#and yeah that shit from the past hurts like a bitch | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alphabetboyluvr · 1 year ago

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NIGHT CRAWLERS - JJK

title credit: night crawlers - kids in glass houses

pairing: drugrunner!jungkook x sugarbaby!reader, college au

synopsis:

jungkook’s always been good at running. track, field, red lights, shit outta luck. drugs, now, too. but he doesn’t expect to run into you. in your shared lecture halls, sure. maybe. but not down the back alleys of daerim at ass o’clock in the morning. there are only three types of women he ever sees in daerim: hookers, sugar-babies and addicts. you aren't any of those; you're a trust-fund baby who can get percocet on private repeat prescription, if you really want it. he's sure of it. so it then further begs the question: why the fuck are you here?

warnings: jungkook and o/c are polar opposites, but y’know what they say, opposites attract and all that jazz, jk is a college student but also a drug runner, mentions of gang dynamics and hierarchy, oc is a sugar baby, mentions of consensual but uncomfortable sexual encounters as a result of this (proceed with caution), drugs, violence, blood, motorbikes, hurt/comfort, all the good stuff, smut – fingering, tittie sucking (wow pretend to be shocked!), unprotected sex, jk has the hugest cawk in the whole entire world, jk is a lil aggressive but in a sexy way, he accidentally says something mean during sex (not sexy mean, actually mean (he makes up for it tho!)), jk on top, oc on top, mentions of his pubes (yummy), tummy pressing, kissy kissy kissy koo, creampie, post-coitus nap, they’re literally in love idk what to tell you, ambiguous ending!!

wordcount: 26K

note from holly: originally published to wattpad in 2021 and also briefly uploaded to tumblr, too. It’s just hit 100k reads over on wattpad so I thought I’d put it here too!! There are two additional chapters on wattpad, connecting the story another fic of mine and also showing us jk + oc four years on from the events of NC!! If you’re interested, you can find it here (x).

i write in british english!! both in spelling and dialect!!

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

IT'S BEEN SAID that with great notoriety, comes great responsibility to uphold the expectations of those who presume the worst about you.

Okay, so that's a lie. No one's ever said that - but Jeon Jungkook has never been one for sticking to traditions, and so he likes to live his life as if that's his motto.

That, and 'rather be dead than cool.'

Which is ironic, because it's only the heteropatriarchal bores - the ones from upper-class families, who want a white picket fence and 2.4 kids - that actually think he's lame.

And he doesn't particularly give a shit about their opinions.

Everyone else thinks he's actually pretty fuckin' cool.

Black nails, black cargo pants, black hair that waves loosely over his sharp features. An air of command as he walks, a swagger in his step that lingers in stranger's heads like the silage of his aftershave.

Yeah, Jungkook is cool, and he fucking knows it.

A rucksack is perpetually slung over his shoulder, the top concaved slightly to indicate there's very little in there, not much more than a tatty notepad and a few loose pens - or so you assume.

You've never actually spoken to him. Why would you?

Daddy's little princess, glossy lips, manicured nails. The kind of girl who gives him a second look, but only to sneer. He doesn't think of you often, but when he does, it's never nice.

Jungkook doesn't have time for you, and you don't have time for him. Your paths rarely cross.

At least they barely crossed. Past tense.

Now that you're taking a few of the same classes as him, he sees you a lot more than he likes. Hair always up in that stupid fucking ponytail that he can't see past, perpetually on your phone. Attention seeking little bitch.

He'd ranted a little to Jimin about it, told him that you really must have been a dumb bitch to swap from an economics major to a film studies major with only a single semester left.

Jimin hadn't said much in return. Unlike Jungkook and his insatiable hate-boner for you, Jimin really doesn't give a shit about you. Barely knows your name, let alone the fact that you studied economics before switching over. Was kind of curious as to how Jungkook knew that. Not enough to bother with asking, though.

Jungkook thinks it's normal to scope out the competition. A little Facebook look-up, Naver search, Instagram scroll. Surely it's rational to do that? Check out their LinkedIn, cross-reference their Twitter history to see what they've said about the course.

It absolutely isn't normal, but then again, nor is Jungkook.

He's exactly as he appears to be; the rogue look isn't a front.

But beneath the exterior, there are a few more traditions he's subverting.

He's the first in his family to attend college, and he needs to ace this class to keep his scholarship.

It's all just projection, the way he despises you.

You've got everything he wants. A well-to-do family, money, prosperity, financial security. He's never known that. And while he shits on you for having parents that have provided for you, all he wants in life is to be able to do the same for his own children one day.

"I've matched you all with students of a similar grade level, so no one is at an unfair advantage," your professor calls out, tearing Jungkook from his thoughts. "Not a single one of you will experience the city in the same way. From shortcuts to your favourite coffee spots, your lives here will have been different to those of your peers."

Jungkook smirks, leaning back on his chair. He knows this city better than most; its dark corners, where the monsters lurk... how to hide and where to run.

Again, the rogue look isn't a front.

But he also knows how to work a camera better than anyone in that room, how to time his shots, how to frame them, too. Top of the class, though modestly quiet about it (he's got a reputation to uphold, after all), he's curious to see who would be considered an even match for him.

"That being said, your experiences are also shared with those around you. For this assignment, with your partner, I want you to create a unique piece of film that captures what the city means to you. Think outside the box. Create something that excites, that invokes. You've got eight weeks. The partner list is on the noticeboard at the back of the hall. Dismissed."

Footsteps echo around the lecture hall as everyone trundles out of the room. You wait back, having already seen the list before you entered the class.

Instead, you pull out a pen - one of the ones that Jungkook hates, with a ridiculous fluffy pink pom-pom on top - and jot down your number. You aren't aware of his insatiable hatred, and either way, you don't really care.

He ignores you as you approach his desk, eyes only drifting upwards when you slide the torn-out piece of paper towards him.

"Mhmm?"

He's rude, you notice. Brows raised, expression flat, he's fed up with you before you've even said a word. Kinda hot, admittedly, but rude.

"We're partners," you say with an ambivalent shrug. Jungkook's jaw seems to tense, head tilting as he breathes out a short smirk.

Partners?

"You haven't even gone out to check the board."

"So what?" You scoff a little. He doesn't like your tone. The feeling is mutual. "I just made it up?"

It's his turn to shrug, now. "Dunno. You tell me."

His hair waves around his features, and you wonder how long it takes him to make it look so natural. The girls around campus swoon over his hair, like he's some kind of God. Other boys try to emulate it, but they can never quite pull it off like he does.

Another thing that all the girls giggle about are his doe-like eyes, but they're hard, now. Narrow, almost. Less of a doe, more like a dragon. Maybe if you get his nostrils flaring, he'll breathe fire, too.

Yeah, he's hot, you want to laugh to yourself, but not that hot.

"I checked before I came in. Didn't take a genius to work out what it was for."

He takes a moment before he nods. "Right. Well, you should probably know that I work better alone. Just let me handle the assignment, a'right? You can put your name on it, whatever, I don't care. Just let me handle it."

A control freak, you note. Nice.

You didn't transfer majors in your last semester, and face all the hardships that came with such a decision, just to sit back and let someone else do the hard work for you.

"With all due respect, it's a joint assignment. I'm not putting my name on work I didn't actually do."

A stickler for the rules, he assesses. Fucking fastastic.

"Look," he sighs, adjusting his body so that he's practically leaning halfway over his desk. As much as it sounds like he doesn't want to be a part of this conversation, his body language is oddly engaged. "I need to ace this class. You've been here, what? All of three minutes? Film what you wanna film, send it over to me for editing."

"I'm very much capable of editing-"

"And if you could do me a favour and keep the nail salon footage to a minimum, that would be much appreciated. Everyone's seen that shit. It's not interesting. Gangnam underground shopping centre B-roll, too."

It's a thinly veiled insult. Assumptions he's making about you based on the clothes you wear and the company you keep. He doesn't explicitly say it, but you know what he means: you're not interesting.

Jungkook doesn't mean to be an asshole. Not really. He's just got a lot riding on this course, and doesn't want to risk it all for the sake of keeping the peace with someone he doesn't particularly like in the first place.

"Like our Professor said, we all experience the city differently," you plaster a smile on your face, the plastic kind that Jungkook hates. "You might just be surprised at what I can offer."

Private tennis clubs and shopping sprees worth more than a second-hand car? Yeah, no. He'll pass, thanks.

"Whatever," he reclines back, giving your number the once over before tearing a strip of empty paper from the bottom of the note. His hand moves quickly, scrawling his own number onto it. He doesn't hand it to you, but instead tosses it down onto the desk as he stands. "As I said, I work best alone. Don't bombard me with messages about the project. I'll have it under control."

He vacates his desk with an air of arrogance that you don't think he's yet earnt. Sure, he's hot, and from what you've seen of his work, he's pretty talented, too. But no one likes working with assholes, and the whole point of being at college was to make yourself a desirable candidate for jobs.

Or at least that's what your parents had always said.

When they were still talking to you, that was.

Before they decided that you're a disgrace to the family name, all for the simple desire of not wanting to spend your life slaving over finances and spreadsheets.

Like inheritance and a slightly crooked nose (straightened out for your high school graduation gift), econ majors ran in your family - and just like you'd cut off your parents' dream of watching you become an economist, they'd cut you off. Full stop.

So as far as you were concerned, Jungkook could take his arrogant whining about your financial situation, and the hobbies you might have enjoyed as a result of your upbringing, and shove it up his ass.

You really wish he would. Shove it up his ass, that is. Might relieve him of the pent up tension he seems to have going on.

Swiping up his number, you tuck it into your back pocket, ruing the day you'll actually have to text it.

It comes as a surprise to both of you when, a week later, Jungkook is the first to type a message into your fledgeling chat window.

I'm filming tonight. Could use a Grip, if you're free. Dongdaemun Design Plaza, 7pm.

You wonder how much pride he must have had to swallow in order to send you that.

On occasion, during the past week, you've caught him looking at you in that slightly menacing way he always likes to do.

Part of you thinks he's unaware that he's doing it, just zoning out in your direction, but then you see him shake sense into himself - quite literally, a bunny with an itch behind its ear kind of shake - before he averts his gaze.

He does a similar shake of his head when your response pings through to his phone.

Can't do Tuesdays or Thursdays. Sorry. Maybe another time.

He doesn't reply.

REJECTION HAS NEVER been something Jungkook has taken well. It's why he works so hard, fearful of being told that he isn't good enough.

He'd only sent that text because he genuinely did need a Grip.

Well, no.

That's not quite right.

He needed a muse; a subject of his shots, a pair of eyes to catch the confetti of night market lights in. Someone's hand to film as they exchanged money with a hotteok stand server, another human to get lost and found all within the same shot.

But that felt awkward to ask, especially after his insistence that he could do it all alone, so he'd settled for pretending he'd needed a grip. Just someone to hold his gear while he took tricky shots. That's all.

Given your rejection, he was pleased with his choice.

"Familiar," Yoongi nods over lunch the next day, following Jungkook's gaze. "Yeah, I've definitely seen her around. Dunno where, though."

"Campus, maybe?" Jimin rolls his eyes, confused at the fixation Jungkook seems to have on you.

Yoongi shakes his head. "Nah... She looks like-" he glances over to Jungkook conscious of Jimin's listening ears.

"Like?"

"Just like a girl I see occasionally," Yoongi pauses again, making sure Jungkook's focus on him. "At work."

Jimin laughs. "So yeah, on campus. You work in the campus cafe, Yoongs."

It was the only legitimate place that would hire him. Dumb choices as a kid - and a questionable nickname that's now etched into his knuckles - prevents most places from seeing him as a viable candidate.

Yoongi laughs along with Jimin, but Jungkook knows Yoongi isn't talking about the once a week shift that he picked up as a form of extra credit.

Jungkook knows, because on paper, he doesn't have a job either.

On paper, he manages to survive on his scholarship bursary, The Holangi Honour, awarded to gifted students from underprivileged backgrounds.

On paper, Jungkook is the Korean dream of hard work and perseverance.

His reality isn't so pristine, but it never has been. He comes from a long line of high school dropouts with dubious morals and criminally reckless career choices. It was naive to have thought attending university would help him escape it.

Scholarship funds dried up pretty quickly, rent and t-money cards eating away at it, until Jungkook had no choice but to revisit old haunts.

Yoongi had told Jungkook that he didn't need to worry, that he could help him out if he needed money, but Jungkook was no leech, much to his older friend's despair. He didn't want the kid getting into the same trouble that he was in.

One meeting with Yoongi's old school friend, Hoseok and Jungkook was in the rat race again, delivering people's come ups for when the sun went down.

He'd always been good at running. Track, field, red lights, out of luck. Drugs, now, too.

Jungkook had managed a good year and a half on the straight and narrow. For that, he was proud. And sad.

But he's also determined.

Top grades mean top jobs in the future, which means never having to traipse around Daerim at ass o'clock in the morning.

He hates this part of town, but it's where business is currently booming.

Hobi texts him a drop-off list each morning, ensuring his nights are almost exclusively spent in Daerim.

This is how Jungkook sees the city: grotty back allies, groups of men huddled around a pack of cards and dice on the floor, cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, phlegm spat onto the foor. He sees the women of the night in the early hours of the morning, and the sadness in the smiles they give to the men who approach them on street corners.

There's only one club of any worthwhile note in the area, and between jobs, Jungkook likes to sit up on the fire exit that rests above the back entrance.

It's where Hobi works, assisting some other reprobate that Jungkook doesn't care to learn the name of. Nasty piece of work, or so he's heard. The son of some powerful motherfucker that Jungkook knows to stay away from. He isn't interested in joining any stupid fucking gang. He just wants to get his money, get through university, and forget about this place.

That's the big dream at least.

His current wish, which feels much more immediate, is to outrun the fucker who has been on his tail for the past half a mile. Jungkook's pretty fast on his feet, and he gives a mean left-hook, but the guy chasing him has a pocket knife and that doesn't really feel like a fair fight.

It's his fault, and he knows it.

As per usual, Hobi had texted Jungkook his drop off list. Six of them, all in Daerim. He had no business being down by Jungang Market, especially not on a Thursday evening.

He couldn't even explain why he was; he was just curious about what life could be like if he ended up flunking out of college. He wanted to see where the monsters liked to lurk, or if they hid in the shadows like boogeymen.

But reprobate recognises reprobate, and drug runner recognises drug runner.

So now Jungkook really is running, out of territory that he shouldn't have infringed upon.

He's not out of breath yet, but he is conscious that his heartbeat feels like it's in his throat. A few streets over, his motorbike is parked behind an industrial-sized trash can, and he prays that no thieving cunt has tried to make a get away with it. They wouldn't have managed it - it's his prized possession and he never leaves it unprotected.

When he spots it a few minutes later, he laughs, relieved. "You beauty," he praises the engine, pulling his key from the pocket of his leather jacket.

The fucker chasing him is nowhere to be seen, probably nursing a stitch or panting down a different back alley. Jungkook doesn't want to risk it, eyes darting all over the place as he unbuckles the chain on his bike wheel with muscle memory alone. The metal clangs through the iron bars that protect the banjihas down the alley from break-ins. He always feels a little bit of guilt for chaining his bike up to the only source of natural light for the half-basement dwellings, but it's quarter past two in the morning. Not exactly sunshine hours.

And yet his eye is drawn to the light pouring down from a street lamp at the entrance of the narrow lane.

Usually, you ignore the noises you hear on your walk home - but, as strange as it sounded for Jungkook's voice to issue a compliment, you're almost positive that it is his voice.

Dark hair, dark eyes, he doesn't recognise you at first. You're wearing black, and your hair is down, but your lips still have that stupid fucking pink lipstick on, the one he'd seen you blot away onto a tissue in the middle of a lecture a few days prior.

His eyes linger, the lights flickering in his glossy dark irises as if there are fireworks inside that pretty little skull of his. For a moment, he thinks you must have been filming for the assignment.

The lack of a camera proves otherwise.

"Get on the bike," he yells over to you, tugging on the sleeve of his leather jacket, pulling it down. Cognitive thoughts aren't something Jungkook's really working with, the adrenaline speaking for him.

That, and the fact that he's acutely aware of what men like the motherfucker who was chasing him down did to girls like you. Might not like you, but he doesn't want that on his conscience.

Plus, he needs your signature on the coursework documents, too. You're no use to him if you end up chopped into little squares and scattered in the river.

"Damnit, just get on the fucking bike!" He continues, noticing that you haven't moved a muscle. His jacket is off now, held out for you to take. He's impatient, eyes darting down the alleyway, as if he's scared of the rain that's pouring down around you. "Look, I ain't asking again. Just get on the bike, or I'll fuckin' leave you here. Some nasty fuckers about tonight."

And while you may not trust Jungkook, you don't trust the alleyways of downtown Seoul even more. You've seen the horrors. You know the dangers. Your mother didn’t raise a fool.

She also didn't raise you to bow to the commands of assholes like him either.

You ignore his jacket, hiking up your skirt, revealing far more of your thigh than most get to see. He doesn't make a comment, but you know he sees a flash of your underwear as you do so.

For once, sex seems to be the last thing on his mind.

Rain pools in the gutter by the drainpipes, trickling down, collecting in the ducts. A puddle sits on top, a tell-tale sign that the street is going to flood soon, but Jungkook also doesn't give a shit about that. Not right now - but he does make a mental note to check that the drains are unblocked by his place when he gets home.

He's a fellow basement dweller, dependent on the cheap rent. A banjiha boy with big dreams of getting out.

You hoist your leg over, ignoring the droplets of water on the leather seat, as your hand wraps around his waist. The front of his white shirt is damp from the rain, elevating the scent of his laundry detergent. You don't hate it. Quite like it, actually.

"Wet conditions," he rasps, voice still hurrying out of his mouth. "So take the jacket. If I slide, the tarmac will rip your skin off." He turns, wrapping the jacket around your shoulders. "I'm not your father. Dress yourself."

"I'd be a bit concerned if my father was trying to dress me at the ripe old age of 21," you bite back, as if the fabric of his jacket doesn't feel like it's melting into your skin on account of how bloody warm he is. You push your arms through the material, shaking it ever so slightly as Jungkook begins to rev the engine.

"Thanks would have sufficed," he bites back a scoff, not wanting to waste time arguing. "Try not to fall off, a'right?" He gruffs.

Some would have considered his concern endearing. You know it's just because he doesn't want to spend his evening scraping your flesh off the sidewalk. Not because he gives a single flying fuck about you.

"Hold on."

He doesn't wait for longer than a second, just enough time for you to wrap your arms around his waist, before he pulls down on the accelerator. His exhaust chortles, spitting out petrol as he goes, water from the ground splashing up against your bare leg. You can feel goosebumps forming, and yet your arms are completely warm.

Of course they are. Jungkook's chest is a fucking furnace, heart pumping blood through him faster than the speed of light. Forward, forward, forward, he pushes his bike on, away from the downtown area he found you in, and away from the demons who were hunting him.

The vibration of the bike is a welcome disguise. Beneath the motor's veil, you're shaking. Partly terrified, partly the victim of an adrenaline surge.

Hardly a surprise. You've never been on a bike like his before.

There weren't many men on motorbikes around your neighbourhood as a child, only Old Jinyeon, who had a Harley that he only rode on the weekends, or when his wife was away at that spa retreat that everyone knew was really code for 'rehab'. Prescription medication was her poison, mostly. There were whispers that alcohol was a bit of a problem, too.

It was a shame, really. She was a nice lady - she'd just married into a lifestyle that didn't suit hers.

Old Jinyeon's father had also been called Old Jinyeon, and his father before that, regardless of their age. The name wasn't the only thing inherited, but a fortune too. Old by name, old by money.

He'd met his wife at a gentleman's bar; gambled all of his chips away just so that he could keep talking to her as she worked.

But the good is rarely easy, and the easy never good. Women like her weren't supposed to be with men like him.

And girls like you aren't supposed to be on the back of boys like Jungkook's motorcycle.

But here you are, hurtling through the city at a speed you're pretty sure isn't legal, clinging onto him for dear life. Your eyes are shut, streaming with tears from the wind, mascara blotting onto his back.

"Left turn," he calls over his shoulder to brace you. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, stomach losing all stability as he rounds the corner. You've never suffered from travel sickness before, but now seems like the prime time to develop it.

The lights of the city all bleed into one kaleidoscope of colour. Your sense of direction has been rendered useless, only opening your eyes once every few seconds to make sure that this is real. And every single time, you're surprised to find that it is.

You expect it to be like a dream where you fall, only to wake up at the last second - but you've never had one of those dreams. You've only seen them in movies. You're not even sure they actually exist in real life. Perhaps this would be the closest you'd get to one. A main character moment - though this felt more like a crime-thriller than the rom-com you would have liked.

The feeling of damp wind in your hair like this is new, and exciting, but all you can think about is the fact that you're pretty sure one of your fake lashes just flew off. You pull your hand back to stroke at your lashes, just to check, but it's caught by Jungkook grabbing for it.

"I told you to hold on," he shouts, though he doesn't need to. The vibrations of his vibrato can be felt through his back. "So hold the fuck on, a'right?! I don't say shit like that for fun."

Jesus, you think. Who pissed in his cornflakes?

But he's right. You do need to hold on. He proves it by not warning you the next time he turns, the bike leaning so close to the tarmac that you're convinced you can feel rubber burn. He eases as soon as he hears you shriek, the grip you have on his chest so hard he swears you might puncture his skin. Reaching back, he cups your knee with his palm, checking for any sign of blood or broken skin. Negative. And yet his hand lingers before he retracts it. He's just making sure. Double-checking. Over-indulging.

"The fuck was that, asshole?" You all but scream.

"I told you to hold on, didn't I?!"

He did. And if you weren't doing so now, tighter than before, you'd have hit him so hard in the balls that he'd have no choice but to adopt in later life.

"You could have fucking killed me!"

"Oh, boo-hoo," he sneers, catching his tongue before he says something he'll grow to regret.

Jungkook would never have killed you. He knows these streets like the back of his hand, and how to ride his bike almost as well as he knows how to get himself off. It's second nature. Innate. A gift.

But before you can argue back, he draws to a stop, his exhaust rattling, the motor purring. As much as he'd like to tell you to get the fuck off his bike, he can feel you trembling now. A part of him - a very slim, deeply hidden part - feels guilty for being so hard on you.

He's grown up with bikes. Trusts them. Lives, breathes gasoline.

He doesn't imagine you know how to change a bicycle tyre, let alone anything with a motor.

The hand that had checked you for damage earlier returns, his fingertips warm against your goosebumps skin. He strokes lightly, once, twice, quickly. "You're fine," he tells you, and you want to believe him.

"Never said I wasn't."

He snorts a small laugh, then taps your knee, encouraging you off of the bike. His hand remains close as you do so, conscious of the fact that you'll most likely be unsteady on your feet - feet that he now notices are clad in the strappiest pair of heels he's ever seen in his life. Perhaps he doesn't need to worry about your stability at all. If you can walk in those, then you can surely handle a pair of wobbly knees.

Without much thought, you take his offer of assistance, his jacket dwarfing you as you stand, hand clasped in his.

"Where are we?"

The alleyway you're down is unlike the previous one he stole* you from (*rescued). It's cobbled and damp, yes, but the doors down here lead to dwellings, garages too. Not an industrial-sized trash cart in sight. And it doesn't smell like fermented piss either, which is a surprise. You thought that was just the standard for side-streets around these parts.

"Doesn't matter," Jungkook shrugs ambivalently as he unhooks his leg over the bike.

He wants to ask why you're wearing such stupid shoes.

That's a lie.

He doesn't think they're stupid.

He actually quite likes them. You've nice ankles. They look good.

What he really wants to ask is why you're wearing them on a school night. The pair of you might be in college, but it wasn't student night at the clubs, and he hadn't picked you up from a particularly nice part of town.

There are only three types of women he ever sees in Daerim: hookers, sugar-babies and addicts. You aren't any of those; you're a trust-fund baby who can get Percocet on private repeat prescription, if you really want it. He's sure of it.

So it then further begs the question: why the fuck were you there?

Sliding off his jacket, you offer him a small smile. It's the least you can do, you suppose.

It's funny, because you only ever see three kinds of men in Daerim: drunks, gamblers, and dealers. Jungkook isn't any of those. You might not know that much about him, but you know he's a scholarship kid, and that he won the winter film festival on campus for his documentary on back-alley gambling.

"We're not too far from campus," he eventually states. Few blocks over. He assumes you live on campus. Got the money for it.

"Cool," you nod, sure that you'll be able to find your bearings from here. You don't live on campus. Not anymore. No money for it. "Thanks for the lift, I guess."

The atmosphere is awkward, dewy mist in the air dampening both of you. He nods back, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

He knows he should invite you in, offer you somewhere to wait while you call a cab or something, but he's embarrassed. Of himself. His living situation. The fact that he doubts you've ever even been in a basement that isn't a wine cellar.

"Look I-"

"So-"

Jungkooks nose scrunches, cringing at the awkwardness. You glance down, self-conscious.

"What were you doing over in Daerim?" he asks rather out of the blue. He doesn't even process that he's asked until it's too late.

You clear your throat a little. "Just had some errands to run."

"At two in the morning?"

You nod.

"Right," he doesn't believe you, but can't think of a better explanation.

"Well, what were you doing there?" You ask, albeit a little more confrontational than intended. You were on the defensive.

His mouth is flat as he speaks, a narrowness to his eyes that makes your lips purse to suppress a smirk. "Running errands."

So you're both dirty little liars. Who'd've thought?

"Fairplay," you say with a smile. "Look, I still appreciate the ride. I'd have been fine," you add."But yeah, appreciate it nonetheless."

"Was nothing. I was headed in this direction anyway. If you take a left at the end of the street and follow the road down, there's usually a bunch of taxis waiting for the university cleaners to finish their night shifts. I'm sure you'll be able to get one."

"Take a left," you hum. "Cool. Will do." Bracing yourself to leave, Jungkook wonders if he should offer you a lift to your place too. "See you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, tomorrow. Class? That thing we attend during daylight hours?"

"Oh right. Yeah. See you tomorrow."

Bizarrely enough, if this is how awkward Jungkook is when he's being nice, you think you prefer him being an asshole. At least he has a little spark in him then.

Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook feels overloaded with fucking sparks, like someone's holding an axe grinder against the metal of his earrings, deafening him. The reality of his evening is kicking in, and the knowledge that he came a few metres from having a hole in his abdomen becomes overwhelming. He doesn't let it show, though.

"Thanks, again."

You make a promise to punch yourself in the face if you say thank you one more fucking time.

"It's fine, again," he smiles, with a small laugh, before focusing those eyes of his on the floor.

And so you leave, walking straight past the taxi rank and taking a shortcut to your apartment, which is a lot closer than you had realised.

Seven steps below street level, you jog down to your front door, petting the neighbourhood calico stray on your way down. The door closes with a slam, but you don't give a shit because the people in the apartment above never seem to give a shit when they stumble home at four in the morning.

Before he sleeps that evening, Jungkook wonders how much of the skyline you get to indulge in. Your dad works in the accounting side of one of the largest law firms in the city, he knows that much from his research. Knows that your immediate family has more money than probably all of his relatives combined. Alive and dead.

He just isn't aware that you're not seeing a single dime of it. Not since you dropped out of the economics and business side of school to focus on the creative arts. All that money your parents had 'wasted' on your education? Well, they weren't wasting any more.

Because you're a commodity, to be bought and sold, apparently. Not their daughter, who they should have just wanted to be happy.

So now you spend your Tuesday and Thursday evenings down in Daerim.

Because you are a commodity; and if anyone's gonna be selling you, then it may as well be your fucking self.

A stack of yellow 50,000 won bills sit on your desk. Twelve of them. 600,000 won. Not bad for a week's work. 6 hours.

Might have been cut off from your Dad's money, but your replacement 'daddy' wasn't a bad substitute.

The bluntness of such a statement usually makes you laugh, but not today.

If Jungkook knows the Daerim area like you think he does, then he'll be able to work it out soon enough. A bitterness fills your chest, like coffee dripping through a filter, forgotten about and left to go cold. You've been so good at playing pretend.

Secrets are so much easier to keep when they're not shared.

Perhaps that should be your project piece.

Secrets of Seoul: The Seedy Underbelly of The City.

After all, that was your unique view of the city; the side you saw that you were pretty sure no-one else did.

At least, no one else except Jungkook. Go figure.

"SEVEN WEEKS LEFT!" Your professor reminds the class as they dismiss you from your lecture. There's a little chatter, partners sharing ideas and friends discussing what to have for lunch - and then there's you and Jungkook.

He waits by the end of his row for you to walk to meet him, an inconspicuous look on his face.

The girl who he's watching neatly put a fluffy pen into her handbag looks a lot like you, but a hell of a lot different from the girl he gave a lift to last night.

Who the fuck are you?

Jungkook has always liked a little mystery. Seen the romanticism in the unknown. Still doesn't like you - but you've gotten him curious.

"You haven't sent anything over yet," he notes, keeping a slight distance from you as you walk together up the stairs.

"You told me not to bombard you," you remind him.

"Sending me video files once in a blue moon is fine."

"Once in a blue moon. Gotcha."

It's Friday, so he knows it's not one of your pre-determined days of having prior engagements.

It's only now that he realises that must have been why you were in Daerim last night; that your 'errands' are actually scheduled into your routine. It doesn't bode well for his 'not a hooker, an addict or a sugar-baby' theory.

"I was thinking of heading over to Dongdaemun this evening, seeing as you weren't free on Tuesday," he starts a little awkwardly, but the more he speaks, the easier it becomes. Being nice, that is. "I could still use a hand, if you're free? If you're serious about helping out, I mean. It would be good to make a start on things."

Relief washes over you. You've been fearing a conversation about the night before, but Jungkook doesn't want to talk about it just as much as you don't.

You meet him at seven o'clock that evening at Dongdaemun Design Plaza. You've always loved the green roof, how organic the landscaping looks above such a futuristic building. He listens as you explain this, eyes wide and in awe of the sloping pathways and curved walls, showing him your favourite of all the trees in the park.

Jungkook looks at you for a second, observes your hands, how they delicately move a few leaves to frame the shot you're taking. You've a Midas touch, and Jungkook wonders if your fingers would turn him to gold, too.

It's a silly, fleeting thought, but it doesn't stop him from focusing the camera on you as you roam Dongdaemun night market later that evening, lights cascading over you like glitter.

He thinks you're pretty in this light. Pretty when it's just him and you. No distractions.

Except there's hustle and bustle everywhere, a vendor chasing a thief, groups of high schoolers laughing on their way home from Hagwons, food sizzling, vapours making his stomach rumble. Perhaps you're the distraction, instead.

The pair of you spend the next week traipsing the city together.

Somehow, you only ever come together when the sun goes down, but it's fitting. You're a pair of nightcrawlers, swarming through the city when traffic sounds like a melody and destinations are unknown.

He learns that you drink your coffee black, no sugar, lukewarm. You learn that he'd rather rub coffee granules into his eyes than drink it.

And despite your preference for no sugar, he always tosses a little white sachet towards you whenever you order a coffee. He finds it funny. Insists that you have to be a sugar baby. It's the only way he can explain that night he saw you Daerim.

He's just joking. And you pretend not to, but you find it hysterical.

Mainly because he doesn't realise how bang on the money he is.

But also because you can't help but laugh whenever he does.

There's a comfort that grows between the pair of you, a familiarity. A casual ease that doesn't feel dangerous, not even when he's pulsing through the city on his bike, you holding onto him, his leather jacket wrapped around your body. You begin to like the way that the wind feels in your hair, and you stop wearing fake lashes. Jungkook doesn't tell you, but he likes you better with a few freckles showing, dewy highlighter and a little mascara being the only makeup you wear for the midnight city roams.

It's only because you can't be wasting resources reserved for clients on a boy from your film studies class. Times are tough, money is tight. No point in pouring funds into a boy you won't make revenue from. It's a bad business decision.

A few months ago, you did your makeup multiple times a day just for fun. Now you have to ration it. Life... life isn't what it used to be.

But Jungkook is ignorant to that, and you quite like it. Escaping from your reality. Becoming the version of yourself that he thinks you are.

He isn't sure which version of you he wants to spend time with the most; the too-good for him daddy's girl who dresses in Celine and comes with a pout, the enigma who lurks in the shadows that he thought he had a monopoly over, or the master director who seems to rival his talents for capturing moments of life in 4K.

As he watches your brows furrow while you turn your phone upside down, trying to understand a map, he decides that he doesn't care which version he gets.

Jungkook wants what he wants.

There's an impulsion to his desires and subsequent actions that he takes to obtain them. He's driven by gratification, and little else.

On the days he wants to feel wanted, he'll go to a bar. He never whispers false promises or pretends like he's after anything more than what can be achieved in a single night. The girls he goes for tend to see that as a challenge. They think they can convince him otherwise. It's not his fault when they can't. It's not his fault that they end up falling for him regardless. It's not his fault that he never has any intention of loving them back.

He tells them this. They ignore him. It isn't his fault.

On the days he wants to feel accomplished, he'll stay on campus until the cleaners usher him out of the room so that they can prepare it for the next day. Their insistence is lost on him - no amount of Cif can polish the dirt out of the walls. Once a shithole, always a shithole. He'll offer his apologies for getting in their way, and they'll coo over him like he's their own grandson. It's all very sweet.

They tell him not to overwork himself. He lies and says he won't.

On the days he wants to eat more than a single cup of ramyeon - which is most days, given his absolutely mammoth appetite - he'll send Hobi a text and request more drop-offs for that evening. Yoongi will give Jungkook a subtle look whenever a message from Hobi pings through, knowing it mustn't be good news. It never is.

Jungkook tells Yoongi to mind his business - but with a grin and a glint in his eye that eases his friends worry ever so slightly.

Disapproval never stops Jungkook from doing what he wants, regardless.

Not from his friends, from the cleaning ajummas, and especially not from you.

So he ignores the look in your eye, as he encourages you to follow him through a gap in the chainlink fence, which surrounds a disused water tower on the outskirts of the city.

Jungkook wants what he wants.

And right now, he wants to get a shot of the midnight city from his favourite vantage point.

"You said you've taken thousands of shots here," You hiss as a twig snaps beneath your foot. He smirks as you utter out a curse. "Surely you can just reuse one of those?!"

He guides you round, ignoring the ground level rubble, until you get to a ladder that definitely isn't safe for use. It's rusting by the bolts, and has a few vines trailing up it, undisturbed for months. Remnants of paint are flaking from the structure, collecting like ashes on the ground below.

"I have," he shrugs, unhooking your camera bag from your shoulder, popping it into his rucksack for safe keeping. He crouches, putting his palms upwards to offer you a leg up. "You haven't, though. You see the city differently to me, remember?"

He's taunting you. Reusing the phrase from your Professor that you had quoted to him on the first day of the project. Asshole.

