#but i will get to each and every one of these

[yourstrulyrani]

thinking about simon riley and how he gets worried when he gets his labs back from medic!reader:

"Bloody hell, Doc. You could include this in my dossier if you wanted."

You let out a chuckle at his words when you saw him skim through his blood work, a whole packet worth of vital information, from the number of red and white blood cells he has, a basic metabolic panel, and so much more. He skims through the information, every row a new test and labeled with a green "normal" on each one.

Until he reached one of the rows: testosterone.

A red "above average" was next to his testosterone count and you could see the panic in the man's eyes but you didn't know what caused it. You decided to let him speak up about it.

"Hey, doc?" You could see the stress manifest into a physical form the way you saw his thumbs clutch the packet of paper tighter, causing the paper to crease upwards in submission at his grip.

"Yeah, Ghost?" You turn around, your body language evident that you are all ears for what he has to say next.

Ghost had to collect himself before bringing this up. He knows this hormone is a normal thing in males, but why is his so abnormally high? He clears his throat before speaking up, "My testosterone," he pans the packet to face you now, "the lab says it's quite high. That's not normal."

"For you, it is."

The man's eyes squinted behind the mask.

"What? It says 'above normal' right..." he points to the row with a gloved finger, "there. What do you mean for me it's normal?"

You walk closer to him, gently taking the packet out of his tight grip. You turn around and sit next to him, and because of the height difference, Ghost noticed the way your shoulder grazed his bicep.

"It's normal for you because of your muscle mass, sir." You point to his muscle mass percentage. "More muscle means more testosterone in the body. Testosterone helps to support your body in maintaining the amount of muscle you have. If you had a man's average amount of testosterone, you wouldn't be built like a tank."

Ghost snickers at the last remark. "I'm a tank now, Doc?"

"Have you seen yourself, sir?" You scoff. You point to his weight on the paper, "Your muscle mass is also why you're technically obese. You're 6'4 and 250 pounds. But nothing to be worried about. You have more muscle than fat, and muscle weighs more. So I can assure you, you're perfectly healthy."

Ghost at the moment thought the way you nerded out on all of these medical technicalities was quite hot. You were smart, he always knew that. But it was something about the way you were talking in person about all this health and medical stuff that got to him. It didn't help either that you looked even more professional with a white lab coat and scrubs on. You adjusted the glasses on your nose while you looked down at his labs and Ghost swore he felt six inches of some of his muscle and fat twitch.

"Perfectly healthy, Doc?" He repeats your words.

"Perfectly." You skim over the paper once more. "If anything, you have the highest muscle mass and testosterone in the task force."

Ghost felt his pride swell at that statement. Not only did you say he was perfectly healthy, but you basically just called him the most ripped out of all the guys?

"I'm trying to be modest abou' this whole thing you know. You're not helping." He replies sarcastically and you giggled, throwing your head back a little. "I'm serious."

"Well you can thank your hard work on missions and the extra hours at the gym." You nudged his arm with your shoulder, causing Ghost to tense at the sudden contact but he surely didn't mind. The cute little medic that works for the task force just touched him, how could he possibly complain about that?

After that encounter, Simon took no time in bragging about his "abnormally high" testosterone and "obese" weight to the group chat that consisted of him, Price, Gaz, and Johnny.

He sent a picture of his labs with the message: "Not only did Ms. Medic tell me I'm built like a tank but told me I'm more of a man than you all can ever be ;)."

Johnny replied with, "You mean "the missus"?"

Gaz replied with, "You better snag her before I do, Simon. I didn't see a ring on her finger last visit."

Price replied with, "It's only because of my age, you know. If I were in my prime I would have more testosterone and muscle mass than all of you combined."

(lol i love these men)

~ yours truly, rani ♥︎

[lacedwithsuguru]

˳ . ⋆ ⭒ A LITTLE BIT HARDER NOW

synopsis: being the water girl for suguru geto’s basketball team made it incredibly easy to keep him in your line of sight as his secret admirer. some may call it obsessive, some may call it a hobby (only you call it that)—but to each their own. but wait, why’s he talking to you? and now you’re heading to his teams party?

pairing: girl!failure reader x oblivious basketballplayer!suguru

contents: reader is lowkey a pervert but also a virgin (get a grip.), making out, dry humping, heavy smut, noise control, protective sex, down-bad suguru/idiot suguru.

wc: 10.3k (sowwwy.)

absolutely not proofread. (when is it ever?)

cover art by mossmaybe1 on twt divider credit to @thecutestgrotto

His wired headphones dangled over the slopes of his ears, the same ears adorned with piercings ranging from his industrials, tragus, daith, orbital, and the fan-favorite, gauges. The muted hum from the buds played his favorite warm-up tune, A Little Bit Harder Now by She Wants Revenge.

A little weird to see the star player of the Tokyo Prefecture Universities’ Basketball team being a punk, indie, self-proclaimed tragic 20-year-old man. Indulging in his oddball, societally paradoxical fantasies of being in a modern, grunge rock band whilst being a D1 athlete like an emo and indecisive Troy Bolton died out when he realized that he simply didn’t have the time to indulge in both.

At least, not until basketball season let up.

Running his fingers through his raven tresses, he tied them up with a black band and let a few strands loose to frame his face. He was clad in his blue jersey and shorts, shutting his locker and making his way out of the changing room.

“Took you long enough. What, were you jerking off in there?” His white haired best friend joked, tossing an arm loosely over his shoulder.

“Satoru. Can I have about 5 minutes of peace before you ruin my day?”

Gojo raised his arms in mock defense before shuffling onto the basketball court.

“Geto,” Couch Yaga bellowed, crossing his arms and bearing down his hardened stare. “Glad to see you could finally join us. 10 extra laps after practice.”

The man in question simply laughed like it was another day, nodding his head and hurrying into pace beside his team that was currently dribbling their rounds around the court. It was their Sunday morning scrimmage before their big game on Monday night, determining whether or not they’d be going to Nationals upon the final score.

They’d been doing an impressive job so far this season, going continuously undefeated against every single team they’ve come up against. And knowing Kyoto National College’s reputation, along with their streak last year, he did not doubt that they had this game secured.

Gojo passed him the ball, to which he pivoted around their newest recruit, Haibara, and landed a lay-up.

“Sweet!” The younger boy exclaimed, pumping his fists and reaching his hand out to Geto for a high five. He released a low chuckle in response, slapping his palm against Haibara’s and ruffling his hair.

“You know, you’re not supposed to cheer for the other team.”

“Yeah, I know,” he pouted, opposing his inside-out jersey and dribbling around Geto.

“The guys’ seriously obsessed with you,” that mischievous voice whispered in Geto’s ear.

“Ah, leave him be, Satoru. I’m just glad he made it on the team.”

He simply shrugged, passing Geto the ball and getting into position. “One on one before Yaga gets on our ass?”

A smirk found its way upon Geto’s lip before he dribbled the ball and shoved it towards Gojo. “Teams gonna make us take this outside.”

“What, you scared?” Gojo teased, tossing the ball back.

Geto dribbled the ball between his bent knees, feeling his hair nearly coming loose from his swift movements. His eyes tracked his friend’s body, anticipating his next move.

Gojo had always excelled in offense, making sense that he would be the point guard. Yet, what he seemed to lack was his defensive techniques. Geto saw an opening and he sure as hell was going to take it.

Dribbling the ball behind his back, he paced his way towards Gojo, who was ready to steal, before Geto pivoted but faked it, sending Gojo tripping over his foot and landing a dunk.

Geto laughed at his friend, who was rubbing his bottom on the ground with a pout on his face, before extending his hand and helping him to his feet. “Man, you really gotta work on your defense,” he said between huffs.

Before Gojo could respond, a shaky voice called out. “Hey! You dropped this.”

Geto turned to look over his shoulder to see a girl, water bottles, and something small and black in her hand, hurrying over to him.

You stopped right before him and held your palm out to him. He furrowed his eyebrows, then turned his gaze downwards to see a black hair tie in your hand. Lifting his hand to his hair, he realized it had spilled out of its style and onto his shoulders.

What also didn’t go unnoticed to him was your slightly trembling hand. Taking the hair tie from your hand, he gave you his signature smile. “Thanks, I had no idea it came undone. Rest of practice would’ve been hell without it.”

Your head was downcast, not making eye contact with him, before you bowed while muttering something and hurried back to the sidelines. There was a water station set up that you were manning, where the teammates was going to and from to get a drink.

He cocked his head to the side, watching you work in a hurry to serve his teammates when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “She finally made a move.”

Nanami, the team captain, was watching you with a slight curl of his lips.

“What’re you talking about?”

“And I thought I was oblivious,” Gojo remarked, crossing his arms and eyeing you as well. You seemed to be in an effective flow of filling and handing out cups, yet the frantic look on your face didn’t go unnoticed, unaware of the three guys watching you.

“Is she a new addition to the managing crew?”

Nanami scoffed, smacking Geto upside the head. “She’s been the water girl for months now. You seriously haven’t noticed her?”

Geto felt a pang of embarrassment, shaking his head and eyeing his water bottle sitting idly against the bleachers. “Well, no. I bring my own water.”

“Yeah. We know,” Gojo and Nanami said in unison, rolling their eyes.

What was their problem?

—

You felt your heart practically slamming against your ribs, bruising from your very first interaction with Suguru Geto.

The irrefutable MVP of your university’s basketball team. Two years ago, during your freshman tour, you were able to witness the star athlete prodigy’s first game of the year during his freshman year. He’d scored 87 points all on his own and ridiculed not only the other team, but some of his upperclassmen.

Sitting in the bleachers with your friends, your eyes were drawn to his every move. Every flex of his tan, bulging biceps, every curl of his dexterous digits around the basketball, every shuffle of his large legs, you’d practically drooled over.

It was like fucking eye-candy. You were adamant on applying and getting into this school for the sole purpose of walking past him in the halls and catching a glimpse of him. You knew he was far out of your league, one of the most popular guys on campus, and you were an utter girl failure, nobody.

It’s definitely the confidence speaking, but that’s for later. Yeah, you were smart and got along just fine in your classes. But nothing about you stood out to him, or so you thought. It was a hell of a lot easier to interact with (replace with: stalk) Geto since you were both education majors. Through the grapevine, you’d heard he was looking to be a basketball coach so that once he graduated, he could join the national basketball team since he had the marks, and if need be, due to an unforeseen circumstance like an injury, he’d have his licensing to fall back on.

You, on the other hand, were pursuing an English education license. Writing had always come easily to you, along with sticking your nose in whatever book you found. You’d sworn that you’d foster a group of students to flock to your fan fiction websites and create their own content once you were a professional.

Besides the point, though, because right now, your fingers were cramping up after pouring small cups of water for the 20+ grown men since Coach Yaga decided to invite the junior varsity team to the scrimmage. And being only one water girl providing plastic cups that held around 200 mL of water that they’d down in one gulp, you were quite outnumbered.

Sweat managed to bead on your forehead, probably because this was the most you’d physically exerted yourself in a while due to your sedentary lifestyle, and you felt your fingers going numb. Damn carpal tunnel.

“Hey, need help?”

You could recognize that voice from a mile away, with headphones, during a rainstorm. Despite your wanting to be at least somewhat composed, your body betrayed you in every aspect as you jumped with a yelp. And what was worse was that you didn’t even look up at him. You fixed your eyes on the cups as you stilled completely, your brain and mouth giving up on you.

Suguru Geto was talking to you.

“Uh, you alright?”

You nodded quickly, grabbing the pitcher with ice and attempting to pour it into a plastic cup, but failing miserably as the freezing water sloshed all over your hand.

“Woah, easy there. Hold on,” he said, jogging from your side and heading to the bleachers while you unsuccessfully tried to make an effort to slow your heart that was threatening to explode.

“Here, use this,” he said, handing you a cotton towel. You held it, eyes fixed on the embroidery of his name and the crest of your university.

Glancing up, you met those gorgeously beautiful plum irises, ones you’d only seen through snapshots that the school provided on their sports website and his Instagram, an account you’d gotten embarrassingly familiar with despite not having the guts to hit the follow button.

His skin was even clearer up close, freckles dotting his tan cheeks. You had to make a few notes of his features that you’d bookmark for later—the slight arch of his nose, the sharp edge of his jawline, the plush lips you wanted to trace with your fingers-.

“Oh, uh, don’t worry. It’s not used,” he said, and you furrowed your eyebrows. He must be assuming that you were grossed out by the possibility of it being used, but that would honestly be even better. “You can keep it, I’ve got a spare in my-.”

“No!” You squeaked, and the suddenness surprised both of you, along with his teammates who were drilling. Shaking your head, you cleared your throat and rattled your brain for a response despite the ice running through your veins. “I’m fine, really. You can go back to-.”

“What’s your name?” He interrupted, cocking his head as his eyes scanned you.

There’s no fucking way that the Suguru Geto was asking for your name. Are you dreaming?

Your name trickled from your lips, and he nodded, mulling it over. And then, he breathed your name a few times, as if he were savoring the taste of it on his tongue. By now, you were so tense that your shoulders were hiked up so far they were nearly touching your lobules.

“Pretty,” he whispered, orbs scanning your figure before he leaned forward. You shut your eyes, completely straightening out in fear and wondering why on Earth he was getting this close. Was he…”

“Relax,” he chuckled, low and husky. Your eyes snapped open to see him leaning past you to grab a few plastic cups and lining them up. He lifted the pitcher and began pouring water into them seamlessly. “I’m not gonna bite.”

You froze, wanting to slap yourself multiple times for being so embarrassing, and let out a nervous laugh that went on a little too long to earn a sideways glance from Geto, to which you clamped your mouth shut at.

“You always like this?” He asked, and you weren’t sure if you should be offended.

Come on. Get it together. You’re making yourself look nuts in front of him!

“Only around black-haired basketball players who are power forwards.”

Woah. There’s no way your brain came up with that. Are you really flirting with Suguru Geto???

An eyebrow of his cocked, the corner of his lip twitching before curling upwards. “Is that so? And what makes me so special?”

You looked up from the plastic covering over the napkins you were attempting to rip open and pathetically failing at to match his gaze. Your breath hitched, and your newfound sense of confidence was lost to the wind.

You might have imagined it, but for a split second, you swore you saw his eyes dart down to your lips before making eye contact.

“Make that 30 laps,” Coach Yaga yelled from the opposite side of the court, and it broke whatever staring contest you were holding with Geto.

He cleared his throat and began stepping away. “I’ll, uh… I’m gonna head back. Try not to spill any more water,” he teased, sending a charming grin your way that had butterflies dancing in your gut.

You don’t even remember how the rest of the scrimmage went. You were hyper-focused on serving the drinks until Nanami approached you, tapping you out.

“Hey. Everyone’s headed home for the day. You okay?”

“Huh?” You looked up, the blonde seeing your frantic state and nearly laughing at you, but he held it in as your new close friend. The two of you sat next to each other in Econ last semester, and when you’d gotten the results for your first exam, he’d promised to help you pass with the sole requirement of you helping him land a date with Haibara, your friend from high school. Of course, you accepted it extremely quickly, and the two of you hit it off pretty quickly.

“Want us to stay back and help clean up?” Nanami asked, cocking his head over at Haibara who was rounding up the last of the basketballs.

“Oh! Jesus, Nanami. I’m so out of it today. And no, I’m all good. You guys can get going.”

Nanami nodded, ruffling your hair with a kind smile, before heading out with his boyfriend, who waved you goodbye.

The entire team shuffled out, and you collected all the discarded plastic cups into a large plastic bag. Your phone was resting on the folding table, playing the newest release of your favorite shoegaze band.

“Is that Wisp I’m hearing?” A familiar huffed out breath called, and you braced yourself before turning around.

There he stood in all his post-scrimmage, afterglow beauty. He changed into a hoodie and sweats, lifting his water bottle to his lips and taking a few deep gulps, water dribbling down his chin.

It took everything in you to be completely normal about this.

“Uh, yeah. This is their newest release Sw-”

“Sword.”

He finished the sentence for you, and you couldn’t ignore the way your heart skipped a beat. “I didn’t know you listened to them.”

He furrowed his eyebrows and made his way to you slowly. “Since when do you know anything about me?” His tone was light but the genuine concern in his lilt didn’t go unnoticed.

Fuck. How do you explain that you went on a deep dive to find his Spotify?

“Uh…” You froze, feeling your body tremble slightly as he stopped right before you, his height looming over you. He smelled so good right now, musky and sweat-ridden, laced with his signature cologne you’d sniffed in passing on more than one occasion. “I don’t. You just don’t seem like you’d listen to them…” you trailed off, your voice losing not only confidence, but volume.

Geto turned his head downwards, scanning his dark outfit as he was clad in all black, then met your gaze again. “You’re not very good at reading people, are you? I am literally their target demographic,” he chuckled, pointing out his hair and piercings.

An awkward smile made its way to your face as you continued picking things up around you, still very nervous in his presence.

He must have caught on, grabbing a few pieces of trash to help you dispose of while the quiet hung between the two of you.

“So,” you said, after mustering up some courage. “Why’re you here?”

Tossing his head back, he let out an exasperated sigh as his shoulders dropped a bit. “Coach Yaga’s been on my ass. Says I’ve been too lax during practice. The guy thinks I’m getting too comfortable.”

“Well, are you?” It felt a little weird to be talking to be on such casual speaking terms, but you brushed the thought away.He didn’t respond for a few beats, and you worried you’d ventured too far before he exhaled. “Honestly, yeah. Part of me has been struggling with, like, the meaning of it all. Everything’s been feeling quite useless these days.”

You eyed him for a moment, allowing him the space to continue before his eyes widened and he shook his head. “Fuck. Sorry, didn’t mean to unload all of that out of nowhere. Don’t feel compelled to sympathize or anything-.”

“I get it,” you whispered, pulling your plastic cleaning gloves off and tossing them into the bag. “Don’t know if it was like… an early, existential crisis of mine, but I often turned quite nihilistic.”

Geto absorbed every word you gave him as you paced over to the folding table to clear it of the pitcher.

“I think you just gotta make your own meaning. You can’t dwell in that depression, or else it’ll consume you. Finding your people and finding your place…” You trailed off, fixing your gaze before you. “That’s where you’ll find all the meaning you need.”

As you entered college, you had a difficult time finding your routine and fell into a dark descent. Schoolwork was overwhelming, living away from home felt isolating, and everything felt purposeless.

But it wasn’t until you’d met some friends who made you shine with every interaction, and a major that genuinely spoke to you, that things began to get better.

Peeking up at Geto, he seemed to be a painting in time, marveling at you in all of his beauty. Neither of you knew it, but the two of you shared something right now you hadn’t shared with anyone before.

“Agh,” you chuckled, waving your hands and dismissing the tension. “That’s just my thought process, really.”

You continued picking up the last of the scraps and tossed the bag off into the large trash can on the side of the gymnasium, dusting off your hands.

“Alright, there we go,” you said, picking your things up and preparing to head out.

“Hey, I know we just met today and all, but… would you like to come to my party tonight?”

You felt your body stiffen, unsure if you heard him right. “Sorry, w-what?”

“It’s just this stupid get-together we’re having at Chi Pi. Or Sigma Nu. I don’t remember. Uh, I’d totally get it if you had plans, though. This is such a last minute invitation…” he trailed off, rubbing his nape and looking off to the side with a genuine but awkward smile.

To be quite honest, you do not know what possessed you in that moment to accept such an invitation. “I’ll be there.”

Turning back to meet your gaze, he flashed you a heartfelt grin. “Really? Great, I can…” he patted his pockets and felt around until he pulled out his phone. “Here, put your number in.”

Again, you had no idea what possessed you to agree to this. With trembling hands, you nodded and tapped your digits into his device as nonchalantly as possible before handing it back. Your phone number was now in Suguru Geto’s phone. Don’t panic.

“Alright then. I’ll see you tonight,” he grinned, before jogging off to run his laps.

—

You don’t even remember your walk back to your dorm room, replaying every moment in the past hour. The flutter in your heart was unrelenting, images of his smile, wafts of his scent, all of it flashing in your mind to remind you that it really did happen.

Not to mention, you had physical proof that it all happened.

Sitting on your knees, you bent over your bed and gently laid the blue cotton towel onto your comforter and stared at it, gently tracing your finger against the embroidery.

It had his name stitched in white thread along with his jersey number, #3. Clutching it in your fist, you brought it up to your nose and took a whiff.

It had an earthy scent, some chlorine undertones as if he just washed it with some bleach detergent. Or had he brought it swimming?

Was this creepy? Oh, definitely. But that wasn’t stopping you in the privacy of your dorm.

“What’re you doing?”

You jumped, flinching at the sound of a voice behind you.

Nanami stood at your doorway, holding the knob to the door you left unlocked, Haibara peeking over his shoulder.

Scrambling to your feet, you shoved the towel underneath your bed and clamped your hands behind your back.

Nanami and Haibara exchanged a look before stepping in. “Geto says you’re coming to the party tonight!” The bowl-cut-haired boy exclaimed, hopping into your room with a skip. You let out an exhale of relief that didn’t go unnoticed by Nanami, silently eyeing the small lump of fabric on your bed.

“Uh, yeah. I’ll be there, but… how many people are coming?”

Nanami leaned against your door frame whilst his boyfriend plopped into your desk chair. “Dunno. Just some of the basketball team and a couple of friends. Shouldn’t be anything too crazy,” Haibara shrugged, busying himself with a stack of Post-it notes and flipping through them.

So this wasn’t one of their large-scale parties? You weren’t quite sure how to feel about this now, seeing as you didn’t have many mutual friends in that crowd. Sure, you knew Nanami, Haibara, and you worked on a couple of projects together with Gojo, but that was really it.

Nanami must’ve caught on to your worries, seeing as he elbowed his boyfriend to stop rambling on the topic of their new friend circle gossip. “Haiba, babe. Shut up.”

Haibara pouted and crossed his arms, spinning in his chair until he caught onto the blonde’s glare and rose to his feet, clamping his mouth shut.

Tossing you an empathetic glare, Nanami pushed off the door frame and beckoned Haibara with a throw of his head. “C’mon. We’ll see you later tonight, okay?”

After they made their way out, you immediately got to work.

Geto’s friend group was pretty close-knit, and in all honesty, you’d wanted to be closer to a lot of them for quite some time now. Your confidence and social skills may have deterred you in the past, but you weren’t going to let your opportunity go down the drain.

It took you quite some time to complete your everything shower routine, blasting your music whilst you scrubbed yourself to attempt to rid yourself of your nerves, and you’d left the steaming bathroom slightly nauseous and lightheaded. You slathered lotion all over your body, fixed your hair up, put on some light makeup, and draped your bedroom in nearly half of your wardrobe, thus you’d felt a hell of a lot more prepared.

You checked your phone for the time.

5 hours ago.

Had time really flown by that quickly? Not to mention, in the chaos of it all, you’d managed to miss a text. No, not just any text.

A text from an unknown number.

You felt your heart rate pick up, knowing who you were expecting a message from, a hiccup escaping your lips as your eyes widened so far they nearly touched your forehead.

Mentally preparing yourself, you paced around your room, biting your lip. It’s just a text. Open it.

Pressing on the notification, your eyes darted to drink in the letters on your screen.

xxx-xxx-xxxx: Hey, it’s Suguru Geto from earlier on the court. Looks like the party’s gonna be at Sigma Nu tonight. I really hope to see you there.

Your fingers twitched as you read over the text nearly 20 times, feeling like the world around you had gone completely still. He… hopes to see you tonight?

Deep breaths. Don’t scream. Don’t scream. Don’t-

The loudest squeal left your lips that your floor mates definitely heard, frantically slipping around your dorm room and sliding into your shoes.

Reaching for your purse and tossing it on your shoulder, you hurried out and realized that the party started about 15 minutes ago.

Good. You don’t wanna be the first person there, right?

What you hadn’t realized was that Sigma Nu was on the exact opposite side of campus, nearly a 20-minute walk, and you didn’t want to spend money on an Uber.

So you walked. Clasping your hands around the leather strap of your bag, fingers tapping excitedly against it. The walk gave you plenty of time to think over everything that’d been buzzing in your mind since you left the court.

It also gave you enough time to get incredibly nervous.

What if you were awkward? What if you made a fool of yourself and Geto no longer thought you were this mysterious water girl at his practice? Why had he finally noticed you today? What if all of your smooth commentary from earlier was just some beginner’s luck at flirtation?

You’d never been one to throw yourself to the current—entirely comfortable in the hermit shell you’d created. However, this isolation had made it possible that you’d never had your first real anything besides the awkward peck in the 6th grade from your classmate.

Maybe you should just turn back now. You’d never hung out with this crowd before, and you could very well be the only fresh face in the room today.

Fuck. This was a bad idea. Maybe your mysteriousness was a good run while it lasted, and you were setting yourself up for failure.

Again, it’s the low self-esteem talking.

And through all of your self-doubt and hyper-anxious thoughts, you found yourself standing in the yard of Sigma Nu’s frat house.

There didn’t seem to be a rager tonight. No drunken bodies spilling from the doorway, no loud music thrumming through the night street, no neon yard decorations to catch your eye.

This was probably a pretty small get-together.

And you had time to escape now. Nodding to yourself in acceptance of your girl loser ship, resigned to your nature of being a girl failure, you turned on your heel preparing to slink away, before you ran into a solid chest.

Glass clinking against each other resonated in your ears as you looked up to see shades peering down at you.

“Gojo?”

Tilting his head, he studied who just ran full throttle into him down the bridge of his nose before a small smile crept upon his lips, breathing your name in recognition. “Where you goin’ in such a hurry?”

Your eyes widened, scanning the street around to see if he’d been with anyone else, but he seemed to be alone. He was holding a few beer carriers in each hand, probably on drink duty. “N-nowhere… I uh… left my phone-“

“The phone in your bag?” He questioned, calling bullshit immediately and jutting his chin at your purse that wasn’t zipped completely shut.

You cringed, slapping your clutch and mentally wishing you were slapping yourself for your idiocy. “WOW! Thank you so much, I had been looking everywhere for it,” you exclaimed quickly, though you didn’t sound all too convincing.

“Uh-huh,” he nodded, picking up his stride towards the door. Your feet remained planted in place, watching him head to the stone steps, praying that he’d enter without a word like he hadn’t seen you try to escape, but of course, luck was not on your side. When was it ever? “You comin?” He prodded past his shoulder.

“Mhm!” You immediately hummed eagerly, your shoulders tense as you followed his steps. Though he only watched as you ascended and didn’t move.

“You know,” he sighed, setting the drinks down and crossing his arms. “I honestly didn’t think you’d muster up the balls to do it.”

With furrowed brows, you peered up at him, feeling slightly defensive at his odd word choice but unsure as to what he was referring to. “Do what?”

He shrugged, a knowing smirk on his lips, crossing his arms over his biceps. “Talk to Suguru.”

A chill trickled down your spine, your blood turning ice cold at the mention of his name from his best friend’s mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whispered, breaking eye contact and wrapping your fingers around the clutch of your purse with a tight grip, needing to ground yourself.

