#can you believe i come back and the first thing out of my mouth is a question that plays into my hatoful fixation

[gukcnt]

01 | SHADOWS OF OBSESSION ⭒ JJK

“You don’t know what ‘people like me’ do, little girl. You don’t know the blood on my hands or the lives I’ve ended. You’re playing with fire, and you’re too damn naive to see it.”

pairing — criminal dom!jungkook x student sub!femreader

genre — criminal au, dark romance, forbidden attraction, enemies to lovers, murderer!jungkook, stalker!jungkook, innocent shy!reader, virgin!reader, medical student!reader, violence, stalking and obsession, contrast of worlds, crime, thriller, smut, angst, fluff

warnings/tags — 18+, possessive!jungkook, angry!jungkook, graphic violence, blood and gore, unhealthy obsession, both characters have traumatic backgrounds, dark themes, injury, several mentions of blood, medical procedure, mentions of death and murder, emotional manipulation, smoking, isolation and vulnerability, mild sexual tension, dangerous attraction

wc — 5.3k

a/n — I decided to bring back this series because you all adore it so much, and so do I, absolutely love this couple, and I hope you all will show SOB the same love you gave it before. Love you all !! <3

series m. list | main m. list

────୨ৎ────

The city was alive in the night; the air filled with the smell of trash and the metallic scent of blood.

Jungkook leaned against the wall, his black leather jacket clinging to his broad frame, the hard wall grounding him in a world that had never once shown him kindness. A cigarette between his lips, he exhaled, blowing the smoke out lazily. In his thirty years of life, he has always found himself involved in things related to violence.

Tattoos all over his neck, chest, and arms—all of them a story of his scars, betrayal, and a revenge that ran through his veins. His dark, messy hair fell over his dark eyes that flickered with a cold sharpness.

He was orphaned at ten, raised in the city, and being a street kid has taught him to steal, fight, and survive before he even learned anything about the world itself. The streets were like his mother, who taught him harsh and unforgiving things, also teaching him that trust was a trap and love a lie that blinded people. He had seen several people get betrayed due to their kindness, and such harsh experiences have taken away his own childhood and innocence.

The memory clung to him: when he was sixteen, he had taken his first life—a rival gang member who decided to come at him with a knife. He still felt the spray of blood on his hands and the feel of a dying man’s throat, the way his own heart had pounded not with fear but with power.

Now, years later, his name was a whisper of fear in everyone’s mouth, his frame moving like a shadow through the city, a criminal now who lives for himself and no one else, his heart long gone and made of stone now due to his hope being taken away. Redemption wasn’t something he believed in at all; he thought it was a lie. All he had in his life was his revenge, which burned every time he got a new scar or got into a fight for blood.

Tonight, that need burned further. His latest deal with a rival has gone to shit, a betrayal that left him with a bullet in his arm and a fresh urge to use his own knife to dig into someone’s flesh. Blood seeped through his fingers as he pressed his hand to the wound. The pain was dull, something he was used to from years ago. But the blood loss was fucking with him—his head was hurting and his vision blurred. He clenched his jaw tightly, with a glare.

“Fucking cowards,” he rasped, voice dripping with venom, “you think you can bury me?”

He flicked his cigarette to the ground; the alley he was in stank, and even though his mind was fogging, he scanned the area sharply, high on alert. His enemies were out there searching for him.

“Come on then,” he sneered, his eyes dark, “I’m right fucking here.”

But his body was betraying him. His knees buckled, and he had to grip the wall for support. Blood dripped even faster now, pooling on the dirty ground. He needed to move and find a place to treat his wound. His hands tightened around the knife in his pocket that was always there, always supporting him at rough times more than anyone ever did.

“I’m not dying tonight,” he growled, “not until I have buried every one of you.”

۶ৎ

Across the city, your calm world couldn’t have been more different. At twenty-two, you were a medical student; that’s why your life is a mix of late-night study sessions with textbooks and your own thoughts. Your tiny apartment was a haven for you. Its walls were cream-colored, with curtains that swayed with the breeze. Your bookshelf was full of several novels and medical books. You were shy, an introvert, your voice a soft murmur, only rising when you had no choice. Your world was gentle, fragile, nothing compared to the brutality of Jungkook’s life.

You were orphaned at fifteen, and you have learned to live life alone, your heart bruised, but it kept you going. Your parents died from a car crash, with no other family of yours to lean on. You filled the ache and emptiness in your heart with dreams of becoming a doctor. You wanted to heal; fix others' wounds even when your own still ached.

You were innocent in a way Jungkook could never grasp, your eyes always bright with hope and your heart too soft and open despite all it endured. You shied away from the crowds and found peace in books over people and blushed or felt embarrassed at even the smallest attention. Your days were always simple, following through the same routine: classes, study, and nothing more.

Tonight you were walking home after class, tired to the bone. Your backpack is heavy against your shoulders, stuffed with books and notes. Your mind was already thinking of your bed and cozy blankets. The street was still, the only sounds the rustle of leaves and a distant traffic noise.

Your heart felt light, with a rare flicker of happiness—the exam went well today, which you had been preparing for an entire week, a small win in your life.

You hummed softly, your steps quickening as you neared your apartment. Your hand digging in your bag to bring out your keys

“Almost home,” you murmured, a habit from years of talking to yourself. The thought of sinking into your warm blankets, forgetting about the world, brought you peace.

Then, a shadow moved, almost subtly but enough to make your heart jump. You froze, fingers clutching the keys tight. Your eyes darted to the alley across the street, and there he was. A tall, broad man, his muscles bulging from how tightly his jacket hugged him. His right hand gripped his left arm; blood dripped slowly, staining his hand in the process as well. The sight hit you, with the air carrying the sharp smell of blood.

You gasped silently, a trembling sound slipping out before you could stop it as you felt fear gripping your chest. The man still hasn’t noticed you yet. Your heart pounded loudly, your legs screaming to run to bolt for your apartment and lock the door before the man can even get a small glance of you. He looked like he’d walked straight out of a nightmare.

A whimper lodged in your throat as the man slowly lifted his head, his eyes—dark with a mix of something wild—locked onto yours, and it was like you were caught by a predator. You couldn’t breathe, your body no longer your own, just from his simple stare. He was danger in human form, and every instinct screamed for you to flee.

But then you saw it—the sway of his body as blood oozed out from his fingers, and the sight twisted something inside you, a small flicker of sympathy in between your fear. He wasn’t just dangerous—he was dying.

Your mind was a mess. Run. Lock the door. Call the cops. He will kill you. But another voice spoke inside you: he’s bleeding out, you can help him, and you’re almost a doctor.

You breathed shakily as your hands shook. You decided to take a hesitant step forward and then another, each one a battle against the fear in your heart. You stopped several feet away, close enough to see the way his chest heaved with shallow breaths, sweat beading his forehead, but far enough to run if he lunged. The distance was nothing close to a shield, useless against a man like him.

“Hey,” you called with a trembling voice, barely heard in the night’s silence, “you’re hurt. Badly. You need help.”

His head snapped up with narrowed eyes, and he scoffed with a low growl, sending a shiver down your spine. “Mind your fucking business, girl,” he rasped, his voice thick with pain and venom.

“Go home and play with your dolls.” The words stung as heat crept up your neck. You weren’t a child, but his tone made you feel small, like a little mouse.

Normally, you’d shrink from rudeness, but the blood—God, the blood—held you there. It was starting to pool at his feet until all you could smell was the metallic scent and a hint of cigarette smoke. He was hurting, and you couldn’t walk away. Not from this

“I’m a medical student,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady even though it trembled slightly, “you’ve been shot. You’re losing too much blood. You’ll die without help.”

His lips quirked as his eyes flickered with something sharp and amusement, “You think I give a shit about dying, little girl?” He said, his voice amused, “I’ve been dead for years. Walk away before you join me.”

His threat made your breath catch as your nails dug into your palms. His words were not just a warning but a promise, and you believed him. He could snap you like a stick, and no one would know.

But you saw the tremor in him, the way his fingers slipped, blood flowing faster, and it kept you rooted to your spot. You were shaking, but you couldn’t leave him, not when you could help him. Your knowledge and hands could stop the life draining out of him.

“I live right here,” you said, pointing towards your apartment, your voice firm in a way you never thought was possible. “I have supplies. I can stitch you up and stop the bleeding. Please… let me help you.”

He stared at you with his heavy gaze, almost like he was stripping you open and bare. His black eyes were pulling you in, and you almost thought he’d grab you and end you right there. You held his stare despite your heart pulsing loudly and goosebumps erupting all over your arm.

Then he laughed, a harsh mocking sound that filled the night, bitter and broken, like he was laughing at the absurdity of you.

“You’re fucking insane,” he said, shaking his head. “Stupid or suicidal, I can’t decide. Fine, princess. Lead the way, but don’t cry when you regret it.”

The words were a dare that caused you dread at the pit of your stomach. You nodded, barely, and with a shakiness you turned towards your door, your keys trembling as you unlocked it. His large presence was behind you, and you wondered if you’d just invited death into your home.

۶ৎ

Your hands shook as you opened the door of your apartment. The air inside was warm, mixing with the scent of the lavender candle you’d left burning. His heavy boots hit the floor with each step. You flicked on the light, your room a soft world of light colors and pink pillows, a stark contrast to the man standing in its center. His blood started dripping onto your rug, staining it.

“Sit,” you whispered, pointing to the soft couch.

Your heart was racing, and you wondered if he could hear how hard your heart was pounding or if he could smell the fear and stubbornness inside you. He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his eyes, but he obeyed and sank down onto the couch with a grunt as blood smeared the couch. You winced, your tidy instincts pricking, even now.

You hurried to your bedroom. Your medical kit was under your bed, packed with tools—antiseptic, bandages, and other items all neatly arranged. Your hands shook as you pulled it out, carrying it back to the living room.

Your mind was screaming that you were crazy to let this man inside your house—this bleeding, dangerous stranger. You, the girl who flinched at loud voices and who loved to stay alone, were ignoring every instinct to help him.

He watched you return, his gaze heavy, tracking all your movements as you tried your best not to meet his eyes because you were already trembling. You knelt before him, the rug under your knees, and set the kit on the table. The air was thick and silent. You opened the kit as your fingers moved carefully, bringing out bandages, tweezers, and other necessary things.

“Why the hell do you have all this?” He asked, his voice as always carrying that mocking edge but with a hint of curiosity, “Are you some kind of wannabe surgeon, playing doctor in your pretty little apartment?”

You kept your eyes on the tools, your cheeks pinking at his words as you nibbled your bottom lip, a nervous habit that caused Jungkook’s nostrils to flare instinctively.

“I’m a medical student.” You uttered quietly, even though it wavered slightly, “I need those for practice and to learn.”

He snorted, “Of course you are. Little Miss Perfect saving lives with her pink things. You think you’re going to fix the world, don’t you?”

Your fingers paused, his words cut deeper than you realized, hitting the hope you held that was the dream of healing a world you barely knew. You didn’t answer, focusing on his wound, his skin warm and rough.

The bullet had torn through his shoulder, leaving his flesh raw and bloody. You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting as you wondered, how did he end up in such a situation? Was he a victim, or did he do something to get shot? Your inner thoughts hinted at the second option. You shook your head, setting the thoughts aside, focusing on his wound, your training kicking in.

The room felt smaller as you worked; the walls felt like they were pressing in. You cleaned his wound, wiping away the blood, which revealed the damage. You grabbed the tweezers, your hands steady despite your chest pulsating, and leaned closer with a shallow breath. His arm was all muscle, veins bulging under his inked skin, and your lips parted unknowingly.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet yet dark, making your skin prickle, “helping someone like me. You don’t know what I am, what I’ve done. You’re too soft, too…”

He paused before talking again, “Innocent, and the world’s going to eat you alive, and you’re out here patching monsters.”

The tweezers hovered above his wound, his words sinking in. You lifted your head, locking eyes with him. His irises were nearly black, burning with an intensity that stole your breath.

“Maybe it will,” you whispered, “but I can’t just walk away when someone is bleeding like this, not when I can help.”

He laughed bitterly, “You’re going to regret that, sweetheart. Kindness like yours doesn’t ever end well. You think you’re saving me, but you are just calling danger your way.”

The words hurt, but you pushed them aside, focusing on his wound. You dug the tweezers into his flesh, searching for the bullet. He didn’t flinch, his face remaining blank; his lack of reaction surprised you. A reminder of how different he was, how hardened by a life you couldn’t imagine

His eyes never left you, watching your trembling fingers, the flush on your cheeks, and the way your lips parted as you focused. It was as if he was memorizing you, his gaze burning through you as a knot tightened in your stomach.

The candlelight painted his face with a soft glow, catching all the sharp angles and a faint stubble that you can see now that you are so close to him.

You found the bullet, small and glinting, and pulled it out as more blood oozed out. You quickly put pressure on the wound to stop the blood flow, and the contact sent a spark through you, sharp and unsettling. His arm was warm, and you pulled back quickly, your cheeks warming.

“You’re shaking,” he said lowly with a growl, “scared of me, aren’t you? You should be”

You swallowed, your throat dry, and focused on stitching his wound. “I’m not scared,” you whispered, knowing very well that you were lying. “I just… want to help.”

“Bullshit,” he snapped, his tone sharp enough to make you jump, “you’re terrified. I can see it in your eyes and the way you’re shaking. You don’t even know me, and yet here you are letting me bleed all over your little apartment. Why? What’s wrong with you?”

Tears brimmed your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let him see. “Nothing wrong with me,” your voice cracked. “I just believe in helping people. Even someone like you.”

“People like me?” He leaned closer, his face just a few inches away from yours, his breath fanning against your lips, smelling of cigarettes and something so uniquely him. “You don’t know what ‘people like me’ do, little girl. You don’t know the blood on my hands or the lives I’ve ended. You’re playing with fire, and you’re too damn naive to see it.”

Your heart pounded; his words terrified and hurt you even more, but you refused to pull away, your own confidence shocking you. You met his gaze with wide, glistening eyes, “But I’d rather be naive and help than hurt someone.”

He went quiet after that, his eyes searching yours, his own mind full of confusion because he wasn’t used to such innocence and fragility. Then he leaned back, with a smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

You finished the stitches, your fingers quick despite your racing thoughts, and wrapped his arms in a bandage. Your hands lingered too long, his heat soaking through you, and you pulled back with a racing heart.

You stood, legs shaky, and grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen. When you handed it to him, your fingers brushed his, rough and calloused, and you nearly dropped the glass, a gasp escaping.

“You need to rest,” you said, avoiding his eyes, your voice barely audible. “Moving too much will tear the stitches. You’ll bleed again.”

He didn’t answer, just stared, his expression unreadable as his fingers curled around the glass. You felt the weight of his gaze like a physical touch, heavy and pressing into you. You mumbled something about getting a blanket, your voice tripping. You fled to your bedroom with pink cheeks, your heart pounding. The door clicked shut, but it did nothing to block out his eyes or his voice, the way he’d filled your space with a threat you couldn’t name.

۶ৎ

The first light of dawn crept through your curtains. The air was heavy with the lingering smell of antiseptic and blood, a reminder of the stranger who’d invaded your quiet world. You lie in bed, your body still, breath shallow, thinking any sudden movement will bring the man back from the darkness. Sleep didn’t come to you easily last night; your heart was pounding the entire night, caught between fear and a strange warmth you couldn’t place, something that made your skin prickle.

His rough touch felt like it still lingered on your fingers, his dark, almost black eyes still haunted you, those eyes that seemed to see through you, into you, almost unraveling secrets you didn’t know you kept.

You clutched the sheets tightly; it grounds you against your thoughts. Your mind replayed his low mocking voice that made your stomach twist. “Kindness gets you killed, little girl.” The words echoed, and you wondered if he was right that your softness is a weakness that will eventually get you into danger.

Finally, you couldn’t stay in bed any longer. You swung your legs over, your bare feet hitting the floor. Your faded baby blue sleep shirt clung to your frame. You crept towards the living room, each step slow and cautious, your heart pulsating so loudly that you were sure it would betray you if he was still here.

The living room glowed softly in the morning light. Your eyes darted to the couch, and breath caught in your throat. It was empty. The stranger was gone, as if he’d never been there at all, leaving no traces of him, almost like he was a part of your dream you’d woken up from. The only proof of his presence is the blood-soaked rug and the blanket you’d given him; it was folded neatly, as if he’d meant to erase his presence himself.

You stood frozen, your fingers twisting your shirt in order to ground yourself. The silence was too loud, and you should’ve been relieved—he was gone, you were safe. But a strange ache settled in your chest, something unnamable. It wasn’t just fear, not entirely. It was the ghost of his presence, the way he’d filled your little space with danger and threat, leaving you both shaken and alive.

“Who are you?” you croaked, your voice breaking the quietness. The question hung there, unanswered. Why was he shot? Was he a criminal or a murderer? The thought sent a shiver down your spine, goosebumps erupting.

You’d been reckless, letting him in without a second thought. Your need to help had blinded you to notice the danger. And yet the memory of his intimidating presence, dark eyes, and inked skin made your cheeks flame. You let out a shaky breath, pressing your hands to your face, wanting it to go away, but it stayed against your will.

You sank onto the couch; it was still warm from where he’d been, his scent lingering—cigarette and something darkly masculine like him that made your pulse quicken.

“You’re an idiot,” you muttered to yourself. “He could’ve killed you. He could’ve…” Your words trailed off, imagining his hands, calloused and tattooed, around your throat. But instead of fear, the thought sent a strange warmth pooling in your stomach, and you hated yourself for it.

You stood, needing to move, to shake off his spell. You paced the living room frantically. The blood on the rug is a constant reminder of his presence. You grabbed a sponge and cold water from the kitchen and scrubbed the stain. Your movements were desperate, your breaths coming out in shaky gasps.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” you chanted, tears pricking your eyes. You didn’t know if you were crying for your naivety or for the stranger and the way his absence left you feeling hollow.

When the stain was as faded as possible, you sat back on the floor, your chest heaving with your pants. The room felt too big, too empty. You hugged yourself, seeking comfort.

“He’s gone,” you whispered, as if saying it out loud would make it real, erase the memory of him, the gravel of his voice, and his intense eyes. “He’s gone, you’re fine, you’re fine.”

But you weren’t fine. You felt exposed, like he’d peeled all your layers and seen the soft, trembling thing beneath. You stood up on shaky legs, moved to the window, and pulled back the curtains. The street was quiet, no sight of him, gone with the night. But everything in your place proved that he’d been real, that you’d touched the edge of something dangerous and lived.

“Why did I do it?” You whimpered, “Why didn’t I just walk away?” You pressed your forehead to the glass, your breath fogging it. You’d always been the good girl, the one who helped and believed in healing. But now that belief felt like a curse that could’ve cost you everything, even your own life. And yet, the thought of him bleeding alone, dying—it twisted something inside you, something that said that you’d do it again, even now.

You turned away from the window, body restless with an energy you didn’t understand. You needed to study and focus, reclaiming the quiet life you are so used to. But your eyes caught the blanket and the rug again. He was gone, but he’d left a mark, a question that burned your chest. Who was he? And why, despite everything, did you hope to see him again?

۶ৎ

Jungkook’s world was full of edge, a place full of spilled blood and betrayal, where trust was a debt paid in bodies. But you—you were a soft, maddening intrusion he couldn’t cut away. He tried to push you away in his chaotic life, to forget your memory under the weight of his revenge. He hunted his enemies through the city, his gun heavy and a knife in his pocket.

But no matter how many bodies he killed, your face lingered—your wide, innocent eyes, the way your hands trembled as you stitched his wound. It drove him crazy, a memory he couldn’t break, pushing him deeper into his own darkness.

He soon started watching you, not by choice but by need, like a starving man drawn to you. The city at night would hide him as he stood across from your apartment, a cigarette between his lips. He would lean against a lamppost, exhaling smoke. His muscles would twist as well, his tattoos itching as if they felt your presence as well and how they affected him.

Your routine became his obsession. At 7:30 am, you’d leave the apartment, backpack over one shoulder. Your hair, often loose, as you tucked it behind your ear, a habit of yours that Jungkook learned. He memorized the way you paused while walking, your lips moving slightly as you talked to yourself; he noticed even the simplest detail.

By 8, you were at the university, getting into the lecture halls where he couldn’t follow, though he pictured you there, bent over a notebook, with a pen or pencil between your lips when you were in deep concentration, that act of yours that tightened his jaw and always boiled his blood enough to kill a man.

Evenings, you would always visit the library. He’d linger outside watching you read with your head down, pink lips moving as you read the words, that tongue peeking out sometimes when you licked your lips, his cigarette crumbled in his tight fist at the sight

Other times, you’d stretch, your sweater riding up to reveal a small bit of the soft skin of your waist. It was a reminder of your vulnerability, how fragile you were, and it made his blood boil with a mix of protectiveness and possession. He hated it—hated you for being so breakable and unaware of the constant danger around you, the one that was stalking you.

Fridays were his favorite. You’d stop at the campus café, walking in. You always ordered the same thing; he memorized that as well—iced tea and a strawberry pastry. You would drink the tea contentedly, sitting by the window, hands wrapped around your mug.

Once you licked icing from the cake off your thumb, your tongue quick, Jungkook snarled from where he stood. He wanted to barge in, to wipe that sweetness off your lips himself, to taste the sugar and you on his tongue as well. The thought was sharp and dangerous, and he forced it away, his teeth grinding.

“Why can’t I stop?” he muttered, his voice a growl. “You’re nothing. Just a girl. A fucking distraction.”

But you weren’t. You were like a poison, one he craved even if it would kill him eventually. He learned everything about you. Your favorite books—romance novels and your thick medical textbooks. Your scent—floral lotion, sweet and clean, always clinging to the air in your space along with your clothes and blankets.

The way you blushed, the rare softness of your laughter that angered him wanting to see it often—he craved it even though it felt like a gift he didn’t deserve. How you hummed softly when you cooked, a melody that he always strained to hear even from outside your window. He hated how you made him weak, how you made him want to see you happy, make you smile, and the things he’d sworn off completely from his life.

He was jealous of everything, jealous of anyone you even glanced at, even though it didn’t mean anything. His hands twitched towards his knife, wanting to kill and carve out the flesh of the male professor you had or the guy who helped you carry your bags that day.

You didn’t interact with a lot of people in general, so he held back. During his time of stalking, he realized exactly how much self-control he had else he would have been on a killing spree of any males who even dared to breathe near you, and that included items you wore or touched; yes, he was fuming towards even those, because even such items didn't deserve your touch. He was going crazy, his own possessiveness towards you angering him, but he cannot stop it, even if he wants to.

He also knew that you were alone, no family, your parents dead, and your life was only held by small dreams. It pissed him off at how exposed you were, how easily the world could crush you. He could crush you. The thought was a dark temptation, one he fought every time he saw you.

He watched you from everywhere possible: alleys, rooftops, a presence and a shadow of someone you felt but couldn’t see. You often felt your skin prickle and goosebumps arise all over your body from the feeling of constantly being watched. You’d pause sometimes, your movements pausing, your eyes scanning the darkness, feeling the weight of someone’s stare, brow furrowed

He'd hold his breath, blending into the darkness, his heart pounding—not from fear, but from the pull you had on him without realizing.

“Look at me,” he’d rasp quietly, his voice rough with longing and hate. “See me, damn it!”

۶ৎ

One night, he’d learned about your student loans, the debt that kept you up at night, your window open for him to see as you stared at the bills. He saw the way your shoulders slumped, eyes welling with unshed tears.

It was a weakness he couldn’t ignore, a crack to a part of him he’d buried a long time ago. The next day, without thinking, he acted. He left an envelope on your doorstep stuffed with an insane amount of cash, your name written in his sharp handwriting. The bills were blood money from his world. He told himself it was a debt repaid for the night you saved him.

But when he saw you find the money, your eyes wide, fingers trembling as you counted the bills, he felt a twist in his chest, a sick pride, and a hunger to see that look on your face again.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me.” He hissed, watching you from a distance, the envelope pressed to your chest as tears of gratefulness streamed down your face, “You’re going to ruin me, and I’ll ruin you back.”

He kept doing it, leaving cash when you weren’t home, each stack a claim, tying you to him. He’d watch you use the money, paying your rent and loans. Your eyes are bright with relief but full of confusion.

“Who are you?” You’d whisper to yourself, voice soft and trembling as you clutched the money in your hands. The softness of your voice made his fists clench.

“I’m your fucking shadow, princess,” he wanted to say, the words stuck in his throat, “and you’re mine.”

As time went by, his obsession grew, a beast fed by every glimpse of you. “I don’t need you,” he snarled, his voice loud in the empty alley, “I don’t need anyone.”

But he did. He needed you something fierce, and it was a truth he couldn’t ignore, no matter how much blood he spilled. You were his weakness, his obsession, and he was a man drowning in it, watching you from afar, his soul in a war he couldn’t win.

────

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[meanderingwistera]

Saint

Summary - After your ability to heal others was discovered you were taken to a monastery high in the mountains. The monks raised you in their ways and their beliefs. Once you are old enough you begin to offer your healing abilities to people who need it.

Soon enough you attract something you never intended too and he won’t give you up now that he has found you. Pairing - Kitsune!Suguru Geto x Saint!Reader

Content - Smut, Somno, oral (fem receiving) some fluff, religious imagery, no specific religion stated, afab!reader, Dark Content, violence, manipulation, mental conditioning, dubcon, baby trapping, obsessive behavior, isolation, stalking, deification, slight horror elements if you squint, the relationship starts out somewhat healthy then spirals from there

Word count- 7.1k

A/N - This was a lot longer then I expected lol

Banner credits - @cafekitsune

There is a rumor of a Saint living in the halls of a mountain top monastery.

They are said to be benevolent and heal others without thought. Rumors say they are ethereally beautiful and are sent by god to the world to remind them of his teachings.

Suguru wants to laugh at the idea.

He knows that humans like to make up pretty little lies. They give meaning to meaningless things and try to name things that are nameless. It is how they get through life and Suguru finds it pitiable. Why delude yourself into thinking that something is looking down at you from the sky? 

It won’t keep humans from the darker sides of themselves. Sometimes it can encourage that. Many men of faith use religion against other humans for their own gain. So why humans even bother with it in the first place confuses Suguru but he lets them have their meaningless delusions.

As a spirit Suguru has lived for many years, he is older than the systems that humans have in place. He has heard his fair share of fairy tales from the mouths of humans. Sometimes they are amusing, others are just ridiculous, much like the one being told right now.

“The Saint up there really can heal you!” A man says and holds out his wrist, “They healed my broken wrist.”

The other man looks amazed, his eyes are wide and his mouth is agape.

“Really? My wife has a bad back, do you think they can heal that?” He asks desperately.

Suguru tries not to laugh as he walks by the two men. How stupid do humans have to be to believe that a Saint exists. There is no higher power so someone sent down by them is a ludicrous idea.