Asshole with a smirk that suggests he's only teasing. Suggests that he's fond. Words that suggest he remembers the things you say to him. Memorises them, even.

Curious.

"Can't we just pretend like we see it the same way?"

"No can do, sugar."

"Oh my god, stop calling me that."

You're thankful for the midnight sky and the way it disguises your blush.

As if throwing packets of the white stuff at your face in coffee shops isn't enough, he's taken to calling you 'sugar', too.

"Give me a reason not to," he says as he tilts his head, encouraging you to accept his leg up. You check your feet for mud, then put your trust in his grip.

"I've already told you, I was just running errands," you defend yourself for the thousandth time. A short yelp escapes your lips as he boosts you up, your hands gripping onto the flaking bars beside the ladder.

He doesn't believe you for a second. He also doesn't believe that you're actually a sugar baby. It's just fun to fuck with you a little.

Once you're up, he waits for you to safely sit on the ledge, and then he makes the climb too. He's up a lot quicker than you, coming to sit beside you with his legs dangling over the ledge of the railings.

"Tell me it isn't worth it," Jungkook says a little airily, enamoured with the view.

And he's right. It is worth it.

A maze of city lights twinkle like the Carina nebula, interstellar, yet entirely of this earth. Bright whites, reds and greens speckle the horizon, and for a moment, it's easy to forget that you're looking at Seoul. There's a magic that can only be appreciated from a distance, far away from the scent of alleyways and the void nothingness of grey brick buildings. Skyscrapers tower above the skyline, but still look small from where you and Jungkook sit, silently, in awe.

"Look over there," he points across the vast expanse. You follow his trajectory, but you have no idea if you're picking out the right spot. "Daerim. Can always tell. Know the street layout too well."

"You're gonna get me thinking you're a sugar baby," you nudge your shoulder into his, and he laughs.

Reaching into his rucksack, you expect him to pull out your camera. Instead, his hand comes back into vision holding a pair of chopsticks and a tub of instant ramyeon. Uncooked.

He pulls the seal back, stabs at it with the chopsticks and offers you the small chunk he's broken off.

"It's good," he promises.

You know what dried ramyeon tastes like. You know it's good. You just can't understand what the fuck is wrong with him.

"Are you broken?"

He grins as he tosses the chunk of dried noodles into his own mouth. "Absolutely - but ramyeon is ramyeon."

You tell him he's weird, and he continues to smile, not resisting as you take the tub from him and break off a chunk with your fingers.

It's one of his favourite snacks. He's impatient and impulsive at the best of times. Waiting for it to cook? Too much effort. Cooking it at the convenience store and carrying it up the tower with him? Disaster waiting to happen. It's just easier this way.

And so the pair of you sit, not really saying much, watching the city roll by. Every now and again, he offers you a chunk from his chopsticks.

By the end of the night, neither of you have gotten any footage of the city.

And neither of you really care.

AS YOU SPRINT home after yet another spree around the city with Jungkook, running late for your Thursday evening appointment, you curse your inability to send his calls to voicemail.

You should really be working more. You need to be working more - but for the past four weeks now, you've answered every single one of his calls.

His messages? Yeah, you ignore those. He's learnt this, though. He messages you regardless, because... well, because he wants to, quite frankly. He doesn't give a shit if you respond.

He knows you read them.

He knows you saw that picture he sent of a flyer detailing a live art event last week. He knows that you noticed the veins on his arms.

You don't know that he'd spent a couple of minutes tensing his arm before he took the picture. Deliberately.

It's been said before that Jungkook wants what he wants - and what he wants more than anything, frustratingly, is your attention.

The way you study his arms the next time you see him proves that he's gotten it.

If anything, the delayed gratification makes it so much more worthwhile.

You have been thinking about him.

So as far as Jungkook is concerned, you can ignore his messages all you like, because you still always answer his calls with an airy 'hi,' as if talking to him takes your breath away.

The only time you don't answer is between the hours of eleven and two on Tuesday and Thursday evenings.

Chances are, if he just so happens to be in the area - which he always is - he'll catch you down on the wrong side of the tracks at just gone quarter past two.

He still calls you 'sugar', teasing you for the reputation of the area. You just roll your eyes and grin, then banter with him about how even if you were a sugar baby, he wouldn't be able to afford your prices.

He argues that he'd pay in ways that didn't include monetary value.

You don't ask him to expand.

But as you wipe your watery lash line in the bathroom of a shitty rental apartment in Daerim, you think about what he could have meant. If he actually meant it.

The TV blares from the living room, faint vapours of a mango e-cigarette wafting through the gap beneath the door. You've always thought mango smells like cat piss. Rancid.

Whatever Jungkook could have meant didn't matter. His flirty tone and angel eyes didn't pay the bills. The cash tossed down on the bathroom counter did - or more specifically, the widower, who occasionally wanted company from a pretty young girl, did.

A hundred thousand won for an hour, three hundred thousand total. It takes you just a week, two appointments, to make up the month's rent - but you still need to eat, to study, survive.

And so you return, every week.

It's not his actual apartment. He lives over in Gangnam, close to his kids' schools. More money than sense. He doesn't tell you much about his personal life. You think a lot of his small claims are lies, anyway - but you smile and flutter your lashes as if he's reciting bible verses.

Some nights are better than others. Sometimes, he genuinely makes you laugh. Occasionally, he'll ask you what you want to do. Takes you to museums. Fancy dinners. Theatre shows.

But he has a nasty streak, and in those three hours, you're his. He owns you. There's no sex, that's not the arrangement, but his hands have been known to roam, and the disparity of equality within your working relationship becomes apparent. You brush it off, tell yourself that it's natural for a man engaging with you in a romantic capacity to forget the rules. You tell yourself that it's okay.

The churning in your stomach and dis-ease of such a situation tells you that no, it isn't okay. But if you laugh at his painfully unfunny jokes loud enough, you're able to drown out the noise in your head.

The worst nights are the ones where he pays you extra.

There's no discussion anymore. The stack of notes is just thicker than usual upon arrival, and you know that at some point during the night, you'll have to sit in silence and watch as he sinks his hand down into his pants.

It's easy to forget the way it looks. Your eyes glaze over, and the discomfort, the slight disgust, indicated in your features gets him hard. He thinks it's taboo. Thinks you enjoy it too. That your panties look a lot like his hand by the time he's finished.

The snort-like grunts are what you find hard to forget. The wail of a moan that comes when he does. You hear that shit in your nightmares.

But it earns you an extra two hundred thousand, so you endure it because you don't have much of an option at this point.

Come 2 AM, cash stuffed down your bra, you don't have to think about it anymore. The fresh air of the city, a little smoggy and polluted, hits you like a freight train. You thank it.

When Jungkook enters Daerim that evening, he expects to find you. He normally does. You never look particularly happy - in fact, he often tells you that you've got a face like a slapped arse - but it's more so today.

He whistles from across the street, clad in black, a thick hoodie keeping him warm beneath his leather jacket. "Oi, Sugar," he calls, that boyish grin on his lips. Teeth so pretty you wonder how much novocaine it would take for you to be numb to the way it makes your stomach flip.

Eyes dancing up and down your body, he likes what you're wearing. Black tights, black dress that cuts off at your mid-thigh, a sweetheart neckline and chiffon sleeves that puff around your slender arms. He decides your boots are far more sensible than the heels you're usually in.

"That'll be twenty thousand, Jeon," you call back, arms folded over your chest as you change direction to walk towards him.

"Per hour?"

"Per every time you call me that stupid fucking name."

"What would you rather?" he goads, leaning against a window ledge on the back of a restaurant building. There's nothing down the alleyway, just trashbags and the distinct scent of fermenting piss. "Shugs? SB? Baby?"

You smirk, walking to the wall opposite him, mirroring his position, hands resting beside you on the ledge. There's a safe distance between the pair of you. A look, but don't touch type of vibe - but this time, unlike earlier on in your evening, you actually enjoy it.

"You really gotta make your mind up," your eyes roll, lips rising into a crescent. "One minute I'm a trust-fund princess with Daddy's money on tap, the next I'm a sugar baby with a different type of Daddy altogether."

Jungkook shrugs. "Just don't see why you waste your evenings roaming fucking Daerim of all places."

"Best dandanmian in the city," you say, referencing the abundance of traditional Chinese restaurants in the area. "Can't get the authentic stuff in Itaewon."

"Can't get hookers in Itaewon like you can in Daerim, either," he taunts you.

He doesn't really think you're a hooker, but he likes the way you grin whenever your eyes roll.

"Ah, so that's why you're here."

He holds his hands up to playfully admit defeat. "Guilty."

You laugh, knowing that there's no way in hell Jungkook will ever have to resort to hookers. Not when he looks like that. All doe-eyed and charming, floppy hair just begging for a pair of hands to run through it.

The pair of you let the moment simmer, droplets of water dripping from the drainpipe and into the sewer. He's lit by the neon light of a restaurant sign, red and yellow painting him like an impressionist masterpiece.

"You look cold," he acknowledges, but you shake your head and insist you're fine. Your hair is a little damp from the small shower you'd been caught in a little while previously, mascara smudged around your eyes. You looked like that before the rain, mind you. He shakes his jacket off and tosses it across to you, snorting quietly as it hits your face and crumples over your feet. "C'mon. I'm now about to ride home. I'll give you a lift."

He asks for your address, and you tell him that you'll just get a taxi from his place like you normally do. There's no need for him to go out of his way.

"The princess doesn't want the pauper to see her castle, huh?" he teases, always talking in bloody riddles.

"See!" you protest. "Always changing your mind! A minute ago I was a sugar baby, and now I'm a rich bitch again. Which is it, Jeon?"

"I dunno," he reaches behind himself, adjusting your legs and pulling you a little closer into his back, tapping your side to make sure you've got the jacket on. "You tell me, sugar."

He doesn't see you roll your eyes, but he knows you do it. You always do. Even when your pretty pink nails are clutching the fabric of his shirt, you pretend like you don't enjoy his company.

You've gotten good at playing pretend.

Jungkook only jokes about you being a sugar baby.

He doesn't fathom that you actually are one.

His engine begins to purr, and Jungkook kicks up the stand, setting off into the night.

The way you hold onto his waist is different tonight.

Physically, it's the same.

But it feels different.

And it is, because you're not just holding onto him; you're hugging him. Comfort in an old routine. You adjust your arms, keeping tight against his back, and he pretends like he doesn't notice the shift in dynamic.

He pretends as if he didn't notice your sad eyes earlier, too, and as if he can't feel the stutter in your chest as if you're trying not to cry.

Jungkook isn't a knight on a white horse, and nor does he want to be - but he doesn't mind being your rogue bandit who steals you away from the things that make you sad.

He's just an arc in your fairytale, not your happy ending.

But you've always been a sucker for a bit of a plot twist.

When you arrive at his, he wants to ask you to stay. He doesn't want an orange taxi cab to appear at the end of his lane and act like your actual knight in shining armour. He doesn't want you to ride into the sunrise with anyone but him.

And as luck would have it, your phone shares his desires.

Well, no. It doesn't. It's a mobile phone. It doesn't have cognitive thoughts - but it is out of charge.

"Different charging ports," he grits his teeth as he holds up his Samsung after you ask if he's got an iPhone charger. "I'm pretty sure I have an apple cable lying about though. You can come in for a second, get a little bit of charge just so that you're not stranded in a taxi without a way to contact anyone."

You nod appreciatively. "You sure?"

He doesn't answer, instead holding his door open and ushering you inside.

Jungkook cares in strange ways. He's practical, forward-thinking, trying to find solutions to problems that you'd normally shrug your shoulders at.

He's never told anyone that he loves them before, but he did once swap the hinges on his ex-girlfriend's bathroom door to the other side, so that it would stop hitting the sink basin every time she opened it. He shows his affections in meaningful ways, often without being asked or expecting anything in return.

Neither of you realise it yet, but this is one of those occasions.

It's not until you're perched on the worktop bench in his kitchen that he realises he let you in without hesitation. No longer embarrassed of where he lived, he kind of likes having you here.

You look out of place, silver pendant round your neck, expensive, and hair professionally coloured, nails done, toes, too. Not that he can see them. He just remembers a conversation you had once over chicken and a beer about the fact your toes always matched your nails.

Small details like that are what he thinks about when he's alone; like the way you blink a little faster when you're confused, and how you sprinkle Cheeto dust back into the bag off of your fingers instead of licking them like he does. He thinks about the way you laugh in his company, and how he's never heard you laugh like that with anyone else. And he tries to stop, but dammit, he thinks about how sexed up you look on those Daerim nights.

You're dressing like that for someone else, he knows that much.

But he gets to indulge in it too, when your body is pressed against his back as he takes you home.

He's stopped asking what you do in Daerim. He doesn't want to know.

For a few minutes a night, when he's alone, he likes to pretend what it would be like if he was the one you were dressed like that for. Only ever a minute or so. Gets him too hot. Finishes him off too quickly. Absolute sin.

"Kook?"

He doesn't even realise he's halted his movements until your voice breaks him from his thoughts. His jeans tonight are tight, and do a pretty good job of hiding the swelling between his legs. Fucking uncomfortable, though.

"Sorry," he doesn't turn to face you. "Was just trying to remember where I last had the cable."

"I was just saying that it's fine. It's really not that far. Don't wanna be a bother."

"Why'd you say shit like that?" he turns to face you, face twisted a little. He's annoyed.

"Like what?"

"Call yourself a bother. You do it a lot."

"I don't."

"You do," he insists, and you can't work out why he's so annoyed by it. You want to apologise all over again. "You just-" he takes a moment to find the right words. "I dunno who's conditioned you into thinking everything you do is bothersome, but it really isn't. If I didn't wanna help, then I wouldn't. It's not a bother. You're not a bother."

And you don't know why, but for some reason, you choke up a little. It's not like he said anything particularly groundbreaking, it's just for the last few months, your entire existence has felt like a drain on those around you.

The money you can live without, but you miss family dinners on Sundays, and face timing your little sister, more than you can even begin to explain.

And while no, you didn't want your parents' money, you didn't want to keep seeing a perverted old man just to be able to afford to eat, either. The flat rate was 500,000 now. Every single time. Without fail. You hadn't put the price up. He was just always paying extra. Always touching his prick. Always jerking himself off over your repulsion.

Earlier that evening, he had queried how much it would cost him to finish on your chest. You told him a million. He asked if you accepted bank transfers. You told him no. He offered 1.2 mil.

Part of you considered it. It's a lot of money. Not something to be taken lightly.

But when you ran into Jungkook, just like you knew you would, you were adamant you had made the right choice. He had scanned your body, getting a read on your mood, assessing what you needed, what you wanted, and then had offered up his jacket. All doe-eyed and sparkling. You finally got what all the girls swooned over, 'cause you were doing it too.

"Hey," he says softly, noticing the way your eyes are reddening. "Hey, hey, no. Don't cry, sugar."

You laugh through the first couple of tears. Stupid fucking nickname.

"I meant it," you sniff, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hands. He's standing closer now, hesitant to touch, hands hovering around you. "20 thousand won, Jeon. Pay up."

His fingers tenderly wrap around your wrists, keeping them from rubbing at your face again. He's smiling, eyes ever encompassing, cheeks so appled that you bet you could get drunk off the cider he'd produce.

"Can we do it on an I.O.U. basis?" he speaks quietly, playfully. "I get paid on Monday."

It's a lie. He gets his commission cut straight from his sales figures. There's 2 million won in his rucksack. He only gets ten percent. 200K. His job's not nearly half as lucrative as yours, but it's still nothing to be laughed at. He's making bank.

"Nuh-uh," you sniff again, letting out a little laugh. He laughs too. "Told you that you couldn't afford me."

And then it's silent. You can hear your heartbeat. He moves a little closer.

"Told you I'd just pay in other ways."

His voice is hoarse, as if he's scared.

As if he fears the consequences of his claim.

Your eyes drop to his lips. They're trembling slightly. Preparing.

The grip he has on your wrists loosens. He's giving you freedom. He's giving you the chance to back out, to run away.

But you don't.

"Pay up, then," you all-but whisper, lips closing on his.

Jungkook doesn't stall, no, but it takes him a second to respond. To realise.

And once he does, his brows furrow into the kiss, demanding that you know just how much he wants this. Wants you. Has done for weeks, now.

He pulls your body into his, needing you close. Your body curves, his arm hooked behind your back to keep you balanced.

A surge of intensity washes over you like crimson paint. It'll stain you, and everyone will know: That's her. That's the girl who let Jeon Jungkook kiss her like he actually meant it.

He kisses, and he kisses, and he kisses, and he doesn't stop, as if he knows his first with you will also be his last - and when he finally does stop, forehead on yours, the pair of you are breathing so heavily into each other's mouths that it's as if you're sharing oxygen. Keeping each other alive. Both capable of first-degree murder.

And so neither of you pull away. There's no way he's doing time for you. There's no way you're doing time for him. Looks like you'll just have to kiss forever. Shame. Such a hardship. However will you cope?

"I-" he begins, before cutting himself off, easing his grip on your waist. One of his hands lingers, while the other pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes wincing. "Shit-" he finally lets you go. "I don't know what that was. I'm sorry."

You want to tell him that it's okay, that you didn't mind, that he could do it again - but it's clear he doesn't agree.

"Just adrenaline," you offer, sinking down to perch on the worktop bench. Your defeated posture is hidden well like this. "Don't sweat it."

He stays silent as he turns around to resume his rummaging, looking for a charger that will fit your phone. He knows there's one in there, he just can't for the life of him remember when he last had it.

Everything feels a little awkward. You half think that you should fill the void with something, that you should break the ice, but what was the point? You'll be out of his hair soon.

And you are, home twenty minutes later. You had only charged your phone for ten minutes at his, just enough to get you home. It's about to die again. Not before Jungkook pings you a message, though.

He doesn't expect a response, but he lies awake until he sees your read receipt confirm that you've seen it.

Sadness doesn't suit you, sugar. I'm not gonna pry, but if you ever need a ride earlier than normal out of Daerim, give me a call.

He spent a good six minutes debating whether or not to end his message with a kiss, eventually deciding against it. No need to make the message any softer than it already was.

To his surprise, a bubble pops up on your side of the chat thread.

His heart twinges, your response saying everything he wished he had with just one simple letter:

JUNGKOOK HAS A terrible habit of taking out his stress on the people around him; the ones that he holds closest.

"I just don't see why it's such a big issue," Jimin says through a mouthful of salad greens. His teeth chomp so loudly that Jungkook thinks they'll have to swing by the dentistry labs later that afternoon. Which Jimin'll probably like, considering he won't stop fucking rambling on about a dentistry student at the moment. "She's hot, she's got guys practically falling at her feet and she's interested in you. It's one party. Stop being so fucking boring."

Yoongi casts Jungkook a sympathetic look. He doesn't work so much at the moment, what with his chemistry finals coming up, and especially not in the Daerim area.

That's Jungkook's market now - but he did happen to have a drop-off for a last-minute order a couple of weeks back. Territory isn't an issue between the friends, with Jungkook respecting Yoongi far too much to ever tell him to back off, or to not take deals in that area.

He had been about to approach Jungkook that night, when he noticed you crossing the street, a smile plastered on your face. He couldn't see Jungkook's face from the angle he was at, but he could see how raised his cheeks were. And so he left the pair of you to it, knowing better than to stick his nose where it wasn't wanted.

Unlike Jimin, apparently.

"Not boring," Jungkook retorts, tossing the wrapper his chopsticks came in at Jimin's face. "Got a bunch of assignments due in."

"Dude, you've been MIA for weeks. If we didn't have classes together, I'd have sent out a search party by now."

"You're being dramatic."

"You're being boring."

"Kids, settle down," Yoongi interjects, and wonders why he doesn't just find friends his own age. Logistics, he decides. The perils of having to save up for university before he could actually attend.

Jimin, being Jimin, then proceeds to bicker with Yoongi, leaving Jungkook free to find your face amongst the canteen crowd. You're sat with friends, none of whom he's ever met.

Your hair is up, like it always is during school, but you've let your grown out bangs frame your face. Pretty, he thinks. Prettiest girl here.

But then you stand up, and Jungkook turns caveman. Head empty. No thoughts. Just nonsense. Jesus Christ. Who gave you the right? God damn.

A few months ago, he would have looked at you in that outfit - a silky sage green playsuit over a white tee, sunglasses resting on your head like an alice band and a pair of white converse on your feet - and he probably would have scoffed. Wouldda said some bullshit about the fact you're dressed like a child, or that the weather isn't good enough to warrant such an outfit.

A few months ago, he was a fucking idiot.

You feel his gaze on you, just like you always do.

And you ignore it.

You've been getting good at that. Pretending as if you don't feel his eyes. As if you're unaffected, unbothered by the simplest form of intimacy: a single look.

He knows you've been keeping your distance. Watching from afar is all he can do when you slink out of class before he can catch your attention. He tells himself that he doesn't care.

Jungkook mutes the audio track of the editing software he uses when he stitches together your footage, so he doesn't have to relive your conversations or hear you laugh, or worse, hear himself laugh.

It's all a bit nauseating.

Maybe a party would actually be a good distraction.

"Tonight, did you say?" Jungkook pipes up out of nowhere, only dragging his eyes away from you when he sees you pull your phone out to send a text.

He pouts. You never text him. Not once since last Thursday.

And you were nowhere to be seen on Tuesday.

He had called you, and for once, you didn't pick up. He didn't try again. Decided that it was on you just as much as it was on him.

That being said, he didn't get home till four in the morning, two and half hours after his last deal. Spaffed away an entire tank of petrol. Rode in fucking circles. Just in case.

"Now we're talking!" Jimin grins. "Tonight. It's her birthday, she's rented a bar in Itaewon - Dad knows the landlord or something."

Jungkook didn't know who 'she' was. Hadn't been listening to that part of the conversation.

"Well, you kids enjoy yourselves," Yoongi sighs as he gets to his feet. "Can't risk my finals over a few crappy drinks in a shitty bar."

"Oh boo-hoo!" Jimin pouts. "Spoilsport."

When Jungkook enters the bar that evening, he's greeted with everything he expects. E-cigarette vapours cloud the air, a cocktail of flavours violating his senses as he heads to the bar, shitty EDM pumping through the speakers. It's been a while since he let his hair down, so to speak.

There's something about him that commands attention. People gravitate towards him, even through the smoke clouds and sweaty bodies. Girls buy him drinks. Guys buy him drinks, too. Anything just to spend time in his presence. Like leeches, they hope to share some of Jungkook's aura.

It's impossible, though. It's Jungkook's authenticity that gives him such charisma. Trying to emulate it only ever comes off as tacky - like the guy towards the back of the room who's permed his hair to look like Jungkook's. Pierced his eyebrow, too. Looks like shit. Jungkook doesn't want to judge him, but he's a few drinks deep, and being kind is what got him into that mess with you in the first place.

No good ever comes from being nice.

He takes a shot. Tequila. Chases it down with lemonade. The girl next to him is playing with the bracelets on his wrist. Her nails scratch a little bit, and he quite likes it, so he doesn't resist when pulls him onto the dancefloor. He observes the way she moves first, and isn't disappointed. She knows how to move her hips, and seems to like it when he puts his hands on them. He can't really feel the sensation when she kisses him. The alcohol has numbed his lips. Maybe Jimin was right to force him into this.

By the time he goes to the bar for another drink, he's faded. Off his tits. Helped himself to some of Hobi's stash that he was supposed to be distributing that evening. A little bit of coke never does him any harm. He knows his limits. Tastes like shit down the back of his throat, but he kind of enjoys it.

At first, he thinks he must be seeing things when he catches you with an espresso martini in hand, laughing with people he doesn't know.

You've this whole life that he's no part of. A whole entire world. He really is an outsider looking in.

You're one of the elite; an old-money heiress. The type to own a miniature dog breed and only fly business class. It was stupid of him to think your interest in him had been anything more than entertainment. A 'little bit of rough.' Excitement away from the confines of the life he's sure your parents must have planned out for you.

It might just be because he's coked up, but he doesn't care about any of that.

All he can think about is the fact he's pretty sure you've never looked more beautiful.

He feels so lost looking at you like this, as if he needs to be closer, for fear of losing sight of you entirely.

And so he sits beside you at the bar, orders his drink, waits for you to notice him. Which you do.

You'd spotted him the very second you walked into the bar, his hands all over some girl you don't know.

In all fairness, you didn't realise he would be there. Sohyun, the girl whose birthday it was and an old friend from high school, has been fawning over Jungkook for months. Just superficial drawling, comments about his thighs and the fact she'd quite like to be suffocated by them. Harmless, really. You know she's never actually made a move.

Sohyun doesn't know you're working on a project together. You avoid the topic of him altogether, especially with her.

But she does notice the way Jungkook is looking at you like he's seen a ghost; haunted and comforted all in the same expression.

"You're here," he finally says, and it feels as if your chest is about to cave in.

Turning to face him, you're casual in your posture. Unbothered. Completely unaffected by him, and the lipstick that's painting those lips of his that you like so much.

You raise your thumb and swipe it across his bottom lip. He's silent as you do so, watching you, holding his breath. His lip moves like rubber beneath your touch, soft and supple, springing back into position once you release it.

You raise your thumb to study the lipstick you've collected from him. "Plum's really not your colour, Jungkook."

He doesn't say anything, a little transfixed. It's barely ticked past midnight. You should be in Daerim.

In all fairness, so should he. Hobi had some choice words for Jungkook when he told him that he wasn't working that evening at such short notice.

You swipe open your phone and repeat the step, filming your thumb as Jungkook becomes captive to your touch. You want to look, to see how wide his dark eyes are, but you're too busy feigning disinterest.

"There," you smile, forwarding the video along before you lock your phone. "Just sent you a video of how I see the city tonight."

You've no right to be annoyed. You know that.

Jungkook can be in a bar with another girl's lipstick on his chin if wants to be. He can stay out all night, and he can stay in beds that aren't his. It's his prerogative.

But you are annoyed.

It's irrational, and pathetic, and you shouldn't be.

You barely know him. Not really.

After you'd shown him your favourite tree at the Design Plaza a few weeks ago, he'd insisted on taking you across town to Garosugil, a street in Gangnam lined with beautiful tall trees. He questioned why you only had one favourite tree, when you could have had an entire row of them instead.

At the time, you'd enjoyed the way his eyes looked beneath the lights of the designer stores that neither of you could afford. You didn't question what he had meant.

It seems like you found your answer.

"I'm not the city," he eventually says.

And he's right.

He's not the city.

Fuck it, no, he's not the city, but his eyes sparkle like Itaewon on Friday nights, and his hands are strong like the World Cup Bridge. He's not the city, but you find it so easy to get lost in him without a map, and sometimes wearing his leather jacket makes you feel like you're eating comfort food at your favourite breakfast bar over in Myeong-dong. He's not the city.

He's not the goddamn city.

But it feels a little like you'd accidentally anchored your navigation pin in him regardless.

All you do is smile, and tell him that he's right.

"Look," he begins, and you can smell the spiced rum on his breath.

"It's okay," you interrupt. Who are you to make him feel guilty for his promiscuous encounters?

He doesn't know what you do in the dark. Not really. If he did, he probably wouldn't have kissed you last week.

"No, I-" he cuts himself off like he always does when he doesn't wanna fuck up his words. The alcohol is doing him absolutely zero favours. "I dunno, sugar."

Your smile is sad, and he hates himself. You lean forward, press a kiss into his rosy cheek and whisper, "That'll be 20,000, Jeon."

And because he's drunk, and he wants to make things better, he reaches for his wallet. You were about to walk away regardless, but damn, if the boy doesn't know how to hit you where it hurts.

"Really, Kook?"

It's like he doesn't know you at all; doesn't remember how you banter with him, how you flirt with him. Or maybe you were just stupid for thinking that you'd been flirting with him in the first place. Maybe he just speaks to everyone how he speaks to you. Must have spoken to whoever was wearing that lipstick in the same way.

He doesn't answer, not verbally, but his brows pinch together and his lips develop a frowning pout.

When he stumbles home that evening, he asks himself the same question: really, Kook?

In the morning, he wakes alone, with no recollection of how he got home.

He doesn't remember the girl from the bar, or the fact that Jimin threw up in a fish tank, or that they're now barred from three different establishments for encouraging people to snort fish food (which Jungkook had stolen while Jimin was emptying his stomach). Regretfully, he doesn't even remember your arrival at the first bar. Doesn't remember how, for once, you'd dressed to impress just him.

His lack of recollection means fuck all though, 'cause despite his headache, the thing weighing down most heavily on him is guilt. He feels a sense of duty when it comes to you; duty that he hasn't performed lately. Were you getting home safe? Getting harrassed by scummy fuckers on the Daerim path of destruction?

Out of habit, he checks his phone, ignores the messages from unknown numbers and goes straight to your message thread to check the damage. He's surprised to find that he didn't drunk text you, but even more surprised to find that you'd messaged him. It's a video, just a few seconds, but it's enough to provoke some of his memories back.

He watches your thumb as it glides across his bottom lip. Watches it again. Notices the lipstick. Notices the thumb ring he never realised you wore before, and the fact that your nails are black now instead of their usual pink. There's something erotic about it; the way you touch him. The way you filmed yourself touching him. He'll probably get in trouble for it, but there's no way he isn't adding that to your project.

You consider ignoring his call when your phone flashes with his caller I.D.

It's only just gone seven, and you're still in bed, still try to make heads or tails of your life.

But you're weak, and so you slide your thumb across the little green icon.

"Hey."

"Uh, hey."

"You good?"

"So hungover, I think I might die," Jungkook jokes, voice hoarse. You wonder if he always sounds like this in the morning. "Just wanted to check in with you though. Barely seen you all week, and then I end up with a weird-ass video in our message thread that I don't remember."

Ah. You cringe.

"Ran into you at the bar," you shrug, not that he can see you. "Didn't realise you were friends with Sohyun."

"Hmm?"

"Sohyun... the girl who's birthday it was?"

"Oh. Right. Yeah. Nah, no, not really friends with her. Jimin forced me along."

You don't know all that much about Jimin, but from your limited interactions with him, it doesn't surprise you. Not in the slightest.

"Good night?"

Your question sounds forced and awkward, and he doesn't quite understand why.

"No idea," he admits honestly. "Remember fuck all."

He sounds as if he wants to keep talking but doesn't know what to say.

You don't know what to say either.

It's a mess. You liked it better when he hated you.

"Were you at the bar for long?" He asks, genuinely curious. "You're normally busy on Thursdays?"

"Just a drink. Had a last-minute change of plans."

"Oh?"

"Yeah..."

You know he wants you to elaborate. He wants more without having to explicitly ask for it.

Which is apt. Seems like it's a common occurrence with Jungkook.

"So what did you call for?" you change the topic, not wanting to dwell. The aversion doesn't go unnoticed by him, but it does go unquestioned.

"I-" there he goes again, cutting himself off prematurely. Coward. "Are you free? Now?"

Oh.

Not a coward. Just cautious.

"Now? I mean, yeah, I guess."

Jungkook takes a second, and then he bites down on the grenade pin.

"Can you come over?"

THE WAY YOU keep Jungkook hanging on tenterhooks is deliberate.

You're unsure of him, of his motivations, and what he does in the dark. And so, while you want to let your guard down, you can't. It's probably something to do with your parents - the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally - making their love entirely conditional and withdrawing it so suddenly.

It's the kind of shit you would have spoken about with your therapist, but you can't afford her anymore.

Can't afford much of anything, anymore. So much of the money you've earnt recently is tied up in credit card debt or rent.

Foundation was the first luxury that you'd compromised, and you're still yet to buy any more. Cheap stuff always makes you break out, and thankfully your parents did give you decent genetics, at least, so your skin was pretty clear.

It's the lack of make up that suggests to Jungkook you're opening up; not hiding from him anymore.

But it's also what tells him something is incredibly wrong, when you show up at his door half an hour later with a graze beneath your eye. Little flecks of reddened skin creep up your cheekbone, and Jungkook thinks it almost looks like carpet burn.

He hadn't noticed it last night, but it was dark, and he was drunk.

He lets you in, takes your jacket, offers you a drink. Everything that he knows he should do. Asks how you are, keeps a safe distance.

You don't know why you're here. Why you didn't say you were busy.

Except you do.

It's cause you miss him whenever you're away from him.

"I like these," you smile as you look at the artwork he has up in his room. The studio space is small, cramped, like all semi-basements are, but it's distinctly 'his'. A lot different to yours. Everything you own is still in boxes, not yet unpacked.

You've refused to come to terms with that being your life now.

"Thanks," he nods, watching you as you explore the box of a room he calls home. "They're from a guy down by the coach station. Has a little stall."

"You'll have to show me," you muse, turning to smile at him. It's saccharine, but the graze on your face is just so bitter. He hates it. Hates that he doesn't know how you got it. "Think I'd like some for my place."

"I have a feeling they'd look a little out of place in a princess tower, sugar."

Your shoulders shake as you laugh quietly, not correcting him. He doesn't need to know that you're a basement dweller, too.

"How's the editing coming along?" You steer the question away from your living situation.

"Nearly there," he grins, brimming with quiet excitement. Something about the way your camerawork looks with his editing technique layered on top just really works. He's always been confident with his final projects, and this one scares him a little bit, but in a good way. It's his best yet. Maybe he did need you after all.

"Can I see?"

"Not yet."

"Kook," you say, and - oh god - you're pouting. Jungkook suddenly begins to feel nervous.

It's that scary feeling again. A fear of the good stuff. Trepidation.

"What?" he grins, walking a little closer to you, letting his hand stroke against your back as he sits down on his bed. His fingers catch yours. It's fleeting, but enough.

You both feel it.

"Such a tease," you say, talking about the project, but there's innuendo in your words, too.

"Some girls like it," he flirts back.

"The girl at the bar last night seemed to like it."

Jungkook rolls his eyes, boyish and charming. It's annoying, you think, how impossible it is to be mad at him. It's not because you're weak, or because you can't resist his charms, but because he has a way of playing things off as if they're no big deal.

The girl at the bar? A nobody, his shrug suggests. She doesn't matter.

And it's so easy to believe, because you're the one in his apartment. You're the one he wanted here, the one that he missed. Or at least, the one that he was thinking of when he decided that he could do with some company.

It might be nothing, just something to pass the time, but it makes you feel wanted. Desired. Needed.

So you accept his hand when he reaches out towards you, pulling you closer, positioning you between his spread legs. You're standing, his eyes level with your chest, unashamed as he looks at your body.

"You look warm," he husks.

Just like he always uses your body temperature as excuse to give you his jacket, he's using it as an excuse now, too. The desired effect is obvious.

His AC switchboard is on the wall behind his bed. You'd clocked it when you were walking around, observing his possessions. Yanmar, the branding reads, the plastic outer frame beige. Once, it would have been crisp white. Age has dulled it. The monochrome monitor has a clock symbol in the corner, an indicator that Jungkook has his AC set on a timer. It suggests a sense of permanence. This is his home.

