — kneading and lightly grazing his nails in your soft skin.

a throbbing warmth brushed against your clothed clit, mercilessly constricted by the confines of his sweatpants. you fought back a whine yourself, desperately tugging at the gray fabric with sealed lips. every steady brush of your soft flesh made mike see stars, the urge to lift his hips and grind harder into the curve of ass sat heavy in his lust hazed mind. yet his obedience seemed to glimmer brighter than his deviant instincts.

“ha ha- harder – ngh – please go harder.”

he sounded so sweet, so needy. you couldn’t deny him when the pool of his sticky precum oozes through the gray fabric — gossamer strings that weaved your dripping arousal with his own.

“s – stay still then.” you whispered, now fully pressing your weight against his hard cock — your back against his panting chest.

mike does what you ask, gluing his hips down to the cushions.

his heartbeat was racing against time, pumping all the hot blood that rushed down to his cock. his warm breath fanned the back of your neck, sending electric waves down your spine. his touches were sweaty, latching and kneading anything that pertained to softness. the open mouthed kisses he planted on your bare neck blossomed into purple hues, the drag of his teeth and muted whimpers coercing you to absolutely destroy him.

your hips rocked faster on his cock, the throbbing imprint tucked between the curve of your ass. his grip felt extra tight on your hips, reddish crescent marks decorating your flushed skin. mike throws his head back on the couch, his usual deep groans replaced with airy sighs. he closes his eyes, the same stars dancing in his eyelids — your heady scent making it harder for him not to hold you down himself and hump his cock against your pussy.

he’s so close, he can feel it.

“might cum – ah fuck.” mike warns with a high-pitched whine, the blasting audio from the television really doing him a favor.

you can tell too. his cock hasn’t stopped throbbing ever since he’s accidentally grind against you. his seeping precum never seemed to stop, only staining against the seat of the couch. he was like a horny teenager, so desperate to get off and trying so hard to compose himself. not like the asshole who was taking up all the space on the couch.

this was a great plan after all.

with one hard press against his cock, a spill of scorching heat nestled into your clothed pussy — eating through his soiled fabric and coating your covered folds. with no restraint whatsoever, mike’s deep groan vibrated the dimly lit living room, mindlessly bucking his hips lazily over your cunt like he could possibly pump some cum along your walls. the stars that whirled under his lids dispersed into a warm, satisfied feeling all over his usual restless body.

the very last minute, your hands flailed over his panting mouth — looking over to the direction of abby’s room. he seems to realize how loud he was, eyes widening as he hastily grabs onto the discarded remote, amplifying the volume to a considerate tone. not too loud to wake her up but definitely loud enough to cover the after effects of your intense heavy petting.

the light in her room remains untouched, her delicate footsteps nonexistent. she’s still asleep, thank goodness.

still both hazy from your lustful highs, mike drops the remote and snuggles into the crook of your neck — taking in your addicting scent while admiring the love marks he gave you. his cock softened under the soiled fabric, the sticky feeling making him furrow his brows. but then he realizes one thing, the sudden flinch of his body made you alarmed.

“i – i’m sorry. you didn’t get to cum.” mike sheepishly apologizes, fiddling with the waistband of your soiled shorts.

you shook your head with a relieved sigh, leaning back to gently kiss his stubble jawline — combing your fingers through his soft curls, dried on the top but the ends damp with sweat.

“i’m fine, baby, but you can make it up with one thing.” you mumbled in the base of his ear, a playful smile on your face.

in the corner of his eye, he can see the curl of your lips — the sight earning an eye roll.

“i already know what you’re going to say, but let’s hear it.” mike’s voice was baritone next to your flushed face, completely contrasting his previous whines and whimpers.

“give me all the space on the couch for now on.” you laugh when mike groans, still pulling your body closer to his despite this new ordeal.

“okay fine.” he defeatedly mumbles into your shoulder, his rough hands tracing over your bruised hips to your neglected chest — reaching under to knead your soft skin for his own enjoyment.

the moments of comforting silence were therapeutic, not even the continuous dialogue and sound effects from the bulky screen could ruin its peace. there was something still ticking mike off, he didn’t want to ruin this sweet moment but he couldn’t help it.

