#but those sunglasses and curls are doing something to me

[cumironi]

A FLEXIBLE BIMBO’S GUIDE TO FINANCIAL RUIN, NAMASTEEE

feat. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, shiu, higuruma

sum. thousand for pilates and your expensive juice while your boyfriend is working his ass off. is it acceptable? obviously not that’s why they’ll help you streeeeech.

warning(s). non-sorcerer, modern AU, reader is a spoiled college brat, age gap relationship (31yo man / 23yo reader), possessive behavior, manhandling, leg-on-shoulder sex position, power play, rough sex, standing sex, impact play (spanking), overstimulation, internal ejaculation / cum leaking, dirty talk, mild degradation, praise kink, pussy drunk characterization, full nelson position, handpinning, wall fucking, orgasm denial, delayed climax, size kink, wet and messy sex, nipple play (biting, sucking), overstretched pu$$y, cumplay, emotionally repressed men snapping sexually, physical restraint (arm pinning, leg holding), reader being folded like a pilates reformer machine, window fucking, public exposure risk (urban apartment), swearing / explicit language, casual misogyny with affection, mental breakdown via dick, all characters are consenting adults.

GOJO SATORU

you don’t even hear the front door slam. too busy lounging on the couch in his hoodie—oversized and smelling like his stupid expensive cologne, with your phone balanced against your knee, legs thrown up like a princess in exile. a cucumber mint smoothie sweating beside you. freshly blended. still cold. probably fourteen dollars.

you hear his footsteps instead. that deliberate, heavy stride of a man who’s either bringing you dinner or about to fuck up your entire life for sport.

you don’t look up.

but you feel it.

that vibration of a presence when gojo satoru walks into the room pissed and amused in equal measure. like he’s caught you stealing gold bars again. like he’s gonna make you beg for the next one. he tosses something. paper. it hits you in the chest and flutters down.

you blink.

“…did you just throw a receipt at me?”

his sunglasses are off. he never wears them at home unless he’s about to deliver bad news in a dramatic monologue. “that’s a pilates receipt,” he says. “for fifty-six thousand yen.” a beat. “for one month.”

you lift your eyes lazily. “that’s the introductory rate.”

his hands come to his hips. god. those fucking hips. “and what exactly are they teaching you in this luxury cult that justifies you spending my hard-earned salary on getting tied to a piece of wood and shoved around like a meat puzzle?”

you lick smoothie off your straw.

“they work my core. build length. alignment. it’s a holistic approach to mobility and flexibility.” he stares at you in silence for a full ten seconds. his nostrils flare. “…you think you’re flexible?” he says at last. you blink slowly. you can feel the grin starting before it curls into your mouth.

“i’ve seen what you do to me,” you say sweetly. “so yes. i think i’m very flexible. you’re lucky i don’t invoice you.”

a second passes. a long one.

then—he’s moving.

fast.

you let out a delighted yelp as he grabs you off the couch, your smoothie flying somewhere behind you like a casualty of war. your legs kick, flail, but his grip is iron. the hoodie rides up to your waist as he tosses you over his shoulder.

“satoru—satoru—”

“shut up,” he says, smacking your ass, “and show me how much i’m paying for.”

the first time he folds you in half, it’s on the kitchen counter.

his hand’s between your shoulders, pressing you flat to the cold marble. your knees are up beside your ears. your panties are gone. his sweats are halfway down his thighs. and his cock—god, his cock—is already inside you, thick and veiny and curved just enough to punch something inside you you’ve never had anyone reach before.

he’s not even moving. just holding you there. impaled.

your calves tremble. your toes curl.

“not bad,” he murmurs, dragging his fingers along your inner thigh. “but these pilates people… do they fold you like this, baby? get your knees touching your fucking shoulders like this?” you try to breathe but there’s no air. just the stretch. the deepness. the weight of him inside you, pulsing.

you nod, eyes fluttering.

“liar,” he breathes, and slams into you.

your scream echoes off tile. his thrusts are punishing. slow. like he’s testing your range of motion. pulling out almost entirely and then pushing back in with a controlled, maddening precision that leaves you shaking.

“look at you. soaking all over my counter. and you have the audacity to use my card for yoga class when you’ve got me right here? i should break your fucking spine.” you whine. moan. shudder. he’s so deep—you feel like you’re going to come just from the position. from how your body is folded under him, stretched wide, vulnerable.

he grabs your ankle. lifts it higher. you nearly scream again.

“god, look at this. baby. you’re literally bent in half. you wanna waste my money? make it worth it.”

round two is on the floor.

your legs are straddling his shoulders. your arms are pinned under his knees. and your entire torso is rolled up like he’s about to pile-drive you through the floorboards. “this one’s called happy baby,” he murmurs, licking your clit slow and messy. “except i don’t think there’s anything holy about what i’m doing to you right now.”

you can’t speak.

your thighs are shaking. your pussy’s swollen, wet, overstimulated from the last orgasm and being edged through two more. he keeps licking. slow and relentless. circling that tender spot just enough to make your stomach curl and twist, like you’re being stretched from the inside out.

“fuck,” he whispers. “your little hole’s fluttering. you gonna come again? just from my tongue?” you try to wiggle, but he tightens his grip. makes a noise against your clit that vibrates through your spine.

you break. completely. shuddering against his mouth, gushing against his chin as you come again, full-body, screaming his name. he groans, hips grinding into the floor, hungry for it. like he gets off just from wrecking you.

by the time he’s finally inside you again, this time from behind, kneeling over you with your arms pulled back into a stretch that arches your chest off the bed—he’s panting.

you’re soaked.

his cock slides in easy. and he just holds you there. hips flush. dick fully buried. sweat dripping down his chest onto your back. “jesus christ,” he groans. “this pussy—this fucking pussy—baby, i think you broke me.”

you make a sound. a weak, ruined whimper.

he chuckles.

softly.

leans down. kisses your shoulder. cheek. presses his chest to your back and rocks into you with slow, loving strokes, fucking you now like he means it. “you win,” he whispers against your ear. “fuck the pilates. i’ll stretch you every morning.”

a pause.

“but i’m charging you for the smoothies now.”

GETO SUGURU

it starts in the kitchen.

you’re wearing that outfit. leggings that cling to your ass like a second skin, high waistband hugging the curve of your hips. cropped tank top, no bra, just the hint of nipple pressing against the fabric like a test of his restraint. hair twisted up messily, neck exposed.

you’re blending something. bright green and expensive-smelling.

he walks in from work and drops his keys with a low clink, and for a moment, it’s quiet.

then, “you’ve been at that place again.”

your spine straightens.

“what place?” you don’t even turn around. voice all air and innocence, like you’ve already decided you’re going to lie through your teeth. “don’t fucking play with me,” he says, tone level, low, a blade unsheathed. “i saw the charge. that pilates studio. twenty-four thousand yen. again.”

you sip. “they added advanced core conditioning.”

“did they add a private fucking chef too? you spent more on smoothies this month than on textbooks.” you don’t flinch. just smirk into the glass. “i’m investing in my longevity.”

and that’s it.

the silence that follows is deep and weighted and final.

because he doesn’t argue when he’s past the point of talking. he acts. the next thing you feel are his hands on your waist, dragging you away from the counter with no warning, smoothie glass thunking to the floor, half-spilled. he spins you, lifts you—lifts you—and slams your back into the cool surface behind. you yelp, arms catching the edge behind you as he shoves his thigh between your legs and presses. hard.

“you want flexibility?” he growls, mouth hot on your jaw. “mobility? deep core engagement?”

his hands grip your thighs and spread them wide, pushing them up and open until you’re practically doing a split across the marble. the stretch burns—but it’s not enough to distract from the thick press of his thigh grinding up against your pussy through the leggings, damp already. “i’ll give you a fucking full-body workout.”

you moan, but it’s cut off when he grabs your jaw—tight—and forces your face toward him. “you think this ass is yours to flaunt on some reformer bed? think they stretch you like i do?” he’s furious. but there’s something underneath it. darker. hotter.

you’re being owned. corrected. and you love it.

“no one touches me,” you gasp.

he snorts. low and sharp. “except when you beg for it.”

he strips you bare in the living room.

throws your top to the floor. tears the leggings down your legs like they offended him. you squirm, bare now, flushed from neck to thigh. he doesn’t even bother undressing fully—just shoves his slacks and boxers down enough to free his cock, hard and thick and already leaking.

“get on the floor,” he says, voice gravel.

you obey.

he grabs your ankle and drags you to him, and it’s not gentle. your skin scrapes on the carpet. your breath hitches. but you’re soaked. he folds your knees to your chest, pushes both legs back until you’re open and exposed and trembling. “you think this position is in your class?” he growls, staring down at your cunt, glistening under the light. “you think they stretch you like this?”

you’re so open you can’t breathe. your thighs tremble from the pressure. your cunt pulses with need.

and then—

he pushes in.

slow at first. just enough to stretch your entrance wide. then he rams forward with no mercy, burying himself to the hilt in a single thrust that punches a sound out of your throat you’ve never made before.

your eyes roll back. your hands claw at the carpet. you’re full, painfully, impossibly full. he’s so deep it aches. “feel that?” he hisses through his teeth, dragging his cock out slow, letting your walls grip every ridge of him. “this is the only stretch that matters.”

he fucks you like a hammer. like he’s working out every ounce of frustration with the way your body folds around him. he bends your legs back until your knees press into your chest and your ass lifts off the ground. your pussy squelches, loud, raw, soaking. the slap of skin on skin echoes in the room.

he leans down, mouth to your ear.

“they stretch your pussy this deep?” he hisses.

“n—no,” you choke.

he grabs your throat—firm, not choking. just holding.

“say it again.”

“no one—no one does but you.”

he kisses you then—rough and filthy, tongue sliding into your mouth like it owns you. he doesn’t stop fucking you even as your moans catch in your throat. he wants it there. to feel it. to taste it. to make it real.

he flips you over onto your stomach without pulling out.

you gasp as your face hits the carpet, and then he’s grinding into you from behind, deeper now, weight heavy over your back, one hand fisted in your hair.

you sob into the floor.

“stay right there,” he growls. “arch your fucking back—good. that’s it. hold it.” he pistons into you from behind, his hand smacking your ass hard, again, again, until it burns. “legs shaking already?” he pants. “you’re such a spoiled little brat. wanna run your mouth, waste my money, act like your pussy isn’t mine.”

he pulls your head back by your hair and bites your neck—hard.

“say it.”

“it’s yours—fuck, suguru—i swear—”

he fucks you even harder.

and when you finally come—shaking, convulsing, sobbing into the carpet with your pussy gripping him like it’ll never let go—he groans, low and guttural, and spills inside you in thick, hot waves. he doesn’t pull out. he stays there. buried. deep. panting.

hours later—your face still mashed against the floor, limbs trembling, thighs bruised—he finally slides out. you feel the slow drip of his cum down your thigh. then his fingers. he pushes it back in with two of them. slow. possessive.

“no more pilates,” he murmurs, brushing sweat-slick hair off your temple. “you want to stretch, baby, you come to me.”

you blink up at him, broken and beaming.

“…can i still get the smoothies?”

he laughs once, low and sharp.

then grabs your ankle again.

“bend over the couch. you’re not done.”

NANAMI KENTO

you should’ve known something was wrong when he texted you at 4:41 p.m.

“i’ll be home by five. don’t go anywhere.”

no emoji. no dot dot dot. just those words. clean and dry like a corporate bullet.

you thought he was bluffing. he doesn’t leave the office early for anything. he eats his lunch standing up and answers emails with a frown so deep it might be surgical. but he walks through the door at 4:58 p.m. briefcase down. tie still on. and he doesn't kiss you. he sets a folded piece of paper on the counter. a receipt. you don’t even need to look at it.

you know what it is.

“you spent sixty-five thousand yen,” he says without looking at you, sliding off his watch. “in one week.” you chew your lip, standing in the kitchen like a caught rabbit in leggings that cling to your ass, sports bra sticking to your chest. “they had a stretch reformer bootcamp this week,” you offer weakly.

his brow twitches.

“that’s what you call it?” he asks, walking toward you, loosening his tie. “bootcamp? to lie on your back while some barely-trained teenager straps you into resistance bands and calls it exercise?”

“they do more than that—”

“i can see what they do. your little videos. those slow leg lifts. the air-humping. the stretching. you think that justifies the bill you sent me?” he’s standing close now. close enough that his cologne—clean cedar, leather, citrus undercut with heat—wraps around you like a noose. you smirk, defiant even as your heartbeat stutters. “i’m flexible now,” you say, voice light. “isn’t that worth something?”

he exhales slowly. closes his eyes.

and when he opens them again—

“strip.”

he doesn't let you undress yourself. he does it for you.

rips the waistband of your leggings down with one brutal tug, dragging them past your knees, your thighs, baring you inch by inch like he’s unwrapping something expensive he owns.

he peels your bra up, off, tossing it behind you with a flick of his wrist.

then his hands are on your hips, firm and possessive. he turns you. pushes your back against the cold wall of the hallway. one palm finds your throat. not choking—just there. heavy. dominant.

“so,” he murmurs, voice low as his other hand slips between your legs. “how flexible?” your breath catches. you’re soaked already. your thighs part on instinct, the pulse of need between them aching and slick. he pushes two fingers in. slow. precise. your body clenches.

his voice is a near-growl.

“pathetic,” he mutters. “you’re dripping just from me undressing you. and you spend my money so some stranger can put your legs in the air?” you moan. try to speak. he curls his fingers inside you just enough to make you gasp, then pulls them out and shoves them into your mouth.

“taste it.”

you suck, eyes fluttering.

he grins, slow and mean.

“we’re doing this my way tonight.”

you don’t even understand what’s happening until you’re on the bed, face down, arms yanked back—hard—and your body is suddenly off the mattress. lifted. bent.

“nanami—?”

his hands are under your knees. your arms are over his, bent back. your entire body is suspended in the air, your back arched, your thighs spread wide. his chest is to your back. and you’re held in place by the cage of his arms and the brutal grip of his thighs against yours.

he growls into your neck, “you want flexibility? i’ll show you full extension.”

then he pushes into you.

you scream.

he’s thick. hard. ruthless. your pussy stretches around him so tight you think you might tear. he buries himself to the hilt in a single thrust, cock carving into you like he’s claiming space. you can’t even move. your legs are pinned wide. your arms pulled back. your back arched so deeply that your chest is jutting forward, helpless and trembling.

and he starts to fuck you.

deep. measured. powerful.

his hips slam into your ass with every thrust, every brutal grind of cock against your swollen, aching cunt. your body bounces in his grip, caught, dangling, used. “this what they teach you?” he hisses into your ear. “this angle? this depth? you feel that, baby?”

you sob. nod. can’t speak.

“say it.”

you struggle, mouth open, words choked out with every thrust.

“they—don’t—fuck—me—like—you—do—”

he groans, fucking harder.

“they better not.”

he adjusts his grip, pulling your knees higher. deeper angle. you choke on a scream as he hits something so deep your vision goes white. his mouth is on your shoulder now, teeth dragging over skin, lips slick with sweat and spit and need. he doesn’t stop. not when your pussy spasms around him, clenching like a fist. not when your orgasm crashes into you like a scream trapped inside bone.

he fucks you through it. never slowing. never relenting.

“you want a stretch? i’ll keep you bent like this until your muscles seize.” he groans. pants. and then—he comes. deep inside you. cock pulsing. his hands locked on your body like a cage. he holds you there, suspended, filled.

like a lesson.

after, he lowers you onto the bed like something delicate. ruined. you’re trembling. twitching. your thighs won’t close. his cum leaks out of you in slow, thick drips. his hand brushes your hair back. “next time you want to stretch,” he murmurs, voice rough and dark, “you ask me.”

you nod.

he leans down. kisses your temple. “and if i see one more charge from that place—” his hand slips back between your thighs. “—i’ll fuck you in the lobby.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO

the door slams behind him with enough force to shake the floorboards.

you’re mid-pose. stretched out over a yoga ball in front of the TV, leggings practically painted onto your ass, some workout influencer with a honeyed voice instructing you to breathe through the sacral engagement.

you turn your head, a smirk curling at your mouth.

“hey, babe—home early?”

toji doesn’t answer. he tosses his keys onto the counter, shrugs out of his jacket, and holds something up between two fingers. a receipt. long. curled at the edge. “three sessions in one day?” he asks, voice flat. “you training to be a contortionist now?”

you blink, innocent.

“they had a flexibility workshop.”

“flexibility,” he repeats, stepping forward. “you need them to teach you that?”

you open your mouth to retort—but it dies in your throat when he closes the distance. one hand goes straight to your throat. the other to the back of your head. he grips you—hard—drags you up off the yoga ball, and before you can breathe, he’s got you slammed flat over the kitchen counter. "you think i pay for you to stretch out that tight little pussy in some fancy-ass studio with floor-length mirrors and soy candles? huh?"

your hips writhe, but his hand slaps down hard on your ass.

“answer me.”

“n-no, toji—fuck—i—”

he grabs the waistband of your leggings and rips them. not tugs. not slides. tears. the elastic pops. your panties with them. you’re bare now, bent over the cold counter, pussy slick and already dripping because of course you're soaked from this.

he slides his fingers between your legs. hums.

“so wet just from me walking in. you like getting caught.” you gasp, biting your lip, and he shoves two fingers in. hard. fast. curls them until you cry out. "yeah. that’s what i thought. you fucking brat."

he takes you right there.

no prep. no warning.

one hand between your shoulders, the other pinning your wrists to the counter. he rips his belt open, pulls his cock out—already hard—and thrusts inside in one brutal, merciless motion.

you scream. your body bucks. your eyes roll back.

he’s thick. too big. stretching you wide with no time to adjust. it burns—but god, it’s good.

“this what you wanted?” he growls against your ear. “wanted to see if those yoga freaks could get you as deep as me?” he slams into you again. again. your pussy’s clenching, spasming, trying to take him. failing. it’s too much. and you’re shaking already. his grip moves to your hair. yanks your head back. you’re drooling, eyes unfocused.

he laughs.

“you’re so fucking dumb when i fuck you like this. i should film it. send it to your instructor. ‘here’s your little star pupil—can’t even spell her name with a cock in her.’”

then he really gets mean.

he flips you over like you weigh nothing. tosses you onto the floor in the living room—next to the yoga mat, your smoothie still sweating on the side table—and grabs you. pulls you into his lap. traps your arms. lifts you up, and suddenly—your knees are over his thighs, your legs spread, and your arms are pinned up under his.

full nelson.

you’ve got no leverage. no control. your whole body is open, suspended, split wide.

and then—

he sinks into you again.

hard.

you scream. back arching. vision blurring.

his cock hits everything from this angle. it's like he's splitting you in half. you can't even fight it—your arms are trapped, your legs forced wide, and he’s using your own weight to fuck you down onto his cock over and over again, bouncing you like a toy. “there’s your stretch,” he snarls. “you feel that? you’re so fucking open, i can see my cock through your stomach.”

you sob. try to nod. can't speak.

he’s relentless.

fucking up into you, holding you like a ragdoll, your pussy wrapped tight around him, spasming with every thrust. he’s groaning now—raw, rough, sweat slicking his chest. “you earned this,” he pants. “all that money you spent—now you’re gonna pay it off.” he slams up again. your moan is wrecked.

“with your fucking cunt.”

when you come, it’s violent.

your body seizes, twitching hard in his grip. your pussy milks him. chokes on him. you’re sobbing—babbling nonsense—legs trembling around his waist.

toji groans.

and comes.

deep inside you. thick and hot. filling you up so much you feel it dripping before he even stops. he doesn’t let you go. he just holds you there. cock still buried. chest heaving. “there,” he mutters. “that’s a real full-body workout.”

a beat.

“and baby?” he leans in, voice low and dark against your ear. “next time you spend my fucking money without asking—i’ll fold you backwards.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA

you’d been running your mouth all day.

legs sore from class, tank top sweat-slicked, face flushed with that post-workout glow like you’d actually worked for something.

“my hamstrings are tight,” you’d whined, flopping onto the couch, pushing your ankle onto his thigh like you wanted him to touch you. “we did these deep lunge extensions—my instructor said i’m really flexible now.”

sukuna didn’t say anything then.

just looked at you—eyeing the curve of your ass in those fucking leggings, the way you stretched like you knew he was watching. the bratty smile you gave him when you took the last of his cigarette and didn’t say thank you.

he waited.

waited until now—late evening, when the lights are low and the room smells like smoke and sex and skin—and you’re backed against the wall, your tank top riding high, your panties hanging by a thread, and your leg thrown over his shoulder like it’s nothing.

like you’re just that flexible.

he’s inside you already.

deep.

fucking inches deep.

his cock stretches you wide, thick and brutal, the kind of stretch that burns in your thighs and pulses in your cunt, and he hasn’t even moved yet.

his hands are gripping your hips hard—fingers bruising, rough, possessive—and your heel’s hooked over his shoulder, your other leg barely holding your weight as your back arches into the plaster.

and he just smiles. slow. dangerous.

“look at that,” he murmurs, voice rough silk, hand sliding up the inside of your raised thigh, gripping the meat of it, squeezing. “this how they stretch you in those little classes of yours?”

you try to speak. your mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

he chuckles.

“nah,” he says. “they don’t stretch you like this, do they?”

he thrusts. once. deep.

your breath shatters.

he’s so fucking deep you swear you can feel him in your ribs. your pussy clenches. your hips jerk. your fingers claw at his shoulders, but he doesn’t stop—just keeps you right there, leg hoisted high, body bent and trembling.

“fuck, baby,” he grins, cock sliding out slow before slamming back in. “you’re opening up so easy. maybe those classes are working.”

you moan. broken. breathless.

his hand wraps around your throat.

“you like this, huh? standing here, pussy stretched open, one fucking leg in the air like a good little slut on display?”

he rolls his hips, angling his thrusts to grind against your g-spot, relentless and deep.

you sob. your thighs tremble.

“fuck—sukuna—please—”

he groans, filthy and low, lips brushing the curve of your jaw.

“you feel that stretch in your hips, sweetheart? in your cunt?”

he thrusts again—hard—makes your whole body bounce against the wall.

“this is real flexibility,” he growls. “this is what i pay for.”

his mouth is everywhere—your neck, your shoulder, your tits—teeth grazing, lips sucking, tongue trailing fire down your throat. and the whole time, his cock keeps slamming into you, dragging moans from your chest you didn’t know you could make.

you’re babbling now. drunk on him. on how deep he is. on the burn in your thighs and the slick squelch of your soaked cunt every time he pulls out and drives back in. “so fucking tight,” he pants. “and still taking it all. you feel how wide i’ve got you open?” his thumb drops to your clit. rubs circles—mean, precise, perfect.

you cry out. jerk.

“uh-uh,” he hisses, pinning your hips. “don’t move. hold the leg. keep it up. you want to be flexible, brat? show me.” your muscles scream. your body shakes. but you obey. because he’s so deep. so rough. so fucking good.

he kisses your throat.

“attagirl.”

when you come—it’s violent. sudden. full-body.

your vision flares. you scream, cunt clenching around him so tight he groans, hips stuttering, face buried in your neck as he fucks you through it, doesn’t slow, doesn’t let up.

and when he comes?

it’s deep.

a growl ripped from his chest, cock twitching inside you as he fills you up with so much cum it leaks out around him even before he pulls out. you’re shaking. leg still hoisted. mouth open. whole body limp. he finally lowers your leg.

lets you collapse against him, his arms wrapping around you, hand cradling the back of your head like you’re breakable. then, low against your ear: “that’s the only stretch that matters.”

SHIU KONG

he doesn’t say a word when he gets home. not when he finds your receipt on the bathroom counter—fifty-two thousand yen for a reformer stretch package. not when he sees you on the couch, barefoot, bare-legged, sipping an iced matcha like it wasn’t paid for with his blood money.

just drops his phone. loosens his tie. and walks over to you with that expression—tight mouth, heavy brow. all controlled violence. you glance up. blink.

“what?”

he sits beside you.

silent.

and grabs your jaw.

not roughly. not yet. just enough to tilt your face to his. “get on the floor,” he says, calm. cool. deadly. “face down. knees wide.”

you pause.

“…what?”

his hand slides to your throat. squeezes, just a little. eyes dark.

“you heard me.”

he doesn’t strip you all the way. just yanks your panties down and pushes your little workout shorts to the side, your tank top rucked up above your hips. he wants you dressed for this. dressed like the spoiled little slut you are.

“this is called frog pose, right?” he murmurs, gripping your ankles and dragging them wide. “hips open, knees bent. cute little ass in the air.” your face burns. the stretch in your thighs is deep, your cunt already throbbing from being so exposed, so vulnerable. your chest is flat to the rug, back arched, legs splayed.

and then you feel it.

his cock.

thick. hard. dragging along your slit, teasing. mean.

“you want mobility?” he mutters. “i’ll give you mobility.”

he pushes in—slow. thick. stretching you until your mouth opens around a gasp and your fingers clutch at the carpet. your pussy sucks him in, inch by inch, until he’s deep, hips flush against the meat of your ass.

and then he stays there.

hands on your lower back. holding you open.

"fuck," he breathes. "look at how deep i am in this position. you feel that?" you try to move—try to rock back onto him—but his palm lands hard across your ass, the smack echoing in the room. “don’t move,” he growls. “just stay open. let me fuck you like this.”

and then he starts.

his hips snap forward. hard. again. again.

each thrust punches a cry out of your chest, muffled against the carpet, your body rocking from the force of it. he grabs your wrists, yanks them behind your back, pins them with one hand, and uses the other to shove your hips down, locking you in place. “this what you pay them for?” he growls. “to stretch your hips? your back?”

he slams into you, balls slapping, breath hot over your spine.

“they fuck you like this, sweetheart?”

you shake your head, sobbing.

he leans down, lips brushing your ear.

“say it.”

“no—fuck—no one does but you—”

he groans. thrusts harder. his cock hits so deep it feels like your guts rearrange every time. your knees tremble. thighs ache. the stretch is insane—but you can’t stop coming, pussy clenching, walls fluttering, drooling around his cock with every filthy grind of his hips. "jesus," he pants, “this cunt was made to stay open like this.”

and when he comes?

he stays inside. grinds deep. dumps every drop into your spasming cunt and keeps it in you with a hard slap to your ass and a hand dragging down your spine.

after?

you’re still face-down, body limp, legs aching from the stretch. shiu pulls your panties back up. kisses your thigh. smooths your hair. and murmurs, low and serious: “next time you want to stretch—” his hand cups your sore, slick cunt. “—you ask.”

HIGURUMA HIROMI

it starts with the door clicking shut.

you’re home before him, sprawled on his couch in one of his button-down shirts—open, loose, your tank top tight underneath, your bare legs tucked up beneath you. the TV is on. you’re sipping kombucha like you pay for it.

he enters in silence.

shoes off. briefcase down. suit jacket hung neatly over the hook. tie loosened. he doesn’t speak. not until he stands in the doorway between living room and hall, holding a piece of paper like a verdict. long receipt. high total. you glance over. sip.

“…that from the studio?”

he lifts one brow. folds it. sets it on the table.

"forty-seven thousand,” he says calmly. “for one week.”

you blink. “it's—private sessions.”

“i can see that.” he steps closer. “what exactly do they do to you in these sessions?” you tilt your head, smirk already crawling to your mouth. “stretch me out.” he breathes in. slow. nostrils flare. you can feel the temperature shift.

“get up.”

he doesn’t speak again until you’re backed into the bedroom, his hand wrapped gently—too gently—around your wrist, and his voice low.

“take your clothes off.”

you blink.

he leans in. kisses your cheek. “slowly.”

you do. piece by piece. he watches. the shirt slides down your arms. your tank top peels over your head. your sports bra falls away—no noise, no rush. panties next. his eyes stay on you the entire time. and when you’re finally bare, standing quiet, naked and still in front of him—

he moves.

you don’t realize what he’s doing until your back hits the window. one hand cups your thigh, pulls it up. higher. higher—until your knee’s nearly pressed to your chest, the other foot flat on the floor, your heel hooked over his shoulder. he adjusts his grip—one hand under your thigh, the other on your waist, thumb brushing just under your breast.

and then—

he pushes in.

slow. deliberate. devastating.

your eyes roll. your mouth opens in a gasp you don’t finish, because he’s deep—so fucking deep in this angle, cock hitting every spot you didn’t know you had. your pussy flutters, clenching around him already. “you’re silent now,” he murmurs. you try to breathe. try to speak. “what happened to that mouth?” he rocks his hips forward. not fast. not brutal. just deep. intentional.

in control.

“they stretch you like this?” he says softly, tone clinical. “push your leg up here, keep your pussy open while they slide inside?” you whimper. shake your head.

his voice stays level. “answer.”

“n-no—fuck, hiromi—just you—only you—”

his mouth presses to your neck. he still doesn’t speed up. just keeps your body exactly where he wants it—your leg over his shoulder, your hips tilted perfectly, his cock dragging deep and slow inside your cunt, every motion pressing you harder against the glass.

you’re dripping.

he feels it.

your slick is painting his cock, soaking the front of his slacks, your inner thigh shining in the low light.

“flexible,” he murmurs, dragging his hand up to your ribs, thumb brushing under your breast again. “but not enough.” he pulls out—slow—until just the tip remains. and slams back in. your scream shatters the quiet. his fingers grip your throat—not tight, just there, grounding. a point of contact. “you’ll hold this position,” he says. “until i finish.”

he fucks you like that for what feels like hours. never too fast. never losing rhythm. just deep, hard strokes. your leg high. trembling. your foot still braced on the floor, trying to hold balance while he uses you against the window like a study in anatomy.

your orgasm comes without warning—tight, sharp, full-body. your cunt clenches, spasming, walls squeezing so tight he groans. but he doesn’t stop. just fucks you through it, even deeper. “you’ll give me another,” he murmurs. “legs this flexible, you can take two.”

you sob.

“three.”

his hand dips between your legs. finds your clit.

“four.”

he finishes inside you.

still holding your leg high, cock buried deep, cum leaking down your thigh. your head lolls against the window. the city lights blur. he lowers your leg slowly. kisses your forehead. adjusts your hair with one hand. straightens your back. then murmurs— “next time you want a stretch, you’ll do it here. for free.”

[sixeyesonathiel]

clanhead!satoru, who grew up behind paper walls and formal greetings, thinks he’s doing fine. he doesn’t need warmth. doesn’t need partnership. definitely doesn’t need you. not your voice. not your gaze. not your hands reaching out in that quiet way they always do, halfway between anger and hope. he doesn’t need softness, doesn’t need mornings spent with knees brushing beneath the table, or nights curled around shared exhaustion. he doesn’t need any of that.

he keeps telling himself that.

you were arranged. names selected. lives assigned. there was no falling in love, no whirlwind romance. only obligation, and a shared contract, and two people who didn’t know each other at all. the clan called it a bond. satoru called it a sentence. and maybe, so did you. maybe you still do. but you're both too stubborn to say it out loud.

and yet, here you are. somehow, sharing a home that isn’t quite a home. circling around each other like bored cats, passive-aggressively polite, trading jabs like candy wrappers. it’s a miracle neither of you has murdered the other in your sleep. though, sometimes, it’s close. last week you slapped his shoulder with a ladle because he said your miso soup was “a little too philosophical.”

every morning, he wakes up alone in the house you both live in. passes your closed door, always closed, like a wall he isn’t meant to climb. makes his own coffee. glares at your mug next to his like it’s mocking him. sometimes he touches the handle like it might give him a sign. sometimes he almost washes it and puts it away, but doesn’t. not yet. not when you might still come down. not when the ghost of your presence still lingers in the air like perfume.

he starts narrating your morning habits in his head like he's in some tragic sitcom. “there she goes. my legally wedded stranger. master of mug placement. destroyer of peace.” he doesn’t say it aloud. mostly because you’d probably throw a pillow at him and then he’d have to feel something about that.

you’ve filed for divorce again. that’s five now. seven, if he’s honest. twice were his. he still doesn’t know why he ripped them up. they sat on the edge of his desk for days, heavy and clean and final. and then one night, he came home soaked in rain, looked at the envelope, and tore it to shreds like it meant nothing. it meant everything. he couldn’t breathe with it there. couldn’t sleep. couldn’t stop hearing your voice, even when the house was dead quiet.

maybe he’s just tired. maybe it’s the quiet way you look at him when you think he’s not paying attention. maybe it’s the way you always buy him those god-awful sunglasses, even though he hasn’t worn a pair in years. he lines them up on his desk like trophies. he doesn’t know what he’s competing for.

he doesn’t eat unless you cook. says the clan's food makes him sick. lies through his teeth. you roll your eyes every time, muttering, “go starve then.” and he almost does, until you slide a plate across the table an hour later. he stares at the food like it might vanish if he breathes wrong. he doesn’t say thank you. you don’t expect him to. but sometimes, he finds himself eating slower, like the warmth might linger longer that way.

“i’m not your maid,” you mutter once, shoving a bowl of miso soup toward him without looking.

“could’ve fooled me,” he replies. you hit him with a rolled-up magazine. he deserved it. he actually smiles into his spoon.

he didn’t know how to be with someone. he still doesn’t. no one taught him gentleness. no one told him how to reach across the silence and say something that mattered. he grew up with expectation in his bones and solitude in his chest. you grew up dreaming of something else. something soft. something kind. he wonders what version of yourself you had to kill to become the one sitting across from him now.

on bad days, you don’t speak at all. the tension hangs like wet fabric, clinging to everything. the walls feel closer. the air feels thinner. you text like strangers. argue like enemies. sleep like strangers, too. and yet… you still leave the porch light on when he’s out late. he still puts your laundry on the drying rack so it doesn’t wrinkle. you refill the coffee beans. he folds your sweaters when they’re left on the couch. no one mentions these things. maybe because if you said them out loud, they might count as hope. and hope, in this house, is more terrifying than anger.

sometimes he wonders if you even remember the day they told you. the day they said, “you’ll be marrying gojo satoru.” did you cry? did you laugh? did you try to run? he doesn't know. never asked. maybe he didn’t want to know. maybe he was afraid the answer would make him hate himself more.

he remembers the first time you touched him. it wasn’t romantic. just a hand on his wrist, steadying him when he almost tripped on the temple steps. but it lingered. it stayed with him longer than it should have. maybe because it felt real. because it was the first time in years he didn’t feel like a ghost inside his own body.

the first time you made him laugh was when you shoved a whole rice ball in his mouth mid-argument just to shut him up. he nearly choked. you didn’t apologize. he thinks that might’ve been the moment he fell a little in something with you. not love. not yet. but something dangerously adjacent.

he started doing small things too. placing your phone on the charger when you fell asleep watching dramas. hiding your favorite snack in the cabinet behind the protein powder because he knew you’d never look there. writing your name on his calendar, next to his meetings, like it was just as important.

this isn’t working. he knows that. it’s not love, not the kind that grows with laughter and time. it’s something else. something quiet. something fragile. it’s the way you both keep showing up, even when you have every reason not to. like a game of chicken no one wants to lose.

but for some reason, when the elders ask about the paperwork, he always shrugs and says, “she must’ve lost it again.” and when you’re alone in the same room, you always say the same thing. your voice is flat, practiced—but your hands tremble when you pick up the mug, and your eyes flick to his like they might say something your mouth won’t.

he wonders if you’re lying too.

and if you are, he wonders what it means that he hopes you are.

[sparkleyun]

Backshots with bf!enha

pairing: hyung line x fem!reader genre: smut (MDNI), fluff if you squint... warnings: hair pulling, unprotected sex, light choking, jealousy/rough sex, kitchen sex, fingering, public sex, marking, creampie like literally for all of them because I'm ovulating wc: 4.1k

Heeseung ♡༉‧₊˚.

The bright sun dipped low over the shoreline, casting a soft glow over you and Heeseung's entwined figures, seated near the edge of the water. Your hair was disheveled from the salty breeze as you knealed on the sandy surface.

You squint against the light, your sunglasses sliding halfway down your nose. "Babe, can you take these off for me? My hands are gross." You say as you shake your hands from the mix of sea water and sand.

He leans in with a small smile, brushing strands of your messy hair away from your face. His fingers graze behind your ears as he lifts your sunglasses off, but they catch slightly in your hair, tugging just enough to elicit a sound from you. A soft whimper that made him freeze in his tracks the moment it left your lips.

"Sorry," he murmurs as you try to keep yourself together, feeling your cheeks warm up. You shake your head, playing it off and he doesn't mention it again, at least not out loud.

The drive home is quiet, a little too quiet. The moment kept replaying in his head, the way your face contorted, the breathy whimper...it was driving him crazy. His grip on the steering wheel tightens, you could see the way his jaw clenched and how he avoids looking at you at all costs.

When you arrive home, he opens the door for you like usual, patient and gentle, but the moment the door shuts behind you his hands find your hips, needily pulling you against him. You open your mouth to say something but before you can he bends you over the armrest of the couch, guiding you forward with a hand on your back.

His free hand tangles in your hair, making you gasp as your eyes flew wide open. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?" He leans down, lips brushing past the sensitive skin of your neck.

His hands slide along your sides, fingers dragging up under your shirt until you're practically melting beneath him. You tried to respond again, but your words stop as he gently presses you forward.

His fingers find your hair once again, curling around the strands. "I need to hear those pretty little noises again. Been playing in my mind the whole ride home." He tugs gently and your back arches, pressing your hips more firmly against his.

He pushes his hips forward, letting you feel his hard length through his jean shorts. The sensation makes your toes curl, a soft moan escaping your lips. "That's it, just like that." he praises. With that, he reaches down to undo the button of his jeans, letting them fall to the floor. Shortly after he discards his clothing, he pulls down your shorts, and moves your panties aside, brushing his fingers against your folds.

"You're enjoying this as much as I am, huh?" He says as he feels your wetness. He positions himself at your entrance, the thick head of his cock nudging against your slick heat. His grip in your hair tightens, another soft tug as he starts to push forward.

"That's my girl...so perfect for me." he murmurs, slowly filling you up inch by inch. His hips begin to roll in a steady rythm and his grip on your hair tightens as he picks up the pace. Your fingers scrabble against the soft fabric of the couch, grip tightening from the overwhelming pleasure of his length hitting the bests spots deep inside you. He groans as sounds spill from your lips uncontrollably, soft moans, breathless gasps, even a choked cry or two when he remembers to tug at your hair again.

"Fuck, yes...y/n I'm close..." His voice is strained, each word punctuated by the sound of skin slapping. He leans down to nip at your neck, soothing the sting with soft kisses. One hand leaves your hip to slip underneath your shirt, squeezing the soft swell of your breast. His thumb finds your nipple, circling the hardened peak before pinching lightly, making you see stars.

He pants against your neck as he feels himself getting closer. "Go on baby, come for me." He says, changing the angle slightly, hitting that sweet spot inside you with every thrust. With a prolonged moan, your orgasm crashes through you. He groans deeply, hips stuttering as he feels you come undone, which triggered his own release to spill deep inside you with a low moan of your name.

He collapses against your back, breathing raggedly, one hand still gripping your hair, the other splayed across your chest. He presses soft kisses along your neck and shoulders as you both come down from the high.

Jay ♡༉‧₊˚.

The warm light of the early morning floods the kitchen of the apartment you share with your boyfriend, Jay. You're standing barefoot on the cool tiles, fingers sticky with batter as you were cooking breakfast together on a warm summer morning. The fabric of your thin pajamas cling onto your curves, giving tantalizing glimpses of the skin underneath. Jay hasn't said anything about it, but you've caught his eyes lingering more than once.