But the idea sticks in his mind. It lodges itself in the back of his head as he moves through the village. He rolls the idea of a saint around in his mind. They would most likely be a scammer and they seem to run a good scam if the word has gotten this far.

A look into this “Saint” couldn’t hurt.

Suguru finds himself in the middle of a huge line a few hours later. His leg aches with the self inflicted wound he gave himself. The people around him are in various stages of pain. Some only have light cuts, others have broken limbs. 

The line moves slowly and most people come out looking better than before, which intrigues Suguru. Soon enough he is next in line and is ushered into a huge room. 

The dark wooden floors are a contrast to the paper shoji doors that line it. The monk escorting him in bows to the person in the middle of the room then exits. 

Your white robes catch his eye, the white color signifying innocence and godliness. They are rather modest in make and design, as if to muddy your appearance to make you more approachable. Suguru wants to laugh at this play to get him to trust you.

The white veil over your face is something he hadn’t expected. Maybe it was to give an air of mystery to you that will draw people in. The white thin fabric falls just short of your lips in a taunting show of skin.

Suguru doesn’t wait for you to motion him forward and walks up to you. You don’t even flinch as he stops only a mere few inches from you. 

“What ails you?” You ask with a small smile.

“My leg.” He replies to you, a sceptical tone to his voice.

Suguru is ready for you to be a fraud.

Someone peddling to the masses for offerings. What Suguru is not prepared for is to be wrong. He has never been wrong about humans before. They are fragile and somewhat stupid creatures but as your hand fits in his and a warmth fills his body he is proven wrong.

The warm feeling spreads throughout his body. It mends his broken leg and soothes slightly sore muscles from the walk up here. A soft sigh leaves his lips. When you retract your hand he almost doesn’t let you.

He had never cared for religion or anything of the sort. It was a waste of his time. He doesn’t know if a higher power exists but he now knows of your existence. You who heals the sick with a kind smile, who uses this gift to give to others with no reservations about it.

You are an angel- a divine being sent down to this terrible world by some higher power. He had read a few religious texts in his younger years and had been intrigued by the idea of saints but now that he sees you he is not intrigued, he is addicted.

Suguru stands a bit taller now that his leg is no longer broken and you have to look up at him. It gives him satisfaction that he could engulf you in his arms to hide you from the other undeserving people who come to steal some of your light.

“I wish you a safe trip down the mountain.” You tell him in a cheerful tone.

“Thank you.” He responds and walks away from you. As he leaves Suguru wants to laugh at your statement.

Because now that he has you he won’t be leaving this mountain for a while.

Your life is a peaceful one. 

The monastery is a place of tranquil reflection and you bask in the peace it offers you. You are safe in its walls and with the monks. And You usually feel at ease while walking through the halls. 

But there is something watching you.

You feel its eyes baring into your back. And every time you turn to try and catch what is watching you you see nothing. 

Your subconscious mind keeps telling you to run from the thing that has attached itself to you. You feel haunted- no, hunted by it. You feel like a rabbit being chased by a fox. A rabbit ready to flee at a moment’s notice. The heart in your chest is beating so loud you feel it in your ears as you look around.

The feeling of being watched never truly goes away. The eyes follow your every move and nowhere in the monastery is safe from them. Even when you are praying or healing others you feel your subconscious telling you to run from whatever is watching you.

You don’t fully understand the thing’s aim. It hasn’t tried to hurt you but it hasn’t put you at ease either. So you are in a constant battle with your fight or flight instincts. After weeks of keeping this feeling from others you can’t take it anymore.

“I don’t know what to do.” You say and hug yourself tightly, curling in on yourself. “I am constantly feeling eyes on me.”

The Head Monk, Eiji, hums in understanding, “We can perform a cleansing ritual for you, it could help.”

You nod numbly at his words.

“The wards here are strong and can keep spirits out. You are safe here.” He says and takes your hand in his.

You give him a small smile, trying to channel your usual happiness. Eiji doesn’t look convinced by your smile and sighs. 

“I will have the monks pray for you as well,” He says and gives you a hug.

You feel safer in his arms. Eiji had raised you since you came here when you were ten. He taught you everything you knew about God and everything else. His opinion matters to you and his words help to soothe the worry deep in your chest.

Hopefully the ritual will free you of your fear.

The monastery you live in doesn’t have very good wards. They are old and let him walk in and out as he pleases. What that old Monk told you was laughable, the wards are like spider webs that can easily be pushed aside.

It is so easy to watch you, to find out everything about you. Suguru keeps an eye on you from the shadow of the trees that line the monastery. You spend most of your time wandering the halls or healing people. His eyes trace your outline and he commits it to memory.

The monks are always around you or the maids that attend to you. He may not like that they are near you but he does makes a note of how they attend to you. Suguru will need to know how to take care of you to keep you happy when you are his.

The more animalistic part of his brain urges him to take you now. To keep you safe from the people who take your light for granted. It takes his years of experience with patience to keep himself at bay. 

Suguru doesn’t want to scare you, he wants you to be comfortable with his presence.

But tonight he can’t stand this distance much longer, so Suguru makes a bold move. He walks into your set of rooms, he wants to make you comfortable but Suguru can’t stay away from your orbit for long. He longs to worship you the way you deserve. 

As he walks through the dark halls he checks to make sure that everyone is asleep. Your maids are all in their beds and sleeping soundly. His footsteps are the only sound in the hall as he walks to your door. 

The door is slightly ajar and he slips into your room. He quietly makes his way to your bed. Soft sighs leave your lips as he creeps closer. 

Your sleeping form is peaceful and he craves to curl around you. Your body would look so beautiful in his arms or under him. 

You don’t stir when he gets closer to the bed. Suguru chuckles at how deep a sleeper you are. He is so close to you but you are still asleep and unaware of him.

Suguru leans over you and takes a deeper look at you. For the first time he can see your face. Soft features scrunched slightly in sleep are illuminated by the moonlight. Suguru understands why they would hide your face from others. 

He feels like he has seen the face of god. This is why god’s face can’t be looked upon, people would go mad with just a smile from you. Wars would start from just the shape of your lips alone, whole countries destroyed with a flutter of your eyelashes. And he would fall to his knees to worship you if you just asked.

Suguru decides that he can no longer hold back from you.

After you take a break from healing people and the monks purify your spirit you feel better. The eyes that you once felt on your back have vanished. 

Your steps are lighter as you walk around the monastery. You feel the cheerfulness that was drained from you deep back in. It is the best feeling in the world to be free of whatever was haunting you.

On one of your regular walks through the expansive halls of your home you bump into someone. You have never seen him before.

“I am sorry for bumping into you.” He apologizes and bows to you.

Blinking in surprise you put a hand on his shoulder in a plea for him to stand back up.

“Please don’t bow,” You say quickly, “I am a normal person like you.”

When he stands up to his full height your eyes are immediately drawn to his eyes. They draw you in. Their lavender color slowly fades into bright violet near the edges, they are a color you have never seen before. 

You barely register him talking to you as you are preoccupied with his eyes.

“I am the one at fault.” He repeats himself with a fox-like smile on his lips.

“You are fine!” You respond with both embarrassment and intrigue.

He joins you on your walk after that. 

You learn his name, Suguru, and how he came to be here. He is very knowledgeable about many subjects. It is a shame you think to have him here and not out in the world with the amount of knowledge he has.

Suguru also asks many questions about you that you have never really been asked before. The Monks are not really talkative so you mostly talk to the people who visit you for healing or your maids. And even then you don't talk about yourself much so it takes you some time to think about some of his questions.

A week later the daily walks with Suguru become routine.

Suguru has managed to work his way into your life in a matter of weeks. The time he walks beside you makes the time spent in the company of the monks worth it. As you grow closer to him he slowly coaxes out more about you that he couldn’t learn from just watching you. 

He is very surprised to learn that you are very timid for your position. 

You rarely talk about yourself, choosing rather to focus on him and your faith. He feels a twinge of jealousy when you whisper god’s name with such reverence. You shouldn’t be so reverent to something that could never rival your divinity. 

But he feels better when he sees you blush at his complements. Your cheeks heat up at the slightest hint of compliment or touch. It is adorable how easy it is to fluster you. Your reactions are more addictive than any drug he has come across.

Sadly you always are pulled away from his conversation and gentle teasing, whether it is by your own accord or someone calling for you. His hands twitch with the urge to hold you to him so you can’t leave every time you walk away from him. 

Suguru doesn’t want to restrain you, he wants to protect you. Something divine like you needs to be safe from those who wish to use you for their own selfish desires. 

More often then not it is the head monk who steers you away from Suguru’s company. You, none the wiser, follow him as he steals you from Suguru.

The Head Monk has proven to be a great obstacle in his plan to get to you. His remarks towards Suguru are sharp and his glare even more so when you are involved. He can see through Suguru’s act in a way he has seen for a few centuries. Suguru would respect his intuition if it wasn’t getting in his way. 

So he needs to get rid of him.

Suguru waits for the Head Monk to come into his office at the end of the day before he attacks him. The sun is set and the room is dark except for the candles that are flickering in the dark. Suguru is hiding in the shadows of the room, the usual mask of humanity gone.

The Head Monk sweeps into the room with a weariness to his features. He practically slumps into his chair with a sigh. His guard is down and Suguru seizes this opportunity to kill him. It is easy to tap into the more violent part of his nature. To let his claws rip through flesh and bone, to let blood stain his robes and splash on his face. 

Suguru allows himself to utterly destroy him. He revels in the mangled bloody mess he makes. The Head Monk puts up a fight at the end. A last burst of adrenaline from a dying man. Most humans fight at the end, trying to use their last bit of energy to get away from what is hurting them.

When Suguru is done the monk is an unrecognisable heap of a body on the marble floors. You can’t tell his brain matter and internal organs apart from one another. The white and tan robes he wore are stained with his own blood.

The body is easy to get rid of. Suguru scatters it around the mountain, never letting too much of it be in one place. The animals will feast on his scatter remains.

He cleans up the mess he made before dawn. His hands are scrubbed clean of all blood before the sun creeps above the trees. And the floors look clean enough that you would have never guessed that he murdered someone last night.

Now nothing will stand in his way.

Over the next few days people begin to worry when the Head Monk is nowhere to be found. Everyone scrambles to find him but they come up empty handed. 

The effects shake the whole temple. People try to figure out who will take his place and if there should be a mourning period for him first. Everyone is either in a panic or in mourning.

Suguru is the main candidate for head monk. Even if he has only been in the temple for a few months his personality and piety are revered by the whole community. He sees this as a wonderful opportunity to get closer to you so he takes the job. 

You, of course, are devastated by what happened. Suguru knows that you saw that man as a father but he feels no remorse for the murder. He can see the tears that stain your veil as you pray for his soul. He gently takes you into his arms to comfort you. 

“I am sure he is safe in the lord’s hands.” Suguru murmurs softly to you.

He made sure of that.

“Thank you Suguru.” You pull back to thank him with a sad smile on your lips.

He suppresses his shiver when you say his name. It is so sweet from your lips. Maybe that is the way it is supposed to be spoken but he hasn’t heard it that way before. 

“Don’t thank me, I just hope to live up to his legacy.” Suguru says with a fake sense of uncertainty and lets you go reluctantly.

“You will do great.” You reassure him and to his surprised delight you bring your hand up to cup his cheek. Suguru leans into your hand with a sigh, melting into you kind touch. You giggle softly at his reaction. 

“Don’t doubt yourself, god will guide you.”

“He will.” Suguru agrees through his teeth. “But I would also like your guidance from time to time.”

You blink up at him in surprise, your pretty lips parted slightly. 

“I don’t think that I will be of much help.” You look down, trying to downplay yourself.

Suguru’s heart aches when you try to discount yourself this way. He takes your chin in one of his hands and lifts your face gently up to look back at him. 

“You are sent by god, your voice matters above all others.” He tells you.

Your face heats up as he holds you face up. Just the smallest bit of contact has you this flushed and he would love to see how you would react to all the things he wants to do to you. You pull away with a nervous laugh and smooth down your kimono. He almost coos at your reaction.

Suguru has all the time in the world now to help you become accustomed to his touch.

Suguru becomes more present in your day after he becomes head monk. He will drop by to see how you are doing or to just talk something over with you. His attention makes you feel important and you can’t help but flush when his hand brushes yours.

You dream of him. The crescents of his eyes and the soft curve to his lips follow you even in sleep. 

The dreams always leave you wanting. His hands trace the hills and valleys of your body. His lips are pressed to your neck as he works you open. You ride his fingers as he coos at you with praise for doing so well. You get so close to release then you wake up.

“Are you sleeping well?” Suguru asks you one day, all softness and concern.

You can feel some fatigue from your constant waking up in the night and the sleeplessness that comes after but you can’t tell him. 

“I am fine!” You deflect and wave off his concern. “I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

Suguru seems to debate what he wants to say. Your footsteps and his are the only sound in the empty halls. You have realized that you haven’t seen that many monks today. 

“I have heard that sleeping with someone in the same bed can help that.” His comment breaks through your line of thought.

You look away at the thought of sleeping in his arms. He would be warm and maybe the dreams would stop if you were in his arms. 

“But who would want to sleep in the same bed as me? I don’t think I could do that if it wasn’t someone close to me.” You explain your concern to him.

“I will offer up my bed to you anytime.” Suguru says and his usual fox-like grin is back in full force. Your heart beats loudly in your chest.

“Maybe I will try that.” You admit softly.

“Will I see you tonight then?” He asks in a teasing tone.

“Yes.”

Later that night you pace back and forth nervously in the hallway. Your hands smooth down your kimono in a soothing manner. It doesn’t bring your nerves to heel thought.

You have never been this intimate with another person. Your position as a Saint kept you far away from others' physical contact. There has always be a thin veil between you and the world. So now you don’t know what to do now that you have been invited to touch another person.

The only light in the dark hall is the flickering lamps in Suguru’s room. You can’t really see him but you can see an outline of him in the lamplight. Finally schooling your face into something less terrified you open the shoji door slowly. 

Suguru is sitting at a low desk with a book open. He is the picture of serenity as his eyes skin the pages. His kimono is rumpled slightly, exposing more skin then most would bare. You can’t help but trace your eyes down his exposed neck, collar bone and chest.

“Ah,” He says with a grin, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his honey sweet tone. You feel the sudden urge to flee to some place safer. It is a contrast to your growing attraction to the man in front of you. 

“I didn’t want to disturb your reading.” You say and he closes some of the distance between you.

“You could never disturb me,” His hand reaches behind you to shut the door, shutting you in. “I enjoy your company, no matter what I may be doing.”

Suguru’s hands are gentle as he walks the two of you to his bed. His hands are soft and practically envelop yours. He directs you to sit on the bed as he blows out the candles.

In the dark you can’t see him but you hear his footsteps as he approaches the bed. You tense up as he sits down on the opposite of the bed. For a brief moment you swear you feel that pair of eyes again. 

Then Suguru’s warm touch guides you down on his chest. You can hear his heartbeat and feel the rise and fall of his chest. You make yourself comfortable, still keeping your head on his chest.

“Is this okay?” You whisper to him.

His chest rumbles softly with a chuckle.

“If you are comfortable then I am.” Suguru murmurs to you.

His hand begins to run up and down your back in a soothing manner. It feels good if not a little foreign. You have not been touched in this way for years now so you are both melting and tensing at his touch. 

Finally your body melts into his embrace fully. You sink into his chest and he wraps his other arm around you. It is peaceful like this, it is a peace you haven’t experienced before. For the first night in weeks you fall asleep almost instantly.

Suguru watches you sleep with barely concealed lust. 

You fit in his arms the way he has been imagining for months. Your body is beautiful pressed against his like this. His eyes are better at seeing in the dark then a regular human’s so he can see how your lashes flutter in your sleep and your softly parted lips. 

Suguru needs to feel you against him fully. He needs to know how you would taste on his tongue. 

You stir a bit in your sleep, thighs squeeze together around his thigh. Desperately you grind on his thigh chasing your high. He smiles to himself, you must like the dreams he has given you. 

He knows it’s cruel to deny you realise for weeks on end but the way you squirm is too pretty. Your soft moans and whines are a symphony to his ears. You are so helpless like this and Suguru likes you that way. You only need him.

Careful to not wake you he reaches a hand between your legs. You are already so soaked for him, your cunt so ready for him even if your conscious mind still pulls away from him. He runs a finger along your folds slowly, you shudder at the contact. 

“How cute.” He coos at your reaction and pushes a finger into you.

Your grip on his kimono tightens as he retracts his finger then pushes it back in. Once he is sure you won’t wake up he picks up his speed. He adds another finger and your cunt clamps down on both of his fingers. You are grinding down on his fingers to chase your orgasm. 

You arch as he finds your g-spot. 

He can feel you getting close, “Come on, you can cum for me, I know you can.”

It only takes a few more pumps of his fingers before you are spilling all over his hand. Your breathing is still even as he raises his hand to his lips. You taste so sweet on his fingers and he might get addicted to you.

You have never felt better after a week sleeping in Suguru’s bed. It is a vast improvement from the previous weeks of little sleep. You are certain that he is magic because of how easily he can get you to sleep.

More and more of your days are spent with Suguru. It must have been a week or so since you have left the wing Suguru’s room is in. You have practically moved into his room, most of your things are there since you spend your nights in his bed. He also takes great care in helping you with your nightly routine.

Suguru helping you get ready for bed started out gradually. At first he would just brush your hair for you. Then it slowly grew into him helping you dress and bathe. You had been skittish about the idea of having him see all of you but he had shushed your concerns and told you that he just wanted to help. His touch as he helps you is soft and gentle, almost reverent. 

He will trace circles on your back as you sleep so you fall asleep faster. Sometimes when you need it he will work out a tense muscle, you don’t get them much anymore because less and less people are coming for healing. It was perplexing how you rarely see a visitor or a monk anymore. 

You had stopped seeing visitors because the only ones that came were to visit the shrine and not to see you. The monks as well never really came to see you anymore. And your maids have seemed to have left you in Suguru’s care. 

But you don’t mind because Suguru is good company.

“I think I am going to take a walk around outside the monastery tomorrow,” You say with a yawn as you settle into bed, “I have been spending so much time with you that I haven’t seen another person in a while.”

“Of course.” Suguru says and there is something off in his voice but you just chalk it up to you being on the verge of sleep.

You fall asleep on his chest a few minutes after. 

Suguru is devastated that you are trying to leave him. You want to leave the wing of the monastery that he has carefully reinforced the wards to keep you in and safe. He has tried so hard to make you happy here and you want to leave.

He needs to let you find out what can happen if you try to leave him. He doesn’t want to let you get hurt but you have to learn to not slip away from his safe embrace.

Before that he wants to tie you to him in a more permanent way. It needs to also make you happy, he would rather die than make you feel upset. His only wish is to protect you and make you happy. Looking down at your soft sleepy expression he comes up with a way to keep you with him forever. 

Suguru has never thought much about kits. Most Kitsune mate then go their separate ways, it is strictly for reproduction. Kitsune are not monogamous so they can have multiple partners over their long lifetimes. And the kits grow up fast under the care of their mothers so he never bothered with it. 

But humans are different, human children take years to mature fully. And humans only have children with someone they marry or settle down with. If you have a kit or two of his then he can keep you with him for life. And even after this life he will find you in the next.

Suguru can just imagine you with his child. The children would have your eyes and his smile. You would love the baby since it is yours and you would have someone here that Suguru wouldn’t be worried about taking you away from him. As if you approved of the idea you nuzzle into his chest with a sleepy sigh. 

He flips the two of you so your back is on the bed and he hovers over you. The only sign that you may have noticed him moving you was a flutter of your lashes. You don’t stur as he lowers himself between your thighs. Suguru needs to prepare you for him and what better way than worshipping you in this way?

You are still sleeping soundly as he kisses your inner thighs. His instincts urge him to bite and mark you as his. He wants to claim you body and soul so there is no doubt that you are his. You are his Saint, you are his everything.

You are his God.

Suguru lets his head dip down between your thighs. He has gotten a taste before but this is so much better. Suguru has dreamed of being in between your plush thighs and now he is experiencing the heavenly reality of it. 

Your legs are starting to close around him. He can see your face scrunch in confusion and pleasure at the same time. You must be waking up finally.

Suguru continues on but keeps his eyes up to watch as you flutter your pretty eyes open. He sees you groggily look around before a moan escapes your throat. 

You fully wake up and look down at him, “What are you-?”

“You were just so needy and I wanted to show my devotion” Suguru says and puts your right leg over his shoulder to get his face closer to your dripping cunt.

You moan, high pitched and whiny, as his tongue grazes your clit. His hands grip onto your thighs, holding you to his face, as you begin to arch into him.

You gasp as he swirls his tongue around your clit. It was too good and you were already so sensitive. The waves of arousal wash over you as he plays with your clit. You won’t last too much longer, so he speeds up.

“Too-” You don’t really know how to finish that sentence. Everything is simultaneously too much and too little. 

“Take what you need from me.” Suguru offers you and you whine at how wrecked his voice sounds.

His tongue makes you dizzy. Too far in the haze of pleasure you begin to grind down on his face with your hands in his hair. You pull his hair for some form of leverage against your close orgasm. 

Suguru groans as you do, the vibration going straight to your core and you come undone. You reach climax and your thighs try to close but his grip keeps them in place as you twitch and arch. He groans as your cum oozes out of you onto his tongue. 

Your moans are so sweet as he eats you out through your orgasm. He holds you in place as your body subconsciously tries to get out of his grip. But he won’t let you go, not now that he has tasted heaven in between your legs. 

He lifts his head out of your cunt to watch your chest rise and fall as you catch your breath. The sight of you, post orgasm with your head nestled in his pillows, turns him on so much that he cock is straining against his robes. 

Suguru lets you catch your breath as he strips his clothes off. He can’t stand being in these robes anymore. They are just another thing holding him back from you. He catches you staring at him and stops undressing.

“Can I have you- all of you?” He says and runs his hand down your cheek.

“Please Suguru.” You ask him so nicely.

“Whatever you want lovely.” Suguru gives you a kiss as his hands open up your kimono with practiced precision.

You have never wanted to be worshipped despite your position as a saint. It was ridiculous to think that people would dedicate their lives to you because you can heal others. You always just wanted to help others and coexist.

But Suguru might change your mind if his worship is like this. 

His lips are so soft on yours. The softness in his touch conveys his emotions to you. The press of his lips to your skin is a promise of love. The heat of his hands on you speaks of his devotion to you. You could drown in his worship and you just might.

Suguru works you open in the same practiced way he did with opening your kimono. You gasp into his mouth as his fingers curl and hit that one spot in you that makes you see stars. His fingers pump in and out of you in a slow yet steady rhythm.

Finally he deems you ready to take him. You try not to squirm from the overstimulation of him sinking into so soon after your first orgasm. The stretch is painfully sweet as you feel all of him deep in you. 

“So good.” He murmurs to you as he lets you adjust to him.

“Kiss me again.” You ask breathlessly, needing him as close to you as possible.

“You are demanding tonight.” He teases you with a smirk. “But who am I to deny my Saint?”

Suguru’s lips are on yours as he begins to move. His mouth greedily swallows all your sweet whines. You feel so enveloped by him, he is all over you and it feels so good.

He pulls back to look down at you.

You look up at him through your tear stained lashes and he kisses both of your eyes tenderly. He can’t help but be captivated by how graceful you were even when you were overstimulated like this. Suguru finds your g-spot again and he aims for that sensitive spot every time he thrusts up into you. 

“Oh god- oh god-!” You ramble as he fucks you.

“God isn’t fucking you, call out to me instead.” He tells you.

You nod and bury your face in his neck as he picks up his pace. Soft moans of his name fall from your lips as he fucks you.

Suguru tries to be gentle, you are precious, but you just feel too good. You are so tight and he feels himself getting closer to his orgasm. He groans as your nails claw at his back. That will leave marks but he doesn’t mind that you are staking a claim on him. 

He was yours from the moment he first saw you anyway, and now you are his. 

“I love you.” Suguru murmurs into your hair as his thrusts get more and more sporadic.

“‘love you too Sugu-” You get out before it is cut off by his lips on yours.

His mind can’t wrap around something divine like you loving someone like him. But he won’t question you, your words are laws as far as he is concerned. You are his god and he is just a humble devotee.

Suguru groans as your words and how tight your cunt is send him over the edge. You are not too far behind, your body spasming as your second orgasm shoots through you. 

He holds you through it and keeps his cock inside of you to make sure it takes. Suguru can’t take any chances that he won’t get you pregnant. He whispers to you of how good you took it and how he loves you. You cling to him like a lifeline as the aftershocks of your high quiet down.

“Was I too rough?” Suguru asks, concern on his face as you look up at him, your eyes more seeing then before.

“No! Just I-” You pause, trying to figure out what to say, “I am still learning how to accept a lot of touch.”

“I will help with that.” Suguru vows and kisses your forehead. 

“Thank you Suguru.”

You look at the long hallway of Suguru’s wing of the monastery. It is peaceful here, the rushing waterfall next to the open air corridors gives you a sense of serenity. 

Suguru had told you that he had decorated this part himself after the last Head Monk had passed. You walk past a long tapestry of a swirling mountain range. It is a beautiful painting and you are still in awe of it after a few weeks of residing in this wing.

The main hall of the monastery comes into view, people bustling through the hall. You smile wide and walk faster. It has been so long since you have talked to someone besides Suguru. The thought excites you as you approach.

You pass the threshold only to find yourself a few feet back from where you originally were. Perplexed, you walk forward again, attempting to walk past the end of this hall. 

It is the same outcome. 

You try again and again and again. 

The same outcome happens every time. 

You are starting to get frantic as you try for what feels like the millionth time. Frustrated tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as you find yourself back at the threshold.

“What are you doing?” Suguru’s voice comes from behind you.

You turn back to him, “I can’t leave! The hall isn’t letting me leave.”

Suguru looks concerned and walks over. His arms envelope you as you cry into his robe. You hug into him for comfort as you try to understand what is going on.

“It’s okay,” His hand runs up and down your back. “You don’t need to leave.”

His words run through you like ice cold water.

“What?” You fight out of his hold.

Suguru looks completely relaxed as he reaches out for you.

“You don’t need to go out there, it is much safer here.” His voice is soft.

“But I want to-” You argue but he is looming over you in an instant.

“It is dangerous out there.” He takes your hand in his, a reassuring smile on his face. “But I have made sure that you are safe.”

You wretch your hand out of his and run for the end of the hall. Panic has a hold of you as you attempt to leave again. You feel like you did all those months ago, watched, hunted. Your heart beats in your ears as you cross the threshold only to be placed right back where you started. You are trapped. 

Suguru’s arms wrap around your shoulders, his body engulfing yours but not in the way you felt last night. This feels overwhelming, heavy, as he wraps you in his arms.