“are you sure my lap isn’t good enough?” he pleaded, a glint of hope in his hazy eyes — the couch being his only source of possession where he could splay himself comfortably.

you scoffed, rolling your eyes in the back of your head.

“no.”

it was an attempt.

he huffs in defeat, now kneading at your chest for some comfort.

“okay.”

© aweina : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.

[nina-ya]

Synopsis: You are wrapped up for Law and he can't help himself. Pairing: Law x afab reader CW: SMUT MINORS DNI, use of 'good girl' twice, bondage, vision loss, overstimulation, Law is a cocky bastard, fingering, p in v sex, creampie • ficmas masterlist • ko-fi • discord server •

The world was reduced to darkness, your vision swallowed by the silken ribbon tied snugly over your eyes. Robbed of sight, every other sense seemed to come alive, leaving you hyper-aware of the faintest shift in the air and the quietest of sounds that punctuate the room. That same material that stole your sight crisscrossed against your chest, wrapped once, twice, thrice around your abdomen, and looped around your wrists, locking them behind you in a snug bind that left you helplessly exposed.

Your breaths came unsteady, each inhale shallow and tremulous as you strained to decipher his movements in the silence. The air itself was thick with a suffocating tension, and even without seeing, you could feel his presence nearby just barely out of reach, waiting and waiting.

“Relax,” Law’s voice finally cut through the stillness. The sound of it hit you like a physical force, rippling from head to toe before settling in your lower belly. 

Your lips parted to respond, but the words tangled on your tongue, dissolving into a shaky exhale. He didn’t touch you right away, oh no, he made you wait, letting you marinate in your own breathless vulnerability.

When his fingers finally skimmed the bare skin of your shoulder, you jerked, a soft gasp falling from your lips. The touch was so light it might’ve been a figment of your imagination if not for the trail of warmth left in its wake. 

“So sensitive like this,” he murmured, a hint of amusement curling in his words. His fingertips danced over your skin, trailing up the side of your neck until two fingers pressed against your carotid, feeling the rapid thump thump thump under your skin. “Good. That’s exactly what I want.”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, unconsciously tilting your head towards his touch, chasing the heat of him. But before you could indulge, he moved again. The soft creak of the floorboards was the only clue to his whereabouts. He circled you like a predator savoring the moment before the pounce, his commanding presence palpable even in the emptiness. 

When his hands returned to your shoulders, you jumped again, a startled gasp escaping you once more. His palms pressed firmly into the tense muscles there, kneading as he leaned in close. 

“You’re holding your breath,” he noted softly, his voice dropping into a husky whisper. “Don't. Breathe for me.”

A trembling sigh slipped past your lips as your body obeyed his command, though it was difficult when every nerve in your body was on high alert. His hands slid down, tracing the curve of your arms until they reached your bound wrists. He tugged the ribbon there to remind you of its presence, and you swear you could see the smug smirk plastered on his face despite the lack of sight.

“Law,” you finally whispered, your voice cracking slightly. The sound of your own voice startled you in the quiet room. You weren’t sure what you were asking for– clarity, reassurance, mercy, or simply for his touch again. 

The silk ribbon bit into your skin as Law hauled you up from the chair. Each subtle pulse of your heartbeat throbbed against the bindings, a constant reminder of your helplessness. You stumbled slightly as he led you forward until the edge of the bed pressed against the front of your thighs. The surface was soft and inviting, but his hands on your hips were the opposite- rough and controlling, coaxing you forward until your body was bent over the surface.

When he touched you again, it was maddeningly slow, the faintest of graze of his fingertips gliding down your spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps. The teasing path sent a shiver straight through you, his touch tracing down the curve of your back until it reached the swell of your ass. He kneaded the plush flesh, his movements languid and unhurried as he savored the sight in front of him.

But then his hand slid lower, trailing to the place you craved him most. The first press of his fingers was light, barely pressing the slick heat of your core, and the restraint of his touch was devastating. Your thighs trembled, a sharp whine escaping your lips as you strained against the silken binds, desperate for more.

“You’re soaked already,” he murmured, the words dark and drenched in skin. He dragged his fingers through the wetness with an almost mocking gentleness, fanning the flames of the growing ache within you.

A gasp tore from you as you bucked your hips back, chasing his touch. He chuckled at your feeble attempt. “Impatient,” he said, the word dripping with amusement. But he obliged, whether out of cruelty or kindness, you couldn’t be sure. 