He tried to focus on cracking eggs into a bowl, but his hands were shaking slightly, distracted by the alluring sight of his girlfriend. You acted oblivious to the effect you were having on him, humming happily as you reach up to grab a plate from the cabinet.

"You know, you always make that face when you cook," you say with a giggle, nudging his side with your elbow as you notice him focusing extra hard on his task. "Concentrated, very serious, like your life depends on whatever you're making."

He glances at you, eyes trailing down just a bit too long on your figure. "Well sorry for wanting to make good food for my wonderful girlfriend," he says with a sarcastic tone. "While she's busy distracting me." he says, his voice low almost as if he didn't want you to hear him.

You arch an eyebrow. "Distracting you with what?"

He doesn't answer right away, but his hand lingers at the small of your back as he shifts behind you to grab a plate. "You know what." You pause for a second, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, but you turn back to the counter, grabbing something which doesn't go unnoticed by his burning gaze as your top rides up a little when you reach forward.

"You're doing that on purpose." He murmurs behind you. "Doing what?" You ask purposefully to get a rise out of him. He steps closer, chest brushing against your shoulder as his hands cage you on either side of the counter. "You're so lucky that I have amazing self control" he says in a low tone.

You don't move at first, you just let him hover behind you, close enough to feel his breath on the side of your neck. "Amazing self control? Yeah, right." You respond teasingly. He moves closer to you, his body down fully pressed against his as he whispers in your ear. "It's taking everything in me not to bend you over this counter and fuck you so good you forget your own name," he pauses. "Especially when you walk around like this." He says as he feels the fabric of your shorts.

He spins you around and kisses you desperately, his hands exploring your body with need. You pull away from the kiss breathlessly. "The eggs are still on." He lets out a groan and looks into your eyes. "Forget the damn eggs."

He kisses you again, this time more deeply and passionately. Your fingers find his waist and you pull him closer, deepening the kiss. When he pulls back, just enough to look at you he speaks in between breaths. "You drive me insane y/n."

You turn back around, taking the eggs out of the pan with a smile, but as soon as you set down the plate he bends you over the cold marble countertop, the chill seeping through the thin fabric of your pajamas. You gasp as your nipples harden from the sudden change in temperature, and he presses himself against your ass, letting you feel his growing arousal through his pajama pants.

One of his hands slid up to cup your breast undearneath your top, his thumb flicking over the stiff peak. His other hand drifted lower, slipping beneath the hem of your shorts to caress the smooth skin of your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you needed him the most.

"Jay..." You breathe out, arching your back against him. He silenced you with a deep, passionate kiss as his hands traveled to your clothed core, toying with the flimsy fabric of your panties. He rubbed his fingers against your clothed slit, feeling just how soaked you were.

Your hips bucked against his teasing touch as his fingers find your clit through the damp fabric, rubbing in firm circles. You could feel his hard length throbbing insistently against your rear, and you reach back with a trembling hand to palm his erection, squeezing and stroking him through his pants.

Jay groans against your neck, his hips jerking forward to grind harder against your ass. He nipped at your neck, sucking the sensitive skin enough to leave a mark. "Fuck, you're so wet already." He panted, pushing two fingers inside you and curling them while his thumb flicked rapidly over your clit. "I need to be inside you baby..."

You sigh disappointingly at the loss as he withdraws his fingers but your sigh was quickly replaced by a sharp gasp as he removes your flimsy pajama top, his hands sliding down to your hips tauntingly until they reach the waistband of your shorts, which he tugged down with one swift motion along with your underwear.

Jay drank in the sight of your bare body splayed out over the counter, his eyes dark with lust. He pushed your legs apart after removing his pajama pants, rubbing his length through your soaked folds. You whimpered and tried to push back against him, aching to feel him inside you.

"Please Jay..." You begged, your voice trembling with need. He didn't need to be told twice. With a grunt, he thrusts forward, burying himself inside your dripping heat. You both cried out in pleasure, your back arching as you felt the stretch. He stilled for a moment, savoring the feeling of your walls fluttering against him.

Then, he began to move, withdrawing until just the tip remained inside you, before slamming back in, burying himself to the hilt once more. He set a hard, fast pace, the force of his thrusts making you lose your balance, You hold onto the cold marble while attempting to push your hips back to meet every snap of his hips.

He could feel you tightening around his length, reaching around to rub your clit in fast circles as his desire to feel you come undone around his dick grew. With a sharp cry, your back arched almost painfully, his deep thrusts making your vision go blank.

The sensation was almost too much for Jay. With a low moan of profanity he slammed into you one more time before spilling himself inside you. You btoh catch your breaths as you come down from your highs, and after a long moment, Jay lifted his head to press a tender kiss to your back. He nuzzled into your neck, taking your lips in a gentle kiss. "I love you." He whispered against your lips.

Jake ♡༉‧₊˚.

The living room is quiet except for the occasional flip of a page and the steady scratching of pencils on paper. You're lounging on the plush rug, legs folded beneath you, surrounded by open textbooks and scattered notes. Jake sits across from you, equally engrossed in his studies. His brows furrowed as he explains something about formulas or concepts you’re simply nodding along to.

The fabric of your top shifts subtly as you lean forward to reach for a highlighter, and you don't miss the way his breath hitches in between his words for half a second. But he keeps going.

You're wearing a top that's more comfort than coverage, a little loose around the edges but still hugging your body in all the right spots. You didn't bother with anything underneath, it's your home after all, and it's just the two of you. Jake was respectful, he obviously didn't mind, but it was the way you teased him that started riling him up.

You stretch your arms above your head casually, arching just enough to make the fabric slide a little higher, a little looser. His pencil stills.

"You okay?" You ask innocently.

He exhales slowly. "Yeah. Just... trying to concentrate."

You bite your lip, holding back a smirk. "On what?" you press, leaning forward to "accidentally" drop your pencil. As you bend down to pick it up, you make sure to give him a perfect view of your cleavage, the neckline of your top gaping open.

That's when he breaks. In a flash, he closes the small distance between you two, one hand tilting your face up to his.

His hand hand moves down to rest on your thigh, firm but still gentle, grounding you. His voice drops as he leans in, lips brushing past your ear.

"You've been teasing me for the past hour," he says in a low tone. "Don't think I haven't noticed."

You bite your lip, looking up at him with wide eyes as he pulls away to face you. "I don't know what you mean," you breathe as you press your chest against his. "I'm just trying to focus on the material, like you should be."

"You're impossible," he mutters, before his mouth is on yours, hot and demanding. You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss until you're both left breathless.

He breaks away, only to trail his mouth down your throat. You gasp, head falling back to give him better access as he marks your skin.

"Bed," he says against your neck, "now."

Before you can respond, he's standing, scooping you up into his arms. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he carries you towards your bed. You look up at him, chest heaving, hair splayed out across the pillow.

Jake hovers over you, eyes darkened with lust. "On your hands and knees," he commands, voice rough and low.

Your heart races before you slowly roll over. The cool sheets brush against your skin as you push yourself up, looking back at him over your shoulder, almost asking for approval.

He's staring at you, taking in the sight of you like this. Messy hair, top riding up, and a blush spreading across your skin. "Just like that."

He moves behind you, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. You feel his hard length pressing against your backside through his sweatpants. He pushes your upper body down until your cheek is pressed against the pillow, your arms laying loosely by your sides.

"Jake," you whimper into the pillow "please..."

"Shh," he soothes, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your back, "I've got you."

He takes his time, savoring every inch of your exposed skin. His fingers hook into the waistband of your pants and panties, and with a sharp tug, he yanks them down your legs, leaving you bare and exposed beneath him.

You gasp as the cool air hits your heated skin, a shiver running through you. You feel his eyes on you, taking in the sight of you like this, bent over, just for him to see.

You feel the bed dip as he settles behind you. One hand grips your hip, holding you steady, while the other traces teasingly along your inner thigh. His touch reaches its destination, stroking through your slick folds with a touch so gentle it makes you ache.

You let out a choked moan, pushing your hips back against him, craving more. But he's in control, setting a slow, torturous pace that has you trembling and desperate.

"Jake," you whimper, "please... I need..."

"I know," he interrupts, leaning down to press a kiss to your shoulder blade, then another to the nape of your neck. "I know exactly what you need baby."

He shifts behind you, and you feel the brush of fabric against your skin as he shoves his pants and boxers down. Then, with a swift thrust of his hips, he's inside you, filling you in one deep stroke.

A cry tears from your throat at the sudden intrusion, your walls clenching around him, drawing him in deeper. He groans a low, guttural sound that sends vibrations through you.

"Fuck, y/n," he breathes out, starting to move, "you feel so good...so perfect."

He sets a relentless pace, one hand gripping your hip, the other reaching around to circle your clit in time with his thrusts. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your gasps and his grunts.

You're lost in sensation, drowning in the feeling of him moving inside you. Your body responds instinctively to his touch, hips rolling back to meet his every thrust. The coil of tension in your core winds tighter and tighter, your breathing growing ragged as you climb closer to the edge.

"Yes, just like that," he says, his hand resting against your back and pushing you into the mattress as he tries to stabilize himself.

His words, rough and raw with need, are all it takes to push you over. Your walls clamp down around him as your orgasm crashes through you, wave after wave of ecstasy radiating out from your core.

You cry out his name as you shatter in his arms. He follows a moment later, moaning your name as his hips jerk and stutter, filling you with his heat as he rides out the aftershocks.

Finally, he rolls to the side, falling onto the bed and pulling you with him so you're both curled up, a sharp contrast to his earlier movements.

Sunghoon ♡༉‧₊˚.

Sunghoon's hand tightened possessively around your waist as he led you through the crowded party, his eyes flashing with jealousy each time you turned heads in the stunning dress he had gifted you. It started when one guy was flirting with you. Then another offered you a drink with too much eye contact. And while you handled it gracefully and turned them down, you felt his jealously with every passing glance someone else sent your way.

You tug gently at his hand. "You okay?" His jaw flexes, and he leans in, lips brushing your ear. "We need a minute."

Before you can ask where you're going, he's guiding you through the hallway, hand refusing to leave your waist. He finds an empty bathroom, quiet and dim. The door clicks shut behind you. You turn to speak, but he's already brushing his thumb along your jaw, his voice low and steady.

"That dress is going to be the end of me," he says. "You walked into that room like a dream, and all I could think about was how they looked at you. Like you're theirs to look at."

Your breath hitches. The possessiveness in his tone makes your knees feel weak. He kisses you, deep and a little rougher than usual, hands exploring like he can’t bear another second of pretending to be composed. He pushes you until the back of your thighs hit the edge of the sink.

"Turn around," he murmurs, and you do, feeling the hem of your dress slide higher as you brace yourself, forearms resting on the smooth surface.

One hand slid down to grope your breast roughly through the fabric of your dress, kneading the soft flesh, while the other hand moved to your throat.

He bites and sucks at the sensitive skin of your neck, determined to mark you. He wanted everyone to know you belonged to him, you were his girlfriend and he's the only one who will ever have you like this. "Mine," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "Say it, y/n. Tell me you're mine."

His hips grind against yours, the evidence of his arousal impossible to miss. You gasped as his teeth sank into the tender flesh of your neck, a jolt of pained pleasure shooting through you.

"Yours," you whimpered, tilting your head to give him better access. "I'm yours, Sunghoon. Only yours." His hands scrambled at his shirt, tugging at the buttons impatiently. He needed to feel his skin against yours, needed to be as close to you as possible.

He pulled the fabric of your dress up, bunching it at your hips as he pushed you against the cold sink. He kissed you again, hard and deep as his hands roamed over every inch of exposed skin. He squeezed your breasts, fingers trailing over your nipples through the thin fabric of your dress until they were stiff peaks. His hand slid down to the waistband of your panties, slipping inside to cup your soaking heat.

He groaned, feeling the slick heat of your arousal. He rubbed at your clit with the pad of his thumb, circling the sensitive nub, making you writhe beneath him. "All this for me pretty girl?"

He sat back just long enough to shed his clothes, revealing his lean, muscular body. Then he was all over you again, settling between your thighs, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance. "I'm gonna make you scream my name. I want everyone to know you're mine."

His hand slid around to the front of your throat, wrapping loosely but firmly, while the other hand pushed your panties aside. He rubbed his fingers through your slick folds, feeling how wet you were before pushing two digits inside you.

He pumped them in and out roughly as his thumb circled your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in harsh strokes. At the same time, he rolled his hips, grinding his hard cock against your ass, letting you feel how badly he needed you.

He removed his fingers from your dripping core, only to replace them with the thick head of his cock. With one hard thrust, he buried himself inside you, not stopping until he was hilted deep, stretching you around his thick girth.

He pounded into you hard and fast, the obscene sound of skin slapping echoing through the small room. One hand gripped your hip, holding you in place while the other hand tightened around your throat.

"I'm yours, Sunghoon. All yours. Please... harder." You say in between breaths, unable to complete a sentence as his hand was wrapped around your throat.

He listened to your plea, forcing your legs open as he thrusted deeper into you. He could feel your tight walls clenching around him at the change of pace.

His other hand slid around to tug at your dress, pulling it down to have better access to your breast, squeezing the soft mound roughly. He knew he was being a little too harsh, but he couldn't help it. The jealousy consumed him, and you clearly loved it too.

You could only moan and whimper beneath him, the pleasure becoming overwhelming. "Yes, yes, yours," you babbled mindlessly, pushing your hips back to meet his brutal thrusts."Only yours, Sunghoon. Forever yours."

He could feel your climax building. His cock was hitting that special spot inside you with every thrust, sending sparks of ecstasy through your body.

"I'm... I'm going to... " you cried out, unable to finish your sentence as your orgasm crashed over, making you see stars and your body shaking and trembling beneath his.

Sunghoon fucked you through your high, prolonging it, drawing it out until you were nothing but a shuddering mess beneath him. Only then did he let himself go with a low groan of your name. He buried himself as deep as he could go, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he emptied himself inside you.

As your breathing slowly returned to normal, Sunghoon reluctantly pulled out and pressed a tender kiss to your cheek, in stark contrast to the brutal fucking he'd just given you. His hands moved gently over your curves as if trying to soothe the bruises he'd left on your skin. "Are you alright sweetheart?" He asked in a genuine, caring tone.

You nod in return, pressing a soft kiss on his lips. He fixed your dress and your hair with delicate touch, trying to make up for his earlier actions. After a long moment, he took your hand and led you out of the bathroom and back into the loud party. A few people glanced your way, noticing your rumpled appearances and the marks on your neck. Sunghoon just smirked, giving you a possessive squeeze around the waist.

A/N: Returning with a banger (I hope) since i got requests for Sunghoon AND Jay backshots I was like hmmm might as well write it for all of them right... 🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣 hopefully my first time writing smut is good cuz this was A STRUGGLEEEE also if you see any mistakes no you didn't its 3am rn 💔

[imagines-all-day-everyday]

home.

summary: after *yn* loses those closest to her in the battle against thanos, she decides to escape from any reminder of her past life as an Avenger, including Bucky. it was all going to plan, until an unfortunate encounter with a group of outcasts brings her back to him

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS!!!

notes: um this is weird. hi. I'm back. please enjoy <3 p.s thank you bucky for making me come out of retirement

A few years ago if *yn* was on a mission, she would have had an extraction team waiting for her, or a state of the art covert getaway vehicle or - if push really came to shove - a hammer wielding god who could pick her up like she weighed nothing and fly her to safety.

Now here she was in the middle of the desert, crouched down in the back of an offensively red limo being driven by a crazy Russian Santa, with a bunch of people she probably would have apprehended during her time as an Avenger all while being shot at by employees of her old boss.

Yeah, this was a new all time low.

"For the love of god please make this hunk of junk go fucking faster!" She shouted as she took a brief respite from firing at the vehicles behind them.

"How dare you. My beauty is no hunk of junk!" Alexei retorted back, his Russian accent heavy as he swerved to avoid a pothole.

*yn* rolled her eyes before poking her head up over Walker's shield and fruitlessly shooting at the windshields behind them.

"Someone better do something or we're fucked." Walker yelled as he curled himself over *yn* and Ava as the front vehicle opened fire again.

"Yelena hand me my vodka!" Alexei demanded as Valentina's men inched closer.

"You cannot be-"

"Vodka! Now!" Alexei roared. Yelena shut her mouth and grabbed the bottle of vodka from the dash.

*yn* watched as Alexei ripped the cap off and took a large swig. She opened her mouth to protest but left it open in shock as she watched him assemble a molotov cocktail and toss it through the sunroof before she could blink.

The limo fell silent for a brief moment as time slowed and the group watched the flaming bottle flip through the air. It landed cleanly on the windshield, flames licking up the sides of the glass.

Just like the flame, she felt a brief ember of hope flicker inside her. But just as quickly as it had emerged, it was immediately snuffed out as she watched the flames begin to sputter out.

"We need another- shit!" Walker exclaimed as the closest vehicle suddenly exploded. It flipped over and crashed in a fiery wreck to the side of the road.

"How is that possible?" Ava asked as everyone peered over the backseat through the shot out back window.

A rev of a different engine answered back.

*yn* felt her stomach lurch at the sight of an all too familiar motorcycle appearing from behind the envoy.

A glint of a metal hand wrapped around the front of the motorcycle caught her eye. The metal led a trail up to a pair of black sunglasses, framed by dark tresses of hair. A chiseled jaw set in a grimace was next to greet her.

Bucky.

"Oh my god it is Winter Soldier! My Russian brother!"

Cheers chorused through the limo as *yn* turned around and sunk back into the fraying seat.

It seemed that things could indeed get worse.

"Bucky come on, can't you see we're the good guys now."

"Yeah come on Bucky let us out of here."

*yn* tuned out the loud voices of the others as they spoke over the top of one another and struggled against their restraints.

Her whole body was throbbing from the impact of the limo flipping over thanks to Bucky's decision to plant a bomb underneath it.

Speaking of Bucky, she could feel his eyes on her as she blinked slowly, staring up at the rusting beams of the abandoned warehouse.

"Why is *yn* tied up anyway, she was an Avenger after all." *yn* couldn't control the visible flinch that contorted her body at Ava's question.

"Yeah, aren't you two pals? You wouldn't shut up about her in Munich."

John's words were all it took to shatter her resolve. Her eyes involuntarily flitting to where Bucky was standing. Those steel blue eyes found hers instantly. It felt like he was staring right through her and rummaging around through her soul.

She swallowed and cooled her features as she quickly averted her gaze from his. Her heart felt like it was about to burst out of her chest.

"I'm taking you all to D.C to testify against Val."

Protests erupted from the rest of the group.

"What, like now?" Yelena queried incredulously.

"Yes, like now."

"You can't. You don't know what Val has done, Bucky." She fired back. "There's this guy Bob who Val is using for something she’s calling Project Sentry and she's turned him into this unstoppable, unstable machine and it's only a matter of time until-"

"I'm sorry, did you say Bob?" Bucky raised a brow.

"Yes, Bob."

"Bob?"

"Bob!" They all confirmed in unison.

*yn* stole a glance at Bucky again to see the disbelief written across his face.

"Listen to them Bucky." Her voice was hoarse as her vocal chords finally stretched out.

His attention was fixed on her immediately and for some reason, when those eyes locked with hers, an unexplainable rush of rage coursed through her.

"Sorry, or is it Congressman Barnes now?" Her tone could not be described as anything but a sneer. Even she was surprised at the vitriol laced through it.

She didn't have a reason to be angry at him, not really. She supposed that she was just angry at the world. At herself.

His face hardened the second the words left her lips. Not too dissimilar to the way his face used to glaze over when he was fighting his Winter Soldier urges, or when a particular memory would come back to him and he tried not to show that he was effected by it. She could always tell when it was happening. And it happened alot.

"I need to talk to you." His tone was firm and authoritative as he marched over to her.

The rest of the group had seemed to somehow make the correct judgment that this was not the time to make a stupid remark. They all watched in silence as he cut through the rope wrapped around her abdomen.

"Alone."

She tucked her chin as she brought her arms in front of her, flexing her stiff wrists and fingers now that they were finally free of the binds. She glanced up at him to see him towering above her. He was studying her, like he was almost expecting her to tackle him.

She knew better than to engage in a fight with him right now, especially in her current condition.

"Fine."

She pushed herself off the floor and didn't spare the rest of the group a glance as she followed him towards another room.

A storage room, she realised as she stepped through the door. Bucky shut the door behind them, encasing the room in silence. It was surprisingly soundproof.

The rest of the group watched them mutely as they disappeared into the room.

"So did they date or what?" John remarked the second the door shut behind them.

"Yes there is much tension there." Alexei chimed in.

Yelena stared at the door as conversations she'd had with Nat climbed back into the forefront of her mind. She had heard about the stolen glances, the pining and the self sacrificing they'd each try and do every time the other was hurt on a mission.

"God those two, they make you want to bash their heads together. But they're kind of cute. You'll see what I mean if you meet them." Nat chuckled as she took a sip of her beer.

"I don't understand." Yelena's brow furrowed. "Why don't they just tell each other how they feel?"

Nat laughed at her sister and shook her head. "If only it were that simple. Not everyone is as straightforward as you, y'know. People are... complicated." Nat sighed as she gazed out the window.

"But *yn* and Bucky-" She cut herself off and shook her head. "I don't know. I'm a cynic, but... it'll happen. It might just take something big for them to see it."

Yelena pressed her mouth together firmly at the memory of her older sister.

"Worse." Yelena finally answered the group.

What was probably only a few moments of silence, stretched out for what felt like an eternity once the door closed behind them. *yn* turned her back to him to look out the grimy window at the sprawling desert that encased them.

"You look like shit."

*yn* snorted at his remark. She turned around to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. His gaze was still steely, his expression unreadable as he studied her.

"Well being in a vehicle when it gets blown up certainly doesn't help appearances."

Their brief interaction had given her a little bit more confidence. Like her body was starting to remember how comfortable she used to feel around him. She was most definitely rusty at this. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a proper conversation with someone since this whole saga started.

Bucky watched her as she took a step towards him.

All it took was for their eyes to lock and he was back at the Avengers Compound, watching her chat animately with Steve on the other side of the living room. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes twinkling as she threw her head back in laughter. He didn't forget the way Natasha nudged him and gave him a knowing look either.

She did look worse for wear, that was true. She was gaunter in her face, her eyes rimmed with dark circles. But it was her eyes that had changed the most. They looked flat, defeated, almost lifeless. But despite all that, she was still just as beautiful as she had been when he last saw her four years ago. It still only took one look from her for his heart to start beating just that little bit faster.

"I didn't know you were in the car."

*yn* was caught off guard by his soft admission.

"I know."

He frowned as he moved towards her. Like he’d just snapped out of daze and remembered where they were. "What the fuck are you doing out here?"

She averted her gaze at his question, her arms crossing back over her chest as if to form a barrier around herself.

"Don't tell me you were working for Val."

Just as Bucky got close enough that he could reach out and touch her if he wanted, she took a step back and angled her body towards the window once more.

"Quite the fall from grace, huh?" She remarked dryly.

"*yn*." This time there was a hint of desperation in his tone.

She turned her head slightly. The sun shining through the window behind her cast an almost ethereal glow around her side profile.

"Where the hell have you been?"

*yn* had no idea how to answer that question. What was she supposed to say? That she'd spent the last four years in a downward spiral, wandering around aimlessly in an attempt to avoid the reality that half of her friends were either dead or had up and left after Thanos. And that when that stopped working, she finally succumbed to Valentina's offer to work for her in a last desperate effort to drive the last few years of her life out of her memory by shooting people and blowing shit up (which she had failed at, miserably).

Because that's exactly what she'd done.

She'd been a super soldier for her own country, raised in a lab and injected with some replica of Erskine's serum. Until she went rogue and Nick Fury recruited her for some secret project he'd dubbed 'The Avengers.'

Earth's mightiest heroes apparently, although they were more like Earth’s mightiest disasters. All of them were damaged in some shape or form, but they'd somehow managed to become a family. A very dysfunctional one, but still a family. The only family she’d ever known. Steve and Nat in particular had taken her under their wing, she'd been the youngest in the team. And that was how she'd met Bucky.

She'd been through Steve's side through all of it, realising Bucky was alive, the battle at the Triskelion, the civil war that his existence started, helping him heal his mind.

She'd been in love with Bucky for as long as she could remember. And there was a small part of her that thought he might just feel the same way.

And then she got blipped.

When she came back, her best friend Natasha was dead and she was thrown back into chaos with no time to grieve or process the realisation that she'd missed out on five years of life. And then Tony died. And then Steve left them, without even saying goodbye.

The family she'd known and loved crumbled right before her very eyes. Everyone else took off, dealing with their own traumas in one way or another, and she was left to try and pick up her own pieces.

And she couldn't.

Someone who was supposed to be an Avenger, who helped save the entire universe, couldn't get her shit together.

She had wanted to go to Bucky. Had thought that maybe in the dusk of all of the chaos, they could build something. Help heal each other.

Sam had told her that he'd been ignoring his messages. She'd elected not to tell Sam that she in fact, had been ignoring Bucky's.

So a few months after Tony's funeral, she'd plucked up the courage to go see him at his apartment. That was when she happened to glance through the window of a nearby restaurant to see him with a woman she did not recognise seated a table and laughing.

A date, there was no doubt about it.

She had felt like such an idiot for thinking that there might have been possibly something between them. That she'd read into all the times she'd caught him staring at her, or the way he would someone manage to appear beside her anytime she was in danger on a mission.

She went home, packed up what she could in a backpack, and didn't look back.

"*yn*." Bucky's gruff voice sliced through her haze of thoughts.

"We should get going. Bob's in trouble." She muttered, moving to step past him towards the door.

A breath caught in her throat as the cool metal of his left hand gently wrapped around her bicep, keeping her in place.

"*yn*." This time his voice was barely more than a whisper. "Please."

She properly looked at him for the first time. Really looked at him. He was more tan since she'd last seen him. It was the same face she had fallen in love with all those years ago, with just a few extra lines that she'd not had a chance to memorise yet.

She pressed her lips into a line, feeling her chin wobble as she tried to keep her composure.

"What do you want me to say?" Her voice was hoarse as she tried to blink back the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

"You could have stayed. Could have carried on the Avenger's work."

She scoffed at that and pulled herself out of his grasp and put some distance between them once more.

"And done what exactly?" Her words were bitter as she glared at him. "Got into politics like you?"

"You think this has been easy for me?" His voice inched higher as he spoke. "That I don’t think about what I’ve done and how many lives I’ve taken every single moment of my life, even when I’m asleep?” He marched towards her once more so the pair were nearly chest to chest.

"Because I do.”

His words splashed water over the rage that was building up inside her.

"It wasn't you who did those things." Her tone softened as she spoke.

"Maybe. But it's my face who people remember."

Silence enveloped the pair as they studied eachother. Their minds racing through all of the trauma they've endured on their own and together.

"I'm weak. *yn* admitted after a few moments. It felt almost freeing to say those words out loud. Like she had taken the padlock off a chest that hoarded all of her deepest and darkest thoughts.

"That's why I ran. I couldn't handle it. The memorials, the biographies, the questions about who was going to replace them I-" She shook her head as the first few months after the battle against Thanos flashed before her eyes like a movie reel.

"Fuck I still can't handle it. I can barely even look at Yelena because-" Her eyes welled. Yelena and Nat didn't physically resemble eachother that much, but every so often Yelena would say something or look at her a certain way, and all she could think about was her best friend who never came home.

"Hey." Bucky's voice was gentle. A gloved finger crooked under her jaw and tilted her face up to lock eyes wit his. "You're not weak. You're human."

"They're all gone Buck." She quivered, tears running freely down her dusty cheeks. "And Steve left us without even saying goodbye." Metal fingers brushed her cheeks gently.

"And then you left me." Bucky was so quiet she almost thought she'd imagined it.

She felt her bottom lip tremble as she watched tears begin to pool in the corners of his eyes. Guilt wreaked havoc on her heart. She'd walked away from a man who had only known loneliness and pain for longer than she'd been alive.

"I'm sorry." She took a breath. "I guess I just thought no one would miss me all that much."

Her raw admission made Bucky blanch. He looked down at her in disbelief. How could anyone so radiant ever think something like that about themselves.

"I looked for you." A tear slid down his cheek as his voice cracked.

"For months. I looked for you."

There was a pause.

"Why?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"You know why."

Her heart hammered in her chest at the way he looked at her. This felt like a fever dream. After years of anguish and pain, she couldn't possibly be about to have something good happen to her.

"No. I don't."

Bucky swallowed nervously as he brought a hand over to cradle her jaw.

"Are you really going to make me say it doll?" A breathless laugh passed his lips. For the first time in years, she felt herself lighten at the sound of his laugh. Even more at the sound of that nickname he’d always reserved just for her.

"Yes."

Bucky paused as he ran a thumb along her jawline, his eyes studied every single inch of her face.

"Because it's always been you." His admission made her weak in the knees. His gaze was unbreakable as he stared down at her.

Another dry chuckle emitted from the back of his throat, "and I'm too old to pine after you in the corner for another six years this time around."

"Bucky." She breathed out.

She was scared. So fucking scared. Because this was real. This meant that she had to open herself up to the possibility of even more pain.

But it was also the most alive she'd felt in years.

"If you don't feel the same way I-"

She leant up on her toes and pressed her lips against his. She felt like her insides were melting as he brought his other hand up to cradle the other side of her face. All those of years of anguish and heartache faded into the background as their lips moved against eachother. She felt warm and safe and protected.

He was her home.

The two pulled away after a few moments, their chests slightly more ragged as they studied each other.

"It's always been you." She whispered against his lips.

Bucky couldn't control the grin that spread across his face as he brushed a thumb along her lower lip.

"If Nat was here, she would be freaking out right now."

"So would Steve." Bucky answered. God knows he had never heard the end of it when he was still here.

"Although, he'd probably be disappointed in me that I didn't take you dancing first." The two of them giggled, their salty tears mixing together as they pressed their foreheads together.

"Guess you'll have to take me dancing after we sort this new mess out." *yn* murmured to him as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Speaking of...do you trust them?" Bucky's eyes looked over her shoulder, landing on the closed door that separated them from the others. She turned in his arms to follow his gaze.

"Well, they're all unpredictable, loud, have dodgy pasts and are incredibly damaged." She remarked. "But..." She trailed off as she turned to look up at him.

"So are we." He finished off her sentence.

She nodded. "So yeah, I guess I do. And Bob's a good person. He's unstable but he's.... he needs help."

The corner of Bucky's mouth twitched up as he studied her.

"You're already attached to them, aren't you?"

"A little bit." She admitted.

God she couldn't believe that in such a short span that bunch had managed to get under her skin. But they had.

She really needed to get some friends.

"Which scares me. I can’t lose more people I care about again."

Bucky eyes softened at her confession.

"I'm with you on this. I'm with you on life. And I'm not going anywhere."

She smiled softly and buried her face into his neck, inhaling that familiar scent of pine and smoke. The pair stood wrapped in eachother's arms, enjoying the feeling of being together before they had to go back out there and face reality.

The pain would always be there, they were never going to forget the friends they'd lost. But this was their chance at a fresh start. To help heal each other and to choose themselves this time.

To build a home.

I apologise if I’m rusty, but I’m happy with how this turned out :) if you had told me a year ago I’d be writing again, I wouldn’t have believed you - but here we are!!! This has really made me realise how much I missed you guys. As always always always, feedback is always appreciated because I thrive off praise. Please give it back here x

[itendtothinkalot]

certified hater

summary: jake sim’s got a new roommate. and he hates it. he hates you. until one random wednesday afternoon, you look at him with those eyes, and suddenly he’s noticing things he definitely shouldn’t. now jake’s stuck trying to ignore the fact that his least favorite person is somehow making his heart beat faster. he didn’t sign up for this. but hey, neither did you.

genre: fluff | enemies to lovers

characters: jake x f!reader

words: 15.3k

warnings: curse words, kissing i guess

a/n: based on in this economy's jake! our fav hater is back!

“Well,” he sighed dramatically, hand over his heart. “There she goes. The only decent roommate I’ve ever had. The only one who cleaned the hair out of the drain without me having to beg. Who made late-night ramen taste like a Michelin-star meal. Who laughed at my jokes, told me when my shirt was inside out, and didn’t steal my shampoo.”

His best friend rolled her eyes, already halfway up the porch steps with her bag. “Jake, we’re literally 30 minutes away. You’re going to see me every other day.”

Jake turned to Heeseung with a sunny smile. “Well…take good care of her, yeah?”

“I do take care of her,” Heeseung said, voice flat, eyes sharp.

She snorted. “I’m not being shipped off to war, Jake.”

Jungwon—boba in hand, sunglasses on, posture far too relaxed for someone witnessing emotional carnage—finally spoke.

“Alright, drama club,” he called. “Wrap it up. People are starting to stare. Mostly me. And I’m starting to lose interest.”

Jake turned to him with a deep sigh. “What’s even the point of going home? The apartment is going to feel empty.”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow. “You do realize I still live there, right?”

Jake waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, but you don’t count. You don’t talk to me. You just throw protein bars at my head and call it a meal.”

“And yet somehow, you’ve survived,” Jungwon deadpanned, like Jake was some tragic survivor of mild inconvenience. “Anyway. You got to live with your best friend. Now I get to live with mine.”

Jake froze mid-chew, narrowing his eyes. “…Wait. Wasn’t that hypothetical?”

Jungwon didn’t even look up from his phone. “No? I meant what I said. She’s moving in today.”

“She? You mean to tell me… I’m coming home to a stranger? A female stranger?”

“She’s not a stranger to me,” Jungwon said with an infuriating shrug. “Anyway. She’s chill. You’ll love her. I think.”

Jake pointed accusingly at Jungwon. “I swear if she does something annoying, I’ll—”

“You’ll do what?” Jungwon said, already walking away. “Write her a strongly worded Post-It? Sue her?”

“Ugh. First, I lose my best friend to my annoying boss now…now this? I’m going home!” he yelled, heading for his Uber. “But before I do…Heeseung,” Jake called out.

Heeseung took a slow sip of his coffee. “That’s Mr. Lee to you.”

“Yeah, I’m not calling you that when we’re off the clock and you look like a walking beige napkin.”

“This is Gucci,” Heeseung said flatly, glancing down at his designer shirt—then at Jake’s outfit. “And whatever you’re wearing is…”

Jake sneered. “Is a gift. From your girlfriend.”

“Oh. Then I love them,” Heeseung said sweetly, turning to kiss her on the lips without breaking eye contact.

Jake recoiled. “Tell your boyfriend to back off.”

“Tell your ex-roommate to get a grip.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “I hope your new place has ants.”

And then... standing there on Heeseung’s stupidly spotless porch, watching them disappear into their stupid new house (because of course Heeseung could just casually buy a house like he was adding a new hoodie to cart), Jake squinted thoughtfully at the disgustingly perfect front yard.

Jake’s eye twitched. God, he hated rich people. To be specific, he hated Heeseung. Stealing his roommate and his best friend, just like that. Selfish bastard.

But then — just by the edge of the driveway — movement.

Tiny. Crawling. Full of untapped petty potential. Jake’s lips slowly curled into a grin.

“Well, well, well,” he murmured to absolutely no one, crouching down like a villain in sweatpants.

“Nature provides.”

Cut to twenty minutes later:

Jake crouched like a criminal in Heeseung’s yard with a plastic cup. Scooping ants off the sidewalk like he was foraging for revenge. Whispering to himself like a lunatic.

“This is what betrayal gets you, Heeseung. You bitch.”

By the time he had an entire squad of confused ants swirling around in the cup like unwilling accomplices, Jake stood up, dusted his hands off, and jogged across the lawn.

He rang the doorbell.

Once.

Twice.

Three times — annoying, spaced out, just to be a menace.

Finally — the door yanked open.

Heeseung stood there, deadpan, already exhausted. In socks. Mug of tea in hand. 

“What.”

Jake grinned, wide, sweet, feral. “Miss me?”

Heeseung blinked at him like he regretted every life choice that led to knowing Jake Sim.

“Didn’t you leave with Jungwon?”

“I was going to but…”

And then — without missing a beat — Jake yeeted the entire cup of ants straight through the doorway.

Heeseung’s eyes tracked it mid-air.

The cup landed with a hollow little plunk on the entryway floor — ants scattering like their Uber just arrived.

Heeseung stared.

“What—” Heeseung’s eye twitched. “Did you just—”

“Nature says hi.” Jake whispered.

And then?

Jake ran. Full sprint.

Cackling like an absolute child as Heeseung’s voice exploded behind him —

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

Jake was already halfway down the street, gleefully texting Jungwon like a war general reporting a win.

jake: bro i did smth

jungwon: what did you do

jake: nothing much. Had fun w nature tho…lol

jungwon: wait a min…did u throw ants in their fucking house

jake: yea lol i can still hear heeseung yelling

jungwon: take a vid?

jake: i’ll snap u LOOOL

—-

It wasn’t that Jake hated new people. Well—okay. Maybe he did. A little. Just a bit.

Sure, he looked friendly — floppy hair, easy grin, that dangerously smooth voice that could charm strangers and confuse baristas into giving him extra whipped cream without asking. But deep down?

Jake Sim was a man powered entirely by routine, caffeine, and emotional damage.

At work? Immaculate. Precise. Heeseung’s best guy on every project. The guy you could trust to fix your mess without asking questions.

At home? At home, Jake Sim was powered by rage, Doritos, and spite-fuelled midnight snacking.

And nothing — nothing — disrupted that fragile ecosystem quite like a stranger invading his living space.

Jake sighed and glanced at Jungwon, who sat curled on the couch, no emotion on his face.

“You’re sure she’ll like me?” Jake asked, leaning back like he genuinely needed reassurance.

Jungwon didn’t even glance up from his phone. “Maybe she will. Maybe she won’t. I’m betting my money on the latter.”

Jake grinned, ego inflating instantly. “But I’m charming. I’m handsome. I ooze sex appeal.”

Jungwon finally looked up. Blinked. Paused.

“You’re… okay.”

Jake stared. “Okay?”

Jungwon shrugged, unbothered. “You’re like store-brand charming.”

Jake squinted. “The hell does that even mean?”

“Looks the same. Works okay. Nobody’s writing home about it.” Jungwon deadpanned. “But yeah, sure. Reliable in a pinch.”

Jake clutched his chest like he’d just been stabbed with a plastic spoon. “I am premium charming.”

Jungwon sipped his drink. “You’re aisle seven, bottom shelf, on sale for $2.99.”

Jake looked genuinely offended. “Wow.”

“Look,” he said flatly, “she’s moving in tomorrow whether you like it or not. So dust yourself off… and for the love of God, take down that thing you call art.”

He pointed lazily at The Painting. The painting that Jake did during his “I’m unemployed and spiraling” era. His “maybe I’m just like Van Gogh” phase. A little stressed, a little depressed, and unfortunately — very creative.

Except he wasn’t.

Because if Jungwon was being brutally honest (and he always was), Jake’s 36 by 36 inch masterpiece was…

A giant, aggressively well-shaded dick.

Like, museum-level shading. Art school tragedy. Anatomically correct in ways that made Jungwon genuinely concerned for Jake’s mental health.

“It’s abstract,” Jake had insisted once, dead serious.

“It’s a dick,” Jungwon had replied, dead inside.