Looking up you see Suguru staring back at you. Something is different about him. His eyes are darker, more predatory than it was before. His gaze feels exactly like what you felt before he came to the monastery.

It hits you like a ton of bricks that Suguru was the thing watching you.

His grin widens and you see fangs. To your horror his canine teeth are sharper than before. He isn’t human, that is something that is apparent now. Suguru always was an inhuman type of beautiful but you never guessed he wouldn’t be human.

“What are you?” You whisper.

You attention is drawn to the fox ears that you now see on his head. They are a dusty red color and twitch slightly as you gasp. You have been told about Kitsune before but they are supposed to be just myths. 

Something to scare children from traveling too far into the woods. 

But Suguru is all too real.

“I don’t- I don’t understand!” You say and attempt to get free.

Suguru turns you around to look at him, “It’s okay, all you need to do is stay with me.”

You look up at him in fear, his face drops in response as if you were rejecting him and not just trying to go outside.

“Fine.” His mask of hurt falls away from his face. “I really didn’t want to restrict you but I can’t have you running from me.”

Without warning Suguru picks you up in his arms. You struggle against his chest as he walks back to his room but it is no use. He has an iron grip on you, like a rabbit trapped in a snare or in the jaws of a fox.

“Stop struggling or I will tie you down.” He is firm with his reprimand.

With a small hiccuping sob you stop trying to struggle against him. He looks down at you with sadness, his ears flat against his skull. His heart hurts as he sees your pain. But you have to learn.

“This isn’t permanent.” Suguru says, trying to soothe you and presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

“Just until you learn that you aren’t leaving me- ever.”

[misssassylover]

꧁𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭꧂

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: You return to Matt’s house, where unresolved feelings surface as you confront the truth about your broken relationship. Through quiet tension and flashbacks, you both realize that love isn’t enough to fix what’s already gone. Despite still caring, you walks away. Knowing it just won’t work.

I left you here

Heard you keep the extra closet empty

In case this year

I come back and stay throughout my twenties

What if I won't?

How am I supposed to put that gently?

And down the road

You will love me until you resent me

Mm, mm, mm

You don’t knock. You still have the key. Matt never asked for it back.

The front door sighs open and closes behind you, the silence thick like dust in the air. The house is mostly the same, the faint citrus-and-vinyl scent, the old record player in the corner, his favorite sneakers kicked lazily by the couch. But the closet. Your old closet, gapes open like a mouth.

Empty. Still.

Your fingers hover near the wooden frame. You could ask him why. But you already know. You used to joke about coming back, maybe after college, maybe when you “figured it all out.” You said you’d stay through your twenties, just like that, lighthearted, with your head on his chest. He took you seriously. Maybe too seriously.

He walks out from the kitchen. Still barefoot. Still in that gray hoodie with the fraying cuff you always used to tug at. When he sees you, his mouth parts slightly, but he doesn’t speak.

Your eyes flick to the closet, then back to him.

“What if I don’t come back?” you say.

He blinks. His arms cross, slow and guarded. “Is that a question or an answer?”

You shrug. “Both.”

And in the quiet, you see it. He wants to believe that someday you’ll return. But that belief is a weight. One day, it’ll break his spine. You can already see the fracture lines in his posture.

“I’d love you down the road,” he says. “Even if I’d hate you for leaving.”

The words should sting. But they don’t surprise you.

I've had the thought

Tried to work it out through anxious pacing

What if I'm not

Worth the time and breath I know you're saving?

But it's a lot

All the shine of half a decade fading

The whole facade

Seemed to fall apart, it's complicated

Mm, mm, hmm-mm

You remember that night you found him pacing.

It was three weeks before the end. He was backlit by the city lights, jaw tight, hands stuffed into his hair like he could pull the thoughts out one by one. You had asked him what was wrong, and he said nothing. You’d known better.

“I just…” he started, but couldn’t finish.

“What if I’m not worth it?” you had blurted. “What if this whole thing… what if it fades and we’re just holding on to something that isn’t even real anymore?”

He had looked at you then, eyes wide, betrayed.

And still, he didn’t answer.

Now, back at the house, you catch his hand tracing that same nervous path across his scalp. A gesture from the past echoing in the present.

Half a decade. That’s how long it’s been, give or take. And the shine of it. Every movie date, every late-night 7-Eleven run, every “I love you” whispered into the folds of his hoodie is dim now. Not gone. But dulled.

He walks toward the couch and sits, not inviting you, not pushing you away. His voice, when he speaks, is raw.

“I didn’t think we were fake,” he says.

You sit, finally. “We weren’t. But that doesn’t mean we’re still… it.”

The clock ticks louder than it should.

And part of me wants to walk away 'til you really listen

I hate to look at your face and know that we're feeling different

'Cause part of me wants you back, but

I know it won't work like that, huh?

Your foot taps restlessly on the hardwood floor. Matt’s staring at his palms now, as if the answers are carved there.

You speak first. “Do you ever wonder if you only hear what you want to?”

His brow furrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” you say slowly, “you’re still waiting for me to change my mind.”

He lifts his eyes to yours. Blue, glassy, worn. The kind of stare that makes you want to say something you’ll regret. Because even now, even after all the unraveling, there’s still a piece of you that wants to reach across the space and hold him again.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admits. “You’re here, and it feels like… like I could fix it.”

“And part of me wants that too,” you say, voice cracking. “But it won’t work like that.”

You both sit in the silence of half-spoken desires, too aware that this kind of love isn’t enough anymore.

Why won't you try moving on for once? That might make it easy

I know we cut all the ties but you're never really leaving

And part of me wants you back, but

I know it won't work like that, huh?

He looks at you like you’re asking him to forget how to breathe.

“You say that like it’s simple,” he whispers. “Like I didn’t try.”

“But you didn’t,” you say, not cruel, just tired. “You kept my pictures up. You kept my name in your phone like nothing changed.”

“I couldn’t…” he starts.

“You didn’t want to,” you correct.

The truth sinks in like cold water. He’s clung to the idea of you so tightly, there’s no room for anything else in his life. Not healing. Not someone new. Not even himself.

You want to scream. You want to shake him by the shoulders until he understands that love shouldn’t look like limbo.

“Cutting ties means more than deleting messages, Matt. It means letting go.”

He stares at you like you’re walking out all over again. Maybe you are.

And still, still there’s that part of you. That foolish, nostalgic part that wants to rewind. But you crush it.

Because you know.

It won’t work like that.

I'll open up

I'm thinking everything you wish I wasn't

The call was tough

But you're better off, I'm being honest

So won't you stop

Holding out for me when I don't want it?

Just brush me off

'Cause I'm your ghost right now, your house is haunted

You lean forward, elbows on knees, and say the thing you’ve been avoiding.

“I’m not the version of me you fell for anymore.”

Matt doesn’t speak. You press on, braver now.

“I’ve changed. I want different things. I don’t fit into this anymore. This life, this future you’ve frozen around us.”

His breath hitches, but he stays still.

“And I think… you’re better off without someone who can’t give you what you want.”

Your words hang between you, brittle and sharp.

“You were everything,” he murmurs. “But I don’t know how to forget you.”

You close your eyes. “Then stop holding out for me. Please.”

He looks at you like you’ve died. Maybe part of you has.

Outside, a car door slams, and for a moment the noise feels too loud, too real. You’re both ghosts of what you used to be.

This place is haunted.

And part of me wants to walk away 'til you really listen

I hate to look at your face and know that we're feeling different

'Cause part of me wants you back, but

I know it won't work like that, huh?

You stand.

Matt’s eyes follow you like he’s memorizing your shape, afraid you’ll vanish entirely this time.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you say. “Showing up, pretending maybe we’ll find the magic again.”

He nods. Just once. Slow.

You move toward the door. Your steps feel like betrayal. His silence feels like acceptance. Maybe it is. Maybe that’s progress.

But as your fingers close around the doorknob, your heart jerks.

“Part of me still loves you,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “But love isn’t always enough.”

You look back once. Just once.

He’s still sitting on the couch, shoulders hunched, hands limp in his lap. He doesn’t call out. Doesn’t beg.

That silence hurts more than any goodbye.

Why won't you try moving on for once? That might make it easy

I know we cut all the ties but you're never really leaving

And part of me wants you back, but

I know it won't work like that, huh?

Weeks later, Nick mentions that Matt finally deleted your photos from Instagram.

You pretend it doesn’t twist something inside you.

It’s raining when you pass the corner where you had your first kiss. Awkward, perfect, seventeen. And it hits you. He’s trying. Finally. And so are you.

You still feel him, sometimes. When you put on that hoodie you forgot he left behind. When your phone autocorrects “maybe” to “Matt” because it used to do that every time.

But you don’t go back. Neither does he.

There’s no grand closure. No cinematic montage.

Just two people, learning to let go of something beautiful because it wasn’t right anymore.

And part of you still wants him back.

But you know…

It won’t work like that.

[sydsaint]

I've loved this man since day one 😩

Summary: Bron shares a quiet and intimate morning with reader at the hotel.

It's about 7 AM in a luxury hotel somewhere in Ohio. My phone buzzes on the nightstand, alarm echoing off the taupe walls.

"Mmm." I groan, eyes blinking open slowly.

My bare skin is cool against the silk sheets beneath me. I shift on the sheet, leaning back into the warm and firm body behind me.

"Go back to sleep." A gruff voice whispers in my ear, warm breath against my neck.

"I have meetings all morning." I protest softly. "Not all of us can parade around in a slutty singlet and get paid for it." I yawn again, rubbing my eyes.

"Oh?" Bron's rough morning voice deepens a bit, lips brushing against the shell of my ear. "You think I'm slutty, baby? Only for you, gorgeous." His lips trail down the back of my neck and to my shoulder.

"Doubtful." I quip back. "Manwhore."

Bron shifts against me, propping himself up on his arms so he's hovering above me. He looks down at me on my back below him, his dark eyes full of playfulness and affection.

"That's not very nice of you, baby." He brushes a stray strand of hair out of my face. "I might have to teach you some manners."

"Teach me, huh?" I roll my eyes playfully. "I'm your boss, remember? I teach you things. Not the other way around."

Bron grins, head dipping down. His lips brush my neck and collarbone. "Pretty sure that I could teach you a few things, baby." He takes my earlobe between his teeth, giving it a gentle tug. "You just gotta let me."

"Bron." I groan. "Come on, babe. I have meetings." I push at his shoulders to free myself from underneath him.

"Kiss first, dollface." Bron insists.

I roll my eyes, a small groan of annoyance leaving my lips. With a sigh, I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down. My lips meet his in a gentle and warm kiss.

"There." I pull back after a moment. "Satisfied? Can I go now?"

Bron chuckles, his warm hand caressing the side of my face affectionately. "Satisfied? With you, baby? Never." He grins. "I'll never get enough of you."

"Ugh." I groan. "Why are you so damn sweet?"

"You love me." Bron grins, face hovering over mine once again.

I roll my eyes again, rubbing my hands up and down the plane of muscles that is his back.

"Yeah." I smile. "I love you."

"Love you too, gorgeous." Bron smiles back, leaning down for one more kiss before he rolls off of me.

I stretch now that I have room again. With a yawn, I sit up and check my phone. It's around 730 now. I have to meet Pearce in the arena to go over the show at 9.

Bron settles onto his back next to me, wearing nothing but his boxers. He props an arm behind his head with a sigh, closing his eyes to relax.

"You shouldn't get to go back to sleep." I complain, dropping back onto the bed.

I settle against him, laying my head on his chest with a sigh.

Bron wraps his arms around me, his fingers dancing over my bare back. "Stay here." He suggests. "Pearce ain't gonna care if you miss one meeting."

"He will." I groan. "You know how he is."

"Yeah..." Bron sighs, an idea popping into his head.

I close my eyes for a second to enjoy the way his chest rises and falls against my head. So, I don't notice Bron picking up my phone and dialing a number until I hear the line.

"Pearce?" Bron speaks into my phone, clasping a hand over my mouth with his free hand before I can protest. "Yeah. I'm calling in for Y/N. She's not feeling well this morning. Oh, yeah. Puking up a storm. Hangover, yeah. So, she won't be in until tonight." He lies through his teeth on the phone.

Bron takes his hand away from my mouth once he's hung up the phone.

"What did you do!" I move to straddle his torso, grabbing at my phone.

"Helping." Bron replies with a cheeky grin. "Now you're all mine for the morning." He grabs ahold of my hips, turning me over onto my back again.

I gasp, settling onto my back. "God. You're horrible." I whine, putting my arm over my eyes. "I can't believe you did that."

"You get to spend your morning with me now, though." Bron grins. "And I'm gonna make it worth your wild, babydoll."

He presses his lips against my neck, trailing wet and warm kisses down my body. His lips make a path down my body, tongue darting out to swipe down the valley between my breasts. I gasp at the sensation, making him smirk against my skin. His tongue flicks down my abdomen, dipping into my bellybutton for a brief second.

"Bron!" I gasp, body shuddering under him.

"Yeah, gorgeous?" Bron sets his chin on my stomach, grinning up at me.

I narrow my eyes, looking down at him. "I hate you." I grumble.

"Nah." Bron hums, peppering my stomach in kisses again. "You love me, dollface. Can't get enough of me." He mumbles against my skin.

I sigh, knowing that's true. I do love and adore the man currently between my legs. I grab his chin, pulling him back up so he's level with me.

"Yeah, I love you. Dickhead." I admit before kissing him.

[hightowerqueen]

Thursday Bangers

thank you for the tag @serensama <3 i'll tag @no1lucanispegger, @rookamell and @corvus-frugilegus if you guys want to play!

Rules for your Copy and Paste: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays).

This week's prompt: I'm prepared to sacrifice my life I would gladly do it twice - Mercy by Shawn Mendes

i fear i may have stumbled my way into ANOTHER parallel universe for the De Rivas. Rafe belongs to @nonagesimus (hi bb, i love you) and i am extremely not normal about him or him and Bea or either of them and Illario so. here you go.

referenced m!rook/illario, rook/rook

"Just go. They'll need someone to string up over this, but it doesn't have to be you." Bea's jaw drops. There's no fucking way Rafe is saying what she thinks he's saying. "What do you mean, go? I'm the one who dragged you into this in the first place!" "Yes, Bea. But do you want to make me watch them kill you, too? Haven't you done enough?" He's mad, and of course he is, but it hurts all the same, proverbial knife slid between her ribs as easily as if it were real, sinking through the flesh like butter.

The wound stings, because this is her fault. She's the one who'd gone and played hero, dragging him behind her, only to find out they'd somehow blown a Crow operation's cover sky high.

Rafe sighs, anger replaced by something defeated in his expression. "Viago is going to come knocking soon. He won't argue if I tell him I was working alone. He'd rather that than the truth."

He's right, again. He's looking at her with those maker-forsaken beautiful eyes of his, and she hates the way it makes tears pool in hers. Hates everything about this, hates how she's fucked everything up again.

This time it can't be fixed, she's pretty sure.

"You need to go, Bea," he continues, more insistant, "He can't find you here. Let him believe the lie, please."

There'd always been a line between them, before, an electrified fence they both stayed a respectable distance away from. But that seems stupid now, because they might very well never see each other again. The thought makes her feel ill.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, she finally crosses that line. Grabs him by the cuirass, yanks him in close enough to crush him in the circle of her arms.

"I'm getting Illario. There's gotta be some strings he can pull, especially for you," she whispers into his ear.

And then she's chasing his mouth with hers, the kiss a desperate, pleading thing she hopes speaks years of ignored feelings into his mouth.

She thinks it works, because Rafe goes slack in her arms, tension bleeding out of him and kissing her back like he's clinging to her just as hard.

They should've done this earlier. So much wasted time, and now it's over before it ever really had a chance.

She can still taste him on her tongue when she leaves.

-

In the end, Illario's connections aren't necessary. Viago negotiates for Rafe to be sent on a contract with Varric Tethras, something absurd about gods the only thing Bea catches. It's not death, but it also is, a mission with a scope that's almost designed to kill him off away from her eyes. Mercy, and not. Guilt claws its' way up her throat and she retreats to the rooftops, settling there and hugging her knees to her chest.

That's where Illario finds her, and they share a bottle of red to mourn the departure of the man they both love in silence.

She wonders, briefly, what ghost is hitching a ride with Illario for him to be so understanding of the weight she's going to carry from now on.

[cwningennos]

Birthday

Pairing: Mycroft Holmes x Reader

Summary: When it appears that a certain Mr. Holmes has forgotten about your birthday you're not best pleased. Will things get any better for you?

Warnings: Sexual references, references to politics.

Other Notes: This was initially posted on AO3 in 2017 if you are wondering why some of the political references are a bit older.

You check the calendar in the living room as you go past it. You do this every time to make sure that nothing’s changed. In particular you’ve been doing this a lot of late to make sure that nothing’s been added to the date that you’ve circled in red three times. If you discover that there is then you’re going to be cross. At first, not looking properly on your way by you think that it’s the same as ever. But then you realize that there’s a change there after all. You stop. Turn. Your feet hurry towards it. Your finger goes close to the date anxiously. Your lips part and you let out a whoosh of breath when you see what’s been written in neat, blue ink in the middle of your frantic circling.

Meeting in Brussels.

You stare at it. Mouthing the words slowly one by one because they don’t seem to be sinking in. Meeting. In. Brussels. You tilt your head and place a hand on your hip. Meeting in Brussels. No way. This can’t be happening. “Mycroft! Where are you? You better get your arse in here right this second!”

Your boyfriend Mycroft Holmes scurries in from the kitchen, dishcloth in hand as he wears a light blue shirt with the top two buttons undone and smart black trousers. He raises an auburn eyebrow at you, before he looks over his shoulder and down at his peachy behind with those blue eyes of his. “Was it just my arse you wanted or did you require the rest of me too?” He looks back at you.

You throw a scowl in his direction, before you yank the calendar off the wall. Suddenly Mycroft doesn’t look quite so confident. “Didn't we say that red-circled days were important to us? Ones that we wanted to spend together? Wasn't that the whole reason we started doing this? So we could keep track of each other’s schedules? Is that not why I’ve been entering them in your diary too?”-

“Which you really shouldn't have started doing. If anyone knew that you have access to my diary”-

“None of it makes sense to me anyway!” Mycroft swallows and you release a bit of a breath, before you continue your diatribe, “Is that why I’ve been calling your PA to tell her about them, so that you have someone else to remind you? And then, after all of that, you still go and do what you want anyway?”

“It’s a meeting in Brussels about Brexit my dear, I can hardly”-

“I have had it up to here with Brexit!” you cry, gesturing at a height above yourself. “Its already spoilt countless dinners. I get that nobody has a clue, but why does it always have to fall on you? I'm not letting it ruin my birthday too.”

Something in Mycroft’s face changes. “Ah.”

“Don’t tell me you forgot?” you ask him in exasperation, before you huff out a breath when you see that he has. “Did you not check?”

“I”-

You march towards him and shove the calendar to his chest. Mycroft holds it there with his hands. “I don’t believe this. What’s the point of me even trying to make this work by coming up with things like that if you won’t even do your best too?” With that you push past him hard and go upstairs.

----

Over the next few days you spend a long time feeling infuriated about it all. The thing that you find the worst is that Mycroft doesn’t even seem to care. He hasn’t even apologized. Every time it comes up all he’ll say is that he can’t miss this meeting, before he adds, in what you’re sure he thinks is a winning attempt at trying to placate you, that besides it isn't like it’s a special birthday anyway. You always frown and walk away from him at that. Isn't every birthday meant to feel special?

You’re feeling so disenchanted with him that a few days before your birthday you tell him one night just after you’ve both gone to bed, “I think I’ll go to Mum’s.”

“Hmm?” Mycroft rolls around, an annoyed look on his face as if you’ve disrupted his thought.

“For my birthday,” you clarify, giving him a level look, before you elaborate, “Since you won’t be here there’s no point in me staying on my own.”

“Oh right, yes,” he says, before he turns around again.

You have to bite down hard on your bottom lip as you look at his back. You want to ask if that’s all he’s got to say. You want to cry and whack him with your hands. Won’t he see how important this is? Put you above Brexit for once? Are you that unimportant to him?

----

Thursday night you confess, “Mum’s busy too, just like everyone else seems to be, so it looks like I’ll be on my own here after all.” Mycroft just grunts. Suddenly you can’t even help it any more. “Do you even care?” you say, your voice full of hurt. You sit up. Mycroft does too in a dazed sort of sleepy confusion and looks at you as he rapidly blinks. You've had it with him. You don’t even want to be this close to him any more. “You know what?”-you toss your side of the duvet back-“Have fun in Brussels coming up with the plan that Theresa May’s already supposed to have figured out. Tell her to do some actual work if you see her won’t you instead of just saying that 'Brexit means Brexit?'”

“She’s not invited to this one,” Mycroft gets out, before he can help it.

“I'm beginning to know how she feels,” you say. With that you swing out of bed and make for the door.

“Where are you going?” Mycroft asks, and it’s only the fact that you note he sounds slightly less disinterested now that makes you stop.

“To the spare room.”

“Hmm.” Mycroft shrugs. “Seems a bit childish to me.” He settles back down again.

The slam of the door heralds your exit.

----

Mycroft might have the next morning free to sort out packing and last minute arrangements, but you don’t. In fact you fully intend to leave for your office job without saying anything to him. That might make him stew on his trip to Brussels and make him realize what he’s done you think. But when you come downstairs with your bag, ready to leave, it’s to find that Mycroft’s waiting for you at the bottom. You let out a little ‘Humph’ of indignation at your plan being spoilt so easily and try to move past him anyway. He catches you upon your shoulders and moves you back. You look stubbornly at the spot over his left shoulder.

“Right,” he announces, his voice tense. “Well, I guess I’ll see you when I see you then?” You nod. He pecks you on the cheek and steps aside. You feel like crying when you leave the house. He hadn’t even wished you a good birthday tomorrow. You half turn and look back at the house. Part of you hopes that he’ll come bursting out the door, swoop you up into his arms and pepper your face with kisses, telling you to forgive him and that of course he won’t be leaving you on your own for your birthday. No such thing happens however and you turn around a moment later feeling disappointed.

You miss Mycroft peering through the blinds at you. Instead you spend the rest of the day feeling like you want to cry.

----

You wake the following morning, in contrast, feeling warm and happy after having a pleasant dream. You can even smell the scent of the man you love as if he’s close by, his body imprinted next to yours. But you can also smell the scent of bacon too and you know that it must be Mycroft who’s cooking it. It must be Sunday. He always brings you breakfast in bed on Sunday, even on those odd occasions where he has to work, and it’s one of your favourite things in the world. He always brings you a single flower in a transparent vase and you look forward each time to seeing which one it is. Whilst the breakfast ranges from being a cooked one to things like croissant and pain au chocolat. He’d even brought you the cereal you used to love as a child once when you were feeling down. He always brings in the breakfast with a tender smile upon his face, the one that he reserves for you. Then he’ll place the tray carefully down and hand you the flower. Sitting up in bed by this point you’ll breathe the scent of it in, before you’ll go on to fall even more in love with him as he sits by you, whilst you eat. On special occasions he’ll even read you poems as you do so. It’s heaven. But then your brain pushes one piece of logic through your happy thought. It’s not Sunday. It’s Saturday. Your birthday, and more importantly than that Mycroft’s in Brussels so who the hell is using your kitchen to make breakfast in? Your eyes open. Your heart begins to thrum. You sit up in bed with a jerk of motion. Surely the alarm would have gone off if it was an intruder? Mind you it had once gone off in the early hours of the morning apparently for no reason at all. You’d been alone in the house at the time and you’d jumped up, all coiled nerves and anxiety, to find that the alarm was saying there had been movement detected in Zone 10. You hadn’t even realized that you had a Zone 10. Mycroft, on his return from America this time, had told you: ‘Oh yes, there are twenty-three zones,’ as casually as anything. The intrusion now you think, especially since the alarm hasn’t gone off, is probably down to Sherlock. He’s an expert at entering the house and subduing the alarm if need be. One time he’d decided to use the house as a stakeout when Mycroft and you had been making love. Since you hadn’t concluded and only just got to the point of penetration neither Mycroft or you had been amused when the tread of footsteps had come, followed by Sherlock quickly throwing the door open. Of course he’d shut it again just as fast. Let out a loud, ‘Urgh!’ and said something about how it was going to take weeks of therapy for him to get over that. You hadn’t quite heard it properly because you’d been in the middle of letting out a loud shriek, whilst Mycroft had frantically tried to cover up your modesty with his own body. Needless to say Sherlock had decided to continue with his operation nonetheless and you’d gone on to endure an hour long lecture that Mycroft had given his brother about timing and the preservation of privacy in between Sherlock’s random mutterings of information. In the end you’d left them to it and gone to make some tea for you all. Neither Mycroft or you had been in the mood to continue what you’d started once Sherlock had left. Feeling glad if it is Sherlock that he’s caught you in a more decent position this time you get quickly dressed, grab a baton that Sherlock had once stole from the Met and which Mycroft had then proceeded to confiscate from him, putting it under the bed and telling you to bear it in mind in case of emergency. You extend it as far as it will go and creep slowly to the door. You peer out. Hoping that the most frightening thing you’ll witness is the mess of Sherlock’s black hair. You nearly drop your baton.

“Mycroft!”

“Oh my dear.” He turns to you from where he’s standing by the stove. “How can I make you breakfast in bed if you’re not in bed? You’re also in far too many clothes. I’ve drawn up a plan for us today and one or two of the items on it involve you being in significantly less clothes than you’re in right now.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively.

You squint at him. You feel like you’ve been wandering around the desert for days and now you’re hallucinating. Can it really be him? Are you sure that you’re not just making his appearance up in your head? Dreaming about him maybe? Dreaming that he’s standing there with his white shirtsleeves that have blue stripes on slightly rolled up, grey trousers and the blue apron that you’d bought for him on his own birthday once, which has a silhouette of a white crown upon it and the words, ‘His Lordship,’ beneath it, also in white? You’d be fairly amused by that last part and turned on by the fact that his auburn hair is slightly ruffled, by what he’s just said and by the fact that some chest hair is visible because he’s got the top two buttons of his shirt undone if you weren’t so damn shocked. Is it really him? Finally managing to get your mouth in gear and find out you ask, “I thought you were supposed to be in Brussels?” You bite down on your lip at the way that your voice comes out so defensively. But then, thinking that actually you’ve got every right for it to come out in that way, you fold your arms nonetheless.

Mycroft’s face softens. He abandons the bacon he’s been frying and comes across to you. “F/N my dear did you ever think that I could forget about your birthday?” You look up at him uncertainly now. He stops before you and tentatively lifts your elbows so that your hands come to be resting on his waist. “Even if you hadn’t of circled it on every calendar that we own or done the same in my diary I wouldn't have.” You open your mouth now. “It’s the one date that I could never forget.” He takes your hand and holds it to his heart with his own. “It’s seared in here.”