You haven't set your timer yet. You just flick it on when you get hot. It isn't your home.

He watches you as you move, curious. He's smirking, because he just cant help himself.

And because he knows that you like it whenever he does. Gets you a little bit flustered.

One of your knees hooks over his lap, and then the other follows suit.

He'd have said you were straddling him. You'd have argued that you were simply reaching over to the AC.

And you do exactly that, flicking the switch, watching as it lights up. "There. Much better."

Touche, he thinks. Smiles. Grips your thighs, as if he's scared you'll stand up again. Scared to lose you.

In all honesty, he had been hoping you'd take your shirt off, but he isn't going to complain with you in his lap, instead.

Doesn't matter if you mix the eggs with the milk first, or the flour. You still bake a cake at the end of it all.

Jungkook looks at you in such a way that you find yourself thinking maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be so horrible to let someone in. His eyes are honest, void of ulterior motives. He's doing this because he wants to. Because he wants you.

Wants that feeling back. The one where his lips are cushioned between yours, his tongue licking into your mouth.

Jungkook wants what he wants. Jungkook gets what he wants.

And, fuck, if it isn't bare minimum - but you know this, and you don't care. Bare minimum tastes pretty fucking good when you're licking it from his lips.

His hands roam, and you let them. He's rough with his movements, but the fleshy pads of his fingertips are soft, like silk against your skin. It's almost like he's afraid, filled with the knowledge that he can bruise, if he really wants to.

But he doesn't want to. He wants to ask about the graze that's sitting pretty where blush should be. Jungkook doesn't wanna hurt. He wants to heal.

"I catch you looking, you know," you tell him before he gets a chance, wanting to see how he responds. "Every now and again..." He hikes you forward in his lap. Places you dead centre over his cock. You can feel it. He can feel you. "...I catch you looking at me." He presses a kiss against the base of your neck, obsessed with the way it vibrates when you speak. "Why are you always looking at me?"

The fact that you're sat in his lap, grinding your hips against a solid bulge, should be indication enough.

Jungkook isn't going to spell it out for you. The eroticism of suggesting he's a fucking voyeur makes him want to laugh - but the way your nipples are tenting the shirt you're wearing distracts him.

His teeth graze your throat, hands creeping round to your tummy. His fingers are long, practically the length of the expanse between your hips and the underneath of your plump tits. Just a little further and he'd be holding them, cupping them, caressing. Just a little further.

"I look at you-" His hands continue their exploration as he leans back, watching the movement beneath your shirt. It somehow feels forbidden - like he can touch, but not look. After all, your question had sounded quite a lot like a telling off. "-because you like me looking at you."

He's fucking with you, trying to get a rise.

"Do I?"

The way that you whimper as he brushes against your nipples has him pulsing his hips. Your eyes close, head tilting back ever so slightly. You like this. The way he does it.

"Uh-huh," he mumbles, lips wet against your neck. His fingers knead into the flesh of your tits, nipples hard in his palm as he relieves his stresses. "Bet you think about it all day, don't you? Think about the way I look at you when no-one else does."

Yes.

"All day?" you smirk between dulcet moans. "You're lucky if I pay you any attention at all."

"I think you're lying," he declares rather boldly, hands all over you. "I think it plays on your mind. I bet you fall asleep thinking about it, don't you?"

Yes.

"Ddaeng."

"I bet you get yourself off thinking about it."

Maybe you do.

Maybe you've whispered his name in the dead of night, imagining how it would feel to have his body weight on top of yours. Maybe you get intrusive thoughts of that kiss every single time you try to draw close. Maybe Jungkook has made you cum without ever laying a single finger on you.

But even if he has, you won't tell him.

And you don't need to, because his phone buzzing on the bedside table behind you cuts the conversation dry. Jungkook glances towards it automatically, then back up to you. His frustration is evident, jaw tense.

"I gotta get this," he mumbles, encouraging you off of his lap. You don't resist, accepting the last five minutes for what they were: a momentary lapse in judgement. He sighs as he stands, adjusting his trousers, swiping his phone and putting it to his ear. He strolls just far enough away that you won't hear what or who is on the other line. "Hobi. Speak to me."

Hobi, you muse. A friend? A colleague? Another girl?

You swallow back the nauseating feeling in your throat, pretending as if the prospect of Jungkook with someone else doesn't chip away at your self-worth a little bit. It wasn't like you thought you had anything special between the pair of you.

But he was right. You did like him looking at you.

More than you had realised until the prospect of him looking at someone else arose.

From the corner of the room, you could hear Jungkook trying to interrupt the person he was talking to. The first syllable would escape, and then he'd hush again, never quite managing to get the words out in full.

"Ho-" His nostrils look quite cute when they flare, lips pursed, a pair of unique dimples becoming evident. They're different to the usual ones you notice. Full of surprises was Jeon Jungkook.

"Hobi, can I-"

He runs his hand through his hair, already dishevelled from your hands.

"Hobi will you let me fucking talk!"

Attaboy.

The pause that follows Jungkook's outburst would suggest that Hobi had said 'no' - and then a few more choice words. If Jungkook rolled his eyes back any further, they'd surely get stuck.

"Look, I'm a bit tied up right now- no! No, not that. Who? No. I don't know a Taehyung, and even if I did- Huh? Ain't got nothin' to do with Holangi. Don't know a single one of 'em."

You try to decipher the conversation, but fail.

"You're a real fuckin' cockblock, yanno?"

You blush.

"Fuck it, fine. But you owe me. I'm not saying yes next time."

He glances over to you, catching your raised brow. Next time?

A smile catches on his lips. You thought this would be a one time thing?

He's barely hit second base. If there's one thing you're yet to find out about Jungkook, it's that he loves to win. He won't be satisfied until he's got a home run.

Any other girl, and he'd have probably been running laps for fun by this point, but you... yeah, you didn't bowl him easy hitters, that was for sure.

Jungkook moves with confidence, like he always does, as he strides over to the sofa, the bulge in his pants considerably softened but still present. "Take a picture," he grins. "It'll last longer."

You roll your eyes, but it doesn't stop you from asking if that's an offer. He laughs - that soft, gentle thrum of his vocal chords that sounds so heavenly in your ears - and tells you to behave.

"I just gotta help a friend out," he says as he reaches over you to grab his rucksack. It's heavier now than it ever is at school, the jingle of crushed tin foil rustling as it briefly catches on your knee. He pretends not to notice the curiosity in your eyes. Pretty eyes, though. He quite likes them, especially when he's towering above you and can see the whites just above your lashline. Yeah, he likes them alot. "I'll only be an hour or so. You can stay here, if you like?"

The way he phrases it is so casual that it's almost like you're old friends.

That, or Jungkook's just used to having women he doesn't know very well stay at his place.

You're unaware of the mental gymnastics he's putting himself through. If he could kick himself without looking like a twat, then he definitely would.

Shrugging, you give him a polite smile. "I don't wanna overstay my welcome."

"Nah, you're fine. I can give you a lift back to yours when I'm home? I'll be an hour. Two, tops."

Finally you agree, watching as he leaves like a lovesick puppy, listening out for the familiar rattle of his exhaust pipe. There's a cough and splutter of petrol spitting onto the sidewalk as his motor roars into action, and then he's gone.

You don't hang around for much longer.

You tell yourself that you will. That it would be nice. That you and Jungkook might not be so ill-suited after all.

But as the clock ticks by on the wall, you find yourself getting antsy. You find yourself asking stupid questions. Who exactly is Hobi? What was in Jungkook's bag? Why is he always down in Daerim? Is that where he's gone now?

The thoughts grow, adapt, intrude. Before you know it, you're considering what you'd find if you opened the top drawer of his bedside cabinet.

Realistically, you know it would probably be a wank sock and a tub of vaseline - it doesn't matter though. Your mind is wondering. You need to scratch the itch.

Just a little peek. He'll never know.

Oh, how you loathe your brain.

What's the worst you could find? A revolver? His ex-girlfriends panties? Love letters? A crack pipe?

Somehow, you'd rather find a pipe than panties.

It's not that you want Jungkook to be a crack addict. It's just the more that you think about it, the more you come to realise that you really, really don't like the idea of someone else feeling how warm his torso is, or how his upper teeth always nip slightly when he starts kissing you, until the pressure of his pecks plump his lips. You've only experienced it a handful of times, and it's stupid to get carried away, but he just makes it so easy.

He didn't ask you to stay, you tell yourself. He asked you if you wanted to.

Moments of instability like this are exactly why girls like you don't spend time with boys like him. It's stupid. Futile. A game for fools.

You leave his apartment as you found it, with not even a note to say thank you. He's had a squeeze on your tits. You deem that thank you enough. If anything, he should be thanking you.

When he returns, just half an hour after your departure, he can still smell your perfume. He tosses his keys down, calls out your name, and is met with silence. It takes him a moment or so to realise that he's alone.

There's a sinking feeling in his chest that he doesn't recognise. Doesn't like. Hates, in fact.

But fine. Fuck it. He didn't want you there anyway. He'd just been doing a good deed. Being kind because - if your face was any indication - obviously someone else had been particularly unkind to you.

Jungkook thinks he knows who, now.

Daerim nights have always been sketchy, but the days are no better.

He's just the lowest rung on a long ladder of criminals who turn a profit when the sun goes down in Seoul.

Hobi had asked him to drop the stash in his rucksack off at a club, some gang-run joint that Jungkook doesn't know much about, so that he could get them back to his boss.

That had been the plan, at least.

He slings his bag down, now empty, and sinks into the sofa, not bothering to get a rag to clean himself up. No point. The dried blood will just wash off in his shower. It's not the first time this has happened. He doubts it will be the last.

Jungkook's nose is currently bleeding, dripping down his chin and hitting the ceramic tiles of his apartment with small slaps. A bruise is forming above his left eye socket, and his knuckles are red.

A punch to the face means very little to Jungkook.

He's young, but he's strong. Fast, too. It could have been a lot worse if he wasn't.

He pushes the back of his hand against his nose, sniffing, before unlocking his phone, and dialing a number he knows now by heart.

The dial tone bleeds out, just like his nose.

And so he hangs up, and calls the only person he knows he can rely on.

"Wassup, kid?"

Jungkook doesn't mean to sob, but he cant help it. He knows Yoongi has finals coming up. He doesn't need his bullshit on his plate, too.

"I got jumped Yoongs."

Fuck.

"You alright? Sound pretty bad? Where?"

"Daerim-"

"The fuck you doing there at this time of day?"

"Hobi wanted me to drop off my stash."

"Kook..." Yoongi speaks slowly, coming to a horrific realisation. A few punches had never bothered Jungkook before. Something bigger was at play. "The stash...?"

Jungkook can hear it in Yoongi's voice: fear.

"Gone."

Yoongi sighs down the line. "Hobi know yet?"

"No."

"Alright, get outta your flat," Yoongi begins, not wasting time. Now is not the time for emotions, and it's clear that Jungkook isn't capable of that just yet. "I need you to go somewhere safe, somewhere you can lie-low for a little bit alright? Let me sort it-"

"Yoong-"

"Let me sort it. I got you into this mess. Don't sweat it."

"Ple-"

"Kook. Seriously. Trust me with this."

Yoongi doesn't let him debate it any further - and it's just as well he doesn't, because as soon as he hangs up the phone, another call comes through. Jungkook wants to answer it. Really, he does.

Jungkook's just very aware of the fact that the guy who jumped him had almost been waiting for him. Right by the entrance of the apartment block which he always picked you up from.

In between blows, he'd warned Jungkook to 'stay the fuck away from the girl'.

The girl who's now returning his call.

"Hey," you say animatedly, having not expected him to call. You thought the pair of you would resume your usual awkward routine of pretending like nothing ever happened. "Sorry, I was in the shower. You good? Sorry I left, I just did-"

"I need a favour," he doesn't bother with formalities.

You want to banter with him, to flirt, but the tone of his voice warns you not to. So instead you tell him that you'll do whatever he needs.

"Can I come over?"

Fuck. Anything except that.

"Please."

YOU DON'T EXPECT to say yes. You don't expect to care more about him than you do about protecting your own dignity. You don't expect Jungkook to traipse down the stairs that lead to your slovenly open door with a glum look on his bloodsoaked face, as you stand there waiting for him.

But he does.

He makes no comment, no remark about the building. Just wraps his arms around your head, cradling you against his chest as you stand in your doorway. You can hear his heartbeat, thud, thud, thud against his ribs.

Go somewhere safe, Yoongi had told him. It was a no brainer.

"I'm sorry," he says, eventually pulling himself away from you. "I didn't know who else to ask."

You tell him it's fine, and you mean it. Keeping up pretences doesn't really matter so much anymore. Perhaps honesty was overdue from the both of you.

"The fuck happened to you?" You ask, tenderly reaching up to stroke away some of the dried blood from his lip. He winces, hisses, body tense, but he lets you continue. "Sorry."

"Could ask you the same, sugar," he speaks kindly, not wanting you to think he's being critical as he nods to the entryway behind you.

You grit your teeth together and let your hand rest on his shoulder. "King kicked the princess out of the castle."

And, suddenly, it doesn't seem embarrassing anymore. In fact, it seems perfectly apt that Jungkook knows. He doesn't pry, don't push for further clarification. Just nods. Accepts your reality.

"Castles are overrated, anyway," he presses a kiss to your head, and gently guides you through the threshold. The corridor is short, opening up to an open plan studio. The layout varies from Jungkook's, but it's similar in size. Small.

"Ignore the wallpaper," you say of the awkwardly granny-ish floral print. It's beige, so not totally offensive, but dear god, you think it looks like vomit.

"No," he grins. "It's... wow. Your landlord really knows how to make a statement, don't they?"

You perch on your bed and cringe. "A statement... a crime against interior design. Whatever you wanna call it."

Jungkook continues to pace around your room with a curious smile. He's partially deflecting from the fact he knows you're probably dying to ask about his face, and why he was so desperate to be with you, but he's also interested in the life you neglected to share with him.

Brown cardboard boxes are piled high in the corners, your possessions not yet unboxed.

This place is just temporary.

You've got three and a half million won sat on your desk. A couple more weeks, just a few, and you'll have enough for a deposit on a decent flat. Then you can get a regular job, something stable, and you won't have to worry. You could work through the summer and then figure out what to do next. Just as long as you keep on moving upwards, you'll be happy.

"So," you begin gingerly, as you head to the kitchenette beside your bed, wetting a cloth beneath your tap. "You gonna tell me what happened to your face?"

He takes your previous position, inviting himself to sit on the end of your bed, anticipating your return. There's light coming in from the thin windows by your ceiling, hitting directly onto your back. He thinks it's apt. Thinks you're the kind of girl who deserves a spotlight. Thinks that Mother Nature agrees.

Jungkook shrugs, in that lazy, boyish way he so often does, as you walk towards him. He spreads his legs, encouraging you between them, letting his hands graze your thighs. You pretend not to notice as you press the damp cloth to his cheek. Tiny crows legs appear at the edges of his eyes, face wincing from the contact. It's painful.

But being alone would be more painful. He chose to be here. To be with you.

And so he tells you what happened, with as much honesty he can muster. There are some things better left unsaid, his occupation being one of them. You listen attentively, dabbing at his wounds, a frown etched into the lines of your face.

"Stay away from the girl, huh?" you muse, avoiding his eyes as you study his face. His nose is still bleeding, but every time you tell him to tilt his head towards the ceiling, it ends up back in its original position. He can't see you as well with his head tilted back. Doesn't like it. Doesn't wanna do it. "Could be any girl."

Jungkook's dimple forms in his cheek. "No. No, it couldn't."

His fingers that have been grazing at your thighs squeeze tenderly, letting you know he means it. More than he thinks you know. More than he knows he should.

There's a chance that any words spoken between the pair of you could be misconstrued. He doesn't know what his feelings for you are, and you don't really understand yours for him - but you understand your body, and the electric current running beneath your lips, dying for a connection. A little spark.

So you do the only thing that makes sense: you kiss him.

And he kisses you back. Slowly, tenderly, deliberately. His lips melt into yours, hand pulling your legs closer. He encourages you onto his lap, as if he needs to be insufferably close to you. Once you're positioned how he wants, just like you were earlier, he grips your waist, keeping you stationed there.

Jungkook knows he should stop.

He knows he should have paid attention to the pair of fists that warned him off you as his skull hit the pavement earlier that morning, knows he shouldn't let himself get so wrapped up in such a red flag - but he just can't help himself. It's like you're laced in the narcotics he deals, and slowly but surely, you've gotten him addicted.

He's craving. Dying for a hit. Just a little taste of your tongue on his, the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Red flags, red stop signs, pretty red lips all plump from the kisses he's smothering them in. Red blood, too. His nose is still a little damaged, and the way he's painting your cheek in crimson should repulse you.

Should repulse you.

Like fuck it does, though. You can smell the copper twinge through his plasma, and suddenly it's as if the Cullen's had the right idea all along.

When he pulls back, only for a moment, hands clutching at the side of your face to assess the look in your eyes, he notices it too. Hard not to. You blush all the fucking time, so much so that he knew the shade by heart, and the rouge on your cheek is far too vibrant, too scarlet. It's his fucking blood on you.

It should scare him, he knows. But the way you're looking at him, eyes all wide and glassy, lips swollen and waiting for more, has him unable to think straight. It has him obsessed, the way you don't care. The way he's covered you in blood and you still seem to want more.

But there's a softness to the way in which you're looking at him, mild confusion, as if you've got the same strange warmth running through your veins as he does. It's not a feeling he recognises, pulsing through his bloodstream with every beat of his heart.

Perhaps it's nothing. Jungkook tells himself that it is. Just adrenaline, probably.

You look at his lips, all crimson and blushed, and realise you much prefer the shade of his blood to the plum lipstick that had tainted them the night before. You're delicate as you wipe your thumb along his pouted bottom lip, just like you did in the bar. Except this time, the jealousy that had blossomed in your diaphragm is nowhere to be found. There's still a pinch beneath your ribs, but this time it's in your heart, and it's far more aching. This time, you feel his hurt.

Jungkook reaches down to where you left the damp cloth on your bed. It's wet and heavy in his hand, a little warm, too. He brings it to your face and dabs silently, cleaning you of the mess he's made. Fixing you. Restoring you to your former glory.

Its futile, 'cause his nose is still fucking bleeding, and you don't plan on leaving it more than a moment before you kiss him again. You simply don't care. Want him for all that he is, blood, sweat and tears.

But still, he insists on ridding you of his stain. Doesn't want to tarnish you. He's soft with the way he presses the cloth against you, mirroring how tenderly you were with him earlier. He's learning from you, adapting to you. Wants to be like you. Wants to be 'better'.

You watch as his eyes scan your face, brows twisted like they always do when he's about to say something but stops himself. The vertical groove just above his cupid's bow is red, blood tacky as it dries. If he kisses you now, he'll leave a stamp; a mark that says 'you're mine.'

It's too much. Far too much. You aren't his, and he knows this. He never wanted you to be his, in fact, for the longest time, he had wanted to be anything but yours.

But now he sits beneath you, crestfallen, heart in his throat, blocking him from speaking.

This was never part of the plan. He was never supposed to end up here. He was supposed to escape from the trenches, to get on the path of straight and narrow. Thrive. Succeed.

And it's not your fault, he knows this, but there's a little part of him that wonders what could have happened if he hadn't seen you that night in Daerim, hadn't seen the way your eyes look beneath night market lights, hadn't heard your laugh as he looked at his favourite view of the city.

You whisper his name, your palm resting flat on his chest, and his brows soften.

It doesn't matter what could have happened, anymore.

All that matters is what is happening.

The shortness of his breath, the flutter of his lashes against your cheek, the swelling between his legs. You can feel it, feel him, and he knows it. The way he's pulsing his hips upwards is testament to that.

It's a comfortable position, you sat on his lap on the end of your bed, not one that either of you wishes to break from. Not even as he begins to breathe against your lips, unable to properly control his reactions thanks to the friction beneath his briefs.

"Want you," he mumbles, pressing his lips into yours, the air in his lungs giving itself up to you. "Want you so bad."

You shake your head, brows pinched just a little. "I'm bad news for you."

And maybe that's it. Maybe he just wants you because he knows he shouldn't - but fuck it, if he can't let himself indulge in simple pleasures, then why bother getting himself beaten to a pulp over you?

"I'm bad news for myself, sugar," he husks against your lips, tickling them as he slips his tongue into your mouth. Deeper, deeper. Closer, closer. He wants it.

Wants it all.

Wants you naked.

Wants to know what it feels like to have you gasp in his ear as his hands roam beneath your panties.

Wants to know if you'd still look at him like you're stargazing even when he's railing you.

Wants it. Wants you. Just wants.

And what Jungkook wants, Jungkook gets.

He slips his hand up your shirt and pushes it upwards, before letting it crumple to the floor. You know that you should be more bashful, a little bit ashamed, but it's impossible when he's looking at you like this.

He has a visual now that he didn't have earlier. The glow of your skin beneath his bruised knuckles looks almost sinful, like he's plucking forbidden fruit from its tree. He'll pay the price for this, and he knows it, but he just can't resist.

Jungkook has always been a boob guy, always loved the way he could get girls moaning with just a little pinch, but never had he had a pair quite like yours. So full, so round, he's not sure his hands are big enough, and that doubt makes him throb. Soft and pillowy, he groans as he watches his fingers sink into them, utterly enthralled. His hips adjust, pushing upwards, pressing himself into you. He wants this. Wants it so bad.

You can feel the metal of his rings against your skin, and then you can feel his lips, his tongue, his teeth as they graze against the plush skin of your chest. He licks around your nipple, letting the air cool the wet trail, hardening you for him.

He's utterly obsessed.

His mouth pulls at the sensitive skin, suckles, sucks. His lashes are splayed on the tops of his cheeks, lips pouting around your nipple as he does so, small groans of pleasure vibrating against you. It will be a miracle if he can't already feel you seeping through your panties.

You whimper as his teeth graze your hardened nub, and his eyes flutter open. He doesn't detach himself, but instead, he keeps your gaze as he sucks. The pressure varies, and then it's hard. Really fucking hard. So hard you'll think he'll somehow give your nipple a hickey - but fuck, if you don't love the sensation.

"Christ," you gasp, before biting down into your bottom lip.

"Too hard?" He mumbles against you, peppering you in kisses and soft licks as if to apologise.

"No," you pant. "Was good. Was great. Just - fuck."

You laugh, soft and airy, and Jungkook smiles from the sound.

He likes this. Likes how you react to him.

And while he’s patient and gentle with you in a way that he isn't with other people, Jungkook has only ever known how to have sex in one way. It's ingrained into him, as if he was made to fuck like it; like he doesn't give a shit about the person he's screwing.

Jungkook doesn't do love, and you know this. He trades. Works in transactions. Settles debts. You don't really know this part, but you aren't stupid. You know he's never in Daerim for any good fucking reason.

You don't question it as his hands move south, slipping past your underwear. In fact, you're smug as he curses when he feels how wet you are, fingers slippery in your panties.

He pushes a finger into you, and closely follows it with a second. They curl ever so slightly, and it's at this point that you realise Jungkook is absolutely going to ruin you. Just a few pumps. Just to ease you up.

He's bored of waiting. Wants you now.

The pair of you move fluidly, minimal discussion needed, just occasional checks of 'you good?', or 'this okay?'. The answer is, always, without a doubt, 'yes'.

He gets you on your back, panties pulled off, legs not quite hanging off the edge of your bed, but nearly. He strips himself of his shirt first, and grins as he notices the way you whine.

"What?" he toys.

"Nothing," you flirt. "Just wish you'd hurry up. I'm a busy woman."

"Oh yeah?" The sound of his buckle coming undone is enough to make you fucking leak. "Busy doing what?"

You neglect to tell him. Not because you don't have a witty remark lined up, but because he's fucking naked now.

What a sight to behold he is. Body lean, honey skin flawless, muscles defined. You pretend like you're looking at his body, but your eyes are drawn to his cock. You'd expected length, but not the girth - and he has both in abundance. The tip of his cock is blushed and wet, with Jungkook just as aroused as you are.

Noticing your gaze, he rolls his eyes, and toys with your pussy again, lightly running his fingers up and down your slick entrance. When he pulls back, his fingers are still connected by thick clear fluid. His cock throbs.

"You're gonna get me so dirty," he hums, as he crawls onto the bed above you, before holding his fingers to your mouth. "Clean them."

Part of you wants to say no, but the other part of you can see his darkened gaze and the way his cock is twitching. You can't refuse.

His fingers are on the tip of your tongue, the tip of his cock nudging so close to your entrance that he may as well just do it. You raise your hips, encouraging, but he retracts a little just to tease.

The fingers that were in your mouth come to grip at the soft flesh of your cheeks, his thumb on the other side. "Don't you fucking dare."

There's tepid aggression to his movements, and it makes you feel vulnerable - but you like it. You like the way he's gripping your face, the ways he's looking at you with narrow eyes, just like he used to do across the lecture hall. You like being reminded of when you were nothing to one another, because it makes the satisfaction of feeling his stiff cock jump a little against your pussy as you moan so much more worth it.

He used to hate you, now he can't wait to bury his fat cock in you. Victory is yours, even if he's trying to act like he's the one holding all the cards.

You don't correct him, though. You let him think he has the upper hand. You'll play pillow princess just this once if it means you get to see him a little bit mean again.

"Dare what?" you pout, cheeks still squished between his fingers. He grips a little tighter, your chest rising as you gasp. He pulls your face towards his, sinking down into your lips, until he decided he's done with you.

He stands by the edge of your bed, and yanks your ankles towards him, pulling you close enough to the edge for him to fuck you like this.

The loss of his grip is unwelcome by you, a frown forming. He isn't looking at your face now, eyes down on his cock, which he's rubbing between your soaked pussy lips, but he can almost hear you brace yourself to whine. He smirks, one side of his mouth lifting, head knocking to the side slightly.

"Don't you dare try and set the pace," he finally husks, still not glancing up towards you. He's taking his time, making sure the head of his cock kisses every inch of your exposed mess. "Nearly got my nose fucking broken for this pussy-" he spits, hard and fast, right onto your clit, spreading it with his cock. "- so I'm gonna make sure I get what I'm owed."

He spreads your thighs back, his fingers gripping harshly just how you like it. Perhaps you should pretend to be embarrassed by the fact your cunt is leaking for him, begging for him, but the way he hisses at the sight, chest heaving, prevents it.

Jungkook's thought about this before, about how pretty and pristine you'd be, about the mess he'd hoped you'd make. Thought about it so many times. Fingers wrapped around his shaft in the middle of the night when no one can hear him chant your name as he spills over. Yeah, he's thought about it a lot.

His imagination has never done you justice. One look and he's obsessed. Wants to spend hours touching, caressing, licking you.

"Take it," you whisper. "What you're owed, Jungkook. Take it."

He looks up now, brows threaded together. You don't recognise the contemplation his face is laced in, but he doesn't give you the chance to question it, for you begin to feel that burn. The one your fingers can never give you. It's alien, and yet familiar, inherently natural but intrusive nonetheless.

"Shit," is all you can manage to say, eyes locked on his.

He wants to watch himself sink into you, watch as his fat cock forces your slick wetness out of your pussy, but he can't. Not when you're looking at him like that. Not when your chest is heaving and your eyes are watering beneath tense brows. Not when your mouth is hanging open and just begging to be fucked like your tight little pussy.

And then he starts feeling something a little strange. A little unfamiliar. A little bit like his heart has stalled to beat in time with the contractions of your chest. And though he's not in pain anymore, too busy feeling you, he's aware that it hurts. Aware that he can't fuck you like he wanted to, 'cause his chest needs to be against yours. Needs to feel the beating drum beneath your ribs.

He doesn't even realise that he's paused until you whine a meagre, "please."

"That's more like it," he hums, as he pushes into you, the base of his thick cock plugging the weeping mess that he's made. You know that as soon as he pulls out, you'll be whimpering, begging for the tip of his cock to kiss your walls once more. "See how nice things can be when you just behave yourself, huh?"

His hips push just a little deeper, and he knows that it hurts. Knows that the little gasp isn't entirely from pleasure. He's seen his cock. Doesn't take a genius to work out that it can do damage.

"You can take it," he tells you, and like a pathetic, whimpering mess, you fucking nod. He's still inside of you, still deeper than you thought possible, and then his hand is on your stomach. He grabs your hand and places it beneath his. "You feel that?" He retracts just a little, pushing back in just as deep. Beneath your hands, there's a bulge. External or internal, it doesn’t matter. It's him. He does it again. "You feel me taking what's mine?"

Whatever the fuck you moan is incoherent, but he doesn't give a shit, 'cause he's ploughing now. Bucking his hips into you like pneumatic fucking drill. Shit. He's done this before. Got it mastered to a fine art. Momenta worthy of a museum exhibition.

Your tits are pillowed on your chest, nice and round, wobbling as he takes command of your body. He slaps one of them, just to watch it ripple, before that firm grip of his is on it. "Perfect tits," he growls the compliment, not really meaning for it to come out. "Gonna put my cock between them later," he tells you. "Gonna cum all over them."

He doesn't tell you that he'll also clean them with his hungry tongue, before delivering his cum into your mouth. Figures he'll just let you find out. His brain is working at a mile a minute, trying to reign back thoughts of sharing his cum with you in such a filthy manner. God, he wants to do heinous things to you. With you. For you.

But for now, he needs to focus on his cock. It's rubbing inside of you, nuzzling. He knows he's weeping, and that his precum is getting mixed with your slick juices. Knows he won't last long if you keep whining like that. Mewling. Purring.

He stalls his hips, letting go of your tits as they jiggle back into position. Your cheeks are flushed, imprints of his fingers reddening your skin. Lips pouted and resting ajar, Jungkook thinks they've never looked more fuckable. More kissable. More whisper-sweet-nothings-against-able.

"You ever shut the fuck up?" he teases, but is quick to notice confusion flash in your eyes. He didn't mean it as an insult, but it's easy to read the hurt in your perplexed features, and the way you begin to try and push your legs together. It's futile. His cock is keeping you open.

But you feel embarrassed, as if your natural reactions to him are a turn-off. It's silly, because he's quite literally inside of you, fat and solid, using you to milk himself. Of course, he's not turned off, but you're hyper-aware of how vulnerable you're feeling right now. It had been fun to pretend like you were in control, but as soon as he slipped inside of you, all sense of power had evaporated.

He doesn't realise this though. Doesn't realise that his cock is nudging so deep into you that it's practically knocking against your heart. Knock, knock, knock. Who's there? Your mind taunts, but you daren't answer.

"Hey," he coos, one of his large palms stroking on the inside of your thighs. That uncomfortable, obscure feeling is back again. The one that tells him he needs to be closer to you. This time, he doesn't ignore it. His hips pulse, just the once. A reminder he's still very much into this. Into you.

His hands grip your waist, softly this time, as he manoeuvres himself onto the bed with you, keeping himself snug. Your head is by the pillows, Jungkook's knees on either side of your ass, his chest flat against yours as one of his hands cradles your jaw. He presses a chaste, airy kiss against your lips, and whispers, "I love the way you sound." He kisses you again, hips rocking. You're trying not to, but you whine. "Fuck, sugar. You're my favourite fucking sound."

Your legs hook over his back, and he groans now. The angle change lets him delve deeper, your walls massaging him so well. Jungkook thinks he might have died and gone to heaven. He's slipping in and out of you with minimal force, skin slapping together. He makes sure to let his moans roll off his tongue and into your mouth. You eat them up and give them back. The pair of you aren't kissing anymore, just gasping and humming into one another's mouths. He's stuttering.

There's a pause as he adjusts his grip, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs. He likes it, the way you seem to melt around him in all capacities. His lips nudge against yours as his steady hips begin to rock into yours again.

You groan as he pushes down on your legs, pushing you as far apart as your bones allow. It's typical of him, seeing how far he can take things. Push them to the limit. Always gets him in trouble. There's a click, as air escapes from the socket where your leg meets your pelvis.

"You good?" He checks and you respond with a kiss. Hands tangled in his hair, you hope it conveys the fact you've never felt better. He laughs a little, soft and serene, into your mouth, the weight of his body keeping you trapped beneath him.

You're morbid in your thoughts, and consider how nice it would be for Jungkook to suffocate you like this; steal you of the air you breathe with his tiny giggles of satisfaction. So, so nice, you think.

And so you tell him. You tell him that you want his hand on your throat. He takes a second to respond - not because he doesn't want to, but more so because he can't believe you actually asked.

He doesn't normally fuck the girls he cares about like this. Then again, he never really cares about the girls he fucks.

"God," you moan as he pushes one of your legs over his shoulder. His body is clammy against yours, skin hot and damp, chest lean but built. He's working hard; not just for his release. For yours too. Rams into you, stuffing your cunt with his cock, dipping his head to lather your clasped throat in wet kisses.

"That's it, sugar," he growls as his teeth graze your neck. "Need to hear how good you feel. Need to hear what my cock does to you. You owe me."

You want to laugh. You're about to laugh. But then his head dips down to your chest, and he latches onto one of your pebbled nipples, sucking so hard that all you can do is tremble. He knows you like this. Knows it makes your pussy all creamy and slippery for him - and like clockwork, he's proven right. The sounds are lewd. He loves it.

"On your back," you husk, punctuating your instruction with a whimper as he suckles even harder. He shakes his head, eyes closed, mouth vibrating and full of your tit. Not a chance, he tries to say, but it just sounds likes he's forgotten how to speak. Too busy. Too close to spilling himself into you. Doesn't wanna get distracted.

So focused, he doesn't realise you're pushing him over until you're on top. He frowns as he detaches from your nipple with a pop, but his hands are running all over your body regardless. Obviously doesn't care that much. Course he doesn't. That ache in his chest has settled.

Until he starts thinking about it, and oh god, it's back and it's fucking unbearable.

"C'mere," he pulls you flush against him, as your hips begin to work against him. His hands cradle your face so he can kiss you as deeply as he likes, tongue slipping into your mouth, as his cock slips up and down your pussy. This, he thinks, is it. This is what fucking should feel like.

"Shit," he whispers. "Shit."

The friction of his surprisingly neat hair that rests at the base of his cock is nice. Real fuckin' nice. You're not even fucking him anymore, just grinding against it. Using it, using him, to get yourself off.

You think you're being slick, like he won't notice - but he does. Of course, he does. He's obsessed with your body.

"God, yeah, baby," his back arches, pressing his chest against yours, eyes closed. "Use me like that. Use me," he bites into your shoulder gently. "Fucking use me."

He means it. Doesn't give a shit about himself anymore. Just wants to feel you tremble as he holds you close. Wants to press kisses against your lips as your moans become undignified. He needs to be the reason you cum; needs to be responsible for your oxytocin rush.