“To you,” Jake had said, like he was Picasso defending himself in court. “To me it represents manhood. The transition from child to man.”

Jungwon stared at him. Stared at the cursed, hauntingly well-shaded disaster on the wall. Stared back at him.

"Just take it down by tonight, you moron." he muttered, already walking back to his room. "Because I am not explaining to a grown ass woman why there’s a three-foot dick staring her dead in the eyes while she’s just trying to eat her cereal."

—-

You balanced a box against your hip, car keys jingling in one hand, your phone wedged between your shoulder and ear as you stepped into the apartment for the very first time.

“You couldn’t skip one class?” you muttered into the phone, nudging the door closed behind you with your foot. “Just one? I am literally dragging my entire life through this hallway alone right now.”

Jungwon’s voice crackled on the other end. “And I am literally about to ace my quiz on post-colonial literature. We all have battles we can’t pick.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out. “I hope your professor forgets your name and ends up giving you the biggest F in history.”

“Trait—”

Jungwon cut you off with a yawn. “Anyway, key’s under the mat. Room in the back is yours. Make yourself at home. Don’t fight Jake. Love you.”

You paused mid-step. “Who?”

“Bye!” he said, then hung up like a man with no conscience.

You stared at your phone. “What do you mean ‘don’t fight Jake’?! Who’s Jake?!”

No answer. Just the echo of betrayal.

You let out a long sigh and took in your surroundings. The apartment was… livable. Clean-ish. A little too beige. Smelled like something between cologne and aggressively microwaved noodles. Classic boy territory.

Still balancing your box, you headed toward the back, where you assumed your room would be. The hallway split into two doors. One was cracked open slightly, revealing a glimpse of a desk.

You knocked once, half-hearted and awkward, and pushed the door open.

And then everything happened at once.

Music. Blasting.

Eyes. Wide.

Box. Dropped.

You screamed.

Because standing dead center in the room was a guy in nothing but boxers, aggressively dancing to Bruno Mars like he was auditioning for a boyband. 

He jumped like he'd been tasered, yanked an earbud out, and yelped, “WHAT THE HELL?! WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!”

“WHY ARE YOU NAKED?!” you echoed back, slapping a hand over your eyes. 

“I’M NOT NAKED!”

“YOU’RE LIKE 80% NAKED!”

He grabbed a throw pillow off his bed and held it over himself like it could protect either of you from this moment. “What are you even doing in my room?!”

“Jungwon said the room in the back is mine!”

“This is my room!”

“Then label your damn doors next time!”

“You’re supposed to knock!”

“I did knock!”

“Then you wait for a response, smartass!”

“Are you serious right now?! How was I supposed to know you’d be air-humping the universe like a deranged psycho?!”

“That was choreography!”

You both stared at each other, panting like you’d just come out of battle. You took a long breath, picked up your box again, and hissed, “You must be Jake.”

His eyes narrowed. “And you must be the replacement.”

“Well,” he said, tossing the pillow onto the bed and grabbing a pair of sweats, “we’re off to a great start.”

If first impressions were anything to go by, this was going to be war.

And unfortunately, the battlefield was your new living room.

—-

You wiped your palms on your jeans, jaw still tight as you grabbed another box from the small pile by the front door. This one was heavier—textbooks, probably. Just as you turned around to haul it outside, you slammed straight into a very firm, very warm, very fully clothed chest.

You looked up. Jake.

Now dressed in a hoodie and joggers, hair slightly damp like he’d just showered the shame off. Unfortunately, he still looked obnoxiously good. Annoyingly taller than you. And, somehow, smug—which should be illegal after whatever happened earlier.

He blinked down at you. “Need help?”

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but he held up a hand.

“Unless…” He squinted dramatically. “You’re about to peep on me again, then I—”

“Peep at you?!” you hissed. “I walked into what I thought was my room and got assaulted by a hip thrust.”

He shrugged. “I was in the moment.”

“Are you always this delusional?”

Jake leaned against the doorframe like this wasn’t already a disaster. “You really can’t admit it, huh?”

“Admit what?”

“That you enjoyed the view.”

Your jaw dropped. “Oh my God.”

“Don’t worry,” he added, all faux-gentle. “Not everyone can handle the Full Jake Sim Experience.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You know, Jungwon warned me about you.”

Jake’s grin kicked up, cocky. “Let me guess — ‘Jake’s a little dramatic, but give it time and you’ll fall for the charm.’”

“Actually,” you said dryly, “it was ‘don’t engage, it only encourages him.’”

“That’s slander,” he declared.

“That’s advice,” you corrected. “Good advice.”

—

Jungwon slid his bag off his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m home!” he called out, voice echoing through the apartment as he kicked the door shut behind him.

Finally. After years of joking about it, he was officially living with his best friend.

Jungwon knew the odds were low that you and Jake would hit it off immediately.

You were... you. Stubborn. Easily irritated. Quietly unhinged. But also — annoyingly kind. Thoughtful in that backhanded, "made you ramen but insulted you while doing it" kind of way.

You’d survive Jake.

Hell, maybe Jake needed to survive you.

He strolled down the hallway, humming as he knocked lightly on your door. “Yo. You alive in there?”

No answer.

He tried again. Still nothing. With a shrug, he walked over to Jake’s door and gave it a push. Open. Empty.

“Jake?”

Then, from the depths of the apartment, came shouting.

Jungwon blinked. Tilted his head. The bathroom. He padded toward the noise—and regretted it immediately.

“I was here first!” you snapped.

“No, I was here first!” Jake shot back, voice bouncing off the tiled walls.

“I had my towel in here! That’s bathroom code!” You yelled.

“There is no such thing as bathroom code, you freak!”

“Let me in! I’m going out and I have to pee!”

“Looking like that?” You sneered at Jake whose smile faded.

A long pause.

“…What’s that supposed to mean?”

You offered a polite smile. “Oh, nothing. I just thought you cared about how you dressed. But hey—good for you. You’re braver than most of the people I know!”

Jungwon closed his eyes. Rested his head against the wall. Inhaled slowly.

This was his life now.

—-

Jake sat slouched at the edge of the table, a half-spilled bowl of kimchi stew in front of him, aggressively chomping like it had personally wronged him.

Across from him, Heeseung and his girlfriend were mid–honeymoon phase nonsense—feeding each other dumplings, whispering like the rest of the room didn’t exist, giggling over god knows what as if Jake wasn’t having a full-blown emotional breakdown one seat over.

“She color-codes the pantry,” Jake snapped, waving his chopsticks like a weapon. “I left one bag of chips—one!—and she reorganized the entire cabinet. Who’s even looking in there, huh? The Pantry Police?”

“Oh—oh, and get this,” Jake ranted, mouth still half-full of kimchi. “She sends me photos of the sink. With captions. ‘This is your plate, Jake. I know it’s yours because it has your little cartoon fork on it. Like—what?! How does she even know I have cartoon forks?! Who memorizes someone’s cutlery?’”

He flailed a hand like he was being victimized.

His best friend didn’t even blink. “The real question is why you’re still using forks with tiny bears on them.”

“That’s not the point!”

“You ever thought of, I don’t know…” Heeseung finally looked up, lips shiny from dumpling sauce. “Being a better roommate instead of…an ass?”

“I’m not being an ass!” Jake protested — loud enough to startle the next table and wild enough to knock over the soy sauce dish. He scrambled to fix it with a sad napkin, still grumbling under his breath like he was the victim here.

“She’s just—she’s too clean, okay? Like robot clean. Psycho neat. I leave one hoodie on the couch and next thing I know, it’s folded, labelled, and put away neatly.” 

“It just sounds like you’re being an ass to her,” she said.

“Yeah, let’s unpack that.”

Jake squinted. “Unpack what?”

“You know.” Heeseung leaned back, annoyingly relaxed. “Why are you all…angsty and weird about her?”

“Because!” Jake snapped. Jake glared. At them. At the table. At the ceiling.

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “Because?”

Then he exploded, “…Because she freaking pisses me off, that’s why!”

The table went silent.

“That’s crazy. Sounds a lot like flirting to me.”

—-

You threw yourself onto the couch with the kind of rage that could only come from enduring Jake Sim for more than ten minutes. Jungwon sat across from you, calmly chewing on dried squid like he wasn’t witnessing a breakdown.

“He leaves his stupid fucking hoodie on the couch,” you exploded, hands flailing like you were directing traffic in hell. “Like we live in a prison bunk. Like there’s no other surface in the entire apartment for his crusty-ass clothes except the exact spot I want to sit.”

Jungwon nodded slowly. Unbothered. A man built for surviving your storms.

You inhaled sharply. But oh — you were not done.

“And don’t even get me started on the pantry.” You threw a hand toward the kitchen like it personally betrayed you.

“He messed up my color-coded snack shelf. My system, Jungwon.” He raised a brow. Brave. Curious. Foolish.

“What system?”

You blinked. Offended. “My Oreos go beside the dark chocolate. That’s balance. That’s harmony. That’s civilisation. That’s how society should be.”

“But noooo—” you went on, fully deranged now, “Jake Sim, chaotic neutral in sweatpants, decides to put my Oreos between the shrimp chips and the ramen cups like he’s staging a fucking rebellion.”

“So what I’m hearing is…” he drawled, “you think about Jake... a lot.”

“Shut the hell up.”

He ignored you completely. “God, you two act like toddlers.”

“It’s not my fault,” you whined. “He’s making living here hard.”

Like breathing was fine until Jake Sim walked into the room with his stupid smug face and stupid loud voice and stupid boy smell that was weirdly clean for someone who acted like a feral animal.

“You’re not exactly a ray of sunshine to him either,” he pointed out.

“That’s only because…” you muttered.

“Because?”

“Because he’s loud and smug and he–he leaves wet towels on the bathroom floor and–”

“Because?”

“BECAUSE HE FREAKING PISSES ME OFF, THAT’S WHY!”

The room went quiet. Jungwon stared at you. You stared at Jungwon.

And then he went back to chewing his squid, completely unfazed. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “you’re definitely in love with him.”

—-

It was nearly midnight, and the apartment was quiet except for the occasional sharp screech from the horror movie playing on the TV. The lights were off, the only glow coming from the screen casting quick shadows across the room. You were curled up on the couch, blanket over your shoulders, a bowl of popcorn balanced in your lap, gripping a pillow more out of nerves than comfort — heart jumping at every sudden sound.

Jungwon was long gone—fast asleep behind his locked door like a man who knew better.

The apartment was dark. Too dark. The only light came from the TV, flickering ominously across your face as the horror movie reached its cursed little climax.

On screen, the main character was creeping down some nightmare hallway — flickering lights, suspicious footsteps, a soundtrack practically begging something to kill them. You squinted, peeking nervously between your fingers.

“Don’t open the door,” you whispered to the screen, your voice tight. “Don’t open the door, you idiot—”

On screen, the character opened the door.

You sucked in a breath, ready for the inevitable jumpscare.

And then—

“Boo.”

You didn’t even think.

You screamed at the top of your lungs. The bowl of popcorn went airborne. Your fist met something very real, very solid, and very human.

Crack.

“OW—WHAT THE FU—”

You turned mid-panic to find Jake Sim, doubled over and holding his nose, blinking like he’d just been hit by a truck.

Your jaw dropped. “OH MY GOD—JAKE?!”

He groaned loudly. “Did you just punch me?!”

“YOU SNUCK UP ON ME!”

“DO I LOOK LIKE THE FUCKING DEMON?!”

Jake pulled his hand back and stared at the red streak now smeared across his palm.

“Is that—” you gasped, eyes wide, “OH MY GOD, ARE YOU BLEEDING?”

“Yes!” Jake hissed, clutching his nose. “My face is leaking! My nose is leaking because you decided to square up with me like this was Mortal Kombat!”

You scrambled to grab tissues, knocking over a cushion and somehow stepping on your own foot in the process. “I didn’t mean to! It was a reflex! Who sneaks up on someone during a horror movie? You’re lucky I didn’t stab you.”

Jake flopped onto the couch like a man deeply wronged. “You need a warning label.”

“You need common sense.”

“You need to stop throwing hands like you’re in an underground fight club.”

You shoved the wad of tissues at him, dropping onto the couch beside him with a dramatic sigh. “Drama queen.”

“Violent rat.”

The two of you sat there, breathing hard. Popcorn crunched quietly under your sock. The horror movie still played in the background — completely forgotten.

Ten minutes later, you were sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, chewing your lip. Jake sat slouched on the couch, ice pack pressed to his face, still sulking like you’d ruined his modelling career.

“Are you okay?” you asked, cautiously.

Jake didn’t look at you. “Physically or emotionally?”

You squinted. “...Both?”

“Physically, my nose is fighting for its life. Emotionally? I’ve seen things.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh my god, you’re so dramatic.”

He gave you a look over the ice pack. “I googled it. I’m allowed to be dramatic.”

You snorted. “Let me see.”

“What, so you can break it again?”

Still, when you leaned in, Jake let you push his hand away.

Carefully, you touched the bridge of his nose, brows furrowed in focus. Up close like this, you were quiet for once — way too close, way too serious, and way too pretty for his peace of mind.

“It’s not broken,” you muttered, inspecting him closely. “Tragically.”

Jake huffed a laugh under his breath. “Bet you’re disappointed.”

“A little,” you admitted.

Your hand brushed his cheek as you pulled away and Jake’s brain short-circuited for a solid second.

“Okay, you’re fine. Still got your stupid face. The world can rest easy.”

He grinned lazily. “Worried about me?”

You scoffed. “I’m worried you’ll bleed all over the couch.”

You got up to leave.

“Where are you going?”

“To make you tea.”

Jake blinked. That shut him up fast.

“Chamomile?” he asked hopefully.

You groaned from the kitchen. “Isn’t that the only tea you drink?”

Silence.

Then Jake — deadpan, smug — called out, “Weird how you know that.”

You rolled your eyes. Hard. “Weird how you only drink the saddest tea on earth like an old timey British person.”

Jake snorted. “Says the girl who labels her instant noodles like they’re priceless artifacts.”

“At least I don’t treat chamomile like a personality trait.”

“At least I have a personality,” Jake shot back. “Yours starts and ends with passive-aggressive Post-Its.”

You yanked open the cupboard. “Maybe if you read them, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe if you punched fewer people we wouldn’t be here.”

There was a beat.

You grabbed a mug, muttering under your breath, “Should’ve punched harder.”

Jake, from the couch, still icing his nose, let out a scoff of disbelief.

“And yet,” he said flatly, “here you are. Making tea for me.”

You slammed the kettle down louder than necessary. “Because if I don’t, you’ll bleed out and haunt me out of spite.”

Jake leaned back, smug despite the tissue stuffed up his nose.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he called out. “If I do die and end up haunting you, I’m definitely hiding your stupid label maker first.”

—-

The next morning, sunlight trickled through the blinds, soft and golden. The apartment was quiet. Jungwon had already disappeared for his 8 a.m. class like the punctual little overachiever he was.

Which left you here.

In the kitchen.

Making the most humiliating thing of your life:

“I’m sorry I punched your nose” scrambled eggs.

This wasn’t because you liked Jake Sim. God, no. This wasn’t softness. This wasn’t kindness.

This was guilt.

Stupid, irritating, nose-bleeding guilt.

Because yeah — maybe he shouldn’t have snuck up on you like the human embodiment of a jumpscare. But also... maybe you shouldn’t have decked him like you were trying out for MMA.

Maybe.

Unfortunately, despite being fully committed to hating Jake Sim with your entire soul... you also had a functioning moral compass.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Jake padded out of his room half-asleep, hoodie sliding off one shoulder, hair a disaster, still mentally in dreamland — following the smell of butter like a man possessed.

But then he saw you.

And whatever was left of his morning brain just... stopped.

There you were. Standing by the stove — hair pulled back messily like you hadn’t even tried, barefoot, apron cinched around your waist, that stupid little dress swaying just slightly as you moved.

It was... weird.

Soft, almost. Domestic.

Like he’d walked into someone else’s life.

You were humming to yourself, lazily stirring scrambled eggs — completely unaware that Jake had frozen in the doorway like an idiot.

And he didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t even breathe.

Because it hit him — quietly, without warning — that you were pretty.

Not just yeah, okay, she’s kinda cute when she’s not yelling at me pretty.

But actually pretty.

So pretty it knocked the rest of his words clean out of his head.

Which explained why he didn’t notice the sharp corner of the kitchen counter directly in front of him.

WHAM.

His toe slammed into the sharp corner of the kitchen counter.

“Fuck,” he whispered, staggering back like he’d been shot.

You jumped, whipping around. “Oh, you’re awake.”

Jake blinked down at you from the other side of the kitchen, still cradling his busted toe like it was your fault. His hoodie was sliding off one shoulder, hair an absolute mess, socks mismatched.

Meanwhile, you?

Hair tied up like it was nothing. That stupid little dress swishing around your knees. Making breakfast.

It was almost offensive, really.

Jake narrowed his eyes. \Why did you look... annoyingly good this morning? Since when? Since when were you this pretty?

Damn, maybe you gave him a concussion.

You caught him staring.

“What?” you snapped, holding up the plate like it was a peace treaty you immediately regretted.

He blinked, snapped out of it. “What’s this?”

“Scrambled eggs. For you.”

“Pity eggs?”

You rolled your eyes. “Consider it hush money so I don’t have to keep looking at your tragic nose bruise.”

Jake hesitated. Then took the plate — fingers brushing yours just long enough to send something stupid and sparky down his spine.

Shut up, spine.

He cleared his throat. “You didn’t poison these, right?”

“Only emotionally,” you deadpanned. “Just like I do everything.”

Jake snorted under his breath — a sound halfway between disbelief and reluctant amusement.

But then, as you sat across from him, watching him eat like you weren’t the one responsible for his new villain origin story, you shifted awkwardly.

And Jake noticed.

Hard not to, when you were never this quiet.

“Look…” you started, voice forced like you were fighting every bit of your pride. “I was talking to Jungwon, and… maybe I’ve been giving you a hard time.”

Jake paused mid-chew.

Maybe?

Maybe?

“...You broke my face.”

You glared. “It’s not broken.”

He gestured wildly. “It could be. You’re not a doctor”

You exhaled sharply. “I’m just saying... maybe we could be, like, civil.”

“Are you sure you didn’t poison—” 

“I didn’t fucking poison them, you rat.” Jake just stared at you, smug. 

You cleared your throat, adjusting your tone like you hadn’t just threatened him with breakfast. “What I meant to say was… no. I didn’t poison them. If that’s what you were worried about.”

Jake watched you from the corner of his eye — the way your dress moved, the way your ponytail swayed.

“I just feel bad, okay?” you huffed, glaring at his very tragic, very dramatic face. “That big-ass bruise on your nose’s making eye contact with me.”

Jake froze. Instantly concerned.

“...Bruise?” he echoed, voice tight.

“Yeah.”

Like a man possessed, he snatched his phone off the counter, flipped to the front camera—

And the noise he made?

Somewhere between a gasp, a dying bird, and a full-on crime scene.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, horrified. “You ruined my face.”

You blinked. “I—”

“My beautiful fucking face!”

You winced. “That’s… a little dramatic.”

Jake spun around like you’d personally ended his modeling career, shoving the phone in your face. “Do you see this?! How am I supposed to show up to work tomorrow looking like I got body slammed by Dwayne Fucking Johnson?!”

You snorted. “You literally work in tech.”

“That’s not the point!”

“I’m pretty sure it is the point,” you deadpanned. “You’re not an idol, Jake. I’m sure the CEOs will survive your mildly distressed nose.”

Jake let out a pained groan, like you just didn’t understand the gravity of his suffering. “I have a presentation tomorrow!”

You raised a brow. “Okay... and?”

“A huge one!” he cried. “Multiple CEOs. Investors from all over the country. I’m supposed to look like I have my life together. Not like I got mauled by a vending machine!”

You shrugged, zero sympathy left in your body. “Can’t your boss… what’s his name again… Hee...Heesoo do it?”

“It’s Heeseung,” Jake bit out. “And he’s in Japan for a business trip.”

“Get someone else to do it.”

“I am someone else!” he exploded, pacing now like his nose was about to file a lawsuit.

A beat of silence.

You tilted your head slowly, casually, a little too calm for his liking.

“…What if I did it?”

“...What.”

“I could present it for you,” you said, crossing your arms, your smile inching into dangerous territory. “You wear a mask, pretend you’re sick. Cough a few times for realism. I’ll read your script. Boom. Problem solved.”

You turned back around, all casual, all dangerous. “Your pitch. I could do it.”

He blinked. Once. Twice.

“Yeah, uh, no offense, Broadway, but the presentation is about app technology. Not jazz hands.”

You shrugged. “Fake it till you make it. Plus, I’m excellent at pretending I know things. Ask any of my professors.”

Jake stared at you.

Like you had absolutely lost your mind.

“You,” he said flatly, “want to stand in front of a room full of multi-millionaire investors... and pretend to know shit about app tech.”

You grinned. “Exactly.”

“That is—hands down—the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

“Thank you.”

“And also,” Jake added slowly, like it pained him to admit, “possibly... my only option.”

You shot finger guns at him.

You grinned like the menace you were. “Come on, Jake Sim. Admit it. You need me.”

“Fine,” he ground out. Like the word physically hurt coming out of his mouth. “But you’re getting a crash course in app tech in two hours. No complaining.”

You shrugged, breezy, unbothered. “Sounds painfully boring. Can’t wait.”

—-

The next day, Jake had already bolted out of the apartment like his hair was on fire while shouting, “The investors are here and they brought their lawyers! I gotta g–” and then he left.

Meanwhile, you?

You were still in the bathroom, casually putting on lip balm like you had all the time in the world. Because if you were about to scam your way through a tech presentation with nothing but sheer confidence and delusion — you were damn sure going to look like someone who belonged on a Forbes list.

Or, well... the clearance rack at H&M’s attempt at one.

Were you terrified of tech investors? Absolutely.

Were you about to march in there, smile pretty, and pretend you understood whatever the hell Jake had been mumbling about for the past 24 hours? Also absolutely.

Because if there was one thing you were good at — it was faking shit.

(And pissing Jake off. But that was practically a sport at this point.)

You strutted into Jake’s workplace like you owned the building. Or were seconds away from committing tax fraud in it. Either way — heels clicking, head high, shoulders squared like you’d been bred in the wild on sarcasm and petty confidence.

The lobby was ridiculous. Floor-to-ceiling glass. Air that smelled like imported lemons and old money. A giant, abstract sculpture near the entrance that looked suspiciously like regret and cost more than your entire education. 

Upstairs, Jake checked his watch for what had to be the fiftieth time.

You’re late. 5 minutes late.

His shirt collar felt like it was conspiring to choke him, and the mask he wore (to hide the bruise you gave him) felt less like protection and more like a visual reminder that he’d been punched in the face by you.

The elevator dinged. Jake didn’t even look up at first—he was too busy internally screaming about font sizes and silently mouthing his pitch like a deranged TED Talk speaker. But then the room shifted. The air changed. Like the universe hit slow-mo.

His gaze lifted. And there you were. Jake looked up. And promptly forgot how to function. Because there you were. Walking out of the elevator like you were starring in his worst nightmare — and maybe his daydream too. He wasn’t sure anymore.

Soft curls. Glossy lips. That dress. That damn dress — classy, simple, hugging you like it was personally invested in his suffering. The type of dress that shouldn’t have been this illegal in a workplace setting but was, somehow, devastatingly so.

Jake forgot how to breathe.

Because here was the thing about Jake Sim:

He’d seen you in every possible unflattering state known to mankind.

Screaming about printer ink like it committed tax fraud against you. Hair up in a bun so chaotic it looked like it had survived a natural disaster. Wearing the same hoodie for three days straight — his hoodie, he’d realized once, which only annoyed him more — eyes wild with caffeine and vengeance at 3AM because Spotify ads kept interrupting your study playlist.

And still — still — Jake had always kinda thought you were...pretty.

Annoyingly pretty.

The worst kind.

The kind of pretty that snuck up on you mid-argument or when you were mid-rant about detergent prices. The kind of pretty that didn’t need fixing or dressing up. Just...you.

But today? Today was different. You weren’t just pretty. You were dangerous.

His jaw clenched so hard he swore he heard a crack. He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t blink. Couldn’t even think.

It was like the floor had disappeared beneath him and someone had swapped out his organs with static. His heart had ditched the beat and gone straight to drum solo. His brain, normally quick, charming, obnoxiously cocky? Dead.

“You made it,” Jake said — and immediately regretted it, because holy shit, was that his voice? High. Cracked. Betrayed him completely like puberty had just swung back around for one last revenge tour.

“Yeah, well,” you hummed, throwing him a look and gesturing vaguely to the black mask covering the evidence of your sucker punch, “figured I owed you.”

Jake nodded. Or at least he thought he did. Hard to tell.

He decided to stay silent. Because God knows what would happen if he opened his mouth again? God help him — a full-blown Ed Sheeran love song might just crawl out.

So he didn’t. He just...stood there.  Standing at the podium, you looked...ridiculous. Ridiculously good.

Like you didn’t just belong here — like you ran the place. Like you were here to pitch an app or recruit followers for a cult — and honestly? Jake wasn’t even sure which one. All he knew was… he’d probably sign up either way. No questions asked. No dignity left.

"Well, good morning, everyone,” you began, and even you were surprised by how calm you sounded. 

Jake stood in the back, blinking at you like he’d never seen you before. You were charismatic. Smart. A little terrifying. And you had the entire room hanging on your every word.

Somewhere between “LinkedIn is dead” and “our algorithm is based on actual passions, not titles,” Jake realized something horrifying. You weren’t just pretending to be good at this. You were good at this. Confident. Sharp. Effortless. 

His chest swelled — with what felt suspiciously like pride — until reality smacked him upside the head. This was the same girl who, just last night, sat cross-legged on his floor, staring blankly at his laptop and asked, with full sincerity:

"Wait… what does AI even stand for?"

Jake was still smiling like an idiot.

God, he hated to admit it — but you killed that presentation. Clean. Sharp. Smooth in a way that made him kind of want to brag about it like he trained you personally (he didn’t — he barely survived explaining what an API was to you without passing out).

A few came up to shake your hand — small talk, praise, the usual empty corporate fluff. Except no one really asked you questions. Not the tough ones, at least.

Right up until he caught movement at the edge of his vision.

Two guys. Tall. Sleek. Expensive haircuts that probably cost more than Jake’s entire outfit. Hovering. Too close. He squinted. Because they weren’t walking toward him. Nope.

They were walking toward you.

Grinning. Hovering. Talking with their hands like they were about to pitch you a deal or — god forbid — flirt. His eyes narrowed. You were still reeling from the high of the presentation, packing up your notes when a smooth voice cut through the air beside you.

“I haven’t seen you around before,” said Blondie. "Mr. Sim never mentioned someone so young... and pretty working in the App Tech department."

 “Oh, uh, I’m new,” you said, hoping you didn’t sound as awkward as you felt. “Just joined.”

Blondie smiled, clearly not buying it. “New and already giving such an impressive presentation. I’d love to hear more about the algorithm sometime… maybe over dinner?”

You blinked again. Algorithm? Was that on Slide 7?

Before you could even form a response, a voice cut in like an unexpected thunderstorm.

“She’s booked.”

You turned just in time to see Jake—Jake—swoop into the scene like a knight in wrinkled business casual. His jaw was tight, eyes practically shooting daggers. And that mask? Somehow, it made him look even hotter. You were definitely going to need therapy to figure out why anger made him so ridiculously attractive. That was something for a professional to unpack. 

“She’s what?” Blondie asked, blinking.

“Taken,” Jake said, his voice like cold steel. “I’m with her.”

Blondie’s eyes widened like he’d just been slapped with a fish. “Oh! I didn’t realize—”

Jake grabbed your hand and brought it up to his lips with a quick peck, way too casual for the situation. “Anyway,” Jake said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, “thanks for admiring my girlfriend. I, too, find her absolutely breathtaking.”

Blondie and his friend, practically evaporated under the weight of the awkwardness. They muttered quick goodbyes and slunk off, leaving you standing there, completely stunned.

“Girlfriend?” You stared at Jake, still holding your hand in his like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Jake leaned down slightly, his voice soft but pointed. “You’re welcome for saving you from that finance bro disaster. You looked like you were about to faint.”

“I was not,” you shot back, still flustered.

“You squeaked.” Jake smirked, his lips curling up in that annoying, irresistibly smug way of his. Your heart skipped a beat, but you shoved it down. He was being a jerk.

You crossed your arms, still confused by the whole situation. “You’re so weird. Why the hell would you do that?”

Jake shrugged casually, as if the whole thing had been no big deal. “Someone had to save you. I’m not letting some guy with a bad haircut flirt with you in front of me. It’s... inconvenient.”

"Inconvenient?" You stared at him, baffled. "What are you even—"

And then, like a slap to the face, it hit you.

He was jealous.

“No way,” you muttered, half-laughing. “Are you… actually jealous right now?”

Jake’s face flushed slightly, but he smirked, all smooth and defensive. "No, I just—"

You interrupted him, holding up your hand. "You are! Oh my god, you are jealous."

His eyes flickered briefly, like he was calculating his next move. “I am not. You're... imagining things.”

You leaned back slightly, giving him a teasing, incredulous look. “Right, because you not letting some guy get too close is just a totally normal response for someone you fucking despise.”

Jake paused, then looked at you with that intense, quiet stare, his expression unreadable for a moment. You felt a flicker of something in your chest, but before you could process it, he said, in a voice softer than you expected, “I don’t despise you.”

—

Jake sat across from you at the tiny grill table, doing his best to act like he didn't care that you were wearing what could only be described as the world's most unassuming dress. It wasn’t even remotely textbook "sexy." No slits, no plunging neckline, just a simple, casual thing that barely clung to you. Yet, somehow, you made it look like flawless.

You were just grilling meat, for crying out loud. Nothing remotely provocative about it. And yet, there Jake was, trying—and failing—to pretend he wasn’t completely losing his mind over it.

Then, disaster struck.

Jake’s grip on his chopsticks tightened, nearly snapping them in half. He could feel a vein pulsing in his temple. He didn't even realize he was glaring until the waiter noticed. And that’s when he realized something was very, very wrong with him.

You turned to Jake, blinking innocently. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Me?” Jake laughed, but it was the kind of laugh that wasn’t even remotely convincing. “Totally fine. Just making sure you’re not about to, y'know, set the whole table on fire.”

He shrugged off his jacket and—without thinking—slung it over your shoulders like his life depended on it.

“You look cold,” Jake muttered, trying to sound casual, but the effort was absolutely wasted.

“I’m sitting in front of an actual fire,” you pointed out, obviously not buying the excuse.

“Just take it,” he said through gritted teeth. He could feel his brain glitching as his fingers brushed against yours for half a second.

“You’re acting weird,” you muttered, clearly starting to suspect something was off. “Did you hit your head again today or…?”

“Just wear the damn thing.”

“Why?” you asked slowly, suspicious. “I’m not even cold.”

“It’s not for warmth,” he snapped, his voice tight with frustration.

You narrowed your eyes, not letting him off the hook. “So what’s it for?”

Jake leaned forward, dropping his voice to a near whisper like he was plotting a heist. “It’s... you're over there looking all... attractive, and the waiter’s looking at you like he wants to take you home. And I—” He paused and muttered, “I’m the one who invited you here, okay? So technically, you’re my dinner guest. And I just feel like you shouldn’t be—”

“Did you just call me attractive?”

Jake froze. For a split second, his mind went completely blank. He’d said it without even thinking, and now that the words were out there, the whole table seemed to get a little bit warmer, a little bit more suffocating.

“Uh—” He fumbled, trying to backpedal. “No! I didn’t—what I meant was—” He cleared his throat, awkwardly adjusting in his seat. 

You stared at him, eyes wide. “Jake... you’re an awfully jealous person today.”

He froze. Blinked. And then launched into a performance so bad it was almost impressive. “Jealous? Me? Oh my god, that’s so cute. That’s actually hilarious. I’m not jealous. You? Of you? Pfft. I just... look, I just think it’s unhygienic for strangers to salivate this close to raw meat, alright?”

He avoided your gaze and took a big gulp of his drink, probably hoping it would give him some answers. “Also, that guy was undressing you with his eyes.”

You gave him a flat look, raising an eyebrow. "And your solution to a perv is to throw a jacket over me like I’m some fragile piece of art in a museum?”

Jake kept his cool, eyes still avoiding yours. “I could go beat him up if you want,” he offered, not-so-casually.

You snorted, leaning back in your chair, slipping your hands into the sleeves of the jacket he’d thrown over you. “You're an idiot.”

—-

The next time Jake found himself questioning the entire fabric of his reality, it was in the kitchen of your shared apartment.

A totally normal evening.

Except not really.

Because you were sitting across from him in nothing but an oversized T-shirt and a smile, and Jake was experiencing what scientists might classify as a complete psychological collapse.

He wasn’t even sure what the hell the conversation was about. Jungwon was laughing about something, maybe a dumb meme or a cursed group chat screenshot, and you were giggling so hard you smacked Jungwon’s arm and nearly knocked over your drink.

Jake didn’t laugh. Jake stared.

Because every time you moved, your stupidly oversized shirt rode up a little, and your bare legs—the ones he absolutely should not be noticing—taunted him like they were sent from hell specifically to test his willpower. 

He hated it.

No, actually—he hated you. Yes. That was the correct narrative. He hated the way you always left passive-aggressive sticky notes on his leftovers ("These are MINE. I will KNOW if you eat one. By you I mean JAKE SIM."). He hated you when you reorganized his entire snack drawer by vibe. (“The spicy chips are angry. They go in the red bin.” What did that even MEAN?)

He hated that you chewed ice. That you used a ten-step skincare routine that monopolized the bathroom for thirty minutes every morning. That you once referred to him as “the reason I believe in selective mutism.”

And yet… he was currently staring at your thighs like they held the secret to inner peace.

Jake looked away, clenching his jaw. What the hell was happening to him? Was this a stroke? Had you poisoned his food?

The next time he went absolutely bonkers was a few days later. He had to pee.

He pushed the door open without knocking, because this was his house and he had…welll…he had the rights.

And then.

He saw you.

Half-naked.

In your bra and underwear, bent slightly over the sink, drying your shirt with a hairdryer.

His brain short-circuited like someone had poured water directly into his skull.

His gaze dropped—just for half a second, a reflex—and immediately locked on your bare legs, and oh god, he hated himself. He spun around so fast he almost slammed into the door.

“OH MY GOD—SORRY!” Jake yelped, one hand covering his eyes like he’d been hit with a solar flare. “You—why—WHAT—why didn’t you lock the door?!”

You blinked at him in the mirror and chuckled, totally unfazed. “Oh shit. I forgot to lock it.”

“What is wrong with you?!”

“Me? You walked in,” you pointed out.

“You left it unlocked!”

“You could’ve knocked!”

“I shouldn’t have to knock in my own apartment! What are you doing half-naked drying your shirt in here?!”

“I spilled soda on myself.” You replied, nonchalant.

“I’M THE VICTIM HERE,” Jake yelled dramatically, still not turning around. “I just wanted to pee and now I’ve seen your underwear! I’ll never recover from this!”

You laughed again, breathless. “Relax. It’s just a body. You’ve seen legs before.”

A long beat of silence passed.

Jake slowly turned his head just enough to peek at the wall. “Are you, um...decent now?”

“Yeah,” you said, tugging your damp shirt back over your head. “Crisis averted. You can resume your regularly scheduled hate.”

Jake turned around cautiously. You were grinning, cheeks slightly pink, shirt clinging a little, hair a mess—and somehow, it was worse. Way worse. Because even like this, maybe especially like this, you looked unfairly adorable.

He stared at you for one second too long.

“Jake,” you said, raising an eyebrow, “are you...blushing?”

“No,” he snapped immediately, brushing past you with all the grace of a man running from his feelings. “Now get out, I need to pee.”

As he shut the door behind him, you called out, “You’re welcome for the free show, by the way.”

Jake groaned.

Out loud.

Into the void.

He was never going to recover.

—-

It all started with what Jake would later refer to—dramatically and with full PTSD—as The Saturday Incident.

He had spent the entire day in bed, pretending to do work, but actually doing what could best be described as “vague laptop clicking” and “aggressively avoiding you.”

You were out in the living room, probably plotting new ways to rearrange the furniture or alphabetize the spices by vibe again. He wasn’t going to risk interaction. Not when his heart had started doing these strange, erratic flips every time you were near. It was disorienting, this fluttering sensation that kept taking him by surprise. Honestly, he didn’t appreciate it. Didn’t appreciate whatever the hell was happening in his chest, because he'd never felt like this before. 

The thought crossed his mind—maybe he should go see a doctor for a cardiogram. Heeseung had laughed in his face when he mentioned it, as if the idea of it being a medical issue was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Jake didn’t get what was so funny, though. All he knew was that every time you entered the room, his heart seemed to forget how to behave, and he wasn’t sure that was something anyone could just laugh off.

So he stayed hidden.

Until there was a knock.

“Jake?” Your voice came through the door—soft, almost... sweet?

He stared at the door like it had personally betrayed him.

“Jake?” you called again, this time with a tone that made his brain short-circuit just a little. He sighed like a man being forced into labor and got up, preparing for whatever minor chaos you were about to deliver.

He opened the door.

And immediately wished he hadn’t.

There you stood. In a dress—a glittery, stupidly pretty dress he had never seen before. The tag was still dangling from it, and for some reason, that made it worse. Like you were a gift waiting to be unwrapped and oh no what the hell, brain, stop right there.

His mouth went dry.

His knees? Unreliable.

You were—unfortunately—gorgeous.

“Can you help me?” you asked, turning around.

And that’s when he saw it. Your bare back.

Jake died a little. Right there in the doorway. He whispered, barely audible: “F-fuck.”

“Huh?” you looked over your shoulder.

“I said—sure! Sure, totally, yep,” he said, voice cracking like a 13-year-old boy seeing shoulders for the first time.

He reached for the zipper like it was made of lava. His fingers brushed your skin and he physically flinched. 

“You busy with work?” you asked casually, like this wasn’t slowly killing him.

“Yeah. Working. Doing... business things. Graphs.” Nailed it. “Are you, uh, going out?” He zipped faster, praying for this moment to end and also never end, confusingly.

“Nope.” You turned back around, smiling. “I just got this dress and wanted to see if it fit.”

Jake stared at you like he was watching the heavens open. “Oh,” he said dumbly.

“Besides, I was bored.” You laughed, brushing past him like this was your room, and plopped yourself onto his bed like it was no big deal.

Jake blinked. “You can’t just—don’t just walk into my room!”

“What? You hiding something?”

“Yes!” he said, voice a little too high. “I mean—maybe. You don’t know my life.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Let me guess. Secret stash of R-rated movies?”

“What?! No!”

“Love letters? Hidden shrine of an ex?”

“Oh my god.”

“Wait—you have love letters?”

“I don’t have any! Why are you like this?!”

You grinned. “Hard to believe. You’re, like, suspiciously single.”

Jake scoffed. “Suspiciously?”

“Yeah. You’re cute in a grumpy, emotionally constipated way.”

He blinked. “Did you just call me cute?”

“I mean, when you’re not yelling about laundry socks and acting like you’ve never heard of coasters.”

Jake’s face flushed. His lips twitched. A smile was fighting its way out, and he hated that you were winning. “You’re so annoying.”

“I’m a delight.”

“You’re hell personified.”

“And you,” you said, leaning back onto his bed, “are blushing.”