“Relax. I won’t say nothin’,” he chuckled, seeing the en garde yet all-telling look on your face. “But you’re crazy if you think half the team hasn’t noticed your less-than-subtle stalking.”

You cringed, realizing the situation you were now in. Should you run? Should you build a house on the peak of Mount Fuji and never return to society?

“I support ya.”

Squinting at the white haired boy who you were pretty sure was going to either tease you to hell or expose all of your secrets just seconds ago, you squeaked out a small “What?”

“Said I support ya,” he said, reaching down to the handles of the drink carriers and returning to full height. “You seem like a sweet girl. Nervous and socially challenged, but who isn’t around their crush?”

Shaking your head, you attempted to process a word out of his mouth and balled your fists. “Gojo, if you’re messing with me-“

“I’m not. Just don’t be so intimidated by him tonight. He’s a good guy,” and with that, Gojo pushed the wooden door open and headed inside, leaving you alone to suppress your racing heartbeat.

Had you just gotten the blessing of his best friend? And had he just told you that you were nothing less than discreet in your one-sided crush? Not to mention his comment of you being socially inept.

Fuck.

And you can’t dip now. Gojo had seen you. He was probably letting everyone know that you’d finally made it. Despite the sweat beading in your palms and your clammy skin, you had to show face.

Grinding your teeth, you pushed through the door and stepped inside.

Sigma Nu was a 3 story, brown and brick beauty. You’d never attended any of their parties as you were too nervous for such a social scene, so you knew you had to rely purely on instinct to find your way around.

It wasn’t too hard, though—stepping past the grand stairs to an ajar door that spilled a neon blue light. There was some laughter and conversation muffled from below, and you began descending the stairs.

There was a break in the wall from the left once you were around halfway down, peering your head to the side once your height leveled to it to take in the scene.

The basement setting was pretty spacious, nearly 20 people hanging around the walls, the pool table, a gaming console with a TV, and a couch midst it all. A hint of smoke and booze lingered in the air, making you scrunch your nose.

You recognized almost everyone—different members of the team, some partners of the players, and some were managers of the basketball team. Nearly everyone held a red solo cup, taking swigs and flashing tipsy grins to their friends.

You spotted a mess of white hair, bending over to set new bottles down onto a table in front of the couch.

And that’s when you spotted him. Suguru Geto, draped in the corner of the sectional with his hair sprawled onto his chest and back. He was sporting a black compression T-shirt, accompanied by a cotton black zip-up.

You padded over in your Mary Janes, feeling a little dolled up for the occasion as you picked a white and pink blouse, the least controversial amount of cleavage you could flash and muster yourself up to, and a jean mini-skirt.

He’d opted for grey sweats, and as he man spread, you suddenly felt that annoyingly perverted side of you peek through as you took a controversial look at his lap, eyeing the tent in the fabric to get a read on his size.

“Hey,” he exhaled, eyes scanning your figure, tone raspy and husky as if he was… was he stoned? You couldn’t tell.

Your cheeks flushed as your eyes darted to match his crimson ones (oh, he was definitely stoned), wondering if your previous staring had gone unnoticed. Surprise, it didn’t. A smirk tugged at his lips as he stood up, pushing Shoko, who was currently making out with her girlfriend, off of him and making his way towards you.

Squeezing both hands in front of you, you rocked on your heels as you gave him a soft smile.

“Let’s get you a drink,” he said, narrowing his eyes with a teasing smile and walking you to the kitchen. Of course, they had a kitchen down here, too.

There was an array of snacks and sweets covering the table, and you eyed a pizookie, cooing and reaching out before Geto clasped his hand around your wrist to halt you, firmly but gently.

“Careful. Those aren’t uh… regular pizookie’s.”

You stilled at the sudden touch, then turned to him and tilted your head, a confused expression that earned an endearing chuckle from him.

“They’re laced, sweetie.”

You opened your mouth, a small “oh” leaving your lips as you dropped your hand from his grasp. “Thanks. I’ve never tried those before.”

Crossing his arms, he leaned against the fridge. “No problem. I’m glad you made it here tonight, by the way.”

You ignored the way your heart fluttered at the comment. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”

He poked his head around the kitchen until he found a solo cup and some punch, letting you know there wasn’t any alcohol in it unless you’d wanted to spike your cup. You weren’t the biggest drinker, along with the fact that you were in charge of yourself tonight, so you allowed yourself to hydrate on the red beverage without any intoxicants.

He nodded as you sipped, a small hum leaving his lips as he never broke his gaze from you. “I wanna show you something.”

You glanced up, meeting his enticing, purple orbs as you nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Disposing of your empty cup, he led you out of the basement, not without earning a few looks from his friends, where the two of you made it to ground level and headed towards a shut door. Pushing it open, it revealed a large table with a few scattered papers and a desktop. There were a few shelves that lined the walls with what looked to be trophies and a couple finance books. Classic frat.

“It’s their office. I doubt they mind,” he said, plopping onto the desk chair and tapping away at the keyboard.

Stepping inside, you turned to shut the door and heard it click, wondering if that was the right move or if that was creepy before he called your name over to where he was sitting. “Look.”

He pointed to the screen, and you walked over, bending slightly to where his pointer finger was indicating as the light illuminated your face. “Battle of the bands…” You breathed out, eyes scanning the screen. “You entered a music competition?” You inquired, turning to look at him, seeing the excited grin on his lips.

“Yeah. Do I fit the whole Troy Bolton stereotype, or am I far off?”

You giggled, returning to your full height and brushing a strand out of your hair, looking down at him with a smile. “I think you need to add the word ‘grunge’ in front of his name.”

“Oh yeah?” He crossed his arms behind his head and reclined into the chair lazily. “Can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or if you think I’m more grunge than emotional,” he teased.

Shrugging, you placed your hands on the edge of the table and hopped up, sitting and laying your head on your shoulder, mulling over his statement. “You’ve never pegged me as the emotional type.”

Cocking his head, he had a difficult time concealing the humor tugging at his puzzled expression. “Never? What timeline are we talking here?”

A sputtered laugh left your lips, and you felt nervous at the question. How do you explain that you can only recall the same 3 expressions on his face—slight joy, exhaustion, and driven focus—for the past two years you’ve spent gawking at him despite having 2 total interactions with him, including right now?

“I’m messing with you,” he chuckled, then fed into your relieved expression. “But, I do feel that I must let you know something.”

“…Yeah?”

Training his focus on his thighs, he let a couple of beats pass before crossing his arms over his chest. In real time, you wondered if you were ovulating or if he had those many veins in his hands alone. “Nanami came over to me. ‘Fore you arrived. Told me to uh…” he rubbed his large hand against his jaw and bit his cheek before exhaling. “Take it easy on you.”

“What?” You gasped, an aghast look painting your face. Nanami said what???

“Yeah. Look, I can be… a little oblivious when it comes to things,” he started, and you held out a hand to stop him, wincing at how carefully he was picking his words.

“Stop. Stop stop stop. Please. If you’re planning on letting me down easy, just stop right there. I don’t know what Nanami told you, but I know I’m going to murder him later,” you gritted your teeth, feeling blood rush to your cheeks and warm them.

Geto stood up in shock, waving his hands next. “Woah, no. I wasn’t… that’s not what I was…” his eyes narrowed, the edges crinkling as he scanned your flushed face. You looked so pretty tonight. “Listen,” he began, taking a step closer to you until your knees were mere centimeters from his thighs, and the height he had on you was nothing short of intimidating.

“All my life, I’ve managed to fit the clueless basketball player stereotypes. And for all I care, people can continue to think that about me. But what I am not is dumb. I may have been too clueless to pick up on you around me, but I am not dumb enough to let you… get away.”

Words… words you didn’t even know how to respond with, caught in your throat. What the hell was Geto saying?

“Geto…”

“Suguru. Call me Suguru,” he interrupted jarringly, placing a large hand of his next to your thigh on the table.

You sat there with your hands now bunched in the hemline of your skirt, feeling your pulse quicken. There’s no way in hell that he was confessing what you thought he was.

“Since our talk in the gym this morning, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. God, you’re so good with your words, it makes my head hurt.”

You let out a yelp at the groan he let out, then bit your lip.

“Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?” He chuckled, noticing your stillness and quietness.

“N-no… It’s okay… I just, I don’t know exactly what I did…” You whispered, hating the sound of your mousey voice.

“Wish you could see yourself from my eyes,” he breathed, reaching his hand up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Did you cast a spell on me?” He teased, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You quickly rattled your head, orbs wide, and watched as he leaned his head near yours. Fuck. Was he about to kiss you?

It was all happening so fast. Clamping your eyes shut, you waited for the moment you’d dreamt about for as long as you could remember. And waited. And waited… before peeking out of your left eye.

Suguru watched you quietly, a dazed look on his face.

“Is… something wrong?” You questioned, wondering why his lips weren’t on yours.

“No… just… why are you bracing yourself like that?” He sounded so genuine, you wanted to melt away. How do you explain that you’ve barely been kissed before? That you were mentally a whore but physically a virgin. “Is this your first kiss?”

“No!” You yelped, then covered your mouth with an unintentionally dramatic slap. “….Well, it’s my second.”

He backed up, his eyes widening slightly, then rubbing the back of his neck in what looked to be guilt. “Fuck. Sorry, I didn’t mean to… come onto you or anything…” he trailed off.

No… no no no. You didn’t want him to back off now. Not when your heart was thrumming with need, and a lot of nerves.

Reaching out, you gripped the sleeve of his zip-up and gave him pleading eyes. “Kiss me.”

His eyebrows raised, watching you with surprise that turned into admiration, before he inched closer.

You spread your legs, allowing him to slot his large frame between them, and kept your grip on his zip-up.

“Want me to kiss you, darling?”

If the butterflies in your stomach were fluttering before, they were having seizures now, from the insane octave drop in his voice. God, it made your core throb from the sultriness.

With a fevered intent, you nodded your head and tugged him gently.

That gave him all he needed to dip his head down, placing his lips onto yours and using his large hands to cup your jaw.

Up close, he smelled like wild cedar and jasmine… tasted like a spiced booze.

You tilted your head backwards, allowing for more access as he pushed himself closer, swiping his tongue against your lower lip. The feeling made you let out a whine, to which he grinned in response.

His lips moved with such skill against yours, and you were breathless in an attempt to keep up.

Sliding one hand to the nape of your neck, he used the other to rub your flushed cheek gently while he made love to you with his mouth. Now you tasted mint and something smoky. To Suguru, you tasted like your strawberry lip gloss that was smearing against his lips and the punch you’d just downed moments ago.

With one hand clutching his arm and hanging, your other hand found its way to his side and gripped at whatever fabric you could to pull him as close as possible. What you hadn’t intended on doing was feeling his crotch rub against your clothed core, a groan leaving both of your lips.

“Fuck,” he heaved, pulling away and a string of saliva hanging between the two of your plump lips. His eyes were lidded and low, a hungry look simmering beneath. “Don’t… don’t do that.”

You could hear the grit in his tone, only making you need him all that much more. Your fingers balled in the fabric of his clothing as your eyes nearly glossed over in lust, missing the weight of him against you. Tugging him closer, he dropped both hands to your sides and dipped his head into the crook of your neck with a sigh.

“I-I can’t… when you do that,” he sighed, inhaling your scent. He was afraid of taking things too far with you, with the knowledge that you were inexperienced.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t think of a better way to go about your first time—more than ready at the prospect. “I want you,” you shuddered, angling your head to the side to allow him to pepper more gentle kisses along the column of your throat. His hot breath fanned over the skin, nibbling gently, but not enough to mark you. He was nervous to be the first to mark you. “I know it’s my f-first, but I’m ready,” you whined, and it had Suguru bowing, his jaw clenching in need as blood rushed to his erection. You had no idea what you do to him.

With slow deliberation, you reached your hands up and to his shoulders, sliding his zip-up off to fall to the ground. He allowed it, breathing heavily into your neck. Tugging at the hemline of your blouse, he pulled it up and over your head and felt the wind knocked from his lungs at your bare chest.

Heat found itself creeping up from your neck to your cheeks, shy from his hungry stares.

“You’re so beautiful,” he sighed, tracing the bare skin of your shoulder. You were wearing your favorite bra and panties today—it wasn’t some fancy lingerie set but it made your bosom look swell.

“Thank you,” you whispered, avoiding his eyes as your hands flinched, wanting to cover yourself.

His hands found purchase in your bare thighs, kneading the skin softly with his thumb, pulling you closer to him and off the edge of the table. “You sure you want this?”

You nodded eagerly, biting your lip and craning your head up at him.

Narrowing his eyes, he cupped your cheeks and leaned in, his breath fanning over your lips as he kissed gently, then pulled away after a moment. “I need to hear you say it,” he whispered huskily.

“I…” you trailed off, humming a small whine before lifting your hips to rub yourself against him. “Sugu…. I need you inside.”

The growl that left his lips sent a fire blazing over your skin, the two of you tearing at each other’s clothes to rid yourselves of them, the pace not quick enough for how high-strung the sexual tension in the air was.

As he pulled his compression top up and off of his head, your eyes scanned over his muscular and toned tan figure, feeling that wet spot in your panties grow even more damp.

You trailed a finger along his collarbone, then down his chest, and laid a kiss against the bare skin. He tossed his head back, shivering at your delicate touch. “You’re such a fuckin’ tease, you know that?”

A giggle left your lips as you glanced up at him, then brought your hand down to his clothed erection, palming it. Fuck. He was so hard, and his size must be insane.

His back bowed forward, slamming a hand down onto the table as you slowly moved your palm up and down, a stifling gasp when you reached the clothed top and rubbed the slit.

“Y-you sure this is your f-first time?” He inhaled, fist balling against the oak desk.

You opened your mouth to assure him, but was promptly silenced as he pushed his lips against yours. Suguru moved with such ferocity this time that you could barely keep up with him. Your hands were slack above his shoulders, tugging at his Stygian locks that trickled onto you. They were silky smooth and you’d only dreamt of this moment, curling and twirling your fingers through them.

In your lustful haze, Suguru slipped his tongue between your parted lips, the wet muscle pushing down against your own and earning a whimper from the action. He grinned and glided it deeper, your saliva intermixed with his.

His fingers worked their way onto your back, unclasping your bra and tossing it to the side. Gripping one mound in his hand, he tweaked at the sensitive nipple, and you flinched, his cold touch sending shivering ripples through your body.

Kissing the seam of your love-bitten lips, he trailed his pecks down your throat again, this time leaving a trail of marks that made you look oh-so beautiful. They continued down to your bare breasts, where he took one mound between his lips and bit, causing you to tug his hair.

“You like that?” He muttered, licking a ring around your nipple.

You whined in response, feeling your body nearly turning to jelly. He noticed this, wrapping an arm around your waist and suctioning his lips around one breast, fondling the other to make sure she wasn’t lonely.

Twitching, he continued his ravage against your chest, flicking and sucking in ways that had you tossing your head back.

Pulling away, he peered down, eyes glinting in mischief and pride as he admired his work. "You're a fucking painting," he breathed out, brushing a hand through his hair as he panted.

A warmth bloomed in your chest, bringing your hands to your chest and glancing down to see the amount of hickies he managed to cover you with, your eyes widening.

Suguru chuckled at your reaction, stroking the top of your head, then meeting your eyes with a more serious look. "You absolutely sure you want to do this?"

God, how could someone be so hot when asking for consent?

"I do. Truly, I want my first to be with you," you said, love-sick eyes pleading him.

He scanned your pleading orbs, before reaching to grab his zip-up and digging in his pocket for a square piece of plastic.

Tugging at the hem of his sweatpants, he pulled them down along with his boxers, his shaft springing free.

Your jaw fell open, eyeing his massive length. It looked... angry. The veins running down his cock were prominent and bulging from the scruffy, base covered with onyx-colored hair that matched his head, up to his dark tip that was already leaking pre.

There was no way that girth was going to fit.

He chuckled at your reaction, putting the wrapper in his mouth and tearing it free with his canines. Tossing it to the side, he undid the plastic and pulled the rubber along his member, stroking it a few times to get snug.

"Don't worry, we'll go slow," he assured you, leaning closer and placing his hand on your nape, angling you to meet his eyes. "Just keep your eyes on me, angel."

You nodded eagerly, wrapping your arms around his shoulder to peck his lips, earning a soft grin from him.

Within moments, you felt his fingers tugging your panties to the side and his tip nudge against your drooling folds, gasping at the pressure. Slipping it up and down, he collected your juices, the scent of your arousal wafting through the air, before pushing into your tight hole.

“O-oh my god,” you winced, feeling his tip push right against that ring of resistance, your body stiffening from the harsh sting.

Suguru leaned to peck your jawline, then found that sweet spot against your throat to suck on, all while his hand groped your breast. “Breathe, sweetheart,” he murmured against your skin.

Releasing a shaky breath, your body began to relax as he inched himself deeper, the pain mixing with pleasure.

Your lashes fluttered as he twitched inside of you, feeling his veins rubbing against your syrupy walls. God, he was so massive it had your heart stuttering.

Lifting his head from your neck, he glanced down to where you two were joined and gripped your thighs, pulling you slowly down his length.

Your nails scratched down his broad shoulders, leaving red marks in your trail, his cock so deep inside you that you could practically feel him in your lungs.

“S’ too much,” you whimpered out, feeling tears trickle from the seam of your lids.

Suguru brought a hand to your cheek and wiped it with the pad of his thumb, then leaned down to kiss your eyes as he stilled his movements entirely, allowing you a moment to adjust.

The heaving of your chest slowed, and soon you began to feel that need clawing away at you, head rolling around in a daze.

"Ready?" He questioned in a whispering tone, kneading your thigh and you could feel every touch of his now leaving a blaze of heat in it's path.

Without a word, you rejoined your lips with his and could practically taste the essence of Suguru, your wet arousal leaking from you as he picked up a steady pace.

Gripping the underside of your thighs, he hoisted you up, and clutched the back of your head. You let out a yelp, feeling as he gripped your body taut against his as you hovered in the air before he pushed you against the nearest wall.

Without wasting a moment, Suguru began bucking his hips up and into you. You could feel your mouth watering lazily, a fucked-out grin on your face as the desire washed over you.

"Fuckin' wet," Suguru slurred, almost angrily, as if he couldn't fuck you fast enough, splitting you on his length.

Babbles and whines left your lips that made no coherent sense, enough to assure Suguru that he was making your first time worthwhile.

Obscene squelches resonated in the room with each thrust into you, the curve of his shaft finding that sweet spot that had you screaming in his mouth.

Bringing a hand up to muffle the noise, a sheepish smile made it's way to his perspired face. "Like that?" He cooed, slamming into you and you could feel his veins dragging along your gummy walls even through that rubber covering.

"Fuck! S'too... too good," you yelped out, slurred and smothered by his hand, bringing your bleary gaze down to him. Fuck. He was so devastatingly beautiful with his violet, teary eyes and perfectly messy hair.

It felt all too much like a dream. That the one and only Suguru Geto was plowing into you, popping your cherry.

Your ragged gasps were music to his ears, each rut against your cervix definitely bruising you.

His calloused fingers indented your thigh, squeezing and gripping every inch as you slid up and down the wall, holding yourself up by his massive shoulders and wrapping your free leg around his waist.

“Fuckin’ made for me,” he groaned out, feeling his member twitch as it dragged along your walls. Each thrust had your whines increasing in volume, the beast of a man more than satisfied to feel the drool pooling in his palm held against your mouth. Your sounds were driving him feral, pushing him past the point of lust and into the realm of consuming every ounce of you that you could give him.

You were so pliant, so malleable in his arms, he feared that he could break you. It’s unfair he couldn’t be taking you raw, but he hoped it’d be something in the future for the two of you.

"You close?" He asked, and you nodded eagerly, eyes shutting from the overstimulation. That coil wrapped tighter and tighter into a knot in your gut, begging to be undone.

There was a a violating display where the two of you were connected, your cream creating a ring round the base of his cock and coating his dark drapes.

Suguru felt himself choking on his groans, your pussy sucking him in with each thrust that had him release a whimper with his head tossed back. "B-baby... fuckin' ngh... you're fucking milkin' me," he whined out, voice nearly pitched up.

His pace was growing sloppy and slow, practically dragging you down the wall to push himself deeper and deeper.

"Sugu!" You screamed out into his hand, a sudden flash of hot white engulfing you to the point your vision blacked out and your ears began to ring.

Literal seconds after, Suguru let out a hoarse groan, shoving himself as deep as possible before releasing, his limbs contracting as he stilled.

Your head dropped lazily to his shoulder, attempting to catch your breath as he pulled out, letting you ground yourself with the help of his guidance and standing on your two feet.

Peering up, you met the gaze of the guy who just took your first. "H-how was that?" You chuckled, wobbling to the desk chair.

In all honesty, Suguru was at a loss for words. No woman he's ever been with made him... whine. He was hoping the flush on his cheeks could be mistaken for his exertion rather than exposing him for being flustered.

Sliding back into his boxers and sweats, he dragged a hand through his hair and eyed you. God, your afterglow was something else.

Leaning against the table, he crossed his hands over his bare chest and bit his lip in thought. "Sure that was your first time?"

You choked on the waterbottle he handed you, nearly spitting it all over him. "Yeah, can’t believe you’re asking me again" you chuckled, wiping your damp cheek with the back of your hand. "Did I surprise you?"

Suguru let out a low chuckle, pushing off the table and heading towards the door. "I'll be right back."

He disappeared around the corner, and it was the first time you felt like you could take a deep breath, slumping in your chair and eyes widening.

Who did you bless in a past life to have sex with THE Suguru Geto?

Should you do cartwheels around the room right now? Should you record the aftermath and write in your journal this second to ensure the entry didn’t miss a single detail so you could relieve this moment every night for the rest of your life?

…Hold on, where did he go?

Your eyes flickered to the ajar door, grabbing your bra and blouse and sliding them back on.

Damn it. Your heart thrummed in your ears, wondering if you were a bad partner and let him down. Was he coming back? Or was that his escape plan?

Did he even come? Where did he put the condom?

Suguru Geto wasn't an asshole... no. You assured yourself, nodding your head as you limply paced around the room with your fingernail in your mouth.

But how well did you really know him? All of your infatuation with him was solely surface—frankly, you knew almost nothing personal about the guy.

A couple of knocks were heard on the door, your nervous expression meeting the man who leaned casually on the doorframe, a white rag in hand.

"Didn't think I just fuck and dash, did you?" The man in question quirked cooly, walking over to you.

The relieved sigh that left your lips didn’t go unnoticed. Your mouth hung open in defense, but you were truly at a loss for words. You, in fact, did think he fucked and dashed on you.

He noticed your hesitation, leaning down and scooping you up bridal style swiftly. A quiet gasp left your lips, peering up at him.

"You wound me, pretty," he whispered, striding over to the desk chair and setting you down.

Your heart stammered as you watched him kneel down and bring the warm, damp rag to your bare thighs to clean you up, then up to your sex.

The entire scene was a little too intimate for your liking, as you knew that after this, there was no way in hell you could possibly get over Suguru Geto. You attempted to mask how ticklish you were throughout the whole thing. Or maybe you were just giddy?

How could he be such a gentleman?

"I wanna ask you something," he whispered, eyes trained on the hem of your skirt as he adjusted it to cover you up.

You nodded and he peered up at you, cocking his head slightly.

"Would you like to come to my game tomorrow night?"

The scrunch of your brows had him chuckling. "I know you're gonna be there as the water girl but... I mean as my date. Officially."

Your hands gripped the silk fabric at the bottom of your top, your mouth hanging open.

What? Had you died and been reborn? Is this heaven?

"C-could you elaborate on what you mea-"

"I like you," he interrupted, taking your hand in his. "I know it's like, way too fucking early for this as our first conversation was literally this morning and I just fucked you at a party," he breathed out, eyes darting between yours as he rambled. "But, I've never met a girl quite like you. And I'd be an idiot not to chase after you."

The upward tug of your lips didn't go unnoticed by Suguru, who matched your expression.

"I'd love to, Suguru."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

—

"Hustle! Run the floor!"

Coach Yaga roared down the court, clapping his hands and throwing them around as he threw out plays, curses entwined in each sentence.

Suguru, clad in his jersey, was nodding at Gojo, open for a pass and took the chance regardless, landing a 3-point shot, and tossing a smug grin to his teammate.

And there you were, in all your glory, manning the water station.

Again, the frantic nature of filling up water cup after water cup was practically tradition. But this time, you knew you had an audience so it wasn't easy to hide the trembling of your hands.

You were Suguru Geto’s fucking date to his homecoming basketball game. Not to mention, he invited you to his battle of the bands competition right before the game.

This wasn't a scenario you could've dreamt up even two days ago.

Nanami and Shoko had been blowing up your phone ever since the two of you left the party last night, and you noticed the sheepish glances Gojo passed you every couple minutes.

Suguru wasn't the most subtle guy in the world, but he didn't care. Every shot he made, he glanced in your direction to check if you saw him. Sometimes you'd be jumping up and down, waving your arms frantically, and other times you'd be cleaning up a spill to avoid being yelled at by the referee.

God, you were so cute. He honestly doesn't know what got into him, asking you out after knowing you for a day.

But there was something about you, something that drew him in like a magnet, that made the oblivious!suguru not want to let you go.

tags: @tinydonkeysforlife @teenbreakup

[lazysoulwriter]

the trouble we cause. - pedro pascal x wife!actress!reader.

requested!!! thank you for sending, love doing this one.

---

It had started as a joke.

"Imagine if we ever worked together," you had laughed, curled up against Pedro’s chest one night. "We’d get absolutely nothing done."

Pedro had only grinned, pressing a kiss to your hair. "I'd be professional... ish."

You should've known better.

Because now, six months later, you were sitting across from him at a press junket, cameras rolling, mics hot — and you were this close to bursting into laughter because of the dumb little face he was making at you from across the table.

It was a losing battle from the start.

From the very first day on set, you and Pedro had been... a problem.

It wasn’t intentional. You were both professionals — award-winning, seasoned actors. But professionalism had limits when it came to your husband whispering Spanish nonsense into your ear between takes just to make you giggle.

It wasn’t your fault he kept sneaking glances at you during serious scenes. It wasn’t your fault you kept blushing and ruining your lines. And it definitely wasn’t your fault when the director had to physically separate you two during lunch breaks because apparently, "you're distracting each other too much."

Not that the separation helped much. Pedro had a whole arsenal of "across the room" tactics: raised eyebrows, secret smiles, a whole silent language only the two of you understood.

You were, in short, insufferable.

And everyone else loved you for it.

The junket was the worst (or best) example yet.

Initially, they had placed you and Pedro side by side, thinking it would be cute — married couple! same movie! adorable!

It took all of ten minutes for chaos to erupt.

You couldn't stop leaning into each other, whispering jokes under your breath. Pedro kept trying to "discreetly" hold your hand under the table. At one point, you straight-up started laughing so hard at something he muttered that you had to hide your face behind your coffee cup.

The publicist eventually gave up and moved you to opposite ends of the panel.

Big mistake.