Your mouth shuts again and you begin to feel emotional. Your lips rub together for a moment. “But Brussels”-

“There was never any meeting my dear. I just wanted to surprise you. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings along the way.” His gaze turns more anxious now.

“Oh God.” You cross your hands behind his neck and peck him on the lips. “I'm sorry too. I must have been dreadful to live with these past few days?”

“Its been…trying,” he teases. You bat at him with your hand. He smothers your lips in a kiss. You begin to rake your hands through his hair and push against him, but when the bacon gives an almighty sizzle he pulls away from you with a start. “But I suspect that it’ll be even more so if I burn your breakfast now.” He looks at you apologetically and hurries off again.

You sit down at the table that he’s already laid out with a smile and pour yourself some orange juice.

He brings your breakfast over to you and you smile down at it. A blush comes over your face when you see that the eggs have been made into heart shapes. Mycroft’s a romantic at heart.

“You like it?” he says.

“Mmmhmm,” you grin up at him, your hands going automatically to your cutlery. “I'm just trying to imagine you browsing the Internet for ideas.”

“What’s to say that I didn't come up with it on my own?” Mycroft says, pretending to be hurt, before he bends to whisper in your ear, “Don’t go giving away all my secrets.”

“Never,” you vow happily, swinging your head to kiss him. You turn to your breakfast again.

“But first,” he says quietly, withdrawing a rose from behind his back and giving it to you when you look back at him. Your expression of joy deepens as you breathe in its scent. “It is your birthday,” Mycroft shrugs, as if there was no other flower he could have given you. “Allow me to put it into some water.” He takes it off you once more and you begin to eat. “So,” he begins prominently, once he’s placed the rose in a transparent vase that’s half full of water and put it in front of you, “Are you happy with your surprise?” He sits opposite you with his own breakfast.

“It’s the best one ever. Thank you.”

“Don’t go getting too ahead of yourself,” Mycroft warns, but he looks pleased nonetheless.

“What’s first on the agenda?” You sip at your orange juice again.

“Well, technically breakfast was first,” Mycroft teases you. You poke your tongue out at him. “But I thought we could head to the park and take a stroll. I’ve booked lunch for us in a nice little spot in town.”

You smile, liking the sound of all of that. But as soon as Mycroft and you head out with linked arms and you see a poster in front of the local art gallery, advertising a new exhibition by one of your favourite artists that’s on at the moment you peer up at him hopefully. “Could we-?”

“Perhaps in a little while.” Mycroft looks away.

You peer up at him, almost tempted to pout. This is supposed to be your birthday after all. Shouldn't you get to decide where you go? But then you remember that you’d once thought that he wouldn't be able to share any of the day with you at all, so, trusting him, you tilt your head down against him and close your eyes momentarily, feeling content. The art gallery’s no big deal after all. There’ll be other days when you can go there.

Mycroft and you enter the park and weave along its path until you come to a comfortable bench in a quiet area. An elm tree stands proud and tall over it.

As you sit down there you feel happy, snuggling into Mycroft’s side because it’s not the warmest of days and in any case do you really need an excuse? He tilts his head towards yours and makes a sound of satisfaction. His hand finds your knee. “I’ll have to make a shopping trip after lunch.”

“Shopping?”

“Yes. There are one or two things that I need to pick up for later.” Once more as you draw back from him a little he gives you that suggestive look. You cup at his cheek. Kiss him once, twice. “Mm,” he says and you release a happy breath as you pull back from one another.

You sit on that bench for a while, talking and enjoying the time you have to just let things unfold naturally and the thoughts come to your brain as they please without you having to rush to think of saying them, before one of you goes off again. Then you get up and finish your leisurely loop of the park.

Mycroft calls his driver and you get whisked off to a fancy, but friendly restaurant in the West End. There Mycroft and you touch hands, brush legs and flirt incessantly as you enjoy your meals.

The driver returns and once you’re in your home neighbourhood again Mycroft gets the man to pull over. He then gently tells you to stay in the car, before he departs.

Wondering what he’s up to you get a little fidgety, but when he returns with a singular plastic bag, sits down and lets you look inside to see its contents-candles, massage oil and a symphony of your favourite classical music on vinyl-you kiss him deeply.

The driver wisely averts his eyes and finishes the trip home. There Mycroft and you bathe together and he gives you a massage, before you make love. The music he’d got earlier plays on in the background all the while and as the noise of the violins reach their crescendo so do you.

You roll off Mycroft with a giggle. He gives you a fond look, brushing at your hair as you turn into him. “I'm afraid that as much as I’d be happy to stay like this for the remainder of the day we have to get up now. I believe there was an exhibition that you wanted to see?” he asks.

“Oh,” you say, turning him back to you when he begins to get up. He looks at you quizzically. Your hand brushes against the damp, glistening hairs of his chest. “I don’t mind staying here.” You bat your eyelashes at him and this time it’s you whose got a suggestive look about you.

Mycroft smiles at you in amusement, sitting up properly this time. “Oh no, I’d quite like to see it myself.” He taps you on the nose.

You stare at him curiously, sensing that he’s up to something again. Had that been why he hadn’t wanted to go to the gallery earlier? But when he simply begins to get dressed you do the same.

He’s quiet as you head out once more and you wonder what’s going on, but as you step inside the art gallery you begin to forget, just enjoying the exhibition.

Mycroft keeps close to you, gazing at you more than the paintings. Seeing how quickly you’re getting lost in the display, just like you always do, is reminding him of how you’d first met.

He’d ducked into the gallery to take a quick break from the slow moving traffic and relentless rain, breaking the distance between the car and the gallery with his umbrella as usual when he’d seen a figure, perfectly still, but her face rapt with attention as she looked at one of the paintings. Her h/c hair had been dripping down her f/c waterproof jacket, but you wouldn't have thought that she was wet or cold at all. That figure, of course, had been you. The painting hadn’t been overly impressive, at least not to him, but he hadn’t been able to resist going to stand right by you. You obviously saw it differently. You hadn’t noticed him though. That was until you’d made to turn sharply away from the painting and knocked straight into him. You’d apologized and he’d let out a breath and felt astonished by how captivating your eyes were, especially with the raindrops clinging to your eyelashes just above them. He wasn’t usually one to notice such things and you hadn’t shared much more than that, but his gaze had followed you out of the art gallery and he’d felt happy when you’d looked over your shoulder at him. He’d found himself popping into the gallery more and more after that in the hope that he’d see you. But he hadn’t again until a month and a half later. You’d later admitted that your heart had leapt when you’d spotted his figure stalking about as if he might be looking for someone and hoped that it might be you. Turns out that you’d been going to the gallery more too. You’d just kept missing one another. As he’d stopped beside you with a quirk of your lips you’d said, ‘Hello again,’ he’d felt so spurred on that he’d casually suggested that you might want to go for a coffee some time to talk about ‘Art.’ The coffee oddly enough had taken place straight away and he’d started the conversation off once your drinks had arrived as if he’d been talking about a painting. You’d blushed something wonderful when you’d realized that he was actually talking about you. You’d let him kiss you tentatively on the cheek and exchanged numbers, before you’d departed. To your delight he’d called you that night and you’d gone on a few more coffee dates, which had then turned into dinner, which had then turned into breakfast…

Mycroft blinks out of thought and suddenly realizes that he’s been staring at the same painting obliviously for several minutes now and that you’re nowhere to be seen.

Feeling panicked he turns his head just as you appear by him again. “I’d call you scatter brained if I didn't know you any better.” You peck at his shoulder. Mycroft smiles down at you in relief. “Is this your favourite?” You nod at the painting.

“No,” he answers, because it’s time for him to be as crazy and brave as he’d been when he’d first been racing around the gallery searching for you. “My favourite’s in here actually.” He pulls you off into a separate area and you think he’s joking because this isn't even part of the main exhibition that you’d wanted to see. But then you see the large blown up black and white photograph of yourself that’s in the corner on the right. Your head is half turned towards the camera, your face framed by sunlight and you stop because once more you can’t believe it. Mycroft has to pull you the rest of the way. “My favourite’s here. My favourite’s you,” he murmurs softly.

You stare between him and the photo. “You did this for me?”

“Of course,” he tells you. “This is where we first met and if I’ve learnt anything over the years then it’s that no one deserves to have their image in a gallery more than you.” You feel breathless. Mycroft turns you towards him. “When I first saw you it was as if one of the beautiful people in the paintings had jumped right out of their frame. The thing is”-he takes your hands in his-“I wanted to follow you just like you want to follow your favourite artists, so I did and I have and you’ve let me. But it still isn't enough, so F/N L/N”- he lets go of one of your hands and drops to one knee now. You clap a hand over your mouth as he brings a beautiful f/c and white engagement ring out of his pocket and holds it up to the light-“Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” you say, and Mycroft gets up just in time for you to fling your arms around his neck and kiss him senseless. You’re so in love with him that it takes you a moment to realize that, that odd sound you can hear in the background is people clapping. You release a long breath as you pull away from him.

Mycroft and you look as one to your audience, Mycroft slipping the ring onto your finger at the same time, and you let out another gasp of surprise. For there, beaming at you, is your mother and all of your friends-Sherlock, John, Molly, Sally, Greg and even Mrs. Hudson. You feel like bursting into tears because this day has become more than you ever thought it would and as Mycroft helps guide you forwards you do.

You’re almost at your mother and about to hug her, when, in a fit of tears and sniffles, you let out a squeak of breath and turn to hug Mycroft instead. “Thank you,” you whisper as your hands wrap around his neck, “This has been the best birthday ever.”

He clutches you to him tenderly, one hand cupping your hair. “You’re the picture I never want to give up,” he says and you burrow your head into his shoulder.

[gameo-archive]

Thanks to the always-amazing @pipwasreal for providing the transcript under the cut:

George: Hello Evelyn! I hope you're doing really, really well. It's lovely to hear from you again. I hope everything is good in Taiwan, I hope you're safe, I hope you're enjoying the spring... I don't know if it is spring over there, actually, but I hope you're having a nice day.

It's nice and sunny here in London, which makes a huge change, especially when it's consistently sunny, so I am making the most of that.

Thank you so much for your cameo request, let's get into it. So you've said: "Happy first anniversary to Dead Boy Detectives." Happy first anniversary back! Sorry, that was a bit of a mouthful. Happy first anniversary back. It's crazy that it's been a year since it came out. It feels like a very long time ago, but also very recent. A lot of stuff has happened since, I feel, but also not much. So it's a nice little balance of both.

You've said: "I've been thinking a lot this month about how grateful I am to have found such an amazing show. It's been a comforting presence through so many stressful times. Edwin's resilience and kindness are so inspiring, and he'll always hold a special place in my heart. Since Dead Boy Detectives is still a baby in the world of TV, here's my question: What do you think six year old Edwin would be like as a kid?"

Hmm... what do I think six year old... I think six year old Edwin would have been quite introverted, quite shy, quite obedient. I think he would've, even at such a young age, found solace in reading, and stories, and found a sense of escapism from that.

I see him, despite that, I do see him enjoying the outdoors, being around horses, animals, maybe. I don't know why, I always think of horses with him. Walking through fields... I always imagined him growing up in, you know, some kind of manor in the English countryside.

But I do think he would probably keep to himself, when it comes to interactions with other humans, I think. I think he would be in his own world.

Umm [pops lips] "How would sixteen year old Edwin react if he met six year old Charles?" [Laughs] I think he would have to exercise a lot of patience, because, I think, I can imagine six year old Charles, if he's how I imagine six year old Jayden would be, would run absolute riot, and get up to a lot of mischief. So, um, Edwin might have to put him on a leash, to be honest.

"Since I wouldn't trade the experience of falling in love with Dead Boy Detectives for anything, here's another question: If Edwin were given a potion that could erase his romantic feelings for Charles, would he take it? Why or why not?" I don't think he would, no. Because, I feel like... it's one of those complex things in life, you know, the way Edwin is forced to navigate his feelings for Charles is a very truthful thing. And it's something that, I think, in one way or another, I think a lot of people relate to. So to take that away is to take away the human experience, I think. But maybe that's a bit deep.

But listen, Evelyn [pronounced Ee-velyn]. Evelyn [pronounced Eh-velyn]? I... will you remind me in the next one how to say your name correctly? Because I... I remember in the last couple I did that, I couldn't remember, and you have explained it before, but I can't remember, and I'm really sorry about that.

But listen, I'm so pleased that Dead Boy Detectives has resonated with you so much, I'm so pleased that Edwin has. Edwin will always be there for you, Dead Boy Detectives will always be there for you, and it's lovely to hear from you, as well. So, have a great rest of your week and I'll speak to you soon. Bye!

Jayden: Hey Evelyn [pronounced Ee-velyn]! Happy belated first anniversary to DBD. I can't believe it's been a year. I can't tell if it's been the quickest year of my life, or the slowest year. Still haven't quite worked that out yet.

So, you've said you've been thinking a lot this month about how grateful you are to have found this brilliant show. It's led you to meet so many wonderful people, and that absolutely includes me, whoo hoo! "I'll always love the way you handled Charles' trauma and growth, it continues to be a source of encouragement and comfort to me." I love that, thank you so, so much for your kind words.

Since DBD is still a baby in the world of TV, here's your question: "What do you think six year old Charles would be like as a kid?" I think Charles would be very sporty. I imagine him always, like, climbing things. That was one thing, I aways kind of imagined Charles, he was like the kid who kind of ran off and climbed things. [Laughs] Very similar to me, to be honest.

"How would sixteen year old Charles react if he met six year old Edwin?" Very good question. I always imagined Charles being really good with kids. I just answered a question about, like, what things that Charles used to do, and I always imagined Charles being that guy or that kid in the neighbourhood that would kind of go around and, y'know, clean his neighbours' windows or his neighbours' cars or, like, take his neighbours' dogs for a walk. So, I imagined him being quite good with kids, so, yeah, I think if he met six year old Edwin he'd, y'know, be very gentle and he would probably try and make him laugh, as, y'know, as he does when they're both sixteen.

"To many fans, DBD feels like a lantern in the dark." Amazing. "Here's another question: Was the lantern Charles used in Hell the one Edwin gave him? After escaping, did he ever find a new one? See you."

Well, I don't think it was ever, on purpose, meant to be that, like, that lantern. But it was, it was the same prop, I know that for sure. And the only reason why I know is because me and George had a whole giggle about how, like, heavy it gets, after a while. It was, like, really weighty, the one they gave us [laughs]. And there were so many scenes where, like, especially for me in Hell, I'd have to hold it up, like, really high, and hold it there for lighting purposes. And I felt my arm like [laughs] shaking. So um yeah I don't know if that, if it was supposed to be, but it was the exact same lantern we held.

Thank you so much for your amazing questions, and hopefully I get to hear from you again soon.

Belated Happy 1st Anniversary of Dead Boy Detectives !

Here are my questions for George: What do you think 6-year-old Edwin would be like as a kid? How would 16-year-old Edwin react if he met 6-year-old Charles? If Edwin were given a potion that could erase his romantic feelings for Charles, would he take it? Why or why not? 

Here are my questions for Jayden: What do you think 6-year-old Charles would be like as a kid? How would 16-year-old Charles react if he met 6-year-old Edwin? Was the lantern Charles used in Hell the one Edwin gave him? After escaping did he ever find a new one?

[teaboot]

One time my mom took me to a hibachi grill with a bunch of her friends and if you've never been to a hibachi grill basically the draw is that theres a bunch of interactive performance stuff done by the cook who cooks for you at your table, and one of the tricks they did at this one was take a squeeze bottle full of liquor and shoot it into your mouth across the table (with permission)

And now at our table my mom explained this because it was my first time going, and she wanted to make sure to warn me it was liquor because she knows I don't drink- she just said "if he offers to shoot at your mouth, say no because it's alcohol".

And so the chef does his thing and it's all very impressive, but the time does come where he pulls out this squeeze bottle of booze and asks me if I wanna try

I of course say no, because I really don't do alcohol, so he moves on to someone else

And I watch, and slowly come to understand that this is some sort of game, because once someone is drinking from the continuous flow the chef starts counting "ONE! TWO! THREE!"

I realize that we're trying to see who can keep drinking the liquor from three feet away without choking or spilling, and its a bummer cause i kinda wanna try and I CAN'T

But he goes around the table with everyone there, and I think my mom makes it to three, one friend makes it to five, I think my brother got to three as well, and he comes back to me

And I'm REALLY bummed out now but I will not drink alcohol, so I sort of sadly repeat that I can't when he pulls out a SECOND BOTTLE and grins and goes "juice?"

And Im like FUCK YEAH LET'S GO and I'm a bit worried he's gonna spray it into my eye or something but he doesn't, it hits me right at the back of the throat, and I start drinking while the whole fucking table counts "ONE! TWO! THREE!"

And like

It just sorta

Kept going?

And Im looking at the chef and he starts freaking out by the time we get to six, and at around seven I kinda start looking around and my auntie is staring back in shock, my brother is laughing his ass off and my mom has her face in her hands

And then at like nine or ten it gets like. Super tense and quiet, and only the chef is still counting

And I guess it got too much for even him cause we're at eleven and I don't believe in quitting early and it is almost painful how awkward it's getting

So he cuts me off at twelve and raises his hands in the air and everyone else cheers and claps like a dumb movie

and I just sit back in my seat to look back at my mother staring at me surrounded by everyone she knows, bright fucking red in the face and choking with honest to god tears in her eyes and she puts her face back in her palms and starts chanting "I don't want to know. I don't want to know. I don't want to know"

So I give her the biggest, proudest grin and tell her, "I won."

So now every time something suggestive happens in a movie, or in conversation, or something shocking happens around us and she goes to jokingly cover my ears, I just ask her, "Remember when I won?" And she goes face-down and groans, because I know EXACTLY how she thinks I trained to develop that particular skill and she HATES knowing that about me

The truth is though, I'm a whole ass 28 year old virgin. I've never so much as kissed anyone in my life. I had no idea I could do that trick until that exact moment

But she doesn't know that, and I'm never gonna tell her

[tonycries]

WAP!

Synopsis. How was he expected to not lose control the first time he goes in raw?

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, bréeding, mating press, jealousy (Nanami’s side), improper use of Gojo’s technique, true form! Sukuna, dp, praise, creampíe, spítting, really REALLY needy pússydrunk boys, cúmplay, some HEINOUS things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.6k (whoops)

A/N. Got a bit carried away but oh well hehehe.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - “A-another?”

Toji Fushiguro never stutters, he never sounds unsure, he never lets that deep baritone voice of his break so pathetically at the end of his sentence. 

Except for now, that is.

With you folded into such a mean mating press, spreading your shaky legs to flash him that heavenly view. As if that wasn’t enough to have Toji’s head spinning already, you give him a hazy, determined nod, “Another.”

Another. Oh, it’s all he can do to hold back a guttural groan when thumbing apart your puffy folds, eyeing the way you were clenching up at him eagerly.

“Another, huh?” Toji echoes, his free hand coming up to slide back that thin layer of plastic on his swollen cock. Slow. Torturously slow. Hissing at the cool air kissing his aching length, “Then-” He glides his leaky tip across your glossy entrance, smirking at the way you arch into it like such a slut. “-this pretty cunt better actually give me another kid, doll.”

And then Toji’s pushing in - slow, ruthless little pistons of his hips that have you scrambling further and further up the mattress. Veins pulsing against your plushy walls in a feverish thump! thump! thump! 

Of course, he wasn’t faring any better. 

“O-oh.” Toji throws his head back, brows scrunching at the feeling of your sweet sweet cunt. “So this is- fuck- what ya feel like, hm? Hold on- wait- wanna test something-” 

“Ngh! Oh-” you squeal when two thick fingers dip down to toy with your throbbing clit, bucking your hips up in a way that has Toji sinking in deeper. Blinking away the shocked tears behind your lids, “T-Toji– don’t be mean.”

But you doubted he could hear you - fuck, you doubted Toji was even breathing at this point. Because his eyes were widened, jaw dagging open ever-so-slightly to moan, “Fuck- oh my god- ya squeeze me ngh- even tighter without that fucking condom.”

And he’s so fucking awe-struck - and you’re being fucked so dumb - that you don’t even realize it when he’s bottoming out. Still pushing in, trying to squeeze even deeper into your gummy walls. 

“F-fuck can’t believe you’ve been holdin’ out.” he spits, sounding so genuinely bewildered, pulling your hips back messily to meet his. Heavy balls smacking you with each rough, depraved thrust inside. “Ohhh m’never letting ya hold out on me again, doll.”

Your nails leave angry, red marks down, down, down his sculpted back. Glassy eyes begging - pleading for any once of mercy for the monster you’ve brought on. “N-never?”

He gives your ravaged clit a light smack! with the pads of his fingers - both a little punishment and a sneaky little way to feel you clamp down on his thick cock in surprise again. Huffing out a low laugh, “Yeahhh you’re not getting off easy. Never.” And, usually, Toji was so suave, so infuriatingly in control - but right now he’s running his mouth as sloppily as his hips. Panting into your open mouth, “Gonna hafta let me f-feel this cute pussy all the fuckin’ time now. Gonna hafta let me breed her.”

And shit it wasn’t enough. It’ll never be enough. 

In a split second, Toji falls back onto his knees, pulling you upright to splay out so prettily on his lap. The change in position pushing him in deeper and deeper and-

“That’s what I hah- like to see-” One hand squishes your cheeks together and forces you to look down at the way your poor pussy was bulging and struggling around Toji’s cock. So so angry and drenched with all your syrupy sweet juices, glistening all the way down to his twitching balls. “Ya look so much oh- shit- better drooling all over me and not some condom, doll.” Toji’s sharp teeth graze your ear, abs rippling underneath your touch as fucks up into you so animalistically. So ferally. Sharp, long jabs of his hips, just dragging your sloppy pussy all over. “N’ even better when she’s ngh- painted white, right?”

The only response you’re stupidly giving him are a handful of teary whimpers, thighs burning with the wet smack of skin on skin. 

And the way you’re bucking down pathetically to meet his ruthless cadence, but you don’t  even realize that until Toji lets out a strangled groan. “Heh, ya like that?”

“Mhm.” you whine. “L-like it so- much- like feeling you like this- ah-”

He’s pulling you into a messy kiss - if it can even be called that, just a lazy, messy drag of his lips and that scar against your lolling open mouth, “Tha’s my girl. Ya like feeling me raw, hm?” Each word nudges his fat head against your bruised g-spot in a way that has Toji so drunk, so high off you and that pretty cunt. Twiddling a thumb on your sensitive nub. Over and over and over. “Ya like the ohh- fuck- idea of giving me another? Making Megs a big brother?”

“Yes! Fuck yes yes yes I-”

Toji doesn’t hear the rest of your sentence - nor does he really give a shit. Not when your cute cunt is squeezing around him so fucking tight that it was almost hard to ram his cock inside. 

Milking the fucking soul out of him as you cum, a broken little ah! ah! ah! leaves your mouth when with a couple, sloppy thrusts Toji can’t help but paint your pussy a sinful white. Thick, hot ropes of his seed that slosh inside your gummy walls - cumming and cumming so much that he feels it drip out your slit.

Meshing together in a lewd combination at the soaked base of his still-rock hard cock, one that makes Toji keen gruffly. Pooling his seed on the pads of his fingers, he bullies them back into your still-stuffed hole, “So…are we sure it took?”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Right here right now

Everyone knows Nanami Kento as a patient man - a sensible one. The one person at the office they could trust with anything and everything.

Only you knew Nanami Kento as the type of man to just drag you into the break room in the middle of the work day, spitting out a barely-there excuse about “a meeting” to the rest of your confused coworkers. When in reality he was shoving you near the nearest flat surface and bunching your cute skirt up at your hips. 

“Ken- what-” you sputter in a daze, blinking up at the panting man above you. “What happened?”

The only answer you’re getting is the clink-clink-clink of Nanami’s belt unbuckling, stray strands of blond sticking to his furrowed forehead as he takes in your slutty position. 

Scoffing, “Can you at least tell me what-”

Your words die in your throat at the feeling of something so warm and rock-hard making a mess of you down below. And - sure enough - you’re met with the sight of Nanami’s fingers nudging apart your flimsy panties - just enough for his fat head to kiss against your puffy folds. Sending a fresh wave of your slick coating his hand once more. 

“Don’t have a condom.” he speaks to you properly for the first time since coming in here, gruff and strained against your ear. “Guess we’ll hafta make do, darling.”

Fuck, you’ve never gone without a condom with your boyfriend before - but now that you’ve felt the sensation of his deep slit rubbing against your hole, the dip of his veins tracing against your walls, well, shit you think you might just be addicted. 

Nanami isn’t too far behind - because he lets out a deep groan. “O-oh. Fuck, remind me to do this more often.” Chest heaving as he pulls out ever-so-slightly, only to run a fist down his length, smearing your syrupy sweet juices in a glossy sheen along his cock. “Who said you can feel this haah- fucking good, my love? This all f’me?”

It’s only with this that you’re realizing that he still hasn’t explained yet. 

Reaching out a hand to pull on Nanami’s favorite yellow tie, you bring his face mere millimeters from yours. Breathing out, “E-explain or m’walking out.” 

You wouldn’t - you knew that. And Nanami did too, but that didn’t stop that greedy part of himself from stilling inside your puffy folds, having you struggling and clenching with the effort to take in his girth. 

“Jus’ wanted to hah- feel you. To really feel you.” he’s nosing up your racing pulse. Strong hands pushing your legs so far apart on the table that it burned. “To actually prove to this cute pussy that she’s mine. S’that s-so wrong?” He’s fucking you like he wants to prove a point - in long, purposeful strokes that roam for your g-spot. Gritting out, “Especially when you’re so warm. So heavenly. N’ some people here can’t take a hint.”

Ah, so that’s what it was all about - that new intern at the office who seemed particularly attached to you lately. Enough so that it had Nanami acting like this - not that you were complaining, obviously. 

No sooner is the realization hitting you that Nanami’s smashing into your sensitive spot. Hard.

A large hand hastily covers your mouth as soon as it sags open. Only growing more and more desperate when Nanami starts up a quick tempo. Hitting it over and over and over- “Shhh shhh, darling.” he groans, fucking you deeper and deeper into the table. “I know it’s good. Ngh- oh my god you feel fucking perfect- But we wouldn’t want ‘em to hear, right? Though-” And then he’s flashing such an uncharacteristically smug smile, gaze just devouring you through his long lashes. “-wouldn’t mind ‘em knowing that you’re mine.”

And it seems like he was torn between forming coherent thoughts and just rambling about how sinfully good you felt. 

“K-Ken-”

But Nanami wasn’t done - far from it, in fact. He was running his mouth, words slurring and stumbling with each jolt of his hips forward. 

“Shh, let me do all the work, darling.” Drawing gentle, purposeful circles on your clit, “Jus’ sit there n’- hngh- let me feel this pussy some more. Let her soak me some more. Been waitin’ for this too long- oh- They’d never know, right?”