“I am not.”

“Jake,” you said, eyes twinkling, “your ears are red.”

He turned away, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Okay, but—hold on. Why are you in my room anyway? All dressed up, all dolled up, all pretty.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Was that a compliment?”

“No.”

“You just listed three compliments,” you pointed out, your voice teasing.

“They weren’t compliments.”

“They sure seem like it.”

He stared at you—your ridiculous sparkle dress, your smug little smirk, the fact that you looked entirely too comfortable lying on his bed like you belonged there—and felt his heart do a full-body sigh.

Oh no.

Oh no.

He was in trouble.

Because he didn’t hate you at all.

—-

Jake had one goal tonight: get snacks, avoid feelings, don’t die.

He’d nearly made it to the kitchen—eyes forward, brain reciting his grocery list like a prayer—when he heard your voice.

“Jake?”

He froze like someone had hit pause on his life.

There you were, curled up on the couch with a blanket around your legs and a bowl of popcorn in your lap, looking... cozy. Cute. Normal. Like you weren’t the cause of 99% of his internal screaming today.

“Yeah?” he called over his shoulder, already bracing for disaster.

“Come watch this with me.”

Jake turned halfway, one hand still on the fridge. “What? No. Why would I wanna–”

You pouted. And he hated—hated—how fast his resolve crumbled at the sight of it.

“C’mon. Please? I’m lonely,” you said. “Jungwon’s not back for another hour.”

Jake audibly swallowed, “F–fine.”

Still, he sighed and walked over like a man approaching a guillotine.

He sat on the very edge of the couch, as far from you as possible. Like you might spontaneously explode and take him with you.

You blinked at him. “Why the fuck are you sitting miles away from me? I’m not gonna eat you.”

Jake’s ears went red so fast it was almost impressive. “I’m—just giving you space.”

You threw a popcorn kernel at him. “What, do I have cooties now?”

“No!” he blurted, then immediately regretted sounding like a panicked fifth grader. “I just thought—I mean, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You tilted your head, amused. “I thought we were pass our enemy phase and in the ‘I-only-hate-you-when-it’s-convenient-phase.”

His heart stopped.

Jake stared at you.

“We are! I just–”

You shook your head and patted the seat next to you. “Come on. You're so dramatic. Sit like a normal person.”

Jake, against his better judgment and every self-preservation instinct, scooted closer. A little. Then a little more.

You tossed the blanket over his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. “There. See? Not so scary.”

He sat stiffly under the blanket like it was radioactive, absolutely convinced he was going to die. His arm accidentally brushed yours and his brain lit up.

You leaned in slightly, focused on the screen.

Jake leaned back slightly, focused on not passing out.

And somewhere between the opening credits and the second kernel of popcorn you tossed at him “for flinching like a grandma,” Jake realized something horrifying.

He didn’t hate you.

At all.

And worse?

Instead, it was the absolute opposite. Maybe he liked you.

(Or had the biggest stinking fucking crush on you.)

Either way, these feelings were huge. And scary.

—-

Jake was fine.

Totally. Absolutely. 100% fine.

So what if he maybe thought about the way your shoulder brushed his during the movie? Or the fact that your laugh made his chest do weird twisty things? So what if you looked really cute in that dumb glittery dress and then even cuter in sweats and a bun with popcorn crumbs on your shirt?

He was fine.

No, he was lying. He was not.

Because Jake Sim didn’t do feelings.

Feelings were for wimps. For poets. For people with acoustic guitars and questionable Spotify Wrapped playlists. For people like Heeseung.

Not him.

Jake Sim was immune. Built different. Untouchable. Feelings? He left those at the door with his dignity and expired loyalty card points.

Which is why he was currently, aggressively, avoiding you like you were radioactive.

You walked into the kitchen? He walked out.

You tried to start a conversation? “I’m busy.” (He wasn’t.)

You reached for the chips? “Take it yourself.” (They were on the top shelf. You couldn’t reach. He still left.)

You asked if he wanted to hang out? “No thanks. Be alone. Bitch.” (He did not mean that. At all. And also whispered it when you were already out of earshot, afraid he’d hurt your feelings.)

He was strong. He was cold. He was emotionless steel wrapped in flannel.

Until—

“Jake?” you called from the hallway.

He glanced up from pretending to type on his laptop. “What?”

“Do you wanna go to the store with me? We’re all out of eggs.”

And like the absolute fraud he was, Jake—emotionless, avoidant, emotionally repressed Jake Sim—paused for 0.0000001 seconds before nodding.

“Yeah. Let me grab my shoes.”

Traitor.

He followed you out like a puppy who just got asked if he wanted a treat.

As you walked side by side through the aisles, Jake pushed the shopping cart like he was starring in the most generic romcom montage of all time, trying not to let his arm bump yours again because every time it did, his brain felt like it had just short-circuited.

But it was fine.

Totally fine.

He was definitely not thinking about holding your hand in the snack aisle.

Definitely not wondering if you'd let him try one of your gummies, even though he could buy his own.

Definitely not wondering if this was what it would feel like to be yours.

He wasn’t. He wasn’t thinking about any of that.

Nope.

Totally normal. Totally platonic.

He was so screwed.

It all started in the canned goods aisle. And honestly? Jake should’ve known the canned goods aisle brought nothing but bad luck. It happened in third grade when he tripped over his shoelace and fell into a container of perfectly aligned canned soups. It happened when he was trying to grab some mushroom soup for Jungwon when he was sick and ended up dropping the can right on his pinky toe, fracturing it.

And it’s happening again now.

You were just standing there, trying to decide between tomato basil and cream of mushroom, looking entirely too cute for someone who was making soup decisions. Meanwhile, Jake, trying to pretend he wasn’t watching you, was already making a mental list of things he could buy—anything to distract himself from his growing awareness that his brain was short-circuiting.

“Hey,” the guy said. “This might sound crazy, but... are you single?”

Jake turned his head so slowly you’d think someone had insulted his ancestors.

He was standing a few feet away, comparing granola bar sugar contents like a responsible adult, and now he was staring at this random man like he’d just asked to marry you in front of a priest.

You didn’t even seem fazed. You turned your head slightly, giving the guy the most nonchalant look, probably silently wondering if this guy had any idea how little he cared about his question.

Jake could feel the nerve in his temple twitch. The air between you and the guy became suffocating. Jake's hands flexed, holding onto the cart like it might need a good shove.

The guy, oblivious to the thunderstorm brewing a few feet away, “Just thought that you’re really cute, and I figured I’d ask.”

You blinked. “Oh! That’s—um—”

“She’s not,” Jake snapped, suddenly right there, standing next to you like he’d teleported in through sheer fury. “She’s very not single. Taken. Off the market. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.”

The guy blinked, taken aback. “Oh... are you two—”

“Together?” Jake interrupted, smiling like it physically hurt him. “Yeah. I’m her boyfriend.”

You glanced at him, his eyes glinting with that smirk of his. And then it hit you—he was playing this way too well. A little too well. You turned back to the guy, giving a dramatic gasp.

“Oh my God,” you said, suddenly faking an epiphany. “Babe, I didn’t even realize he was flirting. I was too busy thinking about how your hair looks so good today.”

Jake twitched.

You leaned into him with an exaggerated sigh, grabbing his hand like you were in some overly dramatic rom-com. “I’m so sorry. I’ll try to pay more attention when people are flirting with me. Would that be okay with you, my Jakey-wakey? My Jakey-kins? My love machine?”

Jake nearly choked on his own spit. “Okay. That’s enough.”

But you were on a roll. You turned to the stranger, practically glowing. “Isn’t he so cute when he’s protective? Ugh, he gets so territorial over me. It’s like his thing. Next thing I know, he’ll start growling and peeing in the aisles to mark me like his territory.”

Jake made a strangled sound, clearly regretting everything. “Please stop.”

You ignored him, fully leaning into the bit. “Honestly, I’m just waiting for him to pick out a leash for me next, y’know? Just to make sure everyone knows I’m his property.”

Jake made a strangled sound. “Please stop.”

You pressed your cheek to his shoulder. “Should we kiss?” You smiled, putting your arms around his shoulder.

And then, in what could only be described as a full-blown panic move, Jake spun around and ran.

Like, actually ran.

Through the snack aisle, dodging bags of chips and disgruntled shoppers, past the sample table, and out the store doors. It was as if he'd spotted an actual threat. You stared after him, holding his dignity in one hand and a can of soup in the other.

The stranger who had been casually eyeing you looked even more confused now, as if he’d witnessed a scene from a badly written TV sitcom.

You shrugged, trying to cover for the man who was now two aisles away, “My boyfriend can be a little bit crazy,” you muttered, laughing awkwardly as you began walking toward the door. You dropped the soup can on his foot. “See you!”

And without waiting for a response, you bolted out of the store after him.

“JAKE SIM, I’LL KILL YOU!” you yelled across the parking lot.

You found him pacing next to his car like a madman who’d just come to terms with the fact that he’d let his emotions spiral in public. His hands were in his hair, tugging like he was trying to physically yank his frustration out of his brain.

You marched up to him, heat rising in your chest, and the nerve to confront him. “Hey! You made me look like an idiot!”

Jake turned to face you, eyes wide, clearly surprised that you were actually following him. “You made yourself look like that!” he snapped, a slight edge in his voice.

“Oh, I wouldn’t have to if you stopped acting like my boyfriend around any man who approaches me!” You felt your hands on your hips, standing your ground like you were the queen of this absurd conversation.

Jake’s face froze, his brows furrowing in frustration. “You want freaks like him to approach you?”

“No?” you shot back. “But I’m perfectly capable of turning them down on my own.”

“I was just—” he began, floundering for a reason that was not his own mess.

“Was just what? Why do you keep doing this? Acting all weirdly jealous and protective!” you interrupted, genuinely curious now.

Jake exhaled, turning slowly, like the weight of this conversation was about to implode on him. His voice softened, his eyes wide, clearly caught off guard by your determination. “Because…” he started, his voice lower than usual, the words stumbling out like he was wrestling with a secret.

“Because what?”

He didn’t answer.

Just stood there—hands clenched, jaw tight, breath sharp.

Then suddenly—he dropped his arms like they weighed a ton. Like he couldn’t hold it in anymore. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a single, desperate step before spinning back around to face you.

“BECAUSE!” Jake shouted, his voice louder than he intended. Your eyes snapped open wide, caught completely off guard.

Jake kept going—words spilling, frantic. “Because I don’t know what this is—whatever the hell you’ve done to me—but I can’t think straight. I can’t breathe when you look at me like that and I haven’t felt like this ever and it’s—it’s messing me up.”

His hands went to his temples. “Like fuck…I think I might need therapy. Like, actual therapy. Because of you.”

The air between you cracked—silence stretching heavy and tight.

You stared at him, voice soft now. “I– did I do something wrong?”

Jake dropped his hands, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. His face twisted, like he hated even having feelings, like letting them out was burning him from the inside.

Then—quieter. Broken.

“No,” he said. “Fuck, no. Quite the opposite.”

You stood frozen. “What?”

He stepped closer, eyes wild, voice raw.

“I don’t know what the fuck is happening to me, okay?” Jake snapped. His voice cracked, raw and strained like it had been clawing at his throat for days.

“You walk into a room and suddenly I can’t think straight. I forget how to function. I forget what I’m doing. It’s like my entire brain short-circuits just because you looked in my direction.” He raked a hand through his hair, pacing in a tight circle like he was trying to outrun his own thoughts.

“You drive me crazy. You laugh at things that aren’t funny, and you talk like the world’s ending if you don’t say it all right now, and you never let anything go—ever—and it’s infuriating. It’s exhausting. You’re exhausting!”

He turned, pointing at you like you were the cause of every malfunction in his soul.

“I shouldn’t care if you’re cold. I shouldn’t want to punch every guy who looks at you for longer than five seconds. I shouldn’t feel like I’m being electrocuted every time you accidentally touch me. That’s not normal. That’s not me. I’m Jake fucking Sim for crying out loud!”

He paused, chest rising and falling, eyes burning into yours.

“I don’t even like people! I liked hating you! I was good at hating you! And now I can’t sleep and I can’t think and all I do is wonder what you’re doing and if you’re thinking about me too and I—”

He broke off, swallowing hard.

Then softer, hoarse:

“I don’t know what this is. But I think I’m losing my goddamn mind over you.”

You stood there. Blinking. Heart somewhere near your ankles.

Jake had just... exploded. Confessed? Kinda? In the most Jake way possible—by yelling about how much he hated that he didn’t hate you.

“…Okay,” you said slowly, like someone trying to defuse a bomb with zero training. “So, like... just to clarify… you’re not mad at me. You’re mad because you like me?”

Jake stared at you like he couldn’t believe that was your takeaway. Like you’d just handed him a banana when he asked for a pen.

“I just—like, not to make this about me,” you continued, hands half-lifted like you were talking to a wild raccoon, “but that was a lot of yelling and you kinda sounded like you were about to fight me and propose in the same breath.”

He groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “Oh my god.”

You bit your lip. “So... um. Do you wanna kiss me or punch drywall? I just need to know what stage of emotional collapse we’re currently at.”

A beat.

“Like... if I lean in, am I getting kissed or concussed?”

He looked like he was seriously considering both.

You tried to smile. “I mean… thanks? For the mental breakdown, I think?”

He just blinked—still breathing like he’d sprinted through a breakup, a confession, and a public meltdown all in one afternoon.

Like he hadn’t decided yet whether to kiss you, cry, or walk into traffic.

Then, softer, you glanced up at him. Still unsure. Still trying to play it cool despite the fact that your heart was definitely trying to beat its way out of your chest.

“Like… I mean, I totally get why this would frustrate you,” you said, nodding seriously, like you were a therapist delivering a diagnosis. “Totally understandable. If I was going through what you were going through, maybe I’d be a little insane too. With, you know, healthier coping mechanisms, sure.”

Jake groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re talking too much. Do you like me or not?”

You blinked. “Wow. Okay. No trigger warning?”

“I’m at my limit.” Jake sighed.

“Yeah,” you said. “That’s… kind of obvious. You’re, like, one sentence away from combusting.”

Jake pointed at you like he couldn’t believe what was happening. “I—God, this is so embarrassing. Let’s just pretend this didn’t happen.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like you,” you muttered, looking away.

“You’re saying a whole lot of nothing,” he snapped.

You threw your hands up. “Well, I’m sorry I don’t have a perfectly rehearsed monologue ready! Some of us don’t process our feelings through public tantrums!”

Jake narrowed his eyes, “I yelled because I was panicking!”

“Well maybe don’t yell at someone who likes you, Jake!”

“You didn’t even say you liked me!”

“I was getting there!”

“You were stalling!”

“I was awkward!” you shrieked, pointing right back at him. 

Jake threw his hands in the air. “Why are you the one acting like you just confessed your undying love through a full-blown breakdown?!”

A beat.

Silence.

Your faces? Bright red. Breathing like you just finished a cage match.

Then you exploded.

“FINE. YES. I LIKE YOU TOO, YOU PSYCHO!”

Jake froze. “You what now?”

You looked away, furious with yourself. “You heard me. I’m not repeating it. Take the win and choke on it.”

“That was the worst love confession I’ve ever received.”

You glared at him. “It wasn’t supposed to be one!”

“Well, it was horrible.”

“Yeah? Yours wasn’t exactly sonnet material either.”

You stared at each other. Still angry. Still flushed. Still… weirdly too close.

And somehow, despite all the yelling, all the sniping—

There was that thing in the air again. That pull.

Jake blinked. “...So are we dating now or what?”

You groaned. “Not like this, the fuck”

—-

The silence in the apartment was deafening.

Not literal silence—the kettle was whistling like it was being paid to, and someone’s phone was playing a YouTube video just loud enough to be irritating. But the emotional silence? The thick, suffocating, “we confessed our feelings and now we don’t know how to human anymore” kind of silence? Yeah, the two of you were losing it.

You were standing in the kitchen, arms folded, staring at the toaster like it had personally wronged you. Jake was sitting on the couch, holding a mug he wasn’t even drinking from, eyes glued to the television pretending to be absorbed.

Neither of you spoke.

The toaster clicked. You jumped like you’d been shot.

The two of you glanced at each other. You blinked at him. He blinked back. 

Then immediately looked away, sipping his mug. The wrong end of the mug.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re drinking from the side with the tag still in it.”

“I like the taste of paper sometimes,” he said without looking at you.

You tried. “So... uh, did you sleep okay?”

Jake nodded way too fast. “Yeah. Great. You?”

“Fine.”

“Cool.”

You stared at each other for another five seconds.

Then, at the exact same time:

“So, what are you—” “Do you want—”

Silence again.

You turned back to the counter, flustered. “This is so weird.”

Jake exhaled sharply. “You think?”

You glanced at him. “Well, I’m not used to openly... liking you or being I guess civil.”

“You’ve done a great job hiding it,” he muttered.

You smirked, falling back on habit. “Well, I am cuter when I’m emotionally unavailable.”

“I think it’s scarier when you’re emotionally available.”

You turned, arms folded. “So what, you prefer when I threaten you with kitchen utensils?”

Jake shrugged, leaning against the counter like he wasn’t seconds away from combusting. “At least I knew where I stood.”

And that? That shut you up real quick.

Because you both knew—you’d just entered new, terrifying, heart-melty territory.

And neither of you had a clue what the hell to do next.

—-

There was a sock on the floor.

A sock. On the floor.

His sock.

White. Crumpled. Mocking you from the hallway.

Something inside you snapped.

“SIM JAEYUN!” you shrieked, the kind of full-volume yell that summoned the fury of every past version of you who’d ever tripped over that man’s laundry.

Jake’s door opened slowly, like even it was afraid of you. He peeked out. Hair messy. Shirt hanging loose. Clueless. Hot. You hated him.

“...Yeah?”

“HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TO PICK UP YOUR SOCKS—”

“I—”

“You what? This isn’t the first fucking time–”

“Ah, fuck it.”

You didn’t get to finish.

Jake stepped out. Two fast, easy strides.

And he kissed you.

Hard.

His hand found the back of your neck, fingers pressing gently yet desperately, as if he’d been aching for this moment, pulling you closer with a sense of urgency that couldn’t be ignored. Without hesitation, his lips met yours—no gentleness, no grace—just raw, impulsive need.

The hallway blurred.

You gasped against his lips, and he swallowed the sound whole. His other hand gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, like he needed your body to make sense of the chaos in his head. The kiss was hot and heavy, all teeth and tongue and emotion that neither of you had known what to do with until now.

Your hands clenched around the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling him even closer, as if you were trying to tear the tension from his chest and claim it for yourself. Jake’s groan vibrated against your lips—low, desperate, and filled with something completely unrestrained. His hands dug into your waist, his grip tightening as if he couldn’t get enough of you. And then, with a sudden shift, he moved—forward, desperate, no longer willing to hold back.

In one swift, breathless motion, Jake pressed you against the wall, his body caging you in with just enough force to knock the air from your lungs. His hand gently cradled your jaw while the other slid down to catch your wrist, his fingers locking with yours as if the touch was a lifeline, something he couldn’t let go of even if he tried.

You gasped, the back of your head colliding softly with the wall, and Jake swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss like he was trying to consume you whole. The kiss turned hotter, more frantic—lips pulling, chasing, moving with an intensity that had been building for weeks and was now unleashed all at once.

Then, you squeezed his hand. Hard. Your body trembled with the force of it, like you needed something to hold onto before you lost yourself. And Jake felt it—felt the desperation in your touch. Without hesitation, he squeezed back, his thumb brushing over yours as he refused to let go.

For half a second, his forehead rested against yours, both of you gasping for air, and neither of you willing to pull away.

You blinked up at him, your mind still spinning from the kiss, disoriented.

“…I’ll pick it up,” you whispered, your voice softer than you intended. “The socks.”

You bent down, still avoiding his gaze, grabbing the sock off the floor. “Just... just put it nicely next time.”

You turned and walked back into your room, your legs unsteady as if they could no longer hold you together.

Jake stood in the hallway, frozen, his heart racing, his mind completely blank. He gripped the wall beside him like it was the only thing keeping him from collapsing. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. But it did. And now, he had no idea what to do with it.

—-

Jake hadn’t screamed your name like that since the glitter explosion 2 months back.

“WHERE’S MY RED FOLDER?!” he bellowed.

Before you could even think of a way out of this—or how to hide under the floorboards—Jake barged into your room. Hair still wet from the shower. His shirt hanging half-buttoned, like he’d walked straight out of a webtoon. Fuck, he was sexy. Not the time though because you were sure you were about to get beaten up.

He slammed the door open so hard that it bounced back off the wall with a sickening thud.

You gave him a nervous smile, your best attempt at pretending you weren’t about to die. “Don’t be mad…”

Jake’s voice dropped to a dangerous growl. “What did you do?”

“I… might’ve thought it was old,” you said, wincing at the honesty in your voice. “So I kinda... threw it away?”

Jake’s body went rigid. His eyes narrowed in disbelief.

“You what?!”

“I—” You stammered, hands raised defensively. “I swear it looked all crumply, all old and–and–and ruined!”

Jake stepped forward, eyes burning with anger. You could feel the heat of his fury radiating off of him—jaw clenched, fists tight by his sides, like he was about to explode. You knew this look. It was like he was one wrong move away from detonating.

And just when you thought the situation couldn’t get worse, you did the only thing you could think of.

You threw yourself at him.

Your hands grabbed his shirt, and before he could even get a word out, you yanked him down, your lips slamming into his with the force of a thousand thunderstorms. It was hard, urgent—so intense, so sudden, that it instantly shut him up.

Jake froze for a split second, like you’d short-circuited his brain, and then, just like that—he kissed you back. No hesitation. No holding back. You were already moving, pushing him backwards, your arms locked around his neck, drawing him closer, deeper. His lips tasted like desperation, like need, and it was all consuming.

You kissed him with everything you had, no holding back. No gentleness. Just the kind of hunger that had been building up between you two for far too long. Your lips moved together, fast, messy, and you felt him press into you, desperate to keep up. Every part of you wanted him—wanted him to feel the frustration, the desire, the rage that had been bubbling under the surface for weeks.

Jake groaned into your mouth, his grip on your waist tightening. You kissed him harder, faster, pressing him back against the wall until he was pinned, his breath ragged as you both gasped for air.

His hands found your thighs and, without a word, you jumped. Legs wrapping around his waist, you felt him catch you effortlessly, your bodies moving as one.

Then, with a sharp turn, he slammed you against the nearest wall, his lips never leaving yours. The kiss was relentless, like he was starving, like he needed to make you feel every part of him, every inch of his desire. His grip on your waist was bruising, possessive, and you responded in kind, tugging at his hair, pulling him closer.

Your mouths collided, chasing each other, moving too fast, too clumsily. 

Jake pulled back only when you both couldn’t breathe anymore. Your foreheads rested together, breaths uneven, eyes wild and hungry.

He looked you over once, placed you back down on the floor, his expression unreadable, and then muttered, “...I’ll just rewrite it.”

And before you could process it, before you could say a word, he was gone. Leaving you breathless, in your own room, utterly wrecked—staring at the spot where he'd just completely destroyed every last bit of control you had.

—-

You were standing in the kitchen, Jake was at the sink, and the tension was so thick you could practically slice it with a knife.

“I don’t understand why you would move the dishes,” Jake snapped, gesturing like you’d committed an actual war crime. “I have a system.”

“You have no system,” you shot back, holding a spatula like a sword. “You just shove stuff in and pray the dishwasher works it out like divine intervention.”

“It does work it out!”

“Really? Because last week you melted a Tupperware lid onto a knife.”

“That was ONE TIME—”

You threw the dish towel down. “You’re such a control freak.”

Jake turned, dripping wet hands mid-air. “You alphabetized the seasoning rack. By aesthetic. I had to Google what "sage green" looked like.”

You huffed. “It’s about visual peace, Jake!”

He took a step closer. “You know what’s not peaceful? Living with a freak who organizes our spices!”

You stepped toward him, eyes locked, breathing hard. “Well you know what’s not sexy? Whining about spice jars!”

“Funny,” Jake growled, now chest to chest with you, “because I still want to kiss you right now.”

You both froze.

You were both holding something—him, a mug. You, a spatula. Neither of you blinked.

Then—at the exact same time—you both dropped them.

Clatter.

And lunged.

You collided in the middle of the kitchen, your mouths crashing together, the kiss so intense and fiery it felt like it could set the room on fire. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you into him like he couldn’t get close enough. You fisted your hands in his shirt, yanking him even closer, until there was nothing between you but shared breaths and weeks of pent-up frustration.

His kiss was desperate, furious, like he hated how much he wanted it, and yet couldn’t stop. Your lips moved together, teeth clashing, and you met his passion with equal intensity—biting his lip, tilting your head, the quiet sigh you let out making him groan into your mouth.

You were both angry, breathless, and so far gone you didn’t even care.

When you finally pulled apart, your noses brushing, your lips swollen and tingling, you both just stared at each other. Your hearts pounded.

Then, at the exact same time, you both asked, “...Are we boyfriend and girlfriend or what?”

There was a moment of silence, and then Jake pressed a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, and then your neck, before pulling back with that signature smirk.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I think we are.”

You grabbed the front of his shirt, yanked him back down, and kissed him again.

“Good. Now shut up and kiss me.”

Jake groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding to your back, pulling you even closer.

“God, I’m so in love with you, it’s actually disgusting,” he muttered, his voice full of both frustration and affection.

And for once, you couldn’t agree more.

—---

It was your first official date.

Like—an actual, real, human-first-date. No yelling. No post-argument makeouts. Just food. Chairs. Maybe eye contact if you were feeling brave.

You’d been dating for three days.

Which, so far, had consisted of:

Yelling at each other.

Making out.

Rolling your eyes at each other.

Making out again. Repeat steps 1–4.

Three days of chaotic tension. Of brushing shoulders in the hallway and pretending it didn’t set your whole body on fire. Of accidentally calling him “babe” and then gaslighting him into thinking he misheard you. Of Jungwon asking the two of you to shut up and stop arguing in the middle of the night. You weren’t arguing. 

Three days of sharing the sink like civilized people, brushing your teeth side by side, totally normal, totally casual—totally not internally spiraling over the fact that your former arch-nemesis was now your boyfriend.

And then there were the quiet moments.

Like this morning, when you walked into the kitchen to find him already making coffee. He handed you a mug—black, just the way you liked it—and pretended he didn’t notice the way your fingers brushed.

You stared at it.

“What?” he said, avoiding eye contact. “I’m not a monster.”

You took a sip. “So you’re being nice to me now?”

Jake shrugged. “Don’t get used to it. I just don’t want to date someone who’s chronically dehydrated.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re worried about my water intake while you eat chips for breakfast.”

“Those chips had lime on them,” he said. “That’s vitamin C.”

Still, later that day, he also handed you a granola bar before you left the house. No comment. Just tossed it at your head with alarming accuracy and walked away.

And that was your boyfriend.

You, of course, were no better.

Like last night, when you walked past his room and saw him still hunched over his desk, blue light glowing off his face, glasses crooked, typing like he was trying to physically punch a thesis into existence.

You didn’t say anything.

Just stood there in the doorway for a second, watching the way his brows were furrowed in that hyper-focused, very-stupid, very-Jake way.

Then you glanced at the time. No dishes in the sink. Nothing in the trash.

He hadn’t eaten all day.

You scowled, muttered something about “men and their lack of survival instincts,” and turned straight into the kitchen.

Fifteen minutes later, you dropped a steaming bowl of his favorite ramen next to his laptop without saying a word.

Jake blinked up at you. “Did you—?”

You didn’t look at him. “Don’t pass out. It’ll be annoying to carry your unconscious body.”

Then you left.

Fast.

Too fast for him to say thank you. Too fast for him to see the way your lips twitched just slightly at the corners.

And then…

The next day, you were minding your business, scrolling on your phone, sprawled on the couch like the world owed you peace, when Jake casually walked in and dropped himself beside you—close, but not too close.

He cleared his throat once. Then again. Dramatically.

You glanced at him. “Are you dying?”

“Not today,” he said. Then added, without looking at you, “Wanna hang out tonight?”

You blinked. “Out where?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. Somewhere with food. Lighting. Chairs. That’s usually what dates have, right?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Was that you asking me out?”

Jake didn’t flinch. Just sipped his drink. “Depends. You gonna say yes?”

You stared at him for a long beat.

He stared at the wall like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

Then, you smirked. “Only if you promise not to talk about tech stuff the whole time.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, lips twitching into a grin. “If you’re lucky, I’ll limit myself to only mentioning API twice before dessert.”

You squinted. “You’re really bad at this whole romance thing, aren’t you?”

He grinned back, impossibly confident. “And yet, here you are. Saying yes anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, your lips threatening to betray you with a smile. “Yeah, well, I make questionable decisions sometimes.”

Jake nudged your knee with his, grinning like he’d just won a gold medal. “You’re about to make another one. I’m picking you up at seven.”

You crossed your arms, trying to look unimpressed. “We live together.”

Jake leaned back, completely unbothered. “So? I can’t be romantic?”

You didn’t argue.

God help you.

You were kind of excited.

—-

This was your first date.

And you were spiraling.

You had changed your outfit three times. Reapplied your lip balm five. Stood in front of the mirror giving yourself a pep talk like you were about to go on national television.

Jake was downstairs.

Wearing cologne and Jake never wore cologne.

When you finally met him outside, Jake blinked at you like you'd just materialized from a dream. His eyes widened, then quickly darted away, as if he could avoid the full force of your impact.

“You clean up okay,” you teased, trying not to smile too wide.

He opened his mouth, clearly trying to recover, but it came out wrong. “You look... pretty.” He froze, his face turning a shade of red that should’ve been illegal. Then he scrambled, “I mean, uh, shitty.”

“I heard you the first time, Jake,” you said, tapping his face lightly, almost affectionately. “So do you.”

—-

“Stop stealing my fries.”

“I’m not stealing. I’m redistributing.”

“Stop that! It’s not my fault I ordered curly fries and you got regular fries.”

“And I regret it. Let me live.”

You were about to launch into a full rant about Food Boundaries when your foot brushed his under the table. Then his knee. Then his thigh.

Neither of you moved.

And then—like gravity just snapped—you were both leaning over the table. French fries abandoned. Eyes locked. Breaths syncing. Heat crawling up your neck.

Jake reached out, brushed a hair from your cheek, his fingers lingering just a second too long.

You stared at his lips. He stared at yours.

Oh, you were so going to kiss in this grimy diner booth, and it was going to be beautiful and stupid and you didn’t even care.

And then—

“Well, well, well.”

You both froze.

Standing next to the table, milkshake in hand, eyes wide with the smuggest expression on Earth: Jungwon.

Jake sat up like someone just caught him cheating on a test.

You blinked. “Jungwon! Hi! What a surprise!”

Jungwon glanced between the two of you. The blushing. The weird knee situation. The shared fries. The vibes.

He sighed, long and dramatic.

Then took a sip of his milkshake and said—

“Fuck. Now I gotta move out.”

And with that, he turned and walked away.

Jake looked stunned. You stared after Jungwon in horror.

“Do you think he’s gonna tell everyone?” you whispered.

At that exact moment, both your phones buzzed in unison—a notification from Jungwon’s Instagram, tagging both you and Jake.

“That answers our question.” Jake replied.

You looked at him.

He looked at you.

And under the flickering diner lights, knees still touching under the table, Jake reached across and laced his fingers through yours.He glanced at your intertwined hands, then at your face.

“God. I think I actually really like you.” he muttered, like it physically pained him.

You didn’t even blink.

“I hope the fuck you do. I’m literally your girlfriend.”

Jake groaned, slumping back into the booth like you just personally ruined him.

“This is so humiliating.”

You grinned, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah. For you.”

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Could I request a Carlos one where he tries to get his daughter to talk but she doesn't want to. And when another Charles, her favourite uncle, passes by, she calls for him leaving everyone shocked cause it's her first time talking.

Thank youuuuuu 🥰

First words

The golden afternoon sun bathed the garden of Carlos’ hotel suite in a soft, warm glow. The gentle hum of laughter and idle conversation filled the air, mingling with the occasional chirp of birds overhead. It was a rare moment of calm during a busy race weekend, and Carlos had chosen to spend it exactly how he wanted—with his daughter.

Sixteen-month-old Yn was nestled safely between her father's legs on a soft blanket spread across the freshly cut grass. Carlos knelt behind her, his strong arms gently holding her around her tummy and her tiny hands wrapped around his fingers. He was humming softly in Spanish, a soothing melody only a doting father would sing. She stood wobbly but proud, her chubby legs doing their best to hold her weight. Her deep brown eyes—so much like her father’s—scanned the garden with quiet curiosity.

Carlos’ eyes rarely left her. He was attentive to every little shift, every blink, every sound. Yn was the center of his universe, and he treated her like the delicate miracle she was. His voice was soft, like a whisper of the breeze. “Mira mi corazón… you're doing so good standing, eh? Who's the strongest girl in the world? You are.”

“Still not talking, huh?” Lando teased gently, sitting cross-legged nearby and playing with a colorful stacking toy he'd brought out just for her. “You’re gonna keep all those words locked away until college?”

Carlos chuckled. “She’ll talk when she’s ready. Right, princesa?”

Yn blinked up at him and gave him one of her slow, thoughtful smiles. That smile always melted Carlos into a puddle of absolute mush.

Max stretched out lazily on his back, hands behind his head. “Bet the first thing she says is ‘paddock’. Or ‘DRS’.”

“Or ‘engine mode’,” George added from his spot by the garden chair, balancing a toy car on his knee.

Alex leaned forward from where he was sitting on the edge of the blanket. “No way. Her first word’s gonna be something totally normal. Like ‘banana’ or ‘dog’. Or maybe ‘tío Alex’.”

Fernando, seated with his sunglasses on and a juice box in hand, smirked. “You're all wrong. She's clearly waiting for the right moment to say something wise. She’s a Sainz baby. She knows better than to waste words on fools.”

“Oi,” Lando said, tossing a plush toy at him. “Are you calling me a fool?”

Fernando raised a brow. “If the shoe fits.”

Carlos shook his head fondly, shifting slightly to adjust Yn’s balance. “Alright, mi amor. We’ve got all your uncles here. Don’t you want to say something? Just one little word? Come on…” He leaned down to nuzzle her cheek gently, his scruffy stubble making her squeal and wiggle in delight.

“Papá,” he whispered, coaxing. “Can you say that? Pa-pá?”

“Or ‘Lando’?” Lando said, scooting closer and waving a plush duck. “I’m your favorite, right? Say ‘Lando’. Lan-do. Laaaaan-dooo.”

Yn looked at him like he had three heads.

“Maybe she just doesn’t like your face,” Max offered dryly.

“You’re not helping,” Carlos muttered, hiding a smile.

George clapped his hands gently. “What about ‘car’? Yn, can you say ‘car’? You love cars, don’t you?”

Alex tried next. “Or ‘treat’? You like treats, huh? Say ‘treat’ and I’ll give you a little biscuit.”

Yn blinked slowly and then turned to look up at her father again, resting her head against his chest. The boys let out a collective groan.

“Why is she so uninterested in all of us?” Lando asked dramatically, flopping onto the grass beside Max.

“She’s just not ready,” Carlos said, running a hand down Yn’s back. “She’ll do it when she wants to.”

Just then, the sliding glass door to the hotel room opened, and out stepped Charles, towel draped around his neck, his curls a little messy from the shower. He glanced around the yard with a lopsided grin and made his way over to the drink cart.

“ Sorry for being late. You know how much i hate feeling sweaty. Just grabbing some water,” Charles called casually, waving a hand. “Don’t let me interrupt..... whatever this is.”

He wasn’t even looking at her. But Yn’s eyes lit up the moment she saw him. Her whole little body stiffened in Carlos’ arms, and her head turned, following him.

Carlos felt it before he heard it—the tiny intake of breath, the slight shift of her weight forward.

And then—clear as a bell, soft but unmistakable:

“Chalie!”

The garden froze. Carlos went perfectly still. Max sat bolt upright. Lando gasped. Alex’s jaw dropped. Fernando spilled some of his juice.

George blinked. “Did she just—?”

“Chalie!” Yn said again, a little louder this time, one hand reaching out clumsily toward the man at the water cart.

Charles turned around, stunned. “Wait… was that…?”

Carlos was still kneeling behind her, arms securely around her, eyes wide with disbelief. “Did you just…?” He looked at her, completely speechless, then up at Charles. “She just said your name.”

Charles crossed the garden in four strides, crouching down beside Yn and Carlos. “Did you say my name, petite étoile?” he asked, eyes sparkling.

Yn gave him a wide, toothy grin and reached for him again. “Chalie!”

Carlos let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a choked sob of joy. “Oh my god. That’s her first word. That’s her first word.”

The uncles erupted into a frenzy.

“No way!” Lando shrieked.

“I cannot believe it,” Max groaned. “She ignored all of us and picked him?”

“She’s got taste,” Alex mumbled.

“Maybe she is wise,” Fernando admitted.

Carlos pulled Yn gently into his arms, pressing a kiss to her soft curls, his voice full of awe. “You’ve been holding out on us, pequeña. Just waiting for your favorite to show up, huh?”

Charles, clearly touched, rubbed the back of his neck, smiling softly. “I… I don’t even know what to say. I didn’t do anything!”

“She loves you,” Carlos said simply, hugging Yn close. “And she waited for you.”

Charles reached out and took Yn’s tiny hand in his. “Well, now I feel like I’ve won the championship.”

Yn giggled, gripping his finger with surprising strength.

Lando groaned. “We’re never gonna hear the end of this.”

Carlos laughed, tears of joy shining in his eyes as he looked at his little girl. “I don’t even care. My baby just spoke. And she said Chalie.”

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting golden halos around them. And for a moment, time paused. Yn babbled softly in Charles' direction, her tiny voice full of joy, while Carlos held her like the treasure she was—safe, warm, and surrounded by love.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

Guys, what's going on with Tumblr! Why is it saying my stories need content labels? It's just sweet stories! Why is tumblr making this weird?

-🩷🎀

[lazysoulwriter]

soft launch sabotage - pedro pascal. ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: fluff, social media reveal, anxious Pedro, established but secret relationship

---

It wasn’t like you and Pedro had planned to keep your relationship a secret forever.

But it was new, and you were both a little drunk on each other. The kind of drunk where even going to the grocery store together felt too intimate to risk. Too good. Too delicate. And Pedro, bless him, had been so respectful of that — always checking before posting, always turning a soft smile toward you when someone asked about his love life and saying something vague like, “I'm very loved up lately, let’s say that.”

But then the awards show happened.

And Pedro, in a sharp navy suit and those glasses you loved, was practically glowing with nervous excitement as he stepped onto the red carpet. He was halfway through an interview when it happened. The reporter said, “You look incredible, Pedro. Who helped you pick out the suit tonight?”

And without thinking — not even pausing — he said: “My girlfriend. She has this eye for tones, and she—she’s amazing. She said this color makes my eyes look 'less tired in photos.’”

He blinked. The reporter blinked. The camera operator did not blink.

Pedro’s smile froze slightly as his brain caught up with his mouth, and he tried to chuckle it off. “I mean, my...stylist. I call her that sometimes. You know. Fashion girlfriend. Fashion ghost. Ha.”

It didn’t work. It definitely didn’t work.