Now, you were playing silent games of charades across the stage — winking, mouthing jokes, making faces until the moderator very politely asked if "the married couple could please focus."

You bit your lip, cheeks flaming. Pedro just shrugged, grinning like the devil himself.

Later, during the one-on-one interviews, it only got worse.

Every time someone asked a serious question, Pedro would somehow manage to derail it.

"What's it like working together?" Pedro: "Dangerous. I fear for my life daily." (said while giving you a full-on heart-eyes look.)

"Was there a lot of on-set chemistry?" Pedro: "Wouldn’t know. I was too busy trying not to propose again."

You smacked his arm for that one — gently, lovingly, the way you did everything with him.

The interviewer laughed. Pedro just looked ridiculously pleased with himself.

When you got home that night, exhausted but buzzing from the day, you collapsed onto the couch together, still in your fancy clothes.

Pedro immediately pulled you into his lap, arms locking around your waist.

"You know," you murmured, tracing lazy patterns over his chest, "we're a menace."

Pedro laughed, deep and warm. "I think they’re just jealous," he said, nuzzling your temple. "They wish they had this."

You smiled, feeling that familiar, overwhelming rush of love for him.

"This," you echoed, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

And you wouldn't have it any other way. Even if it meant getting scolded like teenagers every time you were in a room together.

Especially if it meant this.

---

[muli-wam]

Nanami Kento is many things, needy is not one of them.

Of course he was completely and utterly obsessed with you—his beautiful, kind hearted, sexy wife—but Kento was a controlled man. He wasn't popping a boner everytime you so much as glanced at him.

But, on the rare occasion he did feel this way, he would have to be insanely stressed out and withheld of your intoxicating essence due to the dreadful hours spend at work.

Kind of like now.

He's been deprived of you for the past 2 weeks. Nothing but his stupid hand to help get him off in the late hours of the night when he would return home from work and you'd already be asleep.

You insisted he could simply wake you up to fulfill his desires, but Nanami would never disturb his wife of her beauty sleep.

Though at the end of the day, Kento is still a man.

Which is why you're here.

He felt crazed. Positively ruined by just the sight of your naked figure sprawled in front of him, completely at his mercy.

Kento's dilated pupils trail along every ridge, curve and crevice of your body, causing you to shiver under his intense gaze.

His large palm comes up to rub slowly along your waist as he sat on his knees between your parted legs.

"So, so, beautiful," Kento murmured with hooded eyes.

"My wife," he groans, throwing his head back and bringing one hand to palm his aching crotch.

"Kennn" you whine, lightly clawing at his thighs to try and get him to do something.

"Need you so bad, my love," he says breathless, leaning to trail soft kisses down your neck while pulling down his boxers.

"Then take me, ken" you mewl.

Kento wasn't the only one deprived of release. Countless nights spent with your fingers stuffed in your cunt trying to mimic Nanami's just wasn't going to cut it. It wasn't the same as the real thing.

you both let out drawled out moans as Kento eased himself into your tight chasm, your fingers threading through his blonde locs, tugging gently.

"Feels s'good, Ken," you say breathlessly in his ear.

His hips move at a steady rhythm, pushing moan after moan from you both. Kento's hands run up and down your figure before resting on your hips, holding them down firmly as he increases his pace.

"Oh, baby," Kento borderline whines.

"Ohhh, baby," he buries his head in the crook of your neck, giggling.

Kento was fucking giggling as he pounded your pussy into the mattress.

"Fu-fuuckk, you're amazing, my love," his head raised to rest his forehead against yours. Your gaze on him never waivers as he fucks you harder, as he threads his fingers in between yours, chanting profanity after profanity while bringing you both closer to your highs.

"I'm gonna- fuck, I'm so close, my wife. I'm so fucking close," you watch as his hazel eyes gloss over, brimming with tears due to the overwhelming pleasure.

"Inside, Ken, pleasee," you moan out, fucking yourself back against him as you feel your high approaching. Your arms wrap tightly around Kento's neck, his lips pressed against your ear.

You hear him whisper something in your ear, it was faint, almost incoherent. "P-promise to love you-mmm, never l-leave you f'as l-long as I-oh fuck."

Before you could realize what he was saying you both reached your climax, the mind numbing pleasure clouding your brain.

Kento's whispers halted, instead replaced with breathy whimpers as he slowly grinded his cock into you, riding out your orgasms.

You both sat in silence, peppering soft kisses along each other when you finally realized what Kento was whispering.

Your pussy was so good you made him recite his vows.

Nanami Kento is many things, needy is not one of them—unless you're his wife.

Nanami Kento is many things, needy is not one of them.

A/n: I had a thought about fucking ken so good he recites his vows and here is that thought expanded upon 🤩↕️

[luna-azzurra]

What to Give a Sh*t About While Editing Your Book

↳ Emotional Impact

Ask yourself: Do I actually feel something here? If a scene is technically “well-written” but emotionally flat, it’s dead weight. Your readers won’t remember your clever metaphors, but they’ll remember the way a quiet line of dialogue made their stomach drop. So yeah—give a sh*t about that.

↳ Character Motivation That Actually Makes Sense

If your characters are making decisions just because the plot needs them to… we’ve got a problem. In edits, zoom in on their choices. Are they acting like real, flawed, complex humans? Or puppets? Edit until their actions make you nod and go, “Yep. That’s exactly what that little disaster would do.”

↳ Cutting the “Almost Good” Stuff

This hurts, but it’s necessary. Some lines are nice. Pretty. Kind of smart. But if they’re not serving the story, they’ve got to go. Save them in a “kill darlings” file. Grieve if needed. But don’t let “kinda good” block the greatness trying to come through.

↳ Scene Purpose

Every scene needs to earn its place like it’s paying rent. Does it move the plot? Deepen character? Build tension? Ideally, two out of three. If the answer is “it’s vibes,” that might work for a paragraph—but not for 3,000 words. Cut. Condense. Clarify. Your future reader will thank you.

↳ Pacing That Doesn’t Bore People to Death

Look, I love a moody slow burn too. But if your story crawls for 50 pages without conflict, tension, or curiosity—your reader will ghost you. Read your scenes out loud. If you’re zoning out? So will they. Tighten that sh*t up.

↳ Dialogue That Sounds Like Real People (and Not AI)

If your characters sound like they're reading from a very polite script, it’s time to rewrite. Interruptions, unfinished thoughts, weird little phrases—those are gold. Make it messy. Make it sound like how people actually talk when they’re nervous, angry, or halfway in love and lying about it.

↳ Themes You Accidentally Nailed (and Can Now Strengthen)

Themes tend to sneak in while you’re drafting. During edits? Time to spotlight them. Don’t slap it on with a neon sign—but do lean into the emotional throughline you already created. It’s probably smarter and more beautiful than you gave yourself credit for.

↳ Your Voice

Don’t edit your weird out. Editing is for clarity, not sanding down your style until it sounds like generic internet writing. Keep the voicey bits. The odd metaphors. The lines that sound exactly like you. That’s what readers fall in love with—not perfection.

↳ Trusting That You’ll Need Multiple Rounds

This isn’t one-and-done. Your second draft will suck differently than your first. Your third might suck less, but still suck. That’s fine. It’s part of the process. What matters is that each time, it gets sharper, truer, and more you.

↳ Not Quitting Halfway Through Just Because It’s Hard

Editing is hard. But you’ve already done the impossible: you wrote a damn book. That’s massive. Now you’re just sculpting it. Don’t give up because it’s messy. Don’t panic because it’s not “there” yet. Keep showing up. Even if it’s just one scene at a time. Even if you’re crying into your tea. Especially then.

[cherrynpink]

freak like me

pairing: nerdy!dino x f!reader

genre: project partners, mutual pining, lots of daydreaming, smut (with a bit of plot) MDNI!

warnings: shy cutesy dino who has my heart (he is a secret freak!), idk how american uni works so just go w it pls, dino and chan are both used interchangeably, oc has nerd kink (ahem), forward oc, cursing, a bit of manipulation?, too many thirsty thoughts, kissing, choking, spit kink, unprotected sex (do not do this!), oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, clit stimulation, brat!oc, brattamer!dino, mean dino, he calls oc slut/whore, dirty talk!!!, riding, missionary position, creampie, size kink?, crying, hair grabbing, ass slapping, orgasm denial, cum eating, it is honestly filthy, lmk if i missed anything!

w.c.: 5.4k

playlist: freak like me

note: thank you so much for liking the last fic so much :( didn't expect such a positive reception so i was super motivated to write this one! plus these pictures of him did something to me like y'all don't get it like i do bcs i went crazy and HAD to write.

also u can message me here or comment if u want to be part of my taglist! my requests are open if u have something u wanna read, or just talk. feedback is highly appreciated hope u like this one hehe :3

“Right, so the semester end project will be a group project.” Your professor says as the whole class sighs in disappointment and annoyance.

“I know you all don’t like these group projects, but it’s compulsory guys, it’s worth 30% of your final grade. If it’s any consolation, I requested the dean to let it be done in pairs, so be a little grateful, I don’t want anyone coming up to me after class asking to change partners.”

Great. The only thing you hated more than group projects were the ones done in pairs. In spite of all the arguments in groups, atleast you didn’t have to do any work if you didn’t feel like it. But now not only will there be conflicts with your partner, but you’ll have to do half the work too. Just great.

“Y/n? miss y/n?” your professor calls pulling you out of your zoned out state as you raise your hand in confusion.

“You’ll be partnered with Mr. Chan.”

Oh. This was going to be fun. Not only was Chan really REALLY good at studies, but also so cute. You first met him just on the second day of class, when you asked him for a pencil because being klutz you are, you had forgotten you had that class that day and had practically rolled off your bed as your roommate woke you up minutes before it started, reaching a bit late and resulting in your professor scolding you. Chan had coyly given you the pencil, later passing you a note in the middle of the class written “you can ask me later if you have any doubts about what was taught before you arrived as you were a bit late :)”. Oh, he was so cute.

That was how your friendship started, though you never talked much outside of class- other than the occasional times he replied to your story or liked it, you and him were mostly formal with each other, never crossing the boundary of “classmates.”

Sometimes you would ask him for his notes, and being the nice guy he is, he would send the snapshots in a second. You would later leave an iced americano on his usual seat, as a gesture of thankfulness; and a note along with it. Sometimes when the professor’s voice cracked in the middle of the lecture, your eyes would find his- giving each other a slight smile.

It was always quick glances, polite words, and soft smiles, because you both never seemed to take it further. But you were tired now, tired of pretending you didn’t picture his face squished under your thighs, glasses all fogged up and your slick dripping down his chin. Tired of acting like you didn’t violate your poor pillow every other night imagining how he would sound with him in your throat.

Was he a head pusher? Or someone that just begged you to let him come? Would he let you tie him up? Or would he want to tie YOU up? you were sick of acting like he didn’t get you so so wet when he answered a question in class and fixed his glasses, and you had a plan to change that.

As the class ends, you see him coming up to you.

“Should we work at the library at 6 today? I’ll get us some coffee and snacks to eat while we work!” he says with a small smile on his face.

You could agree to the library at 6, after all he has pitched it so sweetly, but there is a devil on your shoulder that is actually so evil, because you hear a voice in your head saying no way you’re meeting him in a public place for the things you want to do with him.

“I’m a bit busy at 6 Chan, I-”

“Dino! You can call me dino too. All my friends usually call me that.” He says shyly.

You smile sweetly. “I’m a bit busy at 6 dino, I have my shift at the café.” You say pouting at him. They are blatant lies. You do not have your shift at the café today because it is closed, something about the owner being at a wedding, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“You can come over to my place at 10 if it’s okay with you? I doubt the library will the open till the time I get off work.” You feel a bit bad, but you’re just inviting him over because it’s more comfortable at home, right? Yeah! Nothing needs to happen just because you’ll be alone with him. (You are lying to yourself at this point because there is no way you don’t lose your mind at the thought of being alone with him.)

“Oh, okay sure! text me the address, I’ll be there.” He says with a sweet smile and you might crush him because of how much you want to squish his cheeks right now.

Dino might go crazy. He’s not even sure if you could see he wasn’t paying attention to a thing you said, because he was too busy staring at your lips the entire time, and then your collarbones, until his eyes travelled to your tits trapped in your blouse which was just a little too tight. Tight enough to accentuate the curve of your breasts; but not letting them spill out- just tight enough.

On top of that, if he’s left alone with you, he has no idea how he’s going to prevent a tent from forming in his pants, so he opts for a oversized hoodie long enough to cover him and a pair of grey sweatpants because it is your house after all, he can dress casual, and he doesn’t want you to know he took 20 minutes to decide what he wore so that his outfit says-“hey, I’m casual and comfortable” and “I’m put together” at the same time.

He is sharp on time, you say to yourself as the bell rings. You’re a bit nervous approaching the door in your small plaid skirt and sweater, knowing how he always stares at you whenever you wear a skirt to class. Plus, you’re wearing a something a little special underneath it, just it case. You push the self-doubting thoughts to the back of your head as you open your door and he is a sight to see. He looks so delicious in those animal print framed glasses and messy hair, there is a glow on his face and oh, those stupid goddamn grey sweatpants. It is OVER for you.

“You’re very punctual, it’s exactly 10.” You giggle. “Your hair looks a bit of a mess dino, coming from another girl’s place?” you say as you smirk, leaning against the door.

“No! No, I just came from the gym, my hair is still a bit wet from the shower.” He says as he ruffles his hair and comes in, setting his bag on the table in your living room. Oh? Pretty boy goes to the gym as well, is there anything he doesn’t do. He usually only wore oversized hoodies and t-shirts to class, never really revealing his true figure; nor did you ever see him much in parties despite his friends being a part of the frat, so this was a new side of him you were seeing right now.

“My roommate is gonna be home in a bit, so we can work in my room, mhm?” you ask, acting intentionally doe eyed and innocent. Lies. They are all lies. Your roommate isn’t going to be home in a bit, she’s at her girlfriend’s dorm. And she is not going to be home until tomorrow after class. And maybe if Chan was thinking clearly, he would’ve asked why your roommate would mind you working in the living room with him. But he’s not thinking clearly, too busy staring at your legs and imagining his face between your thighs; so, forgive him if he isn’t at his highest functioning brain activity right now.

He murmurs a quiet okay as he follows you to your room as you lead him. And your room is so you. He doesn’t know how to explain it, because he doesn’t know you so well yet, but as soon as he enters through the door, he sees plushies laid out neatly on your bed, and your scent all around him. He can see posters of bands and movies dressing up your walls and random Sanrio figurines all around the room. He lays his bag on your bed, taking out his laptop as you sit next to him on your chair, and your skirt rides up, revealing your soft thighs further. And maybe his eyes are playing tricks on him, but he can almost see pink lace fabric peaking from underneath your skirt. And maybe you’re just a bit cold, but he swears he can see your nipples peeking through your sweater.

Every passing minute, he is making it so hard for you to keep your composure. He keeps sharing his ideas about the project and telling you what you should work on. Why is hearing him talk about physics so sexy? You don’t know what it is, but you can’t help but think how hot he looks when he talks so passionately. Your panties are literally getting soaked as the time goes on. It’s been an hour, and he hasn’t even taken a second to look at you yet! You’re quite literally whoring yourself out for him and all he cares about is inductive motor or whatever the hell the project is about.

“Channie, can we move to the bed? I’m feeling a bit tired from my shift.” You say, fake yawning.

“Mmm? Oh sure.” It is over for him, he thinks to himself.

As you sit up on your bed, your skirt FULLY rides up, revealing your baby pink lace panties. You push it down gently, saying “oops” as you giggle. And something inside him snaps. All control he had, he’s lost it now and he physically cannot hold back anymore. His gaze darkens, as he pushes you down, his grip on your throat as he gets on top of you. You gasp as he takes you by surprise, but the shock lasts barely 5 seconds before you smirk.

You reach up as your lips find his, pulling him deeper into your mouth as you grab his hair. From the get go, it is passionate, and rough and messy, because both of you are left gasping for your breath- your cheeks rosy and your chest heaving. Deciding to tease him further, you bite his lip. He moans into your mouth, mumbling “brat.” Taking the opportunity, you slip your tongue into his mouth deepening the kiss, and it is so sloppy; neither of you willing to give up control. The heat between your legs grows because of the way his tongue fights with yours to take over, which has your head spinning.

“Channie” you moan, as you feel the hard press of his body against yours, the sound of your lips smacking together and your heavy gasping filling the room.

His hand reaches to lift your sweater slightly, fingers making contact with your bare skin as they keep moving upwards until they your lacy bra, delicately toying with the material.

“You wore this for me baby? Knew this was going to happen?”

All you do is giggle as you continue to kiss down his jaw, alternating between sucking and biting. But that doesn’t sit right with him, as his other hand wraps around your neck, squeezing just the right amount so that his grip is tight enough, but still allowing you to breathe, and suddenly you’re flooding your panties.

“This okay?” he asks, his eyes filled with concern and genuine worry, looking for any discomfort in your eyes, desperate for your approval to continue.

You nod, because it’s actually all you can do. He loosens the grip on your throat and begins to pull his hand away as he says “Fuck, if you want me to go on, you’re gonna have to answer me baby.”

You’re quick to bring his hand back on your neck, your head turning left and right in panic, “No! No, please I want it!” you say as he smirks at your desperate state.

“Yeah? Then answer me when I ask you a question baby. You wore this set for me pretty?”

“Just wanted you to notice me, pay attention to me.” You say between kisses.

“And you thought whoring yourself out would be the way to get my attention” he chuckles. “Thought it was a mistake when you flashed me, turns out baby’s just an attention whore.”

He gets off of you and the bed and a whine leaves your throat as he pulls you down by your ankles as your hips reach the foot of your bed in an instant as he begins taking off his glasses.

“No!” you protest. “don’t- don’t take them off, I like them.” You say timidly. He picks you up, flipping your previous position as he seats you on his lap, taking off his hoodie, and you cannot help but stare. You did not know he was SO built and buff, your eyes are practically eating him up as you feel drool building up in your mouth. Oh, you NEED to suck him off right now. And that’s pretty much all it takes for you as you get on your knees for him.

When you look up to him, there is hunger in his eyes, something you’ve never seen before, his gaze full of lust. He can’t remember how many times he’s pictured you like this, on your knees, so innocent, a pathetic expression on your face, waiting for him to give you your next instruction.

Those stupid man whore grey sweatpants, you need them off now.

You fumble with it’s band as you impatiently pull it down, revealing his Calvin Klein boxers, and you clearly have no time for this nonsense, rushing to pull his boxers down as well, all while he looks down on you, leaning back on the bed- hands on either side of him with a big cocky smirk on his face, because he cannot wait to see the next look on your face.

Your face: it’s so transparent, so revealing. It’s literally like you wear your heart on your sleeve. Everything you feel, you think, you want, it’s clear- plain as day on your face. And as soon as you pull his boxers off, there it is- pure amusement and shock, as his dick twitches at the sight of your wide doe eyes. You knew he was big, atleast that’s what you pictured in your nightly scenarios. But you did not know he was this big both in length and in girth as well, his angry tip staring at you, begging for your attention.

“Take your sweater off.” He demands. No pleas, no hesitance. An order. And who would you be to defy him? you teasingly take it off, all while a small smile adorns your lips as you throw the sweater somewhere on the floor alongside his hoodie.

You take his length in your hand, rubbing your thumb over his tip- spreading his pre-cum around it as your eyes go from doe like to those of a siren as they stare straight into his, spitting right on it seductively and oh, he thinks he’s in love. You pump it up and down and fuck- you can’t even completely wrap your hand around it, giving it a little squeeze as you go along, building the tension. But he doesn’t seem too happy about it as he sighs in annoyance. He’s sick of your teasing, because even after his multiple attempts to discipline you, you’ve decided to continue being a brat.

In the blink of an eye, he takes your hand off of him, grabs you by your jaw and squeezes your cheeks between his thumb and fore finger- the rest of the them lying on your jaw, forcing to you part your lips slightly.

“Do you trust me y/n?” he says softly, yet his voice dripping with dominance as you nod.

“Open your mouth, tongue out baby.”

And what he does next takes you by surprise, as he leans down, collecting a glob of spit in his mouth as it drips down from his mouth to yours, making you moan as you close your eyes, feeling the warm liquid on your tongue.

“Swallow.” he says as he caresses your jaw. And his wish is your command; you let out a loud moan as you feel it travel down your throat.

“Good girl. You’ll listen to me now, yeah? No more teasing. I’ve been holding back until now but if you don’t behave, I’ll have to fuck you like the whore you are. Better yet, I’ll eat you out, and get you so so close. I’ll be at it for hours baby, I have no place to be, but I won’t let you cum. So, tell me, you’re gonna be a good girl for me now?”

And all you can do is nod as he smirks, because now, he holds the power over you, and you want him to take over you. Don’t want to think about anything, just do whatever he says. And he can see that, see you fully slipping into subspace.

He holds his dick in his hand, and as your mouth chases his tip, he slaps it against your cheek. All he does is laugh, because you just look so pathetic under him. Tits spilling out of your see through pink lace bra, eyes on the brink of tears, fists balled up in your lap because he won’t let you touch him.

He grabs your hair in a makeshift ponytail and slaps his dick against your other cheek as he says “tap my thigh twice in you wanna stop, okay?” and finally rubs his tip against your lips, parting them immediately as you engulf it in your mouth, sucking on it as if it’s a popsicle, swirling your tongue all around it, making him groan.

Slowly, he pushes his dick in inch by inch until it hits the back of your throat, and its laughable, because half of it still can’t be wrapped around your tiny mouth even though your jaw is doing gymnastics to accommodate half of him and he lets out a loud moan due to the insane pleasure it gives him. Since he won’t let you move yet, enjoying the feeling of cockwarming your mouth too much, you drag your tongue up and down, making him hiss.

Finally, he decides to fuck your throat, sliding your mouth up and down his dick as if your mouth is just a fleshlight for him to use, making your eyes roll back. He starts slow, as to ease you in; but is quick to fasten his pace to meet his needs. But you want to do more, so your hands reach up to play with his balls, and oh does it take him by surprise. All he can do while fucking your mouth is mumble sweet nothings, praising you, telling you how good you’re being letting him use you like this. And his words are working, because at this point your slick is running down your thighs and your cunt is in a desperate need of attention, as you grind it against the heel of your foot and when you look up to him, you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything more beautiful. His glasses lay low on his nose as his head is thrown back in pleasure and his hair is messy, sticking to his forehead due to the sweat; yet his hand is precise is controlling your mouth by your hair. His buff chest heaving desperate for air as his ears and cheek are a pretty shade of pink for you.

Suddenly he looks down to meet your eyes staring at him in lust, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything hotter as he sees you grind against your foot pathetically all whilst he fucks your warm mouth. He can feel the vibration of your mouth as you moan around him, and he thinks he’s in heaven. You look so dirty, spit dribbling down your chin, pupils dilated and red with desire, tears streaming down your cheeks because of how deep he’s hitting it right now. He is just so close, but no way he doesn’t cum in your pussy today, so he pulls you off his dick as you welp, a string of spit connecting your lips to his tip.

“I’ll come in your mouth some other day baby, need to be in you right now.” He says responding to your cute pout as he pulls you up to sit on his lap, your legs on either side of his thigh once again.

His hands travel to your back to undo your bra in an instant as it’s thrown somewhere on the bed behind him. Immediately his mouth is attached to your hardened nipple as you let out a loud moaning, feeling his warm tongue on your cold skin.

“I’m so fucking sick of you parading around in this stupid excuse of a skirt that barely covers your ass y/n.” He says as his hands travel down and under your skirt, making contact with your dripping lace, running his fingers up and down. He can feel your slick on his own thighs.

“Oh? You’re already soaked, baby. But I haven’t even touched you yet, wanna tell me what got you so wet?” he says as he mocks you, still not taking his attention off your breasts, sucking them and marking them up with hickeys all around and all you can do is moan as you dig your nails into his back overwhelmed by the pleasure.

“You’re so sensitive, so responsive. I love it baby, so easy for me. Need you to answer me- what’s got you dripping?” he says as he finds your clothed clit, pressing hard against it over the lace.

He’s being so mean right you. The remnants of tears on your cheeks have barely dried up before you can feel yourself getting teary eyed already.

“You! Want you so bad channie! Been wet for you since you walked in the door.” You cry out desperately.

Finally, he stops teasing your covered pussy and pulls it to the side, inserting two of fingers with no warning making you scream out loud. He’s quick to press his thumb to your clit, flicking it as he pumps his fingers into you, all whilst he’s sucking on your tits. His pace is monstrous from the start, and he shows no signs of stopping as he continues to drive them in you, opening you up preparing you to take his big dick. All you can do is drop your head on his shoulder helplessly, taking what he gives you.

“Ah! So good Chan, so- so- fuck! Right there! Need you!” you say as he repeatedly hits your g-spot all while rubbing your clit.

You’ve lost all track of time. You’ve been so close to cumming ever since you saw him walk through your front door that even the slightest touch could get you to your high, and here Chan was, touching you right where you needed, enlightening all your senses.

“I’m about- gonna- gonna cum dino! Please, let me, oh- please let me cum!” you cry out loud, begging him as he pulls out his fingers in an instant and just like that you’re crying again, dropping your head in the crook of his neck.

“What, don’t cry baby.” He says, voice dripping with fake sympathy, because inside him he knows your tears turn him on even more. His hand reaches the small of your back as he caresses it, attempting to calm you down. “Want you to cum on my cock princess. Think you can do that, yeah? You promised you’d be a good girl for me.”

“I was- I was just so close.” You say timidly between your sniffles.

“It’s okay princess, I’ll make you cum real good on my cock.” He whispers, kissing you tenderly for the first time in the evening, and it makes your heart full, reminding you that in spite of everything, this is the same dino that you see in class every day, polite and sweet and beautiful; but you’re brought back to the present as he pulls away from you, shattering your illusion.

“You wanted my attention so bad y/n, you started it. So, you’re gonna take what you wanted- gonna have to ride me.” He says with a shit eating grin that just makes you so mad right now, but eager to give him what he asks for you get off your lap and begin to take off your skirt.

“Did I ask you to take it off? Still not behaving baby. Keep the skirt on; after all you made such a show of wearing them, wanna fuck you in it. Take off your panties.”

Once the pink garment is off, you sit on his lap again, as he slaps his dick against your poor swollen cunt, running his tip against your entrance.

“You know what to do right? It isn’t your first rodeo after all.” He says as he smiles.

God, he is so cocky. If you didn’t desperately need him in you, you would not put up with it for a second. (you would probably put up with it anyway)

You take his dick in your hand as you hover over it, your pussy clenching over nothing, begging to be filled by him as you insert the tip in him; and that alone is such a stretch for you, your legs might give up then and there. But you are anything but determined. Stubborn. Firm on proving yourself. So, you accept the stretch, stabilising yourself by placing one hand on his wide shoulder while you bottom out completely, burying himself into you in one go making him throw his head back and groan in pleasure as his hands reach out to hold your waist, not letting you escape his grasp.