It’s all you can do to nod, barely-lucidly, “N-never. Only you, Ken.”

And now, unfortunately for you and your poor cunt, it just seemed like Nanami was pussydrunk off the feeling of your gummy walls milking the fucking soul out of him. No longer just proving a point - no, oh, he was lost in the way you were so soft. So messy - forming a cute pool of slick on the table below, on his heavy balls. 

Eyes rolling to the back of his head, “Fuck him. Fuck them all.” 

You flinch as he catches your lips to spit out heated little profanities into your open mouth, biting and tugging filthily on yours. Almost babbling at this point, “They’ll n-never know how ngh fucking heavenly this cunt feels. How perfect you’re wrapped around me.”

Both the obscene squelches from below and your broken little whimpers were reaching a feverish height, coupled with Nanami’s rumbling groans. And it’s only when you let out a particularly loud whine of “Ken–” that makes him grow even girthier inside you. 

Stretching you out so good, he lets out a warning whisper. Low and dangerous, “Careful.” Sending a wave of goosebumps down your spine - all the way to your ravaged cunt, “I hear he’s got a meeting here soon.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - The cocky one

“Hah, such a cocky smile, gorgeous.” Geto shakes his head down at where you were on all fours for him. Arched like such a slut against his angry tip, throbbing and glistening between your legs. “You sure you’re oh-”

Whatever mean little retort - and that smirk - is wiped clean off of Geto’s pretty lips when you fuck yourself back onto his rock-hard cock. Gritting your teeth at the sheer stretch when your sloppy hole finds his red, leaky tip, determinedly stuttering him down, down, down until your ass was pressed up against those tufts of black at his toned pelvis. 

“W-whoops.” you sigh when your skin smacks against his abs, tone saccharine sweet. “What were you hah- saying, dear?”

Geto lets out a strangled groan, head tipping back, fingers blindly finding your hips to keep them from fidgeting. Fuck, you were so heavenly - so addictive. He could feel himself rubbing up against every ridge and dip of your tight pussy. 

“You little bitch.” he sighs, heavy eyes locked on where the two of you were connected. Your pussy lips bulging so sinfully around him, making him grow even larger. Longer - hitting spots you never knew existed. “Now that’s just ngh- playing unfair.”

Unfair? Oh, you could teach him about ‘unfair’. Unfair was when he’s jutting his hips forward in slow, shallow strokes just to fit inside - no rhythm or rhyme, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. Unfair was when he strikes your ass with a sharp smack! grinning at the way the flesh jiggles against his palm.

Unfair is when he leans down to murmur thickly, the change in angle having him barrelling deeper inside your snug cunt. “Isn’t it?”

“N-no.” your lower lip wobbles. 

“N-n-no.” Geto grins, “Stuttering too? That’s crazy, what happened to my smug girl from- hah- before- oh fuck-” 

But oh for all how cocky Geto was acting, he was so weak against the way your gummy walls clench down so fucking tight around him - on purpose. Stuttering down to milk him like you wanted to draw out something delicious. Like you couldn’t stand being even a hair’s breadth away. 

“Haaa…” he lets out a broken shudder, two hands wrapping underneath your inner thighs to just drag your sloppy further down, settling deep - so impossibly deep - into your gut. Distantly, some part of him hoped that you left marks - a cute lil’ ass print against his abs for him to admire later. “Fuck- fine. Fine-” 

You whirl your teary eyes over your shoulder - and it was so difficult to look behind you. Because Geto was so unfairly pretty - long, inky hair curtaining his pussydrunk eyes, twirling all the way down to where his delicate blush dusted all over his cheeks, his chest, his rock-hard abs. Involuntarily, you find your sloppy cunt clenching again, rubbing up so deliciously against that prominent vein down the middle of Geto’s length. 

That coaxes out another drawn-out groan from your boyfriend, and a traitorous buck of his hips - his fat head hitting right on your g-spot. “I said fine.” he barks out, teeth bared. “Y-you win. Ngh- you win the bet. Fuuuck you win, just let me- ngh just let me fuck this pretty cunt. Now.”

Ah, right. The bet - that single, mindless little comment earlier today about who’d break first if you two went in raw. 

And, clearly, there was an obvious winner. 

Because Geto isn’t waiting around for your kiss-bitten lips to drop into some taunting remark, hell, he can’t even wait for you to register his words before letting his hips lose control. Ramming into you in quick, jagged thrusts that abuse your hidden sweet spots. 

Over and over and-

“Y’feel so soft, gorgeous.” he purrs into your ear, pushing all his all his body weight in an attempt to hold your slutty cunt still. Setting up such a mean pace, “So warm- ngh n’ m’tired of pretending it isn’t driving me crazy.”

You keen when Geto cranes his fingers to deftly roll over your clit, “S-so much for not breaking first.”

“Awww c’mon now.” Geto’s balls smacking against your ass get louder - harsher. “I already s-said you win. Hah-” God, he’s barely in control of himself with the way he catches your lips in a messy clash of a kiss. Hot tongue nudging apart your plump lips to spit a steady stream of saliva. Once. Twice. Some of it missing and splattering against the corner of your mouth, “N’ you know what m- ngh- buying you as a p-prize?”

Your knees are weakening pathetically now, sliding further and further apart on the silky sheets with each harsh slam of his cock - only to be pulled back up by an impatient Geto. 

“Do you?” he hisses, pistoning his hips so hard now that your knees were hovering midair - held up by a frenzied Geto. Who plows on deliriously, “Gonna buy ya- nghh fuck- the pill. So many- cuz you’re gonna fuckin’ need it-”

And need it you did. 

Because it only takes a few more seconds of this maddening song and dance before Geto’s cumming and cumming so hard it was like he couldn’t - wouldn’t want to - stop.

Pumping thick, hot rope after rope of his seed until your high was crashing into his. Until his cock was so raw and twitching sensitively. Until his balls were squeezing so painfully, tears stinging behind his eyelids with each ram into your fluttering pussy. 

“Best out of three?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Overheat

Oh this was a dream - or heaven. Maybe both. Because here was Choso sprawled out so prettily on his damp navy sheets, dark hair untied, half-lidded eyes gazing up at a sly angel - you - straddling his toned hips.  

Pussy lips swollen and drooling down where you were positioning his fat, leaky head right at where just a simple nudge of Choso’s squirming hips would have you split apart on his swollen cock - raw. 

“Cho~” your heady voice breaks through his stunned reverie, “You alright, baby?”

“Y-yes.” his words catch in his heaving chest. And Choso’s so embarrassed - still so stuck on the heavenly view below - that he’s barely even registering the hand of his that makes its way down to rest on your steady waist. “Just that-”

And then Choso’s giving an impatient tug on the fat of your hips, inching you so agonizingly close to his needy, red tip. So close he could practically feel you already - he could imagine how soft and warm you were bound to be.

You huff out a low chuckle, “Awww poor baby.” Grinning at the way your boyfriend takes one of tits into his mouth to muffle his embarrassed whine. He alternates between sucking and rolling his tongue over your sensitive nipples, “Is this what you- hah- want?”

And the way you sandwich his thick cock between your slit has Choso’s ministrations on your nipple stuttering. Whispering out a muffled little, “Y-yeah…”

“Louder.”

“...”

Tutting, “Or, I could just get a condom since you’re so shy-”

“No!” Choso rasps out wetly, and the sudden outburst seems to startle you both. But especially Choso who only blabbers, pussydrunk and slurring already, “No no no no no- need this-” He claws at your hips, edging you closer and closer to sit on his soaked, twitching cock. Bucking his hips up wildly, the slick coating your dripping cunt making him slide messily across your folds once. Twice. “Need you so bad- wan’ feel you wanna feel this pretty pussy- ngh- please. Fuck!”

Both of you let out a synchronous moan when he finally manages to sink his fat head inside your sloppy entrance. So thick, stretching you open so well despite not even being halfway in.

“F-fuck.” Choso’s hazy eyes widen, and he immediately flattens his feet on the bed before pulling back. Only for his poor, oversensitive balls to squeeze so painfully- before covering your dripping cunt in rope after rope of his seed. Your pussy too heavenly, his sanity too gone. “Sh-shit m’sorry m’sorry- ngh.”

Your eyes widen, “Ch-Cho did you-” 

But he doesn’t let you finish - was probably too embarrassed to before stuffing your gaping, needy hole with his thick cock again. And again. And again and again trying to relieve that first time. “Oh, is this okay? Is this r-really okay?”

You don’t even know what he’s asking about - not when Choso’s sliding you deeper and deeper down his cock. Sculpted body bowing into yours when he starts bouncing you up and down like his favorite sextoy - reveling in the lewd squelches below and those pretty moans leaving your lips. 

“S’your fault, y’know?” he pants, ragged. Hips fucking up uncontrollably, drunk off the feeling. “Y-your ohhh fuck- your pussy feels too good, baby. N’ she’s s-so soft. So warm with my cum.”

And it was so sloppy, your boyfriend was never one to shy away from making a mess out of you both but this. Oh, you were losing your fucking mind with his harsh pace, letting that lewd combination of his cum and your slick glisten all over his abs, your thighs, your filthy cunt. All the way down to where his heavy balls were sure to leave marks for tomorrow - right alongside his pelvis against your thighs, fingers on your hips. 

“Y-you’re so-” you lean over to dig your nails into Choso’s pecs, and he takes the opportunity to bite and tease your poor nipples once more. “-filthy, Cho.”

He swallows, and fuck you don’t think he’s ever looked prettier. Adam’s apple bobbing, cheeks flushed, eyes narrowed and miles away. “It’s this hah- p-pretty pussy, baby. R-raw? Seriously? She’s driving me insane.”

At that last, broken word of his sentence, Choso throws his head back as if merely remembering that there was no little plastic separating his throbbing cock from your gummy cunt was enough to make him go crazy. 

Hips pistoning up faster, molding your cunt to his shape. Bruising your g-spot with each thrust - and your cervix, too, just as a little stray reminder that you’re his from the inside out. Gasping out, “Just look at her.”

When you snap your head down, he’s already spreading apart your puffy folds with two fingers, giving you the perfect view of that creamy sheen, Choso’s reckless, maddening hips, the way your cunt was bulging and soaking his painfully hard cock. 

Only getting sloppier. Harder. Drunk with each thrust. 

“She’s so pretty.” he grits out, “So heavenly. Might just b-be my new hah- obsession.” Just babbling nonsense in strained, jagged words that come out after each brush of his fat tip against your g-spot. So hard that you were stumbling precariously on top of his wild hips. “Yeah- new obsession. My heavenly obsession” he eyes down your quivering thighs, those breathy moans that told him you were close.“N’ I wonder how much more heavenly you’d be if I cum inside?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Take both, dammit.

“B-both?”

The only response you get are Sukuna’s fingers tightening around your throat, sharp nails dragging dangerously over your racing pulse. Pulling your dazed face closed to gift you with a low, cocky hum, “Both.”

And then you can’t breathe - not because of the large hand taking its place around your neck, no, but because Sukuna was suddenly nudging his weeping, fat tips against your sloppy entrance. Lips curling up into a devilish grin at how you were quivering in- fear? Anticipation? 

Either way it had you keening tearily, “Kuna it won’t- fit!”

“Hmm,” Sukuna purses his lips in mock-thought, free hand dipping down to roll his index against your clit. “Let’s ask her why don’t we?” Any and every noise of surprise you manage to yelp out are overshadowed by the most obscene squelches you’ve ever heard in your life. Like Sukuna was well and fully intent on proving his point by circling his thumb around your sloppy hole until you gave up. And he was. “She says she’s just dying to take it. What’s your excuse, brat?”

Truly, it was the first time you’ve tried taking both your boyfriend’s massive cocks - and just one of them required specially made condoms and such extensive teasing and toying to stretch you out enough. 

So one thing was sure - you weren’t making it out alive. 

You’re startled out of your reverie by a dark chuckle from above - shit, did you say that out loud? “Well, only one way to find out.”

It’s all that’s said before he’s pushing in - both at once. Fat heads bumping into each other as Sukuna grinds against your snug pussy in shallow, short rolls of his hips. 

“Tch.” he clicks his tongue when your feeble ring of resistance struggles to take him. A warm hand of his comes down to soothe over your head slowly, gently - uncharacteristically so. Whispering, “Shhhh, shhh breathe. You got this. You can take it- hah- you always do, right?” Hips getting just a bit more forceful. A bit more calculated. “You can-” Before that sweet hand on your hair tightens to push you down, hard. “-take it.”

Oh, you should’ve known - should’ve gotten an inkling that the king of curses always gets what he wants. Always. 

“Oh my god- oh my god, Kuna! S’so deep-”

A startled smile spreads over Sukuna’s face, eyes widening in surprise. “Ohh, shit. Shit, brat.” He angles his head just right to spy down - just to make sure. “If I knew you felt ngh- th-this good, I’d have done it sooner Much, much sooner.”

But fuck for how cocky he was acting right now, Sukuna was in fucking heaven. 

Dipping his head down to hide the blush dusting his cheeks, and that euphoric glint in his eyes, Sukuna starts moving in hurried, methodical little thrusts to squeeze even deeper inside. 

“Hngh- it’s- ah- can feel you rubbing up inside me, Kuna.” you whine into his ears, hips bucking up wildly. 

“Yeah?” he breathes, but it comes out more wobbly than he intended. Biting his lower lip to keep those loud fucking moans slipping out from the feeling of rubbing against himself and your raw gummy walls and himself. “Y-ya like this? What happened to ‘o-oh s’too big, Kuna’?”

You manage to get out a weak, “F-fuck you.” 

“No, brat. I’m fucking you.” Sukuna growls, ramming into you faster. Sloppier. Heavy sets of tight balls stinging your skin, “Both of me.”

God, the stretch was so much, like he was pushing into your lungs. And that thundering thump! thump! thump! of matching sets of veins against your dripping cunt was so sinful that you let his little comment slide. Driving you to insanity. 

Instead, your teeth grazes Sukuna’s earlobe to give a soft tug, making him turn his head and look right at your fucked-out face.

His hot breath fans your face, “What, brat? Can’t talk? Or is it that you want-” He catches your ravaged clit between two fingers again, rolling languidly. “-her to talk?”

And God, if it was double the stretch on your too-tight cunt, then Sukuna was determined to make sure it was double the pleasure for you.��

His fingers just so frenzied on your clit, rubbing tight, messy patterns - not even circles anymore because fuck Sukuna was too impatient, too depraved for that right now. Swollen cocks sliding in and out with reckless abandon, getting easier and easier with each glossy sheen of your sweet sweet juices all over them. Massaging all those sensitive spots he’s mapped out so well to hit his end goal - your poor, ravaged g-spot. Hitting it over and over and over and-

“Kuna!” you scramble for the sheets, the headrest, his shoulders - just anything to keep whatever’s left of your sanity. Sobbing out, “I-I’m close- ngh ah! I’m so close.”

“Close, hah?” you hear from above you, the last thing before the smacking of skin-on-skin becomes almost deafening. Coupled with Sukuna’s strained groans, now unable to hold them back with each time he’s kissing your cervix - your g-spot. “Then cum. Cum all over my cocks, brat.”

Hips stuttering as they get harsher with purpose. Violent, even - having to rest a hand on top of your head to keep your body from being jolted too far up the bed.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. You’re screaming out Sukuna’s name, body bowing into his vice-like grip. Dripping cunt trying desperately to milk him so tight.

It was too much. 

Your poor pussy was overfilled to the brim with each and every spurt of Sukuna’s hot cum, thick, white globs that dribble down your thighs. Filling you up so much you think you could explode and- “Aww look at you.” Sukuna coos, thumbing apart your pussy lips to watch her soak in his never ending cum. “Wonder if she can take another load?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Experiment…

The great Gojo Satoru is many things - powerful, complex, a pain-in-the-ass to most - but being hesitant to experiment is decidedly not one of these things. 

Which is what found you splayed out underneath him, brows furrowed, legs trembling while he drags his weeping tip up and down your puffy folds. Just dipping between your lips, pooling your sweet sweet juices on his head - up and down up and down up and-

“Toru.” your deadpan voice cuts through his fun, hips arching off the bed impatiently. “S’not gonna work.”

Gojo sticks his tongue out with all the maturity he could muster up, “It will, sweetheart, just watch.”

“Will not.”

“Will too.”

“Will-” you cut yourself off in frustration, “You’re just all talk-”

Whatever insult on the tip of your tongue - along with all the air in your lungs - is knocked out by Gojo finally pushing in. Finally stretching out your sloppy hole on his thick mushroom tip, all stuttering and clenching in an effort to accommodate him.

He groans, cheeks flushing because fuck maybe this’ll be harder than he thought. “S’gonna work- if I can concen- ohh fuck don’t squeeze me that way- if I can get limitless to- no more late-night convenience store runs.” 

But oh right now the only thing on Gojo’s mind was that maybe you two were better off with walking the two blocks down to buy condoms - because he could feel his limitless slowly thinning out with each inch he sinks into your snug cunt. Slowly waning - much like his fucking sanity. 

“Toru!” you squeal when it’s like something snaps. That little glow in your boyfriend’s eyes dims as his entire body stiffens, breath hitching in his throat, and his cock- oh his aching, rock-hard cock - so warm and just throbbing so rapidly against your walls in a beat that matches your own. You could feel him all the way in your stomach. “D-did it work?”

Something is whispered into the crook of your neck - and you’re craning your head closer to understand. “What?”

There it is again.

This time, however, you pull Gojo from his safe haven, tugging admonishingly on those soft, white locks. All the while murmuring, “Use your- oh.”

Oh.

Fuck. 

Gojo’s eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown. So utterly wrecked when his aching cock grows even larger inside you, stretching you to your limits. Such a delicate pink blush decorating his cheeks, dusting over those plump, parted lips, ones which wobble and gape open noiselessly a few times before he manages out, “D-didn’t work.”

And fuck then it was like a dam had broken. 

Because Gojo’s previously stalled hips were moving now - grinding forward slowly, deliciously. Only growing girthier - so unfairly so - with each movement. 

Two large hands coming up to paw and knead your ass to keep you still while he begins fucking you into the mattress. 

Letting out whiny, bewildered moans - as if Gojo himself couldn’t believe what was happening - “Didn’t work.” He repeats, like a mantra. “Didn’t work didn’t work didn’t- didn’t work- hah- n’ I don’t regret it one bit.”

“H-hah?” you whimper, “So you’re-”

“Yes.” Gojo interjects, and if you were in any better state of mind you’d have told him off for interrupting you. But oh how could you when he was reeling his hips back, back, back, just kissing your sloppy entrance with his leaky tip - before splitting you apart all over again. “Yes yes yes- oh yes. M’feeling you- all of you. Why the fuck didn’t you t-tell me you were so ngh-” Long fingers graze over your pulsing clit, making him all but scream in pleasure when you clamp down. Hard. “-heavenly!”

Fuck you weren’t making it out alive - and he wasn’t either.

And he sounded so genuinely upset - how were you this warm? This dripping wet all around him? Hell, Gojo thinks he’s soaked all the way down to his heavy balls already.

“Soaked?” your eyes widen when Gojo gives you a shocked laugh - fuck, has he finally lost whatever sanity he had left?

“Mhm.” he nods, a familiar glint of madness in those summer blue eyes. Breathy, pussydrunk little ministration matching his words, “Soaked. Absolutely fucking hah- soaked. Me. Me me me- s’me-” Gojo spits into his open palm, once. Twice. Before smearing the mess down his length, making it easier for him to slide in and out of your needy cunt,  “-not some stupid little piece of plastic. Oh, m’never buying those again-”

He was fucking you so needy. 

Just ramming his cock into you as he pleased, hitting all your most sensitive spots - your cervix, your g-spot, tugging at your clit. Having the bed frame and you making such loud noises every time his thick tip was gliding across your gummy walls, matching with the tempo of his fingers.

“It feel so- good, Toru.” you whine. Hips stuttering forwards, making the most lewd of squelches as you try to meet Gojo’s fast, utterly wild pace. “Fuck fuck fuck- oh.”

“Yeah? My baby likes ngh- taking me in r-raw.” you smile when you catch the way Gojo’s face flushes as his voice cracks on that last word - like he still couldn’t believe it himself. 

Though, he didn’t like that quite as much as you. 

“Huh? Laughing at me? M’gonna ngh- you lil’ minx. M’gonna give you something to laugh about.” Each word punctuated by a mean thrust, and if you were in any better state of mind, you’d have caught the way Gojo’s eyes glowed ever-so-slightly. Tiny pricks of purple lightning dancing across his bare skin, “Because practice makes perfect, right, sweetheart?”

A/N. I’m ngl Gojo’s one was just me wondering how far limitless really went sooo there ya go.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[quimichi]

˚✦ ˑ 𝐄𝐱𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐫, 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭? ִֶ 𓂃⊹ - MDNI

WARNINGS: NSFW - MDNI, Pet names, sexual behavior, name calling, some a bit rough and mean

SUMMARY: They took your virginity. Case solved.

CHARACTERS: HSR Men X F!Reader (no aged up Charas)

WORD COUNT: 13.150

Argenti

All you can do is whine as his fingers scissor and stretch you, juices dripping down. His tongue softly rubs circles around your clit like he’s painting you, a masterpiece. And you can’t help but moan out at the new pleasure. His fingers hit that spot that sends an electric jolt to your toes and back, you desperately arch with another whine. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the pleasure. It's overwhelming you, he promised to be gentle, and he is. But never once did he tell you how good this will all feel.

“S-Shit Argenti-, I can’t—I’m gonna—” You can’t even finish your sentence, your voice begins to crack, your hips bucking widly as he speeds up. And then you’re coming, babbling nonsense and his name like a prayer as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. You don’t even comprehend that you squirt all over his hand and mouth, or that he’s rutting his hips against the bed and moaning into your cunt as he tastes you. Not only is it a pleasure to please you, beautiful you. It's a pleasure to be your first. It sends a wave of possessiveness through his body.

Slowly, he withdraws his fingers, his glistening fingers running up to your waist.  “Such a dirty little rose,” he murmurs as he leans down, teeth grazing across your neck, hair tickling your skin. “Youre a sight to behold, breathless, dazed...divine.”

Aventurine

“You like that, don’t you?” He asks, grip on your throat. Its not enough to hurt you, but enough for you to know his hand is there. “You like my cock stretchin’ you out, huh?” You're unable answer him, the only thing you manage are whines and moans slipping through his fingers through your throat. He'd be mean to not let you moan out like a bitch in heat after all. Aventurine smirks knowingly, continuing his assault on your insides.

“Can't believe no one ever went inside you, youre far too good. Shit-you love it too, don't you?” You whine out, hiccuping out a moan as his other hand travels down your tummy, the soft touch sending waves to your core. His fingers eventually find your clit, rubbinh the swollen skin over and over again. Your eyes glaze over and roll back, it's too much, too much!

Your vision goes white as your orgasm hits you unexpectedly, stealing the breath from your lungs as your legs shake and back arches. “Mine, ok? Youre mine, my girl. You don't mind do you? Surely you don't...look at you, sweet girl.”

Blade

“feels s’fucking good—“ you mindlessly babbles out. His large palms are stretched out on both sides of you hips, nails digging into your skin. “Such a greedy little pussy,” he groans out with another roll of his hips. “keeps suckin’ me back in…you're a little greedy slut, hm?" he teases.

You can feel his hot breath fanning your ear while his dark hair tickles your neck. The sloppy sounds that fill the room seem to only grow louder with each thrust, as your arousal practically drips down his balls. Headboard constantly hitting the wall. You wouldn't be surprised if something would break this night, and it doesn't need to be the bed.

“if you keep moaning like a bitch in heat, i won't fucking stop,” he hissed out, as he presses down on your stomach which makes you whimper in response. "Naw, look at that," he points at the bulge in your stomach, "that's me all the way inside your greedy cunt."

Boothill

"you still good, darlin?" he asked, amused, his hands moving up to grab one of your tits, giving it a squeeze with his cold hands. He hummed at your subtle nod, his fingers pinching your nipple from below with just the right amount of pressure to bring you to the edge but not send you over. He knows he could do this for hours, his stamina is much longer than yours after all, but he doesn't want to push you just yet.

"shit.." he cursed, though not out of frustration, “your pussy is driving me crazy." he whispered against your folds, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers through your entire body, it almost felt as if you were being electrocuted or something. “its so fucking pretty for no fucking reason...”

Caelus

“shiiit-just like that...” he mumbles out as he lazily guides your movements, helping you bounce yourself up and down on his cock. Hands softly gripping your hips as he guides you. He smirks when he heard your whine as a reaction to his groans, golden halflidded eyes stare up at you. He thinks you’re adorable when you’re like this, so desperate for him yet so adamant on not asking for his help. You had no idea what you were doing, well, neither does he. But you insisted on riding him.

“doing so well,” he says with a slight whine as he thrusts his hips up in time with your movements. It doesn’t take much effort for him to flip you over and have you at his mercy. Your legs are now lifted over his shoulders while his dick is fucking you even deeper, "sorry,-shit-sorry I couldn't-hold myself back much longer-!"

Dan Heng

“just as i expected, it slipped right in...” your arm immediately slung over your face to hide your embarrassment. Something about the way he talks to you has you throbbing.

“fuck, so deep inside you already.” he breathes, as he eases his way into you. He's so painfully splitting you open. You whine and whimper, it feels too good to be true. “that’s it, there’s my girl.” his raspy laugh fills the silence. “youre doing so good for me, just a bit longer, ok?”

He speeds up his thrusts, "eyes on me," he says, "you can do it, eyes on me." And when he hits just the right spot, your eyes roll back and flutter closed.

"Good girl."

Dr. Ratio

“it hurts, doesn't it?” he whispers, no mock, no tease, unusual for him. He knows it hurts, he's just deep enough inside you, balls deep.

“yes, it hurts…” you whine, eyes watering as you adjust. He’s letting you distract yourself a bit, letting you soak up the pain with pleasure. “… so bad.” you keep whining.

"I know, it will get better." he presses his hips flat against you, just to slowly drag his cock out of you again, leaving just his tip inside. “Doing good for a first timer. Don't worry, I'll teach you everything you need to know.”

You nod desperately, biting your lip between your teeth.

“I'll be slow, we got time.” he mumbles, a sick grin painting across his face. He'd be lying if he would say he doesn't enjoy the power play that's going on at the moment. "I'M gonna teach you everything you need to know."

Gallagher

Your mouth falls open when he grinds his hard cock against your ass. Youre breathing hard, chest heaving. But you can't help but lean back against his chest. He slips a hand back into your underwear, rubbing slow circles against your clit. His breath is hot against your ear as he chuckles at your reaction. His middle finger slips between your folds and gathers some of your arousal to use it at your clit again. Once he had your hips jerking and whines leaving your lips, he slips two of his thick fingers inside. He moves slowly, fingers working inside of you like a caress.