By the time he made it off the carpet, your names were trending together on Twitter. People had screen-recorded the interview in HD and were doing TikTok deep dives on your recent vacation photos. Somehow, a blurry pic he’d taken of your legs on a hammock two weeks ago had resurfaced. The caption — “Heaven looks like this.” — was now very much in question.

Pedro’s anxiety had kicked in full force. He didn’t even go to the afterparty. He just went home and called you the second he walked in the door, pulling off his tie with trembling fingers.

“I fucked up,” he said immediately. “Baby, I fucked up so bad. I'm so sorry. You didn’t even get a say in this and I just—blurted it. I opened the gates and now they’re gonna find everything. I didn’t mean to out us, I swear, I wasn’t thinking, it was—”

“Pedro,” you said gently, trying not to smile.

“I should've kept it to myself. I just—I was thinking about you. I always think about you. And they asked and it just came out and—fuck, you hate this kind of attention. I ruined it, didn’t I?”

“Pedro.” You laughed now, full and warm. “I don’t care.”

He blinked, and your voice came through the phone like balm. “I mean, maybe I would’ve liked to post a really cute soft-launch first. You in the kitchen with that ridiculous apron you wear. Or me in your hoodie. But... it’s fine. It’s you. And I love you. I’m not mad.”

He was quiet for a second.

Then: “You love me?”

“Oh my God,” you rolled your eyes. “Yes. Obviously. I just thought I’d wait to say it until after you accidentally told the entire entertainment industry we’re dating.”

Pedro’s breath caught in his throat — and then the nervous wreck of a man melted. He was giggling, pacing around the living room with a hand on his chest like you’d hit him with a tranquilizer dart made of love. “Fuck. I love you too. You’re sure you're okay?”

“Yes, Pascal. In fact—” you grinned. “Now you have to post me. No turning back.”

So the next morning, he did.

pascalispunk 📸 a carousel of you and him — the first one was a candid: you curled into his lap, laughing in a sunbeam, his sunglasses half off your face. The second was blurrier, you kissing his temple while he cooked. The third was that same hammock photo — but this time, he tagged you.

Caption: Guess the secret’s out. Best accident I ever made. 💛

The comments were unhinged. The internet fully lost its mind. But Pedro didn’t care — not with you curled into his chest, hand tucked under his shirt, scrolling through them with a lazy grin and whispering, “They’re right, you do look less tired in that suit.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom

---

[nayiana0]

"Three Minutes"

pairings : seonghwa x reader

wc : 3.7k

tags : explicit content, semi-public sex (sex in a public facility — changing room), cum on face, mirror sex, strangers to lovers, vacation au, fast burn, lifeguard!seonghwa, mutual pining, inspired by an insta post, summertime chaos, he looked too good, oops it got horny, soft but not soft, eye contact, sweat and tension, summer fling maybe?

genre : smut

a/n : yeah. blame seonghwa. this was supposed to be soft. it’s not. vacation au, fast burn, strangers to something

You’ve seen him every day since you arrived.

Always up in that impossibly tall lifeguard chair, perched like a statue carved out of heat and sun. 

His skin is golden — that kind of deep, effortless tan that only happens when you live in the sun. 

His hair’s a little too long, curling behind his ears, damp at the ends from pool water or sweat. 

And his abs?

Yeah. You’ve definitely looked.

Hard, defined, glistening under the sun — his red swim shorts hanging low on his hips, drawstring untied just enough to make you wonder if he even cares. 

He’s lean but strong, the kind of strength that comes from swimming laps and hauling wet bodies out of pools.

A whistle dangles from his neck, brushing his chest when he moves. 

His sunglasses hide most of his expression, but you know he’s watching you. 

You feel it. Every time. 

You noticed him before you even made it to your lounge chair the first day. You didn’t mean to. But then again, he didn’t give you much choice.

And you never even got his name — not really. Just “Hwa,” stitched in bold black thread across the hip of his uniform shorts.

He watches you. Every day. 

When you walk by. 

When you stretch out in your chair. 

When you slide into the pool like you don’t know what you’re doing — like you don’t know he’s got a perfect view of the way your hips move beneath the water.

You haven’t spoken. Not once.

But that was part of the game.

Until today.

You stretch out on your towel under the hot sun, your skin warm and glistening with sunscreen. Seonghwa’s chair is in your peripheral vision, like always, and you know he’s there — because you can feel him.

Watching.

Waiting.

You shift a little. Cross your legs. Sip slowly through the straw. And when you lean forward to grab your sunglasses, they accidentally slip from your fingers.

Right near the base of his stand.

You pretend not to notice at first. Just long enough to get his attention. Long enough to know he’s looking.

You wait a second. Then two.

Then you rise. Slow. Deliberate.

Barefoot, hips swaying, you walk over in your tiniest bikini — the black one, the one that makes everything look like an invitation. 

You crouch to pick them up, taking your time, pretending like you’re alone.

You crouch down to grab them.

“Those yours?” a voice rasps from above, smooth like smoke and summer heat.

You look up — and there he is. “Hwa”. 

Close enough now that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes behind those dark lenses.

He’s leaned down, one arm draped across his knee, the other lazily holding his whistle.

“Didn’t mean to distract you,” you say, voice low, sweet.

He hums like he doesn’t believe you for a second. “Sure you didn’t.”

You rise slowly. His eyes follow every inch of you.

“Is this an invitation, or do you just like bending over in front of me?”

You straighten, turning just enough to glance at him over your shoulder. His sunglasses are still on, but you can feel his gaze—steady, low, not even pretending to be polite.

“You saying you didn’t like the view?” you ask, voice teasingly sweet.

He shifts in his lifeguard chair, forearms flexing as he rests them on his knees. “I didn’t say that.”

He hops down from the stand.

It’s instinct, maybe, or something deeper, but your breath catches the moment he’s level with you. 

He’s taller up close, broader — all sun-bronzed skin and a slight sheen of sweat from the heat.

His whistle drops against his chest when he steps into your space.

“You want me? Just say it,” he murmurs.

Your heart stutters. “What if I don’t want you?.”

His jaw ticks. Like he’s trying not to do something reckless.

Then, with a low, teasing smile, he says,

“Oh, come on. You’ve been watching me all week. You think I didn’t notice?”

You lean in just a little closer, voice low and sultry. “Mmm… maybe I’m just waiting to see if you’re worth it.”

Then he jerks his head toward the pool’s changing room.

“In there. Three minutes,” he says, voice tight.

He turns and walks away — back to his stand.

You’re left standing there, sunglasses dangling from your fingers, mouth dry and pulse roaring in your ears.

Three minutes.

———

You wait, and then glance at your phone — the three minutes are up. 

With a slow, deliberate pace, you head toward the changing rooms, heels clicking softly on the pavement. 

The sun’s warmth feels different now — heavy, loaded with anticipation.

Inside the cool, tiled room, you lean against the counter, arms crossed, your heart ticking faster.

You start to wonder… is he really going to come in? Or was this just a game to him?

Your breath catches when the door creaks open. You turn sharply—there he is, stepping in with that confident, unreadable look.

A slow smirk spreads across his face. “Waiting for me?”

You arch an eyebrow, teasing, “You do this with every girl who catches your eye?”

He steps closer, eyes dark and intense. “Mmm, only the ones I want to keep.”

Your pulse hammers as he closes the distance, the heat between you suddenly palpable. “Lucky me.”

He brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear, voice low and teasing. “You have no idea what I’ve been planning.”

You bite your lip, eyes sparkling with challenge.

“Then maybe you should show me.”

He closes the gap, his breath warm against your skin

His hand trails slowly down your arm, fingers brushing lightly, sending shivers through you. 

His eyes lock onto yours—dark, hungry, and unapologetically intense.

“You’ve been tempting me,” he murmurs, voice husky.

“All day, you’ve been right here, but now…” He leans in, lips just grazing your earlobe, “Now you’re mine to play with.”

You shiver, a delicious mix of nerves and excitement flooding your body. Your fingers twitch, desperate to reach him, but he pulls back just enough to keep you wanting.

Instinctively, your hand finds its way to his crotch, sliding up until your palm presses firmly against the hard planes of his abs. 

The heat of his skin seeps into your fingertips, grounding you in the moment.

His breath hitches, eyes flickering down to your hands and back up, dark and hungry.

“You feeling me?” he teases, voice low and playful.

You nod, lips curving into a slow, teasing smile. “Yeah. I’m feeling you.”

His hands tighten on your hips, pulling you even closer. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’m just getting started.”

His lips find yours, soft and slow at first, teasing, exploring. 

Your hands press against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms. 

The world narrows to just the two of you — heat, breath, the taste of him on your lips.

Between kisses, you pull back just enough to whisper,

“You gonna ghost me after this?”

He smirks against your mouth, voice low and mischievous. “Maybe…”

The words catch you off guard for a second, but you shake it off with a smile. You’re here now, and that’s what matters.

Leaning back in, you thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. “Well, I’m not going anywhere.”

His hands slide under your shirt, warm and sure.

“Good. Because I’m about to make sure you remember me.”

His kiss deepens, more urgent now, hands exploring, pulling you tighter.

Every brush of his lips, every stroke of his fingers sends sparks trailing down your spine.

You melt into him, losing yourself in the moment — and loving every second.

His lips roam from your mouth down to your neck, planting soft, possessive kisses that make your breath hitch. 

You arch into him, feeling the heat build, every nerve alive with anticipation.

“You look even better up close,” he murmurs against your jaw, voice thick with desire.

You respond by slipping your hands around his neck, pulling him closer, needing more—more warmth, more contact, more of him.

He presses you back against the cool marble counter, a low groan vibrating from his chest as his body melds against yours. 

His hands roam lower, cupping your hips firmly as he slides his mouth back to yours, fierce and demanding.

He pulls away just enough to look into your eyes, voice a whisper that sends shivers down your spine. “Tell me what you want.”

You don’t hesitate. “You.”

He smiles against your skin, and then says, “Good. Because I’m not stopping until you’re begging.”

You gasp when his fingers slip beneath your waistband, teasing the bare skin of your hip. “Hwa…” you breathe, voice trembling.

“Shh,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. “I wanna hear you say please.”

Your arms clutch his neck, pulling him closer. “Please.”

His grin is wicked. “That’s my girl.”

And then he dives back in — hands, lips, every touch sending waves of heat that ripple through your body.

Seonghwa’s eyes never leave yours as he carefully hooks his fingers into the side of your bikini bottom.

He pulls it aside, revealing your wet, swollen pussy. 

His eyes are dark with desire, his breath hot and uneven against your face. 

“So pretty,” he whispers, his gaze lingering on your exposed folds. 

He slides a single finger through your slickness, coating it before pushing it inside you, slow and deliberate.

You bite down on your lower lip, trying to keep from crying out.

But the sensation is too intense. A moan slips past your teeth, and he reacts immediately, one hand shooting up to cover your mouth.

His grip is firm, but not painful, silently urging you to keep the noise down as his other hand starts to move faster, his thumb circling your clit in a way that sends sparks dancing across your vision.

You can feel his arousal pressing against your stomach, straining against the fabric of his swim trunks.

Your own desire for him is overwhelming, your body arching into his touch, begging for more. 

"Hwa," you whimper into his palm, the sound muffled but no less desperate. His eyes flash with triumph, and he leans closer, his breath warm against your cheek. 

"That's it," he whispers, his voice a low growl that sends a thrill through your body. "Beg for it, baby. I want to hear how much you need me."

You nod frantically, the pressure building deep inside you like a coiled spring. "Please," you breathe out, the word a needy plea. "I'm begging."

“That's what I want to hear," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. He starts to pump both of his fingers in and out of you, his thumb relentlessly teasing your clit. 

The sensation is so intense, you feel like you're going to shatter.

"Please," you repeat, breathless. "Oh, fuck–, please."

"Keep begging," he whispers, his voice a seductive rumble. "You're so close, baby. Let me feel you come around my fingers."

You nod, unable to form coherent words, as your body tightens around his fingers. 

The sound of your muffled moans and the slick wetness of his hand moving in and out of you fills the tense silence of the changing room.

"Come for me," he urges, his voice a dark whisper that sends a shiver down your spine. 

His finger moves faster, his thumb pressing harder, and your eyes flutter closed as you let go.

The orgasm hits you like a wave, crashing over you in an explosion of sensation. 

You bite down hard on his hand, muffling a scream as your body convulses with pleasure.

When the intensity subsides, you find yourself leaning heavily against the counter, panting and trembling. 

Seonghwa's eyes are still on yours, more eager than ever. 

He slowly withdraws his hand, and you can feel the wetness he's left behind.

"Now, turn around," he says, his voice still a soft command.

You obey, the cool marble against your back as you face the mirror, watching his reflection as he stands behind you. 

The sight of his strong, tanned body, the water droplets still clinging to his chest, makes your legs wobble.

Seonghwa's eyes are dark with need as he unties the strings of his swim trunks, letting them fall to the floor. 

His cock springs free, thick and erect, and your heart skips a beat. "Look at me," he says, his voice low and urgent.

You turn around, eyes locked on his reflection in the mirror, watching as he takes a step closer. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, and you know you're about to be consumed by it.

He places his hands on your hips, gently turning you to face the mirror.

"You're gonna watch me fuck you," he murmurs, the words sending a fresh surge of arousal through your body.

He positions his cock at your entrance, the head nudging against your swollen clit.

"You ready?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your chest. 

You nod, unable to find the words to answer. He chuckles, a sound that's both sweet and sinister, and then, with one smooth, powerful thrust, he's inside you.

You gasp as he fills you completely, the sensation of his thickness stretching you out almost too much to handle. 

He pulls back almost all the way before sliding back in and staying there, each inch a delicious torture that makes you arch your back and bite your lip to keep from screaming out. 

The sound of your wetness filling the small room is the only sound louder than the pounding of your heart.

"Look at yourself," he murmurs, his voice a dark caress. "Look at how much you want this."

You bite your lip, unable to hold back a moan as he stretches you open. "Oh, fuck," you murmur, your voice a hoarse whisper.

Your eyes are glued to our reflection, watching his cock disappear inside you.

"Do it," you whisper, the words a shaky command.

Seonghwa starts to move, his hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm that builds the pressure back up inside you. 

His grip on your hips is firm, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror as he fucks you with a deliberate intensity that has you gasping for breath. 

"That's it," he says, his voice a low rumble. "Take it all."

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the changing room, the slick noise of his cock moving in and out of your pussy a delicious noise of need.

"You're so fucking perfect," he groans, his strokes becoming more erratic.

Your eyes never leave the mirror, watching as your body responds to his every movement. 

You can see the tightness in your abdomen, the way your tits bounce with each thrust, the flush spreading across your cheeks

His hand moves down to your clit, and the sight of his fingers working you sends another jolt of pleasure through you.

"S-shit," you whine, the words escaping your mouth like a prayer. "Hwa, I'm gonna come again."

"That's right, baby," he groans, his breath hot against your neck. His fingers dance over your clit in a pattern that you've never felt before, his rhythm matching the pace of his hips as he drives into you.

"I want you to feel it."

You can't help but let out a high-pitched whine, your body moving in sync with his.

Your legs are shaking, your core tightening around him as you climb towards that sweet release. "Fuck– I’m gonna–.."

"Come for me," he murmurs, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "Let me feel it."

His strokes become more deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. "I wanna see you fall apart."

You nod, your voice a desperate whimper. "I'm... I'm almost there." The words barely leave your mouth before you're there, your body seizing around him as a second orgasm rips through you. 

He groans, his grip tightening as he fucks you through the waves of pleasure, pushing you past the brink of what you thought possible.

Your eyes lock with his in the mirror, and you can see the challenge in his gaze.

"I'm... I'm there," you gasp, your voice shaking. "Hwa, I-I'm there."

But he doesn't stop. If anything, he fucks you harder, faster, his fingers on your clit a blur of motion. "Again," he murmurs, his voice a command. 

"I want more." His hips smack against yours, the sound echoing in the tiled room, and you feel yourself rising towards that peak once more.

You try to protest, to tell him it's too much, but the words are lost in a moan that turns into a scream as your orgasm hits you like a wrecking ball. 

Your knees buckle, but he holds you up, never breaking his rhythm. "Don't stop," he growls, his voice thick with his own desire. "I'm not done with you yet."

As the tremors of your climax subside, he pulls out, leaving you feeling empty and desperate for more. "On your knees," he says, his voice hoarse and urgent. 

You do as you're told, your legs unsteady as you sink to the cold tile floor. He steps back, giving you a clear view of his cock, still rock-hard and slick with your arousal.

"Open your mouth," he commands, and you obey without hesitation. He strokes himself, watching you. "I wanna see those pretty eyes of yours when I come." 

"Please," you beg, the word a desperate chant.

Seonghwa's eyes darken as he continues to stroke himself, with increasing speed, watching you with a fiery intensity. "Look at me," he murmurs, his voice low and seductive. "Keep looking at me."

"I need it, Hwa" you whine, the ache in your voice clear. 

"Beg for it," he says, a smirk playing on his lips. "Beg for my cum."

You whimper, the filthy words making your heart race. "Please," you whisper, your voice shaking. "Please, I want it."

He's so close, so incredibly close, and the thought of feeling him come on your face, in your mouth, sends a shiver of excitement through you.

"I'm gonna cum all over your pretty face," he says, his voice tight with restraint.

You nod, your eyes never leaving his. The anticipation is unbearable, your body thrumming with excitement. 

You open your mouth, tongue flicking out to taste the salty cum beading at the tip of his cock.

With a final, powerful stroke, he comes, spurts of hot cum hitting your cheeks, your chin, your open mouth. 

You catch as much as you can with your tongue, eagerly lapping up the salty liquid as it pools there. 

His eyes are locked on yours, watching your every move.

"Swallow it," he whispers, his voice a dark command. You do, eagerly, savoring the taste of him, the feel of his warmth in your mouth.

He reaches down, gently wiping a stray droplet from the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

"Good girl," he murmurs, the praise sending a thrill through you.

You stand on shaky legs, breath still coming in shallow pulls as the heat between you simmers into something quieter — warmer.

Seonghwa's hands settle on your hips, grounding you. His eyes search yours, still dark with desire, but softened now. 

He brushes a knuckle along your cheek, smearing a bit of moisture away. “You okay?” he asks, voice low and gentle.

You nod slowly, your lips curving into a dazed smile. 

"That was..." you start to say, but the words fall apart, you couldn't find the words to describe the intensity of what you just shared.

He leans in, pressing a slow kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"Incredible," Seonghwa finishes for you, his voice a gruff whisper. "But we're not done yet."

"What do you mean?" you ask, breathless.

Seonghwa's smile is wicked as he pulls out a small marker from his pocket. "In case you forget," he says, his tone teasing. 

He uncaps the marker and, with a gentle touch, scribbles his full name and number along the inside of your wrist.

The coldness of the ink contrasts with the heat of his skin, sending a thrill up your arm.

"Park Seonghwa," you whisper, the name feeling strange but somehow right on your lips. 

He looks at you, his eyes dark and intense, the connection between you palpable. "Call me," he says, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine.

He leans in, capturing your mouth in one final, lingering kiss. 

His tongue traces the seam of your lips, dipping inside to tangle with yours.

When he pulls back, your eyes are hazy with desire, and your body feels like it's on fire.

With one last look, he tucks the marker back into his pocket and grabs his towel, wrapping it around his neck.

"See you around," he says, his voice a seductive promise. 

He opens the changing room door and steps out, leaving you standing there, trembling with the aftershocks of what just happened.

You watch him go, his muscular body disappearing into the bright sunlight. 

The sound of laughter and splashing from the pool outside feels like it's a million miles away as you touch your wrist, feeling the warmth of his ink on your skin.

Finally, you take a deep breath, willing yourself to move. You pull on some fresh clothes, the fabric sticking to your damp skin. 

The scent of chlorine is still in the air, a reminder of the explosive passion that just unfolded in this tiny, private space.

But as you watch him walk back to his tower, his eyes finding yours for a brief moment, you know that you can't resist the pull. 

You're in too deep now, and you don't want to be anywhere else.

With shaky hands, you grab your phone and save his number, the digits forever etched in your mind. 

As you head back to your chair, you can't help but feel a sense of anticipation building in your chest. 

And as you lay there, the sun warming your skin and the sound of the waves crashing in the background, you can't help but wonder what happens next. 

Will you call him? Will he call you? Or will you just stay here, tangled up in the heat of it all, letting the memory of his touch and his taste linger on your skin like the chlorine from the pool?

The possibilities are endless, and you can't wait to find out.

[witchywithwhiskey]

sweet as honeycrisp

pairing: sugar daddy!ari levinson x sugar baby!female reader

summary: your sugar daddy takes you on an autumn-themed date to the apple orchard, and what starts off as a fun and flirty day unfolds into a meaningful turning point in your relationship.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), established sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, smut, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, piv sex, outdoor sex, creampie, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), finger sucking, biting, brief cockwarming, exhibitionism, light bdsm, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, very light degradation, lots of teasing, pet names (darling, honey), aftercare, happy ending, so much fluff

word count: 14.5k

a/n: whew i've been working on this for like two weeks now, and i'm so happy to finally be able to post it!!! i was struggling a bit with the emotional throughline of this fic, and i only decided on it very late in the editing game so if some things don't make sense, just ignore it!!! if you can believe it, i originally just wanted to write about a quickie in the apple orchard and it turned into this 🫣 anyway, i hope y'all enjoy!!!

“Kiss.”

The warm, playful voice of your sugar daddy, Ari Levinson, met your ears as you lowered yourself into the passenger seat of his Lexus, greeting you in the way he always did. When you closed the car door behind you, the sounds of the Manhattan street were silenced, leaving you in the relative quiet with Ari.

Eagerly, you twisted on the sumptuous seat of the expensive car to lean over the center console, brushing a teasing kiss to Ari’s scruffy cheek, your lips grazing the edge of his full beard. His skin was warm and inviting, and you lingered for a moment, breathing in the the familiar scent of Ari’s cologne, smelling of vetiver and leather. 

When you pulled back, Ari’s blue eyes were glittering with a hint of mischief that made your heart thump with excitement, a warmth blooming in your core despite the cool air of the car’s air conditioning brushing your legs. It was a warm September day, the last remnants of summer clinging in the air as if it protested giving up its seat to autumn. 

The thought crossed your mind that if any man looked like the embodiment of summer, it was Ari Levinson. His skin was golden with a perpetual tan, and his brown hair had sun-kissed blond highlights that shimmered in the daylight, though they were dimmed a bit in the shadow of his car. 

Still, as he grinned at you, showing off his pearly whites framed by his dark beard, you couldn’t help but feel like the summer sun had taken a liking to you and sat beside you. When he looked at you like that, with that smile and those blue eyes shining like the sun off the ocean waves, you wondered what it would be like to have his attention all the time—to be more than just the sugar baby he took on occasional dates when he wanted to have fun.

Pushing those bothersome romantic notions aside, you raked your eyes down Ari’s form, noticing that he’d dressed down for your date. He wore a soft denim, long-sleeved button-up over a simple white t-shirt and tailored slacks. Casual loafers and sunglasses perched on top of his head completed the look. Even in such a simple outfit, he looked good. 

“Show me.” 

His voice was a deep rumble that pulsed between your thighs, and you flicked your gaze back up to his face, finding heat in his expression, the same mischievousness in his eyes that’d been there since you got in the car. The corner of Ari’s mouth was curved in a smirk, and you felt another throb of warmth in your core.

Your lips curled at the edges, a wicked smile curving your mouth as the energy in the car crackled around you, spurring your heart to beat a little faster. You knew exactly what Ari wanted you to show him, and you knew it was naughty—but that was part of why you liked spending time with your sugar daddy. 

Ari was always urging you to be a little daring, to do something that made your heart race and your breath come a little faster. He didn’t push you, so much as guide you down the path to depravity, and you followed him willingly. You never felt more alive than when you were with Ari.

So while you smiled at him, you spread your legs on the leather seat of his Lexus, the short skirt of your dress falling between your parting thighs. Ari’s smirk deepened with satisfaction as he watched your movements with rapt attention. Your fingers toyed with the edge of your dress, the fabric having ridden up quite high on your thighs. 

But before you could reveal what was beneath your skirt, you looked away from Ari, and it crashed over you that you sat in a car in the middle of a busy Manhattan street surrounded by other people. There were folks driving in their cars just outside your window and others walking by on the sidewalk beside where Ari was parked. There were even people filling up the buildings that overlooked the street. They were everywhere around you.

“Darling, look at me,” Ari murmured, his tone entreating enough to call your attention back to him. 

You noticed his sparkling eyes had lost some of their mischief when you looked back at him. But the steadiness of his gaze had you relaxing when you hadn’t even realized you’d tensed up, and the corners of your mouth flickered in an uncertain smile.

“Do you trust me?” Ari asked simply. His face was open, no hint of pressure in his tone or voice. 

For a brief moment, you considered his question, then you nodded your head. You watched as warmth flooded into his gaze, and it made you feel a little more sure. 

“Lift your skirt for me, darling,” he implored, his eyes dropping to where your thighs were still spread, the flimsy fabric of your dress barely hiding your core. “Show daddy what you have under your pretty little skirt.”

You gathered every ounce of braveness in your body and pulled up the hem of your skirt. There, nestled between your spread thighs, was your bare pussy. The air in the car seemed to heat by a few degrees when you heard Ari suck in a sharp breath.

It had been Ari’s idea for you to go without panties on your date, and you’d agreed, the idea sending excited thrills through your body. Walking through the halls and the lobby of the Manhattan high-rise you called home, you’d felt like you had a secret that only Ari knew, and it gave you a delicious kind of satisfaction showing your sugar daddy how you’d gone without panties, your pussy fully exposed beneath your dress.

“You have such a pretty cunt, darling,” Ari groaned, his hand sliding up your thigh until the tips of his fingers teased the top of your slit. 

You bit back a gasp and squirmed in your seat, trying to hold your hips back from thrusting into his touch. 

“I never get tired of seeing this pussy, and how wet she gets for me.” 

His fingers spread your lower lips and he brushed ever so gently over the tip of your clit, making you twitch in your seat, your legs shaking with the effort it took not to close them on his hand and trap him against your heated core.

“And the way your thighs tremble for me,” Ari rumbled, pulling away from your quickly dampening slit to grope roughly at your plush softness, his grip possessive in a way your sugar daddy rarely was. 

“Ari.” His name was a breathy exhale, an undercurrent of admonishment in your tone as his touches stoked the blazing fire in your core, making you squirm even more on the seat. A sliver of worry wormed into your mind as you remembered the leather you sat on, which would surely stain if he kept touching you, and you gasped, “The seat.”

Ari only chuckled, the sound cavalier in a way that made butterflies take flight in your belly, but before you could chide him again, his hand was slipping back between your thighs. Ari dragged a finger from the bottom of your slit all the way to the top, flicking your clit and wringing a moan from your lips as your thighs trembled on the seat.

Then he was pulling his hand away, leaving you to drop your skirt to cover yourself, and popping his finger into his mouth. Your sugar daddy made a show of savoring the taste of you, and your head fell back against the headrest. You watched him suck your taste from his skin, your breaths heavy in your chest while Ari’s eyes sparkled with mischief. 

“Mm, sweet as apple pie,” he praised, making heat rush to your face while you shook your head and rolled your eyes—even as your chest warmed at the compliment. Ari was grinning shamelessly at you when he grabbed your face gently and pulled you gently across the car toward him. “C’mere, darling, see how sweet you taste,” he murmured against your lips before kissing you.

The musky flavor of your body made you moan into Ari’s mouth, your sugar daddy devouring every little noise you made while he kissed you thoroughly. You sank into him, reveling in the smooth glide of his lips and the possessive exploration of his tongue. Your fingers curled around the collar of his denim shirt and you clung to him, feeling the edge of something more in the way he kissed you. It left you breathless when you finally pulled away.

You fell back into your seat with a soft “oomph,” the breath rushing from your lungs when you looked into Ari’s eyes. His blue gaze was softer than you’d ever seen it, and there was something in depths of his eyes that you couldn’t quite place—affection or fondness maybe. 

A small, uncertain smile curled your lips, your heart thumping in your chest as you wondered if that’s how Ari looked at someone he truly cared about. Someone special to him, who had a more permanent place in his life than the sugar baby he called when he wanted to have some no-strings-attached fun. 

For the briefest of moments, you could pretend Ari was more than your sugar daddy, and you were more than his sugar baby. 

But then the moment ended, and Ari cleared his throat as he looked away, focusing on the wheel and gear shift of his car to put it in drive. A silent sigh of disappointment gusted from you, and you turned toward the passenger side window, intent on watching the city fly by once Ari eased into traffic.

To your surprise, Ari’s hand slipped into one of yours, his palm pressing against yours while he laced your fingers together. Your breath hitched with uncertainty even as the corners of your mouth flickered in a smile. It took you a moment to get used to the feeling of his hand in yours, turning it over to trace the veins on the back gently while he maneuvered his Lexus through the Manhattan streets.

It had only been a few months since you’d started seeing Ari, and while his touches were often greedy when you were fooling around, he hadn’t been prone to physical displays of affection since the first few dates you went on with him. Back then, he’d reached for your hand a few times, but after a point he’d stopped.

Truthfully, it had been a relief. One of your greatest fears was falling for a sugar daddy who didn’t return your feelings, and considering how handsome Ari was, you’d known it was a serious risk getting into a relationship with him. But he’d been so charming and carefree, you didn’t think it would be a problem to keep your heart out of things. He didn’t seem like he was looking for anything serious anyway.

So you’d focused on having fun, and that had been easy. Ari took you to expensive restaurants with delicious food in New York City, or he’d fly you somewhere else if he was itching to get away for a little bit. During meals, you’d chat about trivial things, then fall into bed together as soon as you were back in whatever hotel room Ari had booked for the night. 

You didn’t quite know why your conversations didn’t go deeper than the shallow things you talked about, but you didn’t question it. It made everything so much easier if you didn’t truly know Ari—if he didn’t know you either. So you just stuck to safe topics, like planning dates and having sex. 

Your relationship with Ari was a nice change of pace for you. He was far from your first sugar daddy, and you’d learned some hard lessons in your past relationships. Too often, sugar daddies wanted to know things you weren’t comfortable sharing, but Ari had never pried. He’d set boundaries and didn’t push them. You were grateful for that.

But another part of you, a part that started off small and was growing with every date you went on with Ari, yearned to know more about your sugar daddy. You wanted to know what he liked to do when he wasn’t working or taking you on dates. You wanted to know if he had any family, if he celebrated the holidays with them. You wanted to know if he’d ever had his heart broken. 

Tamping down on those curious thoughts, you focused on the present—the music that was playing gently in the car, and the scenery passing by your window. The skyscrapers and high-rises of Manhattan had given way to the tightly-packed homes of the suburbs. 

Biting your tongue against all the questions you wanted to ask, not even sure how you’d begin to try to get to know your sugar daddy better—let alone whether it was a good idea—you sat in silence with Ari. The suburbs eventually gave way to the lush forests and hilly countryside of the Hudson Valley, giving you something prettier to look at.

It was too early in September for the leaves to be changing yet, but there were glimpses of golden yellows and warm oranges among the green foliage. A hint of what was to come. Autumn was inevitable and you found comfort in the changing seasons. 

Cozy weather was right around the corner, and you couldn’t wait for it. Hot apple cider and pumpkin pie, butterscotch cookies and mulled wine—you were a glutton for all the food and beverages associated with the autumn months. And you liked to make them yourself from scratch whenever possible. 

It was part of the reason you’d wanted Ari to take you apple picking, though he didn’t know that. He’d just accepted the request and planned the date. 

After a little while more of driving, Ari pulled off the paved road and onto a dirt track. There was a sign for Brothers’ Apple Orchard fixed to a worn, wooden fence, though dense trees hid the farm from view. 

A little ways down the dirt road, the trees opened up into a large parking lot that was already packed with families and groups of friends going apple picking on the warm September afternoon. The sight and sounds of all the people had nerves twisting in your stomach, and you wondered if it had been a smart idea to go without panties to a place that was meant for wholesome fun.

You’d long since learned that Ari had an exhibitionist streak, and that day wasn’t the first time he’d told you to show up to one of your dates without panties. You’d always enjoyed the excitement in the inherent risk of wearing a dress without anything underneath, but he’d never taken you somewhere with so many families before. The consequences of getting caught seemed so much worse than they ever had before.

Ari must’ve felt your fingers tense in his because he gave you a comforting squeeze as he pulled his Lexus into an empty space and put the car in park. Once done, he looked to you, his smile faltering when he took in the way your brows were pinched and the corners of your mouth were turned down in an uncertain frown.

“Do you trust me, darling?” Ari asked, cupping your face and leaning across the car’s console to press his forehead to yours. His thumb stroked gently over your cheek, matching the sweeping of his other thumb against the back of your hand. 

You were quiet for a moment, nibbling on your lower lip as you thought about his question—really thought about it.

It weighed on you a little that you didn’t know Ari very well, especially since a part of you desperately wanted to, but that didn’t mean you didn’t know his character. Ari had never pushed you to do something you didn’t want to do, and he always checked in with you when you were together, making sure you were comfortable and having fun. So while you didn’t know his favorite color, you did trust him. 

Exhaling slowly, you nodded, your forehead shifting against Ari’s. “I trust you, Ari,” you said, your voice little more than a whisper, like you were telling him a secret in the privacy afforded by the enclosed space of his car. 

To your surprise, Ari sighed in relief at your words, the exhale so short and quiet, you wondered if you’d heard correctly. But you didn’t have time to analyze it because Ari was pressing a quick kiss to your lips and then pulling back to open his door and step out into the September sunshine.

You watched as Ari rounded the front of the Lexus, a charming grin on his face as he winked at you over the hood of his car. It was only because you were alone that you allowed yourself a silly little giggle, your mouth spreading across your face in a wide smile. He opened your door and offered you a hand to help you out.

“Careful, darling, wouldn’t want to give anyone a free show,” Ari murmured teasingly while you slid your hand into his, feeling the roughness of his palm against the pads of your fingertips. 

A zing of thrill went straight to your core at his words, joining the sparks you felt when you touched him. The fingers of your other hand played with the hem of your dress as you stepped one foot out of the car. You darted a look around, finding you had some relative privacy between Ari’s Lexus and the next car over, and pretended to rearrange your skirt. 

In reality, you flashed your bare slit for your sugar daddy, biting your lip and ducking your head when you heard his sharp inhale. Ari made a low, tortured sound and squeezed your fingers, practically pulling you out of the car before pinning you against the side.

“Naughty girl,” Ari growled in your ear, pressing his big body against yours so you were trapped between his hard muscles and the warm metal of the Lexus at your back. “You’re going to get us in trouble if you keep flashing that pretty pussy at me, darling.” 

A breathless, disbelieving laugh gusted past your lips before you could stop it, even as your head went a little fuzzy from the familiar scent of Ari’s cologne filling your senses. It felt like the vetiver and leather on his skin was embedded in your mind as a reminder of all the pleasure he’d given you, and with his body pressed against yours, it took you a moment to respond.

“You’re the one who told me not to wear panties to our apple picking date, daddy,” you reminded him, gripping the soft cotton of Ari’s t-shirt beneath his denim shirt, your fingers brushing against the sides of his tapered waist. You pushed yourself up onto your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, brushing your body against his firm form enticingly while your lips grazed along his scruffy cheek. “Maybe you shouldn’t have done that if you didn’t want me to show you my achy, needy cunt.”

A low growl rumbled in Ari’s chest and he pressed you harder against the side of his car, his body impossibly warm and hard through the thin fabric of your dress. You could feel every firm line of him against your soft curves, including the thick bulge digging into your stomach. 

Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, Ari’s hands skimmed down your sides and dove beneath the hem of your skirt, palming your ass and kneading your soft flesh with firm, possessive fingers.

“Darling, if you keep saying such filthy things, you’re gonna end up in the back of my car with my cock buried in your achy, needy cunt,” he purred, a threat in his tone that he punctuated by nipping at your ear, making you gasp and arch into him, pressing your tits against his solid chest. “You’re gonna get us banned from the orchard because you won’t be able to stop screaming while I pound your pussy—is that what you want?”

It was on the tip of your tongue to say yes. 

In the short time since you’d stepped out of the car, Ari had you feeling wet and aching and empty. Warmth flooded your body that had nothing to do with the sun shining brightly above your heads, and you wanted badly for Ari to free his cock from his slacks and slide it inside you.

But then the shrieking laughter of children punctured the bubble of lust surrounding you, and you remembered exactly where you were. Shaking your head, you dropped your gaze to the edge of Ari’s jaw while you sucked in a deep breath, focusing on the fresh air beyond the scent of your sugar daddy’s cologne. 

Ari’s big body eased back, giving you more room to breathe and you ignored the pang of disappointment at the loss of him. Instead, you let the crisp autumn breeze brushing against your cheeks and dancing between your thighs cool you down. 

After giving you a moment, Ari curled a finger beneath your chin and tipped your face up to look at him. His brows were lowered and his eyes looked at you questioningly.

“Do you still want to go apple picking?” he asked softly, planting his other hand on the hood of his car, as if he needed to force himself not to touch you so you could answer his question. The thought made you smile, and his eyes dropped to your lips, his thumb brushing quickly over the bottom one. 

“I do,” you said in a light, breathless voice, a smile teasing around the edges of your mouth. On a whim, you nipped at Ari’s thumb, giving him a smirk when his eyes darkened. “If you think you can keep it in your pants until later, daddy,” you taunted him, pushing your hips forward so his bulge pressed into your belly.

“You’re such fucking trouble,” Ari growled before his mouth captured yours in a searing kiss. One of his hands grabbed your waist, pulling you into him while the other cradled your head gently, holding you exactly where he wanted you while he devoured your mouth, his tongue sweeping possessively past your lips until you were moaning softly into him.

A loud, clearing throat had you finally breaking apart. Both you and Ari turned your heads toward the sound, finding a blonde woman raising an eyebrow at the two of you before cutting her eyes pointedly to the children beside her. Your cheeks heated and you buried your face in Ari’s neck to muffle a cackling laugh. 

“Apologies, ma’am,” Ari called gruffly, raising a hand in a repentant wave. 

The woman huffed and rolled her eyes, which only made you laugh harder, pressing your face deeper into the warm curve of Ari’s shoulder as you tried to stay quiet. When the woman and her family were finally gone, you leaned back, giving Ari a cheeky grin. 

“Think she’s gonna complain about us and get us banned?” you asked teasingly, sliding your hands up Ari’s chest until they rested on his shoulders, trying not to think about how easy it was to touch your sugar daddy so casually. “Tell them we were acting indecently in the parking lot?”

Ari laughed, chucking you under your chin gently before ducking down for a quick kiss. “If she does, I’ll just buy the farm,” Ari murmured against your mouth. “They can’t ban us if I own them.”

Your breath caught in your lungs at Ari’s pronouncement, surprise making your heart leap in your chest. Your sugar daddy had bought you plenty of expensive gifts since you’d started seeing him, but buying a farm so you could go apple picking in peace was on another level entirely. You had to wonder if Ari was serious, but the look in his eye was genuine when he pulled back. 

“Don’t give me that look, darling,” he rumbled, his heated gaze raking over your face, taking in your wide eyes and parted lips. His thumb stroked over your bottom lip, pulling on it ever so slightly to the side, sending a little thrill through your body. “Or we aren’t making it into the orchard.”

You closed your mouth, swallowing thickly and bobbed your head in a nod. Then, you slid away from Ari, slipping from between his big body and the car and taking a deep, steadying breath.