Two fingers slipped into you without warning, the sudden stretch stealing your breath. Your walls fluttered around him as he withdrew only to thrust back in as he worked you open. He curled then inside you, angling until he had you shattering under his touch, stars bursting behind your eyes as you arched into his touch.

Your bound wrists trembled against the small of your back, useless in their constraints. A litany of gasps and shuddering breaths spilling from your lips. Maybe you subconsciously held back so you could hear the world beyond the ribbon that stole your sight. Or maybe you just weren’t in a vocal mood at the moment. Whatever the reason was, Law wasn’t pleased with it.

“You’re holding back,” Law chided, voice sharp enough to cut through the haze of your pleasure. “That won’t do.”

The ribbon at your wrists was pulled taut as he yanked you upright, your legs giving out beneath you as he hauled you flush against his chest. His breath was hot against your ear as you felt his hand reach around your front, using his arm to hold you up as his hand found your chin, gripping your jaw firmly. “Let me hear you,” he ordered, his voice low. 

The fingers that were knuckle deep inside of you continued to coax you closer and closer to the edge. Your resolve shattered as a low, needy moan spilled from your lips, followed by a wail as he curled his fingers just so, hitting that one spot inside of you with devastating accuracy. 

“That’s better,” he growled against your ear, his voice rough with satisfaction. “I want to hear every little sound.”

His fingers continued to hit that spot over and over and over again, your body tensing and the pleasure in your core coiling tighter and tighter by the second. And then you broke, a cry ripping from your throat as that coil finally snapped, your release washing over you as your walls fluttered around his fingers. A string of pleads, curses, and cries of his name fell from your lips, each sound dripping with raw, unrestrained desire. The high left you trembling, your limbs slack and useless as your chest heaved with shallow breaths. And before the intensity had fully faded, he withdrew, leaving a sudden emptiness that only he could fulfill.

The hand wrapped around your front released your chin and slid down to your chest as it continued to hold you upright against the bed's edge. You barely had a moment to recover before the fingers that were once inside of you pressed against your parted lips, slipping easily between them. 

“Go on,” he murmured, his voice molten, “Taste yourself.”

Obedience came naturally and your tongue swirled around his inked digits, savoring the slick digits. The wet, intimate taste of yourself had a strange, intoxicating effect on you, and it only deepened the ache pooling low in your stomach. 

“Good girl,” Law rasped, his voice rough with satisfaction. Slowly, he slid his fingers free, the spit-covered digits gleaming as he held them up briefly before wiping them on your inner thigh.

Before you could catch your breath, you felt the shift of his body, his chest brushing against yours as he adjusted himself between your trembling legs. His hand released your chest in favor of holding your hip, causing you to fall forward and meet the bed once again. The blunt, swollen head of his cock pressed against your entrance, and you let out a broken whimper. You squirmed as he barely nudged into your spent hole, a maddening pressure that made your body tighten in response. He barely entered, just the tip, yet it was enough to make you burn. 

The chuckle Law let out was almost taunting as he watched you writhe beneath him. “Sensitive, are we?” he purred, one hand gripping you in place while the other snaked around your front, finding your swollen clit with infuriating accuracy. The teasing circles sent a violent shudder through you, ripping a cry from you as you lunged forward, your overstimulated nerves screaming for mercy.

“Please,” you choked out, your voice a trembling whisper as you squirmed beneath him, desperate and undone. 

But Law wasn’t having it. In one swift motion, he flipped you onto your back, his hand moving to hold you down against the mattress. You yelped at the sudden shift, your heart racing and your body entirely exposed to him. 

You heard Law fumble around for a moment, grumbling something you couldn't quite make out. Then, you felt the ribbon around your head loosen, the blindfold slipping away. Light flooded your vision, and you blinked, adjusting to the sudden clarity. 

And there he was. Law’s bare form hovered over you, his tattooed body a masterpiece of sharp lines and ink. His cock stood proud, the flushed tip glistening, the sight alone enough to leave you breathless.

He held the ribbon in his hands and without a word, he brought it to his mouth, his teeth tearing through the fabric with ease. The action was primal and it made your clit throb with a renewed want.