“I- ‘m gonna-” you muster, weakly clawing at his arms.

He slips his hand out of your pussy again, letting his tongue run over his fingers, lapping at your juices. He hums, as the taste hits his tounge, “Shit, girl. Got me addicted already.”

Gepard

“That’s it.. Just like that..” He takes hold of the hand, kissing your knuckles, whispering soft praises into your skin to help you work up courage to keep riding him. He knows it's embarrassing for you, he knows you doubt yourself. But he also knows that you can do it.

“Doing so good for me, ok? So good, keep going..”

It takes his everything to hold back his hips and not fuck up into you, it's all too inviting.  He holds you, wrapping both arms around your torso and pull you close to his chest. One hand slips down to your hips, guiding you on his cock. "Like that, yeah."

Hot breaths reach your ear as he hums in approvment. "Good...shit--good."

Jing Yuan

“ass up. There you go, atta girl.” and you almost shiver from his touch on you'd hips as he turns you over. Jing Yuan stares at your ass, bringing a rough palm towards your left cheek. “Mm, nice. You're doing good. Don't worry, I'll go easy on you...for now.”

As he speaks, your cheek presses further against the pillow, hiding in embarrassment. Jing Yuan watches as your ass writhes and he hums, springing out his thick cock. “I'm going in, ok? No need to be scared”

“ok...” you breathe, big talk for someone who probably has way to much experience for his own good.

"I'll go easy on you, I promised you that birdie." He whispers in your ear as he leans over, slowly pushing in.

Jiaoqiu

He dives in, his tongue delving deep into your soaked folds. He laps at you hungrily, savoring your taste as he eats you out with wild abandon. His tongue swirls around your clit before sucking it between his lips, flicking the sensitive bud rapidly. “you're so hot...,” he hums against your core, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. “thank you for the meal...”

Your finger desperately looking for support and found his hair, scratching his scalp with your long nails in the process. You can't help but let one hand wander to one of his ears, tugging on it. Immediately a whine leaves his lips as he laps on you more desperately than before.

He doubles his efforts, lapping at your clit with broad strokes of his tongue before sealing his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves and suckling greedily.

"Do that again and watch me eat you up."

Luka

Luka leans down to capture your lips in a kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure as he pounds into you relentlessly. His hands grip your hips hard you feel like you might see some bruises tomorrow as a souvenir.

"Damn, you take my cock better than expected, baby," he rasps against your mouth, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Way to fucking well, you sure you're a virgin?" he breaks the kiss to gaze down at you. “look at me,” he commands, "that pussy is mine now. Mine."

As you meet his eyes, he reaches between your bodies to rub your clit in time with his thrusts, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Fuck-didnt know you could get any tighter."

Luocha

The next thing you felt was his cock entering you all at once, barely giving you time to get used to his huge size and thickness. Hes not a mean man by any means, but he figured that maybe him going in faster with the ammount of slick you already got, might be less painful. Wronh judgment in a hazy moment. And fuck if he didn't love feeling the way your cunt stretched to accommodate him, how your walls are so tight around his length.

When he did it, it was over for you, and you thanked him with the most beautiful sounds he ever heard. You squeezed him and croed out, making a mess of yourself as you grab onto his shoulders for support. It all was too much for you, too much happening all at once. But you'd be a lair to say you didn't enjoy it.

He would slowly start to run against you, holding your hips in place as he drags his cock in and out of your hole. His slow speed was annoying, painful, but so good.

But the best feeling was yet to come.

“Just you wait once I'm done with you. We'll have plenty of time left to get to know each other much better."

Sampo

Without warning, he pulled out – only halfway – and plunged back inside you with an almighty push. It .ade your eyes roll back into your skull, your mind went blank for a second. His teasing laugh pulling you back into reality, "Oops-went to hard there~" As a apology he went softer on you, slowly dragging his cock in and out of your hole.

“Doing so well for me,” he groaned, as he lightly speed up again, holding your hips in a tight grip.

"Damn-" he groans as you grap onto his shoulders and dig your nails in. "Careful there baby, you don't wanna hurt poor Sampo, hm?" He laughs again as he kisses down your neck and leaves yet another bite behind.

"We could do this more often, I know I wouldn't mind."

Sunday

The all so collected man practically loses it when you wrap your legs around his back. You unknowingly push him against you, silently asking for more. "Needy, needy." he teases as breaths in your ear, giving it a soft kiss afterwards.

“Dont you worry, I'm not done with you yet.”

Although his words came out more scary than they should, his action of hiding into your shoulder makes it all seem more pathetic than dominant. His wings flutter as your parted lips let a whine escape.

He groans, burying his cock deep just as it starts to gush, painting your walls white. Your nails dig hard into his scalp.

“That came...rather unexpected.”

Welt

“it won’t fit!” you sob out loud. No way this all will fit inside you, you never took anything, or anything that size. He's bigger than you, this wont fit without tears. But you're determined today, telling him you wanted to fit everything in you.

He trails his fingers up and down your side before one hand snakes down to thumb at your clit while the other large hand clasps your hip. "i'll make it fit, and I'll be careful." he promises, soft as he pleasures you. You expected nothing less of him, he always treated you with more care than any others. He softly rubs your clit as he enters, a way of distracting you from the pain that you will encounter.

"there you go, told you I'd make it fit."

[luveline]

𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Spencer gets a bad bout of amnesia. Or, your boyfriend forgets he’s your boyfriend, but he still has a crush on you. [3k]

c: fem, bombshell!reader, head injury, hospitals, amnesia, fluff, spencer can’t believe he bagged you, requested here 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

Spencer wakes to an empty room. 

He lays on a pillow too flat, neck twinging, the back of his eyes throbbing when he moves.

He struggles to breathe through his nose and lets his mouth open for a few achy breaths, his mouth dry like he’s been sucking on cotton balls. 

Spencer’s alarmed, without a clue what it is he’s done. He wonders where Gideon is, if the older man has come to see him yet. He hopes somebody told his mom he’s okay. 

Maybe Hotch will come. He and Hotch have grown closer while Gideon was on his mandated recovery time; Gideon spends far less time in the office, sticking to lectures, seminars and consults, while Hotch, Morgan and Spencer handle the away cases. Spencer might go as far as to say Hotch likes him. And Morgan can tolerate him now, less grudging when Spencer offers a random fact or statistic to further the case. 

A stab of pain at the back of his head makes itself known sharply.

Spencer doesn’t want to move, but he needs to assess things. He frowns at his arms, naked as they are. His silver watch is missing. A t-shirt that he doesn’t remember buying stretches over his chest. What state are they in, and who dressed him? 

He’s scowling at the window with it’s wide-open blinds and all the sun when the door opens. 

You’re looking at the bags on your arm as you come in. Spencer startles in his blankets —what are you doing here? Agent L/N, Morgan’s friend and a candidate for the open position on the BAU team. You’re from the Sex Crimes Unit, like Greenaway. 

Spencer flusters every time he sees you, not just because of how kind you’d been the first time you met, or even the easy flirtation you send his way when you cross paths. It’s because you’re the prettiest woman he’s ever seen. He’s not talking about the golden ratio or statistical beauty, you’re just stunning. You stop him in his tracks whenever you steal into the office. It’s better when you notice he’s awake and light up like he’s the winning numbers for tonight’s lottery pull. Everything about you illuminates. 

“Hey, babe!” you say, not not yelling as you drop your bags in the seat by the bed and reach for him.

He doesn’t think to move away as you take his face into your hands.

“I’m so glad you’re finally awake, you almost slept for the full twenty four hours.” Your hands are soft. They smell like neroli. When you stroke his cheek and lean down to give him a chaste peck, he almost passes out there and then. “It's a good thing, obviously,” you say, and then kiss him again distractedly. Spencer squeezes his eyes closed. “You heal more when you’re asleep. Or so I’ve heard.” 

You pull away, Spencer blinking for his life. You have such a nice mouth, but Spencer’s never thought about what it might feel like on his. He doesn’t have the audacity: in what world would you ever kiss him? That’s the joke, right, when you flirt with him in the office?

“How are you feeling?” you ask, losing some of your pep. “How’s your head, handsome? You know, there are easier ways to get a haircut.” 

“They cut my hair?” he croaks. 

“Shaved it at the back to stitch you up. Not much, don’t worry. They were pushing for a buzz cut but I put my foot down on that one,” you joke. You nudge his legs aside without worrying about sitting on him as you get comfortable. “It’s not much. You can’t tell.”

“I…” 

“You feeling okay?” you ask softly. Your nice mouth purses. Your eyebrows pinch. They’re cute eyebrows. 

“You look different than the last time I saw you.” 

He doesn’t mean to say it aloud. He’s noticing things now. You’re wearing less powder under your eyes than you used to. You seem to have gained a little weight, and you look good. You didn’t look bad before, but this is different. Your hair isn’t too different, nor your brows, but you’ve begun lining your lips in a new way. Your blush is a subtler hue. Spencer doesn’t claim to know everything about you, but he can say that you look neatly the same each time you visit. Why the sudden change?

“It’s hard to sleep when your favourite person in the world gets his head cut open,” you say, taking his hand where he’d left it loose in the blankets. 

Your fingers slip into his with ease. 

“Can I tell you something?” he asks, attempting to swallow his nerves. 

“Of course you can.” 

He licks his lips. “Uh, I think I’m confused. I don’t– I don’t remember what happened, and…” 

“Oh, right. They told me this might happen.” You draw yourself up with a breath. He’s fascinated by the movement, an air of heat around him as you begin rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. “You got hit in the back of the head with a cinder block, honey. Went down like a lead balloon.” You turn your face to show your cheek. “We’re even now on good scares, yeah?” 

You have a scar on your face he’d missed, carefully concealed but yet not invisible. Your hand in his feels so alien he holds it wrong, fingers twined but palms apart. 

“What happened to you?” he asks. 

Your brow crinkles. You go very still. “My cheek?” you ask. 

“What��” 

“Spencer, what’s the last thing you can remember, honey?” you ask, all the horror in the world to be found in your eyes. 

“Uh…” He feels sick to his stomach.

“Spencer?” 

Without having to be told, you slip off of the bed with two taps of your shoes and reach for the bedpan, thrusting it into his lap. 

His mouth fills with spit. “I’m fine,” he says. 

“No, I don’t think so. Let me get a doctor.” 

“Wait,” he says, clutching the bedpan and pushing his wave of nausea as far down as he can. “Please don’t go.” 

“My face was months ago, honey. I got hit in the face with a hammer by a UnSub, you don’t remember?” you ask incredulously. 

“Why do you keep calling me honey?” he asks. He knows the answer, but it’s not computing. 

Your face drains of any happiness. “I’m going to get a doctor,” you say, shoulders rigidly tight as you exit the room, leaving Spencer in your wake wishing he’d just pretended he knew who you were, just until you kissed him again. 

—

“And he really can’t remember you at all?” Morgan asks. 

You’re a little less startled than you had been, and you’re trying not to punish poor Spencer, but realising your boyfriend forgot years of flirting, and yearning, and friendship —years of kissing in secret and otherwise, years of holding hands, and staying at each other’s places to get that extra time together, even if it was just getting to sleep in the same bed between cases— was a slap. 

“He remembers me,” you say, leg crossed over the other, arm over the railing of Spencer’s bed to hold his hand. “He just doesn’t remember a thing after Gideon came back, after Boston.” 

“I remember when you had hair,” Spencer says to Derek. 

Derek glares at him, “This Spencer doesn’t get to sass me.” 

“But I do eventually?” 

“How come you’re holding hands if he doesn’t know who you are?” Derek asks pointedly. 

You shrug. “We talked about it, didn’t we?” you ask Spencer, who perks up every time you talk, which isn’t unlike your usual Spencer. Whenever he catches himself doing it he flusters. Every time you call him baby he loses his mind. “He doesn’t remember me, but he wants to. And I remember him.” 

“This must be pretty weird for you, kid,” Derek says. 

“Sort of,” Spencer says. 

It’s funny. Now you know Spencer thinks he’s twenty three again, you can’t not notice his shyness and his awkward tries at casualness. You’d forgotten what he was like back then. 

“Wait, does that mean you don’t remember Emily?” Derek asks. 

Spencer frowns. “Uh, no?” 

You sit up in your chair. “Emily’s one of your best friends, honey. She joined the BAU when Greenaway left.”

“Not you?” he asks. 

You dramatise your pain as Derek laughs. “Not me. I didn’t transfer for a long time, unfairly. It’s okay, though, you’ll remember Emily eventually.” 

When you realised Spencer wasn’t as okay as you’d thought, you gathered a gaggle of agitated doctors to assess him. He knew his name and birthday. He was wrong about the date, the president, and the state. You’re in Arizona where he’d thought Indiana. Your bag talks to the heat: Spencer’s fan, his sunblock, his antihistamines. He couldn’t believe it when he asked where his stuff was and you passed him your handbag. 

You’re trying to drive home to him that you’re not just dating, you're common-law partners, Spence. He adores you. You’d spend life in his lap if you could afford it. 

“How’d she get you to believe her?” Derek asks Spencer. 

“Uh.” 

“I kissed him a couple of times before he came clean about the amnesia,” you say. “So I didn’t have to explain.” 

“I didn’t mean to lie,” Spencer says. 

He’s looking less haggard now you’ve brushed his hair. It was sweet to watch his shoulders relax. He shuddered when you tucked a strand behind his ears, and didn’t flinch when you asked if you could kiss his cheek. It’s hard to have him vulnerable here and not be allowed to lick his wounds for him. You feel better the better he feels. You’ve fluffed his pillow, wrapped him tighter in blankets. When he got up to pee and you offered to help, he gave a resolute No Thank You, which in hindsight is hilarious but at the time made you wanna squeeze your eyes out. 

“It’s okay,” you say softly, “I don’t mind kissing him, even if he doesn’t remember me. Just so long as he doesn’t mind it back.”

Spencer manages to squeeze your hand. It’s a soft one, but it’s real. “I don’t mind.” 

“You dog,” Derek says. 

“Stop, stop. He’s not doing anything wrong, is he?” you ask. “I’m the evil one, forcing kisses on him when he doesn’t know me.” 

“I do know you,” Spencer says. 

“What’s it like to have a crush on your own girlfriend?” Derek asks, unwilling to quit his teasing where he’s crossing his arms in the chair opposite, his cup of coffee drained on the side table. 

Spencer swallows. “Uh, nerve-wracking.” 

“Believe it or not, that’s not so different to now,” Derek says. 

Spencer looks to you for confirmation, which you love. You slide your chair closer to him and clasp his wrist with your free hand. “Sometimes you're still a little shy, but it’s not so bad. Full of myself I may be, Spencer Reid, but you do love me. It’s easy with us.” 

“Do we really live together?” he asks. “You said common-law.” 

“Not technically. I stay at your place four nights a week. You stay with me for the weekends.” 

“Every week?” he asks.

“Yeah.” 

“We’re never apart?” he asks. 

His face is turning pink. You could kiss every bit of colour on his cheeks. 

“Derek, would you get Spencer something to eat from the cafeteria? Please?” you ask, levelling your friend with a pleading gaze. 

Derek gathers himself up. “Sure. We gotta feed the string bean something, don’t we?” he asks. 

Alone again, you draw lines up and down Spencer’s arm with your nails. You’re going to be indulgent in yourself, and ask him everything you’d ever wanted to know. And then a little extra, too. 

“You’re not as skinny anymore, have you noticed? You’re quite lean.” You stand to sit where you’d put yourself before he confessed. Your hand falls to his knee. “Solid, sometimes. You and Derek go for walks occasionally.” 

“We do?” 

“Mm-hm. And me and you do yoga in the living room when we can summon the energy. We tried couples Pilates, but Pilates is hard.” 

“We did?”

You smile warmly. “It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves in the same way.” 

“How do you love?” 

His ears are bitten-red. “Oh, you know. I’m too affectionate. It’s hard not to be with you. Everyone used to think we were… I don’t know, playing a game.” You slide your hand up his thigh, leaning on him to watch his pupils blow. “But I love you for far more than your constant propensity to blush. You get me flowers every time you see my favourites, and you never let me go to sleep without a kiss. Usually here.” You poke the skin beside your eye. “But sometimes you’ll surprise me and kiss my nose.” You're going lax with love, remembering things he’s done, and does every day.  “On a Saturday morning we make tea and I put my hands in your t-shirt. You do the crosswords for fun. Sometimes we time them.” 

“That’s not how you love, that’s what you love,” Spencer says. 

“Oh, you want a play by play of things?” He ducks his chin, but he smiles when you laugh. 

“I just can’t believe this is happening.”

You try to think of things you don’t think about anymore. “You love my sugar lip gloss, so I always wear it.” 

He reaches out tentatively. Shy as a wren in a hedgerow. You let him curl a hand over your elbow, feel the crook of it with his index finger. 

“I buy you stamps, and t-shirts for bed, and stupid stuff you wouldn’t get yourself. We’re… it’s like, it doesn’t feel like gift giving anymore because we’re always getting stuff for each other. You’re just as sweet, you know? When I first started sleeping over you bought me this huge pack of socks ‘cos yours are all odd,” you laugh. “I knew I loved you already, but…”

It’s a little sad, actually. He can’t remember all the stuff that makes you the couple you are. It’s not what you’d meant to get into. 

“Can I ask you something?” you ask. 

“Anything.” 

He’s slept-in and breathless, like he ran laps in his dreams. 

“What do you think of me now? I always wondered if you liked me back then, or if I just caught you off guard.” 

“Who wouldn’t like you?” 

“But did you?” 

He looks away hurriedly, his hand dropping from your elbow. “I guess so. But it’s not– not real. I have a crush on you.” His mumbling is sweet. “I have no idea why I’m telling you that.” 

“I had a crush on you, too, back then. It wasn’t anything serious, but it wasn’t a joke. And the more time we spent together, the more I thought we could fall in love,” —you take his hand and put it back on your arm— “and we did.” 

You toy with his fingers. Without looking, ashamed of your own self-indulgence, you ask another question. “What do you think of me now?” 

“I can’t remember,” he says sorrily. 

“What do you think?” 

“You feel like a dream.” He shakes his head. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. I don’t really get how this is real.” 

You shouldn’t be surprised that he’d say it, you practically begged for it, but you can’t stop yourself from sitting up to kiss his forehead gently. “It’s real. Promise. And for the record, you’re handsome. They stopped saying ‘aged like fine wine’ a while ago. Now they just say ‘aged like Spencer Reid’.”

He gives a choky laugh. 

The door opens again. You lift your head expecting Derek and find a weather worm Hotch in the doorway. “Reid, you’re awake,” he says, not bothering with a smile. “Morgan said you have amnesia?” He directs it at both of you. 

Spencer’s looking at Hotch in clear shock. 

“He hasn’t aged that badly,” you chastise teasingly. 

“Hotch, you’re– I thought you would’ve– You’re still–?”

Hotch squints. “You didn’t think I had the stamina for it?” 

Spencer squirms under his gaze. “No, sir, it’s not that–”

“Sir,” Hotch says, and then he smiles. “I forgot when you both used to respect me.” 

“I have the utmost respect for you, sir,” you say through your own smile. 

“Has she been kind to you, Reid?” 

“Uh, yes? Is she not usually?” 

Hotch presses his lips together rather than answer. There’s a sympathy in his expression you resent.

—

It’s a thankfully quick bout of amnesia. The memories start to draw in like a dusting of powdered sugar, his head finely silted, one particle at a time. He finds that the more you talk, the quicker his memory is jogged. You tell him about your first kiss —I tried to kiss your cheek but you moved, it was the funniest thing— and your second. You spin stories of cases, the worst ones and the best, all the times you held hands without people knowing, the times you’d been caught. He can’t imagine it, goes hot with the memory, picturing kissing you as you’d described and the mortification of being walked in on. 

You tell him about your vacation to Nevada a few months ago and he thinks about how you’d fallen asleep on the plane. Your nose in his arm, your unhappy sigh at the tight leg space. 

Remembering you is more than half of remembering himself.

Your hands —his hands. Your smile —his laugh. The way you fold his hands in your lap —the urge to catch your chin for a kiss. 

He doesn’t know how to deal with it, and then suddenly he feels like Spencer. Your partner, your love, his proudest title for years. You’re standing at the end of the hospital bed in pajamas folding your clothes, allowed to stay the night while he’s so urgently confused and upset, you can’t make him stay here alone, please, I know you guys have those little cots for the kids ward, and he just knows you completely. 

Hours of diligent if embezzled storytelling gives it all back to him. 

“I like the lipgloss because you used to wear that perfume that smelled like sugar donuts,” he says, scratching a hand through limp hair. “And every time I crossed the square by the station–”

You let out a surprising squeal of joy. “Spencer!” you say, racing to take his hands, “Yes! The donut truck!” 

You go in for a kiss he gladly returns. “Oh, you remember,” you say, softening as he takes your neck into his hand. “I was getting worried.” 

“Some of it’s still hazy, but not so much you.” 

You wrap your arms around him for a hug, careful of his sore head. “I missed you, Spencer. I still loved you when you couldn’t remember me, but I missed you. Do you remember you?” 

He traces the scar on your lower cheek with his thumb. He’s genuinely relieved to be able to say he does. He’s not scared of what you think of him anymore, ‘cos he knows that everything he feels for you is mutual. “I remember you telling me my bad feeling was just a case of the heebies.” 

You bend into his touch. “Honey, I’m sorry. How was I supposed to know you’d get your skull whacked with a cinder block? It was a bakery. I thought the worst that could happen was getting a face full of red velvet or something.” You kiss his nose quickly. “I’m so glad you’re you. Now I can sleep in the bed with you, and not that collapsible camping cot.” 

He shushes you. “Don’t give us away. They’re not gonna let you stay if they think I’m fine.” 

You giggle excitedly, arms around him again for another squeeze. “I missed you so much. You’re so devious now.” 

He rubs your back. “I missed you too. And I still have a crush on you, I swear.”

“Thank you, honey, that means a lot to me.” 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

thanks for reading!

[missdynamighttt]

acidentally snooping on bf! katsuki's phone and seeing something... kinky.

you were just on katsuki’s phone, playing subway surfers. you honestly didn’t even remember because the moment you accidentally swiped to his notes app, your eyes landed on a particular note titled “shit to try w/ her” and curiosity got the best of you.

at first, you thought it was something mundane—maybe new date ideas, training routines, or even a new recipes. but as soon as you opened it, your face went hot.

because it was a list. a very detailed list of all the filthy things katsuki wanted to do to you. some of it was stuff you’d already done—rougher, filthier things that had you squeezing your thighs together just remembering them. but then there were the others. the things he clearly hadn’t brought up yet.

shit to try w/ her

- overstimulating her (worse than usual. she looks so pretty when she cries on my dick)

- mirror sex while making her watch (want her to see how fuckin’ pretty she looks fallin’ apart.)

- recording it (for us only).

- thigh riding while i just sit back and watch (bet she'd whine so fuckin pretty too)

- more praise. (she likes that. she gets all shy. cute as fuck.)

- see how many times i can make her come in a single night.

your eyes widened at that last one. oh.

you kept scrolling, your thighs pressing together involuntarily. you knew katsuki was a freak, but seeing it written out like this, with all the little notes and thoughts he’d clearly been holding onto—made your breath hitch.

this was… a lot. not that you were opposed to most of it, but the fact that katsuki was sitting on this list, keeping it to himself, planning? that was almost hotter than the list itself.

you were still staring at the screen when you heard the bathroom door open. before you could react, a shadow loomed over you.

“the fuck you doin’?” katsuki’s voice was gruff, but he sounded relaxed—like he was toweling off his hair as he walked into the room.

you scrambled to lock his phone, but it was too late. the second he saw the look on your face, the way you were gripping his phone like you’d just uncovered a government secret, his eyes narrowed.

“…what did you see?” his voice was cautious now, tinged with suspicion.

you slowly turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “me? what are you doing making a list of all the filthy things you wanna do to me?”

katsuki froze .a slow, deep flush crept up his neck, spreading to his ears. his jaw clenched, his hands twitching at his sides like he wasn’t sure if he should snatch his phone away or act like nothing happened.

“…you weren’t supposed to see that.”

your smirk widened. “oh? and when was i supposed to?”

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “dunno. when i fuckin’ brought it up.”

you leaned in, voice teasing. “well, damn. didn’t know you had all these filthy little fantasies about me.”

“shut up,” katsuki sputtered, face burning, his hand swiping for the phone. he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “fuckin’ kill me.”

you laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “y’know, all you had to do was ask, baby.”

his fingers dug into your waist, his jaw clenching. “don’t—”

“i can’t believe you wrote it all down,” you teased breathlessly. “you’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.”

katsuki groaned, muffled against your neck. “i’m gonna kill you. you keep runnin’ that mouth, and i’ll start checkin’ shit off that list right now."

you bit your lip, feeling bolder. “you know… we could. cross something off the list.”

his eyes snapped to yours, darkening in an instant.

“…get on the bed.”

and then, without another word, he crushed his lips against yours and, well—you did end up checking something off that list that night. particularly, the last one.

you lost count somewhere after the third orgasm, but katsuki didn’t. oh no, he kept track. every time your body seized up, every time you sobbed his name, every time you gasped that you couldn’t take anymore—he whispered the number into your ear like a reminder.

“four,” he’d growled, dragging his thumb over your swollen clit. “look at you, fuckin’ cryin’ for me.”

“five,” he rasped later, his grip on your thighs tightening when you tried to squirm away. “told ya you could give me more.”

by the last one, your body was boneless, your voice gone, and your mind a hazy blur of pleasure. katsuki finally relented, collapsing beside you and pulling you into his chest.

you felt his lips press against your temple, his breathing uneven as he whispered, “fuckin’ champ.”

the morning after, you were sprawled across katsuki’s chest, his arm draped lazily around your waist as the sun peeked through the curtains. your entire body ached in the best way possible.

you groaned softly, shifting to get more comfortable, and his chest rumbled with a low chuckle, his fingers traced lazy patterns on your bare back. "you alive?"

"barely," you mumbled into his chest. "my legs hate you."

he chuckled, the sound vibrating beneath your cheek. "told ya you could take it."

you huffed a laugh, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. his crimson eyes were soft in the morning light, the usual sharpness replaced with warmth—and just a hint of smug pride.

“well, i didn’t know you were gonna go for the damn world record,” you teased. “how many times was it?”

his smirk deepened. “seven.”

your jaw dropped. “seven?”

“mhm,” he squeezed your waist. “you were real fuckin’ cute, too. cryin’, beggin’, squeezin’ me like that. thought you were gonna pass out on number six.”

your cheeks burned. “oh my god, stop.”

“why? can’t handle hearin’ how fuckin’ pretty you were last night?”

you covered your face with your hands, groaning. but katsuki was having none of it—he pried your hands away and pinned them to the mattress, leaning down until his lips brushed yours.

“seven,” he repeated against your mouth, grinning when you squirmed beneath him. “and next time? we’re goin’ for eight.”