Even with the warm September sun shining down on your shoulders, you felt a little cold without Ari’s heat and shivered. But you told yourself you were being ridiculous, shaking off the shiver and turning back to your sugar daddy.

Ari was standing with both hands planted on the hood of the car, his head hanging between them while he took deep breaths. He must’ve felt your attention on him because he lifted his head and gave you a charming smile. 

“Just gimme a sec, darling,” he said, shooting you a wink before he straightened and dropped his hands to the bulge in his slacks. 

You tried not to ogle your sugar daddy as he adjusted himself to make his hard length less prominent in his pants, but you knew what was hiding beneath his clothes and you knew how good his cock felt sliding inside you.

A sizzling, delicious warmth cascaded through your body, and you let yourself watch Ari’s big hands adjusting his bulge for a moment before tearing your eyes away and taking deep breaths of the fresh air to clear your head as much as possible.

A moment later, Ari slung his arm around your shoulders and together the two of you walked toward the entrance to the orchard.

It took effort, but you managed not to look down at the front of his pants, sure that if you did, neither of you would make it any further. And you did want to go apple picking. You had so many things you wanted to bake with the apples you were going to pick. 

Keeping your chin up and your gaze forward, you and Ari walked to the small, squat red building that served as the entryway to the orchard. One side was for folks heading into the field of apple trees, and you joined the line while scrutinizing the size of baskets and crates you could get for picking. 

Ari let you choose the size, and you picked a decent size wooden basket, thinking that would give you plenty of apples to use for baking. A farm worker explained that your apples would be weighed when you were done, and you paid per pound. Then they handed Ari a map that specified where each apple variety could be found, and the two of you were set free into the orchard. 

“What kind of apples are we picking today?” Ari asked, peering at the paper in his hand while he snagged the basket from you. 

You leaned into his side so you could read the map, and pointed when you found what you wanted. “Honeycrisp, honeycrisp!” you chanted, letting your excitement overtake you. 

Ari chuckled, folding the map and tucking it into his pocket before giving you one of his charming grins. “Honeycrisp it is, honeycrisp,” he teased, smoothing his hand down your arm to lace his fingers with yours before he began walking into the orchard.

A shiver of delight raced down your spine at Ari’s gentle, familiar touch and the sweet new nickname. He’d only ever called you ‘darling’ before, and while you liked the pet name, ‘honeycrisp’ made you feel closer to your sugar daddy because it was meant for only you. It was something people in a real romantic relationship did, wasn’t it?

Your feet stumbled a little before you fell into step beside Ari. Out of the corner of your eye, you looked up at him consideringly, wondering—not for the first time—what he thought of you. If he thought you were someone worth caring about—if he thought of you at all when you weren’t together. 

Your sugar daddy flashed an easy smile at you, and you couldn’t help but return the gesture, even as you thought about how difficult he was to read. He was always charming and easygoing, and it made it hard to figure out what he was really thinking, let alone what he was really feeling.

You did your best to push those pondering thoughts from your mind and simply enjoy the walk through the orchard with Ari. You reminded yourself that he’d made it clear he just wanted to have fun with you, so that’s what you were determined to do: Enjoy the warm day and pick some apples with your handsome sugar daddy.

The honeycrisp section of the orchard ended up being quite busy, with families and groups of friends forming small crowds around all the trees closest to the entrance of the field. You paused for a moment, your face falling in a small frown.

Ari must’ve seen your expression because he tugged on your hand and led you past the crowds, strolling down a long row of apple trees to go deeper into the orchard. The excited chatter of other people faded until you could barely hear them and the farm grew peaceful. Finally, you came to the edge of the orchard, and Ari pulled you to a stop at the end of a row of honeycrisp trees. 

“Wow, that’s a lot of apples,” you said, peering up at the trees around you. They were bigger and taller than the ones you’d passed that were being picked over by the crowds. Their branches were practically bursting with ripe, red apples, the color swirling with yellow and green as it often did with that particular variety. 

It seemed no one else had thought to escape the crowds and venture deeper into the orchard, because you couldn’t hear anyone else around. It was just you, your sugar daddy and the apple trees. 

It was so perfect you couldn’t stifle the beaming grin that spread across your face.

“Should I go back for another basket—or a crate?” Ari asked, a grin in his tone. 

When you finally tore your eyes away from the trees and their bounty, you found him staring at you, something like fondness in his gaze. It struck you that Ari had no idea why you wanted apples—you’d never told him you liked to bake or what you planned to do with the ones you picked—but he’d planned the date and was offering to help you pick as many apples as you wanted. 

A warmth started in your chest, feeling as though it were wrapping around your heart and filling you up with a dizzying amount of sunshine, until your ribs were nearly bursting with it. Your cheeks felt warm, and your face ached a little from how wide you were smiling. 

When you realized that you were staring back at Ari with just as much, if not more, affection than was in his gaze, you tried to tamp it down, forcing yourself to scoff lightly at his question. 

“I think one will be plenty,” you said dryly, turning back to the trees and trying to calculate how many apples would fit into the basket Ari carried. Would it be enough for the apple crisp cheesecake recipe you’d been dying to try? You decided it would have to be. 

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, honeycrisp?” Ari asked softly, curling a finger beneath your chin and tipping your face to look up at him. He eased your bodies toward each other and your arms wrapped naturally around his waist. 

It wasn’t until you’d pressed your hands to Ari’s back, your hands settling against the solid muscle of him, that you even realized what you were doing. When you did, you froze, feeling a little spooked by how easy it was becoming to sink into Ari’s casual touches and return them. It felt like there was a growing intimacy between the two of you, and you didn’t know quite yet how you felt about it. 

“Honeycrisp?” you asked, latching on to the one thing you could think to say that would delay you needing to answer Ari’s question. 

He’d never asked you what you were thinking before. When he checked in with you, his questions were always more direct, and more specific about what you were doing. You didn’t know if he really wanted to know, so you hoped a distraction might work.

Ari’s grin turned a little mischievous, like he knew what you were doing, and he wrapped his arms around you, hauling you up against his large, firm body. He ducked his head and nudged your nose with his, tickling your cheek with his beard until you laughed softly into his scruff.

“It fits, doesn’t it?” he asked in a low, rumbly voice that sent warmth dancing through your body. “You’re sweet as honey and as delicious as an apple crisp.” He kissed your lower lip, sucking on its plumpness with a slow, deliberate drag that had you nearly moaning into his mouth.

“Yeah, I like it,” you murmured when he released your lip, your voice obscenely breathy as your eyes fluttered open. You couldn’t remember closing them. Being so close to Ari, having his arms around you and his lips on you, was rattling your brain a little.

“Now, darling honeycrisp, tell daddy what had you thinking so hard about those apples,” Ari rumbled, his voice sweetly coaxing as he brushed butterfly kisses along your jaw. His lips were soft and his beard was coarse, and the contrast of the sensations had you sighing softly and melting further into his arms. “Unless you don’t want to tell me?”

There was a thread of uncertainty in Ari’s tone as he voiced the question, like he wasn’t sure if he was pushing too hard by asking you to tell him what you’d been thinking about. 

It was so different to how other sugar daddies—other men in general—had treated you. They’d always demanded you tell them whatever they wanted to know, as if they had a right to every part of you. 

But Ari wasn’t like that. He’d never been like that, and it didn’t surprise you that the first time he asked something even remotely personal, he was still giving you the opportunity to sidestep the question if you didn’t want to answer. It made you want to tell him all the more.

“I was thinking about what I want to bake with the apples we pick,” you answered, a smile teasing around the edges of your mouth. “And trying to make sure one basket would be enough.”

Ari brushed a kiss to the apple of your cheek, as if thanking you for telling him. Pulling back a bit so he could look at you, he tilted his head to the side in curiosity.

“You like to bake?”

You felt a little shy in the moment, ducking your head under the weight of his sparkling blue eyes, and nodded. “Yeah,” you said shrugging as if it was no big deal. Then, when Ari didn’t reply right away, you went on, filling the silence by answering a question he hadn’t asked. “I don’t usually tell sugar daddies—the one time I did, he got weird.”

Biting your lip to stem the flow of words from your mouth, you winced. You weren’t sure if Ari had known you’d had other sugar daddies before him, but it felt awkward to acknowledge the fact even if you weren’t ashamed of it. Besides, something inside you rebelled against the idea of lumping Ari in with all your other sugar daddies—he truly wasn’t like anyone else you’d been with. 

“Weird how?” Ari asked in a tone gentler than any you’d heard him use before. One of his hands cupped the back of your neck, but he didn’t try to make you look at him, just stroked your skin with his thumb. The gesture was so profoundly comforting that you lay your head on his shoulder and gave a sigh of relief. 

“Once he knew I liked to bake, he expected me to bake for him,” you explained slowly, choosing your words carefully. “But not just bake—he bought me an apron and skimpy little dresses to wear underneath it with these ridiculous heels. He wanted me to bake for him and…service him.” 

You pressed your face into Ari’s shoulder, remembering the experience and cringing over what you’d let that man talk you into. He was a major reason you appreciated Ari’s boundaries so much. You felt safer, like things couldn’t spiral out of your control, with the boundaries your sugar daddy had set in place.

After you’d answered his question, Ari stayed quiet, just holding you, his thumb stroking soothingly over the back of your neck. His big arms felt so steady around you that you couldn’t help but take comfort in them, and you went on, feeling safe enough to tell Ari the rest.

“He took all the joy out of baking,” you said in a small voice. “I stopped seeing him soon after, but he wasn’t happy about it.”

Ari exhaled a sharp breath and he squeezed you in his arms, holding you tight for a long moment before he eased up a little. 

“Thank you for telling me,” he murmured, brushing a kiss to your forehead. “I would love to try your baking, but only if you want—hell, you can come over today and use my kitchen and bake in one of my shirts if you want.”

A relieved laugh gusted out of you, and you were so glad Ari understood that it took you a moment to realize he’d invited you to his apartment. 

You’d never seen where he lived—and even though he paid for it, he’d never been inside your apartment either. Ari had always gotten hotel rooms, even for dates in in the city. 

You hadn’t thought much about it beyond appreciating the fact that Ari didn’t act entitled to be in your space because he paid for it. But now he was inviting you to his apartment, his space, and you didn’t know what to make of it.

Pulling back, you gave him a curious look. 

“Are you sure?”

Ari leveled you with a look of his own, and though his gaze was serious, there was a hint of amusement in the curve of his mouth. “Are you sure?” he countered, his voice going low and rumbly as he went on. “If you start baking in my kitchen wearing only my shirt, there’s a very good chance I’ll eat more of you than whatever you make.” He raised his eyebrows, as if to drive home the lewd insinuation of his statement. 

But despite his dirty warning—or perhaps because of it—you only warmed to the idea of baking in Ari’s apartment. It sounded fun in a way it hadn’t been with your past sugar daddy and you bounced on the balls of your feet as excitement flooded through you. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, daddy,” you sassed, shifting your arms to wind around Ari’s neck. You used your hold on him to keep your balance as you pushed up onto your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his scruffy cheek. “I already know what I want to make.”

Ari chuckled, giving you a quick kiss before pulling out his phone and telling you to pull up the recipe so that he could forward it to his assistant to make sure his apartment had everything you’d need. You did as he asked and handed his phone back to him, watching for his reaction to the recipe you’d chosen.

To your delight, Ari groaned like he was being tortured, his thumb flicking over the screen as he scrolled through the recipe to look at all the pictures.

“You’re gonna make this?” he asked, before reading out the title, “An Apple crisp cheesecake?” He made another agonized sound before looking to you for confirmation.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, knowing he was excited despite the miserable noises he was making, and nodded eagerly to answer his question.

Ari shook his head with a disbelieving look on his face and tapped out a message on his phone before pocketing it again. Then he grabbed you around the waist and hauled you against him again.

“You’re trouble for my pants, honeycrisp,” he muttered, dropping a too-brief kiss to your lips. “First you make me hard enough I feel like I’m gonna pop my zipper.” He trailed kisses along your jaw and down your neck in between his words, his mouth and beard tickling your skin while you melted into his arms. “Next you’re gonna fill me up with apple crisp cheesecake until my button breaks.” 

You made a sound that was half-laugh, half-moan as you tipped your head to the side, giving him more access to nip and lick at your neck while you clung to his shoulders, your knees going weak from your sugar daddy’s attention. 

“You don’t need to eat that much cheesecake, Ari,” you wheezed in between bouts of laughter, giggling harder when he nipped playfully at your ear.

“If it’s as delicious as you, I don’t know how I’ll be able to stop myself,” he flirted, kissing the spot just beneath your ear that had you shivering in his arms. 

“Ari,” you said his name on a breathy exhale, and it was a good thing his lips captured yours in a searing kiss, because you didn’t have any hope of responding to his compliment. Instead, you showed him how much you appreciated it by kissing him back hard, your fingers tangling in his soft brown hair as you clung to your sugar daddy and made out in the apple orchard.

By the time Ari pulled away to let you get some air, you were breathless and happier than you’d been in a long time. To your own surprise, you felt good about opening up to Ari and telling him about your past bad experience. He’d made you feel heard and cared for, all while giving you reason to believe he’d never do anything like that to you. He made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t with any of your other sugar daddies. 

Because of all that, you were actually excited to finally see his apartment. It felt like an important step, the beginning of something new, perhaps something deeper, and though there was an undercurrent of anxiety in your belly, you were more excited than anything else. 

And if you weren’t mistaken, Ari looked excited, too. His eyes were looking at you with affection in their depths, and his mouth was curved into a genuine smile. 

As he grinned down at you, Ari let his hands slide down from your lower back to your ass, groping you through your dress before swatting the soft cheeks lightly. 

“Alright, honeycrisp, these apples won’t pick themselves,” he teased good-naturedly. “And I’ve got a craving for some apple crisp cheesecake now.” He waggled his eyebrows at you, making you laugh.

But you forced a serious expression onto your face and gave him a mocking salute. “Yes, sir,” you said in a deeper voice, trying to tamp down on the smile that wanted to break free.

You lost the battle when Ari gave a loud laugh, his head tipping back and the sun shining down on his golden face while he gave into your silliness. He recovered quickly, though, looking back down at you fondly as he rumbled, “That’s ‘yes, daddy’, to you, honeycrisp.” Then he slapped your ass a little harder to urge you to get a move on before he finally, reluctantly, pulled away and turned in the direction of the apple trees.

To ease some of the disappointment you both felt, Ari gave you a salacious wink that had your cheeks warming again. You couldn’t even blame the September sun on the heat in your face. Your sugar daddy was just so hot, it was hardly even fair.

To distract yourself from wanting to curl up in Ari’s arms and say to hell with apple picking, you snatched up the basket he’d dropped, arching your back and popping your ass to give him a peek at your pussy, then straightened and skipped to the nearest apple tree to start picking. 

When you chanced a glance over your shoulder, you saw Ari’s eyes were heated and staring at the way your skirt fluttered around your ass, his big hand palming his bulge in his pants. You wiggled your ass for him, turning back around to hide your laughter when his long-suffering groan met your ears. 

But you couldn’t keep your eyes off Ari and you turned your head to watch him out of the corner of your eye, catching him swiping a hand down over his face while he shook his head. Something about the gesture sent your heart pitter-pattering in your chest—which only got worse when Ari caught you looking and winked while he adjusted himself in his pants.

You felt giddy as you refocused on the tree in front of you, your breaths coming in soft little gasps as excitement and desire swirled in your core. It took you a long moment to gather your thoughts and remind yourself that you could not jump your sugar daddy in the middle of an apple orchard that was open to the public—no matter how much you desperately wanted to. 

With slightly shaking fingers, you began to pick apples, doing your best to pay attention to what you were doing and make sure you were selecting the best fruit you could find. If Ari was going to try your baking for the first time, you wanted your apple crisp cheesecake to be the best that it could possibly be. 

Ari came to stand beside you, and though you wanted him to put his hands on you, you were happy to see him dedicate himself to the task of picking apples, even reaching up to the branches that were too high for you. In turn, you showed Ari how to check for bruises and other unwanted things in the fruit before adding them to the basket at your feet.

Between the two of you picking apples, it wasn’t long before the basket was nearly overflowing, but you were having so much fun, you didn’t want it to end. So when Ari asked if you still needed more, you gave him a shy smile and said just a few. You didn’t want him to go get another basket—because, really, you didn’t need that many apples—but you didn’t want the apple picking part of your date to end just yet.

Your sugar daddy seemed to understand your desire to linger because he didn’t call you out on the fact that your basket could barely hold any more apples. Instead, he flashed you an indulgent grin and nodded, joining you under the apple tree where you’d been picking. 

But rather than moving beside you, as he’d stood while you’d worked together, he came up behind you so that his chest was brushing against your back. His hands settled lightly on your waist, loosely caging you in beneath the apple tree with your body facing the trunk. 

He ducked down so his scruffy, bearded cheek was pressed to yours and pointed to a cluster of apples just out of your reach. “Why don’t you grab one of those?” he suggested, the practiced innocence in his tone nearly making you snort with laughter. 

You knew Ari was playing a game, you could feel it in the mischievous tension crackling in the air, and you were almost certain it would lead to some sort of naughtiness in the orchard. But your body was wound tight, and you wanted to get up to a little mischief with your sugar daddy, so you decided to play along. 

“I can’t reach, daddy,” you simpered, proving your point by reaching your hand up to show that the apples were too high up, your fingertips only barely grazing the fruit. You used the movement to deliberately push your ass back into Ari’s lap and you had to smother a giggle when you felt the hard ridge of him in his pants.

“Let me help, honeycrisp,” Ari rumbled, and though you couldn’t see his grin, you knew it was there by the warmth in his voice. You bit your lip against your own wide smile.

Ari’s hand slid down your side, all the way to the back of your thigh, before he gently grabbed your leg behind your knee to lift it until your foot was planted on a low branch. Then he guided your hips deeper into his lap, where you could feel the long, stiff length of his cock wedging between your ass cheeks through your thin dress.

“C’mon, honeycrisp, reach a little bit more,” he urged, tilting your hips and bending his knees so that his hard bulge was pressed against your bare slit. Then he surged forward, lifting you just a little off the ground while he dragged the thick length of his cock against your weeping pussy. 

You fell helplessly against the trunk of the tree, the apples forgotten as a low moan slipped past your lips. Ari teased you with his clothed cock, and your spine arched to bare more of yourself to his hard bulge. Craning your neck to catch Ari’s eye over your shoulder, you gave him a desperate, pleading look. 

“Daddy, please,” you begged on a whine, pushing back into his lap and wiggling your ass side to side to try to entice him into giving you something more. You’d been teasing each other all day, and you were hitting a breaking point. You needed him to give you something.

Ari chuckled, burying his face in the side of your neck, his deep laughter rolling deliciously down your spine and settling between your thighs, until you were pulsing with desire. He curled around your body until he was surrounding you, your smaller form fitting perfectly within the cage of his arms. 

He reached above you and easily plucked the apple he’d directed you to pick from the spot you hadn’t been able to reach and presented it to you. At the same time, his other hand began to wander, groping your soft tits until you moaned prettily again for him. 

“Does it pass your inspection, darling?” he asked, urging you to focus on the apple he held in front of you. 

Truthfully, you didn’t care anymore about picking apples—you had plenty of them in the basket at your feet—but you did your best to look it over. You turned it over in your trembling fingers, checking for bruises and bugs. Finding it to be perfect, you nodded. 

“Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl,” Ari murmured, taking the apple from your hands and pulling away to set it on top of the pile in your basket. 

You had to bite back a whine at the loss of him, but he was back against you a moment later, his warmth surrounding you as his arms curled around your body. His hands slid up your sides and cupped your tits, kneading them in his big, strong hands until your head fell back against his shoulder and you let out a soft whimper of need.

“Now is that enough apples, honeycrisp?” he asked, a hint of teasing in his tone.

“Yuh huh,” you mumbled, nodding weakly as you arched your spine and pushed your chest into Ari’s hands. He rewarded you by pinching and plucking your nipples through the soft cotton of your dress, wringing a weak whine from your lips. “Plenty.” 

“Good,” Ari rumbled, pressing his face into the side of your neck, his mouth licking and nipping at your skin like you tasted as sweet as the fruit you’d been picking, his rough beard making you shiver in his hold. “Because if I had to see your pretty pussy winking at me from beneath your skirt one more time while you were bending over or reaching for some apples, it was going to drive me fucking wild.”

A low moan slipped free from your lips while one of Ari’s hands skimmed down your front, sliding under the hem  of your dress and cupping you between your thighs. His big hand covered your entire mound, which was sticky with your juices. 

He growled when he felt just how wet you were, the sound reverberating down your spine and making your pussy spasm, more wetness dripping from your slit and into his palm.

“Fuck,” Ari ground out through gritted teeth, his voice rough with his own barely leashed desire. “You’re soaking wet for me, honeycrisp—I gotta feel you,” he said, an urgency in his voice as he sank two fingers into your drenched hole, pulling another moan from you. His hips were grinding his bulge against your ass so hard, you could feel him throbbing. “Gotta feel this tight warm cunt on my cock, ‘m not gonna make it back to the car—need you now.”

“Ari,” you whispered harshly, trying to sound angry, but the two syllables of his name came out dipped in desire and you felt your sugar daddy shudder against your back, his fingers working harder inside your sopping cunt, his palm making soft slapping sounds every time he bottomed out. “We shouldn’t.” 

Despite your weak protest, you rolled your head to the side on Ari’s shoulder, peering through the branches of the tree toward where you’d left the crowds of other apple pickers. They were still so distant you couldn’t hear them over your soft, gasping breaths, but there was no telling when someone might stray from the others. They could stumble upon you at any moment. 

The only protection you had from wandering eyes were the branches of the apple tree. Thankfully, they were close enough and the leaves dense enough that you couldn’t see much beyond Ari’s big body, but if someone came close enough, they’d no doubt hear you or Ari, and then you’d be caught.

“We’re going to get arrested,” you scolded in a hushed tone before turning your head to bury your face in Ari’s beard and stifle the moan on the tip of your tongue. He hadn’t stopped fucking you with his fingers and your reluctance was ebbing from your body just as surely as your desire was leaking into his hand. 

Instead of responding to your statement with the seriousness you felt it deserved, Ari simply chuckled against your cheek and used his thumb to circle your clit, making your hips jerk into his hand, your body wordlessly begging him for more while you muffled a whine into the underside of his jaw. 

“We’ll be fine, honeycrisp,” Ari soothed in a placating tone that made you growl like a feral kitten into his throat, so he switched tactics, his voice going low and rough. “Don’t you wanna feel me, honey?” He asked, grinding his hard length into your soft ass until you mewled pathetically. “Don’t you wanna drip your sweet juices all over daddy’s cock like a good girl?” 

It was on the tip of your tongue to give in. You knew you shouldn’t. You knew there was a very real possibility that you could get caught, and it was only your fear of the potential consequences that held your words at bay. But Ari was well acquainted with the fear that held you back, and he knew exactly how to help you break through it. 

“Just the tip,” he murmured, his voice so warm you could hear the smile in it. “Just take the tip, and stay quiet, and we’ll be golden.” He nuzzled your face, his beard rasping over your soft skin and sending tingles of delight all through your body. 

You knew it was a ploy. You knew that Ari knew that you’d never be able to settle for just the tip of his cock—after all, you never had before. But it was easier to pretend you could settle for just the tip than to say yes to Ari fucking you in the middle of the apple orchard when there were people not too far away. It was the small step you needed to break free from your fear.

Lifting your head, you looked around. There was nothing to see except dense branches and leaves and endless apples. Ari’s body hid you entirely from sight, and you still couldn’t hear anyone else close by, so if you stayed quiet, you really could get away with a quickie in the orchard. 

A wicked smile spread across your face and you turned your head to catch Ari’s eye over your shoulder.

“Just the tip?” you asked, you voice laced with suggestion. You knew Ari was going to end up sinking much more of his cock into you, but you wanted to play along for a little bit. “Promise, daddy?” Your question was meant to sound innocent, but you couldn’t help the way the corners of your lips wavered in an eager grin.

Ari chuckled and kissed the corner of your mouth, because he knew exactly what you were doing. “I promise, darling…” he said, trailing off as he pulled his fingers from your pussy with an embarrassingly wet sound that made him grin. “Unless, of course, you beg me like a good girl.” 

“Hurry, daddy,” you cooed, wiggling your ass against Ari’s bulge, a teasing smile on your lips as you watched him over your shoulder. 

Ari’s eyes darkened and then he was using his clean hand to fumble with his belt and fly while he swatted your pussy playfully with his drenched fingers. You gasped and twitched, trying to stay quiet and failing miserably as desperate keening sound slipped from your mouth.

At your urging, Ari wasted no time, shoving his pants open and pulling out his cock, pushing your dress up over your ass and rubbing the tip through your drenched folds. Both of you groaned, Ari’s face falling forward against your shoulder while you grabbed onto the trunk of the tree in front of you, trying to stay upright while your knees trembled. 

Then Ari was pushing inside, the head of his cock sinking into the warmth of your pussy. The stretch of him was too delicious, and you moaned louder than was wise, but you couldn’t help yourself. He felt too good. 

“What’d I say about staying quiet?” Ari rumbled in your ear, right before he shoved his fingers in your mouth. The tart taste of your wetness mixed with apples burst on your tongue and you moaned again, licking wildly at his fingers to get as much of it as you could. “Mm, that’s it, clean up your mess, honeycrisp—show daddy what a good girl you can be.”

Ari’s other hand gripped your hip, holding you steady while he fucked you with just the tip of his cock, pushing into your tight hole and pulling free until the tease of it drove you wild. 

“Mm-oah, mm-oah,” you begged around Ari’s fingers, trying to push back on Ari’s stiff length and take more of him, but he held you still, forcing you to take only what he gave you. You bounced impatiently, the foot that was still lifted on one of the branches shaking it so furiously, the leaves rattled and a few apples dropped to the ground.

“Oh, did you want something, honey?” Ari asked, his tone filled with mocking innocence as he pulled his fingers from your mouth. You shot him a half-hearted glare over your shoulder, pouting. 

“I need more, daddy, please,” you begged, giving him your best desperate, pleading look while you pushed back against his hold, reveling in the way he didn’t let you move to take him further. “Please split me open with your thick cock, daddy—I need it.”

Ari blew out a sharp breath. “Fuck, I wanna tease you some more, but I can’t—need you too bad, honey,” Ari rasped, squeezing your hip while his other arm wrapped loosely around the front of your throat, so the bulge of his bicep was just beneath your chin. 

“Remember, stay quiet.” His hushed words were your only warning before Ari slammed into you, shoving every inch of his hard cock into your wet, needy cunt. 

A scream welled up inside your chest, your mouth dropping open as it clawed its way up your throat, but at the last second before it was set free, you managed to bury your face in Ari’s bicep. Your teeth sank into his warm, golden skin and you bit your sugar daddy while you screamed into his arm. 

His tortured groan was loud, but only because it poured directly into your ear, the sound dripping in pleasure as your inner walls squeezed his hard cock and made room for the thick length of him in the depths of your body.

Bliss consumed you, the stinging edge of Ari pushing inside you so fast and stretching you so suddenly making your body burn all the hotter. Already, your cunt was pulsing around Ari’s cock like you wanted him to stay buried inside you for a long time and you sighed happily, pulling your teeth from your sugar daddy’s arm. 

While Ari gave you a moment to adjust, his hand kneading the plush softness of your hip, you kissed and licked at the indents your teeth had left in his skin. He chuckled, brushing a kiss against your temple, an acceptance of your wordless apology. 

“Ready, honey?” Ari asked softly, nuzzling your cheek while he rolled his hips, grinding his cock into you in a way that had you moaning again. “This is gonna be hard and fast. I can’t—I gotta pound your pretty pussy,” he rumbled, his tone almost apologetic with the urgency in it. “Gotta feel you dripping around me, squeezing me, milking me.”

His hand shifted from your hip to slip between your thighs, his fingers finding your slippery clit and rubbing the puffy pearl. He grunted when you clenched around him, his fingers stroking you harder and winding your pleasure higher while he rolled his hips, fucking you in short, sharp thrusts.

“Fuck, honey, fuck,” he bit out, his breaths heavy in between every word. “Tell me you’re ready for me to move.”

“Please, yes, move,” you cried propping your chin on Ari’s bicep while your nails dug into the trunk of the tree in front of you. You used your grip to brace yourself and push back on Ari’s cock, taking him deeper with every thrust. “Need you, daddy, please, please, please,” you babbled, your voice coming out strained with the effort to keep it quiet.

“Fucking right you need me—just like I need you,” Ari growled, pulling his hips back and slamming forward, driving into you with so much force, you could hear the soft sound of your ass slapping against his thighs. “You have the sweetest, tightest pussy I’ve ever had—best fucking pussy in the world. I dream about it when I’m not with you,” he confessed, his words rough like he’d pulled them from the depths of his soul. “Dream about pumping you full of my come until your belly’s bulging with me, honey.”

Your mind reeled at Ari’s confession even as your body sank deeper into his hold. You were still trying to catch up on processing his words but your pussy was clenching around his cock greedily, as if begging for him to come inside you already. 

In that moment, a singular truth crystalized in your mind: You’d been deluding yourself into thinking you didn’t care for Ari—that he didn’t care for you. It was very clear that Ari did care about you, and you cared about him.

All those boundaries in your relationship, you realized you’d been the one creating them, not Ari. Ari had been patient, chipping away at the walls you’d built around yourself until he’d somehow found his way in. He’d dreamed about you, and you’d thought he was just another sugar daddy looking to have some fun. You’d been so wrong about him.

At the weight of your realization, you nearly collapsed against the tree, but managed to hold yourself up, sobbing with pleasure and emotion. Ari seemed to sense the shift in your mood and he slowed his movements, as if he was going to stop, but you shook your head, feeling feral with your need for him. 

“Please, daddy,” you cried softly, your voice hoarse with the flood of affection filling your heart. It was emphasized by the feeling of Ari inside you, surrounding you, your body cradled in his arms while he fuckd you like he wanted you to never forget the feel of him. “Fill me up, make me your perfect little cumslut, daddy, just keep me—keep me.” 

“Always,” he rasped, his lips at your temple. The promise in that single word buried deep in your heart, taking root. 

Something changed between you and Ari, and you knew he felt it too because he started fucking you faster than before, his hips snapping harder against your ass so he could push deep into your cunt with every thrust.

“Fuck, honey, ‘m almost there, are you close?” he rasped, his tone desperate. 

Your head bobbed in a nod. 

“Uh huh, ‘m close, just need a little more…” you trailed off in a whine, trying to push back on his cock and grind your clit against his stroking fingers at the same time.

Thankfully, Ari understood what you were begging for, and he rubbed you harder, his fingers relentless in his pursuit of your pleasure while he rutted into your cunt.

“C’mon, honey, come on daddy’s cock,” he rumbled in your ear, his voice deliciously deep to match his dirty words and push you closer to the edge. “Be a good little cumslut and milk my cock, make me fill your sweet pussy with all my come, honey.” 

You buried your face into Ari’s bicep again, your teeth sinking into his skin as you screamed your release. Wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through your body, until your limbs were trembling and your fingers were shaking against the outside of Ari’s arm, having forgotten when you’d let go of the tree to cling to him.

With a grunt, Ari’s cock twitched inside you, reacting to the sting of your bite and the merciless grasping of your inner walls around his hard length. His hips stuttered, then he started fucking into you wildly, his thrusts falling out of rhythm while he chased his own release. 

“Good girl, honey, so good, feel so fucking good milking daddy’s cock,” he muttered, cutting off on a deep groan while his cock throbbed inside you.

Ari spilled himself deep in your cunt and you moaned weakly, pulling back from his arm and licking his golden skin to sooth the indents your teeth had left behind. He tasted like salty skin and sweet apples and you hummed in pleasure as you rode out the remainder of your release with your bodies writhing together.

After a few long moments basking in the glorious afterglow of coming together, Ari took a deep breath and shifted his arm, chuckling lowly when you whimpered at the loss of his bicep to lick and kiss. He made it up to you by turning your head and capturing your lips in a sweet kiss, pouring all the affection you finally knew he felt for you into the way his mouth moved against yours. 

When he pulled away, leaving you slightly breathless, Ari leveled you with a serious look. 

“You know you’re special to me, don’t you, honey?” he asked, using the new pet name that you knew was shortened from ‘honeycrisp’. 

You’d been too wrapped up in your own head to notice the way it rolled off his tongue—it was an endearment for someone Ari cared about, someone who was special to him, as he said.

Biting your kiss-swollen lower lip, feeling a little abashed that it had taken you so long to realize what Ari felt for you, you nodded. You could feel your cheeks warming, and tried to duck your head, but Ari only chuckled and caught your lips in another kiss, though it was briefer.

When he’d kissed away your anxiety, Ari set about extricating himself from you, pulling free from your body and helping you down from the tree. He quickly stuffed his softening cock back into his pants and then helped smooth your dress back over your hips before doing up his slacks. You turned to him, brushing his hair back from his face and warming at the way he was smiling down at you. 

Ari had an infectious grin on his face, and you couldn’t help but return it, your heart feeling warm and cozy in your chest. 

The two of you smiled goofily as you helped right each other’s appearances. Once you’d fixed yourselves as much as possible, Ari stooped down to pick up the basket of apples you’d picked, then grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together and planting a kiss on the back of your palm before heading off back to the farm stand.

As you walked past all the crowds of people, you were certain everyone knew what you and Ari had gotten up to in the orchard, but no one stopped or stared or said anything. They were all too focused on their own friends and families and the task of apple picking to notice you and Ari, or your big, silly smiles.

At the farm stand, Ari paid for the apples, then loaded them into his Lexus before helping you into the passenger seat. He dropped a kiss to your forehead, then rounded the front of the car and slid into his own seat.

You were quiet on the drive back to the city, your mind ruminating over the beginning of your relationship with Ari. When you thought back to your first few dates, you realized you’d been the one who was hesitant to answer any personal questions from your sugar daddy—and you’d never asked any of him. You’d also been the one to balk at the idea of either going back to his place or your apartment, leading him to get hotel rooms. 

Ari had been the one to respect your boundaries, even as he’d tried to get to know you better. He’d tried to ask you questions you felt comfortable answering—it was how he’d found out you liked apple picking, because you’d chosen it as a fall-themed date. He’d been so careful with you, it made your heart hurt a little that you’d kept him at arm’s length for so long.

Turning from the scenery of the foliage fading into the cityscape of New York, you ran your eyes over Ari’s profile. His expression was easy, relaxed and open, the hint of a smile on his face. You’d thought he just always looked like that, but you realized it was because he was with you. 

Reaching across the center console, you scooped up Ari’s hand and laced your fingers through his before settling your joined hands on your thigh. He glanced at you, shooting you a quick smile and squeezing your fingers, before turning back to the road.

By the time the car pulled into the underground parking garage of the high-rise on the Upper West Side where Ari lived, you were resolved to try to let your guard down a little more around him. Ari had shown you he could be trusted with your heart just as much as your body, and you were determined to show him you trusted him with all of you. 

Still, it was a little intimidating walking into his apartment for the first time, the anxiety that he was only bringing you there because he wanted something from you—something you didn’t want to give—was a knot in your stomach. But then you looked at Ari and you realized he’d never do that to you. He was bringing you to his home because he wanted to, not because he wanted something from you. 

Ari’s penthouse was warm and cozy, decorated in dark brown wood and warm golden tones, with hints of blue that reminded you of the ocean. You realized you knew Ari was a fan of the beach, because so many of the trips he’d taken you on had been close to the water. Walking into his home felt like walking into a reflection of his heart, and you didn’t take that for granted.

After setting down the apples on a table next to the door and stepping out of your shoes, Ari took you on a tour of his apartment, both the upstairs and the downstairs (because it was big enough to have two floors!). He showed you every room, including his bedroom and his study, tugging you into each by your joined hands when you seemed hesitant to enter his spaces.

Ari left the kitchen for last, but the two of you lingered in the living room, standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Central Park. Ari wrapped his arms around you from behind, swaying you lightly from side to side, almost like you were dancing. 

“You have a beautiful home, Ari,” you said, looking out over the city and appreciating the way the buildings and treetops were cast in the warm, yellow glow of afternoon sunshine. An errant thought crossed your mind, that you could get used to the view from Ari’s apartment. It was stunning.

“Thank you, honey,” Ari murmured, dropping a kiss to the base of your throat while his arms squeezed you tighter. He buried his face in your neck, so his words were a little muffled when he said, “I always hoped you’d like it enough to want to come over again and… again.”

You could hear in the pause of his words where he’d stopped himself from saying something different, and you wondered over it. But you knew yourself well enough not to ask. If just walking into his apartment felt like a big step, you knew asking him what he’d meant to say might spook you a bit too much, and you didn’t want that. So you just hummed in response.

Ari chuckled, like he somehow knew it was taking effort for you to be in his apartment, and he thought it was cute how difficult it was for you. His mouth trailed up your neck, effectively distracting you from your thoughts, before nipping at the edge of your jaw. 

“Want to see the kitchen now?” 

Nodding so eagerly, you nearly head-butted him, you turned in his hold and looked up at him with expectant eyes. Ari gave you an affectionate smile, then grabbed your hand and led the way to the kitchen.

He’d saved it for last, and when you stepped inside, you understood why. A gasp slipped from your lips as you took in the beautiful space. The color scheme of the apartment carried over to the kitchen, with dark brown cabinets and lighter wood countertops. There was a pop of blue in the backsplash, and all kinds of expensive gadgetry. 

You were so busy taking everything in, it took you a moment to spot the brand-new stand mixer sitting on the counter in a color that matched the rest of the room. Beside it were some of the ingredients you’d need for the apple crisp cheesecake you’d told Ari you wanted to make and you realized his assistant must’ve already come and gone. 

Walking over and running your fingers over the sleek mixer, tears welled up in your eyes. It took effort to blink them away, and you shook your head slightly at yourself. It seemed silly to be crying over a stand mixer, but it felt bigger than that, like it was a sign of Ari making room in his life for you. He wanted you there, he wanted to keep you, like you’d begged him to. 

“Everything ok, honey?” Ari asked, coming to stand behind you, but not touching you, giving you some space while you processed everything you’d realized that day.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice thick, no doubt giving away the emotion you were feeling. Before you could overthink it, you spun around and threw your arms around Ari’s shoulders, launching yourself at him for a tight hug. “You bought a mixer,” you stated, as if that was explanation enough. 

A soft laugh rumbled in Ari’s chest and he swept a hand down your spine, comforting you while a few tears leaked down your cheeks and into the collar of his denim shirt.

“Well, yeah,” he responded good-naturedly, a smile in his voice. “I did say I wanted you to want to come back, didn’t I?” 

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, laughing a little at his comment. Then you murmured, in a small voice, “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Ari said, sounding genuine. 

For a long moment, you hugged him, and then you pulled away, swiping at your cheeks to clear away any tears or makeup. 

“Is the offer still open to bake while wearing only your shirt?” you asked, tipping your head back to smile shyly at Ari while your fingers played with the collar of his button-up.  

A grin spread across his face while shrugged out of the denim shirt. Then, to your surprise, he yanked his t-shirt off over his head, asking you which one you wanted. 

You took the denim one with fumbling fingers, your eyes raking over his bare chest while warmth bloomed deep in your core. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen Ari shirtless, of course, but you never got tired of looking at the expanse of his golden skin, dusted with dark brown hair that you wanted to rake your nails through. 