The torn ribbon was repurposed with cruel efficiency, binding your ankles to the bedposts. He wrapped the silk tight enough to keep you spread wide, and by the time he was done, you were fully exposed and utterly at his mercy, your wrists trapped beneath you and your legs held firmly apart.

Law sat back back for a moment, his eyes roaming over your bound form. His gaze was heavy, dark with amusement and possessive hunger, and when his lips quirked into a smirk, it was laced with pure sin. 

“Perfect,” he murmured, the single word both a promise and an assessment. 

He shifted closer, hovering over you, his breath mingling with yours as he positioned himself between your trembling legs. You could feel his cock resting against your slick folds, teasing and gliding and sending jolts of electricity through your hypersensitive body. 

The first nudge of his tip had you squirming, lips parting to cry out, but his lips met yours, swallowing any noises that threatened to come out with a deep, consuming kiss. And slowly, he pushed in, the stretch an intoxicating burn that stole the air from your lungs. 

Your muffled cry mixed with a groan of his as he buried himself inside of you. The pressure was overwhelming, but it only fueled your desire, the pleasure teetering on the edge of pain in the most exquisite way.

Law’s hand hooked under your thigh, lifting it slightly to deepen the angle. And then he began to move. His pace was merciless, each thrust hard as he drove his cock into you with brutal precision. The sound of skin against skin filled the air, mixing with your shared sounds of pleasure and the wet, obscene noises of your body taking him. 

“Please… can’t…” you whimpered, your voice trembling as your fingers clawed helplessly at the sheets beneath you. 

Law leaned his head down to the side of your face, lips grazing the shell of your ear as he growled, “You can take it, I know you can.” The heat of his words settled deep inside of you as he continued, “Be a good girl and take it for me, will you?”

You didn’t quite hear his words through the chaos that is your mind, but a warbled sound resembling a response spilled past your lips. His other hand slid around your waist, pulling you against him as he drove deeper, harder, his cock hitting spots that made stars burst in your eyes, quickly hurtling towards the edge for the second time that night. 

Your body became a live wire, every muscle wound impossibly tight as the tension spiraled to an unbearable peak. Your thighs quivered in Law’s grip, toes curling as the pleasure spread outward, consuming your entire being. 

Your breath came in ragged gasps, each exhale trembling with the sensations threatening to take over. His cock hit that devastatingly perfect spot over and over as he unraveled you. You felt your walls clench tightly around him, the twitches and spasms of your body pulling him deeper, holding him in place as though you could keep him tethered to you. 

The pressure finally exploded, and you shattered. Every muscle in your body seized as your stomach tightened, your back arching off the bed as you were completely overtaken by the intensity of your orgasm. 

Your fingers clawed at the sheets, knuckles white as your body trembled beneath him. Your thighs pressed futilely against his hips in a desperate attempt to steady yourself against the overwhelming pleasure. 

“Fuck,” Law groaned, his voice thick and strained as you clenched around him, somehow pulling him deeper. He held you in place as he worked you through it, his thrusts steady but slower now as he prolonged the euphoric aftershocks that racked your body.

You gasped his name, your voice shaking as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from the sheer feelings of everything. And as the peaks began to subside, your muscles were left weak and your body pliant beneath him. 

Law followed soon after, his movements growing uncoordinated as his thrusts turned into a desperate rhythm as he chased his own release. You whimpered with every thrust as your spent hole was fucked into for moments longer. The tension in his body was visible, the flexing of his muscles as he held you tightly in place a beautiful sight above you.

His breath hitched and he sharply inhaled as his hips snapped forward one final time, burying himself to the hilt. His body stilled, a low moan escaping his lips as his climax overtook him. His voice was raw with pleasure as his cock pulsed, releasing ropes of his spend with each throb. His fingers dug into you, holding you against him as his chest heaved, his body trembling from the aftermath. 

For a moment, the room was filled with nothing but the sounds of your shared heavy, uneven breaths as you both came down from the high. Then slowly, his grip softened, his hands now moving with a gentleness as they roamed over your skin. 

Law eased himself from you with painstaking care, pausing to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips warm. “Are you okay?” he murmured against your skin, pulling back to stare at your flushed features. 

You whined out something incoherent, pairing it with a nod, and Law chuckled in response, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips as he moved to untie you. He removed the ribbon from your ankles first, the silk falling away under his careful touch. He rubbed soothing circles into the tender spots where the fabric pressed into your skin, his thumbs working over each mark with tenderness. “Does this hurt?” he asked, his eyes scanning you for any signs of discomfort. 