You sit up a little, and Jungkook holds back a pout from the separation - but how can he complain when you're sat like that, his cock buried inside of you, hair a mess and with eyes like his favourite constellation? He's hypnotised as your boobs begin to bounce, pussy working up his shaft like the true Daerim woman of the night you are. He's forgotten about all of that, now. Can't think about anything except for how to not fucking cum.

He can't and he won't. Not until you do. But you're bouncing, and it's wet, and he can hear it, and it feels so fuckin' good. His toes are curling, torso tensing, eyes half-shut, pretty little pout hanging open. He's fucking whining. "Yeah like that," he encourages. "Gonna milk me so well, baby. Gonna... ah. Fuck. Gonna-"

Jungkook can't fucking speak. He wants to. Wants to tell you how fucking beautiful you look, how he wants this endlessly, how he never wants to let you go. Needs to tell you how right this feels, how good you make him feel, how he doesn't understand his feelings but fuck, just that he is feeling. Feeling so much.

You're not sure at which point he started calling you baby, but you're actually convinced that the name alone could tip you over the edge.

The pace of your hips is slowly, savouring. He doesn't quite get it. You were so close. Why stop?

The stillness of your movements makes way for something new. He feels a throb around his fat cock, which is begging for release. Notices the way your chest is shaking like you've got hiccups, tiny whines of pleasure making themselves known. Your pussy was always warm, but it's hot now, contracting around him.

And then he gets it.

"Oh, shit," he mewls, his hips slowly pumping upwards. "Yeah, that's it, baby. Let yourself cum. All over my dick," he encourages, hedonistic and self-serving. "That's it. Cream for me."

His slow movements as he fucks up into you amplify the sensation, the tip of his cock nudging languidly against your tight walls. Your entire body shudders, the feeling rippling from your chest right down to your toes. You rasp out moans, the sensation all too powerful, a creamy mess pooling at the base of his shaft. There's a jerk as your muscles spasm, your orgasm well and truly delivered. He pulls you down and into his chest, his strong arms wrapped around your back.

Your body rests on his, spent and sensitive, and he can tell you can't hold out for much longer. He pushes back the hair that's sticking to your clammy face, and presses kisses into your temple.

"So big," you hum, voice hazy, eyes shut.

"Just a little more, baby," he promises. " You're doing so well. Just a little..."

You've considered how Jungkook would orgasm on more than one occasion - and you're pleasantly surprised to find that your imagination was wrong. There's no grand declaration, nor large grunt. He's not aggressive, either, like you'd half-hoped he would be.

Instead, Jungkook kisses you as his hips begin to stall. His brows are creased, moans muffled against your lips. His torso shudders, abdomen as tight as his balls. "Baby," he drowsily mewls, and then it's happening. His cock pumps into you, unloading thick creamy spurts with every stroke of your pussy. The first one is so desperate that you're almost positive you can feel it paint your insides. You moan along with him, utterly obsessed with this, him, whatever the fuck just happened.

He doesn't withdraw immediately. Just lays there and kisses your skin, absolutely spent.

You don't move a muscle. You don't want it to be over. Don't wanna lose this. Lose him.

When you tilt your head to look at him, he's smiling. Eyes closed, cheeks appled. Serene. In a state of fucked-out bliss.

You tell him that he's pretty, and he lets out an airy laugh, covering his face with one of his hands. You move his hand and watch him fondly, enthralled with the grin that he's struggling to fight.

He turns to look at you, and the smile he's been boasting amplifies. "God, you're gorgeous."

It's not a new observation; just one he's never voiced before. One that he was able to resist saying. But you're naked now, chest pillowed against his, eyes glowing and nose blushed.

You hum, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "I'm glad you chose to come here."

Just like that, there's a knot in Jungkook's stomach that seems to anchor that feeling he keeps having.

"Yeah," he nods. "Me too."

IT'S THREE IN the afternoon by the time you wake from your post-fuck snooze. Jungkook's never had one of those before. Hated being sticky after sex with anyone else. Always had to shower - but with you, he wants to stick to you like glue.

"Should have filmed that," he hums, the tips of his fingers stroking up your arms. You aren't sure if he's joking or not. "Would have given us a unique take on the project. Probably wouldn't have gotten us very high grades, mind you, but art is subjective."

"Some would argue that the critique of art is objective," you muse back, still blissfully cum-drunk from the events prior to your nap. Jungkook's nose has stopped bleeding, and the pair of you have almost forgotten the reason he showed up in the first place. "Documentary maker by night, porn star by day," you flirt. "Although it's cute that you think you fuck like a porn star."

"I felt you shaking," he says, knowing there's no possible way that you didn't enjoy it. His nose feels a little cold after all the trauma of the morning, so he buries it into your hair. "Can't fake that."

"That's what I'm saying," you simper, pressing a kiss against his bare torso, just below the meeting of his collarbones. And then another, simply for good measure. "Porn stars never actually look like they're making the woman feel any good." You trail down his chest, tongue licking gently at the darker skin around his nipple. "You... yeah you don't fuck like a porn star." And then you suck a little. He hisses, in the best possible way.

"Don't," he says. "Not ready to go again."

You laugh.

Jungkook thinks he's reached Nirvana. Almost certain, in fact. Never had a girl do that to him before. He loves to give it, but hasn't ever thought to receive it. Wonders what other things you'll do to him that he's never had done before. He can feel his cock fucking twitching again, achy and sore, definitely not recovered yet from how hard he went earlier - but god, he wants it. Wants to bury himself inside you again. Belong to you.

His hands paw at you, one gripping on your chest, the other on your ass, pulling you closer. Your leg hooks over him, and he can feel how wet you still are on the side of his thigh. His balls fucking tighten. He can feel it happening, blood rushing to his crotch.

Yet despite it all, he just kisses you. Softly. Tenderly. Merely his lips languid between yours. Withdraws slowly. Keeps his eyes closed. Bliss.

"The fuck have you done to me, sugar?" he whispers, dark eyes opening to look into yours. His speech is husky, like he trying to steal the answers of a pop-quiz from you. You can't help him. You don't have a clue what the answer is. You're just as stuck as he is. "Got me feeling all fuzzy 'n' shit."

"Just a sugar rush," you smile. "It'll pass."

You're both acutely aware that it won't, but that will be a problem for another day.

"Tell you what," Jungkook muses, though his thoughts are shallow. He's not digging deep. Just talking for the sake of it. "I might not fuck like a porn star, but you don't fuck like a hooker."

He pulls your arm up so that he can study the crease of your elbow. You let him move your body like you're a barbie doll. You'll be his toy, you think, if he wants. No bother.

His fingers press at the thin skin that covers your veins, inspecting.

"Not a scratch," he assesses. "So you're not an addict either."

You laugh, slightly amused. "No? Maybe I just don't inject."

Jungkook gives you a stern look. Hopes you're joking. Tells you that you better fucking be joking. The sweetness of your laughter tells him that you are.

"So?" you press. "I'm not a prostitute and I'm not an addict. It's your lucky day. What of it?"

Jungkook tilts his head down so that his nose is nestled into the crown of your head again. Comforting, he thinks. Smells like laundry. You must have washed your sheets recently.

His next statement takes you off guard.

"Only ever see three kinds of women down in Daerim."

And you know.

You know he knows.

You can feel it in the way he protectively presses his lips into your skull, as if he's Prince Charming trying to rid his Sleeping Beauty of the nightmare she's been living. Wake up.

But Prince Charming rides a white horse, not a petrol-spitting, air-cooled, steel-framed shadow that rips through the city at night.

There are no nightmares, either. You're already wide awake. There's no saving you.

He sighs against your head. Pauses. Resists, and then confronts.

"I know what you do in the dark, sugar."

You don't say anything for a moment, and then you're pulling away from him, reaching for your shirt. He doesn't like this. Misses your warmth, but doesn't stop you. Instead, he follows, sitting on the edge of your bed, the corner of your comforter lazily protecting his modesty. His muscles are relaxed now, a little crease in his stomach from the way that he's slouching, hands in his lap. Those Bambi eyes of his are peaking through his hair, cheeks red and grazed from the morning encounter he'd had in Daerim.

He watches as you pull your shirt over your head, hair just as messy as his, and a graze on your cheek to match. He was pretty certain before that it had been carpet burn, but now that he's seen it up close, softly rubbed his thumb against it during pretty kisses, he's sure of it.

You avert his gaze. Feel shameful. Hate that he knows. You never cared before. It was just a fun little secret, the fact that he didn't know you were no angel.

But you want him to think that you're one, now.

For a moment, you were sure that he had.

Instead, now, it feels like you're falling from grace.

He reaches for your hand, but you pull it back. "Please don't."

And so he doesn't. Just sits for a little while instead. "Do you want me to get dressed?"

You really don't.

But your tongue is lodged in your mouth and it won't budge. You turn away, internally furious with yourself. It's been a while since you've gotten like this; so dreadfully panicked that you can't talk. It's a once in a blue moon kind of thing, the early onset of a panic attack, but you're hoping it won't reach the stage of no return. Praying.

"Babe?"

He sounds worried now, and it's making it worse. Feels like you've just reached the top of Bukhan Mountain without taking a second to catch your breath.

Has your chest always been this tight? Or has someone just been wrapping rubber bands around your torso without you noticing?

It isn't possible, and you know this, but it feels like it and - oh God - you can hear him shuffling, the buckle of his belt clanging. He's leaving, he's leaving, he's leaving, your ribs cackle as they close down on your lungs.

There's a light hum behind you, like a wasp is coming to send you into a state of anaphylactic shock and then it stops. His jeans are tossed to the floor once more.

"Yoongi?" Jungkook speaks quietly behind you into the receiver of his phone. "Wassu- Yeah, yeah, I'm safe. I'm good."

I'm safe.

I'm good.

"Where are- Yoongi stop. Stop it. I'm being deadly fucking serious-"

You don't realise it, but your chest begins to mellow as you listen in to his conversation.

"It's my mess!" He shouts now. "I'll fucking fix it. I don't give a fuck what Hobi says. Where you at? The Zoo? I'll be there- Yes, I will. Don't do anything fucking stupid."

And then he hangs up, chucking his phone into your bed with more aggression than he'd ever wanted to show in your presence. You don't see it, back still turned, but you hear it, the way his phone rebounds against the springs of your mattress.

"Shit," he hisses, and when you turn to face him, you find that his head is in his hands, elbows on his knees.

Crouching by him, your chest expands. You don't give a shit about yourself anymore. Your palms rest just behind his elbows, eyes anchored below his, looking up.

"He's got his fucking final in an hour," is all Jungkook says. "He's gonna miss his fucking final."

He lifts his head, tender lips pouted, eyes bloodshot from the pressure he's been placing on his palms. Looks right at you. Decides he'll never trust another pair of eyes more.

"I know what you do in the dark, sugar," he relays. "But I do worse. So much fucking worse. And I've just gone and fucked it all up."

And while he blames it all on himself, you know it's your fault.

He didn't stay away from the girl. He tempted fate, tugged on the red string, and accidentally snapped it.

Forlorn, he slumps, tongue wetting his bottom lip as he bites down on it. It's only to stop it from trembling. Clouds lurk in his eyes, trying to block his vulnerabilities from you, but it doesn't take a genius to work out that he's scared.

"Take it," you say, lips in a flat line, eyes stern. You nod towards the pile of cash on your desk, and his eyes follow. "Take it. Pay your debts. I can earn it again. I don't have a deadline. You do."

He shakes his head.

"I'm not taking the money you've earned."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm not," he protests and you've got it in your right mind to slap his pretty face silly. "Gonna be totally honest," he adds, "Don't really want your sugar baby money. Kinda resent it a little. Resent the fucker who gave it to you."

Jungkook hates him.

Doesn't know him.

Loathes him.

"So then give him the middle finger and take it," you plead. "He got you fucked up into this mess, he got you jumped, he got your stash stolen. Take his money and get yourself and Yoongi out of it. You don't have time to be fucking arguing with me."

He wants to fight back. You stop him.

"We can argue later," you promise.

And that ever-present effervescent feeling is back in his chest.

"Sugar," he speaks quietly. "Don't do this."

"Kook," you respond, voice much firmer than his. "You gotta do this. Yoongi shouldn't be fixing your mistakes and you know it. We can work it out on an I.O.U. basis. It's okay."

"I.O.U. suggests I'm gonna keep seeing you for a while," Jungkook mumbles. He isn't feeling as confident in himself as he had done earlier.

You stand, offering your hand to him so that you can pull him up with you. Neither of you acknowledge the fact that he's stark bollock naked. It's really not the time. Nothing you haven't seen before, after all.

"Well, yeah," you shrug with a straight face, but there's a glint in your eye. "I'd hope so. Pretty sure you said you were fuck my tits later? Gotta hold up your end of the bargain, sugar."

And despite it all, he laughs, toying with your hands before slipping his finger between yours. "Don't call me that."

"Why not?" You squeeze his hands. "You're technically my sugar baby now."

"That's not how it works."

God, he knows he shouldn't be fucking about, wasting time flirting, but he just can't help himself.

"No?" You question, equally distracted.

"No," he says. "If you're paying me, and I'm fucking you, then that makes me a hooker."

He's not wrong.

"Oh, that's kinda hot," you smile, pulling gently on his hands to encourage him to lean down. He does as he's told, and kisses you like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You're so fucked up," he whispers against you, knowing that it's exactly why he enjoys you so much.

You don't let the moment linger, though, tossing him his clothes and going to grab the money while he dresses himself. You stack it together, all nice and neat, using the desk to straighten the edges. The wedge is thick in your hands. Yellow 50's are laughing at you. Stupid girl thought we'd fix her problems, they chatter silently to one another.

"Three and half million won," you hold it out to Jungkook. He hesitates, so you force his grip around it and let go. It's his problem, now. Not yours. You smile so warmly that Jungkook can't help but let that feeling in his chest simmer. Your hair is still messy, mascara still smudged. He wants to kiss your cheeks.

Jungkook hasn't disclosed what exactly was in his bag.

But in the same way he knows there are only three types of women in Daerim, you know there are equally only three types of men.

There's only one demographic that he belongs to. Yoongi, too.

You don't say it explicitly, not like he does.

"Holangi are nasty fuckers," you acknowledge. "I know they raise the stakes just for the fun of it. Whatever got stolen, the street value doesn't matter. Take it all. You'll need it."

Take what I owe you.

When he kisses you goodbye, it's just like the first time; all breathy and needy, lips parted and pouting. Again and again, he presses down into your lips. His brows furrow, hands on your cheeks, chest pressed against yours.

The crimson paint that had stained you from his very first kiss returns. You're painted in red for the second time that morning, but this time only you can see it. Only you can feel it.

That's her. That's the girl who let Jeon Jungkook kiss her like he actually meant it.

But it's funny now, because you know that he does mean it.

When he finally leaves, his nose is blushed, his cupids bow too. Eyes glassy. Smile forlorn.

Disappointingly, as you close the door of your apartment when he's no longer in your line of sight, you remember exactly how Jungkook had kissed you for the first time:

Like it was going to be the last.

And it consumes you, because the kiss you just shared felt exactly the same.

Your chest is uncomfortable again, but it's not rubber bands this time.

It's that stupid red string that Jungkook had tugged too tightly on.

The one that he'd snapped right in half.

WATTPAD // AO3 // KO-FI // CARRD

#jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fanfic #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook oneshot

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pedge-page · 11 months ago

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#5 Joel dealing with his fiesty preggo wife - angry af

Can be read with others in the series or standalone

Notes: Pedro chewing gum between takes on set does things to me.

Warnings: unprotected rough sex, Daddy kink, degrading language, reader being mean at first but Joel gives it right back *winkwink*

18+ ONLY

- - - -

The two of you are sitting in the living room on your respective sofas. You keep giving Joel the devil eye from your book in your lap as he watched the football game on TV.

Eventually, you roll your eyes, slam your pages shut and stand up, barreling past him and intentionally knocking your shin angrily against his knee.

"The fuck?" He coughs.

"You're fucking annoying, Miller."

"Funny, thought that was your name too now?" He quips, eyes staring back ahead to the TV while he points to the gold band on his left finger. "What have I done now?"

"Your chewing."

Joel side eyes you, expression unchanged as he blows the most obnoxious bubble from his gum imaginable before letting it pop! and sucking back in his mouth to chew. "What about?"

“It's annoying. And you're disgusting."

"Am I now? What else?"

"You've got a big ugly ass nose, too."

As much as Joel suspected this angry outburst out of nowhere was just the pregnancy setting every little nerve on edge with you, he want exactly privy to being attacked with your foul words.

"S'that right? you didn't seem to have a problem with my big ugly ass nose last night when you came four times from this snout nudging your little clit when I ate ya out."

"I was fakin' it," you scoff unconvincingly, the both of you knowing it’s a lie. But you refuse to back down. "While we're at it, here's another thing: You eat pussy like a bitch."

Joel Miller did not like it when a woman had to fake shit around him. Let alone his woman obviously lying about faking it. He stands up, the broad physique of his body instantly shadowing yours. "Ya know, I don't really like your tone today, young lady." He approaches you calmly but with a threatening predatory aura.

You tilt your head mockingly. “Yeah? My young lady self is stuck here with your old, miserable, lazy ass." You don't shuffle away, feet staying planted where they are until he's directly on top of you. Your eyes narrow, challenging one another. "It's a honestly a miracle that you even knocked me up with your wrinkly, shriveled, limp dic—“

Being married is a funny thing. Sometimes you don’t even have to say what it is you don’t realize you need, but your spouse is very adapt at picking up on it. Like right now, with face being shoved into the headrest of the couch by your husband’s meaty hand on top of your head, pregnant belly hanging over the curve of the cushion while you’re knees rub against the plush seat, Joel’s incessantly powerful hips driving forcefully into your stuffed cunt over and over again like a screen door in a hurricane.

You’re smiling like a happy drunk, moaning off the top of your lungs as Joel’s cock continues to fill you effortlessly. He’s grunting and swearing, drips of his sweat trickling on to your arched back. Normally this position would hurt, especially with the extra 30 pounds of weight in your middle completely weighing you down, pressing uncomfortably into the couch, but my, oh my does it feel like a incredulous weight off your once aggravated mind.

“Ugh--ahh! FUck!” You cry, teeth sinking into the plush leather.

“What? Ya tired already?" he taunts, panting gleefully at your submissive state. "You wanted this. Remember? Just needed a good fucking, is that it?” He seethes, rutting his hips like daggers.

You nod dumbly, elbows fighting to keep you and the baby from being plowed into the cushion. You throw as much of your weight back on to him with each thrust, forcing him deeper.

“Yeah, oh fuck me baby— yeah that’s it.” He licks his lips, watching the spot where your swollen and glistening pussy continues to suck his length back in. “My poor little wife, needed her cunt fucked stupid to get that little brain to shut off. Little cumdump gettin all antsy, startin’ a fight when she just needed a fresh fillin'. Don’t you worry, angel. Daddy’s here to put ya back in your place.”

With one hand still forcing your face into the headrest, the other is gripping your meaty hip, bringing you flush against his thighs with each puncture. You can feel him reaching the deepest part of you, the part that you didn’t know needed itched until Joel knew to stick his cock in it.

“Ye-yes daddy!” you whine when he hits that squishy spot inside that has you seeing stars, finger nails biting into the leather as you milk his cock with your orgasm.

“Ah-fuck yeah baby, keep goin’, keep cummin’ on Daddy’s dick—that’s my whore—my good wife—FUCK yeah!—fuuucckkk, ya needed that cum, I can feel it. Squeezin’ me so god damn tight. That’s it, just let go, give me everything, Daddy’s got ya.”

And what made Joel Miller so different, so husband and now soon-to-be-father worthy, is that, even though he’s railing his heavily pregnant wife in a position that would cause most women pain, you were as comfortable as can be. Despite the aggression that poured from his lips and hips, his hands occasionally cradled your tummy, checking on the baby’s movements. Glides down your back, massaging your spine to ensure you’re relaxed and not cramping. Listens for your breathing, the sounds that escape your throat, waiting for any sign that you might be in pain. He’s constantly making small adjustments for your comfort without you even fully realizing it. You couldn’t be more in love with him.

And his big fat delicious cock that put a beautiful baby in you and hopefully, will continue to do so for many years to come.

- - - -

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berryz-writes · 5 months ago

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You're mine, sweetheart

Summary: Theo cheers you up after a shit day

Theodore Nott x reader

Pansy looked me up and down, hate simmering in her eyes. She scoffed "Don't tell me that's what your wearing. You look like an absolute slag"

After being best friends with her for our first few years and realising how toxic she really was I had tried to keep my distance from her but she didn't get the hint and instead liked to comment on each and every thing I did. Of course the comments hurt me but maybe after the years they just didn't hurt as much. Maybe I was immune now. The dress I had chosen for this nights party was a short green dress, something to celebrate our Quidditch win but of course the dress didn't live up to her expectations. What was really annoying was she wore a similar dress just a few weeks back but according to her I was the one who looked like a slag.

"I think it looks nice Pansy"

I turned to my mirror and applied a light pink lip gloss that was almost finished because of the amount of times I had used it. I couldn't be bothered arguing with her tonight. I wasn't about to let her ruin my mood.

"I bet you tried finding the shortest dress in that store"

I rolled my eyes "What are you on about?" I was getting tired of her stupid, annoying comments.

"You know exactly what I'm on about. Don't think Theo's gonna fuck you after this, honey. Your just like all the other desperate bitches at the party"

I gritted my teeth together and put my lip gloss down trying to appear as unaffected as I could. "Fuck off. Jealousy isn't a good look on you"

I walked past her, tears forming in my eyes. Before I could leave she made sure to mutter "Once a whore, always a whore". I let my feet carry me outside to the warm summer evening where the sun was setting. I walked around the lake trying to blink away the tears so my makeup wouldn't be ruined. Was there any point of going to the party? No, probably not.

I sat down on hill, the freshly mowed grass making a soft carpet for me to relax on. Me and Theo had sat hear many times before whether it was to have a late night snack or to miss lessons. It was a comforting place.

I sat there until the sun set and soon it got darker. Almost too dark. My thoughts had cleared now. My tears no longer trying to make an appearance. Maybe I could join the party. Just because one person was being an ass didn't mean everyone else would be.

As I was contemplating on whether I should stand up or not someone cleared their throat behind me. I raised my wand instantly expecting...well something scary I guess.

It was in fact Theo holding a small golden lantern. I didn't bother standing up and instead waited for him to flop down next to me.

"My favourite person isn't going to congratulate me on my performance today?" He placed the lantern between us so we were both bathed in a warm orange light. I could just about make him out, his features looking almost worried.

"You were good." I said. I didn't have the social battery to talk to him right now even if he had done nothing wrong.

He smiled at me "I know. What's up with you? Your usually dragging me to parties but instead your...well from my point of view it looks like your mourning your rabbit"

I let out a small laugh. Even at times like these he could make me laugh. "I just don't understand. Why is it so hard for some people to be nice?"

Theo shrugged "They're probably insecure. Or jealous."

"Yeah. Probably"

We sat in silence for another few minutes before Theo stood up stretching out his hand to me "Come on, sweetheart. Your the life of the party. It's no fun without you"

I stood up and handed him the lantern instead "You can be the life of the party tonight. I'm tired"

"Don't let someone ruin what you want to do. Y/n you love parties. You've never missed one. Unless you really are tired, I'll respect your decision and walk with you to your room"

I contemplated my options. I could do what I really wanted to do which was go to the party and enjoy life with my friends or I could get cosy in my bed and feel like a coward for the next week. He was right. No one got to influence what I wanted to do.

"Your playing truth or drink with me then"

He grinned at me "Whatever you want, sweetheart"

As we walked back inside the castle from a more hidden entrance Theo made sure to hold my hand because apparently he "didn't want me to trip and get hurt". Whatever the reason was it didn't stop butterflies from forming in my stomach.

I had to blink at the sudden brightness of the corridors, the light finally letting me see Theo clearly. He had dropped my hand and instead was surveying me.

Theo's eyes took their time on inspecting my outfit, hungrily devouring the way the dress emphasised my curves. He finally brought his gaze up to look at me, his eyes slightly darker than usual "You look absolutely divine"

I smiled at the compliment "If you weren't my best friend, I'd say you were flirting with me"

He raised an eyebrow "Maybe I am. It's quite hard not to when my best friend is so fucking gorgeous" My cheeks heated at his words, my dress feeling a little too tight all of a sudden. I think I needed to sit down after that.

He extended his arm so I could wrap my hand around it. "I can't wait to tell everyone we're dating"

I paused. What did he say? "If that's ok with you" He added hastily.

I thought about what he said. Had I always imagined what it would be like if Theo asked me out and we weren't just best friends anymore? Of course I did. Every single second of every single day.

"That's fine with me"

He smiled again, a small dimple appearing in his left cheek "Then it's settled. Your mine, sweetheart. And I'm yours"

#theo nott x reader #theo nott imagine #theo x reader #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x slytherin!reader #theodore noise #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #slytherin boys

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yanchive · 6 months ago

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Tsundere turned Yandere?

Listen, I reaaallly don't like tsunderes, I find the concept to be annoying, having someone essentially treat you like shit because they can't grow a pair and accept their feelings for you.

But, the concept of a tsun going yandere sounds pretty interesting.

Surely, after dealing with so many snarky comments and polarizing experiences, not knowing if they genuinely enjoy your presence/friendship or if their just tolerating you because you two share an overlapping social circle. There's only so much you can take recieving gifts from them only for them to turn around act like it was burden to go all the way to the store to buy you it even though you never asked. Like, who does that? Gets mad at YOU for giving YOU gifts...?

It makes you stressed. The contradiction of verbal abuse and caring, affectionate actions leave you confused and annoyed. Eventually, the only right thing to do for your sanity is drop them as a friend. Yeah, you'd probably have to drop the other couple friends that are part of each of your social circle, but if it meant not being overwhelmed with gifts, affection, and berating comments, then so be it.

You break the news to them after another encounter. They had called you stupid for being cold one day(it was the middle of winter, why tf wouldn't you be cold!?). They began dragging you to the nearest café for a cup of hot chocolate, but you pulled away and confessed how your feeling. You wanted to do it as cordial as possible, but that uneeded insult had you being a little harsher than you liked it to be.

To be honest, it made you feel bad for a second, when you saw their resting bitch face melt away, their eyes going wide as they flinched away from you when you raised your voice. A look crossed their face that you couldn't quite discern, but you can tell it fell under the line of surprise and sadness. Heartbreak, maybe? But why would they be heartbroken? They've been nothing but a pain in the ass to you.

You fled before they could shake themselves from their shock and respond. They called after you, but you can tell by their fading calls, they were not following after you.

You blocked them on everything, and explained the situation to your friends before leaving all groupchats that had the little brat in them, and took the week off to settle your nerves and hide away. Not because you thought anything bad would happen, but just to hope whatever possible attempts at contact would wash over when they'll eventually(hopefully) give up. You knew a few times you got them coming to your door, but you never bothered to respond.

Once the week ended, and you decided to enter back into society, the first few days went by smoothly. Only to be awoken one morning to barrage of texts and missed phone calls from an unknown number.

The texts started off tame. A wave of apologies and begs of forgiveness. Confessions of love and compliments, telling you how they never meant to hurt you. How they were terrified of you finding out they were in love. The fear of rejection was so bad that they completely overlooked how their actions would affect you. It got more and more incoherent and unhinged until it was nothing but a massive load of photos taken of you throughout the past few days. Distant photos. You're in a grocery store in the first few photos. Going down multiple aisles. You're getting milk and eggs in one, chips and soda in another, deodorant, and body wash in these one. At the checkout lane in the last.

You're at a gas station in the next. Someone was taken the photos from within their car. You're stepping out of your own. Heading into the station. They're zoomed into the window, getting your blurry silhouette at the register. And dozens of you just standing at the pump filling your car.

They have you at your workplace, on a walk, at a restaurant, and a coffee shop. They put little quips of how amazing you looked in the photos, how you made them feel. They talked about wanting to snap the neck of the waiter who took your order when they made you laugh.

Voicemails were them alternating from having straight up mental breakdowns, sobbing uncontrollably as they tried to plead for forgiveness between each gasp of air. Others were just straight rambles, detailing their stalking and reiterating the same affectionate compliments found in the texts. They went on about how they dream of dates with you, how your wedding would look. It was such a 180 from how they used to be. Did that one argument seriously have them snap this bad?

You told them off before blocking their number, attempting to continue your day, albeit so much more paranoid that you liked it to be.

It was terrifying. No matter how much you looked over your shoulder, studied every single person in your vicinity, and tried to blend yourself in the crowds, you could never catch a glimpse of their face, nor shake the unnerving feeling of eyes burning into your body.

Gifts would start showing up at your doorsteps and workplace. Almost every day you were continuously blocking new numbers to try and get them to stop sending you messages and photos of you with no such luck.

You were at your wits end. None of your friends could help. Hell, several of them just seemed to disappear. They just quit contacting you. Police were only minor help, actually taking it a little bit seriously until they came back and told you they talked to your alleged stalker and determined it couldn't possibly be them and that you should contact them when this alleged stalker began getting aggressive. (Hello?? You have voicemails of their fucking voice what do you mean its not them!? You knew this town was shit...)

Though, one good thing came out of contacting the police. It seemed to have scared them enough to halt their harassment. All phone calls and texts came to an end. No more gifts. You could finally breathe.

This continued for a couple weeks. Life returned back to normal. So normal, in fact, that you finally felt safe enough to attend a bar party with a few coworkers one night, just to celebrate what you thought was your new found freedom.

Its just... such a coincidence you weren't the only one invited. Not that you knew. No, not until the next morning after a horrendous hangover. A hangover you weren't expecting. You had one drink, didn't you? Why does it feel so much worse than a hangover? And why can't you move your body? When did you have so many photos of yourself in your room?

And why is their a familiar face looking down at you with that unsettling grin?

#yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere imagine #tsunder yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x gn reader #gn yandere #ill only accept tsuns if you can turn em yandere

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surielstea · 6 months ago

Text

Bejeweled Daggers

Based on this request.

Pairing: Azriel x Bimbo!FemReader

Summary: Reader struggles to find her place in the Inner Circle, Az comforts her.

Warnings: Amren’s a bitch but it’s canon | angst (not inflicted by Az) | Hurt/Comfort

3.8k words

I pad into my mate's study with a wild grin on my face, holding my minidress tight to my body as I approach the male who was peacefully reading.

"The others will be here any minute," I croon and Azriel's eyes drag from the page of his book to me, raking up my figure, the strapless dress putting the expanse of my neck and collar bone on display. "Can you tie me?" I whirl around and as a reply he grips the strings of my corset and then pulls tight, knowing exactly how much I hated it when it was too loose.

"I haven't seen this dress," He muttered as he tied the strings into bows. I turn my head to look at him.

"Cause I bought a new one, duh," I roll my eyes. "I should've guessed," He smiled softly and once he was done with my corset I spun back around.

"You like it? The clerk said it looked like it was made for me when I tried it on," I flash him a toothy grin and he returns it with a smirk.

"It's very pretty, but we talked about length," He hums and I groan, slinging my arms around his neck.

"C'mon Azzie, everyone knows I'm yours," I sing, kissing up the column of his throat, he swallows thickly in control.

"Cassian needs a reminder," The shadow singer grumbled beneath his breath and I giggled, rising onto the tips of my toes and pecking his lips, which he returned chastely.

"You're so cute," I say and he smiles down at me.

"Likewise, love," He inclines and presses a kiss to my temple, then pecks all over my face until he finally finds my lips.

I sling my arms around the back of his neck and lean closer, pulling him into me as my chest presses against his.

I smile against the feel of his lips sealed over mine, the familiarity and warmth of it making me grin like a madwoman. He pulled back with a sloppy smirk and I giggled at the blush tinging his cheeks, reaching forward and wiping the lipgloss off his bottom lip. "If you ruined my makeup I'm gonna kill you," I threaten and he shakes his head.

"It's just lipgloss," He shrugs innocently, clearly guilty of messing it up.

"It's expensive, I can't reapply it every five seconds because you want to kiss me," I reason and he frowns.

"I'll buy you all the lipgloss you want," He hums. "Just let me kiss you," He sighed, his hands roaming from my waist down to the curve of my ass, gripping it in his large hands. I squeal at his sudden urge and pull him closer, pressing a soft kiss to his neck.

"Now you're all glittery," I murmur, pulling away and wiping at his neck.

"Everything you touch turns to glitter," He says and I scowl up at him. "In a good way, my love," He smiles down at me but before my grin can return he adds, "Except that one time you bedazzled truth-teller, don't ever do that again," He said, his voice cold but my mischievous giggle cut right through it.

"It was so funny when you had to torture that guy with a sparkly knife," I murmur past my laugh and he glares at me.

"It took me weeks to get that shit off, I'm still finding sequins on it," He sighed and I only continue to cackle, entirely forgetting that Cassian and I had done that when Azriel foolishly left the sacred knife out on the counter.

"I was trying to teach you a lesson," I roll my eyes.

"Yeah? What lesson is that?" He looks down at me pointedly and I smile like a maniac.

"Not to leave sharp objects out," I shrug.

"You're right, I should've known two fully grown five hundred-year-olds would put glitter on my knife," He grumbled.

"Or, children, I'm just saying don't make a habit out of putting weapons in low places," I add, wrapping my arms around his torso, propping my chin up on his chest as I stare up at him. He looks at me with slight shock. This is the first time I had ever expressed wanting a child before, to say he was stunned as well as relieved was an understatement.

A knock at the front door makes his shoulders tense and I beam, rising onto my toes and pecking his lips before slipping from his grasp and leaving the office.

When I opened the door I was met with a wide-grinned Cassian and a thoroughly annoyed Nesta. My smile matches the Illyrian’s and I open the door wider for them to come in. "You guys are early," I croon.

"Cassian insisted on it," Nesta huffs, shucking off her jacket and hanging it on the hook

"Oh don't act like you don't want to be here," I beam wildly at her. "Or are you still pissed I missed training?" I sigh dramatically.

"For the third time in a row? Yes," She nodded, making her way to the dining table where a charcuterie board sat lined with cheeses and crackers, she opted for a grape, popping it into her mouth with a contemplative look on her face.

"I don't understand, if Azriel shows up to help train what are you doing at home?" She grumbled but before I could reply Azriel's arm slithers around my waist.

"She insists on getting her beauty rest," Azriel excuses and I smile wickedly.

"It's not my fault I'm tired after you keep me up all night," I tease and Nesta's cheeks flush pink, making me giggle. "I'll come to the next training I promise, I'm sure Cassian will have my head if I don't," I say, looking to the warrior who was currently stuffing his mouth full of cheese and crackers, not paying any mind to the three of us.

The knock at the door makes my grin falter slightly but Azriel was quick to answer it.