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ YES, I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND, AND YES, SHE'S REAL! ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ streamer!au: what happens when your gamer boyfriend brings you on-screen for the first time?

contents: fem!reader. use of she/her pronouns + reader is referred to as gojo's girlfriend. toji slander bcs he deserves it.

author's note: everyone welcome streamer!gojo to the world! he'll be here for a while...

"oh, please," satoru laughs, leaning back and grinning at the screen in front of him. he tosses his hair, but it falls back into his eyes just seconds later. "no way you guys all thought i would lose that one. c'mon, have some faith in me!"

you watch satoru reply to the hundreds of comments lighting up the side of his monitor, smiling endearingly at the way he laughs at some and practically chortles at others.

it was only after the two of you started dating that satoru disclosed his streaming hobby, and to your surprise, he was pretty popular. thousands of people tuned in to watch him play some game or another every night, and well, it paid better than you'd expect.

satoru whistles, hands resting comfortably behind his head as a particular question catches his attention. "ah, do i have a girlfriend?" he muses, grinning as he shoots a quick side-glance at you. "yeah," he continues, snorting when what looks like a flurry of no fucking way's flood the chat.

he clicks his tongue disappointedly, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "what, did all eight thousand of you think i couldn't pull? thanks a lot," satoru deadpans, waving his hand and sighing dramatically. "i don't know what any of you mean. i'm a catch!"

you snicker at that, and your laughter only increases when satoru turns and gapes at you. he juts his bottom lip out, face sinking into an adorable pout at he crosses his arms. "even my own girlfriend's laughing at me," he mumbles petulantly. "hmph!"

satoru sticks his tongue out at you childishly, and you blow a kiss back. he pretends to faint before turning back to his monitor, quickly skimming the comments before he gasps. "what do you mean, she probably doesn't exist?!" he sputters, clutching his heart exaggeratedly.

the look on his face is priceless — imagine getting told by thousands of people that one, they think you can't pull, and two, that they don't even believe your significant other exists. naturally, satoru reacts as dramatically as ever. he pretends to ignore everyone in the comments before calling them out individually.

"oh, i see you, toji... fishy-guru," satoru gripes, wagging his finger at his screen. "my girlfriend exists and she's mine! don't even think about it." he pauses, squinting at the chat before correcting himself with an eyeroll. "fushiguro. whatever. either way, she's real and she's all mine."

satoru swivels his chair to face you, making an incredulous face as he gestures to the screen. "can you believe this?" he grumbles, ocean-blue eyes focused on you. "these guys don't think you're real."

you shrug, toying with the corner of his sheets as you smile back at satoru. he's so childish, but that's just one of the many things you adore about him. sure, he's an annoying brat, but at least he's a total sweetheart too.

your boyfriend extends his hand, beckoning you to come over to him. "c'mon, darling," he cooes, scrunching up his nose at you. "wanna help me prove these losers wrong?" satoru mouths please, and the puppy eyes he gives you are cute enough to convince you.

so you hop off his bed, running a hand through your hair as you stroll over to where he sits in front of his monitor. beaming like a kid on his birthday, satoru takes your hand and twines his fingers with yours.

smiling smugly, satoru pulls you on screen and into his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. you watch the chat erupt with she's real's and how did he pull a girl like her's and smile, flicking satoru's forehead affectionately.

he ignores the thousands of dumbstruck users in his comments and holds you close to his chest, adjusting his grip on your waist to make his lap as comfortable as possible for you. satoru's adoring eyes are fixed on you, only you, even as his chat explodes.

suguru-geto: haha i already knew

toji-fushiguro: how the fuck did a loser like him pull her?

yuuji-itadori: gojo has a girlfriend??? what did i miss??

[satrs]

Hands Off! Or Not?

SYNOPSIS. The forbiddenness of it all so tempting, and restraint a thing of the past. To which depraved and perverse lengths are they going for you truly?

FEAT. XAVIER. ZAYNE. RAFAYEL. SYLUS. CALEB. xfem!reader

TAGS. MDNI! NSFW/DARK CONTENT! DUB-CON! sexual intercourse. unprotected intercourse. extremely pervy guys/acts. perverse actions. making out. jacking off to you without ur knowledge. blowjob and slight roleplay in zayne's. throatfuckin. SOMNOPHILIA in Sylus. watching u shower in rafayel's. shower sex. rafayel and caleb are kinda manipulative. dIrty talk. praise. size kink. oral, panty stealing and cunn!lingus(?)in calebs. Caleb cumin on ya panties lol(nasty ho). They r js nasty and pathetic, man. PANTY SNATCHER CALEB!!!

✎ A/N; Felt cute might delete later Hihi^^ Idk what's gotten into me but M' LOVIN' IT WUHUUU! Hope y'all are doin well and enjoy! xoxo

XAVIER ♡ Snatched!

Xavier, your reliable, caring neighbor.

You just entrusted him with your keys, begging him to tend to your plants while you're out for work since he's off for the week. And he gladly agrees.

But strangely, every time you come home, your plants look more withered than the day before. When you check on them, they're not even watered.

When you confront him about it, he just mentions how he waters them early in the morning so they dry by the evening. And with his slick words, you believe him.

Then, some of your things start appearing in the strangest places. Your lip gloss on the kitchen counter, a scarf on your bed, even panties you don’t remember wearing showing up in your dirty laundry. Weird.

You brush it off, blaming yourself for your forgetful nature, going about your morning routine before heading into another exhausting day of work. Just one more day, and then you won’t have to bother poor, busy Xavier with these tasks anymore.

Xavier, your reliable, sweet, and caring neighbor, moves on instinct as he checks the time, quick to hurry to your apartment door, unlocking it with ease.

Since the day you gave him your keys, it’s been the same routine.

He slips into your apartment after you leave, scanning over your belongings—your scarf, your lip gloss, even the forbidden rose toy you think is hidden in your drawer next to the bed. Anything that carries your essence is an item he’ll examine.

His first mistake.

And once he musters the courage to go into your panty drawer, he’s doomed before he even realizes it. Snatching a pristine pair of white lace panties, he lays back on your bed, taking a deep inhale of the sheets still coated in your scent before his hand travels down to free his aching cock.

His second mistake.

Lustful eyes scan the lace in his other hand as he wraps the flimsy material around his girthy length, his grip tightening as he strokes himself, imagining it to be your tight pussy instead, his head falling back against your headboard.

If this is wrong, dirty, even perverse—then why does it feel so damn good?

He could drown in your scent, stay in your bed like this forever, take panty after panty, repeating the same process over and over again.

He continues, lost in his pleasure, not even noticing the front door opening, the approaching footsteps, or the door creaking until—

"Xavier?"

His eyes snap open, panic surging through him. Before he can explain himself, his mouth falls shut, embarrassment creeping up his face.

"M’ just—"

"Just casually jerking off with my panties, right." You stand before him, arms crossed, a raised eyebrow aimed at his vulnerable form. But your gaze drops, lingering on his cock, still hard, still wrapped in your lace. And fuck, does it look good like that.

A slow smirk tugs at your lips. "You know what? You're lucky. I could use a little stress relief."

He watches in utter disbelief as you strip off your top, bright eyes soaking in your bare breasts, your perked nipples. His breath hitches when you step closer, knee dipping onto the mattress beside his hip, lustful gaze locking onto his.

"Wanna have the real deal?" You lower yourself onto his lap, heat pressing against his still-throbbing cock. "Then take it, you perv."

You don’t have to tell him twice.

His hands fly to your hips, pulling you down, a shuddering groan ripping from his throat as your soaked cunt draaags over him so deliciously.

His fingers dig into your flesh, thumbs brushing reverently over your waist, your thighs, committing the feel of you to memory.

His third mistake — nah, this is a blessing.

"Fuck," he exhales, voice raw. "Yer' for real?"

You roll your hips, smirking when he hisses. "What do you think?" Your fingers trail up his chest, tracing trembling muscles. " You could still leave. You can help yourself, can you?"

Xavier swallows thickly, hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer. "N-no, wanna' stay," he murmurs, voice husky. "Wanted this forever— been waitin' for so long."

You hum, dragging your fingers along his jaw before gripping his chin. "Then show me."

"Heh, I'll show you, alright."

In one swift motion, he flips you onto your back, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, down your sternum. His tongue flicks over your nipple, making you arch into him, gasping as he sucks it into his mouth, teeth grazing sensitive skin.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your flesh, caressing your tender skin. He pulls back just enough to watch as he drags your soaked panties down your legs, letting them drop carelessly to the floor. His eyes darken as he spreads your legs, settling between them with a predatory gleam.

"So fucking pretty," he breathes, running his fingers through your slick folds before pressing a teasing kiss to your cheek. "Ohh, wanna feel ya'— pleaseee, lemme' get nice and comfy in yer' warm pussy, angel."

A shiver runs through you at his possessive tone, your body burning with anticipation, sending an electric shock right to your aching clit. "Then stop teasing and take what’s yours, Xavier."

He groans at your words, positioning himself at your entrance before sloooowly pushing in, the stretch making you moan as he fills you inch by inch. His head falls against your shoulder, panting against your skin as he finally bottoms out.

"Warm, s-so warm," he grits out, hands gripping your hips as he pulls back before thrusting in again, setting a deep, slow pace that has you whimpering beneath him. "Wanna stay like this—inside ya'—fuckkk."

Your nails dig into his back, urging him to go faster. And he does, movements rough, desperate, as his cock spreads you open, massaging your g-spot with his viciously, throbbing tip.

The sound of skin slapping against skin, breathy moans and curses filling the room, Xavier presses his forehead against yours, lips ghosting over your mouth, the incredible stretch causing your tongue to loll out weakly and he happily laps up your saliva, sucking on your wet muscle.

"Give it ta' me—fuckkk, all of it," he coaxes, thumb circling your clit in tight, deliberate motions, "Make a mess on me, c’mon, ya can't shy out now."

“G-gonna give it to me, yeah? Promise?” His voice is strangled, thick with lust as his thrusts grow frantic, erratic. His fingers dig into your hips, bruising, as he chases his high, grinding deep with every desperate snap of his hips.

You nod frantically, heat coiling in your stomach until it snaps, pleasure crashing over you. Your body tightens around him, and Xavier lets out a strangled groan as he follows, spilling his thick cum inside you, coating your walls in slick white as he buries his face in your neck, panting heavily.

For a moment, you both stay like that, tangled in each other, bodies slick with sweat until he pulls back just enough to look at you, a lazy smirk curling his lips.

"Oops. Forgot to water your plants today."

You huff out a laugh, pulling him down for another kiss, robbing a hiss from him as you slightly shift, cock springing to life inside you.

"Figured."

ZAYNE ♡ Doctor's Orders.

Zayne hates how much of a pervert he is.

He tells himself he should stop, that he should have some damn self-control, act like the composed professional he's supposed to be. But it’s just too tempting—especially when he catches those inviting glimpses of you during medical check-ups.

Like when he presses the stethoscope to your chest, fingers accidentally brushing over your soft skin as he pulls away. Or when you bend over, reaching for your toes for some 'spine check' he made up while he can’t help but admire the perfect curve of your ass.

He really can't help it.

It’s bad enough in his clinic, but it's so much worse when he does house calls.

You sit there so obediently, following every command, trusting him so completely. And it doesn’t help that you're dressed in ridiculously tight pajamas, your breasts practically spilling from the neckline, your thighs fully exposed, leaving little to the imagination.

Fuck. He could wreck you right here on this damned couch if he weren’t supposed to be acting professional.

"Alright, now open your mouth wide. I need to check your throat."

Lie.

You comply, lips parting in a teasing "ahhh," making a show of it just to get a rise out of him. And oh, does it work.

His grip tightens around the tongue depressor as he guides it to your tongue, watching you, trying so hard not to let his gaze meet yours because if he does—he’s done for.

But then his hand trembles, just enough to push the depressor a little deeper.

You gag. Loudly.

His cock twitches violently, and he swears he can feel a bead of pre-cum leaking into his briefs right then and there.

"M’ sorry," he mutters hastily, barely able to form words. "Feeling a bit off today. Been a long one. Can I use your restroom?"

"Of course! Are you alri—"

Before you can even finish your sentence, he's gone, practically sprinting to the bathroom.

The second the door is almost shut, he’s already fumbling with his belt, shoving his pants down and gripping his hefty cock, hissing as he wraps his fingers around the thick, aching length.

God, he’s horrible. Pathetically horrible.

He’s jacked off to the thought of you more times than he can count, but never in your home. Never with you just outside the door.

And the worst part?

He wants to get caught.

It's evident— his groans slip past his lips a little too loudly, the wet sounds of his strokes just barely muffled by the rush of running water. And he doesn’t even try to lock the door, leaving it cracked just enough—a silent invitation, a trap.

His hand moves faster, his mind spiraling into filthy thoughts, how much better would it sound if you were gagging around him instead of that damned wooden stick? If you looked up at him, lips stretched wide, cheeks hollowed, eyes teary?

"Fuck—"

His breath hitches, his body tensing—he’s about to—

"Z-Zayne? What the—!"

His eyes snap open, glasses nearly sliding off the bridge of his nose as he whips around.

And there you are. Standing in the doorway, lips parted, gaze locked onto his hand wrapped around his cock, glistening with pre-cum.

For a split second, shame claws at him, heat burning up his neck—until he sees a smirk creeping onto your lips.

"M’ sorry," he breathes, voice rough, unrepentant, "but you’re a vixen of a patient, you know that? Teasing me with your tight little outfit. You planned this, didn’t you?"

You tilt your head, playing innocent, though your eyes gleam with mischief. "Doctor... I think you’re just imagining things."

His grip on the sink tightens when you step closer, sinking to your knees before him, your breath ghosting over his swollen tip. And you giggle, giggle as you watch pre spurt out of his slit as your hand creeps up his thigh, doe-eyes locking with his.

You grasp him, a teasing flick of your tongue sending a sharp jolt through his entire body.

"Unbelievable," he huffs, fingers instantly tangling in your hair, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp. "I’m not imagining things, trust me."

And then, with a firm push, he guides your mouth onto him, a deep groan rumbling in his chest as your lips wrap around his cock.

"Let's finish yer' check-up. Open wiiiiide— ya' know the drill. " His smirk deepens, hips rolling forward, forcing you to take him to your throat, the delicious gag you let out makes his eyes roll to the back of his skull.

His hips snap forward in a slow, deliberate thrust, dragging a needy whimper from your throat as he sinks deeper, stretching your lips around him further. His breathing is uneven now, heavy with restraint, but his control is crumbling, and you can feel it in the way his fingers flex against your scalp, the way he hurries to throw his fogged glasses of, his muscles coil under your touch.

His thrusts grow sharper, more demanding, and you take it, every inch of it, his cock sliding deep into your throat, eyes tearing.

The filthy, wet sounds of your mouth working him fill the small bathroom, along with his ragged breathing, the curses slipping past his lips as his body trembles beneath your touch.

You drag your nails up his thighs, feeling the way his muscles tense, how he shudders when you hum around him, sending vibrations straight through him. He groans your name, voice rough with need, his head tipping back, eyes squeezing shut as pleasure coils tight in his gut.

And then you dare to contract that tight throat of yours, squeezing his mushroomy, rosey tip so tight, he's starting to feel dizzy now.

"Fuck, sweetheart—" His voice breaks, a low growl vibrating in his chest as his thrusts falter, his entire body seizing under your touch. His grip tightens, almost bruising, but you welcome it, relishing the way he shudders, how his knees slightly buckle.

With a final, deep thrust, he spills into your mouth, a sharp curse falling from his lips as he rides out his release with weak bucks, his fingers still tangled in your hair. His chest rises and falls in harsh, uneven breaths, his body trembling as the last waves of pleasure crash over him.

His heavy breath fills the tight space, fingers now sliding through his disheveled hair as his cloudy gaze falls to your messed up face in awe, hair tangled from his firm grip, tearing eyes examining him as you happily swallow his hot semen, cum slicked lips stretching into a big smile right after.

Your knees dig into the floor as you tilt your head to lap up a droplet of semen trapped to his tip in delight.

"So," he catches his breath before reaching for his glasses with shaky fingers, swiftly putting them on,

"Same time next week?"

RAFAYEL ♡ Steambound

Rafayel is nothing if not considerate, letting you shower at his place while your apartment complex deals with yet another plumbing disaster.

You appreciate it, really. His shower is just as extravagant as the rest of his house—sleek, modern tiles stretching from floor to ceiling, the entire bathroom almost as big as your whole damn apartment.

Steam curls into the air, thick and heavy, wrapping the room in a heated mist. Water cascades down your tired body, and you close your eyes, exhaling softly, relishing in the warmth as it soothes your muscles.

But you don’t notice the faint crack in the door, nor the tall figure standing just beyond it, or predatory eyes locked onto your naked form through the glass, tracing the curve of your back to the soft swell of your ass.

Who could blame him?

He noticed you didn’t lock the door, and as he listened to the rhythmic patter of water, felt the humid air creeping into the hallway, he told himself to just take a quick peek, just to make sure you don’t need anything. A towel, maybe. Then he’d be on his way.

Why is he even lying to himself?

He always does this—always tries to craft reasonable excuses for his own depravity.

This isn’t the first time you’ve showered at his place, and it sure as hell isn’t the first time he’s watched you.

He’s perfected the art of lingering just out of sight, watching through a barely open door, catching glimpses of your reflection in the mirror as you undress in the guest room he swears he never uses.

Or when you step out of the shower, towel wrapped snugly around your glistening body, droplets still clinging to your skin, he’s there, lurking, memorizing every inch of you, maybe even letting his hand drift lower, palming himself through his pants as he drinks in the sight, knowing that just watching won’t be enough.

So, when he's feeling extra risky, he'll sneak a peak into the shower, like right now, unbuttoned pants hanging low as he slowly strokes his aching cock to you soaping your body with his body wash, in his shower, your hands gliding along your delicate skin and he wishes, prays he could touch you like that.

You mindlessly pour the shampoo into your hair, turning just right for him to catch a glimpse of your exposed front, tits on full display. Your eyes are cautionary closed, careful not to get any of the product in your eyes.

And he's taking full advantage of that.

His head rests against the doorframe, low-hanging eyes and mouth agape as he tries to sneak a peak at your cunt, but he's just too far away.

What a shame.

Desperate to catch a glipse, he lets out a frustrated huff, maybe a little too loud, causing you to halt in your tracks, turning your head with cautiong, eyes closed covered with remnants of bubbles.

"Rafayel? Is that you?"

Your voice cuts through the thick steam, startled and unsure, and it makes his stomach clench, as his hand tightens desperately onto his bulky tip and his breath stutters. His name so sweet on your tongue—he shouldn't react like this, but he can't help but stroke his heavy cock firm in his palm, faster, stronger.

A shiver runs down his spine, his grip tightening around himself again, a quiet muffled moan slipping past his bitten lip, overwritten by the dripping noise of the water, his ears flush red. Damn it.

This wasn’t how he planned to spend his night, fisted around his cock, your scent thick in the air, soap and you making his head as cloudy as the humid air around him. But you’re here now, close enough that he swears he can feel the warmth of your body beyond the veil of condensation.

And maybe it’s reckless—no, it is reckless, but desire makes him bold. He exhales sharply, letting his hesitation crumble, and before he can overthink it, he pushes past the fogged glass and steps fully into view.

Your reaction is instant. A sharp gasp, eyes going wide as you stumble backward, water cascading down your bare shoulders. Your hands, trembling, fly up to shield yourself, though they do little to conceal the curve of your hips, the soft swell of your chest, the way droplets cling to your flushed skin.

His gaze darkens, tracing every detail greedily, hunger curling low in his stomach. His lips twitch, amusement flickering beneath the heat in his stare. That trembling attempt at modesty, those blown-out eyes staring at him like he's some kind of dangerous animal—like he’s something hazardous— God, he might cum right there.

"Mind if I join in? The shower is big enough for two, no?"

Your throat bobs as you swallow, eyes darting between his face and his tall, sculpted frame while he cautiously steps closer—dripping, bare, utterly unapologetic as he stands before you.

Everything feels so hot, from the hot steam to his body so close to yours, to the lingering feeling in the pit of your tummy. You should scream, slap, cuss him out, but,

"Y-you, you perv" , is all you can muster, your whole body tensing as your eyes linger at his straight, heavy dick maybe for a little too long.

Fuck, this is turning you on.

Rafayel watches every shift of your expression like a predator drinking in the scent of his prey.

Embarrassment and conflict, the rapid rise and fall of your chest betraying just how hard your heart is pounding.

But beneath it—Oh, he sees it. That flicker of something curious, enticed, even, something that makes his blood run straight to his already painfully hard, pounding length.

"I prefer the term 'enthusiast'. Plus," he's inching closer, finger reaching behind to turn off the flowing fountain of water, "I let you shower here for weeks, ya owe me, ya' know."

Droplets cling to his skin now, sliding over every defined muscle, down the sharp lines of his abs, following the ridges like they’re tracing a path meant for your eyes to follow.

You press yourself against the cool tile, heart hammering against your ribs, but you don’t look away. You can’t. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, hard, thick, aching.

And he’s not even trying to hide it.

"I don’t owe you anything," you manage, but your voice is weak, your body betraying you with every shaky inhale, every slight tremble he notices instantly.

Rafayel smirks, watching you intentively. "Oh, cutie," he drawls, rolling his shoulders as the warm water cascades over him, washing away the last remnants of restraint. "You don’t even believe that yourself."

Coral eyes trail lower, drinking in the sight of you of your glistening skin— the way some bubbles still slide down your curves, clinging to the peaks of your breasts before slipping down between your thighs.

"Look at cha'," he murmurs, thick voice drenched in lust "Fuckin' perfect."

You shift under his gaze, thighs pressing together, but it’s useless—he sees everything. He always does.

Your breath stutters, heat licking up your spine, but you shake your head, desperate to deny it. "That’s not—"

His fingers swiftly trail lower, slipping between your legs, rubbing just once over the slick, buttony clit, and you nearly collapse.

Rafayel groans, his forehead dropping against yours for a moment, his breath coming out ragged.

He hisses, other hand forming into a tight fist, holding onto his last bit of sanity — if there's even anything left. "Yer' cute cunny 's sayin' sometin' else," precise fingers glide down to tease your fluttering hole, "You sure you want me ta' stop?"

Your mind his clouded, gaze hazy, shaky hand coming up to trace down his slim waist, halting just above his pelvis.

A whimper escapes you, gasping when he grips your thigh and hikes it up around his waist, pressing you closer, his cock gifting your clit a quick, addictive kiss.

"You could’ve locked the door," he breathes against your ear, his voice dripping with amusement, sin. "You could’ve told me to fuck off the second I stepped inside. But you didn’t."

His lips graze your throat, nipping at the delicate skin, making you squirm.

"You wanted this, didn’t you?" he growls, rolling his hips, letting the thick length of him drag against your slick folds, teasing, taunting. "You wanted me to come in and give this pussy some proper lovin' hm?"

A broken moan spills from your lips, nails digging into his shoulders, but he only grins, reveling in your unraveling.

"Say it," he demands, voice laced with need and desire. "Tell me you want this — want me, and I'll treat this needy cunny sooo good."

His digits find your clit again, circling it lazily, his teasing touch making your legs shake.

"Tell me," he repeats, pressing the head of his cock right against your entrance, barely pushing in, just enough to make you feel the stretch, make you crave for more.

Your head falls back against the tile, lips parted, body trembling, and as the words spill from you in a breathless whimper— he loses it.

Groaning, his patience snaps as he slams his mouth over yours, tongue plunging deep, stealing the last bit of your resistance. And before you can even register it he’s inside you, stretching your walls so meanly agape, your breath halts in your lungs.

"Ohhh, baby" he growls against your lips as he fully bottoms out inside you. "Finally— fuckkkk, finally. Was so tired of js' watchin' ya'."

You can feel him everywhere— his tongue tangling with yours, desperate claws on your thigh and hips, his selfish cock spreading you so lewdly, so meanly, you almost don't notice the bulge in your tummy— almost.

"Goddd, g-gonna be the death of me, cutie", his words come out in a quiet whisper as his eyes fall down to his cock marking a visible spot on your tummy, bullying his way into your cervix.

He picks up a quicker pace, deep thrust jolting you further up the cold tiles.

And each appearance of his cock against your belly, each little sound he swallows from your bitten lips make his balls tighten, threatening to pump his load deep into you.

"Ya' feel even better than I imagined. So greedy, suckin' me in so damn deep."

And he has imagined. So many times.

But now? Now he doesn’t have to anymore.

SYLUS ♡ Home Sweet Home!

Sylus always had a calculated mind, being two steps ahead of everyone around him- even you.

So once in a while when you're sleeping over at his place, he takes the sleeping-gap you both have to his advantage. Well, more often than he'd like to admit.

This has become quite the routine once you come over, he'll spend time with you, then leave for so called buissnes late at night. Sure,, he had a lot to do as the Leader of a criminal organization but sometimes? he just drove off around the corner of his home, waiting, preying.

He's purposely come home later than usual, sitting in his car as he watches you in his room through Mephisto, getting ready for bed.

He's waiting, watching intensly with his leg tapping the floor of his car as he watches you get into the bed with a defeaded sigh, the long wait of waiting for Sylus return now overwritten by the need to sleep.

So once he notices the lights turning off, your regular breathing indicating that you're far off into the dreamland now.

That's when he strikes.

The door creaks open, closing with a soft click! as Sylus steps into the dimly lit apartment.

You're sprawled out on his bed, breathing softly, body tangled in the blood-red sheets, wearing only his shirt, the fabric barely clings to your body, slipping off one delicate shoulder, the hem riding up just enough to tease a slight view of your panties.

His pupils blow in excitement, silver eyebrows raising in amusement.

"Would you look at that," he muses, voice thick with something sinful.

The bed dips as he climbs in, tugging the blanket you curled yourself into to crawl inside it, your warm, resting body spurting excitement right to his cock,

He watches you sleep, listening to the soft sounds of your breathing while palming himself through his pants. He never touched you —he would never—but God, the temptation burned.

And once he hears your sleeping form mutter a silent moan, he tenses.

What could you possibly be dreaming of?

He fights internally, fingers twitching, itching to touch you.

His suspicions solidified once a short gasp spilled from your lips, your thighs clenching under the sheets as you shamelessly moan his name in your sleep.

He pushes the blanket aside, exposing your flushed form with eyes scrunched together, thighs twitching as your hips rock against nothing.

"S-Sylus. Need you."

God, he can't help himself.

You said it yourself, you need him. So you wouldn't mind if he gives you just what you're craving for, right?

The bed dips as he climbs over you, one knee pressing between your legs. His fingers ghost along your exposed thigh, pushing the fabric up further, revealing more of the soft skin beneath, careful not to stir you from your peaceful slumber.