Slowly but surely, you begin by grinding your hips against them, building up the tension as you try to maintain a steady pace; but dino doesn’t look amused, so you begin to move up and down on him, burying your freshly done nails into his shoulders. His hand moves down as you bounce on him, giving your ass a quick slap before finding it going under your skirt and rubbing your clit, making you gasp out.

“Fuck, lift up your skirt baby.” He says, and you comply- lifting up your skirt with one hand, whilst he continues to toy with your clit and you bounce up and down his dick, showing him the mess you both are making; and he loves it.

You’re so eager to please him, prove yourself to him as you continue to alternate between grinding and moving up and down; but the pleasure is SO overwhelming with his hand on your nub and you don’t think you can last. On top of that, you’ve been working so hard to maintain a steady pace for him, that your thighs are about to give out. And he sees that- sees your movement becoming sloppy and messy, your thighs shaking and your grip tightening on his shoulder.

“Tired, baby?”

Why is he such a tease. And why is he being so mean to you when he knows you’re totally spent. You think you’re going to cry for the third time in the night.

“You know, all you have to do is admit it. And I’ll take over. You know you want me to. I can make you feel so good baby, hit all the right spots and you don’t have to lift a finger.” He whispers in your ear before slapping your ass again as he lifts his hips to meet yours in a sharp thrust, showing you how much better he can make you feel.

“I- I- tired. I’m tired channie! Thighs hurt. P- please!” you say between hiccups as he keeps thrusting into you from beneath.

That’s all he needs to hear, before he’s flipping you on your back without taking himself out of you, pressing a kiss to your lips as he begins to actually fuck you. His hands roam all over you as if he’s trying to memorise every curve and dip. He’s thrusting into you with such a force your tits bounce back and forth with every drive of his hips into you while he mumbles pretty words in your ears.

“Pussy so good baby, absolutely squeezing me. Can’t believe you were letting those stupid guys have this while I was right there. Could’ve made you feel this good all this time. Fuck! Always wanted to bend you over the desk whenever you wore those stupid skirts to class. You know, everyone could see you baby. See how much needy you were. You’re probably just too much a slut to care, no?”

His mouth reaches down to bite your nipple, where you’re already so sensitive that you can’t help but cry out. You look so dumb for his cock right now, your nails are absolutely obliterating his back as your legs wrap around him not letting him go, a chant of his name leaving your lips with each of his movement. All you can hear is the sound of his balls slapping against you and your screams. You’re pretty sure you’ll get complaints from your neighbour tomorrow but who cares; he’s just too good. His thrusts get deeper yet sloppier as you feel him reach between your sweaty bodies and rub your clit in an attempt to get you closer.

“Fuck! Gonna cum baby. Are you close?”

“Yes! Channie fuck, love- love your dick so much! So big, need- I’m almost there!”

And that’s all the motivation he needs before he picks up his pace again, angling himself to hit you exactly at the spot that makes you scream, and before you know it, you feel tears streaming down your face again because of the overstimulation.

“Chan! Gonna cum! Please, please- fuck right there, please wanna cum!”

“Where do you want me princess?”

“In! In me, wanna feel you in me, fill me up! Please, need it in me!” you babble.

And that is all it takes for you to let go. Your eyes roll to the back of your head with a loud whine as your nails dig into him deeper, your back arching- the pleasure taking over you as you see stars in front of your eyes, screaming his name over and over again. It’s like you’re floating- because your body feels numb and completely spent. He feels you clenching so much around his cock as you cum, it’s like you’re milking him, before he’s filling you up full of him too, reaching his high, and he cannot stop. Even after you’re done, you’re still rhythmically squeezing him as he doesn’t stop coming in you. You feel him warm in you, and you honestly never want him to pull out, but unfortunately, he does- leaving you empty as his essence begins to spill out of you.

He gets between your legs, watching a mixture of your cum dripping out of you, admiring his work before he’s collecting it in his fingers, tracing your swollen sensitive centre as he comes up to you, and inserting his fingers in your mouth, while he kisses your tears. You can taste him and yourself on your tongue as you close your eyes, swirling your tongue around his fingers. The sight is so hot to him, his dick twitches against you once again before he’s pulling his fingers out and gently kissing you, as he leaves your bed to bring you a towel.

He lies besides you after he cleans you up as you turn you face each other.

“Sorry if I was too rough, got carried away a bit.” He says as you lay your head on his arm and run your hand through his hair.

“You were so good, I think I need to be a little bitchy again for you to put me in my place.” You say as you kiss him, smiling against his lips.

[reidrum]

i think he knows

A/N: more doctor!reader!!!!!!! can you tell i love them. if you have requests for them please send them my way thank you <3

summary: in which spencer and reader try to find time for each other to have their first date

cw: doctor!reader, fluff, spencer being a flirt, medical talk

wc: 2.5k

A month passes before Spencer gets to see you again. A long, long month.

He stayed in the hospital for observation for another two days after meeting you, which were entirely medically necessary but don’t ask Spencer how his chest pain stopped the moment he signed the discharge papers because they just couldn’t keep him any longer. He knows it’s illogical, and a bit immoral, to fake symptoms for his personal gain. But who could blame him, had they seen you?

You didn’t make it any easier on him either, the times you’d check on him you’d leave him red for hours. Morgan had gotten suspicious seeing him be surprisingly high in spirits for someone who just got shot. You’d even talked to the nurses to get him extra jello, a love language in its own.

But his daydream was soon shattered upon his discharge, where he couldn’t just lay in a hospital bed and wait for you to come to him. He was to be sent to exile (home) to finish out the rest of his sentence (recovery), while he so agonizingly waits for the next chance to see you again.

The first day back home was already enough to send him into house fever, and he couldn’t even freely pace off the nervous energy because of his leg. You had given him your number, which meant he had to text you. It was a lot of pressure. He knew his assignment and yet couldn’t figure out what the right thing to start off this conversation with you should be.

Should he be formal and hit you with a simple Hello. Or give a bit of a flirty edge and add a heart emoji—one that Penelope taught him how to do, thank you very much. No, he should probably introduce himself since you don’t have his number. So you don’t think a random freak is trying to message you.

He types out a message and sends it before he can second guess himself anymore.

Spencer: Hey there, this is Spencer. Room 207?

Spencer flips his phone face down so he doesn’t manically check the notifications for your reply. You’re busy, you could be in surgery or doing rounds, or sleeping on a break or—Ding!

Or typing out a reply to him, perhaps.

You: Hi Spencer ☺️ how are you feeling? Spencer: Better now, how are you? You: Better now ;)

Oh, you’re everything to him.

Spencer: Are you on a break or am I bothering you? You: Lying down in an on call room bed! I love when you bother me please don’t stop

He actually giggles aloud, thank god he lives alone.

Spencer: Good, because I was running out of medical emergencies to fake just to get to see you again. You: Gasp, faking? Sweet talking works well on me, don’t get me wrong, but I might have to report you to the medical board. Spencer: I’m not that kind of doctor so I don’t think they’ll care, plus I think once they see you were my doctor they’ll side with me. You: Flattery will get you everywhere Spencer Reid be careful. Spencer: I’m sure hoping it does.

It goes on like that for a few weeks, to Spencer’s delight. Back and forth texting, the blatant flirting on both ends and his poor but endearing attempts to match it. He wants to get to know every part of you, and thankfully you’re just as curious as he is, so every waking minute either of you aren’t working ends up being spent by talking with each other.

Not just the casual things like where you grew up or where you went to school. No, he’s learned what your go to coffee shop order is, what latent hobbies you have hidden under your belt, what your favorite movie is and the specific line that makes it your favorite.

He’s told you about his favorite Doctor Who episodes—which you made him promise to show you someday, showed you pictures of his mom and his godson, his go to Indian food order for the place down from the office.

While Spencer loves talking to you, it’s simply not enough. He has to see you soon or he might combust spontaneously. He might do that anyway but it’s much more noble to have a good and valid reason to perish in such a way, like being in your presence.

Spencer: Hey, can I ask you something? You: Uh oh, I don’t like the sound of that. Spencer: Nothing bad, pinky promise. You: Ugh, the most sacred of promises <3 Okay, let’s hear it. Spencer: Are you free this Friday? You: AH I thought you’d never ask!! I am so free this friday night doctor, setting out my best dress just for you ;) Spencer: I’m sure everything you wear is beautiful, but I’m looking forward to seeing you again :) I’ll pick you up at 7? You: I’ll be waiting <333

He asks you out officially on Monday, and he spends the rest of the week praying to whatever unsub or case gods that are out there watching to calm down this week so they don’t get whisked away on a case. Tuesday through Wednesday only consisted of paperwork, and it gives him hope he might actually make it to Friday and finally get to see you. Even Morgan and Emily’s teasing of his suddenly happy mood can’t bring him down.

Thursday night comes around and he’s about ready to jump for joy as he finishes packing up his things. JJ walks by and he’s about to say goodbye to her when she waves a manila folder in the air, “Sorry Spence, conference room in 5.”

He deflates. So close.

Spencer lets his satchel slide off his shoulder and reluctantly pulls his phone out to open his message thread with you.

Spencer: Hi, I’m really sorry to do this but we just got called on a case. Do you think we could reschedule dinner? You: Hi handsome, don’t worry I understand. The world needs you crime fighters :) I’m free next friday?

He tries to ignore the way his heart stutters reading ‘handsome’ and types.

Spencer: I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Next Friday sounds great.  You: Be safe out there please Spencer: Always am. You: Need I remind you we met because you got shot on the job Spencer: That was one time, and I told the guy to shoot me. You: Yeah, that’s not making me feel better. Spencer: I’ll be safe, getting to see you next week will be my motivation to be extra careful. You: I’d hope you’re being careful regardless but whatever works for you, handsome <3 Spencer: Got a pretty girl waiting for me, I have to take extra precautions. You: Oooh that was good, you’re getting better at this Dr. Reid. Spencer: What can I say, you make it really easy. Spencer: Okay I have to go for the briefing, talk to you soon. You: Bye handsome 💞

The case comes and goes, an easy solve but it took a few more days than the team would like to admit for a case of this caliber. They return back only a week later and it’s another Thursday night where he’s hoping nothing steps in to prevent him from seeing you. He’s lucky in the sense that nothing is stepping in to prevent him from seeing you, FBI mandated break and all after a long case.

He’s not so lucky when you regretfully tell him you’re scheduled for surgery all day on Friday. You’re entirely too apologetic for his liking, for someone who flaked on you initially and had to alter your schedule to his. Especially for someone who, of all people, understands the busy lifestyles you both lead. He reassures you a thousand times over that it’s okay and that you can reschedule.

Spencer: Please stop apologizing, it’s okay I promise You: I just feel soooo bad. I was really looking forward to seeing you. Spencer: I know. But we’ll see each other soon. You: Promise? Spencer: Pinky. Did you eat anything? You: No I wasn’t hungry, too sad about not seeing your face. Spencer: A poor reason to starve yourself, I’m ordering food for you. Are you at the hospital? You: I’m at home but you don’t have to do that. Spencer: Okay but I want to, are you going to give me your address or will I have to find it myself? You: How are you going to do that? Spencer: I have my ways. You: It’s your tech analyst friend isn’t it Spencer: Maybe. You: So if I share your address it’s a HIPPA violation but when you do it no one bats an eye. Spencer: It’s for a worthy cause. Please let me do this. You: Fiiine. 1563 Rock Lakes blvd. What are you getting? Spencer: Thank you, honey. Pad thai with chicken satay. You: Ugh, you know me so well <3

To yours and Spencer’s dismay, this pattern continues on for another few weeks. Whenever your schedule finally clears, he gets dragged away on a case. When his schedule is clear you have back to back surgeries or consults. It’s like you just can’t get the timing right, no matter how hard you pine for each other.

The doubt travels and festers in both of your heads, the blatant evidence showing you that this may not work between you. Thing is, you both love your jobs too much to even try to accommodate the other. You’re both so busy you can’t even find time for one evening alone together.

Then George Foyet happened. The Haley Hotchner of it all, happened.

It hit the entire team hard, watching a colleague they viewed as family lose someone they loved so deeply and in such a torturous way. Spencer forced himself to take a step back and really evaluate what he was doing—was he willing to subject someone he cared about to the world he lives in? To the horrors they become exposed to? He still thinks about the heart attack he had when the Fisher King sent his mom a key after being in the same facility with her for some time. He’s not sure he can handle that kind of fear again.

Spencer knows he doesn’t have to do this, it’s so early in whatever this is between you both. You haven’t even had time to go on a date. Maybe your lives are just incompatible. Maybe he can save you before he ever even puts you in danger’s way—the ultimate act of valiant efforts in the form of preemptive measures. 

What you don’t know can’t hurt you, literally.

Ding!

But then you go and do something like this, where he gets to flip his phone over and blush red in the face at your name on the notification. That he gets to open his messages and be met with the beautiful sight of your face, smiling in a picture you took just for him showing off the coffee you got on your break and reading the book he recommended to you a few weeks ago.

And he’s just not sure if he can imagine a world where he doesn’t meet you and immediately fall in love with you.

Another week, another attempt at finally being able to take you on a date. Except this time fate has stepped in on both ends and sent Spencer on another case and you scheduled for surgery. Lovely.

The case goes fine again, save for the unsub with an overt penchant for clipping FBI agents aiming their guns at him. Enough damage to send him to the ER needing stitches on his forehead and a concussion evaluation.

The doctor seeing him was a good doctor, but he wasn’t you. It was a man who, no offense to him and his medical training, definitely did not have hands as soft as yours stitching him up. He sighs out loud in the ER as he waits for a nurse to come by and discharge him. God, he wishes it was you. 

“Seeing other doctors behind my back? I thought we had something special, Dr. Reid.”

He has half a mind to look up at the sky and mouth God?, as he feels his prayers have been answered in the most literal way.

“What are you doing here?” he asks incredulously, fully in disbelief at the sight of you in front of him.

You smile and step towards him, closing the curtain behind you, “I told you, I had surgery.”

“In Maryland?”

“In Maryland,” you nod, “They needed someone with my background to help out so I flew out.”

God, you’re so smart it physically hurts him how attractive it is.

“How’d you know I was here?”

“I didn’t, I was looking at the patient log to see if they needed help in the ER when I saw an S. Reid age 27 in bed 4 and thought to myself ‘This couldn’t be a coincidence.’”

He chuckles softly, “Well, you found me.”

“That I did,” you lean in to inspect his cuts, “I thought I told you to be careful, handsome.”

The blood rushes to his face, “I know, maybe I just knew I’d get to see you this way.”

You gently readjust the butterfly bandage on his forehead, securing it more tightly. “You could have called me if you missed me, Spence.” you whisper.

“You were busy.”

“So were you.”

Spencer pauses, “Are you busy now?”

You step back and look at his face, his borderline puppy eyes doing the most to convince you to say yes when you were about to ask him the same thing in about another minute if he hadn’t. 

You grin widely and check your watch, “I clock out in an hour. Wait for me?”

“Always.”

It makes all the missed connections and unaligned schedules entirely worth it when he gets to finally pick you up from your hotel room for your date turned into a weekend getaway. Spencer doesn’t even bat an eye when Morgan teases him about the mystery lady he’s staying back in Maryland for, or when Hotch gives him a multilayered nod of approval when he asks for a few personal days.

It’s entirely worth it and more when you and Spencer drive up to a lake house to spend the weekend together, and you joke about how your first date ended up being your first trip as a couple. Spencer doesn’t even stumble when you refer to yourselves as a couple, just tightening his arm around your shoulder and kissing the crook of your neck softly.

It’s the most worth it when, even after you said you were a couple, on the last night after staying up watching Doctor Who reruns post other activities, Spencer curls his arm around your body tugging you closer to his and whispers into your hair, “You will be my girlfriend, right?”

To which you simply beam up at him and whisper into his neck, “Of course, handsome.”

[jaysbaefie]

bullshit | sjy

synopsis: in which months of mocking jake online comes back to bite you, and he makes sure you regret every single word—on your knees.

genre: idol au

pairing: idol!jake x blogger!reader

warnings: dubcon? bratty!reader, petty!jake, mean!jake, big dick!jake, kidnapping (sort of kind of??), oral (m.rec), cum swallowing, reader grinds down on jake’s shoe, mention of daddy kink (but it’s not used), forced submission, manhandling, titty sucking, marking, begging, degrading. self degradation, rough and unprotected p in v, orgasm denial, overstimulation, light spanking slapping and chocking, creampie, spitting, recording for blackmail purposes. i think that’s it….

wc: 15.1k

a/n: this took a lot more time that i initially thought it would … but it’s here now! this draft has been sitting in my archives for years like literal years. back when i used to write on wattpad for bts i had this plot written for tae but scrapped it because i lacked creativity to make it happen. but here we r ! also side note this is not edited to the best of its abilities so if u c a mistake… im sorry :D hope you enjoy, notes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. enjoy :)

✎﹏﹏

the dorm door slammed open, the sound of sneakers dragging across the floor echoing behind it. the 7 exhausted boys spilled into the living room, all drained and sweaty from the insane dance practice that had run two hours longer than scheduled. jake collapsed face-first onto the couch, groaning into a throw pillow as he stretches his limbs before he feels a cramp in his leg.

"i think my spine is permanently bent," he mumbled, not moving an inch.

sunghoon flopped onto the floor, using his hoodie as a pillow. "i think i disassociated during 'bite me.'"

"you always disassociate during 'bite me,'" heeseung shot back, tossing a towel at him making sunghoon scowl.

jay, meanwhile, had his phone out, thumb lazily scrolling through twitter as he half-listened to the chaos around him. he was about to put his phone down when a thread caught his eye.

"kpop idols who probably have the smallest dick (a very unserious thread)"

"...oh?" jay blinked, intrigued for all the wrong reasons. a grin formed on his lips as he clicked, the list started off wild.

1. jaehyun nct - idc what y'all say. he screams below average. 2. jeno nct - this is a hater post. cry about it. 3. jake from enhypen - golden retriever energy but gives micro vibes. sorry not sorry.

jay let out a loud, sudden laugh at the description given for jake—catching everyone's attention.

"yo, jake," he wheezed, turning the screen toward him. "look what someone said about you."

jake rolled over lazily, half hazy, "what?"

jay shoved the phone in front of his face. jake read the tweet once, then again. then a third time. his brows furrowed deeper with each pass, almost as if he couldn't believe what he was reading.

"...are you serious right now?"

he sat up, yanking the phone from jay's hand to read it himself. his eyes scanned the username, the post and then the likes. 10k likes for a bullshit post, jake scoffed in disbelief. he scrolled down to read the replies which were full of people either agreeing or arguing like their lives depended on it.

"no because she's right and she should say it louder" one of the comments read, jake furrowed his eyebrows before scowling.

"i love him but... yeah."

"nah he gives big dick energy actually"

"this is so mean LMFAOOO"

jake's mouth opened in shock. "why am i even on this list? what did i do to deserve this? how does someone look at me and go, 'yeah, micro dick.' what the hell?"

jay couldn't stop laughing. "it's so random, too. like. where did they get the data? did they run a poll?"

"this isn't funny!" jake snapped, slapping jay's shoulder with the back of his hand. "i'm being slandered in front of thousands of people. tens of thousands!"

sunoo peeked over jay's shoulder. "ooh. and someone made a follow-up post. wait—found their tumblr. they said he looks like he apologizes after missionary.'" sunoo cackles, "i can totally see that."

jake nearly choked on air, "what?!"

he snatched sunoo's phone this time, heart pounding as he scrolls violently across your twitter page. he followed the breadcrumb trail from twitter to a tumblr blog: @s0ftbrat666.

the header was a blurry photo of a cunty hello kitty, and the bio just said: "unserious about everything but dick size."

"who the hell is this? why do they hate me so bad?"

niki, who had been quietly sipping water from the kitchen, muttered, "maybe they're a fan of yours. like, weirdly obsessed. reverse psychology or something."

"no. this is personal. this feels targeted," jake muttered, already downloading and opening the tumblr app on his phone. "i'm not letting this slide."

he made a new account. he picked the most ironic, absurd username he could think of: @goldenjake420.

because that screams, 'i'm the real jake sim!!'

he messaged you immediately, his hands shaking in rage as he smashes his fingers into the screen.

@goldenjake420: hey just saw your post about me having a micro dick on twitter. not sure why you said that but i can assure you that it's not true kinda rude ngl maybe take it down?

"this is so stupid," he muttered, tossing his phone beside him.

jay raised a brow. "you really just dm'd a twitter troll on tumblr?"

"yes. because the truth matters, jay. i do not have a micro dick!" he exclaims, clearly frustrated from his group mates lack of empathy. he looks around the room in hopes of his members reassurance, only to receive looks of disturbance.

"cmon guys, you know i don't have a micro dick.." he trails off when he sees sunoo grimace at his words.

heeseung smirked from the other side of the couch suddenly sitting up right, ignoring his aching body. "you should send a pic to prove it."

jay cackles before agreeing, "yeah, downwards angles always make that shit look like a tower."

"SHUT UP!" jake shouted, face red in a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

the room erupted in laughter as jake sat there fuming, arms crossed, waiting for a response. he had no idea the person he messaged was already rolling their eyes and preparing to block him.

and this was only the beginning.

you were no stranger to the occasional deranged and delusional fan losing their mind over a post. it was social media, not a diplomatic summit. if you said someone's fave had bad fashion sense or gave off weak dick energy, it was bound to stir drama—but you thrived in it.

what you didn't expect, though, was to get a dm from an account called @goldenjake420 claiming to be jake himself. not just a fan defending him. not someone crying in your inbox about how you were "too mean."

no. this person had committed to the bit.

@goldenjake420: hey just saw your post about me having a micro dick on twitter. not sure why you said that but i can assure you that it's not true kinda rude ngl maybe take it down?

you blinked at the message, snorted, and sat back in your chair.

"okay..." you muttered under your breath. "we've reached new levels of delusion."

you clicked the profile. no posts. followed no one. default layout. pfp of a blurry golden retriever. and the username?

goldenjake420.

"oh my god," you wheezed. this was peak fandom brainrot.

you stared at the message for a minute, thumbs hovering over your keyboard before you decided, you know what? fine. you wanna play jake sim? let's play.

you typed:

@s0ftbrat666: omg jake??? THE jake sim??? i am so sorry... i didn't know you had a tumblr account i feel so bad now omg i'll take it down right away thank you for being so mature and respectful about it... ugh i feel terrible lol

you hit send. then burst out laughing, eyes watering as you cackle alone in your room.

and five minutes later, you posted a new post on your blog.

—— post by @s0ftbrat666

just got a dm from someone PRETENDING to be jake sim because they were mad i said he has a micro dick LMAOOO. like babes be serious... jake sim is not on tumblr dot com messaging me with a blurry pic of a golden retriever and the username @/goldenjake420. but since he's here reading my posts, hey jake! if u're mad now wait til u see what i post next

anyway updated my list: "kpop idols who give off submissive missionary micro dick energy: extended version" jake is now first on the list. i've added footnotes and gifs as evidence. enjoy :] ——

you tagged it: #jake sim #enhypen #pls don't take this seriously #except jake if ur reading this then yeah take it seriously

you sat back and refreshed the notes every few seconds. it was already blowing up. likes, reblogs, someone screaming in the tags: "NOT THE FOOTNOTES."

you were thriving, satisfaction filling you as the comments seemed to hype you up.

unbeknownst to you, somewhere in a dorm across the city, jake was screaming into a pillow.

jake was laying on his stomach, face shoved into a couch cushion, aggressively refreshing your tumblr page like a man on a mission. the first message he sent you hadn't gone exactly how he expected. he thought maybe—maybe—you'd feel a little guilty, take the post down, maybe even apologize. instead, he was met with:

"omg jake??? THE jake sim??? i am so sorry..."

at first, he blinked. then smiled. you were going to apologize and take it down..great!

okay, he thought, that was easier than expected.

but then he saw the post you had published just a few minute later.

—— "kpop idols who give off submissive missionary micro dick energy: extended version." jake is now first on the list. i've added footnotes. and gifs. enjoy :] ——

"NO I AM NOT," he yelled into the pillow, voice muffled but full of sheer disbelief.

he rolled over and shot upright, shoving his phone in jay's face. "do you SEE this? i was already called micro dick jake, but now i'm a submissive pillow princess? where is she even getting this from?"

jay looked over the post with a calm expression and said, "well... you did say 'ngl' in a tumblr dm. that's kinda submissive."

"jay."

"i'm just saying."

jake's blood pressure was actively rising. he was pacing the living room now, phone clenched in his fist. "this isn't a joke anymore. she's making footnotes. gifs, bro. there's like a whole academic paper on my dick energy. and worst of all, PEOPLE ARE AGREEING."

sunoo peeked around the corner. "maybe just let it go? like... it's tumblr. no one's gonna remember next week."

"it's twitter too! no. no, she wanted to make it personal. it's personal now."

he went back to tumblr, typing furiously in your dm's.

@goldenjake420: okay first of all?? i was acc being really nice u said some really rude stuff and i still tried to talk to u calmly but now ur doubling down with footnotes?? idk y ur so convinced i'm a submissive pillow princess but ur wrong like so wrong scientifically inaccurate levels of wrong

he hit send. then stared at the screen.

nothing. no response. refresh. refresh.

"error: message could not be delivered."

"...what?" jake frowned, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he desperately tried sending his messages again.

he clicked your profile.

"you've been blocked by this user."

the silence that followed was deafening.

"she blocked me," he whispered, staring at his phone like it had personally betrayed him. "she actually blocked me."

jay cackled from across the room. "maybe now you'll stop fighting the tumblr girl who thinks you're a bottom."

"i'm not a bottom!" jake snapped, defensive. "and i'm definitely not a pillow princess!"

jay peers over jake's shoulder, his face pulls into a grimace as he reads jake's messages. "maybe it's a good thing that those didn't deliver... you're proving her point." jake rolls his eyes in response, not wanting to deal with his friend.

he opened twitter, then paused. was he really about to tweet about this?

he closed the app.

instead, he opened his notes app and started typing:

"debunking tumblr slander: why i, jake sim, am not submissive nor do i have a micro dick."

this wasn't over.

if he had to write a dissertation, he would. he was reclaiming his name. one footnote at a time.

you were in bed, face smushed into your pillow, scrolling aimlessly when the tag notification came in. you were about to ignore it—probably another reblog of your cursed "submissive missionary micro dick energy" thread—but the caption caught your eye:

@s0ftbrat666 you need to see this LMAOOO he made a THREAD. a whole thread.

confused but curious, you tapped the post.

and there it was.

a full thread. by a tumblr user named @truthaboutjake, which already gave deranged energy, but it got better.

"debunking tumblr slander: why i, jake sim, am not submissive nor do i have a micro dick (a thread)."

you nearly dropped your phone, a giggle leaving you as you excitedly click on the thread.

the first slide was formatted like a presentation. bolded title, bullet points, and an unnecessary amount of spacing like someone had spent way too long formatting it.