Ari let you look for a moment, using your distraction to help you slip out of your dress. Then he eased your arms into the denim shirt and buttoned it up, his big hands pausing briefly to grope your soft body every few moments. 

There was a glimmer of deep satisfaction in his blue eyes when he stepped back to look at you in his shirt. 

“Mm, you look so pretty, honey,” he rasped, taking one last look before crowding you into the counter at your back. His gaze darkened as he stared down at you, his grin turning wolfish when he rumbled, “I think I need a snack before you start baking.”

That was your only warning. You shrieked with surprised laughter when Ari hauled you back into the living room and tossed you down on one of his leather couches. Your giggles cut off abruptly in a moan when Ari descended on you, burying his face between your thighs and feasting on you like he was starving.

Your fingers twisted in Ari’s brown hair while he ate your pussy, encouraging you to scream your pleasure in the comfort of his home while he made you come against his mouth. You shattered apart with a loud cry while he fucked you with his tongue, his mouth greedily devouring your release, and the come he’d buried inside you earlier, like he hadn’t eaten in days. 

When he finally pulled away, Ari’s beard was soaked in your juices and he grinned up your body while you lay limply on the couch, your chest heaving as you caught your breath. Chuckling at the sight of you sprawled out on his couch, Ari pressed wet kisses to the inside of your thighs, licking the traces of your release from your skin.

“Fuck, honey, I can’t get enough of you,” he rumbled, his big hands kneading your plush thighs and hips, proving his point since it seemed like he couldn’t stop touching you. The blatant need and desire in his voice sent a shiver racing down your spine.

“If you keep going, I won’t have the strength to bake,” you warned him in a breathless voice, managing to lift your head enough to give him a stern look. 

Ari laughed into your thigh, pressing one last kiss to your skin before he raised up and gave you a wink. “Can’t have that,” he quipped, grabbing your hands and helping you up off the couch. You stumbled a little, your legs weak from your orgasm, but Ari caught you easily, wrapping his arm around your waist while he led you into the kitchen. 

Once you were propped up against the counter near the stand mixer, Ari left to retrieve the apples from the entryway. When he returned, you noticed he carried a pair of slippers that matched the ones he’d put on. Without saying a word, he set them on the floor next to your bare feet and carried on to start washing the fruit in the sink. 

You stepped into the slippers, your heart warming when you realized they were a perfect fit. For a long moment, you stared at Ari’s bare shoulders and broad back, wondering how you’d ever kept such a thoughtful man at arm’s length. Well, you decided, once again, you wouldn’t be doing that anymore. 

Turning back to the stand mixer and the ingredients, you organized everything on the counter, going to the fridge to pull out everything else you’d need. 

To your surprise, you and Ari worked well together in the kitchen. Once he was done cleaning all the apples you’d picked, he asked what he could do next, and you put him to work peeling and coring the fruit while you worked on the other elements of the cheesecake. 

When it came time to bake, Ari took the pan from your hands and popped it into the oven while you set a timer. Tension crackled between the two of you after the oven had snapped closed, and you came together in a flurry of limbs. Ari guided you back into the living room while he kissed you, his hands making quick work of removing all your remaining clothes.

You rode Ari to another orgasm while the sweet treat baked, the golden glow of the New York City sunset keeping the apartment awash in warm hues that made you feel cozy—like you were home. 

Once you were both sated, you collapsed on top of Ari’s chest, burying your face in his neck and nuzzling into his beard. You inhaled the familiar scent of his cologne, vetiver and leather, with a little bit of cinnamon from baking, and melted against him. You wanted to breathe in nothing but that scent for the rest of your life—and you refused to let that thought scare you.

Ari pulled a flannel blanket off of the back of his couch and wrapped it around you both, your pussy keeping his cock warm while you cuddled together until the timer went off. 

You couldn’t help but laugh as you watched Ari take the baking pan out of the oven wearing only an oven mitt on his hand. You, meanwhile, stood off to the side with the flannel blanket wrapped around your shoulders. He’d told you the blanket was highly flammable and insisted you stay clear of the oven with a stern look that made your insides go all gooey.

The two of you made out in the kitchen and made dinner while the cheesecake cooled. All the while, you kept thinking how easy it was to be with Ari, how you could see what your life would be like together. And you liked how it looked. You liked kissing him whenever you wanted and asking him about what movies he liked and what was the last book he read.

After dinner, you ate a slice of cheesecake together, and you couldn’t keep your eyes off of Ari’s face, enjoying every little groan and expression of pleasure he made. It was erotic enough that you left the last bite for him, getting to your feet to walk around the table and straddle his lap. 

He fucked you to another, blisteringly hot orgasm, and laughed only a little when you fell against his chest with an exhausted, but satisfied, sigh. 

In a soft voice, Ari asked if you’d stay the night, and the hope in his tone made your heart warm enough that you ignored the brief flicker of anxiety the question prompted. You shushed the worry inside you and said yes. 

Together, you cleaned up the kitchen and then Ari led you upstairs to the bedroom, pausing every few minutes to kiss you, like he wanted to remind himself you were still there. 

He gave you some of his clothes to wear to bed and showed you where everything was in his bathroom. You couldn’t help but notice that he had all of your favorite products, and a spare toothbrush for you. You smiled as you got ready for bed and slipped under the covers with him.

“Did you have a good day, honey?” Ari asked, pulling you into his body and wrapping you up in his arms. You were wearing one of his t-shirts—a clean one—while he had on a pair of boxer briefs. You hummed happily when your legs tangled together, enjoying the feel of his warm skin and tickling hair against you. 

“Mm, I had the best day, Ari,” you murmured sleepily, the comfort and warmth of his bed making it easy to let your exhaustion creep in. “Kiss,” you said, turning your head and repeating the greeting Ari had given you when he’d picked you up.

Your sugar daddy chuckled, the sound rumbling down your spine and making your heart flutter with delight. Your eyes were already closed, but you could feel his smile when he pressed a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips. 

“Don’t worry, honey, I’ll still be here in the morning,” he promised, his words assuaging a fear you hadn’t realized you’d felt, and you sighed in contentment.

Everything had changed between you and Ari, and you couldn’t help but think it was for the better. You were still a little anxious about opening yourself up to someone, especially a sugar daddy, but Ari had shown you that you could trust him—really trust him, with all your heart—and you were determined to do just that.

“G’night, Ari,” you whispered into the pillow that smelled like him, a hint of a smile in the curve of your mouth as sleep claimed you. 

“Good night, honey,” Ari crooned in your ear, his voice gentle and soft and oh so affectionate. “My sweet, sweet honeycrisp.”

[anglbunny]

credit completion ♡ Fratboy!Gojo satoru

cw: smut mdni, frat boy!gojo, teacher!reader, dub-con

୨୧

You should’ve known Satoru Gojo wouldn’t take you seriously.

Leaning back in the stiff chair across from your desk, legs spread obnoxiously wide, eyes hidden behind those stupid sunglasses, he didn’t even try to act like he was listening. You droned on about his attendance, the assignments he hasn’t turned in, the grades that were circling the drain. He looked at the ceiling, the clock, his phone, until finally your voice snapped sharp—stern, professional, done.

“Gojo, if you don’t pull your grades up, you’re going to have to repeat this class. That’s not a warning anymore—it’s a fact.”

That finally made his attention flick lazily toward you, lips curling into that cocky, frat boy smirk. “Damn, teach, you sound so serious… makes me think you want me to stick around longer.”

You clenched your jaw, ready to throw him out, but he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping into something sinfully low.

“Or maybe… I could raise my grade another way?”

You blinked. “…Excuse me?”

Gojo’s grin widened, tongue flicking over his teeth. “C’mon, now. Don’t play dumb. Bet you get off on being in control, huh? All that authority. But when’s the last time someone made you beg?”

You stood to dismiss him, heart pounding, but before you could speak, he was already around the desk, crowding you, caging you in. He smelled like expensive cologne, bad decisions, and frat party smoke. And despite every fiber of your professional brain screaming no—your body melted when he pressed you down onto your own desk, his palm splayed over the small of your back.

And that’s how you ended up here.

Bent over like a cheap slut on campus, skirt bunched around your hips, his cock slamming deep into you, stretching you until your vision blurred. The sound of skin slapping filled the empty lecture hall, along with your helpless moans, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth as you clawed at the polished wood.

“See, Ms.l/n,” Gojo groaned behind you, fucking into you like he owned your body, “bet you never got ruined on your own fuckin’ desk, huh? Look at you—fuckin’ drooling. S’this the face of a professional? Yeah? You like when the student teaches you a lesson?”

You couldn’t answer—not when his hand was around your throat, making you dizzy, high off the filthy way he stretched you out. All you could do was take it, sobbing his name into the varnish while he pounded into you like he wanted you to fail him.

And Gojo?

Gojo was grinning, knowing he’d just found his new favorite after-class activity.

Taglist:@samm1e13 @syleepy @werfiedeii @mikemsmm @yanderebluelockfan @cyberheartrebel @arwawawa2 @valexqpt

A/N: i tried

ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

[masterlist]

[eclipixels]

Strawberry Sundae

Dante Sparda x Reader

Content: A simple sundae run results in you being jealous, but Dante’s knows how to get that frustration out of you

A/N: I'm back in my Dante Sparda Obsession.

Wanings: 🍋 cunnilingus

[2,192 words]

      Dante just wanted an ice cream sundae.

      That’s what he said when he walked back into the shop, cherry between his teeth and a crumpled napkin in his back pocket you didn’t know about.

      His hair was a little wind-tousled, sunglasses shoved up into his hair, leather jacket hanging lazily off one shoulder like he didn’t have a care in the world. He bit down on the stem of a maraschino cherry and smirked at you.

      “Got the goods,” he announced, flashing the container before tossing it on the counter. Usually you two went together and sat down to eat but you were busy today.

      “They were outta sprinkles, but I figured you’d live.” He handed you your cup of the fudge ice cream sundae while he sat down to eat his strawberry one.

      You were halfway through an eye-roll when you caught it. Just a glimpse. A folded piece of paper sticking out of his back pocket. You didn’t think much of it at first. Dante always had random scraps of crap stuffed in his pockets. Receipts, demon-hunting notes, candy wrappers, whatever.

      But then he tossed it.

      The paper floated out of his pocket like it had a story to tell, catching the air before it landed with a lazy flutter on top of the overflowing trash bin.

      It was a napkin. Lipstick kiss on the corner. A heart doodled in pink pen. And in the middle? A name and a phone number, scrawled with a flirtatious confidence.

      You froze. Dante didn’t even notice. He just strolled past you, cherry stem now tied in a perfect little knot between his teeth. Show-off.

      Your eyes stayed on the trash bin, like the napkin was glowing, taunting you. The lipstick print stared back at you, mocking.

      Call me sometime ;) - Nikki

      You swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of the heat crawling up the back of your neck. He’d been gone all of twenty minutes. Twenty minutes for a sundae. And some random girl had flirted with him hard enough to think she had a chance?

      Did he flirt back?

      Did he smile at her the way he smiled at you?

      Did he lean over the counter with those arms that always looked so damn good rolled up past the elbow? Say something cocky that made her giggle? Maybe he even gave her that look. The one that melts your spine and makes you forget your own name.

      The jealousy was a slow burn at first, curling low in your stomach. You didn’t say anything. You just turned back to the desk, pretending to be busy with paperwork, hoping the knot in your throat would go away.

      But the silence didn’t help. The image kept looping in your head like a broken record. Dante charming some girl who wasn’t you, tossing her number away like it wasn’t worth mentioning what had happened to him at the diner.

      You clenched your jaw.

      And just like that, your mood shifted. Like a storm rolling in from nowhere.

      He didn’t see it coming. You didn’t say a word but your mood flipped like a switch. The rest of the day, you were short, cold, and snappy.

      “You’re not eating?” Dante asked, noticing your untouched ice cream.

      “Not hungry.”

      “You begged me for that damn sundae all week,” he says, giving you a squint like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “You feeling sick or something?”

      You shake your head, but your voice comes out too neutral. “I just changed my mind.”

      He watches you for a second longer. The air’s too quiet between you.

      Then, without a word, he stands, plucks the sundae from the counter with a quiet “Don’t wanna waste it,” and strolls to the back to stick it in the fridge.

      When he comes back, he drops a soft, “Let me know when you do want it.”

      You nod without meeting his eyes. He doesn’t push, but you can feel his gaze burning into you. You felt horrible but you were just overwhelmed with these feelings and didn’t want to say or do something out of frustration.

      Later on, he lounges across the couch, legs wide, arms draped across the back. “You wanna go out later? Maybe grab some pizza, shoot something on the way back?”

      “No, I’m fine.”

      “No?” he echoes, lifting a brow. “Damn, okay. You mad I didn’t bring you extra cherries?”

      “No.”

      “Sure as hell sounds like a yes.”

      “Nope.” You gave a small smile, standing up to kiss his nose and going back to what you were doing so he didn’t think you were mad at him. You needed to do something to get rid of this frustration, because it was starting to affect him too.

      “If you say so.”Dante furrowed his brows, but all he could think in his head was ‘liar’ because he knew you. He knew you were trying to hide something. Dante picked up on it fast. He was dense sometimes, but not when it came to you.

      You’re at the front desk, clicking through the bounty board like it owes you money. Eyes on the screen, jaw tight, fingers tense against the keyboard.

      Dante walks in like he owns the damn place—because, technically, he does. You look at him, his ridiculously sexy face, and you can't help but wonder if the thoughts running through your head right now are the same ones that random girl had too. And now you were scowling all over again.

      “Damn,” he whistles low, coming up behind you. “Anyone ever tell you that you look sexy when you’re pissed?”

      You don’t even blink. No smirk. No side glance. No sarcastic comeback. Just cold silence.

      He waits a beat, tilting his head. “That’s a new record. Usually I at least get an eye-roll before the murder glare.”

      Still nothing. You click through another screen.

      “Okay, what’s up with you today?” he finally asked as you stomped around the Devil May Cry office, pretending not to care. “You’ve been throwing daggers at me with your eyes since I came back from my daily sundae run.”

      You scoffed. “Why don’t you go call your little waitress? She seemed really into giving you some extra service.”

      Dante blinked. What were you talking about? How did you even know about—

      “I saw the stupid napkin in the trash.” You huffed, reading his mind and answering his question.

      “So why are you mad at me? I threw it away for a reason.” He threw his hands up in defense.

      “Still it just—it bothers me that it even happened. I don’t like the idea that someone thought of you like that. I’m not mad at you, just mad at the situation.” You grumbled, feeling slightly embarrassed but not backing down from your stubborn attitude.

      “Didn’t even look at it, babe. I was too busy thinking about how good you’d taste with a cherry on top.”

      Your cheeks flamed, but you didn’t let it show. “I’m still upset.”

      “Oh, I know.” His eyes dropped to your body. “I can see it in the way you’re walking around here like you want to murder someone. But lucky for you…” He licked his lips. “I’ve got a better way to help you get all that aggression out.”

      He grabbed his half-melted sundae from the fridge he saved for later and walked over to you, slow and deliberate. You backed up a step, but your thighs hit the desk and he caged you in with his body.

      “I ever tell you how much I like my desserts messy?” he murmured.

      “Dante—”

      He dipped two fingers into the ice cream and slowly dragged them down your collarbone, the cold making you gasp. The ice cream trickled down the curve of your chest, the air drying it quickly and leaving a sticky, sweet sensation clinging to your skin.

      “Still mad?” his eyes darkened as they narrowed, dipping down to follow the trail of ice cream.

      “Shut up.”

      He sank to his knees in front of you, tugging your shirt up and out of the way, tracing a long stripe of ice cream from your navel down lower, so slow it made your breath hitch.

      “I’m gonna eat this off you,” he breathed, voice thick. “And then I’m gonna eat you.”

      You gasped, eyes wide, as his tongue followed the trail of cold sweetness across your skin, hot mouth melting the ice cream and leaving you trembling. His saliva replaced where the ice cream previously coated your skin.

      “Fuck,” you whispered, your hands in his hair now, tugging as he pushed your legs apart.

      “You taste better than any sundae,” he muttered between kisses, mouth moving lower, lower, lips hot and wet as he kissed right over your core through your panties. “So sweet when you’re jealous…”

      He didn’t waste time. He dragged your panties down and tossed them aside, no teasing this time. Not now, not when he was starving.

      And oh how he loved to devour you.

      That’s how he usually started, like he’s tasting something forbidden, something decadent. Like he has all the time in the world to worship you.

      Dante’s tongue makes a pass over your skin, right where the ice cream had melted, and it sends a shock through your entire body. The contrast between the cold desert and the heat of his mouth makes you shiver. He groans low in his throat, dragging his mouth down your inner thigh.

      His hands are strong but gentle as they settle on your hips, holding you steady as he trails kisses up your thigh, open-mouthed, lingering, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He takes his time, nose brushing against the soft skin, breathing you in like you’re oxygen and he’s been suffocating.

      You squirm, but he tightens his grip just a little, teasing. You can feel him smirk against your skin.

      “Uh-uh,” he tuts, lips ghosting over your skin. “You wanted my attention, baby. Now you’ve got it. All of it.”

      He finally reaches the spot you need him most, placing a feather-light kiss there over your soaked panties. You jolt, a whimper slipping from your lips.

      “Dante…”

      He hums in response, the sound vibrating through your core, before he slowly, agonizingly, slides your panties down your legs and tosses them somewhere behind him. You barely care where. Not with the way he’s looking at you now.

      Predatory. Possessive. Hungry.

      And then he’s on you again, licking a long, deliberate stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit, like he’s savoring every molecule. Your head falls back with a soft moan, fingers digging into the edge of the desk.

      He doesn’t rush. Not yet. He laps at you lazily, kitten licks at first, then deeper, broader strokes that make your thighs tremble around his head.

      His tongue circles your clit, slow and taunting, until your hips buck forward, chasing more. He chuckles against you, that cocky bastard, and flattens his tongue, dragging it up again before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking, enough to make your breath hitch.

      You gasp, hands threading into his hair. “God—fuh...fuck…”

      “Mmm,” he hums, pulling back just enough to speak, breath hot and ragged. “Not God, sweetheart.”

      His tongue curls and flicks right against the sensitive bundle of nerves, relentless now. One hand slips between your legs and two fingers press in slowly, filling you with delicious pressure. He groans when he feels how wet you are, pumping them slowly at first, then curling them inside you, stroking that spot that makes you cry out and tighten around him.

      “You sound so pretty.” he mutters against your core, lips still working on you.

      You moan, loud and needy, back arching off the desk. “Dante—fuck—don’t stop—”

      “Wasn’t planning to,” he growls, tongue working in tandem with his fingers, fast and unrelenting now.

      Every flick of his tongue, every stroke of his fingers is perfectly calculated, deadly in the way only Dante can be. You feel yourself spiraling, thighs shaking around his head, breath coming in ragged gasps. The tension in your body coils tighter, tighter, like a spring about to snap.

      Your hands clutch at his hair, his name falling from your lips in broken cries, over and over.

      And then—.

      Your orgasm slams into you like a wave, tearing a moan from deep in your chest as your body trembles beneath him. Sweet release. Your vision goes white, your thighs clamp tight around his head, and he doesn’t stop. He works you through every twitch and spasm, drinking in every drop like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered.

      Only when you’re completely undone, limp and breathless, does he finally pull back. His mouth and chin glisten with you, and he looks so damn proud of himself it’s almost infuriating.

      “Next time you get jealous… just say so.” Dante stood, licking his fingers like he hadn’t just ruined you. He leans over, caging you in again with that sinful smirk on his lips.

      You glared at him, breathless. “Next time? You planning to flirt with more waitresses?”

      He grinned, teeth sharp.

      “Nope. But I am planning to get more ice cream.”

[ilovemarvel97]

Jogging Shorts

Elizabeth Olsen x G!P Reader

Summary: Lizzie comes back home to find her wife in a jogging shorts that shows too much. 

Word Count: 6,570

Warnings: (18+), smut, reader has a penis, blowjob, fluff

Note: Minors do not interact!

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

The front door clicked open as Lizzie stepped inside, sunglasses still perched on her nose and the faint smell of lavender clinging to her from the boutique brunch spot she’d just left. Her heels clicked softly against the hardwood as she kicked them off near the entry, humming to herself while undoing the buttons of her light jacket.

It had been a nice brunch—catching up with Aubrey over omelets and too many mimosas—but even as Lizzie laughed at her friend’s stories, her mind had slowly drifted home.

To her.

“Babe?” she called out, dropping her keys into the bowl on the hallway table.

She rounded the corner into the kitchen and stopped dead in her tracks.

There stood Y/N—her wife, her muse, her personal brand of temptation—wearing nothing but a clingy athletic tank and a pair of gray men’s jogging shorts that rode low on her hips. Her skin glistened with sweat, still flushed from her run, and her damp hair was pulled back in that messy ponytail Lizzie always found distractingly sexy.

Y/N didn’t notice her at first. She was too focused on downing a glass of cold water. The fabric of her shorts clung in just the right way—showcasing the shape of her thick thighs, the slight bounce of her body from exertion, and the very obvious outline pressing against the front of her shorts.

Lizzie’s throat went dry.

“Oh,” she breathed.

Y/N finally noticed her, lowering the glass and turning to face her with that boyish, slightly smug grin. “Hey, baby.”

Lizzie blinked. “You—you went running?”

Y/N gave a casual shrug, walking over to the fridge to grab the pitcher. “Just around the block a few times. Thought I’d get some cardio in before you got back.”

As she bent slightly to place the pitcher back in the fridge, Lizzie got another full view of that ridiculously perfect form—taut, sweaty, relaxed in all the best ways. Her gaze flicked to the waistband of the shorts again, and she felt a warmth start to bloom in her chest. And lower.

“You’re staring,” Y/N said, grinning as she shut the fridge.

Lizzie crossed her arms, but her cheeks were already flushed. “You can’t just… be walking around looking like that and expect me not to.”

“Like what?” Y/N asked innocently, walking closer.

“Those shorts” Lizzie points.

“What about them?” Y/N shrugs.

Lizzie scoffed, eyes trailing down. “You wear them like they’re painted on.”

Y/N chuckled and closed the distance between them until Lizzie had to tilt her head slightly to maintain eye contact. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Maybe because I walked into my kitchen and found my hot, sweaty, half-naked wife standing there like an ad for bad decisions.”

Y/N’s grin softened into something more tender, though her eyes still sparkled. “Good ones, actually. You married me.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes playfully, but her hands had already found their way to Y/N’s damp waist, fingers curling into the waistband of those teasing shorts. “Mm, I did. And I regret nothing.”

Y/N leaned in, nose brushing hers. “So what’re you gonna do about it?”

Lizzie hummed, fingers sliding just a little deeper beneath the waistband of Y/N’s shorts, her touch featherlight but enough to make her wife’s breath hitch. “I don’t know,” she murmured, voice thick with suggestion. “Maybe I should teach you a lesson for walking around like this… tempting me.”

Y/N’s smile widened, lips parting slightly as her gaze dropped to Lizzie’s mouth. “What kind of lesson are we talking about, Mrs. Y/F/N?”

Lizzie smirked at the title, loving how it still gave her a flutter even after all this time. “Something slow,” she said, inching closer so their bodies brushed. “Something very… drawn out. You know, to really make my point.”

Y/N chuckled, her hands finding Lizzie’s hips. “You really think you can handle taking your time when you’re this flustered?”

“I’m not flustered,” Lizzie said quickly, but the way her hands gripped Y/N’s sides betrayed her. “I’m just… motivated.”

Y/N tilted her head, eyes glinting with challenge. “Motivated, huh? That why your hands are shaking just a little?”

Lizzie scoffed and pulled away slightly, walking toward the counter as if to put some space between them—but the swing of her hips was anything but innocent. “Maybe I was going to go shower,” she said over her shoulder, her voice lilting and light. “But now? I might just sit on the couch and enjoy the view.”

She turned just in time to catch Y/N’s gaze drop—unapologetically—to the curve of her backside, still hugged tightly by the pale sundress she wore. Lizzie leaned against the kitchen island, her arms crossed, biting her lip to suppress a smile.

Y/N followed her without hesitation, hands casually holding her waist. “You wanna look?” she asked, stepping between Lizzie’s legs. “You can look, baby. But you’re not the only one who’s got views.”

“Oh, I’m very aware,” Lizzie said, her voice a whisper now as she traced a lazy circle along Y/N’s abs with a single finger. “That’s why I married you, rockstar.”

Y/N smirked. “Not for the voice? Or the charm?”

“Those helped,” Lizzie teased, sliding her hand down the front of Y/N’s tank slowly, until it rested just above the waistband again. “But mostly it was this… stupidly perfect body.”

Y/N leaned in, her nose brushing the side of Lizzie’s jaw, lips ghosting over her ear. “And now it’s all yours.”

Lizzie exhaled shakily, heat pooling low in her stomach. She wrapped her arms around Y/N’s neck, pulling her in just enough so that their lips nearly touched. “Say that again.”

Y/N kissed the corner of her mouth, slowly. “I’m all yours.”

Lizzie gave in, letting their lips finally connect in a heated, slow kiss that deepened with every second—lazy and lingering, the kind that made you forget anything else existed. Y/N’s hands roamed lower, gripping the backs of Lizzie’s thighs and lifting her just enough to sit her up on the kitchen island. 

Their kiss broke only for a breath, foreheads pressed together.

“You still sweaty,” Lizzie whispered with a grin, fingers tugging at Y/N’s tank playfully.

“Guess we’ll have to get more sweaty,” Y/N murmured, lips ghosting over hers again.

Lizzie laughed softly. “God, I love you.”

Y/N smiled, kissing her again. “I love you too.”

Lizzie gasped softly as Y/N's hands slipped beneath the hem of her sundress, fingers trailing up her inner thighs. She shivered at the touch, her skin tingling with anticipation. 

Y/N leaned in, her voice low and seductive. "You're not the only one who's eager to get started, huh?"

Lizzie's eyes fluttered shut as Y/N's lips found her neck, planting a trail of soft kisses along her collarbone. "I missed you," she whispered.

“You saw me this morning when you left” Y/N continue to kiss her skin. 

"I know," Lizzie said, her fingers tangling in Y/N's damp hair. "But it feels like it's been forever since I've had you like this."

Y/N hummed in agreement, her lips moving lower, finding the spot on Lizzie's neck that always made her shiver. "even though you had me last night?"

"Yes," Lizzie replied, her voice a faint whisper as Y/N's hands glided under her sundress. "I can't get enough. Ever."

Y/N chuckled, the sound rumbling against Lizzie's skin. "And you think it's any different for me, baby?"

"I know it's not," Lizzie said, her breathing growing more labored as Y/N's fingers lightly grazed the edge of her underwear. "But you're the one teasing me right now."

“You started” Y/N whisper in Lizzie’s ear. 

Lizzie tilted her head back, a moan slipping from her lips at the feel of Y/N's breath against her ear. "I didn't expect you to look so... good in those shorts," she admitted, her fingers trailing down Y/N's sides.

Y/N chuckled, nipping at Lizzie's earlobe. "Oh, you're one to talk. Wearing this little dress that barely covers a thing..."

"Hey, this is comfortable," Lizzie protested weakly, her body already arching into Y/N's touch.

Y/N hummed, her lips finding a sensitive spot just below Lizzie's jawline. "I'm not complaining. But you have to admit, you knew it would drive me wild."

Lizzie didn't bother denying it. "Maybe," she conceded, her fingers gripping Y/N's shoulders as her back arched off the counter. "But I didn't expect you to run around the neighborhood looking like sin incarnate."

"I was jogging," Y/N corrected, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of Lizzie's dress. "You're the one making it sound dirty."

Lizzie opened her mouth to retort, but all that came out was a soft gasp as Y/N's hand slid up her thigh, her touch warm and electrifying.

"You were showing off," Lizzie managed to say, her body trembling.

Y/N laughed, her hand moving higher, her thumb tracing the edge of Lizzie's underwear. "And you were looking, weren't you?"

“No…when I said you were showering off” Lizzie cups Y/N cock over her shorts “you were jogging and showing off what’s mine” Lizzie says. 

Y/N's breath caught in her throat, her hand stilling on Lizzie's thigh. "And you're possessive today," she said, her voice low and strained.

Lizzie smirked, her fingers applying more pressure. "You love it," she said, leaning in to ghost her lips over Y/N's pulse point.

Y/N shivered, her eyes fluttering shut. "God, baby..." she murmured, her hand grasping Lizzie's waist.

"You like it when I claim what's mine, don't you?" Lizzie teased, her fingers teasing the strings of Y/N's shorts.

Y/N's breath hitched, her hands going down and gripping the edge of the counter. "You know I do," she replied, her voice rough. She tilted her head, capturing Lizzie's mouth in a heated, claiming kiss.

Lizzie melted into the kiss, her hands roaming freely over Y/N's body, tracing the dip of her lower back, the curve of her hip. She deepened the kiss, her tongue brushing against Y/N's, drawing a soft moan from her wife.

Y/N's hands found the hem of Lizzie's sundress, her fingers skimming along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. "You know," she murmured, biting back a gasp as Lizzie's teeth grazed her jawline, "the bed is just a few steps away."

Lizzie hummed, her lips nipping at Y/N's pulse point. "We could get there," she murmured, her hands sliding up Y/N's chest, "or you could just take me here." Lizzie start to stroke Y/N cock

Y/N's head fell back, a moan slipping from her lips. "Here, huh?" she managed to say, her voice thick with desire. "On the kitchen counter?"

Lizzie nodded, her lips brushing along Y/N's collarbone. "Right here," she said, her hand gripping Y/N's hip, pulling her even closer. "I want you now."

Y/N shivered, her body already burning with need. "You're gonna be the death of me, you know that?" she said, her hands trailing up Lizzie's arms, sliding under the straps of her sundress.

Lizzie's hands joined hers, helping Y/N push the sundress off her shoulders. "Only in the best way possible," she said, her voice a whisper as the dress pooled at her feet.

Y/N took a moment to appreciate the sight before her, her eyes roaming over Lizzie's body, clad only in matching lace underwear. "You're so beautiful," she said, her hands tracing the curve of Lizzie's waist, up to her ribs, before stopping just below her chest.

"You're not so bad yourself," Lizzie teased, her own gaze roaming over Y/N's body. "Especially in those shorts." She leaned in, her lips tracing the curve of Y/N's neck as her hands slid lower, slipping beneath the waistband of the shorts.

Y/N is already hard for her. Lizzie could feel it against her hand, the evidence of Y/N's arousal stirring her own desire. She pressed closer, her body flush against Y/N's, and nuzzled her face into Y/N's neck, her lips trailing up to her ear. "I can feel how much you want me," she murmured, her tongue darting out to tease Y/N's earlobe.

Y/N groaned, her hands gripping Lizzie's hips, pulling her even closer, until there was no space left between them. "You have no idea," she said, her voice rough with desire. "I've been wanting you since the moment you left this morning in that tiny dress.”

"That's a long time to wait for me," Lizzie said, her lips finding the underside of Y/N's jaw. She bit down lightly, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "But, then again, the longer you wait, the better the reward, right?"

Lizzie hops off the counter and kneel in front of Y/N tagging her shorts. 

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as she watched Lizzie sink to her knees in front of her. She couldn't speak, the sight of her wife knelt before her sending a jolt of arousal straight to her cock. Her hands gripped the edge of the countertop, her knuckles turning white.

Lizzie smirked up at her, her eyes dark with desire. "You like that, huh?" she said, her hands slipping up Y/N's thighs, her fingers hooking into the waistband of her shorts. "When I'm on my knees for you?"

Y/N nodded, unable to form words, her body trembling under Lizzie's touch. "Yes," she managed to get out, her voice ragged. "God, yes."

"Good." Lizzie's voice was low and smooth, her gaze never leaving Y/N's as she started to tug at the shorts. "Because I love being down here for you."

Lizzie pull down Y/N shorts making her member spring out almost bumping her face.

Y/N's cock was hard, already leaking pre-cum from the tip. Lizzie's eyes widened at the sight, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She looked up at Y/N, her gaze dark and hungry. "Oh, someone's eager," she said, her voice a teasing whisper.

"Eager's an understatement," Y/N managed to say, her fingers clenching tighter on the counter. "Especially when you look like that."

Lizzie chuckled, her hands gliding up Y/N’s thighs, stopping just short of touching her cock. "And how do I look, exactly?" she asked, tilting her head to the side, feigning innocence.

Y/N groaned, her cock twitching at the lack of touch. "You know how you look," she said, her voice strained. "You look like sin incarnate. Like you're trying to drive me insane right now."

Lizzie smirked. "Just trying to match your energy, love," she said, her breath ghosting over the head of Y/N's cock. "You were wearing that short showing off this, and expect me not do anything about it."

"You could have joined me on my run," Y/N pointed out, her words coming out in a strangled gasp as Lizzie's tongue darted out, lightly swiping over the tip of her cock.

“Fuck” Y/N groan. 

Lizzie hummed, her lips curving up in a smirk. "You like it when I talk dirty to you, don't you?" she said, her hands still lightly stroking Y/N's thighs. "Or, I guess, it's more the actions, isn't it? Words are nice and all, but the real magic happens in the deed."

Y/N nodded, her eyes closing, her body tense as she waited for whatever Lizzie was going to do next. She was at her mercy, and she loved every second of it. "You can say that again," she said, her words more of a ragged gasp than actual speech.

"Hmm, looks like someone's getting impatient." Lizzie's teasing tone was enough to make Y/N's knees weak, and it took everything she had to stay standing. "You want me to keep going, don't you?"

"Please," Y/N begged, her body trembling with need. "I need you, baby. Please."

Lizzie relished the sound of the word 'please' slipping from Y/N's lips. She loved it when her wife admitted that she needed her. With a wicked gleam in her eye, she leaned in, her breath hot against Y/N's skin. "Beg me," she whispered, her lips just barely brushing against Y/N's hip.

"Please," Y/N repeated, her words shaky but earnest. "Please, touch me. I need you so badly, Lizzie. I need to feel your hands on me."

Lizzie smirked, satisfied with the desperation in Y/N's voice. "I like it when you beg," she murmured, her hands moving up, finally wrapping around Y/N's throbbing cock. "God, you're so hard for me. So ready."

“It’s your fault” Y/N thrust into Lizzie’s hand. 

Lizzie laughed, her grip on Y/N's cock tightening. "Of course it is. My fault, my problem, and I take responsibility for it." Her hand began to move, stroking Y/N softly.

"You know I can't resist you," Y/N gasped. "Not when you look like that, not when you talk like that." Her hands clenched at her sides, resisting the urge to touch Lizzie's hair, her shoulders, the delicate arch of her back.

"And I can't resist you, either," Lizzie said, her gaze roaming over Y/N's face, taking in the flush of her cheeks, the way her eyes darkened with desire. "When you're all sweaty and needy and begging for me, how could I say no?"

Y/N goes to protest she’s not needy, but when she open her mouth Lizzie runs her tongue over her shaft. 

The words died in Y/N's throat as Lizzie's tongue flicked over the tip of her cock, her eyes rolling back in pleasure. She had no room to protest, no power to argue, not with the overwhelming need and desire coursing through her body. "You're going to make me lose it," she managed to choke out, her words breaking off as another moan escaped her lips. 

Lizzie chuckled, her breath hot against Y/N's sensitive flesh. "That's the point, baby. I'm going to take my time with you. I'm going to drag out every single one of those beautiful noises I can make you make."

Y/N could just take her way, but she was enjoying this Lizzie. 

Lizzie was in control, and Y/N was all too happy to submit. She loved seeing this side of her wife, the side that was confident and commanding, driving her wild with desire. Each touch, each movement, was calculated and deliberate, designed to draw out just the right response. 

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" Lizzie said, her lips brushing against the underside of Y/N's cock. "You're so perfect like this, all needy and eager, begging for me to touch you, to make you mine."

“I love when you take my cock like that” Y/N whisper. 

Lizzie smiled up at Y/N, her eyes flickering with a mix of lust and playfulness. "I know you do," she said, her voice a low, seductive purr. "I know you love it when I take control and show you just how badly I want you."

And with that, Lizzie wrapped her lips around Y/N's cock, taking her deep into her mouth. She was hot and wet and eager, swirling her tongue around the sensitive flesh. It was as if she was made for this, made to bring Y/N to the very edge of pleasure and then hold her there

"Fuck," Y/N moaned, her hands finding their way into Lizzie's hair, "You feel so good, baby. So god damn good.”

Lizzie hummed in response, her eyes never leaving Y/N's face. She knew exactly what she was doing, and she loved every second of it. She knew the power she held over Y/N, and she relished in it. It was a beautiful dance they'd perfected over the years, each touch and kiss fueled by a depth of passion and love that only comes from true intimacy.

Y/N's body trembled, her back arching, her fingers clutching at Lizzie's hair. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop," she gasped, her words a ragged mix of pleading and command.

Lizzie had no intention of stopping. She loved seeing Y/N like this, undone and desperate for more. She teased and taunted her, her mouth and hands moving in perfect tandem, bringing Y/N closer and closer to the edge. Each touch was calculated, a symphony of pleasure that threatened to send her over the brink.

"I'm close," Y/N gasped, her body taut, coiled like a spring ready to snap. "Baby, I'm so close."

With that lizzie starts to bob her head. 

Lizzie smiled around Y/N's cock, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She knew Y/N was close, and she was determined to take her there. She increased the suction, her lips and tongue milking Y/N's cock with an expert touch. She could feel her own arousal growing, the taste and feel of Y/N's flesh in her mouth driving her wild. She could sense the tension in Y/N's body, the way she was trembling under her touch. She knew she had her right where she wanted her, and she was ready to take her over the edge.

Lizzie take almost all Y/N length into her mouth. Tears pooling in the corners of her eyes as she looks up at her wife. And that was the last straw for Y/N.

In a guttural moan. Her body convulsed, her hips bucking a little as she came, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over her like a tsunami. Her fingers found Lizzie's head, holding her in place a little. But when it was over, she pulls her hips back, pulling her length out of Lizzie’s mouth. 

Lizzie's lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed. She had a satisfied smirk on her face, as she looked up at Y/N. 

"That was... intense," Y/N gasped, her limbs feeling like jelly.

Y/N see Lizzie swallowing her load. It was an incredibly erotic sight, and Y/N felt her arousal building once more. Lizzie could see the look in Y/N's eyes, and she knew exactly what it meant.

"Already getting worked up again, darling?" she teased, pushing herself up to her feet.

Y/N pulls her by the hips and crashed their lips. Their bodies pressed against each other, mouths locked in a frantic, desperate kiss. It was pure heat and hunger, fueled by a desperate need to be closer, to feel more, to take all they could from each other.

Y/N lift her up by her thighs and place her back on the counter kissing her desperately. 

Lizzie clung to Y/N, her arms wrapping around her neck, her legs wrapping around Y/N. She kissed back with equal fervor, her lips moving urgently against Y/N's, their lips slick and hot. She could feel the heat radiating from Y/N, the need and desire rolling off her in waves.

Lizzie only notice her bra was gone when she feels Y/N’s hand on her breasts. 

The realization hit her, she gasped, her body arching into Y/N's touch. She had been so consumed by the kiss, so focused on the feeling of Y/N's lips against her own, that she hadn't even noticed the moment her bra had been removed. She broke the kiss, looking up at Y/N with a mix of surprise and arousal.