I had always been the closest with Nesta out of everyone in the inner circle. Feyre was kind and Rhys was charming, but they all kind of looked at me as if I was only some ditzy girl. Which, granted, wasn't far off but they belittled me and took pity on Azriel for being stuck with a girl like me as a mate. Nesta saw the way they looked at me and knew how it felt to be undermined.

Azriel had reassured me a multitude of times that I was the only one for him, that I was a Carynthian warrior far greater than a pretty face. "Deep breaths," Nesta mumbles as Amren, Rhysand, and Feyre with Nyx in her arms file into the house. I bump her lightly with my shoulder and she returns it playfully.

I greeted the guests with a bright smile on my face, and Nyx was particularly pleased to see me. "Hi, little lord," I say as I take the two-year-old from Feyre's arms, propping him on my hip.

"Auntie I missed you," He clings to my side, nuzzling his face into my shoulder and I giggle.

“I think Uncle Az and I are watching you soon," I say and he cheers with a wide smile, that smile is one of the reasons I wanted a kid in the first place. If baby fever was a person, it'd take the form of Nyx.

The inner circle had come over to talk strategy on how to get each court to sign Rhysand's new peace treaty, humans included. Apparently, they've been working on this since the war with Hybern, the entire thing managing to fly under my radar.

Everyone was in the sitting room, staring at a large map of Prythian sprawled out on the coffee table along with dates and schedules scribbled along the borders of it. I had tuned out most of what they were saying, using confusing language and names of people whom I did not know made me lose interest and grow frustrated with my lack of comprehension.

I stuffed my face into Azriel's neck defeated, my legs sprawled over his lap as he traced with the hem of my skirt.

"You tired, baby?" He murmurs quietly and I shake my head no with a huff. "What's wrong, hm?" He nudges the side of my face with his nose and I slowly lift from the crook of his shoulder to look at him.

"I'm just confused, I don't know this stuff," I sigh, toying with my hands anxiously. His fingers intertwine with my fidgeting ones, calming me. I hated not understanding, it put me on edge. Being raised in the hewn city without a clue of what the real world was supposed to look like would do that to you.

"I'll walk you through it later tonight okay?" He tilts his head and I nod with creased brows. His other hand comes to my jaw, scarred thumb brushing over my cheek reassuringly. "Don't worry so much, I'll explain whatever you want alright?" He stresses and I reply with a dip of my head, then lean on his shoulder again.

I place soft pecks on his neck throughout the rest of the meeting, ignoring the others and focusing on my mate, and him alone. After a few more minutes of just dwelling there, attempting to tune out their words I begin to wear out and know better than to distract Azriel with my boredom.

I swing my legs off of Azriel's lap and stand with quiet movements. Azriel looked up at me curiously, hand linking with mine, silently asking where I was going.

"I think you're right, I'm just tired," I whisper and he hesitates, then inevitably nods— but before I can leave his grasp he pulls me closer, quietly demanding a kiss with a dramatic pucker of his lips. I roll my eyes at his dramatics but lean down nonetheless and chastely plant a kiss on his mouth.

"I'll see you in the morning, alright?" I murmur against his lips and he nods with a soft smile. I mirror it and he allows me to leave his hold. "Night Nes," I pat her shoulder and she looks up at me tiredly.

"I better see you at training tomorrow," She warns and I wave her off with a flick of my hand.

"We'll see," I tease as I travel down the hall.

I tried to sleep but it hadn't come. Truthfully I wasn't tired, I just wanted to get away from the stares of the others. I could still feel their eyes on me. Defiling and obvious like they weren't trying to hide their dislike for me.

I run a bath, eager to wash that feeling of their eyes on me off. I tie my hair up and add soaps and oils to the water, running my hand under it until it gets hot before stripping down and stepping into the basin that was slowly filling. A shiver runs down my spine at the sudden change of temperature, my body tensing at first then muscles relaxing into the water. I sigh in slight relief and lean onto the back of the tub, pearlescent bubbles slowly beading along the surface of the water in a pastel pink shade.

I smile and gather a pile of foam in my hands, lightly blowing air into them and creating a larger bubble. I smile but the expression drops when I hear a loud shout over the sound of the running water. I crease my brows when I recognize the voice as Azriel’s.

Quickly I turn off the faucet and allow the room to go silent. Azriel never shouted, so I was confused as to what all the ruckus was about.

“You have no right to speak of her like that,” My mate claims on the other side of the wall and my back straightens at the coldness in his voice. He was beyond angry.

“I’m just saying, she doesn’t really belong with the rest of us,” Amren’s unmistakable voice made the water around me suddenly feel cold.

“What the hel is wrong with you?” Nesta spews.

“She's my mate, I don’t give a fuck if you think she belongs or not,” Azriel claims, and my eyes widen, my hands coming up to my mouth. They were talking about me. Quickly I move closer to the wall, hovering beside it to get better audibility. Was it eavesdropping if it was me they were discussing?

“Amren you promised you wouldn’t do this,” A voice sighed so quietly I couldn’t make out who it was.

“You talked about this before you came?” Nesta rages, her voice louder as if she was standing now.

“She’s a Carynthian, most of you can’t even claim that title yet you’re so quick to underestimate her,” Cassian’s defending voice was close, like he was leaning against the connecting wall between me and the sitting room.

“I’m only stating the truth, what does she bring to the table?” Amren continued and I could practically feel Azriel’s bloodlust seeping through the walls, the lights of the bathroom flickered and I realized he was draining the light, his shadows absorbing any existing brightness.

“Get out of my fucking house,” Azriel seethes and offers no other words to the eldest of the group and I imagine she stormed off because the next thing I hear is the front door slamming shut.

There's a moment of shared silence, but no words come before the same door opens and shuts again.

There were muttering and sighs in the next room over but there were no words I was capable of making out. I could tell by the tone as well as the femininity that it was Nesta speaking, I could only assume Cassian stuck around with her as well and was proven correct when I heard the familiar warmth of his voice a moment later.

It wasn’t long before they left as well. Leaving the house silent and the lights dim.

I couldn’t help but let the tears slip from my eyes, I felt pathetic for silently crying over Amren’s lone opinion but it hurt. The inner circle knew Azriel better than anyone, if they truly thought I didn’t bring anything forward then perhaps I wasn’t the one for Azriel, maybe the cauldron managed to get it wrong, even if I loved him more than anything.

“Love?” The soft knock at the door makes me startle, quickly wipe away my tears as I move away from the wall I had my ear pressed to.

“Come in,” My voice cracks but I pray he didn’t recognize it. The door creaks, shadows come in first, then him. I smile at him softly and he mirrors it.

“I thought you were going to bed?” He asks and I shrug.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I murmur and he comes closer, grabbing the stool from my vanity and pulling it to the rim of the tub, placing himself on it and I find myself amused at the view of the intimidating Shadow Singer on my fluffy pink stool.

“You hear all that?” He creases his brows. I give a dip of my head with a small frown pulling at my lips. “Don’t let it get to you, alright?” He stresses and I nod again while muttering, “I know.”

He sighs, his expression softening as I avoid his gaze and continue to admire the pastel bubbles that made the room smell like peaches. “Come over here, I’ll wash your hair,” He offers and I flick my eyes up to him with a small look of hesitance, he nods reassuringly and I do as he says, turning around and backing myself against his side of the tub.

He tilted my head back before pouring warm water down my locks, running his hands through it smoothly with the gentlest of detangles when he found a knot near the ends. After my hair was successfully wet he lathered it in my most luxurious shampoo. I cared deeply about my appearance, it took a lot of time to look as pretty as I did, but at this moment I hadn’t felt any of it, just dejection and a sense of exclusion.

Shadows dipped into the water and then sprung from the surface in playful loops, noticing my low spirits and attempting to cheer me up. I smile and reach my hand out towards the darkness, to which the strands swirl up my forearm excitedly. Azriel rinses the soap from my hair before moving onto the conditioner. “Do you want to talk about it?” I tilt my head back, catching a glimpse of him from my peripherals.

“There’s nothing to talk about, I know I love you and that’s all that matters” He replies and a frown pulls at my lips. “Unless you want to talk?” His hands freeze their massage on my scalp. “I’m fine,” Lie. “I don’t need comfort, and I don’t need to be protected,” I murmured. “But I appreciate you defending me,” I turn my hand to the side to look at him with a weak smirk.

“I can tell when you’re lying, love,” He intones and I flush looking back down to the suds in the water.

“Okay so maybe what Amren said got to me,” I huff. “She was right,” I confess.

“She wasn’t,” Azriel’s tone was unwavering with no hesitance. There was no swaying him.

“Azriel, think about it. What do I bring to the table?” I ask as he washes the conditioner from my hair.

“You made all the food, and set up the whole meeting,” He explains and I roll my eyes.

“You would’ve had the meeting with or without the food, the fact that’s the only thing you can come up with shows just how pathetic I am,” I spell out and his expression hardens before he says, “You didn’t let me finish.”

I look at him longingly, then let out a sigh, hinting that he can continue. “Don’t worry about what you bring to a war meeting, it’s not your scene and that’s okay,” He murmurs, gathering a fluffy towel for me as I step out of the warm bath.

“But it’s your scene,” I argue as he wraps the warmed towel around me, his hands patting down my body until I am dry.

“I love that we’re different, you’re a breath of fresh air from all of that, like sunlight in a cell,” He smiled, scarred hands coming up to cup my cheeks. I never forgot Azriel’s background, how torturous his half-brothers were, his father locking him up in that cell like he was some kind of animal. “We’re cauldron fated, made for each other aren’t we?” He points out.

“My parents are mates and my father used my mother until she died,” I state. “You don’t have to like each other, you’re just paired on offspring,” I shrug and a soft smile pulls at the corners of his lips.

“But I do love you and that won’t ever change, isn’t that enough?” He asks and I look up at him, into those familiar eyes that always managed to read me like an open book.

“I don’t want to come between you and your friends,” I whisper.

“You’re not, Amren’s always going to have her issues until you risk your life or save someone else’s, she’s just like that,” He shrugs.

“Okay,” A shiver runs down my spine from the cold of the room against my dripping hair.

He notices and guides me out of the bathing chamber into our bedroom. He walks me to the armoire where he collects my softest nightgown and a pair of undergarments.

Silently he helps me get dressed, his touches tender and reassuring as he slips the cotton underwear up my thighs then pulls my baby pink nightgown over my head.

I walk over to my nightstand and brush through my damp hair a few times before slipping into the bed with a tired yawn.

Azriel climbed in next to me after stripping until he was half-naked. His arm wraps around my waist and he pulls me right into him, my hands press against his bare chest and he smiles down at me. “Feel better?” He mumbles and I nod with a smile, it was the truth. I was coming across the realization that it didn’t quite matter if I thought I belonged or not, because I knew I loved Azriel, and I knew no one could rip me away from him even if they tried.

“I love you too, by the way,” I whisper and he presses a kiss to my forehead before a smirk stretches over his lips.

“I know,” He murmurs.

I look up at him with a beaming grin, then scoot up only an inch to press my lips onto his, my hand coming up to his cheek as I bare my soul onto his with the action, so innocent yet so powerful, like an electric charge between us, a current of both devotion and admiration that was outmatched against anything I had ever felt before, and the sensation returned every time his lips were on mine.

“Go to sleep love, you have to get some rest because I think Nesta might take down that door if you don’t show up to training tomorrow,” He hums and I groan, remembering I had to stay true to my word. “Valkyrie forced to do Valkyrie training, a true travesty,” He mumbled into my neck, dipping his head down into it.

“Shut up, Azzie,” I pout, wrapping my arms around the back of his neck and pulling him into my breasts to silence him.

“Yes ma’am,” He mumbles dreamily and I giggle, loosening my arms so he can look up at me. I pinch my lower lip between my teeth as I brush his hair back, admiring his sharp features. I run my thumb down the bridge of his nose, then trace beneath his lips that I never got sick of kissing.

“We could sleep, or we could find a better use of our time?” I suggest.

“I’m not fucking you senseless then forcing you to go to training tomorrow, you’d be too sore,” He shakes his head.

“Then don’t fuck me senseless?” I suggest.

“You know I’m incapable,” He replies and I crack a smile because I know he’s right. He pushes up and chastely pecks my lips.

“After training tomorrow we will, you always look your best in those tight leathers anyways,” He smiles, his hand coming to my upper thigh, notably gripping it for emphasis.

“I think I just always look my best,” I toss back and he nods.

“Also true,” He murmurs. “Now sleep, I’ll be here in the morning,” He mumbled tiredly and I nodded, leaning down once more and pressing one last kiss to his lips.

“Night night, Azzie,” I murmur.

“Goodnight, my love,”

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fruittt-punchhh · 22 days ago

Text

useless

Synopsis: you were called in for the night shift unexpectedly, and now have to spend the next - 5 hours - with the on-shift manager, Sukuna. based on this ask.

Characters: Sukuna x reader. Other jjk characters mentioned, but not a major point in the plot.

Content: Minors Do Not Interact! smut, afab! reader, fem! reader, manager! Sukuna (sorry, no four-armed, two-cocked royal monster for this one unfortunately), suggestiveness, cursing, mentions of female masturbation, public sex if you squint (outdoors), pet/affectionate names, age gap kiinda, big dick! Sukuna (duh), cunnilingus (m! receiving), probably other stuff i forgot.

Word count: 11.6k (holy SHIT)

Notes: it's time for a new arc on this page bitches. Toji is my one and only forever as you all know but everyone deserves to read ab sucking off their fave fictional character at your imaginary place of work :) @scorpiosugar

“Behind!” you hear someone yell from, well, behind you for the tenth time that hour. It was well past the restaurant’s usual rush hours, but customers were steadily pouring in through the large glass doors you could see through the crowd up front.

You had clocked in a few hours ago, you remind yourself, peering at the ticking clock overhead, silently willing the hour hand to reach ten o’clock already. Only three hours left, you cheer to yourself, trying to remind yourself how good your paycheck would look after picking up the extra shift. Someone had called out earlier, leaving the on shift manager to ring you much too early on your off day, all but begging for your assistance. Regrettably you agreed, knowing the extra money couldn’t hurt. It’s not like you had plans anyway, unfortunately.

Your usual on shift manager was Shoko, and while she ran a tight ship, being in the kitchen was fun with her. She made sure things were done properly, but she didn’t mind if you slacked off as long as your responsibilities were handled first. She even let you take smoke breaks, knowing damn well you didn’t smoke. She recognized your work ethic and wanted to keep you around as long as she could, even if that meant letting you dip out the back door for a fifteen minute breather every now and then.

“Y/n?!” You hear a booming voice to your left, snapping you out of whatever daze you were in.

“You gonna’ run the food or not?” Sukuna asks.

The dreaded Sukuna. You’ve barely worked with him before as he switched to nights almost right after you started, and you were on day shift. While you’ve never had any bad interactions with him, everyone at the restaurant said he was such a pain to work for, and you weren’t willing to find out just how much of a pain he could be today.

You were usually in the back of the restaurant, quickly prepping and cooking whatever stupid order came out of the noisy ticket printer along with the rest of the kitchen staff. However, due to the short staffing on this fine Friday, you were held responsible for not only prepping the meals, but running them to a certain section of tables the other wait staff couldn’t cover. It was only a few tables, but you hated going into the main part of the restaurant. You chose the back for its seclusiveness, and the staff back here were much more enjoyable to be around. Plus, you weren’t a stranger to wiping your hands on your shirt or apron, dirtying up your all black attire soon into every shift. Walking out into the semi-fancy restaurant with a towel tucked into your hip, sauce stains on your apron, and sweat beading at your forehead was not your preferred method of presenting yourself to the…lovely customers.

“S-Sorry, yeah,” you say back quickly, grabbing your tray and hoisting it on top of your shoulder for added support. You bump open the swinging doors with your hip, rushing to your table. You can’t believe you missed the signature ‘ding!’ that accompanied a completed tray. You swore you heard that ding in your sleep, haunting your peaceful moments at rest more than a few times a week. Must have missed it this time, though.

—

Finally. You heave a sigh you had been holding in for the last hour. You had most of your tables cleared or taken care of, and you had a moment in the kitchen to yourself to catch your breath. The night was finally dying down, and you only had a little over an hour left. Maybe you wouldn’t die a slow and painful death in the back of the restaurant tonight, and maybe you’d be able to go home to your cozy bed in due time (almost as if you did every night).

Wiping the sweat from your brow, you turn to look for Sukuna, desperate for a break. It takes a minute, but you run into him (almost literally) as he’s taking a step out of his cramped office.

“Shit, sorry -“

“My bad-“

You both mutter, tripping over the words as you both look for an apology for nearly toppling over one another. You chuckle as he reaches his hand behind his neck, grabbing it and sighing as he lets his arm rest there. You take careful attention to note how his forearms looked like they might split the two buttons neatly fastened at his wrists.

“Can I go on my smoke break now? Just need a few,” you ask, hoping he wouldn’t bust your balls about it.

“Uh, sure, I’ll meet you out there,” he says before he turns back into his office, leaving the door only slightly ajar.

Meet you out there? What was this, a soccer match? You have no time to waste in responding and immediately turn on your heels, shuffling through the crowd of servers, cooks, and busboys galore to the back door.

Sure, he could just need a smoke too. He’s been here far longer than you today and the heavy bags that decorate his eyes didn’t go unnoticed by you - or anyone for that matter.

You leave the door propped open behind you with a random piece of wood sitting outside, not wanting to have to bang on the door again for someone to let you in after it automatically locks - a mistake you only let yourself make once twice. The cool air hits you immediately as you search for your trusty milk crate you fashioned as a stool. You try not to get on your phone during your break, only using it to set a timer or check your texts if you had to. You liked to take this time to detach from the busy building behind you, taking in concentrated, steady breaths.

You set the too-short timer on your phone, raising up your hip to slide it back into your rear pocket. On busy days like these, especially days where you were supposed to be off, watching reruns of whatever peaked your fancy on the couch, you felt the need for a cigarette. You used to smoke in your college days at parties or if someone offered, never wanting to cross the line of buying a pack for yourself. You wouldn’t even know what to ask for anyways.

But on days like these, it almost felt necessary. You continue your breathing, leaning your neck down to stretch the sore muscles as you place your face in your hands. You rub your eyes, thanking god you didn’t accidentally pop one out as you received the biggest scare you had in a while.

“Jesus Christ!” You blurt, totally forgetting that your manager was planning on accompanying you for your break. You hadn’t even heard the heavy metal door creek and strain as it opened, there was no flash of light from inside the building, nothing. Weird.

“You meditatin’ or something?” He asks, seeming the most unconcerned you had ever seen him. He reaches behind him, pulling out a shiny, new pack of cigarettes, still tightly wrapped in cellophane. He rips the plastic packaging with his teeth, and it almost looks like he’s flashing a smile at you.

He raises his eyebrows at you with an attitude, non verbally demanding an answer as he hits the pack bottom down on his palm with a loud thwap! thwap!

“No,” you answer plainly, “just on my break.” He pulls a fresh cigarette from the pack before bringing it up to his lips. He pats his pockets, frantically searching for something to accompany his cigarette.

“Got a lighter?” He says, muffled by the thin stick.

“Nope,” you offer, not bothering to throw in an apology like you usually would.

He huffs, turning swiftly back into the restaurant after he mutters a low, ‘useless’ that he assumes you didn’t hear. He yells from inside of the restaurant, asking some shiu? for a lighter.

He’s quickly stepping back outside, cupping the lighter in both hands before he shields the end of his cigarette. He flicks the start wheel, and you try your damndest not to admire how good he looks softly illuminated by the flame. He pulls in a heavy drag as you watch the tip of his cigarette turn to hot ash.

He huffs, blowing out a large cloud into the wind, “Watchu’ starin’ for?”

You hoped he wouldn’t notice.

“Got nothin’ else to look at. Besides the dumpster, I guess,” you add, motioning to the container of literal hot garbage that was all too close to you two.

“Good to know I’m better to look at than piles of shit,” he says, not attempting to muffle the slight chuckle that escapes.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you say, reaching back into your pocket to check how much time you had left. 8 minutes.

He huffs again, but decides to keep his quip to himself for time’s sake.

“Why aren’t you smoking on your smoke break?” He asks, trying his hardest to appear like he doesn’t actually want to know.

“Dunno’. I don’t smoke that much,” you respond. But it just wasn’t good enough.

“I could snitch on you for that, ya’ know?” He threatens, waiting to see if you’d stand up for yourself or cower meekly like the rest of his subordinates when he applied even the slightest pressure.

You laugh, “Do it then. Shoko doesn’t care,” you tell him truthfully. She knew from the jump you didn’t smoke and still allowed it, stating that if anyone tried to bitch at you for it to blame it on her. Which you wholeheartedly did.

“Good for her,” he adds, not knowing whether to be offended or impressed by your brevity. “But right now, I’m your manager,” he says as he crouches down, wanting to look you eye to eye.

You ignore the flush you feel rise up your neck. You felt yourself fawning under his gaze, paying too much attention to the purse of his lips as he took yet another extended drag of his cigarette.

You had to keep your composure, even though he wasn’t the ugliest person you’d ever seen. You were used to standing up for yourself in the kitchen. Being a woman in a kitchen environment is not for the weak, and this fact you knew too well. You didn’t even feel like you were that attractive, but you couldn’t count on all fingers and toes how many hands you’ve had to swat back or advances you’ve had to decline from the creepy older men that worked beside you.

You didn’t want to spend the - you check - 6 minutes you had left on your break arguing with a manager you barely knew.

“Then gimme’ one or I’ll go back in,” you offer. You hated to ask, but a cigarette may help you chug through this last hour of your shift.

He smirks, pressing his hand on his knee to help himself stand. You’re hidden in his shadow now, only faintly lit by the dim street light nearby. He reaches in his pocket again, letting out a sigh as he meets your question with a proposition: “Close for me, then sure. You can even restart your fuckin’ timer for all I care.” He adds, becoming annoyed by how often you were checking your phone in front of him, as if you didn’t want to be outside with him or something.

He has to be kidding. It was Friday and the restaurant closed at 1, and with how busy it was, you’d be lucky to be out of there by 2:30.

“Close?!” You say with the upmost attitude you can muster. He was insane if he thought you were staying that long.

“Choose,” is all he says before he reaches one hand towards the doorknob, the other outstretched to you, a fresh cigarette in hand.

Fuck. You ran through the pros and cons in your mind. The money wouldn’t hurt, but you were so tired. Your feet were aching and your back was in knots. But again, the money. The sole reason you took this extra shift in the first place. The extra fifteen minutes plus a cigarette seemed enough to convince you in the needy state you were in. You were ready to accept your fate before Sukuna butts in with a… countdown?

“Three,” he spits, growing impatient.

You wanted to test that patience. Maybe it was the rumors you’d heard about big, bad Sukuna.

“Two.”

But maybe it was the way he looked towering over you, presenting you with options he had selfishly picked, not caring for a compromise. He was the manager after all.

“O-,”

“Gimme that,” you interrupt, reaching to grab the cigarette out of his cold hand. You hate that you noticed his hands, but the dim lighting outside provided you little room to work with in terms of hand eye coordination. Your fingertips brush his lightly, and you would have thought he was losing circulation if you didn’t know any better.

He leans back against the wall as he watches you restart your timer, purposefully ignoring the previous brush of your manicured hands against his.

You motion for him to hand you the lighter, to which he smirks, crossing his large arms across his chest.

“Nope,” he mimics your word from earlier, putting extra emphasis on the ‘p’ sound with a pop of his lips. He was doing anything to get under your skin.

“What do you mean nope?” You ask as you take the cigarette back out of your mouth.

“Say please and I’ll think about it,” he teases.

14 minutes.

You were too old for this shit.

You stand abruptly, turning back into the restaurant as you swing the door open with a huff. Sukuna squints behind you, the bright kitchen lights burning his sleep deprived eyes. You rush to his office, pilfering through drawer after drawer to find a lighter. You knew the desk well - it was shared by all the managers. You and Shoko had many conversations in this office after closing time, enjoying each others company as she complained about the weird customers you’d have throughout the night.

Bingo. A bright red lighter peeks out from underneath some old mail, a faint, small ‘s’ written on the side in black sharpie. How cute. Maybe his mom sewed his initials into his undies, too.

You’re already lighting the cigarette before the door closes behind you, pulling in a much needed puff as you sit down back on your crate, and you are far from the picture of grace. Hair messy, face sweaty, and you nearly tumble off the crate from the sheer force of sitting down with such an attitude.

Sukuna tries to avoid your gaze as you come back out, instead occupying himself with following the small beads of sweat that fall down your temple. The sweaty, curled hair by your ears. The sleepy, heavy eyes that cut him such a nasty look.

You pull in and sigh, thankful for the fifteen minute vice you’ve allowed yourself for the night.

“Hm - that’s mine,” he taunts, surprised you were so forward to go through his desk. He’d have to talk to you about that later.

You hold it up, showing him the little ‘s’ on the side with a sarcastic smile. You toss it to him without warning, laughing to yourself as he misses entirely, dropping it on the ground at his feet.

“Clumsy,” you mutter, and you swear his eyes widen slightly, followed by a barely noticeable pink hue across his nose.

No one ever spoke to him like this. His employees seemed so frightened by him, although he couldn’t say for sure why. He was stern, but he noticed most of his attempts at ‘bonding’ with his workers fell short. He felt himself fulfilling the role of the angry, harsh manager more often than he’d like to admit.

You grew uncomfortable with each moment - the silence was deafening as you tried to find something to say, but he beats you to it.

“Uh, I didn’t mean to snap at you earlier,” he professes, actively avoiding your gaze. Although you were busy looking at the dumpster as opposed to him, he wouldn’t know. He kept his eyes trained on his feet. He hated apologizing.

“What?” You ask simply. You knew what moment he was referring too, but you needed to milk this rare vulnerability he was showing.

“Jesus.. earlier. I raised my voice. The fuckin’ bell’s messed up and I guess you didn’t hear it.”

So you weren’t going insane! It made you feel better knowing it was (or wasn’t?) a figment of your imagination. But you felt a little bad for the guy. His macho attitude was long gone as he tokes his cigarette, still avoiding eye contact.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you offer, not knowing what else to say.

“I’m not,” he spits, meeting your gaze with his once more. You hate that it gives you goosebumps.

“Sounds like it, to me,” you say, trying to hold your smile.

“Just explaining. Not apologizing. Two different things.” He says harshly. He really did not appreciate you trying to take advantage of his half-apology.

You fail at finding something to say, letting the silence linger for too long again. You were desperate for his break to be over, but he seemed to be intent on staying with you the entire time.

6 minutes.

“Why’d you switch to nights?” You begin, needing to cut the tension with something. You were curious if he was maybe in school or had some responsibilities that kept him busy during the day.

Again, that small blush. The barely there crimson hues spreads further than last time, covering his cheeks and if you weren’t mistaken, his ears. With his hair, he was turning to a pastel strawberry before your very eyes.

He clears his throat, “You looked like trouble,” he admits.

You’re hit with a flood of confusion. Most importantly, the reason he switched was because of you? Secondly, why did he have to use that phrase? It was more demeaning than he knew, and quite frankly -

“For me,” he finishes.

“What?” You huff, growing frustrated with his choice of words.

“You looked like trouble for me,” he corrects himself.

What the hell does that even mean?

He notices the utter confusion painted on your pretty face. He throws his cigarette on the ground beneath him, smushing it out before he grabs the lighter from his feet.

Turning back into the restaurant, he answers your unsaid question.

“I tend to go after women that look like you,” is all he says before he’s back in the restaurant, making sure to close the door tightly behind him.

Go after? What was he, a fucking tiger?

You can’t lie and act like the compliment (?) didn’t make your ego swell a bit. But switching his entire schedule because he was, what, scared of you? Worried he might “come after” you? You needed to know more, simply to have gossip for when you work with Shoko next.

Your timer still reads 4 minutes left, but your craving for the cigarette has long since subsided. You snuff it out, wringing your hands together before rubbing them on your jeans, desperate to get the sickly smell off of your fingertips.

From inside the restaurant, you can sense an influx of tickets printing. You hear feet start to bustle about, pots and pans clanging together, and that same loud voice barking orders at his employees. You only had three minutes left, but you couldn’t get the last 20 out of your mind. You’d find a point to bring it up to him later, you were sure of it.

You stand with a grunt, stretching your arms over your head before you turn to face the door - that Sukuna had so graciously shut behind him. You bang on the door with a closed fist, a loud boom! boom! boom! echoing through the nearly vacant lot behind you.

After your eighth or so hit, the handle turns, and you’re met with tufts of pink hair before anything else. You scoff.

“Missed me that much, huh?” He teases, and you’re taken aback. All of the previous conversation you had with him could be taken totally innocently, all except for that last minute or so. But you wouldn’t be wrong in thinking he was outright flirting with you.

You roll your eyes, shoving past him as he chuckles. You weren’t going to be stuck here with him until the wee hours of the morning, so it’s best you get started on your closing tasks asap. You didn’t close all too often, and you didn’t want to get overwhelmed with the responsibilities of shutting down the restaurant for the night.

You get back to your station, quickly catching up with what entree is currently being prepped. You try to keep your hands and mind busy, well aware of Sukuna’s looming presence in the kitchen. Before your actual smoke break, you tried your best to avoid him, not wanting to become subject to his bitching if you weren’t on your A-game. Now, you felt like being on this supposed A-game was impossible. You were exhausted, your body ached, and you were somehow convinced to close despite the very loud voice in your head protesting that decision.

Now, you had to deal with Sukuna’s gaze peering into the back of your skull. It made you nervous and you hated that, hated that you allowed him even an inkling of control over how you felt. But you couldn’t lie to yourself and pretend it didn’t affect you. You had to remind yourself that this was your manager, at least for tonight, and you were his employee. His stare was probably nothing more than a desperate attempt at calling you out on a mistake.

Right?

Is all you can ask yourself when you turn towards the trash can, potato peels in your cupped hands, when you catch him staring. He was leaned against a wall behind you, notepad in hand with the end of his pen affixed between his teeth. His eyes were glued to your ass before he scans your full body, taking in all of you before his eyes meet yours. Both of your eyes widen, shocked at how openly he was ogling your body. You feel the familiar blush rise up your neck again, and you couldn’t mistake a similar one appearing on Sukuna’s face. It was a brighter pink under the fluorescence of the kitchen lights. He threads his hand through his hair before he rushes to Nobara, quick to reprimand her for overcooking a steak. As if he wasn’t just drinking in the image of you.

You had to find time to talk to him, and soon. While you weren’t incredibely angry that he seemed to be interested in you, you didn’t want to assume he was incorrectly.

Another ticket prints as you’re placing the rest of your current ticket on the tray in front of you, ringing the stupid bell extra hard to ensure the wait staff hear it. You grab the ticket before you let out an exaggerated heave - it was a dessert order. Almost all of the desserts at the restaurant were pre-frozen or in the walk in, and there was never any actual cooking involved for the most part. You wipe your hands on your apron, turning for the walk in.

You yank on the comically large handle, the freezing air covering you in chills. The particular order had a side of ice cream, so you walk through the cool part of the walk in to the freezer door, yanking again on another stupid handle. The air in the freezer was nothing compared to the cooler, and you could already see your fingers turning red underneath the LED bulb above the door. The walk in was a mess, and the freezer even more so. You squat near the door, pilfering through the many items adorning the shelves. It didn’t help that the ice cream container was in a large cardboard box, similar to nearly every item in the freezer.

You stand, ready to step to the next shelf in your quest for ice cream, until you feel a nudge on your back, followed by a brief ‘scuse me’ from a now familiar voice. For the second time that night, he scares you so badly you think you could faint.

“Why are you so fuckin’ quiet?” You hiss, to which he shoots you a confused look from over his shoulder. He was pulling in a cart from the make line, full of containers and sauce bottles. He walked in back first, leaving nothing to your imagination as his tight black button up hugged his… very muscular back. It’s not like you knew him well at all, but you didn’t know him to be an avid gym-goer.

“Gonna’ help me or you wanna’ keep eye fucking me?” He grunts, failing to notice how all of your breath was caught in your chest.

Eye fucking? I mean yeah, you were admiring him. But you hadn’t even thought about anything sexual. Up until now. You felt delirious being up so late, and it had been a while since you got laid. And he still wasn’t the ugliest person on the planet.

He shifts to the other side of the cart, grabbing the necessary items and putting them on their applicable shelf. You notice how he’s able to grab nearly everything single-handed, whereas it took you both hands and a hoist of your knee to get some of the heavier items up on the high shelves. His hands were large with clean, neat nails trimmed short underneath a layer of shiny black polish. His sleeves were bundled at the midway of his forearms, revealing two black banded tattoos that wrapped around each of his wrists. You wondered if those were the only ones.

He lifts a heavier box over his head, shoving it in a back corner of the top shelf. You can’t miss the slight untuck of his shirt, the hardened ‘v’ that appears from underneath, and the tufts of blonde hair, starting at his belly button, trailing down to his -

“Eye fuckin’ it is then, huh?” He laughs as he turns to face you, leaning on the cart with one arm. His other arm is busy lazily tucking his shirt back in, his large hand repeatedly dipping underneath his waistband to smooth his shirt over his pelvis. You swear the shirt is tucked in enough, and has been for the last few seconds as he continues tucking and smoothing the fabric. He notices your eyes dart to his hand and he decides to leave it in his waistband, a feeble attempt to warm his cold hands and keep your attention trained to his waist. You stumble over your words, not even bothering to find an explanation.

“What is going on here? Like.. what are you trying to do?” You ask.

“What?” He scoffs, refusing to believe you’d call him out on his long glances and repeated attempts to be near you.

You cross your arms, shivering, as you wait for him to respond with an answer.

He pauses.

“Can we talk about it not in the freezer?” He asks, crossing both arms over his large chest as he’s shivering now too.

“Where then?” You ask, surprised that he even knew what the ‘it’ was you were referring to.

“Meet me in the cooler when you’ve finished your tickets,” he adds before he’s grabbing the cart and pushing the freezer door open into the cooler to leave.

So it wasn’t just your imagination. You had no clue where this conversation could lead, but you were eager to see. Now, finishing your tickets was the priority, which brings you back to the ice cream. Oh. Sukuna had replaced it when he came in and you were too busy gawking to notice. You grab the container, rushing out of the walk in to be met with a loud yelp from Nobara, exclaiming that she thought you’d died in there. Seems you weren’t the only one getting scared tonight.

You only had four more tickets, and one was a drink order for the bar, thankfully. You rush to finish, needing the customers gone as soon as possible so you could start fully cleaning the back. You definitely weren’t rushing so you could talk to Sukuna. Definitely.