—— slide 1: addressing the accusations • the tumblr user @s0ftbrat666 has made multiple posts claiming i am submissive • she has also accused me of having a micro dick • both of these are false, offensive, and based on no real evidence ——

no real evidence, he said. like you were in court.

"what in the deranged.." you muttered to yourself, re-reading the text a second time to make sure you were hallucinating.

you snorted, swiping to the next.

—— slide 2: rebuttal • i've been told i give off dominant energy • no one who owns a denim jacket collection that big can be submissive • as for the size... let's just say i've never received complaints ——

you had to pause there, hand over your mouth, wheezing. "denim jackets radiate peg me," you cackle to yourself.

this wasn't a thread written by a deranged fan. no, this was someone personally offended on a soul level. and the way it was written? the tone? the wording?

it was giving him. it was jake.

no one else would be this pressed.

you laughed so hard you had to sit up.

this man had been so insulted by your dumb, unserious thirst post that he created a whole alternate account, wrote a google-doc-tier thread, and was now trying to clear his name in the notes app format. you were obsessed.

you hit reblog.

—— @s0ftbrat666: i have never in my life witnessed a man fight for his dom rights this hard the denim jacket argument almost had me convinced ngl

jake sim if this is actually you: 1. calm down 2. you're literally proving my point 3. post the evidence since you're so confident ——

the comments came flooding in:

"NOT HIM MAKING A PRESENTATION" "'never received complaints' is CRAZY" "he could've just logged off but now he's in too deep" "@truthaboutjake is shaking"

you weren't done though. oh no.

you clicked the original post again and dm'd @truthaboutjake directly.

@s0ftbrat666: wow a thread? you really sat down and made a powerpoint about your dick this is the best thing that's happened to me all week but you still haven't proven anything so until i see hard (and i mean HARD) evidence you're staying in your submissive micro dick era i'll wait <33

you hit send with a shit-eating grin.

this was your roman empire now. you were going to be thinking about this thread forever.

jake stared at your message like it physically slapped him.

"so until i see hard (and i mean HARD) evidence you're staying in your submissive micro dick era"

his jaw dropped.

"e-evidence?!" he sputtered aloud, standing up in the middle of the dorm living room like he'd just been accused of murder.

jay, sitting across the room with earbuds in, pulled one out and glanced up. "what now?"

"she wants evidence."

jay blinked. "like...?"

jake gestured wildly at his phone. "like evidence evidence!"

jay raised both brows before grinning "...so what i said about the downward angle, i'm telling you jake that shit makes it look h—"

"NO!" jake practically yelled. "i'm not sending a picture of my dick to some random troll on tumblr!"

he fumed. typed. deleted. typed again. then, finally, sent:

@truthaboutjake: okay. listen. i'm not sending you a dick pic. i don't care how much you want "evidence" that's weird. this whole thing is weird. i'm literally just trying to correct a false narrative about myself

you saw the message and immediately rolled your eyes so hard you almost saw your brain. you were curled up on your couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, typing with vicious speed.

@s0ftbrat666: omg. are you serious right now?? NO ONE asked for actual dick pics. what the hell is wrong with you. you're literally so deep in this delusion you really think you're jake sim like?? be serious for once you are a grown man on tumblr dot com pretending to be an idol and defending your imaginary dick size this is next level behavior. you need to touch grass and maybe talk to a therapist jake sim would never you are EMBARRASSING yourself rn.

you hit send and sighed, rubbing your temples. it was funny at first but the more you interacted with this person the more brain cells you lost, it shocked you that people would go to such lengths to defend their favs.

this was beyond fandom drama now. this was a case study. and the worst part? you were kind of impressed with how committed he was to the bit. concerned of course, but impressed too.

like... he was spiraling. but passionately.

still. you weren't going to let up. because whoever this man was, he needed to be humbled.

you opened a new post draft and typed:

—— @s0ftbrat666: update: he dm'd me again and accused me of demanding dick pics because i said "evidence"

i rest my case. this is not jake sim. this is some 32-year-old man who unironically uses reddit and thinks being called "submissive" is a slur

log off, drink some water, and go outside before you get a nosebleed from rage

#jake sim #not the real one obviously #this is tumblr not onlyfans relax ——

✎﹏﹏

jake tried to move on.

he really did.

after the dick thread. after being labeled a submissive missionary pillow princess. after the fake fan accusations and being accused of roleplaying as himself—he made the conscious choice to stop checking your blog. he muted your username. closed tumblr for a solid 24 hours. he even turned off his notifs.

he was healing. growing. rebuilding his sanity.

until a member sent him a screenshot.

it was sunghoon.

of course it was sunghoon.

sunghoon: yo y tf she got sm time on her hands icl tho she funny asf

attached was a photo of your newest tumblr post.

jake opened it, eyes squinting. then he saw it.

—— @s0ftbrat666: watched enhypen's most recent stage and i just wanna know WHO chose those pants for jake like bffr. i can see his entire situation

the dick print? front and center. and it's not giving what he thinks it's giving

it's giving: he begged the stylist to let him wear those pants so he could prove me wrong and i'm here to tell you... babe... don't ever do that again.

i'm LAUGHING.

#enhypen #jake sim #pls don't wear tight pants if ur not ready for the scrutiny king #it's not looking good ——

jake froze.

his phone was literally vibrating with how hard he was gripping it.

"she's watching performances now?" he whispered to himself, horrified.

jay looked up from across the room, warily. "...oh god. again?"

"she's analyzing my crotch, jay. she made a post about my dick print."

jay blinked. "that's... new."

"and she said it's 'not giving'!" jake practically screamed, spinning his phone around to show him. "not giving what?! not giving big dick energy?!?!"

jay read it silently, lips twitching. "...it does kind of sound like she thinks you're trying to prove her wrong. which, to be fair, you kinda are." he pauses for a second, "but i thought she deemed you as a deranged fan, does she think that you're actually texting her?"

jake shrugs, "who knows what she's thinking, clearly way to much of this is the shit she posts. also i wasn't even thinking about her when i wore those pants!"

"you literally made a thread defending your dick size last week."

"NOT THE POINT."

jake felt like he was going to combust. it was like every time he clawed his way back to peace, you dropped another post from hell and dragged him back into the pit.

and this time?

this time you targeted his outfit. his styling choices. his crotch visibility. he couldn't even enjoy the stage anymore without wondering if you were out there in a hoodie, behind a screen, zooming in on freeze frames of his pants.

"this is psychological warfare," jake muttered.

sunghoon looked up from his phone, his face annoyed. he was tired of hearing about this, "just block her again."

jake clenched his jaw. "she'll post about it. she'll brag."

he scrolled back up, reading the caption again. and again. his fingers hovered over your username.

he didn't message you. not this time.

instead, he posted on his burner account:

—— @truthaboutjake: some people spend their lives spreading negativity online because they have nothing else going for them. if you spend your free time zooming in on people's bodies just to make fun of them, seek help.

also, the pants looked fire. ——

he hit post. and then, two minutes later he opened the group chat.

jayke: whoever styled me last week. never again. we're going back to loose pants. i'm not doing this with tumblr anymore

✎﹏﹏

jake tried to stay composed. he tried.

but every time he opened tumblr, there you were—lurking in his psyche like a demon with wi-fi.

at first it had been a few jabs, sprinkled here and there between your usual posts about other idols. someone's hair, another's dance move, one guy you kept thirsting over for his "evil smirk" and "long fingers." whatever. jake didn't care.

until suddenly—your entire blog became about him.

not in a cute, stan-like way.

no.

it was relentless.

"jake sim update: still looks like a man who apologizes during sex."

"new era, same micro dick energy."

"his pants looked like they were holding in a lie."

"i know he fumbles the aux every time. just look at him."

your followers ate it up. reblog after reblog. tags like "#he's just so bashable" and "#jake sim slander is self-care" filled the notes.

there were polls. there were graphics.

you made a tier list of idols based on who looked like they cried after sex, and jake was placed right at the top with the caption: "he looks like he'd say 'was that okay?' while tucking his soft dick back in his briefs."

jake was spiraling.

the worst part? you didn't even seem like a hater. you didn't hate him.

you just... targeted him like it was your job. your content was crafted with care. effort. borderline affection.

jay leaned over one afternoon while jake doomscrolled through another one of your polls—this one titled "which idol do you think would last the shortest in bed (no offense)", where jake was winning by 68%.

"you know," jay mused, "i think she actually likes you."

jake looked up, eyes wide with horror as he looks at jay disgusted. "what?"

jay shrugged. "she's obsessed. it's giving weirdly specific attention. enemies-to-lovers coded."

"jay. she made a gifset of my crotch."

"exactly."

jake nearly threw his phone across the room.

it wasn't just slander anymore—it was becoming personal. and the most infuriating part?

you were so sure. so smugly sure.

every post was laced with casual cruelty and the sharp confidence of someone who truly believed they knew him. his vibes. his music taste. his dick size. like you'd studied him and filed a damn report.

and the urge to prove you wrong? it was eating at him.

he'd see one of your posts and get this itch. this slow, simmering burn in his gut. like he had something to prove now. like he wanted to walk up to you and say—

"say that shit again. to my face."

he'd fantasized about it more than once.

cornering you at a fansign, maybe. or catching you backstage if he ever figured out who you were. you with that smug little expression, your arms crossed like you knew everything. and him, leaning in, low and sharp, and making damn sure you knew you were wrong about everything—especially that.

he wasn't even mad anymore. not just mad. he was determined.

this wasn't just tumblr slander. this was a challenge.

and jake sim? he didn't lose.

✎﹏﹏

jake laid in bed, phone hovering above his face, lit only by the blue glow of tumblr's godforsaken app. it was well past 2 a.m., and he'd already scrolled through your entire blog—again.

he told himself it was just to see if you'd posted anything new. which, of course, you had,

but really, he was spiraling.

another post. this one read:

—— @softbrat666: something about jake sim just screams whines when it doesn't slide in all the way like he'd pause mid-thrust to ask if you're okay because he came too fast

he'd definitely say 'but you just feel so good...' as an excuse ——

and the worst part?

jake read every single reply. studied them, even. like they held some kind of twisted insight into how you saw him. how you imagined him. you were building this whole persona of him in your mind and then broadcasting it to thousands of followers like it was gospel. and the most messed up part?

you had just enough accuracy to make it sting.

and yet—you remained anonymous.

faceless. untouchable.

he'd tried to find out who you were. he dug through old posts, clicked your tags, searched your url on twitter and insta.

all he found was:     •    you lived in seoul     •    you were 21     •    you drank too much iced americano     •    and you had audacity in excess

that was it. no selfies. no personal posts. no full name. you were just a sassy username and a collection of jake sim hate posts.

meanwhile, he was a public figure with his whole government face on blast while you dragged him through the mud constantly.

he hated how much he thought about what you looked like.

were you soft and bratty, like your tone suggested? did you smirk when you wrote those captions? were you the type to twirl your hair and say, "what? it's not that deep," while ruining a man's reputation?

he imagined you walking around seoul, laughing with your friends, ordering overpriced coffee with that smug, evil-little-gremlin energy.

he imagined running into you.

he'd play it cool at first—polite, casual, maybe even a little flirty.

watch you ramble. watch you squirm. and when he caught you slipping—maybe when you made some offhand comment about k-pop or tumblr—he'd hit you with it:

"so how's that blog going? still think i'm a submissive pillow princess with a micro dick?"

he rolled onto his side, fuming into his pillow. you lived in his head rent-free and you didn't even know what he looked like at night when he was losing sleep over your bullshit posts.

it was unfair.

you got to stay invisible while he was out here analyzing his own stage outfits to figure out what clip you were gonna slander next.

he scrolled back to that gif set you made of his recent performance. paused on the close-up. the zoom-in.

the goddamn caption: "not jake sim trying to start a dickprint redemption arc. spoiler: it's not working."

his eye twitched.

"this girl is the devil," he muttered.

and yet... he couldn't stop checking. he needed to know what you'd say next.

✎﹏﹏

you wake up to absolute chaos.

your phone is buzzing. not one or two notifications—hundreds. group chats. twitter and tumblr dms. unknown numbers. missed calls. it's like your phone caught fire overnight.

you blink against the morning light, groggy and confused, heart picking up speed. something's wrong. you can feel it. you squint at the screen, drag down your notifications, and the first notification you see makes your stomach drop.

"girl you're trending rn... what did you DO???"

then another.

"is that actually your name???"

your pulse is pounding before you even open twitter. your fingers shake as you type your own @ into the search bar, and the second you hit enter, your breath catches.

it's you.

your name. your photo. your phone number. everything.

someone—no, a group of people—had clearly gone full fbi. they'd taken all your casual, dumb little posts over the years and pieced them together like a fucked-up puzzle.

and now your full name was in a viral thread titled: "this the girl behind the jake sim micro dick blog?"

with a photo of you at a party two months ago, smile beaming.

people were quote-tweeting it with comments like: "she built like someone who'd have beef with jake sim for no reason." "oh she definitely owns a stan twitter burner too." "her blog is my roman empire i need her in therapy immediately."

your blood turned to ice. you were exposed.

fully.

not just as a shitposter but as the jake sim hater. your inbox was flooded—death threats, confessions, apologies, people asking if it was really you. tumblr dms screaming:

"TAKE THE POSTS DOWN BEFORE HE SEES THEM."

too late.

you scrambled to log into tumblr. your hands fumbled across the keys. it took three tries to get your password right.

the second you were in, you did the only thing you could do.

you hit deactivate.

the blog was gone. years of posts. thousands of notes. all of your followers, your drafts, your hate-poll templates.

deleted.

and then the panic really set in.

your hands were trembling. your ears were ringing. and all you could think about was @truthaboutjake, your mind racing. it was him, you realized that it was him.

"he knows. jake sim fucking knows who i am."

and the worst part?

you had no idea what he'd do with it.

✎﹏﹏

jake found out the same way everyone else did—waking up to a string of texts from jay and sunghoon absolutely losing their shit.

jay: bro. check twitter. sunghoon: she got exposed. jay: HER NAME IS OUT LMAOOO jay: bet she's sweating rn sunghoon: she's kinda cute tho

he blinked hard, still groggy, and tapped open the thread that seemed to be trending.

your face stared back at him.

his heart flipped.

you looked... nothing like what he expected. he'd imagined someone smug. cold. maybe with villain bangs and a cigarette habit.

but no—there you were, face flushed in a group photo, laughing mid-sip of iced americano. you looked normal. it almost hurt to admit, but you were pretty.

you looked real.

and now, you were reachable.

he did what anyone would do: searched your name on instagram. he found your linked facebook.

scrolled. scrolled.

paused.

you had your workplace tagged in an old comment.

"juniper bean café - seoul branch."

he stared at it for a long moment. then, very calmly, he stood up, threw on a hoodie, cap, and mask, and left the dorm.

✎﹏﹏

the café was a little tucked away spot with plants hanging from the ceiling and a chalkboard sign outside that said "kiss me, i'm caffeinated."

jake walked in, glancing around. he spotted you immediately, behind the counter, head down as you punched in an order.

he could tell that you had a rough morning, good. your posture was tense. your hair was pulled back messily. your voice was strained. you looked tired, your eyes that seemed so full of life in your leaked photos had disappeared.

he stepped up to the counter. waited. his eyes trailed down your figure, your frame was draped with a loose fitted sweater and some baggy light wash jeans. you wore a black apron, cinching at your waist—allowing his hungry eyes to capture your curves.

you were trying to look invisible. trying not to stand out. but to him—you were glowing with guilt.

he watched you fumble with a stack of napkins, pretending you didn't feel his eyes burning into you. finally you cleared your throat, still not looking up.

"hi, what can i get you?"

he smiled behind his mask, slow and wicked. he pulled it down just enough to speak—voice dripping low, sharp with mocking sweetness.

"you gonna spit in my drink too?" he asked. "or just keep running your mouth somewhere i can't see?"

you froze.

head snapping up. eyes locking with his. and there it was—that flash of horror, recognition, disbelief. it was him.

you had to admit, he was just as if not more handsome in person. your mouth dried up when you watched his lips curl into a smirk and his eye twitch.

your mouth opened. closed. no sound.

"hi," he said, almost sweetly. "miss me?"

you fumbled a reply—something, anything—but he leaned in, resting his elbows on the counter like he had all the time in the world.

"you disappeared fast. what happened? got leaked and lost all your guts or did you burn through all your micro dick material?"

your coworker looked between you both, utterly confused and in awe that jake was standing in front her. you took a breath. straightened your spine. tried to salvage your dignity.

"this is harassment," you muttered.

"this is karma," jake shot back, his smile dark. he twitched in anger, how dare you call this harassment—what about what you had been doing for the last couple of weeks? "i wanted a latte, by the way. no sugar. unless you're finally ready to be sweet to me."

you nearly dropped the milk jug.

he didn't care. he was so amused. you were the girl who wrote entire essays dragging his dickprint and his imagined bedroom habits? you, flushed and stammering behind a café register?

he wanted to laugh. he wanted to lean in closer. he wanted to ruin you back.

and this? this was just the beginning.

your hands were shaking. milk frother sputtering. heart pounding in your chest like it wanted to escape. and he—jake fucking sim—just stood there.

smiling.

smug.

head tilted slightly like he was thrilled by your discomfort. "you gonna make that latte, or you gonna keep fumbling around and glaring at me?" he drawled, voice low and casual.

you gritted your teeth, turned back to the machine, and fumbled through the motions of making the drink. you could feel his eyes on you the entire time—watching, drinking you in like you were the fucking joke.

you finally slid the drink across the counter, trying not to slam it.

"here. now leave."

he didn't move. just sipped slowly, then licked a bit of foam from his lip like it was the most dramatic thing anyone had ever done in a coffee shop.

and then—he leaned forward. elbow on the counter. voice quiet, words slow and deliberate:

"what time do you get off?"

you blinked, "excuse me?"

"your shift. when does it end?"

"why the fuck would i tell you that?"

his smile widened, all teeth now, sharp and smug. "because there's going to be a black car waiting for you outside." he continues, "when you clock out, you're going to get in. and then you're going to follow instructions."

you stared at him, genuinely floored. "are you insane? what the hell are you talking about?"

he tilted his head, mockingly sympathetic. "i get it. you're scared. probably embarrassed." he grins, "but see, that's the thing about defamation—once it's public, i can take legal action. and you've been very public."

your stomach dropped, "you're bluffing."

he shrugged. "wanna bet your savings account on that?"

you opened your mouth. closed it again. because—fuck. he wasn't bluffing. he didn't have to. you'd posted too much. said too much. and now he had your face, your name, your location.

"you can't just—kidnap me," you said, weaker than intended.

he laughed.

"it's not kidnapping if you get in willingly, sweetheart."

then he slid the latte off the counter, turned, and started to walk toward the door. before he left, he glanced back, over his shoulder.

"9 p.m., right?" he called out. "don't be late. i hate being stood up." he grinned, fuck him.

the bell jingled as he left. the door shut behind him.

and you stood there, in your apron and sneakers and sweaty palms, absolutely rattled. what the fuck did you just get yourself into?

✎﹏﹏

9:03 p.m.

you were pacing behind the café. your shift ended three minutes ago, but you hadn't stepped outside yet. you couldn't. your feet felt like bricks. your stomach twisted with anxiety, hands clenched in the pockets of your jeans.

what the fuck am i doing?

you shouldn't go. you know you shouldn't go. this was literally stranger danger 101, except instead of a stranger it was a kpop idol whose dick size you flamed online for weeks.

your brain was screaming at you. your nerves were a warzone. your inner monologue sounded like one long anxiety spiral:

"you're insane." "this is how people get murdered." "he's rich. he could make you disappear and blame it on anxiety meds." "but also... maybe he just wants to talk?" "or maybe he's gonna sue you in person with his scary legal team and laugh while you cry." "or—worse—what if he takes a picture with you and posts it with some shady ass caption like 'finally found her :)' and now you're really cooked?"

your fists clenched tighter.

this was your own fault. you were the one who made that blog. you were the one who said he looked like a pillow princess. you were the one who photoshopped a pacifier into that one fansite photo and captioned it "baby boy can't handle coochie."

and now?

now he knew your name. your face. your shift schedule.

and there it was, waiting on the curb like a horror movie prop—a sleek black car, windows tinted, headlights glowing like eyes.

you stared at it.

and then, finally, took a deep breath and walked towards it.

the back door opened before you could even touch it. you slid inside, hesitating, clutching your bag to your chest like a shield. you looked around the dimly lit interior. leather seats. no jake.

just a stone-faced driver in a black cap.

"um," you said cautiously. "where are we going?"

no response.

you leaned forward slightly. "hello? i just—can you at least tell me if jake is—"

silence.

he kept driving.

great.

you sat back, heart still racing. the lights of the city blurred past the windows. you couldn't even track the direction—you were too jittery to focus. every turn felt like it took you farther from safety.

and god, the silence was suffocating.

you hated it. you hated him.

jake sim and his smug face and his legal threats and the fact that this whole thing was so humiliating.

how the hell did he turn it around on you? curse those people who leaked you.

you were supposed to have the power. the upper hand. you were the one who had thousands of people laughing at his expense. you were the one whose posts got quoted like bible verses on stan twitter.

and now?

now you were alone, in his car, being driven to god knows where because he told you to.

you should've never fucking posted about his dick. you should've stayed anonymous. kept your mouth shut. deleted the pacifier post when it hit 10k notes.

the car slowed. you peeked out the window. it wasn't some mansion, like you feared. wasn't a dungeon either—at least you think so.

it was a private-looking building—modern, sleek, tucked down a quiet alley with a gated entrance. definitely expensive. definitely secluded.

you were dropped off at the curb. the driver didn't say anything—just nodded toward the front door.

you stepped out slowly, phone gripped tight in your hand, ready to fake an emergency call or scream if necessary.

a man, different from the driver, opened the front door. another silent guy in all black gestured for you to follow.

you hesitated, then followed him down a short hallway, up a narrow flight of stairs, until you reached a door with a single number carved into it: 17.

he knocked once, then opened it.

you stepped in—and stopped.

jake was inside.

he was leaning casually against a wall, dressed in all black—hoodie, chain, jeans, hair tousled, like he hadn't even tried and still looked like a good.

he was scrolling on his phone when you entered, then looked up.

and grinned, "hey." he stops, letting his gaze travel down your trembling form, "glad you could make it, hate blogger."

you wanted to punch him. you wanted to turn around and leave. but most of all—you wanted to know what the hell came next.

and by the look on his face?

he was very ready to show you.

room 17 is quiet. too quiet.

you stand near the door, gripping the strap of your bag like it's your last line of defense. jake hasn't moved from his place against the wall, but his eyes haven't left you for a second. he looks too calm. like this is just some casual meetup and not the most batshit confrontation of your entire life.

"you still haven't told me why i'm here," you say finally, voice tight, trying to sound unbothered even though your throat is dry.

he doesn't answer right away. he just studies you, eyes flicking from your clenched fists to your shifting posture to the tiny, almost-invisible tremble in your knees.

then he lets out a soft little chuckle, the kind that feels mean. smug and quiet and condescending.

"you really don't know?" he asks, stepping away from the wall at last. his strides are slow, deliberate, like he knows you won't run—but that you should.

you take a step back automatically, bumping into the door behind you.

"if this is about suing me," you mutter, chin lifting defensively, "you could've just emailed your legal team. this whole drama king act—" "i'm not suing you." he cuts you off, voice calm but sharp. he walks past you and locks the door with a soft click. your stomach flips.

"then what the hell is this?" he turns back to you, expression unreadable, "this is about correction."

you blink, "what?"

"you posted things that were... inaccurate." he steps closer. you press yourself further into the door. "about me. my body. my performance. my preferences." another step. you swear you stop breathing, "so now i'm giving you a chance to see the truth."

you stare up at him, wide-eyed, "you're joking."

"does it look like i'm joking?" he murmurs.

you're momentarily speechless. your brain is whirring, trying to process what's happening. jake sim—international idol, global heartthrob, the man you've memed within an inch of his digital life—has dragged you to a private room to debunk his dick size?

you should laugh, but you can't.

because he's standing too close. because he's looking at you like prey. because his voice is dipped in amusement but his eyes are furious.

"you're out of your mind," you whisper, eyes wide and your jaw slacked.

he shrugs, "maybe."

his hand lifts, knuckles brushing your chin—just enough to make your breath catch.

"but you made this personal. you dragged it out. you turned it into a running gag." he leans down slightly, until your noses are nearly brushing. "and now you're gonna watch what happens when you say shit you can't back up."

your throat works around a swallow. your persona starts to crack.

still—you can't not be a brat.

"so what, you're gonna just pull your dick out like some frat boy in a scandal?" you snort. "you're so mad over a joke, you're—"

"baby," his voice cuts you off again, soft but dangerous.

"a joke is calling me clingy or annoying. a joke is editing me into a pink onesie." he steps even closer, "but accusing me of being a submissive pillow princess with a dick that couldn't break a hymen?" he tilts his head, mocking, "that's slander."

you flush. deeply, "you saw that post?"

"i've seen every post," he says coolly. "and the reblogs. and the tags. and the memes."

you suddenly feel so small. not because he's taller—though he is—but because you'd spent months building this image of jake sim as a joke. a punchline. a target.

and now he's right here. and he's pissed.

"you're really that bothered?" you ask, but your voice is quieter now, unsure. "bothered?" he repeats, almost scoffing. "sweetheart, i was obsessed." his hand lifts again, brushes your hair away from your face, fingers dragging a little too slow behind your ear.

"you don't understand what it's like to be degraded by someone who's too cowardly to even show their face." he pauses, his eyes dropping to your lips, "but i'll show you."

you swallow hard. "so what?" you ask, trying not to waver. "you want me to apologize? to... take it all back? post a formal retraction about your dick?"

he grins. slow and sharp, "nah."

"i want you to see it," he pauses, lets the words sink in. "and then i want to see the look on your face when you realize you were dead fucking wrong."

your mouth opens. no sound comes out. your heart is pounding so fast you think you might throw up. because there's teasing and there's joking and there's flirting with danger—but this? this is crossing the line, and you don't know if you want him to stop.

you laugh, it comes out breathy and nervous and completely unconvincing. "okay," you say, holding your hands up a little, trying to cut the tension with sarcasm, "haha, very funny. you got me. you've officially scared the shit out of me, and if that was your goal, congratulations."

jake just stands there. watching you. expression unreadable, unreadable and dark. you shift on your feet, trying to find a way out of this, trying to reclaim some sense of control.

"look," you continue, "i'll take everything down, okay? every post. every meme. every stupid out-of-pocket caption." you swallow. "i'll issue an apology. hell, i'll write a thread. a whole google doc. whatever you want."

you inch away from the door, toward the side of the room, trying to put some space between you.

"i crossed a line. i get that now." you laugh again, weaker this time. "like—clearly."

jake still doesn't speak, he starts walking.

slow. silent. like a cat with its prey cornered.

your back hits the wall.

"i'll stop posting about you," you rush out, your heart beating frantically when you feel jake's breath fan against your cheek. "seriously. no more degrading content. no more jokes. you win, okay?" his palm hits the wall beside your head with a sharp thud.

you freeze.

he leans in.