“When did you do that?” she asked, her words coming out in a ragged gasp. Her fingers reached for the hem of Y/N's shirt, tugging at it impatiently. 

"I have my ways," Y/N murmured, her eyes dark with desire. She helped Lizzie pull the shirt over her head, revealing her bra. "I'm full of surprises, aren't I?"

Lizzie's gaze wandered over Y/N's bare chest, taking in every inch of exposed skin. Her fingers traced the edge of Y/N's bra, her touch almost reverent. "You always find a way to leave me wanting more," she said, her words soft and tinged with need.

Lizzie tilted her head back, giving Y/N better access to her neck. Her fingers combed through Y/N's hair, her touch both possessive and gentle. "We're quite the pair, aren't we?" she murmured, her words breathy with desire.

"We're a match made in heaven," Y/N agreed, her lips trailing down Lizzie's neck, nipping and kissing her sensitive skin. Her hands roamed over Lizzie's body, exploring every curve and contour, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Y/N lips went down Lizzie’s body, kissing and nipping her breasts. 

Lizzie gasped, her body arching into Y/N's touch. Her fingers tightened in Y/N's hair, holding her close, not wanting her to pull away. "Please, don't stop," she murmured, her voice tinged with desperation.

Y/N had no intention of stopping. She continued her journey down, her lips and tongue tasting every inch of Lizzie's skin, worshipping her body with every touch. She could feel the heat radiating from Lizzie, the way she trembled under her hands, and it only fueled her desire.

Lizzie's gasped, her body quivering with each touch. "I need you," she whimpered, her fingers digging into Y/N's shoulders. "Please, don't tease me."

“Tell me what you need” Y/N whisper in her ear. 

Lizzie's body shivered as Y/N's words washed over her, her voice a hot, ragged whisper in her ear. She could feel the heat pooling low in her belly, the ache between her legs growing stronger with every moment. "I need you," she whispered back, her words a breathy, desperate plea. "I need you inside me. Now."

“Good girl” Y/N whisper in her ear before she push down her own shorts and boxers to the middle of her thighs and push Lizzie’s underwear to the side. 

Lizzie groaned, her mind going blank as she felt Y/N's fingers finding her. The sensations were overwhelming, the heat and wetness and the need to be filled. She reached for Y/N, her hands grabbing at her shoulders, pulling her close. "Please, baby. I need you. I need you now."

“So wet” Y/N whisper as she scoop Lizzie’s juice to spread over her cock. 

Lizzie gasped at the touch, her body shaking with need. "God, yes," she whispered, her hands clutching at Y/N's back. "I want you so bad."

“Shhhh I’ve got you baby. I’ve got you” Y/N says as she rub her tip against Lizzie’s core. 

Lizzie's breath hitches at the contact, her body arching slightly, trying to press harder against Y/N. "Please. Don't tease me like that," she pleaded, her voice a ragged whisper. "I need you inside me."

“I know baby. I know” Y/N push in slowly. 

Lizzie gasped, her body arching upward as she felt Y/N slowly pushing into her. The sensation was overwhelming, the pleasure left her mind reeling. "Yes," she whispered, her voice catching in her throat. "Just like that."

Y/N began to move, slow at first, relishing in the feeling of being inside Lizzie. It was like coming home, a sense of completion that went beyond physical pleasure. Lizzie's legs wrapped around her waist, holding her tight, and she buried her face in the crook of Lizzie's neck, peppering kisses on her skin.

“You feel so good my love” Y/N murmur against her neck. 

Lizzie nodded, her words lost in a sea of sensations. She held onto Y/N tightly, her arms wrapped around her shoulders, her legs around her waist, her fingers tracing patterns on the skin of her back. "So do you," she murmured against Y/N's ear, her voice ragged with pleasure. "You always do."

Y/N start to speed up. Her arms were wrapped around Lizzie’s waist, holding her against herself. 

Lizzie's breath came in short, ragged gasps as Y/N picked up the pace. She could feel herself getting close, her body taut and trembling beneath Y/N's touch. Her fingers gripped Y/N's shoulders, her nails digging into the skin, her chest heaving with every breath. "Don't stop," she pleaded, her words a ragged whisper. "Please, don't stop."

“Is your butt ok?” Y/N ask since Lizzie’s on the counter. 

Lizzie's response was more of a gasp than a word. "Yes," she managed to say, her voice breathless. "I'm fine." Except she was more than fine, she was on the edge of pure ecstasy, every nerve in her body alive with pleasure.

Y/N could tell from the way Lizzie's body reacted that she was close, her body trembling beneath her touch. She shifted slightly, adjusting her angle to hit that sweet spot that made Lizzie gasp.

"Ah!" Lizzie gasped, her body arching, her fingers clawing at Y/N's back. "Just like that. Don't stop. Please." Her words were a desperate plea, her voice ragged with pleasure.

"Never," Y/N murmured against her neck, her lips brushing over her skin. "I'll never stop." She moved faster, harder, losing herself in the moment, driven by the sounds of Lizzie's pleasure and the feel of her body responding to her touch. She could feel the tension building in Lizzie, the way her body coiled tighter and tighter.

Lizzie's grip on Y/N's shoulders was like a vice, her nails digging into the skin. Her body was taut, on the edge of release. She was close, so close, but Y/N knew how to keep her just on the edge, driving her slowly insane with desire. "Please," Lizzie pleaded, her voice ragged. "Please, let me come."

“Since you asked so nicely, I’ll let you come” Y/S kissed her cheek. 

Lizzie's body shuddered at the words, her head falling back, exposing her neck to Y/N's lips. She was teetering on the edge, so close that it almost hurt. But she waited, her body tense, her breath hitching in anticipation, waiting for the final push.

Y/N kiss her deeply as she speed up more, hitting deep inside Lizzie. 

The kiss was a clash of teeth and tongues, a desperate need to be even closer, to feel every inch of each other. Lizzie gasped into Y/N's mouth, her body trembling with pleasure. She was so close, so close. "Please," she pleaded, her voice ragged. "I need to come. I need to come so bad."

“You can come baby.” 

"Oh god," Lizzie gasped, her body arching, every muscle coiled tight with pleasure. "Please, please, please." She was so close, so incredibly close to the edge. She held onto Y/N tightly, her fingers digging into her skin, trying to anchor herself to something, anything, to keep herself from flying apart.

"Let go, baby," Y/N murmured against her ear, her words like a spell, casting a net of pleasure over her, pulling her closer to the brink. "Come for me. Let me see you come undone."

That was all she needed. Lizzie's body shook, her legs wrapping tightly around Y/N, her body trembling as she finally let go. Her orgasm washed over her like a wave, drowning out everything but the sensations coursing through her body. She held onto Y/N tightly, riding out the waves of pleasure, her whole world narrowing down to the feel of Y/N in her arms.

Y/N slow down for her to ride out her high.

Lizzie's body quivered, her whole being thrumming with the aftershocks of her orgasm. She held onto Y/N, her fingers digging into her skin as she rode it out. Y/N held her through it, slowing down just enough to keep her pleasure going, her hands roaming over Lizzie's skin, mapping out every inch of her with feather-light touches.

Lizzie was boneless, her body limp, her mind utterly blissed out. She could barely form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. But the warmth and safety of Y/N's arms kept her grounded, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat anchoring her to the present moment.

“Hold tight baby” Y/N whisper in her ear. 

Lizzie nodded, her body still humming with the afterglow. She wrapped her arms around Y/N's neck, burrowing her face into the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin. She didn't want to move, didn't want to disrupt the moment. She just wanted to stay there, held tightly in Y/N's arms, feeling loved and safe.

Without pulling out Y/N lift Lizzie from the kitchen counter and start to walk up to their bedroom. 

Lizzie clung to Y/N, her body still boneless and sated. She buried her face in Y/N's shoulder, sighing contentedly as Y/N carried her up the stairs. She could feel Y/N's steady heartbeat, the strength in her arms, and the sense of safety and comfort that always came with being held by her.

As Y/N walk, her cock moves slightly inside Lizzie. 

Each step was a gentle, sensual brush of movement, and Lizzie's body responded, a gasp slipping from her lips. Every touch sent a jolt of pleasure through her, the sensation just enough to keep her on the edge of arousal. She could feel Y/N's body shifting with each step, the movement subtle and intimate, adding to the building desire.

Y/N enter their bedroom and place Lizzie down on their bed.

Lizzie's body sunk into the mattress, her limbs splayed out. She looked up at Y/N, her eyes dark with desire. Her gaze traced over Y/N's form, taking in every inch of her. She reached up, her hands grasping at Y/N's arms. "Come here," she murmured, her voice low and breathy.

Y/N moved onto the bed, crawling over Lizzie, her body hovering above her. She braced herself on her arms, her gaze roaming over Lizzie's face, taking in the flush of her cheeks, the way her eyes were dark and blown with desire. She leaned down, her lips brushing over Lizzie's jaw, planting kisses along her skin, down her neck, to the hollow of her throat.

“Can you do one more for me my love? I didn’t come yet” Y/N ask as she rubs her cock against Lizzie’s core. 

Lizzie's breath hitched, her body arching into Y/N's touch. "Yes," she gasped, her words barely more than a murmur. "Yes, please." She was already on edge again, her body thrumming with need. She reached up, her hands grasping at Y/N's shoulders, pulling her closer. "I need you," she whispered, her voice ragged with desire.

Y/N spread her legs more and slide inside her. 

Lizzie's body trembled in response, her hips rising to meet Y/N's motion. She let out a soft moan, her head falling back onto the pillow. "Oh god," she gasped, her voice ragged. "You feel so good." She wrapped her legs around Y/N's waist, her fingers digging into her back, pulling her closer, wanting to feel every inch of her. 

Y/N moved slowly, her movements deep and deliberate. She pressed her face into Lizzie's neck, her breath hot against her skin. Her hands roamed over Lizzie's body, touching her everywhere. Lizzie's hands were everywhere, touching and scratching and grasping at Y/N's skin as if she couldn't get enough of her. The need was there, the desperation that only comes of knowing someone inside and out. Every touch was a claim, a silent reminder that they were each other's.

Lizzie's body was taut, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She clung to Y/N, her fingers digging into her back. "Please," she gasped, her voice ragged. "I need more, baby. I need you." She could feel Y/N's body moving against hers, the rhythm slow and deliberate, driving her insane with need. She wanted more, needed more, needed to be as close to Y/N as possible, to feel their bodies intertwined, to lose herself in the sensations that only Y/N could bring.

Y/N speeds up, starting a rough pace as she seeks her release. She kiss Lizzie’s neck up to her ear. 

Each kiss, each bite, each word whispered against her skin, it all left Lizzie unraveling, completely at Y/N's mercy. Her hands gripped Y/N's shoulders, holding on for dear life, as her body trembled. "Yes, yes," she whispered, her body arching into Y/N's touch, her own need growing with every moment that passed.

Y/N keep the pace and she hiss when Lizzie start to scratch her back but she doesn’t mind. 

Lizzie's nails dug into Y/N's skin, leaving marks that would be there for days, a reminder of this moment. But Y/N didn't mind. In fact, she loved it, loved the way Lizzie's body responded to her touch, the way she writhed beneath her, completely undone. It was a beautiful sight, one that she would never tire of.

She could feel Lizzie's body shaking beneath her, the sounds that fell from her mouth growing more and more desperate. Y/N knew she was close, could feel the tension in her body coiled tight like a spring. She nipped and kissed at Lizzie's neck, her teeth grazing her skin, leaving marks that would purple by morning.

“I’m gonna come my love” Y/N whisper in her ear. 

The words sent a shiver down Lizzie's spine, her body arching off the bed as the tension in her coiled tighter, closer to the edge. "Yes, yes, please," she gasped, her voice ragged and raw. "Don’t stop."

Y/N didn’t have any plans to stop, not when she had Lizzie like this. She kept her pace up, driving her higher and higher, until Lizzie was teetering on the very edge, hanging by a thread.

Y/N keep the fast pace as she moans holding her release so Lizzie can reach hers. 

Lizzie's body was a trembling mess beneath Y/N. Every muscle was taut, every nerve ending on fire. She could feel the tension building, coiling itself tight. Each moment was agony, sweet and sharp all at once. She was so close, so incredibly close, teetering right on the edge, but not quite there yet.

“Cum love. Cum with me” Y/N groan. 

Lizzie's body was taut, the words sending her spiraling over the edge. Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, a burst of pleasure that washed over her in waves. All she could do was hold on, clinging to Y/N like a lifeline as her body trembled, as the sounds that left her mouth turned incoherent. And then, as suddenly as it had come, the orgasm receded, leaving her boneless and satisfied, panting against Y/N's shoulder. 

Y/N release inside her with a moan agains her ear. 

Lizzie could feel Y/N's release, her body shuddering with the aftermath of her own orgasm. She held onto her tightly, her hands roaming over her back, her touch gentle and soft. She could feel the heat radiating off their bodies, the sweat on their skin, the way they were both shaking with the exertion and the aftermath. "God, I love you," she whispered, her voice ragged and hoarse.

“Fuck…I love you more” Y/N says breathless. 

Lizzie smiled, her gaze locking with Y/N's. "Impossible," she whispered, her fingers tracing a path down Y/N's back. "I love you more."

Y/N smiles sweetly before kissing her softly.

Y/N melted into the kiss, her lips moving slowly, reverently against Lizzie's—no longer driven by lust, but by the kind of love that softened the world around them. She pulled back just enough to press her forehead to Lizzie’s, their breaths still mingling, both of them trying to calm the rapid thud of their hearts.

“I guess I’m not allowed to wear this shorts outside anymore?” Y/N smirk. 

Lizzie grinned, still breathless, her fingers lazily tracing patterns along Y/N’s spine. “Allowed? Oh, no. You can wear them.”

Y/N quirked a brow. “Yeah?”

Lizzie leaned in, lips brushing against her jaw. “Just know that if you do… I’m following you. And anyone who looks for too long is getting hexed.”

Y/N laughed, low and husky. “Hexed? We’re bringing out the Scarlet Witch now?”

“I’m married,” Lizzie said with mock-seriousness, eyes glittering with mischief. “Which means I’m legally obligated to defend what’s mine. Even if that means mild public violence.”

Y/N hummed, nuzzling into her neck. “Kinky.”

Lizzie swatted her lightly, giggling. “Don’t tempt me. You’re already pushing your luck in those damn shorts.”

Y/N grinned, letting her hands settle on Lizzie’s waist as she pressed one last kiss to her lips—slow and sweet. “Fine. No more wearing them outside.”

Lizzie smirked. “Only for me.”

Y/N brushed their noses together. “Always, baby.”

---

Let me know what you guys think about this!

[wileys-russo]

ingrid from "hidden in plain sight", "did you just say you got a ring?", in a cafe - thanks either way hehe

set way into the future of this and this a simple cronut II i.engen x rolfö!reader

"baby stop pouting." your girlfriend laughed, finding you curled up on the sofa with a scowl embedded into your features, arms crossed and eyes trained on the tv, though whatever was playing on the screen was the last thing on your mind.

"no! you are going for breakfast to my favorite cafe, with my sister, on my day off, and my girlfriend didn't invite me?" you huffed, flicking the amused norwegian a dirty look, grumbling something else beneath your breath in swedish she didn't quite catch.

"i made you breakfast. your sister is also my friend. it is our day off and i thought we had an agreement that it was better for everyone if you and frido have a little space sometimes." ingrid reminded with a raised eyebrow but all you did was huff again as your only response.

"i see we are being very mature today." your girlfriend teased, again copping an evil look making her smile only widen, finding your annoyance utterly adorable which was the opposite of the desired effect.

"but she third wheels us all the time! without an invitation!" you reminded throwing your arms up and following after ingrid who returned to the bedroom, your sister inviting herself over to your shared apartment with the midfielder at least twice a week, going as far as to have had her own key cut.

then another key cut when you'd confiscated that first one.

"yes which is why we all agreed on some space. look i know i am the glowing centre of both of your worlds but-" you made an indignant noise at that, throwing yourself down onto the bed with narrowed eyes.

"-but i am my own person. who sometimes wants to hang out with my girlfriend by myself-" ingrid paused to lean down and steal a kiss. "-or hang out with my best friend by myself." she finished sending you a firm look as you exhaled.

"do you promise to bring me back a cronut?" you muttered, grumpily but in acceptance that throwing a tantrum was not going to achieve what you wanted, and thinking about it further that really wasn't to see your sister today.

"of course i will my love." ingrid chuckled as you sat up against the headboard, watching as she changed which jacket she was wearing several times.

"the cream cardigan, goes with the new puma shoes you're supposed to take a picture in this week." you hinted heavily, this time finally with a small smile as ingrid clicked her tongue and smacked her palm against her head.

"i love you." the norweigan groaned, grabbing either side of your face and pressing a kiss to your lips with a loud mwah as you hummed in amusement as her phone chimed.

"enjoy your breakfast, don't forget my cronut please." you stood off the bed and warned, a few soft kisses exchanged before ingrids phone starting ringing, your sister clearly impatiently waiting downstairs.

"even when she's not here, she interrupts." you quipped with a roll of your eyes, ingrid chuckling and stealing one last kiss. "your ass looks good in those shorts." she shamelessly commented, watching as you wandered back to the living room.

"i know. thats why i wear them!" you winked, blowing her a kiss and collapsing into the sofa, wiggling around to get comfortable. "if they're still on when i get back kjærlighet, you'll be getting more than just a cronut." the norweigan smirked, sending you a wink of her own before the door closed after her.

~

"-so, i may have lied to you about wanting to see you." ingrid started as she and frido took a seat outside, sunglasses covering their eyes and coffees in hand, awaiting their breakfast to arrive.

"so it has happened. you have finally come to your senses and realised i am the better rolfö, and the more entertaining, and fun to be around, and-" the blonde started with a sigh as her best friends eyes rolled.

"shut up! let me speak." ingrid huffed as the older blonde chuckled but tipped her coffee toward her in a silent apology, nodding for her to continue, interrupted once more by their food arriving as both girls uttered thank yous.

"so i love your sister, very very much." ingrid began, food untouched as fridolina instead dug right in. "clearly, you must to have put up with her for so long. does she still do the wheezy thing when she sleeps when she-" the midfielder begun as ingrids eyes again rolled.

"frido!" "sorry sorry, go on gushing over how much you love my baby sister." she pulled a face of disgust and waved for ingrid to continue.

"i love your sister so much that i want to marry her." ingrid decided being direct may be her best choice right not to get this out, interrupted once more but this time by frido choking on a mouthful of eggs.

a waitress rushing over the swede hastily waved her off with an embarrassed grimace, chugging a glass of water as ingrid sipped on her coffee, rather unfazed by the reaction.

"marriage!?" the blonde managed to get out once she'd somewhat recovered, ingrid nodding. "but-but-you're...and she's just...marriage!?" your sister was in a state of shock, wide eyed and heart racing.

"yes. we've been together for three years now, i know she's the one i want to spend the rest of my life with. i have spoke with your parents, i have the ring, all i want now...is your blessing." ingrids voice softened, a hint of insecurity dancing around the edge of her request, coffee put down and fingers drumming on the table nervously.

"my bless-wait. did you just say you got a ring?" your sisters eyes somehow opened wider as ingrid nodded, grabbing her bag off the table, placing a small black box between them which frido carefully picked up.

"i-wow. ingrid." your sister exhaled, shaking her head as she popped open the box, oggling the engagement ring hidden within. "is it too much? not enough? will she like it?" your girlfriend bit her bottom lip anxiously, fingers resuming their drumming against the tabletop.

"hey. it is perfect because it came from you ing, of course she will love it." frido picked up on her best friends energy then, closing the box and placing it back down on the table.

"but if you have spoken with my family. why do you want my blessing?" the older girl asked with a curious though not unkind frown. "

why do you think? your opinion means more to her than she would ever let on, much more than even your parents or anyone." ingrid professed, and not untruthfully, though you may clash heads a lot your sister was one of the most important people in your life, a life you'd never dare to imagine without her in it.

"you know i love to tease her about being the baby of the family, but even with that you do not need my blessing ingrid, but of course you have it." frido spoke softly, reaching across the table to squeeze your girlfriends hand in assurance as the tension bled from her body and she slumped back into her seat with a relieved exhale.

"is that why you would not let her come? you know i have many texts from her threatening me if i did not tell you to invite her." the blonde laughed, shaking her phone making ingrid crack a smile.

"but you didn't." "of course not! when do i ever do what she wants me to?"

"you are both as bad as each other." ingrid chuckled, frido urging for her to eat before her food went cold. "so when are you going to propose?" your sister asked curiously, shovelling another mouthful of eggs in after she did.

"today." ingrid answered casually, once more causing the swede across from her to choke, scrambling for her coffee as ingrid gestured to the young waitress that again they were fine.

"today!?" "yes, today." "what if i had said no!?" "well...i was hoping you would say yes." "ingrid!" "fridolina?"

"you are proposing to my sister. today." frido managed out, once more in state of shock as the norweigan nodded. "i am going to put the ring in the cronut she keeps messaging me not to forget to bring home." ingrid smiled, drinking the last of her coffee.

"hopefully she does not choke on it." "frido! i was not worried about that before!" "well just make sure she finds it before she shoves a pastry down her throat, you know how she is, resource guarding." "your sister is not a dog." "eats like one."

~

ingrid took a deep breath as she stepped into the elevator, checking the paper bag in her hand for the one hundreth time and nodding when she saw the glint of silver just poking out.

she could do this. she could do this. she could do this. she could do this.

"älskade! you are home!"

she could not do this. she could not do this. she could not do this. she could not do this.

"oh my cronut! i adore you."

she had to do this. she had to do this. she had to do this. she had to do this.

ingrid exhaled shakily as you took the bag from her hand, chattering away now in a much happier mood about your morning as ingrid hardly heard a word, her ears ringing and legs heavy as you grabbed the cronut, ring just peeking out.

wait the ring-

before ingrid could say a single word you took an eager bite, swearing in swedish as your tooth bit something hard, eyebrows furrowing as you dropped the cronut back in the bag and cradled your jaw.

"what the-" you fell silent as you poked around and found it, ingrid exhaling shakily as she dropped to one knee, your hand slowly retracting from the bag with wide eyes, ring pursed between your thumb and pointer finger.

"ingrid-" "do you remember the first night we went out when you first came to norway?" ingrid began, shocked at how she was even able to get the words out as her stomach knotted over itself.

"well yes but-" "that couple. the proposal, in front of the entire restaurant. do you remember what you said to me?" all you could do was shake your head, your brain apparently away on holidays as it refused to function.

"you said to me you could not think of anything worse than a public proposal." "i did?" "you did, and i never forgot it."

"so. this might not be the most romantic location, and theres no sunset or beautiful backdrop, no band or photographer or rose petals-" ingrid shifted slightly, eyes trained to yours.

"-but you're here, and you're all i need. barcelona is where things with us really got their first steps, so i thought it was the right place to take the next one, together. my love, will you marry me?" ingrid barely got the words out, terrified of what might come next as a silence fell between you both.

"i-ingrid." you exhaled in a state of shock, gaze flickering rapidly between the pastry covered engagement ring and your girlfriend knelt on the floor before you.

"yes. of course! yes!" you laughed in disbelief, ingrid up and off the ground in record time, surging toward you for a very tight hug as you couldn't quite believe this was really happening.

"you put the ring in my cronut." you managed out, arms wrapped around one another in an airtight embrace. "i was worried you might choke on it." ingrid admitted, pulling back a little as you shared a glance, grins growing in both your features.

ingrid squealed as suddenly you slammed back into her, almost taking her down off her feet as your mouth captured hers in a deep and passionate kiss, tangling your hands in her hair, a moment frozen in time. your first as not just girlfriends, but now, fiancés.

"wait. is this why i could not come to breakfast!?"

[sunsburns]

summer road trip with luke castellan (16+, implied sex)

it starts with a promise.

made late at night, in the kind of hazy space between sleep and dreaming, when the world feels quiet and nothing’s quite real yet. you’re lying side by side on a roof somewhere—one of those abandoned places luke likes to sneak into. the stars are barely visible, city lights bleeding up into the sky, but you’re not really looking at the stars anyway.

“we should do it,” he says, breathless from laughter after a dumb joke he barely managed to get out. “just take off one day. no plans. no schedules. just you, me, and the open road.”

you laugh into the sleeve of your hoodie. “okay, cowboy.”

“i’m serious.” he props himself up on his elbows. “we’ll make playlists. stay in janky motels. get gas station snacks that’ll probably kill us. it’ll be perfect.”

you hum, eyes fluttering shut. “we’re always saying ‘one day.’ you ever think about making it this day?”

he doesn’t say anything for a long second.

then, “i’ll steal a car.”

you snort. “please don’t steal a car.”

“fine. borrow one.” he nudges your arm. “c’mon. you know you want this.”

you do. gods, you really do.

and maybe that’s why two weeks later you’re throwing a duffel bag in the backseat of an old car luke somehow managed to “legally” obtain (you don’t ask too many questions), a worn paper map stuffed into the glove compartment, and three half-charged burner phones just in case.

you don’t even pick a destination. that’s the point.

it’s about the drive.

the first few days are the best kind of disorganized. you get hopelessly turned around trying to get out of the city, miss your turn like, four times, and end up on some weird detour through a town that seems stuck in the 1950s. you eat breakfast-for-dinner at a diner with cracked red booths and a waitress who calls you both “sweethearts.” luke leaves a doodle on a napkin and tucks it into the jukebox.

the road stretches ahead like a ribbon of possibility, glittering under the sun. the heat blurs the horizon, making everything shimmer like a mirage, and the sky is that kind of obnoxiously perfect blue that feels more like a postcard than real life.

the a.c. in the car gave up somewhere around three days ago, so the windows are rolled down, warm air rushing in and tangling your hair, sticking your shirt to your back. it doesn’t help much, but it’s better than nothing.

you've got one foot propped on the dash and a half-melted slushie wedged into the cupholder, condensation dripping down the sides. the map—the one you swore you didn’t need, and luke insisted you bring anyway—flutters against your knee every time the wind hits just right. it’s already creased and stained, with corners starting to curl. neither of you are really using it.

a cd clicks softly in the stereo, and a hazy guitar riff spills out—something easy, something old. the kind of music that makes you feel like you’re in a movie.

you hum to the songs you know, watching the scenery blur past in golden smears of light and heat.

luke’s driving one-handed, the other resting lazily out the window, fingers tapping against the door in time with the beat. sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose, and there’s a sunburn blooming along the edge of his jaw that he keeps forgetting to take care of. he looks over at you, grinning.

“you’re gonna fly out the window if you lean any further.”

“worth it,” you say, hair whipping across your face. “this breeze is all that’s keeping me alive right now.”

he chuckles, reaching over to tug the map from your lap. “you’re the one who said we didn’t need to stop for sunscreen. or, y’know, ice.”

“and you’re the one who didn’t want to stop for directions,” you shoot back, watching him squint at the map like it personally offended him. “so now we’re two thirsty idiots lost somewhere between nowhere and hell.”

“romantic,” he says, tossing the map into the backseat. “just the way i like it.”

you roll your eyes, but it’s affectionate. always is with him.

the wind smells like dust and wildflowers, and every few miles, you pass a road sign faded by time and sun. one of them promises a lake in twenty minutes which probably is not true. the next, a diner with the “best pie in the state.” you don’t stop for either. maybe the next one.

you were supposed to take turns driving. that was the deal—fifty-fifty, no arguments. but luke, being luke, never sticks to the plan. he always insists he’s fine, even when you catch his eyes fluttering shut at a red light, head tilting slightly like he’s about to nod off right then and there.

“i literally saw you close your eyes for five seconds,” you say when he pulls into a gas station, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as he parks.

“it was just five seconds,” he groans.

“five seconds away from crashing,” you mutter, already unbuckling your seatbelt. “move over.”

he sighs, dragging himself out from behind the wheel with all the theatrics of someone who’s definitely not fine, even if he still insists otherwise. he grumbles under his breath as he slides into the passenger seat—and is completely passed out the second his head hits the window. no “i’m not even tired,” no “just resting my eyes.” just out cold. mouth open, snoring, even drooling a little.

you drive comfortably after that. there’s less tension on your shoulders now that you’re the one in control, and luke’s quiet snoring is oddly comforting.

he stirs sometime later, sleep-warm and rumpled, his voice still thick with it when he reaches across the console. his hand finds yours with ease, like it’s muscle memory. his fingers slot between yours and, without a word, he lifts your hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. soft. slow. like a thank-you.

somewhere between a cracked-out diner with the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had and a pit stop at a quiet national park, you start feeling it—that warm, slow burn that only summer with luke castellan can bring.

it’s in the way he looks at you when you’re not looking, eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. it’s in the casual brush of his thumb over the back of your hand. it’s in the way he steals bites of your food, complains about the heat, and still tucks a cold bottle of water into your hands without being asked.

he’s quiet during the hikes, but he always slows down so you don’t fall behind, even when you insist you’re fine. he keeps snacks in his pockets for you, things he knows you like, things you didn’t even notice him buying. and when you sit beside him on the edge of a cliff, watching the sun drip like honey into the horizon, he kisses your shoulder so gently it sends goosebumps across your skin.

he takes so many pictures of you. most of the time you don’t even notice until he shows you later—sun-drenched, wind-tousled, blurry with motion but sharp with love. he says he wants to remember you like this. you laugh and roll your eyes, but still smile a little too hard when you see them.

you two stop at a few motels every now and then. they were nothing special. peeling paint, flickering neon sign half-buzzed out, and a questionable stain or two on the carpet—but it’s cheap, and it’s got just enough charm to feel like part of the story. luke leans against the counter while you check in, tapping the bell repeatedly until you swat at him.

the old woman behind the desk gives you a room key and a knowing smirk like she’s seen a thousand versions of you two before: sunburnt, road-weary, eyes too bright to be anything but in love.

sometimes, impulses get the best of the two of you. like when one day luke spots a faded little hand-painted sign pointing down an overgrown path off the side of the highway. beach access. there’s no one around. no cars. just the sound of cicadas and wind through tall grass.

you both follow it on instinct, barefoot and laughing, racing toward the sound of crashing waves.

and then there it is: a hidden stretch of shoreline tucked between two cliffs, like a secret carved out just for you. no footprints, no noise except for the ocean. the sand’s hot and soft under your feet, the sun dipping low on the horizon and casting everything in amber.

you run straight into the water, still half-dressed, splashing and shrieking when luke dunks you under and then pulls you back up, breathless and dripping. he kisses you then, water-slicked and grinning, hands on your waist like he’s never going to let go.

and later, after you’ve both sprinted back to the car, giddy and dripping wet, after the sand’s stuck to every inch of your skin and the sun’s painted you gold, you end up tangled in the back seat. skin sticky with sweat, your bodies pressed close in the heat of the car, breathing in tandem.

the windows fog up, the air thick with salt and sun and something heavier. the radio hums low, some lazy summer song playing beneath the sounds of your bodies shifting, touching, needing. his hands roam like he’s mapping you out all over again, rough in the way he holds you but gentle in the way he touches, like he knows exactly where to press to make you shiver.

he kisses you like he’s trying to memorize the taste of salt on your lips, like he wants to bottle this exact moment and keep it somewhere safe. and you, half-laughing between gasps, fingers twisted in his curls, mumble against his mouth, “i told you the backseat would get too hot.”

“guess we’ll have to open the door,” he says, voice low and teasing. “get a breeze in here.”

you roll your eyes, breathless and flushed. “fuck off, if we get caught by some poor park ranger—”

“worth it,” he grins, before kissing you again. deeper, slower this time.

and when you’re breathless and half-dressed, your back pressed to the warm seat and your body aching in all the best ways, you lie there with your head on his chest. his heartbeat is loud in your ear, steady and real.

you tilt your face up toward him, the fading light painting him in gold. “same time next summer?”

his arm tightens around you, his voice soft and full of something you don’t have a name for yet. “you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

[mihyasliebendermann]

𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐞. (gojo x reader!)

The world, as it always does, buzzed with noise. The streets hummed with whispered rumors, and the internet burned with the wildfire of scandal. Your phone lay face-up on the table, screen aglow with the chaos of speculation.

“Satoru Gojo spotted leaving luxury hotel with famous actress! Romance rumors confirmed?”

You stared at the headline, your chest tightening with something bitter, something raw. Beneath the article were blurred paparazzi photos—Gojo, unmistakable even in his casual hoodie and sunglasses, walking beside a woman far too elegant, too beautiful, too perfect. Her laughter seemed to echo through the pixels, a stark contrast to the deafening silence of your apartment.

Your fingers curled into your sleeves.

You knew Gojo. You knew him better than anyone. The way he peeled oranges for you because you hated getting your fingers sticky, the way he filled your apartment with obnoxious singing just to make you laugh, the way he pressed lazy kisses to your forehead when he thought you were asleep.

And yet—

Yet the doubt wormed its way in, ugly and insidious.

So when the front door swung open, when Gojo strolled in like nothing had shifted, like the world hadn’t crumbled beneath your feet, you couldn’t stop the cold, clipped words that left your lips.

“You’re home early,” you said, not looking up.

Gojo paused, one hand still on the doorknob. He was perceptive—too perceptive. The subtle edge in your tone didn’t escape him. His usual lazy grin wavered.

“Yeah,” he said, softer than usual. “Finished work fast. Missed you.”

Something inside you twisted painfully.

“You sure you weren’t just busy with someone else?” The words tasted like iron, sharp and accusing.

Gojo froze. His sunglasses, still perched on his nose, slid down slightly as he tilted his head at you. The air shifted, the weight of his gaze pressing down like an oncoming storm.

“…What?”

You exhaled harshly, shoving your phone toward him. “This. The whole world’s seen it, Toru.”

He took the device from your hands, his expression unreadable as he skimmed the article. Then, to your immense frustration, he sighed. Not in guilt, not in nervousness—but in sheer exasperation.

“Seriously?” He tossed the phone onto the couch and stepped closer. “You actually believe this?”

You flinched at the casual dismissal. “Everyone else seems to.”

“I don’t give a damn about everyone else.” His voice was still light, but there was an undercurrent of something strained, something fraying. “I care about you. And I never—” His fingers found your wrist, grip firm but not unkind. “—never would do that to you.”

You wanted to believe him. You did believe him. But the hurt lingered, poisoning your thoughts. “Then explain the pictures.”

Gojo sighed again, raking a hand through his hair. “I was leaving a restaurant. She happened to be walking out at the same time. The media made up the rest.” He tilted his head. “You really think I’d be so careless? That I’d do something so predictable?”

His voice was teasing, but his eyes weren’t. They were raw, searching.

You swallowed. “I don’t know.”

Silence stretched between you. Then, suddenly, Gojo crouched, leveling himself to your gaze, his usual cocky smirk replaced with something softer.

“You know me,” he murmured, fingers ghosting over your knuckles. “You’re the only one who does.”

Your breath hitched.

“Everyone knows me as the strongest sorcerer. Six eyes, infinity, all of those things... but you're the only one who actually knows me. Ever since we were kids, you treated me like a human, not just a tool of the higher-ups and sorcerers...”

“So, no,” he whispered. “I would never, ever throw that away.”

Your vision blurred, the weight of your doubt crumbling beneath the sheer, unwavering sincerity in his eyes.

A reluctant laugh slipped past your lips.

And just like that, the tension broke.

Gojo beamed, triumphant, and before you could react, he was pulling you into his chest, arms wrapping around you in a hold so tight it nearly stole your breath.

"I love you."

[i2rizz]

You're so welcome! Anytime you get hate, just photoshop that message over it.

As for request: If Isagi, Kaiser, Rin and Sae turned into children for a day, how would they act with Reader trying to care for them until they changed back?

This gives off "dont worry kitten, daddy will take care of them" AND IM GIGGLING SO HARD RN

Anyways I wasn’t sure if you wanted them to retain their memories but in a child’s body, or if you wanted them to fully become children with no recollection of anything. I went with the first option where they keep their personalities and memories, but they’re in a child’s body with the mindset of a child. If you were thinking of something different, let me know and I can redo it!

Also, don't mind the reader not being shocked when seeing them like this. If I added her reaction, the scenarios would get way too long (i was lazy) , so just pretend she was confused and shocked when she first saw them or smth :>

Bllk boys turned into children

Isagi Yoichi

You wake up to the sound of something crashing in the kitchen. Rushing in, you’re met with… a child. A little boy with wide blue eyes, holding a shattered cereal bowl and looking very guilty.

“Who are you!?” you gasp.

“It’s me! Isagi!” the kid wails.

And yup—there’s that panicked overthinking in his voice. It’s him. Just… tiny.

Turns out, Isagi is the kind of child who overanalyzes EVERYTHING.

“Do you think the cereal ratio was wrong?”

“Should I have taken the left path instead of jumping off the couch?”

“Am I… still a genius?”

He follows you around like a duckling, refusing to let go of your hand and insisting he needs “tactical support” to climb onto the couch. He keeps trying to explain football strategies using stick figures and crayons, and by the time he falls asleep curled up in your lap, whispering something about being your number one player, you’re emotionally wrecked.

Michael Kaiser

Kaiser doesn’t cry when he turns into a child. No. He struts out of the bathroom wearing your sunglasses and dragging your blanket like a cape.

"Still hot," he says, throwing you a wink.

You nearly pass out from a mix of confusion and secondhand embarrassment.

Kaiser as a kid is a menace. He draws on the walls (signing it King Michael I), steals your snacks, and demands to be carried like royalty.

“You’re lucky to have me like this,” he says while getting chocolate on your favorite shirt.

But then he trips trying to show off, scrapes his knee, and suddenly he’s crying and reaching for you like the world’s ending. You kiss his forehead, whispering that he's okay, and he sniffles:

"Don’t tell anyone I cried. Not even adult me"

Later, he insists on sleeping in your bed because “there are monsters in the dark, and you’re the only one who can protect me”

Itoshi Rin

Rin is not having it. He’s tiny, mad, and glaring at you from under your hoodie because everything else is “ugly”

“You’re ugly,” he mutters.

You raise a brow. “Rin”

He sighs. “…I didn’t mean that”

Child-Rin is introverted and pouty but clings to you when no one’s looking. He refuses to eat unless you make it, refuses to nap unless you’re holding him, and glares at the mirror like it's personally responsible for turning him into a toddler.

You catch him watching your every move with those moody ocean eyes, and when you ask what’s wrong, he finally admits in a tiny whisper:

“Didn’t want to be small… Can’t protect you like this”

Your heart melts. You kneel, brushing his bangs aside, and say, “You’re still my Rin. That’s all I need”

Cue him hiding his face in your shoulder.

Itoshi Sae

Sae, as a child, is… exactly the same. Just smaller. And ruder.

You find him in your kitchen drinking milk from a wine glass, legs crossed, acting like he’s judging the entire world.

“Why are your floors so cold?” he asks like it’s a personal offense.

You gape. “Sae!?”

He sighs dramatically. “I know. I’m adorable. Don’t touch me”

He absolutely refuses to wear anything that doesn’t match, brushes his hair with your fancy brush, and scolds your cat for not respecting his “space”

But under all that salt? He’s so soft for you.

He tugs your sleeve while you’re washing dishes and mutters, “...Carry me”

You oblige, and he curls into you like he’s never been held before.

Later that night, he falls asleep mid-conversation on your chest, clutching your shirt and mumbling, “Don’t leave me alone when I’m big again either…”