In your hurry, you spill sauce onto your workstation close to the edge, some of it spilling onto your apron. Instinctually, you scoot your hips back from the table quickly in an attempt to avoid further dirtying your clothes, to no avail. In your motion, you accidentally thrust your hips into something - no, someone, behind you. While bumping into someone in the kitchen is no rare occasion, you could tell by the huff of breath let out behind you that the hips you just pushed your ass on belonged to Sukuna.

Was he hard?

You felt embarrassed even thinking of a question like that, but it was for good reason. The half-second you had your hips aligned with his allowed you to feel some sort of.. length pushed against you. There was no mistaking it. You look back to him over your shoulder as he’s stepping away from you, and he rolls his eyes at you. Not in a good, ‘oh god her ass is heavenly’ type of way. In a, ‘you can do better than that’ type of way.

One more hour.

You finish your tickets, taking extra precautions not to make any more messes. You go to look for Sukuna, but he’s nowhere to be found. He’s not in the kitchen, and his office door is propped open to an empty seat. You ask a coworker if they’ve seen him, and they only answer with a shrug. You glance to the back door, and it’s closed shut. You head to the walk in anyways, assuming he’ll meet you there in due time.

Until the door is pushed into you. A large hand grabs your wrist, pulling you in. You’re yanked into the cold and backed into the door before you can even let out a gasp. Sukuna stands opposite you, eyes too hooded and low for you to discern how he may be feeling (not that you care).

“Talk,” he says, waiting for you to lead.

“I’m the one that asked you the question. Remember?” You ask, adding a sarcastic smile for good measure.

“You asked me two questions. Remember?” He asks, pitching his voice an octave or two to mimic you.

At this point, you didn’t remember what the hell you asked specifically. You were so drained from the day you could have asked him ten questions and you’d be none the wiser. You nod your head 'no'.

“You wanted to know ‘what’s going on here’ and ‘what I’m trying to do’. Two different questions, woman.”

The nickname makes you squirm internally. You felt desperate - too desperate even. You knew he had a few years on you, although you didn't know how many. You were in your mid-twenties and he couldn't have been more than thirty-five. But still, the difference was there. Even if you two shared a birth year, he was still in a position of power over you. Regardless of how often you two worked together, he was a manager, and you were a line cook. Every voice in your mind is begging you to leave, but your feet are glued to the cold metal floor.

“Yeah, s-sorry. What is going on?”

He notices your nervousness and he wishes it didn’t make him feel so fucking flustered. Last time he checked, he wasn’t a horny teenager anymore.

“Well, we’re unfortunately at our place of employment, on the clock. I’m your manager. You’re my employee,” he says, taking the smallest step towards you, ”and that about covers it. Unless you think there’s something else going on.”

There’s no way he’s trying to pull the fucking stupid card.

“I know there’s something else going on, Sukuna. I saw you staring,” you spit. You caught him swallowing after you said his name, which would have been cuter if you weren’t currently freezing to death.

“Just because I stare doesn’t mean something’s going on,” he says with a smirk, shamelessly letting his eyes trail your body again, lingering when his eyes meet your chest to commit to memory how your nipples cut through your shirt in the cold of the walk in.

You huff, raising your voice to emphasize your point, “Then why are you walking around with a fuckin’ hardon?”

You barely notice the muffled ‘I wasn’t’ before Sukuna’s eyes widen as you feel a weight leave your back. You could barely process someone was trying to come in the walk in by the time Sukuna is crowding your space, one hand flying to the bulky handle to keep the door closed, the other reaching to cover your mouth. His body is slightly pressed to yours and his scent is invading your every thought. He smells masculine - musky and woodsy, like he had been out in the rain. His hands were harsh on your face, pushing down onto you with more force than you thought necessary. His thumb cupped under your chin, long, thick fingers nearly touching your ear as they stretch across your now beet-red cheeks. His chest and arms flexed in front of you as he kept the door shut, and you had to shut your eyes for fear of being caught staring.

The almost-intruder gives up, releasing the handle as the both of you let out a breath. The white, smoke-like air leaving his mouth in the cool air of the walk in clouded your vision as he removes his hand from your mouth, but not the door. He couldn’t risk having someone else barge in and it gave him an excuse to have you against the wall in front of him, albeit not in the way he would have preferred.

You two lock eyes, almost panting from the intensity of what just happened. You both look at each other’s lips, with Sukuna’s eyes flicking between your lips and eyes more often than yours.

You lick your lips, feeling like you were under a spotlight with how intensely he’s meeting your gaze. He was about to speak before you interrupt him, suddenly remember his admission from earlier.

“You weren’t hard?” You ask, and he laughs. The first real laugh you’ve got out of him the entire night.

“No, no I wasn’t, hah. Why do you care?”

You felt stupid but there was no way he wasn’t hard. He must be lying because you couldn’t have imagined what you felt. There was no mistaking the size, the length, the heat. It had to be.

“Then what was it?” You ask, patiently waiting for him to find an excuse.

Until he hits you with a, “my dick,” that knocks the wind from your gut. The shit-eating grin that plasters his face sends a warmth to your groin you haven’t felt in a while.

“W-What do you mean?” You ask, and he pouts, mocking your sheepish attitude.

“I don’t understand what you’re so confused about, girl. You’re the one that rubbed your ass on my dick. Doesn’t mean it was hard,” he shrugs.

You remember how big he felt even through the layers of clothing, and it scared you. That was him soft? You were starting to wonder what you’d gotten yourself into. But you had no clue how to respond to that. You couldn’t just compliment him on his soft dick. Weird.

“Well, you still didn’t answer both questions.”

He huffs out a chuckle, remembering the previously avoided ‘what are you trying to do?’

He looks at you, lost in thought. He scans your face before he’s reaching his hand towards yours shoved in your pocket. He extends his palm, motioning for you to place your hand in his. You oblige, pulling your hand out of your pocket before he’s grabbing your wrist, completing enveloping it in his large palm.

He leans closer to you, placing his left cheek on yours as he speaks into your ear.

“I think you know what I’m trying to do, y/n.”

He grips your wrist tighter, leading it to his groin to present you with his now undeniably hard dick. You stifle a gasp, overwhelmed by the sensation of his breath on your ear, cold cheek against your burning one, hard length now sitting heavy in your palm, twitching under your light touch. Now you know why you thought he was hard earlier. He was a shower and a grower, and the sinful thoughts that filled your mind did nothing to stop you from sliding your hand down further, to see just how much of a grower he really was. You knew you should protest this firmly, tell him he’s wrong for lusting after his subordinate, and clock out to seal the deal. But the stifled ‘mmph’ you hear to your left after you squeeze around his tip, precum leaking through his pants, has you questioning why you’d even think to leave. The wetness you thought you had under control was becoming a problem as it slowly soaked through your panties.

He pulls away from your ear, flicking your hand away with a tsk before he’s closing in on you once more, grabbing your chin so you can look up at him properly.

“Since when are you so greedy, huh? So eager? Didn’t tell you to start strokin’ it, now did I? Or are you that much of an overachiever like I’ve heard? I had to beg you to close f’me so I doubt it’s that.” He trails off, bombarding you with questions that warm your face again and you’re sure you have a fever at this point.

You huff out a hushed ‘fuck you’ to which he laughs.

He raised his fist up and starts pounding on the closed walk in door. His force is so brutal, he has to grab the handle to keep it closed as he hammers away at the door.

“That a promise?” is all he asks before he’s shoving the both of you out of the walk in, tripping over each other’s feet as you shoot him a confused look.

He ignores you, yelling out a loud “helloooo?” to the kitchen staff that just witnessed you two stumble out of the cooler.

Nobara rushes up, worry painted on her face as she grabs your wrists, stabilizing you as you catch your balance.

“Sir?” She mutters, looking just as confused as you were.

“We were locked in there for like, ten fucking minutes. No one noticed me beating the damn door down?” He yells. Your face grows redder as you look at Nobara struggle for a response.

“I-It’s fine, really. The handle just got stuck and he was too weak to get it open. He's kinda' useless,” which earns a laugh from more than just Nobara. Sukuna cuts you a look, flaring his nostrils as he’s walking off with a pout to his office. How pathetic.

You dust off your clothes, relieved to see there’s no more tickets printing off. Most of the remaining staff had started on their closing tasks while you and Sukuna were busy fraternizing in the walk in. Although Sukuna left with an attitude, you still couldn’t ignore the pool in your underwear and the ever-present pulse you felt throb with each tick of the clock.

The restaurant has mostly died down by now, with only a few lingering patrons at the bar and a couple or two still left in the dining area. Clean dishes were piling up on the right side of the sink and you were only left with the bare minimum cookware at your station. You see Sukuna walk into the lobby of the restaurant, not so subtly urging the remaining customers to leave. Most of the patrons pack up their things, only leaving a few stragglers behind.

By now, all of the wait staff had clocked out and left long ago. The clock read a depressing ‘2:23’ as you wipe down your workstation with a damp towel, sweeping the crumbs and leftover trash into the floor. Sukuna is busy finishing off the tills, counting the last of the register’s change. The dishwasher is finally packing his things, heading to the front computer to clock out with a tired ‘see ya’.

You were busy sweeping around your station, leading all the way to the walk in.

“Move,” he says, grabbing the back of your pants by the belt loop and pulling him behind you. You quickly look around to see if anyone noticed his touch, sighing with relief as you realize you two were the only ones still on the clock. He had a piece of paper in one hand, reaching up with the other to remove the thumbtacks from the old schedule on the bulletin board in front of you two. You glance at the schedule and your neck nearly cracks with how hard you do a double-take. You expected your usual 8-4, maybe some 9-5 shifts on the days you usually worked. But this new schedule has you scheduled for nights only. Conveniently, nights that Sukuna is the manager. You peer at the schedule, looking for the large, bold-printed ‘OFF’, and you see that you’re off in two days. You look at the top of the schedule, nothing that Sukuna’s ‘OFF’ day is the same day, too.

Sukuna had already started to walk off as you processed this new schedule. You take a step towards him, grabbing his forearm in an attempt to pull him back to you. His walk is so confident and assured that he pulls you almost an entire step forward before he turns on his heels, suddenly mere inches from your space. His proximity has you at a loss for words, mouth agape as you search your mind for whatever it was you were about to say.

“Yes?” He asks, a slight tug at the corner of his mouth daring to turn into a smile.

“U-uh.. sorry, why did you schedule me for n-nights?” You mutter, spiteful at how the words seemed to die in your throat.

He takes a step back, releasing his arm from your gasp as he straightens his tie, giving you room to finally breathe.

“Well, you’ll be glad to know that the employee that called out earlier has the flu.”

“But-“ you try to interject.

“She won’t be in the rest of the week, and how you’re looking at me right now tells me you’d like to be here with me again tomorrow,” is all he says before he’s returning to his office, crumbling up the old schedule as he’s closing the door behind him.

You clear your throat, trying to regather your dignity as you continue sweeping. You were frustrated with how much of an affect he has over you in the short amount of time, but your interactions throughout the day has left you craving more of his presence. His touch still lingers on your skin, reminding you just how often he had touched you during the shift.

You start to gather the trash in the dustpan, standing up to turn around to Sukuna leaving his office. Your breath hitches in your throat as he walks out in nothing but a black tank top, silver chain adorning his neck. You have full view of his numerous tattoos trailing down his arms, over his shoulders, even some that look like they might reach down his chest. He was walking to lock up the front as you finished sweeping and mopping. You grip the broom tighter, trying to ground yourself. Your body temperature was higher than usual and your hands were so sweaty. It felt all too hot in the restaurant, even hotter than it felt with the rest of the kitchen staff on the clock, ovens and fryers ablaze. You take a deep breath and lean the broom against the wall, heading for the back door. You needed some air and being in the same building as Sukuna made you feel like you had to fight for breath.

The cool air instantly calms your nerves as you walk to the side of the building, leaning down to put your hands on your knees. You take a deep breath, running your sweaty palms on your jeans. You had to get yourself together, you tell yourself over and over again. Regardless of how good he looked, how… intrigued he made you feel, you were stuck with him for the rest of the week. You couldn’t take a smoke break every time Sukuna cut his eyes at you or let his hands invade your personal space. While you couldn’t lie to yourself like you didn’t enjoy it, you’re still a grown woman that wouldn’t be caught dead melting under another man’s touch so easily. You preferred things the other way around, enjoying the power you felt when you -

SLAM!

A loud, resounding boom echoed through the parking lot as Sukuna crosses your peripheral, two full, black trash bags slung over his shoulder. He fails to notice you around the side of the building in the dim light before he reaches the dumpster, flinging both heavy bags into the can with ease.

He startles slightly as he sees you, fully expecting you to be inside the restaurant finishing your sweeping. You were too busy admiring him to process that the door had slammed. As in, shut. As in, no way to get back into the building unless Sukuna has the keys, shut. You both seem to realize your grim fate simultaneously, eyes widening as you scramble to find the answers you both needed. You take steps towards him as he’s rushing to you, frantically searching his pockets.

“Please tell me you have the keys-“

“Since when are you outside?”

“Do you not have the keys? How are we supposed-“

“You were supposed to be inside, y/n,” he interrupts yet again, turning out every pocket in search of the large loop of miscellaneous keys. His face is flushed as he peers down at you, obviously embarrassed he was so foolish to trust you’d be inside the restaurant and irresponsible enough to leave the back door without the keys in hand.

He sighs as do you, unsure of what step to take next. He starts pacing, hands running through his hair as he searches for a solution. You gasp quietly, searching your pockets and praising god your phone was still on you. You rescind that praise when you realize that was the only one of your belongings you had. No keys, wallet, purse, anything. In your panic, you rush to the back door, putting all of your body weight into twisting and pulling the handle. It’s locked without a shadow of a doubt, but Sukuna still shoves you to the side as he attempts to open the door. Although his strength seems incomprehensible, he still struggled to open the door. Every muscle in his arms, back, and chest were rippling and contorting as he fully leans back with force in an attempt to rip the door from its hinges. Nothing.

“What the fuck are we supposed to do now?” You ask, dumbfounded at the predicament you’ve gotten yourself in.

He huffs, leaning against the wall beside you as he puts his hand into his pocket, still silently hoping the keys would magically appear.

“What all did you have left in there?”

“Uh, just the sweeping and mopping. Did you finish the tills?” You ask, trying to assess the damage that the morning shift would be subject to.

“Yeah, yeah all my shit’s done, just had to do the fuckin’ trash. Shit.” He curses, rubbing his face in his hands.

You hadn’t realized just how close you two were now. There was still plenty of breathing room between the two of you, but as you both lean against the wall, his arm brushes yours and both of you linger at the contact, consciously continuing the skin on skin exposure.

Sukuna had plenty of plans that were so rudely interrupted by the stupid fucking door. He couldn’t stop thinking about you and how your hands felt on his length, how you looked up at him, hopeful that he would do something more to you. He had plans of ravishing you in the restaurant - partly to boost his ego, and partly to have you reminisce on the experience each time you walked into the building, with or without him. But all plans were effectively crushed as soon as that back door shut.

“Do you not make it a habit to keep the keys on you? Like, at all times?” You ask, confused as to why he would leave them sitting around anyway.

He turns to face you, rolling his eyes as he does so.

“No, I don’t keep the thirty-pound key ring on me at all times. You’re the one that came out here without letting me know!” He adds, throwing his hands in the air, trying to find anyone to blame except himself.

You scoff, surprised he was trying to turn this on you, “Well I needed some fucking air. You want me to tell you every time I go to the walk in or the bathroom, too?”

He laughs, offended, “You need to tell me when you leave the premises. The premises being the inside of the restaurant.”

You start to respond before he’s interrupting you per usual, closing in on your space as he places his right hand to the side of your head, leaning it on the wall to face you directly. You avert your gaze, embarrassed at how meek you felt when he looked at you in this way. But you knew he wanted you, at least in some way - that you knew for sure.

“Why did you need air? Closin’ too much for you, huh little baby? Can’t handle all that… responsibility?” He asks, making your knees almost buckle. Sure, girl was one thing, but baby?

But you still had to hold your ground.

“I am perfectly capable of closing, thank you. I needed a break from you,” you admit, not realizing how harsh it sounded until after you spoke it.

And he is appalled. With the way you were acting, you seemed like a break was the last thing you needed.

“A break? From me? What makes you think that, hm?” He asks as you still avoid his gaze, eyes glued to the way his chest moved in an even, up-down motion as he took steady breaths.

“W-Well, I -“

“Uh uh. Look at me when you speak, y/n,” he commands, taking just his pointer finger to draw your chin up to him, meeting your eyes with his.

“I-I dunno’, you just make me feel… weird? Not bad weird, just… different,” You admit, trying to say anything but ‘you make me wet’. Your response makes him chuckle.

He reaches his hand towards your forehead, prodding it with an exaggerated poke as he asks, “Do I make you feel weird here?”

You smile, furrowing your brows as you let out a simple ‘no’ with a shrug. He nods in understanding, motioning for you to follow him as he grabs your wrist. He pulls you around the side of the building, in an area much darker than previously. You look around as your back meets the wall, noting how the only visible cameras were pointing at the spot you two just occupied. Sukuna moves closer to you, leaving multiple points of contact between you two as you mentally count them all - how his knee is between your legs, how his hand that was on the wall before is now back, but much closer to your head, resting somewhat on your shoulder, how his other hand has now left your wrist, being replaced on your hipbone. His thumb presses in, harder than you think he realizes, and with how pent up you’ve been feeling it takes a great deal of strength not to ravish him on the spot.

He leaves his hand there for a brief moment before he takes the same thumb and slides it along your stomach, stopping when he reaches your navel. His thumb shifts only an inch downwards before he presses into the squish underneath your belly button multiple times, akin to a doctor feeling for abnormalities.

“If it’s not your head… is it here?” He asks with a particularly hard jab for emphasis.

“I make you feel weird in your tummy? Hm?” He finishes with a smirk, now soothing his pokes and prods with gentle circles traced with his thumb.

If you thought you were plenty wet earlier, you had no idea what this type of touch would do to you. He wasn’t even touching you anywhere important yet, leaving you stuck trying to suppress even a hint of a whine from escaping. Your clit was pulsing with your heartbeat which was at an all time high. It’s almost as if Sukuna realizes this as you do, chuckling as he moves his two fingers and thumb up to your neck, wrapping around it slightly as he searches for your pulse. Worry flashes across his face for but a moment before he’s laughing again, removing his hand before he reiterates his question with a simple ‘yes or no?’.

“A-A little, yeah,” you admit and your breath hitches at his response.

His voice was darker now, barely audible over the hum of the street light.

“Oh, I see,” he says as he dares to reach his hand lower, impossibly lower. You refuse to let your eyes trail, instead relying on the feeling of his single fingernail scraping through the outside of your clothes before he stops at your belt.

He catches you off guard, moving a mere inch away from your face as he cups your jaw, pulling you into a hot, open-mouthed kiss. You barely have time to react, kissing him with your eyes widened in shock. He pulls away too quickly, only allowing you to taste him for a short second before he continues his diagnostics.

‘S’not your head, not really your tummy,” dragging out the vowels in ‘really’ to make you wait another second longer.

His hand cups you through your pants, immediately rubbing small circles beneath your mound, stimulating your clit so roughly with the seam of your jeans you have to grab onto his arm for leverage.

“Must be your cunt causin’ all these problems,” he finishes as he meets your lips with his again, all tongue and teeth - which was a necessity for the both of you at this point. The tension that built slowly throughout the night had left you both eager for one another, and it was obvious with how frantic you were for him, whining as you throw your other arm over his shoulder to bring him even closer than he already was. You feel his now half-hard length push into your upper thigh before you reach your hand down to play with the hem of his pants. His abdomen clenches under your touch, rigid muscles flexing enough to be noticed through his tight shirt.

His hand that had found place in your hair tugs lightly as he pulls away from your lips, instead kissing along your cheek towards your ear.

“I thought this was all about her,” he whispers, pushing his two middle fingers harshly into your clit for emphasis, rubbing down firmly on your bundle of nerves as you threaten to fall apart.

“But now you wanna’ be greedy again? You already got to touch me once, y/n,” and you can hear the smile on his face as he says it, “If she’s the one makin’ you feel weird, maybe she’s the one that deserves my attention, yeah? Don’t you want me to make her feel better?” He says, swirling his tongue on the shell of your ear before biting your lobe, playfully pulling it until it snaps back into place. He knows your answer without hearing it, even before the furious nod of your head in agreeance.

He has you so pliant, so willing underneath him. You can’t resist bucking your hips into his hands when he fiddles with the buttons on your jeans, unzipping your pants ever so slowly before he has his mouth on your neck again, sucking and leaving marks that’d be sure to stay for days.

In the suspended unzipping, your mind wanders to the last time you’ve had sex with someone. It had been so many months, you weren’t sure if you remembered who it was. You cared less and less about how things looked down there, shaving every now and then when you got the urge. Which leads you to your current predicament.

“S-Sukuna, I.. I haven’t shaved. In like, a-a week or two,” you stutter quickly, trying to get the words out before he discovers on his own.

His fingers dip beneath your panties regardless, palm flattening against your lower stomach to reach down towards your heat. He lets out a grunt as he finally makes contact with your mound, stating a blunt, “good,” in response to your previous admission.

His long, deft fingers reach further to part your slit, his middle finger running through your folds to gather your slick as he works hard to keep his eyes from rolling into his skull.

“Knew I wouldn’t need any spit, ain’t that right?” He coos, not expecting anything but a gasp from you as his finger makes contact with your clit, finally.

And by god, how have you never been touched like this before?

His fingers rub you so skillfully, even better than you were able to. You were no stranger to masturbation, but the way his fingers felt on you now was unlike anything you’ve felt before. He circled your clit with planned, assured movements - if the smug look on his face wasn’t enough to show you just how confident he was in his ability to please you. His touch was perfect - no movement too under or overstimulating. He was so carefully bringing you closer to your peak with each intoxicating circle, steadily building his pace as he watched you fall victim to your pleasure with each passing moment. His lips are latched to your chest now, his other hand undoing just enough buttons so he can grab you properly without your pesky clothes in the way. He pulls your restrictive sports bra down with a harsh tug, freeing your tits for only a second before his mouth is latched to you, pulling and sucking at your nipples.

“Can’t believe - mmph, you’ve been.. hiding these from me,” he says, entranced at how the light hits your chest as it heaves up and down, your frantic breathing becoming more erratic and choppy, signaling your oncoming breaking point.

“K-Kuna, I’m -“ you try to warn him that you wouldn’t last much longer until your breath is ripped from your lungs.

“How cute,” he says, chastising the nickname you gave him. In one fluid motion, he takes his two middle fingers and slides them down and inside of you, replacing his thumb on your clit, quickly continuing the dizzying circles on your bud as he pumps into you - one thrust, then another, and you lose it entirely as he clamps down on your nipple with his teeth. You look down at him, making brief eye contact before involuntarily letting your eyes roll back, your lip pinched between your teeth as you succumb to the pleasure he so expertly gave you.

He looked surprised that you were finishing so quickly, eyes wide when you look down at him as you clamp so tightly around his digits. You continue clamping around him repeatedly as you ride out your orgasm, becoming louder by the second before he kisses you again, attempting to stifle your moans from echoing in the vacant lot. With one final swipe of your clit he pulls his hand free, immediately backing away to suck you off of his own fingers, grunting once he finally gets a taste of you properly. As if on instinct, his hand snakes his way underneath your panties again to caress your pussy, rubbing his hand in sloppy motions to coat himself in your juices thoroughly. He pulls away again, licking his fingers one by one with an eager grin.

“Ever had a taste?” He asks, wiping his filthy mouth clean.

To be fair, you had, but you wanted to see what he’d do if you said no. So you did.

He responds by taking your chin in his still wet hand, lolling his tongue out as he ravishes you in an open-mouthed kiss. You return the gesture, tasting yourself from his mouth and you were shocked at how intoxicating it was. How intoxicating he was. You so desperately want to return the favor, and then some.

He has the back of your head grasped in his palm but you resist, trying to get the words out as he all but devours you, groping your tits and reaching a hand behind you to grab your ass in a large, firm hold.

“Can I - mmph, can I.. be greedy… now?” You manage to get out before you reach down to palm his length, to which Sukuna lets out a focused, long breath through his nose. He pulls away from you with a smirk, hips leaning towards your touch.

“Dunno’ if I should - mmh.. let you, hah. I wasn’t tryna’ make you cum yet,” he admits, looking down with a ‘phew’ as you hook your fingers tantalizingly under his waistband, pulling him closer.

“That was you trying to make me not cum?” You ask with a laugh.

“Not yet. Wanted to make you wait for it, but you’re too much of a brat to be patient. You've been one ever since you showed up tonight,” he says and to prove his point further, you grab him by the arms and spin the two of you around, gingerly pushing him against the wall. He makes a face like he’s unimpressed before he reaches to the back of his tank top to pull it over his head. You gawk at his musculature and even more tattoos that are revealed to you as he throws the shirt at your feet.

He reaches down to undo his belt, the loud clang of the metal sending chills down your spine. You look down at the shirt then at him, shooting him a questioning look as he looks like he’s waiting for something.

“For your knees, stupid,” he says and as if on command, you drop to your knees onto his shirt, placing your palms in your lap in anticipation. You subconsciously lick your lips as he unzips his pants ever so slowly.

He stops his movements, grabbing the top of your head to tilt it upwards at him, “If you’re that desperate, you can get it out yourself,” he says with a pat of your head. He leans back onto the wall further, crossing his arms over his cold chest as he waits.

You smooth your hands over the top of his briefs and across his happy trail, dipping your fingers below the waistband before you ask, “How long has it been?”

The question takes him aback as his breath catches in his throat. He tries to still his hips from pushing into your feather-light touch but it’s inescapable. It had been a while for him, too.

“A minute,” is all he offers before you reach up to press a wet kiss to his lower abdomen as you pull his briefs down over his length. You pull for so much longer than you assumed you’d have to; after what seemed like so many inches his cock finally springs free, lazily jerking up as it hits the cool air. If it wasn’t for the heavy mass, his dick would stand at attention in front of you. You grab him in your palm, shocked at the sheer weight present in your hand. His angry tip was beading precum as you slowly worked your hand up and down his shaft, sticking your tongue out below him to catch it before it drips.

He starts to speak before you interrupt him, “I’m gonna’ try to make you not cum, okay?” He peers down hungrily at you, cock twitching at your filthy words. You take his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue to gather the bittersweet precum before you start to suck. You feel as if you can only take a few inches of him before he’s already prodding the back of your throat, making you cough around him.

“Don’t wimp out on me now, woman,” he says, grabbing himself at his base with a squeeze, using his thumb to line himself up with your throat perfectly.

“You wanna take my dick then fuckin’ take it,” he adds, grabbing the back of your hair to tilt your head back and your chin up towards him. He hums to you a simple ‘relax’ as he slowly pushes his length further into your throat, stopping when he meets a resistance with a throaty groan that has you whining around him, too. He tried his best to keep quiet, but your watery eyes and furrowed brows looking up at him with his dick shoved down your throat made his resolve disappear.

“Breathe,” he commands as he slips out of your throat, leaving you a coughing, sputtering mess with your lips still pressed against his tip. You follow his lead, taking a deep breath in and out before he pulls your mouth open with a thumb on your chin.

“Deeper this time, yeah?” He asks, quickly shoving his length further than before, nearly balls deep into your throat as your eyes shoot open and you swallow on instinct, earning a breathy ‘fuck’ from the man above you. You breathe out slowly through your nose, focusing your mind on doing anything but gagging. You squeeze his thighs to anchor yourself, pulling back from him almost entirely with a gasp before you force your head down again. You feel your throat start to relax as you continue your slow back and forth motion, trying to take him deeper with every thrust into your mouth. His hips are bucking lazily now as he tries his hardest to be somewhat gentle. As gentle as a man can be with a hand gripping your hair and the other guiding his monstrously large cock into your wet heat.

“Hah, l-look at you. I’ll have that throat trained for me in no time,” he praises, admiring how incredible you look as you throat him, watching how the dim parking lot lighting illuminates you enough for him to see the noticeable bulge in your neck. He can’t help but thrust more powerfully now, seeing as you were already taking his dick with ease after such a short amount of time. You meet his thrusts with your hand wrapping around the remainder of his shaft, stroking what you couldn’t reach with your mouth.

You pull off from him and you swear he pouts, bucking into your continued stroking as you kiss his tip.

“Who says I need my throat trained for you? Who says this will ever happen again?” You ask, curious how he would react.

He laughs, biting his lip to hide the moan that nearly slips.

“Oh, s-so you don’t want me to fuck you?” And he had you there. You start to run your hand furiously over his weeping tip and the sudden increase in sensation has him buckling over, mouth agape as heaving breaths signal how close he is. You’re barely able to suck his tip again before he’s removing your hands, pushing you back to sit on your feet.

“Fuck..y/n, open up,” he says as he strokes his length meticulously, grunts leaving his mouth as his fingers run over the tip repeatedly, “gonna’ paint that - fuck, pretty.. fuckin’ face,” he manages, smiling with an almost pained look as you loll your tongue out obediently. He can’t warn you any further before he’s cumming, white hot liquid pouring into your mouth as you jump in surprise at the sheer volume. With each spurt he’s moaning, strings of profanities leaving his lips as he sees white. You reach your hand up to finish the job, giving him a few final strokes before you suck on his tip a final time, swallowing his gift for you with a smile on your face. You wipe the remainder of your face with your sleeves as you stand to your feet.

“Come here,” he says, drunk on the feeling still as he pulls you into a sloppy kiss.

You pull away, “Now what?”

He chuckles, “hah, we go home,” he says, checking his watch that reads a depressing ‘3:17’, “unless you need my dick that bad.”

While you did actually need his dick that bad, that wasn’t the problem bothering you in the moment.

“Sukuna, I don’t have my keys. Just my phone,” you offer. He reaches down to dust off his shirt before he puts it back on. He motions for you to follow him as he grabs his keys out of his pocket.

“Guess you’re getting what you want after all.”

(pt. 2 in the works)

#jjk smut #fruit punch #fpoc #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #sukuna #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jjk sukuna #smut #jjk ryomen #ryomen x reader #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #sukuna ryomen smut #Spotify

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chrissv4mp · 8 months ago

Text

get him back! 💘

warnings: vulgar language, smut (p in v, missionary, unprotected sex, cunnilingus), jealous!chris, use of 'y/n', etc.

summary: in which chris was just a summer fling that you couldn't get enough of, and neither could he.

pairing: fem!reader × christopher sturniolo

a/n: literally jumped at the fact that i got to participate in @annamcdonalds67 's writing challenge! first ever comp i've been in🫶🏼 also there's a huge timeskip in this, sooo...

_____________

SUMMER 2023 , day 30

"chris, you can't burp in public places. seriously." you sighed, continuing to walk alongside the boy in the mall.

"why not? it's not hurting anyone," he grumbled, swaying the bag in his freehand back and forth.

"because that's not polite, chris." you swore you were talking to a child sometimes.

chris rolled his eyes, who were you to tell him it wasn't polite?

"fuck, you argue with me about everything." you muttered, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

chris hadn't heard, and even if he had, he wouldn't answer. his full attention was on some girl talking to her friends. his wandering eyes had always failed him.

her hair was dark, long, and her lips were so full he wished he could--

"chris," your voice pulled him out of his trance, his head quickly snapping toward you.

"yeah?" he smiled softly.

"i'm gonna go to the bathroom, then we can leave." chris nodded, his mind already going back to the girl from earlier.

as soon as you disappeared behind the doors, chris was making his way to the brunette and her friends.

"hey," chris smiled, eyes trained on the brunette.

"hi?" she smiled awkwardly, nudging her friends and making them leave.

"sorry, didn't wanna make your friends leave just now, i just saw you from across the store and... you're really pretty." he said, his smile fading to a smirk.

the girl laughed, "thank you, but seriously? not even gonna ask my name?"

"shit, sorry! what was your name?" he chuckled, eyes going down to her lips.

"chloe," she replied, crossing her arms over each other.

chris nodded, "pretty name for a pretty girl. i'm chris, nice to meet you."

"nice to meet you, as well. uh, sorry, weird question," chris hummed, urging her to continue.

"how tall are you?" chloe smiled sweetly, eyeing chris up and down.

"six-foot-two," chris lied, biting the inside of his cheek.

your hand on his shoulder was what caught his attention, "nice try, chris."

he turned around, his cheeks flushing of embarrassment as he stared down at you, "hey, y/n."

ignoring him, you looked over at chloe, giving her an awkward smile before pushing past chris.

"i'm sorry about him. and i assure you that he's not six-foot-two." you sighed, flashing her another quick smile before dragging chris out of the mall.

chris stayed silent as you scolded him in the car, was he serious?

"you are so embarrassing chris, and, god, you need to get yourself in check. flirting with another girl while dating me? seriously?" you scoffed, driving out of the parking lot.

you should've left him a long time ago, honestly, but he was so much fun and he had such weird friends.

and plus, he would take out you and your friends to parties every other night. they were always a good time, it felt as if they never ended.

"i'm sorry, ma," he muttered, placing his hand on your thigh and gently squeezing it.

"i can make it up to you tonight. me, nate, and a couple other friends are going out to a club," chris said quietly, a smile growing on his face.

you stayed silent. even if the invitation did sound nice, you were still pissed at chris.

"c'mon, don't be like that, ma. i know you want to." he muttered, his thumb running over your thigh softly.

fuck it, it was just one night without talking about your feelings. plus, you needed something fun to do, "fine."

chris smiled brightly, "y'know i learned some new dance moves."

rolling your eyes playfully, you nudged the boy, "shut up, chris."

SUMMER 2023 , day 42

"i mean, maybe if you stopped being such a bitch all the time more people would approach you?"

that's what chris had said just a few hours ago when you were at the party, dancing together.

now chris was trying to get you to talk to him as you sat at the edge of his bed, going through your instagram feed.

"i didn't mean it, baby, you know i didn't. please just talk to me, c'mon," he whined, his hand rubbing your shoulder gently.

you just sighed, tucking your phone in your pocket before looking away from him, "you can't just say shit like that, chris."

he nodded as his hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him, "i know, i just wasn't thinking, i'm sorry."

that's what he always said, and you always believed him. always.

"hey, i'll be right back, okay?" he said softly, kissing your cheek.

you nodded, watching as chris left his room and shut the door, leaving you alone.

chris was back in a matter of 15 minutes, barging into his room and making you jump from the sudden noise.

you were sat against the headboard, scrolling through tiktok as chris climbed onto the bed next to you.

"ma," he smiled, showering your entire face in kisses as he moved your phone to the side.

you laughed at his clinginess, feeling his hands go up to cup your face softly, "hi, baby."

"i have a surprise." he said, the smile on his face growing as he grabbed his phone.

he held the phone in front of your face, and on the screen were 2 tickets to paris, france, the date on the ticket showing that the plane was leaving in just 4 days.

your mouth fell agape as you turned your head to look at chris, before he could even say anything, you jumped into his arms, hugging him tightly.

after a few minutes of silence in his embrace, you finally spoke, "i love you, chris."

the boy smiled, kissing your neck affectionately, "love you, too, y/n."