"i don't want a fucking apology," he murmurs, voice thick and low, the sound of it making your legs weaken. you try to hold his gaze, but it's hard when he's this close. when you can smell his cologne—clean and warm, like cedar and skin. when you can see the heat in his eyes, the tension in his jaw.

"i want you to look at me," he says, "and admit you were wrong."

"i just did—" "no." his other hand comes up, fingers ghosting your chin, tilting it up. "not because you're scared. not because you think i'm gonna sue your ass. i want you to say it because you know."

you suck in a breath as his fingers graze your throat. not squeezing. not threatening. but claiming, staking a presence.

"you think i'm some submissive little pushover," he whispers, "who just lays there and takes it. soft. boring. harmless."

your heart pounds in your chest so loud you swear it echoes. "you think you own the narrative. that you get to decide who i am, what i'm like in bed, how big my fucking dick is."

you flinch at the way he says it, so vulgar and harsh it shoots straight to your core.

"but the second i show up—" his thumb brushes your bottom lip. "you're quiet. nervous. twitchy. like you already know you were talking out of your ass."

you suck in a shaky breath and try to bite back the heat that's crawling up your neck. "you're insane," you whisper, but there's no bite behind it.

his body is so close now, you can feel the heat radiating off him. he hasn't even touched you properly and you already feel like your knees are going to give.

"what do you want from me?" you ask, voice barely holding together. he leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"i want to fuck the lies out of your mouth." his voice is so low, it vibrates down your spine. "i want you to choke on everything you said about me and realize i was never the one being dominated."

you let out a small, shaky sound—and that's when he finally kisses you.

not soft.

not slow.

possessive. like he's claiming what he's owed.

like he's trying to shove every insult back down your throat, one filthy kiss at a time.

your mind blanks the second his mouth claims yours. his tongue pushes past your lips without hesitation, his hand gripping your jaw to keep you right where he wants you, and you feel it deep—too deep. like he's trying to crawl inside your ribcage and brand himself there.

his kiss isn't gentle. it's punishment. all teeth and tongue, your back shoved harder into the wall as he presses against you. his body completely, deliberately dominating yours.

"still think i'm soft?" he growls against your lips when he pulls back, breath ragged, thumb digging into the underside of your chin to keep you looking at him.

you don't answer. you can't.

your mouth is open, panting, lips wet and swollen from how violently he just kissed you. your knees barely hold.

his gaze drops to your mouth. then lower, and lower.

he smirks.

"you look scared," he says, tilting his head slightly. "thought you liked writing filthy shit about me. what happened to all that confidence?"

you swallow hard, still in absolute disbelief, "you're—you're actually insane."

"and you're actually still turned on." his hand drops to your hip, gripping hard, pulling you flush against him—and fuck. he's hard. painfully hard. pressing right against your lower stomach. and he knows you feel it.

your eyes widen. you try to squirm away but there's nowhere to go, your back hits the wall again and his thigh wedges between your legs.

"not so micro now, is it?" he breathes against your neck. you let out a broken sound—half gasp, half groan—and that's when jake loses it.

he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, other hand sliding beneath your shirt, grazing skin and pulling a shocked noise out of you. he doesn't give you room to breathe.

"say it," he growls. "say you were wrong."

you shake your head. still stubborn. still you.

"no?" he scoffs. "fine." his thigh presses harder between your legs, rocking up once. your clit throbbed pathetically at the feeling, it was just enough friction to make your eyes roll back. you try to keep your composure, but he watches your face change—watches your pride falter.

"don't lie to me, baby." his voice drops lower—hungrier. "you're dripping. over the same guy you dragged for months."

you gasp, trying to turn your face away from him, but he leans in again, his nose brushing your cheek.

"you gonna blog about this too?" he whispers. "tell your little followers how jake sim manhandled you and made you eat your words with his cock halfway down your throat?"

you whimper and it disgusts you how fast your body betrays you. how wet you already are. how much you want him to ruin you just to prove you were wrong.

and he can tell.

he sees the shift in your expression. how your resistance is slowly, deliciously, falling apart.

your wrists are still pinned, your breathing uneven, chest rising and falling fast as jake leans in like he owns the air around you.

"i'm done hearing you talk," he mutters, dragging his mouth along your jaw. "i think it's time you showed me just how sorry you really are."

he releases your hands and steps back. you don't move. your legs are trembling, your pride hanging on by a thread.

"on your knees," he says simply.

you scoff, arms folding defensively across your chest, "you can't be serious—"

he tilts his head, "i'm not asking again."

there's no loud threat. no yelling. just the terrifying calm of someone who already knows he's won. you hold your ground—barely. but something about the way he looks down at you, already palming the bulge in his jeans, makes your body respond before your mind does.

you sink, slowly. knees hitting the floor like it's a confession. he watches you with quiet satisfaction, like he's waited for this exact moment.

he had been dreaming about the moment he would get you to himself, on your knees—right where he wanted you.

"look at me," he says, and you do—eyes meeting his as he unzips, the sound ridiculously loud in the silence.

he's already thick in his hand when he pulls it out, and your mouth goes dry. you don't want to admit it, but fuck. it's big. way bigger than you ever gave him credit for. your throat tightens at the sheer weight of it, thick and flushed and veined.

his smirk deepens when he sees the way your eyes drop.

"what was that again?" he mocks, giving himself a slow stroke. "micro?"

you glare up at him, heat crawling up your neck. "i was clearly misinformed."

"say it properly."

you hesitate, his free hand tangles in your hair—firm, but not painful. just enough to tilt your face up toward him.

"say. it."

you grit your teeth, "i was wrong."

"about what?"

you groan. "about your dick. okay? you don't have a micro dick."

he raises an eyebrow, "that all?"

"it's big," you mutter, cheeks burning. "you made your point." he laughs—low and satisfied—and guides your face closer, "not yet."

you gasp when you feel his tip touch your cheek, he grins at your expression—feeling satisfied with your shock. he does a few experimental taps, dragging his length over your lips. you hold in a whine when he smears his pre cum over your bottom lip, almost as if he was applying lipgloss on you.

and then he pushes in.

there's no easing into it—he gives you the thick weight of his cock all at once, making you choke. your hands scrambling to grip his thighs as he holds you there, watching with dark, satisfied eyes.

"look at that," he murmurs. "mouth so full of me you can't even talk shit now." you gag again, but his grip stays steady, fingers flexing against the back of your head as he rocks his hips in slow, controlled thrusts. just enough to make you feel how deep he is and prove how wrong you were.

he could feel how warm your mouth was around him, basking in the feeling of not only pleasure but the satisfaction of shutting you up.

"this what you wanted?" he groans. "to see what i've been hiding in those pants you loved to degrade?"

you can't respond. not when he's using your mouth like a cock sleeve, fucking every insult out of you with a punishing rhythm. spit drips from out of your mouth and onto your chin. tears prick at your eyes and yet—somewhere deep in your gut—you like it.

jake's grip on your hair gets stronger, the pain causing your jaw to slack as you continue to take his brutal pace. you could feel the head of his cock  rub against the back of your throat, the force not strong enough to make you gag but enough to cause a stream of tears to run down your face.

your nose touched his pelvis with every thrust, indicating how deep he was going. "fuck. look at you, __. who knew cock being in your mouth is the only way to shut you up."

you whine at his words, looking up at him with pleading eyes—yet you didn't know what exacting you were begging for. you rub your thighs together in hopes for some temporary relief, the scene so lewd that you could feel yourself gush in your panties—holding in the urge to let your hands wander down to touch yourself.

jake looked down at you with hungry eyes, his lip twitching as his grip in your hair grew tighter with each thrust. he let low moans slip from his mouth every time his dick grazed the back of your throat.

"aren't you a dirty little whore.." jake drawls out, his chest heaving with pleasure when he notices how tightly you have your thighs clenched. "getting all worked up for someone you've publicly shat on for having the least sex appeal."

you moaned around him when suddenly he pushed your thighs apart with his foot, wedging his sneaker between your legs—giving you something to ease up the tension in your core.

you mewl when he pushed against your clit, almost urging you to grind down against him while he used your mouth to his hearts content. slowly, but surely—you allowed yourself to ground yourself against him. it sickened you how desperate you had become in just a span of a few minutes.

jake almost cums when he sees you move your hips, desperate for any kind of friction to relieve you from your throbbing clit.

the familiar feeling in his stomach begins to tighten, his grip on you becoming unforgiving as he loses self control and allows himself to push himself into your mouth as much as he could. his tip hits the back of your throat repeatedly now, a mixture of his cum and your spit dribbling out of your mouth.

"f-fuck," he groans. "m'gonna cum.. you're gonna take it? yeah? take it in that bratty mouth, hm?" jake murmurs to what seems himself just before he combusts in your mouth. you swallowed a chocked moan when you feel his warm cum coat your mouth, gagging around him as he twitches.

jake felt as if he was on cloud 9, his head lulling to the side as he keeps your head planted where it is—ensuring that you swallow what he gave you fully.

when he finally pulls back, cock glistening with your spit and his cum, your jaw aches as you swallow the salty yet sweet taste of his release.  your chest heaving like you've just survived something.

"mouth open and tongue out," he demands. you hesitantly open your mouth, your tongue out as you show him that you swallowed everything.

you whine out desperately when he slides his foot away, leaving you aching again. jake tsk's, "desperate slut."

he crouches down to your level, thumb wiping the corner of your mouth.

"still think i'm a pillow princess?" his voice is a little breathless now. dark and smug. "or you finally ready to admit you don't know shit about me?"

your throat still burns. your lips are swollen, coated in spit and shame, and jake's leaning over you like he's just getting started.

"on your feet."

you hesitate, still panting, still dazed from the way he fucked your mouth like it was owed to him. but something in his voice—firm, expectant—makes you move. your knees tremble as you rise.

jake doesn't give you time to adjust. the second you're upright, he steps in close, hands on your waist, guiding you backward until your thighs hit the edge of the bed.

you're pressed back against the mattress, thighs parted under his hands, still catching your breath from how rough he'd just been with your mouth. but instead of backing down, you do what you do best—deflect.

"look—how about this," you say, voice shaking but holding onto some scrap of cocky defiance. "i'll just say the blog was satire. irony. you know, performance art or something. no one has to know i meant any of it."

jake's expression doesn't change.

"or better yet—i'll make a new post trashing someone else. redirect the attention. easy." you flash a grin that's all teeth. "maybe i'll even throw in a little praise for you. balance it out."

he just blinks at you. slowly.

"you think you're negotiating right now?" his voice is calm, but the grip on your thighs tightens.

you blink. "i mean, i'm trying to be reasonable—"

"reasonable?" he laughs, but there's no humor in it. "you publicly dragged me for weeks. humiliated me. and now that you're caught, you want to rewrite the narrative?"

"i'm offering solutions—" "you're offering bullshit," he snaps, and in a second he's climbing over you, his body slotting between your legs like it was made to be there. "and you think you still have leverage? cute."

your breath hitches. your hands push at his chest, but he grabs your wrists and pins them down again, harder this time—your body arching into him involuntarily.

"here's what's really gonna happen," he says, leaning in, nose brushing yours. "you're gonna try to flip this. act like you're still in control. try to turn the tables on me."

your throat tightens.

"but you won't. because the second you try, i'll remind you who made you beg. who had you gagging on the dick you said didn't exist." his voice drops lower, dangerous. "and then i'll ruin you all over again."

you glare up at him, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and defiance."you know what? fine." your voice is sharp, shaky. "you wanna play games? i'll play. let's see how fast you fold when i turn this around."

he raises an eyebrow. "is that right?" you reach down between your bodies—slow, deliberate—wrapping your hand around him. he's still hard. unfairly so. hot and heavy in your palm.

"maybe i was wrong about the size," you murmur, stroking him slow, his breath hitching. "but maybe you really are just a pillow princess. maybe you like being praised more than you like fucking."

his jaw ticks.

you press a kiss to his neck, voice a taunt against his skin. "what happens if i ride you instead? if i make you cum all over yourself."

he freezes.

"what if i write about that next?" you sit up dragging your tongue along the edge of his jaw. "'jake sim—big dick, zero stamina.' think the internet'll love that?"

you think you've got him.

until suddenly—he flips you.

you yelp, back hitting the mattress again as he rips your hand away from his cock and shoves your thighs up around his waist. the shift is fast, dominant, practiced.

"you really thought that'd work?" he's laughing now—mean, breathless, hungry. "thought you'd rile me up and get the upper hand? you forget who tracked you down and got you here in this room." his voice is pure venom now, thick with want. "who had you gagging and drooling on your knees while you fucked yourself on my shoes not even 5 minutes ago?"

his hands expertly yank off your jeans, his thumb hooked around the waistband of your baby pink cotton panties—teasing you. you writhe beneath him, but he doesn't budge—he presses into you, cock sliding between your clothed folds just to tease, just to show you what you don't get to control.

"you wanna test stamina?" he growls. "i'll fuck you 'til that smug little attitude disappears. 'til you're begging me to stop. 'til you're crying and calling me daddy."

you gasp—rage, arousal, panic blending in your gut—but you can't deny the throb between your legs. the way your body betrays your pride.

he feels it too.

his free hand runs up your sweater, your breath shaking as you feel him run his fingers up your stomach and make themselves comfortable on your tits. letting your hands go momentarily, he's yanking your sweater off and throwing it across the room.

"didn't know bratty girls like you wore baby pink. ruffles, lace trim—bows?" he grins, his hands playing with the frills of your bra as you twitch beneath him.

"fuck you," you spat out, voice coming out weaker than you wanted it to. jake only smirks, his hand reaching up to pull the straps of your bra down—letting your tits fall out. "oh i will," and with that he's taking one of your nipples hostage in his mouth. his grip on your wrists stays planted, not allowing you to move or struggle against him when he nips at the sensitive skin of your breasts.

he switches from left to right for a few minutes, basking in your whimpers and mewls before he kisses down your stomach. pulling away he's back to being face to face with you, a smug look on his face before he plants a kiss to your jaw. the kiss turns into bites, nipping at your neck and chest as he leaves behind purple splotches.

"maybe you can post the marks i left and then bash me," jake grins against your skin. you roll your eyes in response only for jake to shoot you a look that says: behave.

he moves your underwear to the side, exposing your cunt to his hungry eyes. he runs his thumb through your slit, gathering your slick.

"so wet," he mutters, dragging the head of his cock against your slit. "guess your body knows who's in charge, even if your mouth doesn't." he slams into you—deep, all at once—and you scream.

no teasing now. no easing in. no prepping.

just punishment. just proof. just him, ruining you from the inside out like it's the only way to shut you up.

"gonna make you forget every insult," he grits, hips snapping into yours over and over. "gonna fuck the hate right outta you."

he could feel your velvet walls convulse, sucking him in like a vacuum as he thrusts into you. you cry out, fingers digging into his shoulders, back arching, mind blurring. you hate how good it feels. how right.

"gonna ruin you," he whispers, lips at your neck. "and you're gonna thank me for it." his mouth traveling down to your tit to engulf one of your nipples once again.

your body jolts with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping and moans filling the room as you struggle to adjust to his girth.

you're still trembling when jake lifts your chin. his touch is deceptively gentle, but there's nothing soft in his expression. smug. commanding. dangerously patient.

"you still think you were right?" he asks lowly, voice scraping down your spine like velvet over steel. you blink up at him, lips parted, but your throat is dry. no sass now. not with the way your body's still recovering, knees weak, throat raw from every choked sound he pulled from you.

when you don't respond jake stops his movement, his hips go still as he simply stares down at you with a dark look in his eyes.

you were falling apart.

his cock was deep inside you, filling you so completely you couldn't even think straight— but jake wasn't moving. he just held you there, pinned beneath him, wrists trapped against the mattress, his hips grinding slow and mean against yours.

you whimpered, hips twitching up against him helplessly, desperate for more. he smirked down at you, cruel and smug, loving the way your body shook, the way your face twisted in frustration.

"what's wrong?" he murmured mockingly, leaning in so close his lips brushed your ear. "thought you'd be tougher than this."

you rationed with yourself for a moment, were you really going to beg? yes.

you tried to twist your wrists free but his grip only tightened. "please," you gasped out, tears welling in your eyes from how badly you needed to cum. "please, jake, i need it—"

he laughed, low and sharp, and snapped his hips forward once—deep and brutal—making you cry out. but then he stilled again, ignoring your desperate whines.

"you need it?" he repeated, pretending to think. "need my cock? need me to make you cum like the stupid little whore you are?"

your cheeks burned, shame rolling through you, but you nodded frantically.

"say it," he ordered, voice dropping, rough. you squeezed your eyes shut, humiliated, but the words still poured out.

"i need your cock," you sobbed. "please jake, please—i'll do anything, i'll be good, just let me cum—"

he laughed again, so fucking satisfied with himself.

"should've thought about being good before you started running your mouth online," he muttered, dragging his cock slow and deep inside you, making you arch and cry out.

you were shaking now—your whole body burning, every nerve stretched tight and ready to snap.

"you want it that bad?" he asked casually, grinding his hips just enough to make you sob.

"yes," you choked out. "please, jake—please, i need to cum, i can't—"

he grinned wickedly and finally, finally started fucking into you hard—deep, punishing thrusts that made you see stars. your walls clung onto how dick like a suction in attempt to milk him dry.

your moans spilled out loud and wrecked, your whole body bowing off the bed.

"good girl," he murmured darkly, "you're gonna cum when i say. not a second before." you nodded frantically, not trusting yourself to speak without crying. and when he finally, finally leaned down and growled, "cum for me, slut,"

you shattered.

you came so hard you were sobbing, spasming around him, your body giving out completely under his.

jake fucked you through it, laughing under his breath, dragging every last bit of pleasure and humiliation out of you until you were left shaking and gasping for air.

and even then, he wasn't done with you yet. he hadn't cum yet, and at the end of the day that's what you were here for—to be his little cum slut.  you barely had time to breathe—your body still spasming from the orgasm he tore out of you before jake grabbed your hips and pulled you back down onto him, grinding even deeper.

you yelped, broken noises spilling out of your mouth, trying to squirm away from the overwhelming sensation.

"no," he snapped, voice sharp and final, one hand locking tight around your waist to keep you from moving. "you don't get to run."

your head lolled back, tears slipping down your cheeks, your body a twitching mess.

"too much," you sobbed, trembling violently.

he laughed—laughed—at your misery.

"too bad," he muttered against your ear. "you're not done." he set a brutal rhythm, fucking into you hard, fast, merciless. your thighs shook, your nails dug into the sheets, your mouth fell open in helpless, gasping cries. you could feel yourself spiraling again—pain and pleasure tangled together until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

"you think you're in control?" he grunted, slamming into you harder, making you scream. "you think you can say whatever you want about me and not pay for it?"

your whole body jolted with every thrust, the humiliation making your head spin.

"say it," he growled. "say you were wrong."

you whimpered, stubborn even now, biting down hard on your lip. he slowed down, grinding his cock against your sensitive walls in deep, deliberate circles that made you keen helplessly.

"say it," he repeated, cruel and low, "or i'll edge you until you're fucking crying."

your pride crumbled fast.

"i was wrong," you gasped out, voice cracking. he smirked, hips snapping forward again. "about what?"

you squeezed your eyes shut, shame flooding you. "about—about your dick," you choked out. "i lied, you're big—you're fucking huge—"

he chuckled darkly, like he already knew. "good girl," he breathed, voice dripping with mockery. "what else?"

you shook your head frantically, body jerking with overstimulation. he pulled almost all the way out—your cunt squeezing around nothing— before slamming back in so brutally you cried out.

"what else?" he hissed against your throat.

"i—i'm just a stupid bitch who doesn't know what she's talking about," you sobbed, face burning hot.

he laughed again, so fucking satisfied, so cruel.

"that's right," he murmured. "a stupid little whore who can't stop begging for the cock she said was too small."

you whimpered, broken, humiliated beyond repair. and still—your body clung to him, desperate for more. you realized with a sick twist in your gut that you would do anything—say anything—just to have him fuck you harder.

and jake knew it too.

he leaned down close, mouth brushing yours cruelly.

"beg," he whispered. "beg me to ruin you."

you could barely think. your body was burning, trembling, stretched tight around him— your mind a broken mess of shame and need. and still jake kept fucking you deep, rough, relentless.

his hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, your throat, your jaw—manhandling you like you were nothing more than a toy for him to use.

you whimpered when he grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him.

"beg," he ordered again, voice dark, breathless with lust. "beg me to ruin you, slut."

you shook your head at first, a broken little sob tearing from your throat. he growled low, slammed into you even harder—your back arching, a scream ripping from your lips.

"you don't get to say no," he hissed. "you wanted this." tears streamed down your cheeks, your body trembling violently.

"please," you gasped out, the word slipping before you could even think. "please jake..ruin me, use me. fuck me however you want—"

he laughed, so fucking smug, dragging his cock out slow just to make you whine. "good fucking girl," he murmured. "finally learning your place."

you babbled desperate nonsense, sobbing into the sheets, your pride shattered into dust.and jake fucked you through it all—using you like a fleshlight, pounding into you until your legs gave out, until your voice was wrecked and broken.

"this what you wanted, huh?" he sneered, slapping your ass hard enough to leave a sting. "to get fucked dumb? to get put in your place like the stupid little whore you are?"

you nodded frantically, gasping, sobbing, brain completely mush. "can't even speak anymore," he muttered, mocking. "just a cockdrunk mess." your nails clawed helplessly at the sheets, your cunt squeezing him so tight he groaned.

you felt another orgasm building—sharp, unbearable—but you were too gone to even ask permission. you just sobbed and gasped and let him take everything from you.

"yeah, that's right," he growled, voice thick with pleasure. "cum all over my cock, slut. make a fucking mess."

you shattered, your whole body convulsing around him, screaming his name like a prayer, a curse, a broken confession. and jake fucked you through it, dragging every last bit of your pride and resistance out of you, until there was nothing left but a crying, ruined mess on his cock.

you were shaking. your body was limp, wrecked, trembling under the weight of everything he made you feel.

and jake still wasn't satisfied.

he kept moving, grinding his cock deep inside your overstimulated cunt—mocking every broken sob that fell from your lips.

"what's wrong?" he said, voice dripping with fake sweetness. "too much?"

you could only whimper, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth. he grabbed your face again, rough, forcing your glassy eyes to meet his.

"you wanted to run your mouth so bad," he sneered. "now you can fucking thank me." your brain barely processed the words, too fogged with shame and pleasure. he slapped your cheek lightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to snap your attention back.

"say it," he barked. "say thank you."

you whimpered, tears spilling down your cheeks.

"th-thank you," you stammered, voice barely a whisper.

he smirked, cruel and satisfied.

"louder," he ordered, snapping his hips forward viciously, making you cry out. "thank you!" you sobbed, your voice hoarse and broken.

he chuckled darkly, his hand sliding down your throat, pressing lightly just enough to make your head spin.

"thank me for ruining you," he muttered, rolling his hips slow and deep, dragging another helpless moan from your lips.

your pride was turned into ash, your mind gone.

"thank you for ruining me," you gasped out, shaking uncontrollably, completely destroyed. he groaned, clearly getting off on how ruined you were—your body slack, twitching, drooling, your cunt spasming weakly around him.

"pathetic," he muttered against your ear. "look at you." you could feel how wet and messy everything was—your thighs sticky, the sheets underneath you soaked.

and still—still—he wasn't finished.

"gonna fill you up," he rasped, voice rough with the effort of holding back. "gonna fuck you so full you'll be leaking for days."

you sobbed, the humiliation sinking deeper into your bones.

"please," you whispered, because you didn't know what else to say anymore. he grunted low in his chest, thrusting faster, chasing his release. he could feel that familiar tinge in his stomach, he was close.

"such a good little cumdump," he growled. "just a hole for me to use." you broke again, another weak orgasm rolling through your abused body.

and jake finally spilled inside you—deep, hot, filling you up exactly like he promised.

he didn't pull out immediately. he stayed pressed deep, making sure you felt every drop. when he finally did pull out, you collapsed completely, a ruined, twitching, crying mess.

and jake just chuckled, so fucking smug. running his fingers down your slit before plugging your fluttering hole, making sure that his cum stays in you for as long as it could.

"maybe next time you'll think twice before running your mouth about me," he said, releasing your wrists before he gets off the bed. he left you there, spread open, dripping, humiliated beyond repair.

and you realized with a sick twist of your gut— you liked it.

you fucking loved every humiliating second of it.

✎﹏﹏

your body aches.

not in the romantic, soft-lit, post-orgasm kind of way.

no. it's raw. it's degrading. it's embarrassing.

your legs are trembling so badly you have to lean on the sink just to stay upright. your thighs sticky, sore. your throat dry and stretched thin from the pathetic, wrecked sounds he pulled out of you.

you yank your clothes back on as fast as your shaking hands allow, muttering curses under your breath. you can't even look at yourself in the mirror. because you know what you'll see: the ruined, wrecked version of yourself jake created.

and you hate him.

you hate how smug he looks when you finally stumble back into the room—hair mussed, shirt untucked, standing like he didn't just break you open with nothing but his cock and his fucking mouth. you hate how he leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with a look that says he's already won.

you hate that he was right.

and you really, really hate that you liked it.

you roll your shoulders back, force yourself to stand straight even if your body is begging you to drop.

"that what you wanted?" you rasp out, voice wrecked and scratchy. "you win. congrats. want a trophy or something?"

jake doesn't say a word. he just watches. calm. amused. smug.

and it pisses you off. burns you alive from the inside.

"you got what you wanted. you ruined my pride," you snarl, stepping closer even though your knees are ready to give. "so what now? supposed to kneel and thank you? beg you to keep ruining me?"

he cocks his head slightly, lips twitching.

you hate how unbothered he looks. you hate it so much it makes you reckless.

"you don't actually believe i meant all that, right?" you spit. "you really think i meant it when i said you're big? when i cried about how good you fucked me?"

you scoff, shaking your head with a cold, sharp laugh.

"you're pathetic. you got played because i moaned a little."

and that's when everything shifts.

because jake steps forward—smooth, controlled—grabbing your jaw so hard you gasp, slamming your back against the wall without even looking like he's trying. his face is inches from yours, breath warm, eyes dark and furious.

"still lying?" he murmurs.

your heart pounds wildly. you try to twist away but his grip on your jaw tightens, bruising.

"you begged for my cock," he hisses, thumb dragging across your trembling bottom lip. "you fucking cried for it. and you're gonna stand there and lie to my face?"

you choke on your words, humiliation pouring down your spine in cold waves.

he laughs bitterly, the sound vibrating low in his chest. "guess you really are as dumb as you look."

you flinch.

and jake leans in closer, voice dropping lower, meaner. "you wanna pretend you're still in control?" he taunts, dragging his fingers down your throat slow, almost tender. "you wanna act like you didn't cum so fucking hard you couldn't even say my name?"

you tremble.

but you don't back down—not yet. pride and fear tangled up, keeping you frozen.

he chuckles darkly.