When you shook your head, he smiled. He kissed each of the spots where the ribbons had left faint impressions, murmuring quiet apologies for any marks they might have left behind. 

Next, he turned his attention to your wrists and your chest, carefully unbinding the silk that had once held you as he proceeded to the muscles to soothe any lingering tension. “You did so good for me,” he praised, voice filled with admiration.

He shifted, laying next to you and pulling your sweat-slicked body into his. Neither of you moved much, save for the delicate caresses against your sides paired with kisses on every exposed surface his lips could reach. 

You both knew the next step would be to grab a towel or shower, making some sort of effort to clean up, but you silently agreed that this moment was one that you wanted to prolong. Sweet nothings and murmured praises filled the air, melting into a lazy conversation. 

“This was such an amazing gift,” Law said, looking at you with a pleased expression. “I wonder how I could possibly ever top that.”

And you giggled, your voice light and airy as you gazed up at him with a playful grin. “I might have some ideas…”

[carlylecroc]

Ellie x Shy!fem!reader!!

My sweet bunny.

cw: praise, body worship, bunny-outfit.

You were always rather.. insecure. Until you met Ellie, she made you feel appreciated and loved so you went to your friend Dina for help..

Lingerie?? How crazy!! Why would Dina even suggest such a thing!? That’s far too embarrassing! Plus, you don’t even know if Ellie would like it..

Your thought began to go crazy as you began to over think this whole thing! :(. Dina kept reassuring you and saying about how it’s okay and how Ellie would love it.. but you weren’t sure.. you were nervous! Eventually.. Dina managed to convince you. So you did what any willing girlfriend would do..

You went online shopping. You saw the most lewd outfits! It was so embarrassing. Eventually, you found a favorite. It was embarrassing.. but it was very pretty. So, you ordered it.

Almost two weeks had past and you forgot about it completely! You had just come back from your job to see Ellie on your couch.. you spoke up, “Hey, Ellie.” She turned to face you with a rather.. flushed expression. You raised a brow in confusion till you saw the package in her hand… oh no.

“Hey, doll. I was just.. getting our mail and.. I saw a box. It was in pretty packaging so I opened it and uhm..” She held up a black lacy bra.. You felt your heart stop. You could hear your ears ringing and you could feel your face and ears start to burn.. this was horrible!!

“Ellie- I.. I promise it’s not what it looks like!!” You mumbled out in a hushed voice.

She raised a brow in amusement. “Really? That’s too bad. I was looking forward to this…” She let out a sigh, biting back a cocky smile.. You felt like you were about to explode from embarrassment!! But.. at the same time.. if she wanted you to..

You cleared your throat before timidly speaking.. “I just wanted to surprise you..” Which caused the most smug smirk from her.

“Oh I’m definitely surprised, baby. You really bought this pretty little thing for me?” She chuckled and looked at the lingerie. To which you nodded.. she got up and walked over to you, grabbing a handful of your ass which caused you to squeak.

“Go put it on.. now.” She mumbled darkly. In a tone you never heard.. it made your tummy have butterflies. You grabbed the set from her and scurried off to the bathroom..

You sighed and looked at yourself in the mirror. Fuck.. It was a lacy black bra, and a lacy thong. A silk-white bunny headband and a bunny tail butt plug with white lacy stockings. You can’t believe you were about to show Ellie this.. but you only live once, right?

You walked out and looked at Ellie, waiting for a reaction. She stared in silence…

“…”

Suddenly, she grabbed you, pulling you close. “Fuck baby. So good for me.. look at my pretty girl… fuck. You’re so soft.. Mh..” She said as she began to kiss up you neck and squeeze the meat on your hips..

Next thing you know you were being pulled over her lap! God, it was embarrassing. But you also.. kinda liked it. This was new. Most of the time you and her were very.. vanilla.

You rocked down on her lap.. whining. You felt embarrassed getting her jeans all wet. But you couldn’t help it, it was too good. You kinda like this despite it being different. You rocked down.. slowly grinding.