SPRING BREAK 2024 , night 3

your eyes were glued to your phone, attention on chris's new instagram story.

it was a picture of him, his tongue stuck out as the words "Happy Easter !" were next to him.

your lips curled into a small smile, but then it faded as the memory of your breakup crashed into your mind.

maybe he was an asshole at sometimes, but you really missed him. he was so sweet and such a gentleman at times.

every moment with him was never boring, he was funny, kind, hot, everything a girl would want in a guy.

you shut off your phone as another memory came into your mind, when chris had hit on your friend right in front of you.

and the worst part wasn't even that it was right in front of you; the worst part was that he'd done it multiple times.

"fucking asshole." you muttered, eyes going to the TV that was currently playing Waves.

your attention couldn't stay on the movie, though. it wasn't long until your eyes wandered below the TV to the entertainment center.

there was a photo of you and chris in paris, on the eiffel tower.

he was so sweet for taking you on that trip, but then again, he was a dick for the reason he bought the tickets.

god, you couldn't make up your mind.

do i love him? do i hate him? i guess it's up and down.

you couldn't even decide anymore. all you knew was that you wanted to get him back.

you wanted to make him jealous, like he always made you. and, fuck, you wanted to make him feel bad. really bad.

he would always blame you for shit you couldn't control.

and then at other times you wanted to get him back.

you wanted him again, missed him, even.

you felt sad every time you saw him having fun with other girls, felt like you were never good enough for him.

you just wanted him to reassure you that you were better than all those girls, that you were his girl.

sometimes you even found yourself on your bedroom floor, texting him little notes about how much you missed the way kisses and the way he grabbed your--

the way he made you laugh.

you'd pour your heart our every time, and the "little notes" would always end up as huge paragraphs.

you still remember the time you had almost hit send. during your relationship another girl had texted you that chris was cheating on you with her.

and of course, it had to have been one of your ex-friends.

she had explained that she went through his phone and saw your text messages with chris. he said you were the only girl.

but that just wasn't the truth. another one of his lies.

another memory was when you had actually sent him a paragraph. a paragraph about how bad he had hurt you.

chris, never being one to admit to something like that, said you were trippin'.

you remember how angry you were, how much you had fucking hated his guts. but then you remembered what you had told your friends that same day.

"maybe i could fix him."

SPRING BREAK , day 7

matt was hosting a party at him and his brothers' shared house, and he had invited you.

and, of course, you accepted the invitation. he was just chris's brother, and you would just avoid the younger triplet if he tried to come to you.

"y/n, oh my god, we missed you!" nick greeted, pulling you into a hug as you stepped into the house.

"i missed you, too, nick." you smiled, hugging him back before going off to find some other friends.

why couldn't chris be like his brothers? they were so sweet.

maybe you should've went for matt last summer.

a few hours into the party and a guy was all over you, grabbing at your waist and pulling you against his front.

you caught sight of chris as you danced against the guy. he was staring daggers at the man, his grip on his pepsi can tight enough to break it into pieces.

you smirked at the thought of making him jealous. but, fuck, you wanted to make him more than jealous.

maybe after the party you would key his car. that'd get him going.

or maybe you'd make him lunch tomorrow, make him happy.

you hadn't even met his mom during your relationship. what if you got in touch with her just to tell her her son sucks?

whatever, it didn't matter right now. all that mattered was that chris was jealous and was ready to attack the guy.

"let's go upstairs, yeah?" the guy whispered into your ear, hand going up to squeeze your boob.

just as he did, chris was out of his seat, pushing way past other people and stopping just in front of you.

you hadn't even had time to process the whole interaction between chris and the unknown guy before chris was dragging you down the hall to his room.

"chris, what the fuck are you--" your sentence was cut short as he pushed you against his locked door, his lips crashing onto yours hungrily.

your eyes widened in shock, but as soon as chris's hand rested on your waist, you relaxed, kissing him back just as rough.

his grip on your waist was tight, sure to leave marks in the shape of his hands.

good, that would remind any other guy who touched you that you belonged to chris. only chris.

his lips left your, trailing kisses down your jawline to your neck, sucking harshly on your tender skin just before his tongue lay flat on the same spot to soothe the ache.

"fuck." you whined, hands tangling in chris's hair.

chris didn't stay at your neck for long, pulling away entirely from your body to pull your shirt over you head and undo your bra.

his lips were quick to find your nipple, swirling around the bud slowly as his hand played with your other boob.

his eyes never left yours as he left marks on your chest, making sure they wouldn't fade in just a matter of hours.

"stupid fucking guy thinks he can touch on you like that," chris muttered as he grabbed your waist tightly again, roughly leading you to sit on his bed.

he got on his knees in front of you before pulling at the hem of your jeans.

you quickly got the hint and slipped them off, kicking them off your ankles before chris threw them somewhere around the floor.

"still such a good girl for me, yeah?" he said, amusement in his tone as he grabbed your thighs and pulled them open.

you nodded eagerly, "i'm your good girl, chris."

chris smiled, before hooking his finger in your panties and pulling them off of you roughly.

you swore you heard him rip the fabric, but that didn't matter, all that mattered right now was the ache between your thighs.

"still such a pretty girl." chris mused before running his tongue through your folds.

you gasped at the warmth of his tongue, attempting to squeeze your legs shut.

chris kept them open, his grip on your thighs tightening as he dipped his tongue into your entrance, eliciting a loud moan out of you.

"chris, fuck." you moaned, hands going back into the boys hair and tuggling lightly.

his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking harshly as he slipped his index finger into your wetness.

your grip in his hair tightened as your moans got louder, whining his name as his finger hit that sweet spot deep inside of you.

"oh my god, chris.." you groaned, eyes rolling back as they fluttered shut.

he added a second finger to your entrance, finding it harder to thrust both fingers into you.

"so tight." he groaned into your pussy, the vibrations of his voice making you let out a throaty moan.

"chris, chris, fuck, i'm gonna-" you cut yourself off with a moan as chris curled his fingers.

you came on his tongue and fingers, your chest heaving as you let go of his hair.

chris lapped at your wetness, cum coating his chin as he stood up in front of you.

he wasted no time in taking his shirt off, unbuckling his belt and kicking his jeans off his ankles, quickly pulling his boxers down before throwing them on the floor.

"you make me crazy, y'know that, ma?" he growled lowly, pushing you softly to lay on your back.

chris didn't even let you reply before he aligned his cock with your entrance and thrusted himself inside of you.

hiding his face in your neck, he began to roll his hips, groaning as he felt your walls clench around him tightly.

"fuck." he whined at the feeling of your nails digging into his back, sure to draw blood.

it wasn't long until you had adjusted to his size and chris had began to thrust into you faster, his tip hitting your cervix just right every time.

your moans echoed off the walls, and suddenly you were glad that the music outside of the door was loud.

the bed creaked as the headboard hit the wall, evidence of how hard chris was rocking against your body.

"chris, fuck, you're so big." you whimpered, gasping as you felt his hand on your lower belly.

he pushed down slightly, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he felt a small bulge.

it didn't take long for the both of you to reach the edge, gasps and moans being the only thing heard in the room.

chris came seconds before you, filling you up just before you came on his cock, making him groan loudly.

"fuck, ma." he sighed, giving you a few seconds before he pulled out of you and plopped by your side on the bed.

you rolled on your side to face him, smiling slightly at the knowledge that he had already been staring at you.

he smiled back at you, his eyes struggling to stay open.

he laughed, "still making you feel bad?"

even if he was tired, he would never pass up the chance to make a snarky comment.

"shut up, you idiot." you laughed, punching him playfully.

. . .

tags: @mattsneezing @55sturn @niicksposts @mayhem-72 @chrissturnswife @sturn-wrld @freshloveee @h3arts4harry @films4sturni @lanixsturniolo @voidghsts @thebottledwatersupplier @strniohoeee @strnilolo @heartsforchrisandmatt @sturn3g1rl @mstxrniolo @iluvmattyb @ryli3sworld @stingerayyy2

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madamechrissy · 2 months ago

Text

Fractured Desires

ꕥ Pairings: Satoru Gojo x Reader, past Suguru x reader, in this chap also some Shoko x reader- It's a mess tbh lol

ꕥ Content warnings-MDNI-explicit sexual content, threesomes/ foursomes/ complicated shit, infidelity. Abusive gaslighting Suguru. Yandere Gojo behavior. In this chapter- Rough sex, whipping, paddling, obsessed behavior, stalking, deep throating, female on female oral, use of nipple clamps and pain play, dacryphilia, breeding kink PSYCHO stalker SATORU but he's hot. And reader likes it!? Toxic relationship some physical description of the readers height/body, don't read if too unimmersive for you)

ꕥ Word Count this chap- 12.6k

ꕥ Summary- You meet Suguru Geto at your work, he is charming, gorgeous, and has a poly lifestyle. You jump in, and you all share women and have way too much fun. But then it's starting to get serious between you, official even. He can't wait to have you meet his best friend. But... Satoru Gojo hates you. The minute you meet. He gives you no reason, but he's nasty to you, no matter what you try. Suguru finally has enough of Satoru being so mean and brings up the idea - 'let's have you two fuck this frustration out'

Satoru hates you because deep down wants to make you his. He doesn't understand how Suguru could ever want anyone but you. Though it's a bad idea, he agrees to share you with Suguru for a chance at you and... The moment he touches you... Rules are bent and broken, Suguru develops feelings for another girl, and Satoru gets further obsessed with you. Nothing is as it seemed. Will everyone get hurt?

Split btwn Satoru's POV and yours

Chapter 6 ꕥ Masterlist ꕥ Playlist

Chapter 7

The next night

Your POV

The bar is packed that night, you’re going to head out early with Satoru to finally get that date you’ve been dying for. And there Satoru is, sitting there at the bar while you work, with his fancy outfit in the wild sports bar, looking like a million bucks. He is sipping on the sweetest drink you could concoct, watching you intently.

The music is thumping and the lights flashing, creating a chaotic yet energetic atmosphere. You and Choso are bustling around, serving drinks and trying to keep up with the demand. As the time ticks by, there is a tightness in your chest, while you bend over now, breasts on full display in a pretty pink corset top. Satoru licks that lower lip, glaring at you, and you give him a wink.

“Gotta get good tips, Toru.” You whisper, taking his glass and shaking him a new drink, his blue eyes glow even in the dark club.

“Little bitch, you're so getting punished tonight.” He murmurs, and your brows raise, as his words send desire, hot straight to your tummy. You tense as his words wash all over you, your eyes fluttering shut for just a moment.

“Well I have a short shift so that I can leave for the date, Sir.” You whisper now, leaning close, your hands brushing against his as you pour his drink, the clear pink liquid into that little martini glass. He smirks up at you.

“Quit working and move in.”

“Wha-!?”

He chuckles now, and fuck it’s nice, to see the face so normally in pain, or in anger, genuinely smile. He’s so beautiful he makes your damn heart ache, every movement of his azure eyes lights you on fire, like you can physically feel it all. He’s so intensely watching, the entire time, and you have to wonder if he had done this before but…

You really don’t care.

You enjoy his gaze, his jealousy, his possessiveness. The way he watches every movement, like he’s watching a dance. You like him saying to not work anymore, fuck you almost want to, say fuck independence and let this six foot four man fuck your brains out daily. Who wouldn’t? It also didn’t help that just a smirk from those lips has you wet.

“He’s intense, yeah?” Choso murmurs, earning Satoru sticking his tongue out, and Choso does it back, making you giggle.

“He’s super intense.” You say, earning the middle finger now. “Woah!”

“Brats, both of you.” You and Choso laugh then, as you’re filled with this odd joy just for the moment. Satoru and Choso surprised you by getting along, with Satoru being so possessive with you, and hating everyone, you were honestly surprised. And Choso enjoyed him, even though you did omit Satoru’s more concerning behaviors.

He doesn’t need to know everything.

The bar is a whirlwind of chaos, with the thirsty patrons shouting for drinks, the clinking of glasses, and the constant throb of the bass from the speakers. You manage to keep up the facade of a happy, flirty bartender while serving drinks with a shaky hand here and there.

“Shit, she’s here.” You murmur then, and look to the barback, smiling and batting your lashes. “Could you take over for a few?” You ask sweetly, and he blushes, nodding eagerly.

“Of course!” You walk past the bar then, and up to Satoru who pulls you against him roughly, leaving you breathless.

“Stop flirting, brat. Every time you do I’ll smack the fuck out of you.” He grips you right then and there, and you can’t stop biting your lower lip, as you stand between his legs.

“You jealous of little me, Toru?” You whisper, and he scowls, but then she’s finally here, Shoko Ieri.

She smiles sadly at you, and you leave the position between Satoru’s legs to hold out your hands, which she gladly takes, dark eyes taking you in. “I wasn’t sure you’d come!”

“I am so fucking sorry, shit. I swear… he didn’t tell me you had any rules.” She says, and you pull her away, looking at Satoru now.

“Let’s go where it’s quieter, okay? But first, Cho can she have some wine? The best we have.” Choso pours the fanciest you all have, and she takes it gratefully, eyeing him then.

“Fuck, aren’t you hot.” She says, and you see Choso blush a bit, making you giggle as you look between them.

“Isn’t he young for you, cougar?” Satoru teases, and she shoves at him, glaring now.

“Cougar, then what are you, old man?”

“I’m thirty one!”

“I'm thirty, shithead!”

“You’re very pretty.” Choso says softly, and Shoko melts, as he holds out a tattooed hand, decked out in rings. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too, love.” He kisses her hand over the bar, and Shoko’s mouth is left open as he gets back to working. “Why didn’t you just date him!?”

“You bitch.” Satoru grumbles, and she grins.

“What, he’s so sweet! And hot.” She sips her wine and may or may not be checking out Choso’s ass. “You’re a psycho, Satoru.”

“Yeah, yeah, she likes it.” He says, running a hand down your waist, and you can’t stop your little gasp, nor the dilation of your eyes. Shoko looks back and forth between you now, shifting her weight on one leg.

“Oh shit, you’re in love.” Satoru goes wide-eyed then, as do you, looking at her as she’s so calm, humming to herself. “What, you’re not? Knew it that night, just didn’t know the mess that happened.”

“Come on, you two.” You pull them both now, guiding them to where the pool tables were, a quieter area of the bar where people weren’t shouting and singing drunkenly. They both sit down now, and Satoru yanks you on his lap, despite your protests.

“In love.” Shoko quips again, Gojo scowls at her, but she just shrugs, and you’re blushing under the club lights once more.

“He hates me.” You say, and she scoffs at that, as Satoru’s wrapping an arm around your waist, pressing you firmly on his hard lap.

“I do hate her, so much.”

“Mmhmm, well if that’s hate, cut me off some.” You giggle at that, holding her hand now, smiling. “I thought you would hate me after that night. I really didn’t know what was going on. He told me you two were completely open, and you were like fucking Satoru on the side.”

“What! Oh god. No, the first time Satoru and I did anything was with Suguru…” Satoru tenses under you, you can feel his anger, his upset. You stroke a hand gently with your own soft fingers, trying to calm him. “And I respected his rules, though I will say I did kiss Satoru when not with him. But it was like… the way Satoru looked at me…”

“In love you mean.” You grin, and Satoru is flipping her off, sipping his drink now, grip tightening.

“Whatever it is.” You peek down, and his look softens just a bit, that mad look in his insane blue eyes that wrecks your every sense. You brush his hair back for a moment, and his white long lashes flutter shut, his lips relaxing in that firm set of his jaw, and you enjoy just that far too much, just looking at him. “I knew something was different than how Suguru did.”

Shoko studies you two, grabbing a cigarette then looking at you. “Will it bother you?”

“No go ahead.” You say, and she sighs, pulling a lighter out. She flicks with the lighter, then Satoru takes it, shaking it up and pushing it down, igniting a flame for her. She brushes her pretty hair back, leaning forward, taking an inhale then.

“Thanks, buddy.”

“Sure thing, brat.” She rolls her eyes at him and he hands her back the lighter, his hands going back to your hips.

“The way Suguru looked at me, it just… isn’t the same, and then when I noticed how he looked at you um… I was worried. But it wasn’t until Satoru that I really worried, because I could tell he was head over heels, and that I wasn’t that for him.” Shoko looks away then, over at the bar, where Choso is flipping bottles in the air, to the cooes of the crowd.

“I didn’t think he had it that bad for me. I was thrown off too, but then he assured me you two were so open. Now I feel like a whole bitch, I am part of what’s hurt you so bad now.” Shoko says, sighing.

“No, no… it’s on him if you didn’t have that information.” You say, she smiles a bit with her thin, pretty lips.

“I really only played because of you.” You blink then, as she caresses your cheek, leaning forward a bit. “You were so hot, and I was curious about Suguru I guess, all these years.”

“Me?” She laughs, leaning back and taking another hit, dark circles only enhancing her eyes as she looks up and down your body.

“Yeah you, like a little barbie.” You feel Satoru’s chuckle under you, shaking your body gently.

“That’s what she is, isn’t she?” Satoru hums, only further making you warmer with all the attention. “Sexy little barbie.” He nips at your bare shoulder, as Shoko watches with amusement.

“Toru…” You wiggle just a bit, making him suck in a breath, as your thighs shift with desire.

“Of course I was interested, and I must say… she’s elite, isn’t she Satoru?” You’re a mess now, cheeks on fire, red to your damn ears, and Satoru is getting even more insistently hard as you shift more, doing stupid things to your psyche.

“Elite pussy, absolutely. So elite I turned down a blow job.”

“You!?”

“Oh I can’t even imagine fucking anyone again. Too obsessed.”

“Holy fuck, well there you go. Who needs Suguru then.” You giggle a bit, but then grow a little serious.

“That’s not all, he… well he planned all of this, fucking me, to begin with, long before I met him. All because um… you and Toru had sex.” Shoko glares then, slamming down her wine.

“What now? Suguru wouldn’t… would he?” She looks to Satoru, who’s frowning now, just nodding a bit. “Fuck, he’s like that now? I know he’s changed, but… to play you and bring you into this? The fuck, man.”

“And he’s assaulted her.” Satoru casually says, and you stiffen a bit, as Shoko stands.

“Yeah what? He what?”

“More wine, Shoko?” You ask softly, standing, and she nods, caressing your cheek softly.

“Please, angel? I need something stronger for this shit.”

Soon the three of you are talking about everything, and Shoko looks so disgusted as you tell her what Suguru’s done, now she’s taking shots, you all are actually, you split your tips you’ve made with the barback as a thank you. Choso is smiling over at the three of you, and despite everything Suguru has done, he hasn’t broken your spirit, it’s still thriving.

“Satoru sucked in bed.” Shoko says, and he snorts, taking a shot himself now. “What you did.”

“You sucked in bed, so fucking lazy.”

“Worst fuck ever.” She says with a shiver, and you’re awkwardly looking back and forth as they look at you. “Now her…”

“Yes, her…” They both touch your arm on either side, and you look down shyly as they look at each other, then you. “I won’t share her with a guy, and I wouldn’t fuck you again Shoko… yuck…”

“Same, you’re so gross… but…” They’re grinning now, and you look between them wildly.

“What’s in your devious minds you two, I’m not sure I like it.” Shoko laughs, sultry now.

“Well if you don’t touch me at all…” He says, pressing kisses on your neck as he is speaking to Shoko.

“Oh I don’t want to. I’d say don’t touch me but I can tell your hands will be all over her anyway.” She kisses on your neck too, and you’re buzzed and confused. “Maybe I just prep her for you and leave.”

“Prep me!? What-”

“I’m okay watching that. But remember she’s mine.”

“You’re so psycho, Satoru-”

“Hey, I’m here you know!” You wave your hands now, and they just smirk down at you, Satoru all tall and gorgeous, Shoko petite and pretty.

“What would piss Suguru off the most? Me picking you over him.” She whispers then, and you gasp, looking at Satoru.

“But you said no sharing, ever stalker.” He grins at you as you say that, his snowy white hair falls over his brow just so, glinting silver in the lights.

“I’ll give this one exception, it’s a win-win. Watch your pussy get eaten out and Suguru gets fucked? Fucking genius.”

“My pussy… oh.” You’re covering your face with two hands, blushing furiously as they stare at you hungrily now.

“Yeah, sweets, you know one way to test it.” She picks up her phone then, and your heart is pounding as she video chats Suguru. You watch as he pops up on the video then, and she sips her drink, looking positively devious. Satoru’s sliding his hand under your skirt, rubbing over your panties, and you look up at him, wide eyed.

“You like that idea, little slut.” He hums, pressing in, and your eyes flutter shut as you get wetter, against his finger pressing your clit now. You struggle to focus, faintly hearing Suguru’s voice, then Shoko aims the camera towards you, and she kisses your cheek then.

“The fuck? Why are you there?” Suguru asks, and Shoko laughs, throaty and sexy, that mixed with Satoru’s finger sliding under your skirt brazenly in a damn bar is making you tremble. It slips under your panties now, finding you hot and slick, and your hips buck up.

It’s so naughty you can’t stand it, how amazing it feels to have his touch, a secret one in a crowded bar you work at. It’s hard to remember Suguru exists at times, not when Satoru is bending down, whispering in your ear. Not when he’s sliding that finger between your lips, and you’re biting back a moan, his other hand splaying the expanse of your waist, pressing in.

Fuck you’re wet.

“I’m here visiting her, of course. You know, she’s just too yummy, isn’t she, Satoru?” Shoko’s intent is clear, and you can’t even face Suguru right now.

“Shoko, what are you even doing. I’ll come and-”

“Nah, we’re headed out soon. R & R, you know. I could video it for you, Suguru, isn’t that what you forced on her while you were whoring around?”

“You don’t know… I didn’t… Shoko, just me and you talk please. I don’t need them there.”

“Well, then leave her alone and sure, I’ll talk to you. Can you do that, can you leave this girl the fuck alone?”

“I was just upset I… yes, if you’ll talk to me, please.”

“Pathetic.” Satoru murmurs behind you, his finger pressing in now, and you start pulsing around it as it curls up.

“Fine then, keep your word. But I’m totally thinking of eating your ex out tonight, does that upset you, Sugu?” She says with a mock pout, and you fade out the rest of their conversation, because Satoru’s fingers are hitting far too good, and he’s moaning softly, turning your knees weak.

“T-Toru…” You murmur, you know no one can see his hand but you wonder if they can see that pleasure on your face. You grip the arm that’s wrapped around you tightly as Shoko and Suguru go at it.

“So wet for me, aren’t you baby? Pretty little fucking… whore… all for me… say it baby.” He’s pumping in and out as he barely speaks, so quiet it’s like he’s in your damn head, and you try to stop your eyes from rolling back, as your nipples press against your corset, begging for more, and your cunt is soaking his hand fully now.

“For you.” You say softly, and he groans now, sending shivers down your spine as he presses that spongy little spot, right in your tight walls.

“Remember, even if she eats you out, I'm letting her, because you're all mine, yeah? You’re all mine, forever… can’t ever fucking leave.”

“Fuck you’re toxic…” He snorts at that, but you agree, nodding again. “I’ll do anything you want me to.”

“Oh yeah?” You nod again, then Shoko hangs up finally, smiling at the two of you as her eyes rake over your body.

“You two are already playing, I see. Hmm…” She comes in front of you, bending down to kiss you then, and you feel Satoru pumping even harder as she does. “So don't you have a date?”

You struggle to speak, as Satoru is playing you so damn perfectly. “I… y-yeah, we do.”

“I’ve already got a limo for the date, let me take you home, you two can play on the way. I have drinks and everything.” Satoru says softly. “But just once, and remember-”

“Yours. Damn he's psycho.” You giggle at that but then gasp as his fingers press in deeper and Shoko kisses you once more.

“Fuck thats hot. Let's go, now.” Satoru grumbles.

“Lemme say bye to Cho!” Satoru sighs.

“I'll say bye too.” Shoko teases, and Satoru reluctantly pulls his fingers out, sucking on them, making you throb now, thighs shifting as you watch him, elegant fingers in between his lips. Your mouth is open, earning his sharp grin, only for Shoko to drag you to the bar, but you feel Satoru's gaze burn a damn hole in your back.

Soon you’re in Satoru’s limo, which was far too big and luxurious, the only time you’d been in one is prom, and he’s lounging right beside you, pushing champagne into your mouth. You sip it eagerly, as he watches you, blue eyes glowing even in the dark of the limo, lit up with a rope of LEDs, as Shoko preps to take another shot of tequila, looking at you then.

“Satoru, can I take a shot off her tits?” She asks, and he chuckles, running his hands down your shoulders.

“Please do. I should take one too.” He murmurs, and you take the shot now, putting it between your breasts, making Satoru moan as his lashes lower, long fingers running down your breasts where they’re full and high with your corset. “Fuck you’re sexy, so slutty too bet you’ve done this.”

“Of course I have, you mad, Toru?” You push him playfully, making him grip a wrist, as he licks it, making you shiver. Shoko pours a little salt on your wrist, then takes one of the limes off the plates there.

“Watching you two is like porn, jesus. Open this pretty mouth, sweets.” She says, and you do so, taking the rind of the lime in your mouth now, and Satoru licks the salt of your wrist now, before burying his face against your breasts, sucking the shot down his throat.

You watch that adams apple bob, so fucking sexy, just a drip of tequila running down his throat now, and he then takes the lime in his teeth, the juices dripping down your chin. You’re so eager for him you can’t stand it, it’s like every movement your psycho… maybe boyfriend!?... takes is like sex itself. He gently takes the lime from your mouth now, lapping his tongue along your jawline.

You moan softly, as he licks all the juice off, until he gets to your mouth, and you taste the bite of that agave on his tongue, you greedily kiss him back, meeting his tongue stroke for stroke. He’s got his big hand on your cheek, sliding back to your hair and pulling, moaning softly as he does.

“Y’know, I tasted her first, yeah?” Shoko says, and he turns and pulls away, lips smacking as he does, glaring at her.

“Shoko!” You say, and she just chuckles behind her hand.

“You’re such a bitch. I bet I eat pussy so much better.” He says, and she rolls her eyes, coming to you and licking your wrist now.

“Bet I do. You always had to be perfect at everything, little shit.” She salts your wrist and he scoffs, rolling his blue eyes. Something about their friendship seems so natural and real, they just react differently than Suguru had with her, it was like they were truly friends despite perhaps a mistake in the past.

“How’d you all have sex? No offense, I can’t see it.” You said then, and Shoko grimaces, as Satoru shivers in disgust.

“Oh god we were wasted, and I had a bad break up. We were like nineteen, then, just so young. I barely remember more than it sucked.” She says, and Satoru snorts as he sits next to you, brushing your hair back behind your ears, placing a shot glass back between your breasts now.

“I don’t remember much except the next morning we were so disgusted, we said we’d never bring it up. It was like two seconds in before we both thought, the fuck are we doing.” Satoru says.

“Oh… I noticed that night how you all seemed just like friends fully. Whereas Suguru…”

“Fuck Suguru. That’s what I’ll take the shot to.” Shoko says, and you and Satoru grin.

“Cheers to that. Also I’m putting this on Insta, let’s make him suffer some more, yeah?” Satoru says, filming on the phone then, and Shoko grins, then she is licking your wrist, before taking the shot from your breasts, gulping it down her delicate throat, then Satoru takes the glass as she bites the fresh slice of lime.

When she takes it away she’s kissing you, and Satoru cuts off the video, as he comes to pull on your hair, pricking pain tears in your eyes, and you gasp as Shoko teasingly swirls her tongue in your mouth. Satoru yanks you then, slamming his lips upon your own, overtaking your already addled senses, as the alcohol warms your tummy and desire hits it.

When he pulls back, you remember the time with Suguru, and expect them to kiss, but they’re just hungrily staring at you. “Do you all not wanna kiss or anything?” You ask curiously, they both look disgusted then.

“Don’t make us.” Shoko says, and you laugh as Satoru rolls his eyes again, running a fingertip down your chin.

“I only want you, evil little brat that you are.” He says huskily, kissing you again now, spreading your thighs. “But I do want to watch you, watch that pretty face cum, feel you…”

“Fuck.” You whine out now, and Satoru is behind you, you’re on his lap as Shoko is between your thighs, shoving up your skirt now. Satoru has your chin tilted as he leans forward, so tall and lanky, to watch your face now. “Satoru…”

“Remember you’re mine.” He says, and you nod, as you then turn to look down at Shoko, brushing her silky hair back, as she looks up at you. She licks her lips, and you can feel the heat building between your thighs.

"You're so beautiful," she says, her voice a low purr.

You can feel Satoru's hands sliding down your hips, before they hook in your panties, shoving them down your legs, as Shoko finishes taking them off, gliding them down your ankles. You feel Satoru’s breath against your cheek, as his hardness presses against your ass, and Shoko’s sweet breath tickles your thigh.

“You are so beautiful, so beautiful it fucking kills me. All of you.” Satoru says, husky then, and Shoko's hands glide up your legs. Her mouth is hot and wet as it touches your inner thigh, and you gasp, your eyes closing involuntarily.

“You both are so hot, fuck.�� You whine, and they both laugh a bit, tickling your skin even more, you’re a trembling fucking mess as Satoru holds you so tight with one arm around your waist.

As Shoko continues to kiss and lick higher and higher, you’re running one hand down her shoulder, down soft skin, as the other reaches back to Satoru’s face, leaning your head back at an angle to look at him. Desire flaring on his face as he looks right at you, like you’re the only thing in his world, like you are his world, and it takes your breath away.

You can't help but arch your back, your body begging for more, pressing further against his hard body and up for her kisses. Satoru's hand moves up to cup your breast, his thumb playing with your nipple, sending waves of pleasure through you along with Shoko teasing your clit with her tongue, looking up at you, her long nails pressing into your inner thighs.

“Oh my god! Mnh…” You cry out now, making her smile against you, you feel the upturn of her lips.

"You like that, baby?" Satoru whispers, his voice full of satisfaction. You nod, unable to form coherent words when Shoko's mouth moves lower, and you can feel her breath against your entrance, making you shiver. She looks up at you, her dark eyes filled with lust.

"Ready for me to get serious, sweets?" She asks, and you nod again, throat constricted as Satoru yanks one of your breasts out of that top, pinching your nipples hard.

With a wicked grin, Shoko dives in, her tongue parting your folds and sliding inside you. You cry out, the sensation so intense that you're not sure if you can handle it. But as she starts to move, as she explores and tastes, you find yourself lost in the moment, unable to think about anything but the pleasure she's giving you, and the man allowing it.

You can feel Satoru's hand moving down to grip your hip, his other hand tangling in your hair as he guides your head back. His mouth is on yours again, claiming you, possessing you, as if to remind you that no matter who else is touching you, you belong to him. And fuck if you don’t realize it, even as you’re getting wetter and wetter, soaking Shoko’s pretty face.

The very limo spins around you as the two of them work in tandem, pushing you closer and closer to the edge, delicate fingers, then rough long ones. You've never felt anything like this before, never been so exposed and so wanted, even in your experiences before. Because now Satoru could act exactly how he wants to, claiming you, all over you, not holding back.

He’s moaning in your ear, pressing up as she continues to bring you higher and higher now, and you’re crying out, your body shaking as you try to keep it together, Satoru’s mouth on yours, Shoko’s tongue in your pussy. You can’t believe what’s happening, but the feeling is so intense that you’re screaming out brokenly in the limo, to their soft sighs and cries.

Shoko’s tongue swirls around your clit, and you moan louder, your body arching off Satoru’s lap at it, then his hand moves up to your throat, squeezing gently, that perfect pressure he knows. “You’re close, aren’t you little slut?”

“Y-yes, close, close.” You whisper, as Satoru is gripping your hips, moving them and controlling your movements as you grind against her face, as Satoru bites your neck hard, and you’re shaking as the pain mixes with Shoko’s talented tongue.

“Cum, like a good little whore for me, baby. Let go now.” He orders, and you do just as he says, eating up his words as he wraps a hand around your throat, choking you as he watches you fall apart, hunger all over his face. “Let me see you.”

Satoru’s POV

Satoru feels your little body tense now, as you press against him, two lines between those eyebrows, your face contorted in pleasure, as you’re reddening just a bit when he squeezes even harder. Your pretty eyes roll back, and you gasp for breath as Shoko makes you cum, and he looks down to see you’re gushing all over her, and she’s drinking it up.

Satoru’s precum is sticking to his boxers, his pants as you cum, hips bucking up, your hands gripping his wrist as you look right at him with blown out eyes. Your lips part as you struggle to breath, fuck your life is just in his hands isn’t it? You’re all his, and you seem to know it, even as he lets her bring you to orgasm, you’re looking right at him the entire time.

Satoru could cum right now, but he’ll wait, till you’re all alone. He needs to do so many things to you tonight, now that you’re all his, he needs to make you such a fucking pathetic mess under him. He lets you go now, and you suck up a greedy breath, as Shoko rises, licking her lower lip and smirking at you, and you giggle breathlessly, your lush breasts heaving now.

Satoru takes those breasts in his hands, feeling you shiver against him as he feels their weight in his hands, so fucking perfect. His thumbs brush on your perky nipples now, making them taut as Shoko leans up to kiss you, and fuck if it’s not hot to watch you, kissing her back, your tongues messy, just a tiny bit of saliva dripping between both of you as she cups your face.

You turn to him then, a beautiful blush decorating your cheeks, and you turn your body toward Satoru, cupping his face with your small hands, tenderly, resting your forehead on his. And Satoru knows then, this is so past the obsession and lust, and it’s past falling, Satoru Gojo is madly in love with you.

He’s in love with you.

With you.

You.

He can never let you go, he can never let anything happen to you, fuck he can’t stand the thought of you not in his arms. He doesn’t even know how he’ll work without you there, will he bring you every day and have you warm his cock with your perfect cunt as he works? Will he fuck you over his desk and cum in you over and over, until you’re pregnant?

Will he come to your work every day and watch you, fuck you in that break room so much you’ll trip and fall as you try to be flirtatious in your little outfits? The ones that show too much of that tight fucking body, of your supple curves that constantly make his hands itch to grab you? The ones no one should see.

Should Satoru just hide you away?

No, you love your life too much, and he loves you enough to suffer others seeing you, for now. But the thoughts linger, of just keeping you at his house for him and only him, and bringing you everywhere he goes. He could keep you so fucked out you’d not care, not when he controls your body so well, not when you’re so clearly into him as well.

Feelings for him?

Feelings… for him.

You have them.

How?

Satoru kisses you softly then, exhaling, as you turn in his lap, and one of his hands splays your waist, thumbs pressing into your ribcage. You kiss him so sweetly, over and over, until it takes everything not to fuck into you, but he wants to keep that just for you all, he can’t have someone else, not when he has to lose himself in your every breath, your every sound, every touch.