"fine," he says, voice a low threat. "i'll remind you."

his hand snakes between your thighs, shoving your jeans down again, your underwear dragging with it, baring you completely in seconds. you gasp, struggling—but he's too strong, too fast. he grabs you by the hips, throws you onto the bed like you're weightless.

and then he's on you.

he presses your wrists to the mattress with one hand again, his weight pinning you down, his other hand roughly forcing your legs apart.

you barely have time to gasp before he's inside you again—deep, brutal, fucking the defiance out of you one savage thrust at a time.

you cry out, throat raw. he fucks you like he's furious, every slam of his hips meant to punish. "not so fucking smug now, huh?" he pants against your ear.

you whimper, broken sounds spilling out without permission.

"what happened to all that fake confidence, princess?" he mocks, rolling his hips harder, forcing your body to take every inch. "thought you said you could handle it."

you sob, writhing under him, but he doesn't let up. he leans down, dragging his teeth across your jaw, making you shudder helplessly.

"gonna make you beg again," he growls. "gonna make you say it like you fucking mean it."

you try to shake your head—but you're drowning. he's everywhere. he's everything. and no matter how much you try to cling to your pride, it crumbles between your shaking hands.

you're crying now—humiliated tears streaking down your flushed face—as he pounds into you mercilessly.

"please," you choke out, voice cracking.

he chuckles, cruel and satisfied.

"please what, baby?" he taunts, slowing his thrusts to a deep, punishing grind that makes your whole body twitch and seize.

"please," you sob again, shame burning you alive. "please let me cum."

he leans back slightly to look at you—hair a mess, eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction.

"you don't deserve to cum," he says, voice mocking. "whores who lie don't get rewards."

you whimper, hips stuttering against his, desperate, broken.

"but," he adds slowly, almost lazily, "if you beg real nice... maybe i'll consider it."

you sob harder, pride shattered into dust. and then—you beg.

you beg like a good little whore.

"please, jake," you cry, voice wrecked and hoarse. "i need it—i need to cum—please, please—"

he grins, dark and cruel, and finally—finally—lets you fall apart again, your body convulsing, cunt clenching around him helplessly as he fucks you through the brutal, soul-crushing orgasm. and you barely have a second to breathe before he's moving again—pulling out, grabbing your face in both hands, forcing your mouth open.

"open wide," he orders.

you're so wrecked you don't even think to disobey. you just open—lips trembling, eyes wide and glassy.

and jake leans over—spits straight into your mouth, thick and wet and humiliating.

you gag slightly, tears burning your eyes.

"swallow," he commands sharply.

you do.

you obey without even thinking.

and he smirks—grabbing his phone, flipping open the recording he just made of your pathetic begging, letting you hear it on loop while you lie there ruined, body trembling, throat raw.

he tucks his phone into his pocket, grabs your chin again, forcing you to look up at him. "remember this next time you wanna talk shit," he says, voice low and smug.

he kisses you—mocking and possessive—and leaves you there: used, wrecked, humiliated, and so thoroughly owned that you can't even pretend anymore.

jake sim ruined you and there's no taking it back.

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

[bbokicidal]

[SKZ] Being their stylist

Could you imagine? God, I'd die.

Notes: I've heard rumor that you've gotta be married to be an idol stylist because,, obviously they don't want dating shit happening but we are DISREGARDING THAT HERE. i couldn't find the recolored vers. of seungmin & innie so... oh well ig. Genre: Fluff Pairing: OT8 x NB!Reader Warnings: Extra fluffy cuteness I guess

Chan:

Sits so patiently and tells you to take your time

You're his favorite stylist. He loves when you're the one who does his makeup so sometimes he requests specifically you

You're just so gentle with him and it feels like he's really being pampered

He loves the way you make his eyes so smokey for stage looks

Keeps his posture good in an effort to impress you

Does that little :] face with his eyes closed because you're just so pleasant to him

Minho:

Falls asleep every time you do his hair

You tell him to keep his head up only to figure out he's sleeping so soundly and you just don't have the heart to wake him when he's on such a tight schedule lately

Jeongin has a LOT of pictures of you bending at funny angles to style Minho's hair while his head is tipped back or to the side

(And one of you pretending to kiss his cheek as he's mid-waking up)

He wakes up feeling so pretty every time you style him

Sleeps with his mouth open like an idiot (me too)

Changbin:

Likes to make you laugh while you style him in outfits

He poses each time you put him in a new jacket and maybe it's just an excuse to flex in front of you oops who said that

He's giggling right alongside you until he accidentally rips a shirt open

The buttons fly right off and he screams, covering his bare chest as you burst into laughter at how silly he sounded and how he scrambled to cover himself up

You get him a new shirt but he's extra careful after that and his ears are beet red

He'll never forgive himself for embarrassing himself in front of you

But he's also an idiot and will forget about it, and probably does it again the next day because he can't help himself

Hyunjin:

Likes to ask what you're doing while you do it

Has not a CLUE what you're talking about when it comes to makeup but listens intently anyways because it's interesting

Any form of art is interesting to him and that includes makeup !

His brows furrow and he nods and he stares at you while you talk which can sometimes be intimidating

Also kind of sucks at sitting through makeup because he's so talkative with the boys

He's also very loud but he tones it down when he talks to you and uses a softer voice with you

Is very happy to listen to you explain makeup to him but also ,,, tell him what contour is again?

Jisung:

He likes to give you complete freedom when it comes to his outfits

Put whatever you want on him; mens, womens, any clothing you think would look good

You were the one who put him in that grey cropped long sleeve a while ago and people went CRAZY so since then he's trusted you with everything

He loves the outfits you make!!

And the ones you wear because he totally checks you out ALL the damn time!!

Sometimes he even asks if he can take pieces home so he can incorporate them into his daily wear and if he does, he tags you in his insta pics - to which you have to tell him 'I didn't make this, tag the brand!!!' and he just laughs

Felix:

Please tell him makeup tips, he's so curious and he wants to start doing his own makeup too

Sometimes he does, for airports and stuff. But that's just a cushion and some powder

Tell him what color eyeshadows look pretty with his eyes, tell him how blush placement changes the shape of his face and the tone of his look

He's going to be asking questions and, if he has access to one, looking at the details up close in a handheld mirror he keeps hold of

It's intimidating to be honest but he's so smiley and chatty with you that your nerves fade away pretty quickly

He also just thinks you're really really gorgeous so he might use it as an excuse to look up at you more. He's examining the makeup you're wearing, that's all !!

Seungmin:

He's got this horrible habit of staring at you through the mirror while you do his hair

He loves the haircut, don't get him wrong, but it looks like he's feeling everything BUT that because of the way he sort of glares

Well - not glares. He just has this RBF that is untouched by anyone else in the world

If you look at him, he looks away and scrolls on his phone, but shortly after he's back to staring

You're just really attractive is all. And he likes your hair, too - so maybe some day he'll take inspiration from that if you allow him

Also the type to fall asleep while you cut his hair because the spray bottle and little scissor cutting sounds are just so soothing

Jeongin:

Is very compliant when you do his makeup

He sits still, he's patient, he only turns his head away when he knows you're changing something up on the table

He keeps his head up and knows when to close his eyes, when to look up, when to part his lips for balm and tint

Very well behaved, one might say

But it's because when you're doing the other's makeup, he's paying close attention. He's always watching you and trying to find ways to impress you without actually making it obvious that that's what he's trying to do

He starts bringing you your favorite snack because he notices it sitting on your makeup table while on tour

He likes to talk to you while you do his makeup but he's a little bit shy about it - he's not openly chatty like Felix or Hyunin

And the day he calls you his favorite stylist you swear your heart almost explodes

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek @pixie-felix @hwangjoanna @skzophreniic

@silly250

[sunshinesfreckless]

His Spoiled Diamond

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

Pairing: Idol!Seungmin x fem!reader

Summary: He loves spoiling the girl he's always had a weak spot for.

Warnings: GETTING RAILED AT CHAUMET.

A/N: Again, I hope the Seungmin stans are happy with me.

୨ৎ Felix ୨ৎ Hyunjin ୨ৎ Bangchan ୨ৎ Jeongin ୨ৎ Han ୨ৎ Leeknow ୨ৎ Changbin

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

Before the ring, before the coat,

there were a thousand little things.

Limited edition sneakers that vanished from shelves in seconds — but somehow landed at her door, no receipt, no note, only the faintest scent of his cologne lingering on the box.

A first edition poetry book she’d once brushed her fingers over in a dusty Paris stall — slipped onto her desk like a secret, bound in velvet, her name handwritten inside the cover.

Fresh flowers every Friday — never the forced perfection of roses, but wild, tangled stems like the ones she always lingered over at the street markets, chaotic and soft and alive.

A signed vinyl from her favorite band — though she’d never mentioned it aloud, only ever hummed a few verses under her breath while working.

Tiny velvet boxes tucked into the lining of her suitcase when she traveled — each cradling delicate jewelry that whispered against her skin like a private kiss.

Cashmere sweaters in muted colors, the kind that seemed to melt against her body, always fitting her too perfectly to be coincidence.

Matching mugs after a single offhand comment — because “coffee tastes better when we drink from the same cup.”

And the notes.

The notes tucked everywhere.

In her sketchbook.

In the pages of her planner.

In the back pocket of her jeans.

Eat well. Rest. You are loved.

He never asked for thanks.

Never expected anything back.

He just gave.

And gave.

And gave.

Until loving her was no longer something Seungmin did, it was something he was.

───── ୨ৎ ─────

The ring came first.

A delicate band of white gold, cold and precise, sliding onto her finger with the effortless certainty of something that had always belonged there.

No grand confession.

No speeches.

No fireworks.

Just Seungmin, sprawled lazily on the sofa in a worn gray hoodie, tapping idly at his phone, voice low and distracted:

“Come here.”

She did — barefoot, sleep-heavy, the hem of his old T-shirt brushing her thighs.

He caught her wrist, pulled her closer, thumbed the ring onto her finger with a slow, almost absent-minded care.

“Needed everyone to know you’re mine,” he murmured, not even looking up.

She stared at the band — thin, heavy with diamonds, an unmistakable signature of wealth and intimacy — and something in her chest cracked open.

She hadn’t asked.

Hadn’t needed to.

He simply knew.

“Thank you, Minnie,” she whispered, dazed.

He smiled — lazy, dangerous — and tugged her down onto his lap like it was nothing.

“Good girl.”

───── ୨ৎ ─────

The Burberry came next.

Not just any trench coat.

Custom-tailored in London.

Soft tan suede that caught the light like honey, stitched inside with a muted plaid, a luxury secret meant for no one else to see but him.

It arrived at her studio sealed in a heavy garment bag, a handwritten note folded into the pocket:

“Don’t forget to take care of yourself too, my pretty artist. Love, your biggest fan.”

She wore it for him — and only the coat.

Bare beneath the suede, skin kissed pink by the evening light filtering through the windows.

When Seungmin walked in, he didn’t speak.

Didn’t blink.

Just set the coffee he brought onto the table with mechanical precision and stalked toward her.

His fingers — deceptively gentle — found the belt first.

Loosened it with one slow pull.

Pushed the fabric open, revealing her inch by inch, like he was unwrapping something breakable.

His voice came low, nearly unrecognizable.

“You’re not allowed to tease if you can’t handle the consequences, princess.”

She tried to answer.

Tried to be coy.

But he had her caged against the table before a word left her mouth, the coat puddling around her hips, his hand sliding under to cup the soft heat of her, bare and wet and already trembling.

“Messy little thing,” he muttered against the delicate shell of her ear, fingers slipping between her folds, cruelly light.

“All worked up just from wearing what I bought you?”

She whimpered — helpless, desperate.

Seungmin only smiled, slow and sharp and certain.

───── ୨ৎ ─────

The salon was a dream in gold and velvet.

Quiet, cloistered, hidden high above the noise of Paris.

A room only a handful of names would ever see.

Bathed in the soft shimmer of chandelier light, surrounded by display cases that held entire kingdoms in a single velvet box.

She stood in her new Heels on the thick carpet, wearing in the Burberry dress she got a few days ago, Seungmin’s jacket — oversized, drowning her, his scent clinging to every thread.

And behind her, Seungmin.

Solid. Warm.

His hands already roaming under the fabric, tracing the bare curve of her waist.

“You deserve all of it,” he murmured against her ear, voice a low, reverent rasp.

“Pick anything, baby. Everything.”

She opened her mouth to protest — to say it was too much, too outrageous —

But he was bunching up her dress, already sliding inside her with a slow, claiming thrust, stealing the breath from her lungs.

“Point,” he said, voice rough with control.

She whimpered, balancing herself against the cool glass of the nearest case, knees shaking.

The stretch of him was almost too much, slow and deliberate, designed to make her mind unravel.

“I c-can’t,” she gasped.

Another roll of his hips — patient, devastating.

“You can,” Seungmin growled, nipping at the shell of her ear.

“You will. That’s an order.”

Trembling, she lifted a hand — barely able to focus through the haze of him — and pointed to a delicate tiara nestled in silk.

Diamonds like crushed stars, curling into the shape of laurel leaves.

Seungmin hummed approvingly, hips grinding deep into hers.

“Good girl.”

He signaled with a glance — no words needed — and somewhere behind them, the silent, discreet attendant slipped away to prepare the piece.

The rhythm of his thrusts was mercilessly slow — dragging every heartbeat out into an eternity —

but he never stopped.

Never let her escape the feeling of being filled, owned, adored.

“More,” he whispered.

She shuddered, gasping as he thrust deeper.

“More, baby. I want you spoiled until you forget how to say no.”

Her hand shook as she pointed again —

A necklace of pink sapphires, delicate as a vine.

A ring with a solitary emerald the color of spring rain.

A pair of earrings so intricate they looked spun by spiders from silver moonlight.

Each time, a reward — a deeper push, a ragged praise against her skin.

“That’s it,” Seungmin breathed, voice cracked open with emotion.

“That’s my girl. My spoiled, perfect thing.”

Her moans tangled with the hush of the salon, the shimmering quiet of obscene wealth around them.

She could barely stay upright, slick and trembling against the glass, but he held her there — one hand splayed over her stomach, the other sliding between her thighs, coaxing her higher.

“You deserve it,” he whispered, almost desperate now.

“Deserve everything in this room. Deserve the fucking world.”

When she finally broke — gasping his name, stars bursting behind her eyelids — Seungmin caught her in his arms, steady and unshakable.

He stayed buried deep inside her, rocking her through every aftershock, pressing kisses into her hair.

Only when she could breathe again did he lift her chin with a gentle finger, forcing her dazed eyes to meet his.

“You get everything you pointed at,” he said simply.

“And next time —”

He kissed her, slow and devastating.

“— you’ll ask for more.”

And she knew, with a dizzy, aching certainty —

It had never been about the jewelry.

Never about the price tags or the diamonds.

It was about him.

The way he worshiped her with his hands, his body, his soul.

The way he made her believe she was worth all the treasures of the earth.

The way, in a gilded room full of untouchable riches,

she would always be the most priceless thing in his world.

───── ୨ৎ ─────

Studio nights became different after that.

She’d curl up in the corner, sketching, pretending not to watch him —

but always, always feeling the weight of his gaze settle over her, heavy and possessive.

Later, he would press her into the couch, mouth hot and unhurried against her skin, stripping her down to nothing but gasps and trembling hands.

He never rushed.

Seungmin never rushed.

He licked into her slowly, like he had all the time in the world, teasing the sensitive places with maddening flicks of his tongue, dragging sweet, broken sounds from her lips.

“You taste even sweeter when you’re spoiled rotten,” he breathed against her, lapping at her until her thighs shook around his shoulders.

“Bet you don’t even realize how wet you get when you know you’re mine.”

She sobbed, writhing helplessly, and he only chuckled low in his throat — wicked, adoring — before pushing her over the edge with a single rough swipe of his tongue.

───── ୨ৎ ─────

Later still, when she tried to ride him — all messy kisses and trembling thighs — Seungmin caught her hips with brutal tenderness.

“Slow,” he ordered against her mouth, dragging her down on him inch by devastating inch.

“You’re gonna feel every second of it, princess.”

Tears blurred her vision, overwhelmed —

and Seungmin just smiled, soft and cruel, brushing them away with the pad of his thumb.

“That’s it.

Let me ruin you properly.”

When she broke apart, clutching at him, he held her right there, buried deep inside, cradling her through every aftershock, whispering against her hair:

“My pretty little artist.

Made just for me to love.”

───── ୨ৎ ─────

And when she fell asleep on his chest —

her fingers tangled in the Burberry coat thrown over them like a second skin —

Seungmin only kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes.

Because she gave him what no money could buy.

No brand could match.

No amount of luxury could counterfeit.

She gave him loyalty.

She gave him tenderness.

She gave him a home.

And that?

That was enough.

More than enough.

It was why he spoiled her.

Why he would keep spoiling her.

Why he would tear down the whole world if it ever dared to touch her.

Because she was his girl.

Because she was his peace.

Because in a life full of noise and endless want

she was the only thing he ever truly needed.

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

[trampleddoves]

I've always thought about Spencer having a free use/somno agreement with his gf cause he can come back home at all hours of night when she'd be sleeping but he's still in the mood so he just rolls her over and goes for it 👀 was wondering if you would do something with that – 💚🐰

(p.s. my main is something else but my cm blog is @crime-bunny for age verification <3 I'll always use that anon tag though)

(p.p.s. I LOVED your unsubscribe Spencer piece and I really hope you write more <3333)

s. r. blurb 4

contents: afab!reader, somnophilia, unprotected penetrative sex, cockwarming, MDNI (hello, I see your account in my notifications quite often. Thank you for your support, I hope you enjoy.)

Spencer Reid gets off on trust. 

Not that he would ever admit that out loud; he doesn't need another reason for people to call him a freak. But the truth of the matter is this: he adores the complete surrender, the knowledge that he has something so precious in the palm of his hands. Something significant and yet so fragile. One wrong move and it shatters. 

Spencer Reid’s calloused hands may carry stains of blood, but they are careful. Especially with you, and this trust you've placed upon his perpetually freezing palms. 

Thus, when he takes you while you're asleep, he makes sure to be gentle. Turns you over on your stomach, before wrapping his body over yours with slow, unrushed movements even though his cock is painful with need. Making sure you're nestled in his arms, snug and warm and his, he tugs your panties down. Only until your thighs, not bothering to pull it off all the way. The ache of his cock is distracting and he knows that nights like these are a balancing act between making you feel good, and taking what he wants. 

Slowly, he rubs the swollen head over your folds, muffling his moans by burying his face in the back of your neck. Busying his lips by pressing his warm mouth onto your heated flesh, leaving wet kisses onto your skin as he rubs his length over your labia. His tip brushes your clit, a soft kiss that has you shifting and moaning. Low and serene, like you’re completely at ease. He revels in that. He knows exactly how to make your body sing, where to press and kiss so that the pleasure slips past and beyond your unconsciousness.  

With a sigh, Spencer ruts in between your thighs, applying more pressure to your increasingly sensitive clit with every pass of his cock. Being wrapped up in you like this brings him an incredible sense of relief and pleasure, even though he’s only fucking the plushness of your thighs. Soft whimpers leave his lips, before he finally gives in, notching his cockhead at the entrance of your cunt and slowly easing himself in. 

You’re always so fucking warm. He’s well acquainted with how you feel at this point—the tightness that feels like it’s threatening to keep him inside, the slippery, velvety heat. Nevertheless, he’s always shuddering as if it’s the first time, feeling as though he can get lost in you for all eternity. The pace he sets is deep and languishing, dragging his cock all the way out and then moaning as he re enters your heat. There’s no rush; he only wishes to be wrapped up in you. In moments like this, his goal isn’t completion; merely closeness. Intimacy. The knowledge that he has you, the best thing that’s ever happened in his life. 

That you trust him with your body even as you slumber. 

His movements cease as his fatigue takes over. However, he remains buried deep in your cunt, falling asleep with your limbs tangled and twisted. Your love transcends physical bounds, but nights like these are solid, bodily evidence of how much you love and trust each other.

[tearvls]

HI I LOVE YOUR WRITING!!!!! IF ITS POSSIBLE, CAN YOU PLEASE MAKE A MARK FIC WHERE HE GETS JEALOUS OF THE ATTENTION THE READER GIVES TO THE OTHER MSRK VARIANTS

"Jealousy Jealousy"

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Mark Grayson Variants x GN! Reader

Featuring: Sinister Mark, Mohawk Mark, Full Mask Mark, Shiesty Mark, Prisoner Mark, Viltrumite Mark, No Mask Mark

Synopsis: You find yourself caught between Mark's many very desperate variants.

The sky above the prison cracked and churned, smoke and screams threading through the thick, choking air. Around you, the ground was littered with rubble and fallen inmates, some groaning, some eerily still. You barely registered it anymore, too focused on dragging an injured guard to safety behind a broken wall.

Above, he was fighting.

Mark. Your Mark.

His fists flew in vicious arcs, trading blows with a wilder, meaner version of himself — one with a mohawk and a wicked, wolfish grin that made your stomach turn. Each punch sounded like a thunderclap, shockwaves blasting the debris outward. Mark slammed Mohawk Mark into the ground hard enough to crack the concrete, and for a second, everything seemed like it was under control. You exhaled, steadying yourself against the wall— And then a screaming rush of wind nearly knocked you off your feet. Before you could react, another Mark — this one maskless, his hair a little longer, his face desperate — barreled straight into you. You gasped as his arms wrapped around you in a crushing hug, lifting you clear off the ground

"Oh my god," he breathed against your ear, his voice trembling. "I finally found you. You're even more beautiful than I remembered. I thought I lost you... I thought—" He pulled back just enough to cradle your face in his hands, staring at you like you were some kind of miracle he barely dared to touch. You opened your mouth to speak — "Wait—" — but the words stuck in your throat.

The moment shattered like glass

.

From behind, Sinister Mark appeared like a black storm, his expression twisted into something feral. Without a word, he grabbed you by the waist, ripping you bodily out of Maskless Mark’s arms with a brutal yank. "Back off!" Sinister Mark snapped, holding you so tightly against him you could feel the shudder of restrained violence under his skin.

Maskless Mark stumbled forward, face contorting in fury. "You son of a—!" He lunged — but Sinister Mark backhanded him so hard Maskless Mark went skidding across the rubble. "I said," Sinister Mark growled, voice dripping with venom, "back off!"

You barely had time to process the shock when another figure crash-landed nearby — Full Mask Mark, his dark visor flashing as he immediately stepped between you and Sinister Mark. "Release them," Full Mask Mark ordered coldly. "They're safer with me."

Then — as if the gates of hell had opened — more figures started descending one after another. Shiesty Mark vaulted over a wall with a cocky grin, landing next to Full Mask Mark and immediately trying to tug you free. "Come on, baby — you know you wanna get outta here with me."

Another Mark crashed down — Prisoner Mark, still in his grey jumpsuit, bruised and bloodied but smirking as he wiped blood from his lip. "Tch. You're all pathetic. They want someone real. Someone like me."

And then Viltrumite Mark floated down gracefully, arms crossed, looking eerily composed as he assessed the scene. "Clearly," he said mildly, "they’re overwhelmed. I'll take custody of them."

It was like a bomb went off.

Suddenly every single Mark was grabbing at you, shoving each other, snarling, punching — they swarmed over you like feral animals fighting over a single toy, claws out, snarling and snapping. You were jostled from one to the other — Sinister Mark’s brutal grip, Full Mask Mark’s iron hold, Shiesty Mark’s arms sneaking around your waist — each yanking you back and forth like you were the only thing keeping them alive. You could barely even get a word in — your mouth kept opening, but all that came out were tiny choked sounds as hands grabbed and pulled and voices screamed over each other:

"Let go!"

"They're mine!"

"You’ll just get them hurt!"

"They don’t want you, they want me!"

"Enough — or I’ll kill you all right here."

The prison yard was falling apart — debris raining from the sky, concrete cracked like broken glass under Mark's boots. He drove his fist into Mohawk Mark’s gut, sending the variant crumpling with a grunt of pain. Another hit, another grunt — just like every other fight before it. Mark pulled back, ready to finish it —but something caught his eye. Across the battlefield — past the smoke, past the rubble —

you.

You were struggling, trapped between a mob of familiar faces — faces that wore his own features twisted in desperation. His blood went cold. You stumbled back as Sinister Mark yanked you toward him, one gloved hand firm around your wrist. Maskless Mark barreled into him a second later, prying you free and holding you like you were something fragile. Then Full Mask Mark ripped you from Maskless, dragging you close with tense, gloved fingers. Shiesty Mark laughed and twirled you around into his arms, only to be tackled by Prisoner Mark a heartbeat later.

They were fighting over you like feral animals.

Like he wasn't even there. Mark froze, breathing hard, a deep roar clawing its way up his throat. Then he launched into the sky, fists clenched, heart pounding so hard it hurt.

"I'm coming—!"

He blasted toward you, faster than a bullet—

—but halfway there, a blur of motion smashed into him. Viltrumite Mark. He grabbed Mark by the collar and yanked him sideways mid-flight, spinning him out of control. "Stay out of this!" Viltrumite barked, shoving him hard. Mark growled and threw a punch, knocking Viltrumite back — only for Mohawk Mark to slam into his back next, driving them both into a spiraling dive. Before he could recover, Full Mask Mark was there, throwing a fist at his face. Shiesty tackled him around the waist, laughing.

"Welcome to the party, loser!"

Mark twisted free with a furious snarl, throwing them off — but by the time he looked up again, you were even further away, trapped between four desperate variants clawing and dragging at you. He could see you — wide-eyed, overwhelmed — getting pulled one way by Maskless, then the other by Sinister, then another as Prisoner Mark ripped you free. Mark roared and blasted forward again, elbowing through the chaos, getting grabbed and yanked every direction. Hands — all his hands — shoved and clawed and punched. Each Mark screaming over the other:

"They're safer with me!"

"You can't protect them like I can!"

"They don't love you the way I do!"

Mark finally got a hand on you — pulling you close — only for Shiesty to tackle him low, sending both of you tumbling. He barely kept you in his grasp, spinning midair, his arms locking tight around you. "I got you—!" he gasped — only for Sinister to crash into him next, ripping you from his arms with brutal force.

It was a mess. A storm.

Everywhere he turned, another version of himself was grappling, shouting, grabbing at you like you were the last star left in the sky. Mark groaned, shoving Full Mask Mark off his back, ducking under Shiesty's swinging punch, grabbing you again and getting yanked right back into the chaos by Maskless and Prisoner Mark clawing at his arms. You flailed, trying to keep your footing, groaning as you got pulled back and forth like a living tug-of-war rope. Mark gritted his teeth, chest heaving, blood pounding in his ears. This wasn’t going to be a clean save. This wasn’t going to be fast. He tightened his grip on you, glaring at the sea of versions clawing for you with wild eyes.

And through gritted teeth, he muttered: "This is gonna be a long fight."