“That’s it, bunny. You look so good.. so sweet. My sweet girl..” she mumbled, eyeing you like prey. You felt yourself get close.. she grabbed your hips tightly, stilling them. You were confused until she started to control your rhythm. The rough jeans pressing against you was heavenly.

“That’s it baby. So good.. good girl..” she mumbled with heavy eyes..

“Ellie- el’… ‘m close!” You whined.. your tummy felt hot and heavy. You gasped.. you felt yourself start to soak her jeans as you finished all over her. She chuckled and bit and nipped at your throat.

“Wear this more often, Kay, sweet stuff?”

[eatingoutmen]

MDNI. - ⚠︎ 18+ content || 🎥 ;; 「 ✦ TAMING THE BRAT ✦ 」 || 🎬 STARRING : JOHN CONSTANTINE

“Oh, God… F-fuck…!”

JOHN moaned and grunted unabashedly while writhing and arching his body, his hands clenching into fist at the ropes that bounded his wrist right above his head to the headboard. The bed creaked beneath mingling with his desperate, needy moans as he screwed his eyes shut at the feeling of your cock stretching his hole as well as his walls. Your tip kissing and jabbing his prostate repeatedly that made JOHN’S mind fuzzy and clouded with pure lust and pleasure as you continued to pound deep into him.

How did the JOHN CONSTANTINE get himself in this situation?

By teasing you purposefully, by being a total complete brat to you. He always knew how to rile you up, knowing how to be a complete tease to you, getting you aroused and all excited. Like whispering such foul and dirty things about what he wants you to do him into your ear, teasingly palm your crotch under the table, and grinding his ass whenever people weren’t looking at the both of you. All while JOHN had a cocky grin playing on his lips as he smoked a cigarette, knowing fully well he’d get punish for it later. So when you practically dragged him away and head towards your car, starting it up and not even looking at him, he couldn’t but smirk to himself when he noticed the bulge in your pants. Fully proud of his antics when he finally got what he wanted.

And now here was JOHN CONSTANTINE, getting his ass pounded deeply while you had a cocky smirk on your lips. “Getting close, Johnny?” You teased, the nickname making him whimper and shiver in excitement. Your gaze trailed down to his abandoned cock leaking more pre-cum onto his stomach, he looked up to you half-lidded eyes. A needy moan escaping his lips, he opened his mouth and tried to form coherent words but all that came out his mouth was just incoherent sounds, mixing with his own moans and whimpers. He let out a sharp gasp, finally finding his voice. “Please…” JOHN begged, his voice breathless and his eyes pleading for mercy. “I need to cum… Please let me cum.” He managed to gasp out between moans.

That only made you chuckle lowly, your smirk widening more. Your pace getting more rougher and deeper, making JOHN moan out of pleasure as his walls hugged your cock tightly, you smirked mischievously. “You gonna be good for me now, Johnny?” You asked, looking down at him, nodding desperately. “I promise…” JOHN whimpered, his breath coming short gasps. “I’ll be good for you, I promise.” He promised with a needy whimper. “Good boy.” You praised gently and held his hips firmly and pounded into his deeper and rougher, making his moans grow louder and desperate and his cock leak more pre-cum.

A few more deep and sloppy thrust, your hips stuttered and you released your hot seed inside him, emptying yourself out when JOHN reached his own climax, his cock shooting out his own load onto his stomach. You were both panting heavily and moaning softly, you slowly pulled out of him and untied his wrists, making JOHN sigh from relief as he laid back and massaged his wrist while letting out a soft exhale when you grabbed a nearby towel and cleaned him off. Once you were done, you kissed his forehead before grabbing his pack of cigarettes and pulled one out and brought to your lips and grabbed his lighter and lit up the cigarette.

You took a slow drag, inhaling it deeply and then exhaled a steam of smoke into the air. You couldn’t help but smirk a bit as JOHN grinned at you, you offered your cigarette to him. He gladly took it while laughing breathlessly, he brought to his own lips and took a long drag and sit up from the bed and leaned in closer to you. “You’re not gonna behave like you promised, aren’t you?” You questioned with a small smirk, he snickered at you and blew out a slow, deliberate steam. JOHN chuckled lowly, a smug grin on his lips and then placed a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Where's the fun in behaving good for you, love?"

ʚ all works belong to eatingoutmen — do NOT steal, copy or repost anywhere without my permission from ME personally. ɞ