You’re his now.

“You two are gonna make a baby. I need to get home.” Shoko teases, and he laughs as he watches you giggle, and fuck if it’s not so sweet to hear that throaty little laugh, to watch your face scrunch up so happy for once.

“That was amazing, Shoko. Don’t you want me to return?” You ask her softly now, your delicate fingers brushing back Shoko’s dark hair. She smirks a bit, her eyes going lidded.

“This psycho here is about to lose his shit as it is, but I had fun pleasing you.” She says, and Satoru watches you shift a bit, looking up at him now.

“Toru, don’t you wanna see my skills?” You ask, pouting so pretty, and he chuckles a bit, tapping your nose, why do you make him so stupidly happy, what is it about you?

“You can but I will bury my face in your pussy. I don’t know if I can look at Shoko like that.” Shoko laughs then.

“Same, I don’t wanna watch you two fuck again it was weird. But if you want to, Sweets, you can. Oh fuck my phone has gone crazy.” She picks it up as it’s buzzing, she sits next to you now, laughing. “Suguru is blowing it the fuck up.”

“Oh gosh I hope I didn’t give you a headache.” You say, you always care so much about others, and not enough about yourself, it makes Satoru angry, but at the same time he enjoys this so much about you. He’s kissing up your neck now, you tremble just a bit in his arms, he watches little goosebumps form on your smooth skin, everywhere he touches.

“Nah he’s bullshit for all this. Oh, he’s so fucking mad. He wants to come talk to me now.”

“Would he hurt you?” You ask, and she shakes her head. “Are you sure… I don’t want to-”

“Sweets, I’m good, promise. He won’t do shit except grovel at my feet. Now, I should head to my place so I can deal with him, get him to stop fucking with you both, I hope. If I just explain, Satoru and I are not interested and never have been. Do you think he’s too far gone, Satoru?” Shoko asks then, and Satoru sighs, for he can’t imagine how Suguru could redeem himself after what he’s done to you.

Satoru feels so much intense hatred towards him now, he’d been through so much pain because of a stupid fucking mistake years back, and now you have been through pain. Your first experience was now horrible, ruined for you, so Satoru detests Suguru so much, the one closest to him, but he’s going to make sure he doesn’t get near you ever again.

“I’ll keep her safe, don’t worry, Shoko. If he tries some shit, call me, don’t let him touch you, alright?”

Shoko nods, then leans in to kiss you goodbye, before punching Satoru in the shoulder, making him stick his tongue out at her. You slide off him then, sliding between her legs and slipping up her little black dress, looking to Satoru to get permission, and fuck if you’re not so hot now.

“Once, I’ll allow it. For scientific purposes.” He muses, making you giggle as Satoru tells the driver where to go.

You bend over right in front of him, you still have no panties on, so Satoru slides a finger down your slick folds, making your toned thighs tremble under his touch, he feels those muscles as his free hand runs down them, those calves so tight from your heels you prance around in, to the buckle of that heel still around your ankles.

You clench around his fingers, your soppy little cunt sucking him in when he slides two inside, past that tight entrance, as his other hand slips back up your thigh, gripping your ass, pulling your pussy wider for him. Shoko’s eyes shut in pleasure and she’s screaming out now as you bury your face, and he hears little sounds of you lapping her up.

Fuck you’re sexy, Satoru said he wouldn’t watch, but he’s watching you, and your little hand gripping Shoko’s slender thigh, while your free hand reaches back to Satoru, he takes it and shoves it behind your waist, pressing you further down, and you start gushing around his fingers now. You want him to control you, don’t you? With your little whines mixing with Shoko’s moans filling the limousine.

Shoko’s pulling at your hair, arching her hips up for more, and you’re shuddering as Satoru starts pressing on that spot, your hand sliding up to cup one of Shoko’s breasts, as you bring her higher, Satoru is pressing you closer and closer to your edge once more. You’re pulsing, and fuck he could slip into you now, as he’s holding your delicate wrist so tightly.

You come up for a gasp of air, crying out from his fingers, scissoring in and out of your perfect cunt, hair flowing down your back as you do, then you dive back down and with a couple more flicks Shoko has fallen apart, and she’s cumming on your beautiful face. Satoru lets your wrist go, yanking you up by your hair to look at your face now, soaked and glistening, and you lick your lips with a mischievous little grin.

Satoru swipes at Shoko’s wetness, his eyes drinking you in, and he smirks a bit as he pulls your hair hard, like you enjoy it. “You better have enjoyed that, you’re not doing it again.” He whispers, you whine out pathetically, leaning up to kiss him, but he holds you just a bit off, to keep you needy.

“Never again why, that’s so amazing. Elite.” Shoko muses, adjusting herself then, breathless, but Satoru glares at her. “Yours, I get it crazy.”

“Mmhmm. She enjoys it too much, slutty brat.” Satoru says, kissing you then, and you make this mewling sound from the back of your throat, back to straddling him. Fuck you feel so good in his arms, so good on him, as he inhales that scent, sweet jasmine mixed with your heady arousal. Shoko giggles at you two, grabbing her purse and yanking a pack of cigarettes out.

“Bye you crazy kids.” The limo comes to a stop now, and Shoko stretches, pecking a kiss on your cheek, looking at her phone now. “I think I’ll beat his ass, sounds fun to me.”

“Bye, Shoko, thank you so much.” You say softly, and she smiles, a little sad looking now.

“I still feel like shit, but maybe it’s all for the best, you’ve got psycho ass Satoru now, hmm?” Satoru flips her off, and the two of you just laugh. Shoko waves as she steps out, and Satoru looks down at you, stroking your cheek.

“Ready to go home for a few, baby?”

“Baby, not slut? And home now huh? That’s quick.” You whisper, and he just thinks of you, on his bed, what if you never leave, just stay there naked, waiting. Fuck the thought has him leaking more pre cum, cock straining.

“I have a dress there for you, brat. Can’t have you out in this where we’re going, hot as it is.” You kiss him then, softly, cupping his face.

“Thank you, Toru, that’s thoughtful.” You say, and he scoffs, but at that look in your glittery eyes? Fuck.

“Tch, it’s nothing, I need to dress you up, like my little doll to use.” He says, running his fingers down your arms, and watching you ignite under that touch.

And just like that, Satoru’s world shifts, the anger is a constant, but it’s now tempered with this fierce love for you, and the desire to keep you safe, to keep you in his arms forever. The intense need to fuck you until you can’t remember anything else except for the feeling of him deep inside you, to make you cum until you can’t walk straight.

Fuck he needs to kiss you until you can’t breathe, to make you love him just as much as he loves you, because there was no turning back now, was there? And as the limo starts moving, he’s already thinking of all the ways he’s going to make that happen tonight, all the positions he’ll have you in, all the ways he’ll watch that perfect face in pleasure.

You’re straddling him, your hands on his shoulders as he kisses along your neck, making sure to bite you hard, your skin in his teeth, making you gasp as your head is against his shoulder, feeling his hardness beneath you. Satoru’s hand is squeezing your ass as he whispers into your ear.

“You’re mine, all mine, you know that right?” You exhale, pulling back a bit to look into his eyes.

“You’re so intense, Satoru Gojo. But yes, I know. I made that choice when I called you that night.” You brush back his hair carefully, fuck your touch feels so good to him, it’s hard to take. “Satoru…”

“Mmm, what brat?” He asks, squishing your breasts in his hand and watching your expression.

“Tell me something no one else knows about you.” And for a moment, Satoru Gojo is surprised, his eyes flickering to the side, for you’ve caught him off guard. He thinks of so much he wants to tell you, about himself, but he doesn’t even know where to start.

“That photo, I stole it from Suguru’s phone when you started dating.” He says, and you suck in a breath, eyes going wide. “It’s one of you in lingerie, that outfit that has crotchless panties and your tits out. The amount of times I’ve cum to it…”

“Yeah, you did? Stroke yourself to it?” You whisper as you grind on him, and he moans, yanking you even closer and pressing up, feeling the heat of your eager cunt against his clothed cock.

“I’m breaking you in half tonight for this fucking mouth. Still taste Shoko on you, you know that?” He huffs, and watches your eyes dilate, the pupils overtaking your lighter irises, like a little ring now.

“Do you like that too, Satoru?” You ask softly, and he exhales, pressing up again, watching your head tilt back, exposing more of your pretty throat for his kisses, his bites, his tongue as your heat enwraps his cock.

“Nothing like your taste, evil little brat. You consume me.” He grabs your waist as he keeps licking a trail up the side of your neck, he feels your nipples pressing against his chest. “I would picture fucking you on my desk, would stroke myself in my office looking at it.”

“You need more pictures of me, huh?” You tease, and he sighs, nodding, as the Limo stops once more.

“I have a set for you to wear, under that dress. I’ll tie you up and do a photoshoot like that.” You blush right in front of him, even in the dark, and he smiles at that. “Never been tied up?”

“Of course I haven’t been, crazy. You mean my wrists?” You ask, narrowing your eyes a bit.

“Nah, entire fucking body. Hang you from my ceiling. You blush everywhere, you know?”

“Shush. Letting your crazy ass tie me up seems like a bad decision, what if you keep me tied up!?” He smirks up at you, it’s like you’re reading his goddamn mind, of his baser instincts that he shoves deep down.

“Only one way to find out, but that’s after the date. We’re here, c’mon.” He taps your hips now, and the driver opens the door. Satoru stands and tips him, letting him know to wait for a while, before giving you his hand to step out, when you step in the house he can’t help but press you against a wall, slamming his lips down on yours brutally.

You melt into his arms, lips so pliable and sweet, and Satoru briefly considers fucking you against that wall, but he wants to make you beg, plead, and you’re already close to it. You whine out, reaching down to rub his aching cock now, making Satoru even harder, sticking to his fucking boxers, pressing into your hand.

“Let me suck you for a bit first, please?” You ask softly, and he chuckles just a bit, as he brushes his thumb down your full lower lip.

“Then get on your knees, you can see what you’ve been doing to me all damn day.” You drop right to your knees, and Satoru takes one hand, pulling at your hair as one braces on the wall, and you’re unzipping him, opening your mouth eagerly, Satoru shoves your face on him, feeling the back of your throat, so wet and tight. “Oh my… f-fuck… that’s it, take it down that throat.”

You’re sucking and licking so eagerly, as he uses your throat, looking down at eyes watering with tears that trickle down the corners, landing on your long lashes, dripping to your cheeks. You are so fucking beautiful when you cry, aren’t you? Satoru feels your throat constricting around his length as you suck a breath through your nose, just like he showed you.

“Wanna know how often I came to that picture?” You whine, nodding now and pulling back just a bit to suck him, lapping his precum out of his tip hungrily.

“Please tell me, please.” You beg, voice hoarse from his cock, then he pulls your hair even harder, hips snapping his cock into that perfect throat again and again, you make his entire body shiver with pleasure, as his mind wanders, eyes rolling back in his head at how perfect you feel.

“I would lay in bed at night, picturing all the ways I would have you, how I’d suck, bite and kiss your skin until you’re black and fucking blue. Pinch those nipples so hard they’re swollen, then I’d beat that nice little ass of yours too, hit it over and over till you’re covered in my handprints- ah fuck!”

You’re moaning around him, bobbing on him so good, fuck you’re such a good girl, aren’t you for him? Satoru pulls out then, your cheeks hollow as you suck so hard, until he pulls out with a pop, and sees you’re covered with slobber and drool, dazed out eyes eating him up from down there.

“Satoru do we really need a date?” You ask, and he is tilting your chin up, to stroke your cheek, as he leans down.

“You demanded one, needy little brat. My dick gets you that horny, doesn’t it?” You pout, nodding, and a smile tugs at the corners of his lips, fuck you make him stupidly happy, don’t you?

“The words more than anything, but of course this.” You kitten lick his tip, and he sucks in a breath at that, pulling back at how sensitive he is now.

“Well if you’re a good girl I’ll show you some of what I’ve wanted to do.” He eases you up now, and watches as you nearly fall, and he gives you a smirk. “Can’t even walk from sucking me? Why are you so pathetic, hmm?”

“You make me this way.” You kiss him then, and he tastes himself, your tongue still has his precum on it, making him moan. “You have good self control, I am afraid mine is shit.”

“Oh baby I’ve had to watch you for so long, I’m patient now.” You blink a bit now, lashes casting shadows under your eyes, where he notices you’ve put concealer to hide those circles you have lately. But it’s not like he’ll let you get any sleep, will he? “There’s a box on the kitchen counter, if you’re not too fucked out to make it there.”

“Fuck off, Toru.” You scowl, and he laughs at you as you stomp over to the kitchen now, taking the black box with blue ribbon, opening it, then you gasp. “Oh my, it's so gorgeous… it’s so fancy!”

“Go put it on. But look under it.” You lift the tissue paper, then he watches your face flush, as you lift the black lace. “You’ll wear that under the dress.”

“Yes, sir.” You’re teasing but you’re making his cock hard again, fuck Satoru is just edging himself, but it’s not like he doesn’t enjoy to do that anyway, to tease his tip and play and play until he hurt. Now you’re right here, and you’re looking up at him, a smile lighting up your face, and it stabs him in the chest.

Satoru Gojo doesn’t hate you.

Satoru Gojo never did.

Hate, no…

He’s loved you since he saw you.

Your POV

You never hated Satoru Gojo, did you?

No, quite the opposite.

As you sit next to him that night in this fancy, beautiful little restaurant, cozy and intimate in a red plush booth together, and you look at him as he studies the menu, it’s like something clutches at your heart. He’s so heartbreakingly beautiful, with his smooth, perfect skin, those high cheekbones, those pouty lips that are pursed as he thinks of what he wants.

The soft lighting of the restaurant makes his skin shimmer, the intimate glow of the table lighting casting little reflections in the hollows of his cheeks, casting a striking shadow. His hair is freshly brushed back, but just a bit falls in the front of his forehead, making your fingers itch to brush it back now, but he is brushing it back with long, elegant fingers.

He’s in this three piece suit, a dark blue, and you’re in a glittery navy blue dress, that hugs your curves perfectly, as if Satoru had measured you inch for inch. It has a slit that goes daringly up one thigh, revealing a garter that was pink leather with a metal heart. Satoru had rolled his eyes as you had squealed in excitement at the fact he’d gotten you something pink.

“You staring at me?” He says then, in that husky voice so teasing and conceited, his swirling blue eyes locking on yours, making your mouth go dry. You swallow a bit, nodding then, watching his lips turn up on one corner.

“Can’t help it, too gorgeous.” Your voice is soft, but you see just a hint of pink on his cheekbones, before he scoffs.

“Of course I am. Look at you though.” His gaze flickers, and you feel his looks like a caress as they rest on your neck, then to your collarbone, then lower and lower, heat pooling in your tummy. “Surprised we made it out of the house with you in this. This is how I would dress you, like my doll.”

“Your doll, hmm?” You whisper, he lets out a quiet sigh, leaning close and kissing you gently, just a brush of his sweet lips. “Is that freaky talk, Toru?”

“Maybe you’ll see later tonight. You’ll be up all night, better order something good to fill you up before I do.” You’re a mess now, squirming in your seat, thighs rubbing together as you crave friction, crave him. “Want me to order for you?”

“Please? I’m used to like… a winghouse or something.”

“Gotta get used to finer things.”

“You’ll keep me around, hmm?” Your hand rests on his muscled thigh, and he leans closer to you now, you inhale that expensive, tantalizing cologne in your nostrils, making them flare just a bit.

“You’re not going anywhere. Did you think I’d let you go so easy?” He snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him, your leg over his own as he keeps looking at the menu.

“Do you still hate me, Toru?” You ask, and he looks away then, as if contemplating something. You wonder at times if you’ll ever get in his head.

“I never hated you.” You blink in surprise then, in shock almost, gasping as he then holds up two fingers and three waiters clamor over, all women who are dying for a chance to serve him. “White or red wine?”

“Pink.” You snort as he scowls at you, then sighs, looking over at the wine menu and running a finger down it.

“A bottle of Rose, please.”

“Yay!”

He glares again, and you’re laughing behind your hand. “Then we’ll start with the Duck Pâté en Croûte…”

“Duck!?”

“Shut it, prissy brat. Let the master work here.” You just watch him, as he speaks oddly perfect french. “Also the cake d’alsace to start, then we’ll have filet mignons for the main course, pick whatever side you think is best here.”

“Yes, of course, such a good choice Mr. Gojo!” One of the pretty waitresses says, and he just looks back at you, smiling a bit.

“Dessert we’ll do the creme brulee and chocolate mousse. I think that’s everything we need for the night.” He hands them the menus, and they eagerly bounce off, well two of them, one leans forward to whisper in his ear, and he tenses a bit, before glaring at her. “I tip insanely well especially if you don’t flirt with me while I’m with my girlfriend.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry… Mr. Gojo…” She blushes and runs off, and you look at him in surprise, smiling then.

“I’m your girlfriend, hmm?” He rolls his pretty eyes, long snowy lashes fluttering as he sighs.

“I won’t ask you.”

“Oh then maybe I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Then ask.” You both glare now, and then you laugh, caressing his face with your fingers softly. “I’m kidding. ‘Oh of course I’ll date you, Satoru’ there.”

“Didn’t ask.” You nudge him playfully, drooling practically at his smile.

“You’re so handsome when you’re smiling you know.” He pouts again, narrowing his eyes, and you sigh. “No really, I love it.”

“Yeah yeah, simp so hard for me, don’t you.” You roll your eyes at him, as they bring the bottle and appetizers, he pours you a glass himself, tilting the glass just so, before handing it to you.

“Maybe I do simp for you.” You admit, and he’s grinning again, he tries to hide it but it’s of no use, Satoru is having fun, and so are you.

Who would have thought.

His hand comes to cup your face, as he holds a little morsel of that crazy fancy food on a silver fork, and you part your lips, letting him pop it between. You chew then, eyes shutting, moaning a bit. “Fuck that’s yummy.”

“It is yummy.” He murmurs, and you gasp when he has slid a hand up your bare thigh, under the thick white tablecloth, making your body tense with stark desire. Your eyes open to see him studying you, those eyes so damn intense it’s hard to take. “So you tell me something no one knows.”

“You actually wanna get to know me? Because I’m your girlfriend?” You tease, only earning a rough squeeze on your thigh, bruising as he presses you down into that seat, making you so wet you can’t stand it. You want him so damn bad it hurts.

“You’re mine. Yes, you should tell me things now.”

“So demanding.” You scoff, as does he, then you sigh, taking a sip of the sweet Rose, with it’s tart aftertaste tickling your tongue. “Okay, well my parents um… left me when I was young.”

Satoru pauses then, his brows lowering. “Fuck them.”

You smile at that. “Yeah, they left me with my grandparents, who were sweet but we were very low income. I got picked on for having no money, for not having nice things, so I didn’t have many friends.”

“Fuck them too.” He sips his wine, and you raise your glass.

“Cheers to that.” Your glasses click, and fuck it feels good just to speak to him, for once no insane drama looming over you all. “So I ended up working my ass off from a young age, I bought what I could to sort of fit in, then I guess… boys started finding me pretty, so I ended up popular by default towards the end of high school. But I never felt like I fit in.”

“Why the Barbie bimbo aesthetic?”

“Well I never had barbies growing up, I had nothing really. So I sort of idolized her, she could do anything. I should show you my special collection.”

“No thanks.” You stick your tongue out and he smiles softly, hand soft on your skin again. “If you must.”

“I must, I collect all sorts of them, from the fifties and everything. Mmm, so yummy…” He’s putting another bite in your mouth now.

“So you got popular later. And you own that house don’t you?”

“How’d you know?”

“I may have looked it up online and saw you on the deed.” You lean back, glaring up at him now, and he shrugs, taking a bite and looking far too sexy doing so. “What, can’t I be curious?”

“How often did you watch me?”

“Just at night, I worried someone would stalk you.”

“Like you!?”

“No, someone terrible who’d hurt you.” You look up at the fancy ceiling with all the hanging chandeliers then.

“No more of that, got it?”

“If you move in.”

“Satoru!”

“It’s for your own good. Hush now.” He’s slipping his hand between your thighs now, where you’re hot and soaking wet, and he moans softly, as your hips rock against your better judgement. “You like it, stop fucking lying. You like me so obsessed with you I can’t think.”

“Fuck off.” It’s true, there’s something mentally wrong with both of you, you lean your head on his shoulder then, clinging to his silky blue tie and crying out when he finds your sensitive clit with a rough finger in little circles.

“I won’t have to as much now that you’re mine.”

“That’s so… toxic… mmm…” He hums just a bit, pulling that finger back and sucking on it like it’s dessert, your mouth positively waters.

“So you had shit parents, and a rough childhood. That kind of explains the overt daddy issues.”

“Oh whatever. You wanted to be called daddy.” You whisper in his ear, nipping the lobe then, enjoying that suck in of his breath.

“Fuck you, brat.”

“Mmm, you should. Edging yourself all damn night.”

“Just wait, fuck you’re impatient.”

Your hand slides up his lap now, over his cock, and he jolts then, as you tease him right back.

You don’t make it for dessert, that is in the to-go boxes now.

Satoru strips you down, the dress slithering off your body as he avidly stares at you, as it falls to a pool around your ankles, onto the floor of his bedroom. Satoru exhales, stepping back and holding your hands, pulling you toward his giant bed now, eyes devouring you in the lingerie. Your breasts are spilling out, and it’s barely covering anything.

Your first instinct is to cover up just a bit, then Satoru is picking you up in his arms, carrying you and hoisting you up on the bed to sit, hands trembling just slightly as they work down your breasts, your waist, your hips. He squeezes your breasts, bending down and licking your nipples through the black lace, your head falls back as it feels so damn good you can’t take it.

Satoru’s free hand slinks across your tummy, it trembles under his touch, until it goes to your throat, cupping you under your chin and looking down at you. “I’m feeling generous, I’ll let you pick. Tie you up, overstimulate you, or I could cause you so much pain, leave you marked everywhere for me. What does my greedy brat want?”

You’re so nervous you’re shaking, as you want it but you don’t even know what he’s talking about, what all it means. “Um… let’s try the pain?”

“You’re cute.” He says softly, tapping your nose, then he leaves for just a few and comes back, with a wood paddle and whips, and you’re even more nervous when you see little nipple clamps and a silver dangling chain that connects them. “Nervous?”

“Y-yeah. I’m new to this sort of thing.”

“Suguru is vanilla huh?”

“I don’t wanna think of that.” Satoru sighs at that.

“You wish it never happened?” He attaches a collar to your throat, it looks like some goth choker Cho would wear with a chain, then he tugs firmly, pulling your breasts out of the cups of the lingerie, running the cold metal on them, making you gasp.

“I only don’t regret the time with both of you, because that was our first time, wasn’t it, Toru? Mmm…” His eyes flicker with emotion then, and you watch him gulp, before he’s easing the clamps, and you’re whimpering. “Ah- ah… Toru…”

“Our first time to me was that night you came to me. Because that’s when I got to do what I really wanted. All by myself, the only way it should be.” His husky voice gets rougher as he twists the clamps, and they’re steadily pinching your nipples now, getting hard between them. “Fuck they look pretty like this. I can’t wait to suck on them after, you’ll be so bruised.”

“Toru do you even use a safe word?” He chuckles, as he places little kisses down your throat, tickling your skin.

“Sure we can, let it be barbie. But you’ll like it, you’ll do so good for me, a perfect girl won’t you?” You nod eagerly, and then he’s flipping you over, letting your legs dangle off the bed, you’re still in your black heels you notice, but he’s down there, taking them off, one by one. “If you can take ten hits I’ll get you off with my mouth, if you can’t you’ll be choking on my cock. Got it?”

“I’m good with either- ow fuck!” He smacks the fuck out of you now, on your right ass cheek with a paddle, making you glare back at him, while he looks hungry, licking his lips.

“You’ll address me better than that. C’mon, baby, y’know what to call me.” He says, caressing that cheek now, it stings and burns.

Satoru’s POV

“Yes, Sir?” You ask tentatively, bracing for another hit, and he smirks behind you, as he watches you bent over.

“Arch that ass back more. There.” He cooes as you press it up, your ass and hips like some perfect heart over his bed. “I’d brace yourself.”

“Shit-ah!” You cry out as he smacks your other cheek, watching it jiggle perfectly as he’s hit you hard, the sound resounding in his quiet room with a loud smack. You’re shivering, head buried. “Was sir not right?”

“No, baby, it wasn’t right. But it’s okay, I’m enjoying this view.” Both of your ass cheeks have red whelps, and he’s stripping down slowly, loosening his tie and his belt buckle as he’s straining against his boxers. “How should you address me baby?”

“D-daddy. Ah!” He smacks you again, this time lower on your cheek, but not quite as hard, and you’re moaning, shifting your hips, he sees those puffy lips of your cunt so perfectly where your thighs have a gap, and he’s sliding his finger between them for just a moment, groaning as you whimper. “Please…”

“Please what, brat? You have six more. You determine how hard they are.” You take a breath, looking back at him with pretty tears in your eyes, making him even harder.

“Please touch me more, Daddy.” He moans at that, at how that name sounds from your lips, images of him making you a mommy fucking killing him. Now he’s envisioning you pregnant, and he’s yanking his shirt off, suddenly too hot.

“If you don’t make a noise for the next two I will. Can you, slutty little girl?” You nod eagerly, bracing yourself again, fuck you’re adorable, aren’t you? “It’ll hurt less if you relax.” He grips your hips, thumbs pressing into the dimples in your lower back, and you exhale, softening your stance. “Ready?”

You nod, then he hits you hard, right between your ass cheeks, over your overheating cunt, and he hears you suck in a breath, burying your face, but you don’t make a noise. He’s so proud of you, especially when he smacks you again, right on your thighs, where he knows it will hurt more, but you’re just quietly moaning into his blankets.

“You’re such a good girl. I don’t think you need more hits.” He puts his paddle down then, and caresses your ass cheeks, covered in red marks, but you look back at him again, lust overtaking your gorgeous face.

“I wanna be s’good for you, Daddy.” You whisper, then arch your back out more. “I can take the rest.”

Fuck.

“You can take four more? You sure, brat?”

“I can do it, promise.”

You like it, fuck you like it don’t you? Satoru bends down on his knees now, kissing where he’s marked, his breath merely teasing your cunt, fuck he’s wanted to lick it all night, but he wants you a mess, and you’re becoming one for him. He stands back up, grabbing the whip instead, stepping back and angling it on your right cheek, leaving another welp.

You keep your noises in, but he sees it, the wetness drooling from your cunt. “You’re making a mess, these carpets are expensive.”

“S-sorry, Daddy.” You’re so good, fuck.

“Three more, you ready?” You nod, and he smacks you again, again, then again… and you nearly fall, he has to wrap an arm around you before you collapse, knees knocking. Satoru cups your face gently, eyes searching yours for any sort of pain or fear, but your eyes…

They’re glazed over with desire, dilated.

“You did so good, baby.” He says softly, and your tears fall down your pretty face in streaks, as you sniffle, clinging to him then, slamming your lips on his, nearly knocking him to the floor with the ferocity.

“Please, please, please.” You whisper fervently, Satoru gently places you up in the center of his bed now, leaning over you on his arms, struck by your beauty as you’re sobbing under him.

“I’ll take care of you baby. I’ll take care of you.” He says softly, and watches as you sniffle, as your hips arch up, your ass must be throbbing huh? But you’re clinging to him desperately, then he’s kissing your lips, drinking in the rest of your sweet cries, tasting those salty tears, before he’s spreading your thighs, kissing down your throat, his mouth watering as he thinks of your pussy on his mouth again.

“Toru… need you. Need you.”

Fuck you need him?

Well Satoru needs you, on him, under him, a fucking mess.

Perfect.

Your POV

Satoru’s looking up at you with those beautiful blue eyes, and your ass is pulsating with brutal pain, but it only enhances your need for him, of how much you crave this man. He’s so sweet now, such a fucking contradiction, as he parts your glistening lips and swipes his tongue up, you damn near cum from just that, thighs shaking as you scream out.

He moans softly against you, his hands shoving your thighs up as his tongue swirls your clit, before he's sucking it into his mouth. You scream out in pleasure, hands entwining in his snowy white hair, as he hums on it and you feel the pleasure shooting through your body, mixed with the pain of the clamps and your stinging ass cheeks.

Satoru laps you up as you cum all over his face, drinking you with an eager tongue, now he is reaching up, tightening the clamps. The pain just makes you wetter as he then pulls on that chain, and it constricts your breath just so, on either side of your throat, licking more and more fervently. You damn near can't take it, it's too many sensations at once, along with his blue eyes that look so lovingly at you.

You cum harder this time, this orgasm making your hips buck as you gush all over his mouth. Satoru moans, sliding up now and pinching your nipples again, you feel the tears start all over at the pain, and he looks at you so adoringly, so intensely, brushing your tears aside.

“Yeah, does it hurt baby?” You nod, jerky movements as your thighs quiver around his hips, and you feel that hot length on your inner thigh. “Want me to take em off? Gotta ask nicely.”

“Please d-daddy… mouth.” You're reduced to broken, nonsensical statements, yet again. Satoru makes you lose your sense of self, you forget how to move those lips.

“Okay baby. I'll take care of them.” He whispers, pulling the clamps off to reveal bruising nipples, which he tenderly kisses. You gasp, back arching into the hot embrace, jerking back when he sucks one into his mouth, so sore and aching you are crying more. “Mmm… you know how pretty you are crying?”

“Am I, Daddy?”

“You're so pretty. That mascara running down these cheeks… aw look, they're so puffy and red.” He pinches your nipples, and you let out shaky sobs as he cooes over you mockingly. But you're even wetter, hands reaching for his hips, pulling him down.

“Please, inside… me. Please oh please.” You whisper, pleadingly looking up at his pretty face, and his eyes dilate until they're so dark, and he is pulling your hips up as he holds his cock at the base, rubbing on your clit, making your face scrunch up in pleasure as it hits, you cum just when his tip presses in.

Satoru sucks a sore nipple again, eyes watching as you’re crying in pain, before shoving his cock inside you, so many fucking inches snug in your entrance, hitting your cervix on the first damn thrust. He releases your collar now, your cunt tightening around his cock as he slams into you, so deep, so rough, that you're sure he's going to split you in half.

But oh it feels so good, like nothing you’ve ever felt before, as you fall more into Satoru, the man that watches you, that stole pictures, that looked up your damn house. The same man that turned down a pretty waitress right in front of you, that’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the goddamn world, as his cock wrecks your pussy, and he wrecks your fucking mind.

You can't stop screaming, your throat hoarse as he hits that spot so good, that spot that makes your eyes roll back into your head, his thick leaky tip pressing again and again, until he’s flipped you, and you’re on top. You rock your hips, rolling them and resting your hands on his chest, and he’s moaning as he fucks up into you, sucking on your sore nipples, biting them and making tears fall down onto his face.

He’s fucking you so hard, you're bouncing on his cock, those bruised cheeks smacking against his hard thighs as you are slammed down his length, his hands brutal on your hips. Your thighs are sticky with your cum, dripping down to his stomach, mixing with his sweat in precum, sounding so loud and squishing so fucking obscene. Satoru slides his hands up your breasts, pinching them and making you shiver as you struggle to move.

“You’re so good for me, so fucking perfect. All mine, all fucking mine, aren’t you?” He whispers, yanking you down then, gripping your ass that’s covered in whelps, as you fall against his chest, your hair falling like a curtain to the side of you both.

“Yours, m’yours Toru.” You say softly, and he gasps then, his eyes fluttering shut, as you kiss him desperately, tongues entwining so fucking sloppy, and he’s steadily thrusting slower, but deeper, impossibly, you think you’ll break from it.

“Wanna be my little doll?” You nod eagerly, having no clue what he means. “Then stay really still, and don’t speak, can you? Let me use you.” You nod again, and Satoru groans, his movements getting erratic as he lifts your hips up and fucks into you, and you scream out, making him smack your cheek just slightly. “Stay still, dolls can’t move don’t you know?”

You get even wetter as you try to stay still, as Satoru cups your face, looking so deeply in your eyes, his cock making your inner walls throb, so fucking sore but you want more, more, more. You stay so quiet, tears still falling as his big hands brutally use your ass to bounce you, and your eyes roll back, as you bite your lip so hard you break the skin.

“That’s it, good girl. Good girl, my little doll. Just mine.” He cups your face then, flipping you, shoving your thighs up so high you’re going to be so sore, the stretch delicious as he presses you down with his weight. “I’m gonna fill my pretty doll up, that’s what you’re good for, cumming in, hmm?”

You don’t answer, and he grins, shoving his cock back in, holding your thighs down as he cups your face, eyes drinking you in as you’re sobbing at how good it feels, your nipples against his chest, his body dripping with sweat, your ass scraping against the blankets. He’s hitting that spot inside you, the one only he can hit, making you scream against your will.

“Sorry, sorry…” You whisper, and he huffs then, shaking his head, gulping as he grips your face so goddamn tight, squeezing your fucking skull.

“You’re mine, all mine. Aren’t you?” You nod eagerly, and he moans, and you can feel him thicken and throb, as he presses in so deep it hurts, and you’re shaking everywhere as you struggle to stay on this Earth, as Satoru becomes your Earth, your universe, your everything.

“Y-yours, all yours. Yours.” He moans then, kissing you before he’s coming deep inside you, your body milking him, making him pulse out everything he’s got, and he moans so loud, his cheeks flushing.

“Take all this cum, wanna get you pregnant baby. Yeah?”

“Yes, please… please.” You’re gripping him so tightly, cupping his face as he is, as he pumps you so goddamn full, filling you everywhere with those hot sticky ropes of cum, until you’re both trembling messes, kissing desperate, messy, sloppy.

And when he’s done, his cock still deep, his eyes closed for just a moment before he blinks and looks at you, caressing your hair and looking at you like that? When you’re sobbing into his neck, feeling so empty and so full at the same time. “It’s okay baby, I got you. You did so good, you know that?”

“Satoru…” You’re huffing, your cheeks reddened, your eyes watery, as he eases your legs down, still nestled snug in your cunt, aftershocks making you both gasp, both whine.

“Shh, it’s okay.” He kisses your forehead, but you shake your head then, for once all this drama of Suguru, of everything was shoved back, and only one thing was completely clear.

“Satoru… I… I love you.” You whisper then, between your tears, a mumble, and Satoru Gojo pulls up, resting on his hands over you, his blue eyes wide.

Shit…

ao3 chap: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58179796/chapters/151141063

A/N: Stalking isn't cool, Gojo is hella toxic... but it's a yandere story you knew this lol.

Chapter 8

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jujustu kaisen #jjk gojo #shoko ieri #soft yandere #satoru x you #yandere gojo satoru #yandere gojo #gojo x reader smut #satoru smut #threes0me #bdsmplay #pain kink

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