[everlastingserenitys]

POSIONOUS LOVEE

summ. oh no! the flower must’ve been infused with something else! now you both had to deal with each other.

featuring (separate). zayne, caleb cw. sex pollen, p in v, creampie, very needy men, some grammatical issues, kissing, NOT BASED OFF THE TRAILER!!!!, fingering, rocking chair oral sex (zayne), oral (f receiving from zayne), cunnilingus, public sex (caleb), 2k wc a/n. don’t mind my horny ass writing these 2 I'm sorry for no xav, raf, and sylus (thats for another time hehe) also the flowers have no significant meaning to them…totally

ZAYNE - JASMINE ݁˖ ❀ ⋆

"does it smell good?" zayne whispered, dangling the jasmine between both of your faces, the petals tickling against your nose for the second time already. you took another whiff, taking in the scent like it was your first time smelling it.

well, thats what it felt like. because this jasmine didn't smell like any usual jasmine zayne would give you.

you nodded and tried to lean in for more, but zayne pulled the flower back, placing it against his nose. you watched as he took a deep breath, letting the sweet aroma rush through him.

and suddenly, in a quick second, his eyes twisted from that dull look to something brighter, a glint of something you just couldn't tell what it was.

you bob your legs up and down and watch zayne's every move, your heart starts to thump louder and louder, the air in the room suddenly feels suffocating, your body is burning up.

god, what was in that flower?

you eyes darted from zayne's shaky look, to the flower still dangling around his fingers. he was feeling the same way too, and now since you both were on the same boat, you had to fix each other somehow.

before you could say anything, zayne got up from his seat and stumbled towards you, caging you with his arms as he stared down at you with a lustful look.

"I dont know what was in that flower, I swore I bought it off a safe si-"

you couldn't handle his voice anymore. your fingers slid against the collar of his shirt and you pulled him close to you, just being mere inches away from each other, his hot breath tickled against your skin and you looked up at him one more time before crashing your lips on his.

"I don't know what it was either," you mumble between kisses, pulling away and catching your breath to look at zayne's hungry stare.

"but it feels so good."

that caused a reaction out of zayne, cause the next thing you knew, you were getting pressed down against the chair, hard. the back of your shirt raising up as zayne slightly lifted you up on the chair.

the impact of the rocking chair was sending you into a spiral. your head kept hitting the back as the chair shook faster and faster. zayne's body weight pressed against you, and the rough leather of the chair scratched your back, you were too much in a daze to even process that zayne's lips already found its way to your neck.

he planted rough, desperate kisses along your neck, lightly nibbling on the skin, his breath was getting ragged, more louder, all you could do was slide your fingers around his neck and pull him closer than you could.

his warm skin made contact with yours and zayne pulled his head back to look up at you, desperation filled his eyes. you trace his jaw and lower your finger further down, staggering it finger against his adams apple.

a shaky breath escaped his lips and zaynes fingers grabbed onto your waist, toying with the waistband of your pants which were already slipping off.

“i’d never let myself near these types of things…” he mumbled, staring at your bare legs on display for him.

“i didn’t think it’d feel like this.” he said in a shaky voice, eyes rolling back at the impact of the aroma still lingering through your bodies, you can’t help but tilt your head back, bucking your hips forward.

zayne inched closer, his nose just lingering on your twitchy clit through your panties, he nuzzled his head deeper between your thighs and glanced up at you before darting his tongue on the wet lace.

you hold back a moan and watched as he practically was sucking out every juice out of you. his fingers—that had been caressing your sides the whole time, slid under your panties and he swiftly removed them.

his hands cup your knees and he slowly spreads your legs apart, taking his time with you like the day would last forever.

“d-do you know how long it—ngh?!”

zaynes tongue made its way back to your leaking cunt, he shoved himself deeper inside you, curling his tongue inside you, trying to hit every right spot.

“hey!” you moan, instinctively thrusting your hips deeper against him, causing the rocking chair to do more than just one thrust.

“hmm?” a groggily hum escaped zaynes lips as he continued his work on you, the drug had completely changed him and you, and fuck it felt like too much.

“zayne ‘m gonna-”

your chants filled the room and zayne kept his grip on your thighs, purposely ignoring every plea that’s escaping your lips, continuing to work his tongue against your already sensitive folds.

you slid your fingers through his hair and gripped on it like there was no tomorrow, a shaky moan left zaynes lips and you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“ah- sorry!” you mumble, lifting his head up to watch for his reaction but his face was the exact same. flushed, and his eyes were still filled with that glint of desire.

“it’s not often i ask this but…”

“hm?”

he let out a sigh and slid his fingers further down your legs, “more? i need it.”

CALEB - BLUE LOTUS ݁˖ ❀ ⋆

“it’s not often we go flower picking, pips.” caleb said, his voice laced with enthusiasm as he walked through the grassy meadows, hands brushing along every long stem that poked out the grass.

“yeaaahh, we’re totally going to find flowers in an area like this..” you say in a low voice, looking at the scenery around you.

there was nothing but grass, maybe a few flowers here and there but it just felt so empty, too empty to even find a decent flower around.

“c’mon have some hope, will ya?” caleb chuckled, grabbing onto your wrist as he started to jog along the path.

“wh- caleb!” you giggle as your legs quicken at the pace he was going at, and too caleb was just aimlessly running along the field.

a few minutes passed and the two of you got tired, neither of you had an idea where you were but the sounds of birds chirping nearby, and the smell of water nearby made you get an idea.

“this way caleb,” you point to a hidden path, covered by the grass and caleb’s gaze follows the direction where your finger was pointed.

he nodded and dragged you through the path. eventually, after walking for a bit you ended up at a beautiful pond, birds flying everywhere and this, this was where you could find nice flowers.

“caleb the pond has pretty flowers!” you walk over to the glistening area of water and sit along the edges, toying with the grass sticking out the water.

“pretty, right?” he said, picking up a flower from the pond and swirling it around his fingers, a small smirk rested on his lips before he pressed the flower against your nose, sifting it left and right.

the petals tickled your nose, you leaned in closer taking a quick smell of it…and it smelt sweet.

too sweet.

in a quick second, your mood changed, it was like you needed more. you lunged at the flower again and took a deep breath, letting the sweet pheromones rush through your body again.

“pips..?” caleb asked, a hint of amusement and curiosity filled his voice, he pulled the flower away from you and rested it against his nose, taking in the smell of the intoxicating flower.

“smells good..” he mumbled, taking more of the scent as he stared into your dazed eyes. you nod and lean in closer, both your lips being centimeters away from each other, it’s just the flower that was in the way.

you look at the flower and back at caleb whose eyes are locked on you. you rested your fingers on his hand that was holding onto the flower and subtly grazed your fingers along his hand, and soon, pushed the flower away.

the second the flower fell on the ground, caleb grabbed onto your face with fierce force and crashed his lips on yours, his tongue darting at the small open space between your lips.

he was devouring you.

devouring you like a fucking animal.

you didn’t realize that you both were on the ground, caleb’s hand rested on the back of your head as he continued pressing himself against you.

“what is this pipsqueak?” he mumbled, sliding his free hand along the curves of your body, soon making its way to the waistband of your pants, lightly tugging at it.

you let out a low hum and grab the flower, twirling it between your fingers as you stared at caleb who was already removing your pants, he was practically ripping them off like it was something he strived for survival.

once your lower half was exposed to Caleb, he slid a finger against your twitchy clit, rubbing and pressing on it, a wave of pleasure washed through you as you slightly lifted your hips, silently begging for more.

whatever it was doing this to you, felt too good, way too good. his fingers felt like it was the first time he's doing this to you. after a bit, Caleb pulled his fingers out, watching the mess drip down on the grass and on his fingers.

he lifted your legs above his shoulders and pressed himself against you. the rough fabric of his pants made contact with your exposed, leaking pussy and a spark of shock went through you.

Caleb continued to dry hump himself against you, to get the tension up but his hands were rejecting him to stay put, he slid a hand off your ankles and placed them on his belt, removing his pants in a quick movement.

"it feels good pipsqueak..." he mumbled, pulling out his cock and pressing his leaking tip against your stretched out cunt. you whine in response and Caleb pushed himself deep inside you without warning you.

"so good, it feels–ngh so, soo good"

whines and moans echoed through the secluded forest, there was no audience around but it felt like anyone could walk in by now. you nod repeatedly thrusting yourself deeper inside him, not caring that you're outside, the butterflies in your stomach started to beat faster and faster.

"gonna come..." Caleb groaned, grabbing onto your ankles tighter, as he thrusted himself deeper. the feeling of you getting filled up by him felt too good, he continued to fuck in your leaking pussy, drooling with his cum which was seeping out of you each thrust he gave.

Caleb grabbed onto the flower which was resting on your chest and gave it a quick smell, again. he then took his other hand off your leg and plucked each petal one by one, scattering it all over your body.

"im close ca-" before you could finish your sentence you felt his soft lips make contact with yours, except something was in the way. you winked open an eye and noticed the plucked out flower resting between the two of your lips.

"let it out..." he whispered between kisses, wrapping his hands around your neck as he pulled you closer than ever, letting you savour every second of this unexpected desire.

a/n. so sorry you could tell who the favorite was, I will practice on my zayne smut later

[woso-dreamzzz]

Head in the Clouds V

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

Summary: Your national team situation

There's an understanding in the team when it comes to you.

You dominate the league with your scoring and now with Pajor at your side, you've started to develop almost too quickly for the staff to keep up with.

Every ball you touch turns to goals.

You're already the Champion's League top goal scorer and everyone is just waiting for the moment that they all know is coming.

Everyone is waiting for the moment a national team snaps you up.

You're been at a youth camp for both Spain and England before but that's about it.

You don't seem to really care all that match.

You spend most international breaks back home with your parents or off in France with your girlfriend, one of Lyon's star centrebacks.

Her international situation isn't quite as complicated as yours but everyone knows it influences your own. She could play for France or England and people know that if she were suddenly to declare for England then you would go there too.

Unless somewhere else snaps you up first.

Spain seems like the obvious choice with their most recent World Cup win under their belt and their dominance in last year's Nation's League.

But Frido is there with a face time from Magdalena Eriksson, who you excitedly inform is your grandmother's favourite players. She's flattered, of course, if a little confused by what's going on - especially when you gasp and stutter over your words when you catch a glimpse over her shoulder of Pernille Harder.

Alexia fumes by the door of the locker room, a disgruntled look on her face as she crosses her arms over her chest.

"We can't lose her to Sweden!" She hisses to Irene," Do something!"

"Me?! What am I meant to do?!"

"I don't know! Make her a home cooked meal! Remind her off her Basque roots! Anything!"

Irene sighs deeply. She's taking this a little easier than Alexia is but she still would have you join the Spanish team at the drop of a hat.

You were a once in a generation kind of striker and it would make it all the more worse if they lost your allegiance to one of their own club teammates.

The threat of you choosing England seems to have diminished a little with Keira and Lucy gone but Ellie's still here and while she's currently not a part of the England squad, she's still been seen dropping little hints towards you about joining up.

Thankfully for everyone else though, subtlety and hints goes over your head so you don't even realise what you're being told.

But where England has fallen, Sweden has only grown bolder.

Sweden, of course, meaning Frido and her wielding of Magda as a tool to get you to choose them.

"We need to find our own Magda," Irene says solemnly," Do we...Do we have a Magda?"

"We have a Mariona."

"We can't pick Mariona. Y/n already knows Mariona. We need someone older. We need someone mysterious. We need someone more fun that Magdalena Eriksson!"

They turn to each other in horror.

"We need Jenni."

Being Spain's Magda is a role that Jenni is all too comfortable stepping into. She arrives in the country with her usual brand of drama by using her key to access Alexia's house without telling anyone and eating a bowl of the paella she took straight from the fridge.

"So where's the kid?"

"At Irene's," Alexia replies from the stove," They're coming around for dinner." She waves the spatula at Jenni. "You will be nice and charming and you will, under no circumstances, mention any of the other countries vying for her. You have one job. Do it."

"I got it," Jenni says with ease, leaning back on the sofa," Woo the kid. Be the fun aunt. Make sure she chooses Spain. I got it."

Introducing you and Jenni, Alexia and Irene come to find, is the worst idea they've ever had.

Jenni takes her role as the 'fun aunt' to the extreme in the the four day period she has with you.

You go out for lunch and dinner, at both fancy restaurants and little street vendors. Jenni spends a bunch of money on new cooking implements even though you just mentioned them in passing.

There's even a very impromptu Instagram post and accompanying story of you two on a zip wire and Alexia and Irene are more than happy to shoo Jenni back to Mexico.

"Jenni's cool," You tell them the next day," She even signed my autograph book and gave me one of her old Spain shirts!"

At least she'd done something for a job well done.

With Sweden closing in, Alexia can't take any chances.

She even feels confident in her feelings of you choosing Spain.

Until, like it always does, it comes crashing down.

Because a new contender shows up.

It happens out of nowhere and nobody could have predicted it.

"You have brothers?" Vicky asks one day during a break in training.

"Three," You say with a nod and that same wide smile you always get when you talk about your family," A surgeon, a neurologist and lawyer."

"How come we've never heard of them?"

"Oh, they didn't come with us when we moved back to England."

Alexia's heart stutters.

"You didn't always live in England?" Salma asks and you shake your head.

"I grew up in the Netherlands." You think for a moment. "Until I was like thirteen. It was home."

The gears turn in Alexia's head, trying to draw up FIFA's eligibility rules.

But someone gets there before her.

Esmee.

Esmee with a wide grin and Alexia's heart plummets.

"You know," She says, speaking casually to you as the whole team holds its breath," You could play for the Netherlands with me."

"Really?"

"Yeah, the rules say you can. You could come to camp, see your brothers more often. I'm sure Viv would love to have you around."

Sweden may have Magda.

Spain may have had Spanish Magda, Jenni.

But the Netherlands have Viv and Esmee grinning like she's just won the lottery.

Within the week, you've received a signed Miedema jersey and a little note that no doubt Esmee had Viv write about potentially playing together at some point.

"It's fine," Irene whispers days after," It's fine. We've got a recent World Cup. They can't beat that."

You're sitting in your cubby, scrolling on your phone absentmindedly. "Oh!" You say out of nowhere," Are we going to America anytime soon? Should I renew my passport?"

Alexia frowns. "No, we're not and you don't need to renew your passport. Your Mama told me that you've still got three years on it."

"Not my Spanish passport. My American one! Should I renew it now or wait?"

Frido has also stopped what she's doing, turning around slowly with her eyes wide. "Why do you have an American passport?"

"I was born there!" You say brightly," Mama and Papa were there for work and I got impatient! That's what Papa says. So they had to have me in America and I got a cool passport out of it!"

"You have...You have American citizenship?"

"I have a passport!"

"So, yes."

In the background, Esmee groans and there's the clunk of a head hitting a locker door.

Irene looks equally as shocked as Alexia feels. "And...who knows about your citizenship?"

You shrug. "I don't know."

Alexia clears her throat. "Let's...Let's keep it that way. No reason to announce it to everyone."

You shrug. "Okay then."

Silence descends on the locker room and a joint exhale of relief spreads across the room.

Until...

"Oh! Mama said Emma Hayes just called her! I wonder what that's about."

[holeforzenin]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ WATCHING A HORROR MOVIE WITH ROOMMATE TOJI

It was one of those nights where you didn’t really feel like doing much and Toji had suggested a horror movie marathon to kill time. You weren’t particularly a fan of horror but you’d agreed, figuring it could be fun to watch something with him other than fuckass horse racing show he’s always watching all the time.

The room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the TV screen as the opening credits of the gorey thriller rolled in. You were sitting on the couch, trying your best to focus on the plot but your nerves were already on edge. The ominous music, the jump scares—it was all starting to get to you.

Toji on the other hand, sprawled lazily across the other end of the couch with a can of soda in hand, glanced at you every so often, seemingly unaffected by the jump scares and ominous music. But you felt your heartbeat quicken every time the tension built. You weren’t exactly a fan of horror but you’d agreed to watch the movie to kill time and because you also thought it would be a good roommate bonding experience because you rarely ever sit down and watch tv together.

A sudden loud sound from the TV made you jump, your eyes wide as you flinched and instinctively scooted closer to Toji. You tried to play it cool but he noticed the movement and raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What’s wrong, scared?” Toji teased, his voice low and amused as he turned his attention to you. He didn’t even try to hide his smirk.

“I— I’m not scared,” you stammered but your voice betrayed you. The movie’s tension was getting to you and you could feel your nerves starting to fray. You tried to ignore the growing unease creeping up your spine but it wasn’t working.

Toji gave you a sideways glance, chuckling. “Really? Cause it looks like you’re about to climb out of your skin.” He took a long sip of his soda, still watching you. “You’re so jumpy”.

You shot him a glare, trying to hide your discomfort. “I’m fine,” you said but your voice faltered slightly. He raised an eyebrow at you and then without warning, shifted so that he was sitting up straighter. “Come here,” he said, his voice teasing but genuine.

You were about to protest but before you could, he slid over on the couch, making room beside him, and reached out to pull you towards him. The movement was effortless and before you could even register what was happening, Toji had you sitting on his lap, his arms wrapped securely around you.

You stiffened for a moment, not sure how to react. Your heart was still racing from the scare and now the close contact made everything feel even more intense. Toji’s arms were firm around your waist, bracing you back against his big, warm chest like that’s where you belonged.

“There. Now I know you won’t be jumping around every two seconds,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. You squirmed slightly, a little flustered by how close you were to him but the warmth of his body was undeniable and despite the awkwardness, you couldn’t deny the comfort of his muscled arms around you.

“I’m not scared,” you insisted again, though this time your voice was quieter, and you didn’t really believe it yourself. His touch was oddly calming, the steady rhythm of his breath easing some of the tension in your body.

Toji chuckled, his fingers tracing small, absent circles on your back as he held you close. “Uh-huh. Sure,” he said, his tone still playful. “You’re not scared, but you’re practically climbing deeper into my lap”. He paused, his smirk widening as he continued. “Don’t worry kid. I got you”.

You felt your face flush but Toji’s presence kept you from moving away. As the movie continued, you found yourself sinking into the warmth of his chest, your body naturally relaxing in his comforting embrace. Each time the tension built up in the film and you tensed, Toji’s arms around you would only tighten as if reassuring you that you were safe.

Every now and then, his teasing voice would whisper in your ear, “Still scared?” but there was no malice in it. He was just messing with you but there was an underlying gentleness to it that made you feel oddly protected.

Eventually, the movie’s scares faded into the background as you became more focused on the rhythm of Toji’s heartbeat beneath your ear. You let out a small sigh, letting your body relax fully into his lap, the warmth of his arms around you now a comfort rather than an embarrassment.

The night carried on, the movie long forgotten as you remained in his embrace, safe and sound despite the creepy film that had originally put you on edge.

The movie played on but at this point, the flickering images and eerie sounds were distant. Toji’s body and the way he held you were a more prominent focus. You found yourself becoming more and more peaceful in his lap, the rhythmic motion of his fingers rubbing small circles on your back like a soothing lullaby, luring you to relaxation. Every time the tension in the movie spiked, you tensed up slightly but the moment his arms tightened around you, the fear seemed to melt away.

You had never expected it to feel this comfortable and safe. You could hear Toji’s soft chuckle now and then as he teased you about being scared but his voice was gentle and his presence felt like a quiet reassurance that you didn’t realize you needed.

It was only a matter of time before the weight of your eyelids became too much to resist. The combination of his warmth and presence, and the gentle, constant motion of his hand against your back had lulled you into a state of complete relaxation.

Your body grew heavier and despite the loud, scary noises coming from the TV, you couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer. Without realizing it, your breathing had slowed and your head had nestled deeper into his chest.

Toji’s arm tightened around you instinctively as you let out a quiet sigh, your body fully melting into his. His lap had become the most comfortable place you could imagine and before you knew it, you were drifting into a peaceful sleep.

The next thing you knew, you were completely out, the tension from the movie and the day completely gone. You didn’t even stir as Toji shifted slightly beneath you, adjusting his position so that he was more comfortable with you still resting on him.

Toji noticed immediately when you stopped moving. He looked down to find you had fallen asleep in his lap, your face relaxed and peaceful. A small smile tugged at his lips, though he quickly suppressed it, not wanting to make too much of a fuss. He was used to being the one to watch over things but there was something different about this— something comforting about having you here, leaning on him.

He adjusted his posture, pulling you even closer to him so your head was more securely resting against his pecs and you were laying comfortably so your neck didn’t hurt in the position. He didn’t want to disturb you, not when you were finally getting some rest. He could feel the weight of your body against his, the rise and fall of your breathing, and for a moment, it was as if the entire world had stopped. There was no rush to go anywhere, no need to do anything else.

Toji’s hand instinctively rested on your lower back, holding you in place as he shifted his position so that you were both more comfortable, laying on the couch. The cool air in the room didn’t bother you anymore, not with him there to provide warmth. He was content to simply sit there in the stillness, letting you sleep.

A few more moments passed and Toji’s eyes began to feel heavy as well, the soft weight of you in his lap and the quiet of the room making him start to drift off too. But he didn’t mind. He hadn’t had a moment like this in a while and though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, he liked the calm, liked having you close in this unspoken way.

“Sleep well, kid,” he muttered quietly to himself, though you were already too deep in sleep to hear him. His hand brushed over your hair to move it away from your face as he let out a soft sigh and let his own eyes fall closed, content to stay right where he was.

The TV flickered on, but now it was nothing more than background noise. In the dim light of the room, the two of you stayed there, the comfort of each other’s presence making the world outside feel miles away.

[softaestluv]

Nine Lives

Simon Riley posts an ad for a stray cat he does not want, and you answer.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!reader

Tags: fluff, short n’sweet, eventual romance/smut

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | ao3 | mlist ✎ᝰ.ᐟ

Friday comes as planned, Simon’s week consumed by anticipation of seeing his girl and his cat.

But Churro doesn’t seem to have the same plans, doesn’t come to see her self-proclaimed father.

She doesn’t show, no aggravating meowing or grating scratching on his porch. All he’s met with is silence, a noise grown far too unfamiliar, leaves something in his core unsettled in its absence.

You show up on his doorstep anyway, don’t seem to realize Churro hasn’t made an appearance, smiling wide at him when he opens the door.

At least now he knows you’ll still smile so sweetly at him even if he doesn’t have a furry cat in his arms.

“Hi!”

“Hi, bird. Is Churro at home?”

Your brows pinch, confusion painting your expression, “No, I thought she was visiting you? Came to pick her up like always.”

“She’s not here,” He explains, “Didn’t show up earlier, that’s why I didn’t text you yet.”

The corner of your lips droop, “Well, she wasn’t at home. I figured she was with you even if I didn’t get a text.”

You fidget from heel to heel when he shakes his head in disagreement, shifting your eyes swiftly as worry etches into your irises, wringing your fingers together.

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon,” He reassures, attempting to dry the flood of emotions that are surely surfacing in your lungs before they burst out of control, ushering you in with a hand on your back, “We’ll lay out her favorite food, yeah? She came real quick that first time remember? Wait an hour tops before we start worrying too much, okay?”

You nod quietly, following his lead to his couch, but your face stays stiff, each curve contorted anxiously. Doesn’t smooth the entire time the two of you wait, reminiscent of the first time you met him, except this time you’re nerves aren’t alerting you to run from him, flee from the danger of a man he appears to be. Instead, you’re looking to him for comfort, darting your wide eyes to his every time he starts to speak like you’re clinging to every word in an attempt to distract you from the fact that Churro isn’t in either of your laps.

By the time forty-five minutes passes he’s sure you ripped the skin around your fingernails tender and bloody, burnt a hole in your shoe from the speed you're bouncing it. Maybe before he knew you, before he knew Churro, he would’ve thought you were being dramatic, caring for a bloody cat entirely too much, but you’ve grown on him. Maybe a little too much because the sight of you nervous, anxious, scared, upsets him, doesn’t want to spend another second watching you peel yourself apart.

Maybe he’s a little upset at Churro— don’t you know you’re worrying your mom, his girl, too much, pest?

It’s enough to make him stand, waiting does nothing to ease your nerves, so he prepares a search for a cat he used to cast away, a cat he used to wish got lost on the trail to his house. The two of you should’ve expected it to happen one of these days, it wasn’t necessarily a short distance between your homes, but Churro had seemed smarter than that, memorized her trek through town to find Simon.

You start on foot, separating in two to cover more ground, walking through Simon’s neighborhood calling for her at the top of your lungs. The search lasts for an hour, scavenging through every nook, bush, tree, and alleyway the two of you can find to no avail. Simon even goes to his neighbors, asks if they’ve seen the fawn-colored cat. Maybe the cat lady ended up taking her in by mistake, but they all deny, haven’t seen her.

When you don’t find her, your search widens, desperately exploring multiple blocks around his neighborhood until the sun starts to set, desperately searching with the flashlight from your phone in the dark. It takes some convincing and negotiation on his end to get you to return to his porch without Churro in your arms, argue that you won’t be able to sleep unless you know she’s safe. Still, he manages to wrangle you back to his house, promising that the two of you will search for her tomorrow, that she’ll make her way to his home in the night like she always does.

You agree begrudgingly, but when he finally gets you to his front door and looks down at you, your eyes are downcast, your bottom lip wobbling as you shift your eyes to his. You’re dewy-eyed and beady, fists balled at your side in an attempt to stop the inevitable dam from cracking.

It doesn’t work, of course, it doesn’t, not when the look in his eyes is sincere, slams the finishing wedge in your control with one look.

“Sweet girl.”

His voice is softer than he’s ever used before, more tender than he even realized he could use, foreign to his own gruff ears, but it doesn’t help your restraint from breaking on the spot. He reaches out, placing his hand on the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair before pressing you into his chest, snug under his chin.

The embrace punches the breath straight out of your lungs, inhaling a shattered wheeze before a sob wrecks from your core. Fisting the fabric of his shirt in your palms as you hiccup over your breaths and tears, staining his shirt wet.

The constricting in his chest is unfamiliar, burns strangely, painful, and bitter at the mere sounds you make, at the way you cling to him like he can absolve you of your pain, like you need to feel his touch to mend your weary heart. It congeals something protective in the back of his mind, large palms finding the backs of your thighs to hoist you in his arms. You don’t even pull away, just band your arms over his shoulders like it’s where you need to be.

He carries you to his kitchen, grabbing a water before maneuvering you to his bedroom because he’s not going to send you home crying and distressed when he can keep his girl comforted in his arms. You fall onto his bed willingly, sitting on the edge of the mattress as you watch him rummage through his drawers. He presents a pair of shorts, to which you nod teary-eyed, let him peel your jeans off, and replace them with his own clothing.

He climbs into bed with you, guides you under the sheets with him, and into his arms. Pulls you flush against his chest once again, smoothing his touch down your back and through your hair in his best attempt to soothe your nerves.

“Don’t worry,” He murmurs when you shift to look into his eyes, “Won’t do us any good looking for her when you’re all teary-eyed will it?”

You huff a laugh, not entirely amused as it should be, only making more tears well in your eyes, but he takes it, pressing a kiss against the crown of your forehead.

“We’ll look for her first thing tomorrow morning, yeah? Our pretty lady will come home to us.”

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