Sylus exhales slowly, forcing himself to move with precision and restraint. His touch is featherlight, tracing the delicate curve of your thigh, reveling in the way your skin shivers under his fingertips.

You're so warm, so soft—his perfect little prize wrapped up in his sheets, whispering his name like a prayer even in sleep.

His cock strains against his slacks, aching, desperate. But he won't rush. No, he intends to savor this. Thoroughly.

Carefully, he brushes his knuckles along the inside of your thigh, eyes locked onto your face, watching for any sign of wakefulness. But you only sigh, legs parting slightly in response as if inviting him closer.

With painstaking patience, he lets his fingers skim the edge of your panties, tracing the damp fabric stretched over your core. The moment he feels the warmth, the wetness gathered there, a deep, shuddering breath escapes him.

Fuck.

You're dreaming of him.

He palms himself through his trousers again, exhaling sharply at the realization. His perfect girl, all worked up because of him, soaking through her panties in the middle of the night, writhing against the sheets, lost in whatever sinful fantasy has her gasping his name.

It's almost too much to bear.

You shift in your sleep, a tiny sigh leaving your lips as goosebumps leave a trail on your skin from the remnant of his delightful touches.

"I'm home, honey." he hums, teasing.

His large hands slide beneath your shirt with a rough, determined purpose, fingers splaying wide as if he means to carve the shape of you into his memory. His palms are calloused, a stark contrast to the softness of your skin, and the way he grips your waist—firm, unyielding, and he wonders how you've not even woken up yet despite his desperate claws.

Breath stuttering, low and ragged, followed by a guttural groan that rumbles deep in his chest as he feels the heat of your bare flesh beneath his hands like it’s driving him out of his mind.

Leaning in without hesitation, mouth finding your exposed shoulder, lips dragging with tenderness. He doesn’t kiss so much as claim, lingering long enough for his teeth to graze the sensitive skin before moving lower.

He trails downward, tasting every inch like he’s memorizing the way you shudder beneath him.

His grip tightens, possessive, almost bruising, pulling you flush against him until there’s no space left to breathe, to think—only the pounding of your heartbeat against his and the searing heat coiled between you. His mouth finds the hollow of your throat, tongue flicking out, slow and hot, before his teeth scrape lightly, dangerously, earning a desperate sound from deep within you.

“Wakey, wakeyyy,” he hums against your skin, voice wrecked, with a teasing undertone. His hands slide higher now, beneath fabric and hesitation alike, and everywhere he touches feels like it’s burning, unraveling you thread by thread.

"Were you waiting for me like this, baby?" he hums between open-mouthed kisses, voice like warm honey, " all soft and ready for me?"

A pleased sound rumbles from his chest as you sigh in response, your body instinctively shifting closer to his heat. He watches the slow rise and fall of your breath, the way your lashes flutter ever so slightly, the unconscious parting of your lips so inviting.

His hands spread your further thighs apart, a pleased groan escaping his throat as he comes face to face with your dampened panties, outline of your needy cunt plastered so firmly, he can't look anywhere but.

He doesn't shy away, his hunger mounting as he palms himself through his slacks, the thick outline of his arousal pressing insistently against the fabric.

"Beautiful," he breathes, grinding his freed cock against you, hanging firm above his lazily undone pants, pre staining your panties even more, the wet spot now bleeding further into the cotton material. He watches with rapt fascination as your body reacts instinctively—your thighs twitch, a soft whimper escapes your lips, your hips lift ever so slightly, longing for more.

His cock twitches at the sight.

"Mmm, that's my good girl," he praises, slipping his hands beneath your thighs, hoisting you up just enough to slide your panties to the side before aligning his pulsating crown on your clenching hole.

Sylus pushes in slowly, letting out a long, deep groan as your warmth stretches around him. The feeling of your needy cunny—hot, tight, wet—makes his head spin.

"S-Sylus?! When did you—hngggh!"

Ah, you're awake.

Your eyes flutter open, glazed over with sleep, a dazed confusion mixed with pleasure contorting your features as you register the delicious stretch filling you up.

"M' sorry, sweetheart," he hisses, pressing his forehead against yours, his voice strained with restraint. "Couldn't help myself."

Your hands scramble to grip his strong shoulders, your nails biting into the firm muscle, legs lazily wrapping around his waist, still heavy from sleep, pulling him deeper. The sensation sends him reeling, and he rolls his hips forward, sinking further until he’s buried his pulsating cock to the hilt, brushing against your cervix ridiculously fast.

"Nghhh! M-more."

He chuckles, breathless and cocky. "Mm, patience, baby. I always give you what you want, no?"

His thrusts start slow, deep, and deliberate, dragging against your sensitive walls. He watches you, utterly enthralled, drinking in the way your lips part, how your nails dig into his skin, how your body shudders beneath him.

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmurs against your lips, voice filled with pure adoration. "Always—such a perfect girl for me."

"B-been waitin' for you for so long,", your breath comes in short, shaky gasps, your body still adjusting to the overwhelming fullness. But Sylus doesn’t stop—he won’t stop. He needs this. He needs you.

"My sweet, poor darling. But I'm here now, and 'm not leaving anytime soon."

His pace picks up, hips slamming into you harder, deeper, hitting that mawkish spot that has your toes curling, your moans turning breathless.

"Yeahhh," he growls, his grip on your thighs tightening. "You see? Told you I—hahh— always take care of you, hm?"

You can’t speak—you can only whimper, nodding frantically, back arching as pleasure crashes through you. Every thrust drags against that spot, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge, the heat pooling in your belly threatening to snap.

"Words, baby," he demands, grinning against your cheek. "Tell me."

"T-taking so much care for me! A-always fuckin' me sooooo good—!"

His groan is primal, his thrusts turning erratic. His lips are on yours in an instant, swallowing your moans in a messy, desperate kiss. His hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your aching clit, rubbing fast, ruthless circles over the swollen bud.

Your body snaps.

Pleasure explodes through you, hard, hot and overwhelming, your walls clenching down around him like a vice. Your legs tighten around his waist, back arching off the bed as wave after wave crashes over you, your voice breaking on a strangled cry of his name.

"Fuck—fuck, sweetie," he groans, his rhythm stuttering. Your tight, convulsing heat sends him over the edge with you, his breath hitching, hips twitching as he buries himself as deep as he can go, spilling his hot spurts of cum inside you with a strangled, guttural grunt.

For a moment, he stays there, buried deep, catching his breath, his body trembling against yours. Then, a lazy smirk pulls at his lips.

"Gorgeous fuckin' mess," he murmurs, pressing a slow kiss against your jaw

You let out a soft, contented whimper, your body still trembling beneath him.

And by the determined glee in his eyes, you know he's not done playing with his prey yet.

CALEB ♡ No Shame!(What for?)

Your breath stalls in your chest, heart hammering against your ribs as your mind scrambles to make sense of what’s in front of you.

Panties. Your panties.

The delicate lace, once delicate, is now stuck together in places, soaked through with his cum. The sheer amount of it—thick, messy, so obviously fresh—makes your stomach tighten, not with disgust or fear, but something different.

Your fingers tremble as you hold the fabric aloft, staring, your pulse roaring in your ears.

This isn’t possible. It can’t be.

Sweet, wholesome Caleb—the one who always looked after you, who laughed at your dumb jokes, who ruffled your hair like an annoying big brother—there’s just no way. He couldn’t possibly be this perverse. He couldn’t have been stealing your underwear, jerking off into them like some depraved animal, desperate to soak them in his filth.

Right?

This was just supposed to be a quick peek into his room for any of his dirty laundry while he's showering to throw it into the machine alongside yours. Well alright, maybe you also wanted to check for your favorite missing pair of panties, just to be sure.

And there they are, the proof right here, warm and glistening between your fingers.

You’re so stunned, so utterly paralyzed by its sheer indecency that you don’t even hear the dropping water halting, the bathroom door open. Don’t even sense the presence behind you—not until you hear that soft, unmistakable click!

Your entire body jolts as realization slams into you.

You turn too fast, nearly stumbling, your breath lodged in your throat as your gaze collides with his.

He's bare-chested, still dripping from the shower, skin gleaming under the soft bedroom light, droplets of water trailing down his defined abs before disappearing beneath the loosely tucked edge of his towel, blocking the door, leaving no escape.

You’re trapped.

And the way he’s looking at you, amused, dark-eyed, and slow-smirking— so damn shameless, makes your stomach tighten in the worst possible way.

"Snooping around my room? That’s so unlike you, pips'."

His voice is smooth, unbothered, as if he isn’t standing there half-naked, as if he doesn’t see the ruined panties clutched in your trembling grasp.

His gaze flicks downward to your hand, to the lace still sticking to your fingers with his spent desire, to be exact.

Heat scorches through you. A sick, embarrassed thrill coils in your gut, because oh god—you’re still holding it.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it’s rude to go through other people’s things?"

You drop the panties like they burn, but it’s too late.

He knows you’ve seen them, knows you’ve realized what he’s done, knows you’re still standing here, trapped in his room.

"You weren’t supposed to find those, y’know," he muses, taking another step closer. The damp heat radiating off his skin encloses you, his fresh and clean scent washing over you, making your legs go weak.

Your breath shudders unable to do anything but watch him come closer and closer, the towel on his hips hanging dangerously low.

"What’s wrong?" he hums, tilting his head, mocking innocence dripping from his voice. "Cat got your tongue? Or," he leans in, close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath ghost across your cheek, "Are you just wondering how many other pairs I’ve got?"

Your pulse pounds, deafening. The way he says it so casually, so fucking bold, makes it obvious. This isn’t the first time, fuck— he’s been doing this for god knows how long.

"Caleb," you finally choke out, his name barely more than a whisper.

"Let's make a deal, sweets," he murmurs, reaching up, up, up— his fingers trace your wrist, featherlight, teasing, and playful, "I'll stop stealing them if ya' let me get a taste of the real thing. How's that sound, pips'?"

And your hesitant nod, bitten lips, and glazed eyes are all he needs as his strong hands grip your waist, twisting you around, forcing you backward.

Your back hits the mattress with a gasp, the soft give of his bed swallowing your weight. The room spins, the scent of him, clean from his shower, wrapping around you, suffocating in the most intoxicating way.

This is wrong.

He's on you, caging you in, hands moving quickly to remove your short pants from your legs, your shirt riding up in the process, panties on full display, and not to mention the prominent wet, stain riiiight at the center of where he imagines your needy cunt to be.

Oh so you want this as much as he does, huh?

His arms are braced on either side of your head, towel hanging low on his hips, barely clinging on. His damp hair drips onto your skin, cool against the fire burning beneath your flesh. His muscles flex above you, broad shoulders dwarfing you, leaving you breathless under his weight.

Who are you trying to fool?

You wanted this, hell- maybe even prayed for your panties to be in his possession, prayed for him to finally touch you, to have him between your legs like this,

And your prayers have been heard.

His knee spreads your legs without hesitation, without shame, pinning you open beneath him. And before you can even think, his head dips down, his mouth right at your thigh, his nose dragging against the heat between your legs.

"Never seen this pair before," he breathes, his voice rough, heavy with something filthy.

Your whole body locks up because god—he’s so close, pressing his face against your panties, nuzzling the damp fabric, so shamelessly, so utterly desperate, taking a big whiff of your scent, making you wail in embarrassment.

A deep, guttural, fucking shameless moan wrecks from his throat, so obscene, so needy, that you feel the heat of it pulse straight to your needy pussy.

"Fuckkk," he groans, dragging his nose up, nuzzling slow, breathing deep. "Ya' smell so damn sweet, baby."

Your hands fly to his shoulders, weakly pushing, but he doesn’t budge. If anything, he presses in deeper.

"Didn't think ya' could keep ts' cute cunny hidden from me, did ya'?" he purrs, hot breath fanning against the wetness he’s indulging in, dropped gaze engulfing your expressions whole.

And then—

His tongue. Right against the fabric, mere atoms away from your bare clit, slow, deliberate kitten-licks draaaag over the damp lace, so close yet so maddeningly far, and your head snaps back against the mattress, a moan spilling from your lips before you can stop it.

His breath left him in a rough chuckle, fingers flexing as if resisting the urge to rip your lace apart right then and there.

"H-hey, no peeking!" You try to scold, your hands darting down to grasp his hand threatening to get rid of the fabric—but Caleb's faster.

Hand snapping yours away, a low growl retorts, a primal sound that sends heat licking down your spine.

He loves your panties, he really does. But right now, he just wants to fucking tear them apart.

"Baby, ohhh — babybabybaby," he groans against your hidden folds, rolling his hips once, twice against the bed, watching as your head tipped back, a sharp gasp leaving you.

"C-Caleb—"

That was all it took for him to finally lose it.

With one swift movement, a loud riiiip! echoing as he tears your panties from you, exposing your aching pussy bare before him.

He doesn't tease. Doesn't wait.

A low, primal sound resonates before he crashes headfirst into your soaked cunt. His hands take control, gripping your thighs, dragging you forward until your soaked heat is pressed firmly against his eager mouth as he bucks his hips into the bed like a desperate mess.

A sharp cry rips from your throat, legs locking around his head as he fills you with his tongue, forcing you open. Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking your head back as his lips latch onto your clit, biting teasingly, sucking onto your clit with such a devastating grip your mind goes blank.

"Yer' fucking drenched," he groans, voice tight with restraint. "So eager for me, hmm?"

Each drag of his tongue scraping the inside of your hole, his nose repeatedly bumping into your throbbing clit sends pleasure detonating through your core, deep and merciless, making you cling to his hair with desperate fingers. The room's air is thick, humid, filled with the obscene sound of sloppy spurts of your juices coating his face, the sharp gasps, the deep grunts of a man losing himself in you— in your pussy.

His tongue presses down harder on your clit, circling in tight, devastating licks that had your thighs trembling around his head.

Every time his tongue drags over you, his hips jerk in rhythm, grinding pathetically against nothing but air and friction, chasing the sensation like a man starved.

But it’s the way he works his tongue that sends you spiraling, spelling out his name over your throbbing, swollen clit like a brand.

C-A-L-E-B-C-A-L-E-B-C-A-L-E-

Each letter feels like it’s seared into you, curling perfectly around every sensitive nerve, his mouth obscene in its devotion. There’s nothing measured about it now, nothing held back, just raw, consuming need as he devours you like you’re the only thing tethering him to sanity.

"H-hahhh, fuck!—" Your voice wrecked, high-pitched, barely coherent. Your nails bite into his scalp, desperate for something to anchor you as your body teetered on the edge.

Your fingers twist tightly in his hair, yanking hard enough to make his head tilt back for a moment, his groan reverberating straight through your core. The sound vibrates against you, deep and guttural, sending a sharp jolt of electricity ripping down your spine.

He doesn’t falter, if anything, the rough pull only spurs him on. His eyes flick up to meet yours, dark and glazed, pupils blown wide with hunger, and the sight alone nearly undoes you.

“Feels good, baby?” he rasps against your hole, his voice wrecked, teasing, but tinged with something almost desperate.

The plap, plap, plap of his hips rutting against the sheets with shameless abandon, towel long abandoned on the floor somewhere, matching the frantic curl of his tongue as he snaps his hips up, the sound of his slurping assault lewd and filthy.

"Give it ta' me, c'mon. Allll of it," Caleb mutters, vibration hot against your folds, his grip tightening, the muscles in his arms flexing as he slams you firmly, deep into the mattress, leaving no room to move.

The pleasure crested, blinding, and almost unbearable. Your whole body locked up as the first wave of your orgasm slammed into you—violent, tearing a broken, breathless scream from your lips, your tongue helplessly dangling from your open mouth, slick saliva dripping onto the sheets.

But Caleb doesn't stop.

He keeps going, arms locking around your thighs, forcing them up, up up, harshly against your stomach in a mating press, dragging out every last pulse, every aftershock, every clench of your walls around his wet muscle.

"That's it," he groans, voice ragged with need. "So fucking—shiiitt—tasty fuckin' pussy—"

Your body convulses, pleasure still rolling through you in relentless waves, too much and not enough at the same time. Your thighs shake, breath coming in ragged gasps, vision hazy as your orgasm drags on—longer, deeper, more intense than you’d ever felt before.

"Fuhh-fuck!—"

And as you come down from your soul-shattering high, arm dapped across your face to catch your breath, his hunter eyes bore into your form, hand sneaking down to snatch the destroyed piece of fabric from the valley of your ass, swiftly stuffing them under his pillow.

Bingo. Another one added to his collection.

©︎𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙍𝙎 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[kurooh]

TOUCH, TOUCH, TOUCH ☆ JUJUTSU KAISEN

⊹₊˚. featuring gojo satoru, geto suguru, ino takuma, fushiguro toji, & kamo choso when their girl finds their weak spot.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, f! reader, erogenous zones, biting, hair pulling, sensitive men, lots of cumming even though it’s november, overstimulation, oral (f&m rec), kissing, nipple play. | 3k words of sluttery

GOJO SATORU # thighs

“ugh, fuck,” satoru laughs shakily, swallowing down a groan, “really, baby, ‘s like you were made to take my cock.”

“hm, really?” you pull off his cock with a pop, savoring the way his diamond blue eyes squeeze shut, crystalline tears poking at the corners.

satoru’s got his legs spread like a whore, with you between them, nails raking up and down his thighs while you lavish his cock with attention. he’s painfully hard, cock standing up straight and covered in a sheen of your spit.

to think that this all stemmed from a tickle fight, of all things—he’d thrashed around the bed, whining and giggling when you’d gone after his thighs. once you’d finally gotten between them to brush your fingers over the tender skin, his playful giggles had unintentionally shifted into breathy moans which he’d tried to cover up by coughing.

“you should’ve told me these were this sensitive,” you breathe, pinching at his inner thigh. satoru jerks in his seat on the edge of the bed, blushing harder when he looks at the mirror across from the bed.

“riiight. and that would’ve opened the door to me waking up to you chewing on them in the mornings? nuh uh.”

“you’re so annoying, satoru,” you roll your eyes, the happy smile dropping from your lips. for good measure, you grip his cock more loosely, and he silently panics. “maybe you should suck yourself off then.”

“no no no,” satoru backtracks, spreading his thighs and slyly bucking his hips toward you. his cock bobs, fully flushed and desperate to be taken care of properly. “baby, i was joking! let’s rewind to the part where i was saying you were made to take my cock, heh.”

slowly, so as to make it as painful as possible, you take his cock into your mouth inch by inch until you’re swallowing around it. satoru moans loudly, cupping the back of your head to ease the rest of his length down your throat. he was right—he fits inside as easily as two puzzle pieces connect.

his voice shakes and he looks down at you gratefully, thighs tensing as your nails scrape a little harder. “c-can’t believe you’re all mine, baby. goddamn, you’re always so fuckin’ good to me.”

you let out a muffled moan around his thick cock, the vibrations resonating through the entirety of his lower body. spit races down to his balls from the base of his cock, making his skin sticky. this is always his favorite way to cum—somewhere inside you after you’ve made a mess together.

you bob your head on his cock, which only seems to thicken and twitch against your tongue, the first signs of his inescapable high. satoru chews on his lower lip, his breath coming in wheezy puffs while his hips rock into your mouth.

“ngh, t-take it all,” he directs you, his voice strained as the first spurts of cum spill into your throat. “be a good girl f’me and swallow, baby.”

the muscles in his thighs jump beneath your palms as his cock finally finishes emptying all the cum into your mouth—satoru’s breath audibly hitches in his throat as you swallow a few times around him. before his hazy brain can fully register, you’re no longer on his cock, instead kissing up the tender skin of his thighs.

“toru, what do you think’ll happen if i bite you?”

“it’ll hurt,” satoru pouts in reply, the expression on his face only encouraging you to do so. “ow!” he exclaims, but he doesn’t make any move to close his legs or push you away.

“what if i mark up your thighs?”

he quirks a brow, as if to dare you to. “do what you want, babe . . but it’s my turn next.”

GETO SUGURU # scalp

“so weak, baby. is that really the best you can do?” suguru teases, sticking his tongue out at you. “i mean, come on . . there’s no way.”

your fingers twist tightly in his hair and you yank, the dark tresses soft against your skin, smelling of the best shampoo and conditioner. suguru lets out a hiss, savoring the sting of his scalp with a smile that has a pleased smirk playing on his lips.

“how’s that, suguru?”

“if you keep doing that, i might just give you what you want,” he replies breezily, balmy breath fanning over your sticky cunt. “heh, you’re not even pulling hard enough, that’s—”

you interrupt suguru with a vengeful yank of his hair that pulls a groan from the depths of his chest. you raise an eyebrow, looking at him and then between your legs expectantly.

without any more protest, suguru finally presses a kiss to your swollen clit. the little smack of his lips and the preface to what’s coming soon elicits a desperate whine from your bitten lips. “sugu, jus’ spank it, please.”

a hushed chuckle follows the sharp slap to your cunt and your resulting cries of bliss. “someone’s needy today, hm?”

“yeah,” you whimper, nails scratching lightly against his scalp while your fingers tremble in his hair. the bed creaks beneath you as suguru adjusts his position between your legs, tongue lapping up your slick with a primal urgency. his nails dig crescents into your thighs as he spreads you further inch by inch—even with all your squirming, you’re unable to close your thighs.

you’re tugging at his hair insistently, impatiently, and he pins you with an unserious glare. “if you wanna be like that, you can just use my tongue, sweet thing.”

you groan, biting down on your lower lip as suguru slips his tongue inside you. it’s silky soft, hot, and the biggest tease, faintly curling as the tip of it drags against the walls of your cunt. here he is, offering himself up so you can use him; there’s no way you could possibly turn this down.

without any semblance of hesitation, you experimentally jerk your hips forward, and his nose bumps into your clit. he lets out a muffled groan, losing himself in your pussy—your slick covers his skin and makes it shine. it mixes with his spit and drips from his chin, soaking the sheets.

suguru’s scalp stings with overstimulation, shockwaves resonating through his body and shooting straight to his fully hard cock. he can’t help but hump himself against the bed in an attempt to alleviate the wild need for friction.

all too quickly, suguru gets pussydrunk, eyes rolling back while your hips roll forward sloppily. it doesn’t take long for that familiar quake to settle in your thighs, cunt squeezing and fluttering around his tongue.

“s-sugu,” you whine, and he’s sure he’s in heaven, “‘m gonna—gonna cum!”

“lemme taste it, sweetheart,” is the most you can make out from his muffled words. his fingers squeeze your thighs as they twitch beneath his palms, threatening to lock around his head. your orgasm rips through you and your cunt spasms, hips bucking as you ride out the high on his tongue. a broken whine leaves your lips as your thighs overpower his hands and squeeze around him, the soft strands of his hair tickling your skin.

he carefully moves backwards, clicking his tongue and sighing as he scoots off the bed to take off his wet boxers.

“sugu—”

“i don’t want to hear it,” he waves his hand in the air and tosses the boxers into the laundry basket. “it’s your fault anyway, you were the one ripping my hair out.”

“you encouraged me—”

“me? encourage you to pull my hairline back? never, honey.”

INO TAKUMA # neck

“takuma . . i missed you so much,” the words are mumbled against his soft, plush lips. ino smiles against your mouth, a strong arm tugging you into his chest.

he’s got you seated on his lap, for the first time in weeks—he’d been away accompanying nanami on a lengthy mission. the bed softly creaks as he adjusts himself beneath you, inadvertently grinding you down on his hardening cock.

you pull back, face hot with excitement and surprise. “hehe, sorry. was an accident,” ino leans in, pouting at you when you ignore his kiss. instead, bracing yourself with both hands on his shoulders, you start to sloppily bounce up and down in his lap. although there’s no particular rhythm or smoothness behind it, it feels amazing. ino’s face has crumbled into an expression of unadulterated bliss, and he forces his glassy eyes to focus on you rather than let them close.

“ugh, baby,” he whines as your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders, the sting a garbled mix of pain and pleasure. “f-fuck, keep doin’ that.”

without slowing your frantic movements, you toss an arm around him, fingers haphazardly twisting into the feathery hairs at the nape of his neck. you give them a light tug, forcing his head back and eliciting a sudden moan from him.

ino gasps sharply when he feels your nose nudge at his jaw, tipping his head to the side in order to expose the slope of his neck and the tender skin there. although he moved without hesitation, he still wonders what you’re doing. “huh? babe, what’re you—”

“jus’ kissing your neck, takuma,” you coo, inhaling his scent deeply. he smells faintly of his favorite soap (he bought a bar that smells the same as your body wash) and clean laundry. ino seems to tremble beneath your touch, hips jolting upwards as your own begin to slow, your focus on his neck.

truthfully, ino is afraid.

he’s afraid of what he might do or say when you inevitably discover just how sensitive his neck is. and god, the way you’re still moving on his cock has his heart swelling in his chest as he starts to forget about his initial fear. it would be insulting to even consider thinking about anything besides you when you’re on his lap like this and spoiling him with your touch.

“hah—baby,” he adjusts his hands so that they sit tightly on your hips, bouncing you up and down so you won’t get so tired. the drag of your lips against his adam’s apple has him gasping out, eyes rolling back shamelessly. “i-if you’re not careful, i swear you’ll make me cum in my pants.”

this is supposed to be a warning, one that makes you pull off him and shimmy off all the layers of clothes together, but you simply ignore him. he knows you heard what he said, feeling that little smile of yours grow against his skin. ino’s breath hitches in his throat and he loses himself in the almost-euphoria that the friction of his cock against your cunt brings. he’s been starved of you for so long that he’s hyper aware of everything—the stickiness that seeps through your panties and shorts, the scent of your body, and the unstoppable heat that courses through his limbs.

you can feel his cock throbbing against your clit in the moments between each desperate movement, and you only moan into his neck, teeth sinking into the supple skin. your kisses are flirty and teasing, peppered up and down his neck with the occasional nip every now and then.

“a-a little faster, takuma,” you beg, voice tight. “god, you feel so fucking good.” a startled gasp leaves your lips when you feel his fingers slip into your panties, heading towards your clit.

something both hot and cold races down ino’s spine after a few more bites, the double stimulation becoming too much too quickly. the way your slick sticks to his fingers doesn’t help his inescapable high to slow down. fuck, this’ll be messy . .

“b-babe,” he groans into your ear, insides twisting as he slumps against you weakly. “‘m gonna cum, baby—you’re gonna make me..” ino’s voice drifts off into a loud whine as his cock shoots white in his boxers. his face burns and he looks up at you adoringly as you sweep the stray hairs away from his eyes.

“you came, takuma?”

“yeah,” he huffs, the wetness in his underwear making him shift beneath you. a sly smile plays on his lips. “would you . . mind cleaning me up?”

FUSHIGURO TOJI # nipples

toji swears up and down he doesn’t have a single spot on his body that’s hypersensitive, besides his cock. so one night when you’re gesturing for him to lie back, propped up by all the pillows and entirely shirtless, he fixes you with a defiant scowl.

“really? you’re gonna suck my nipples? do i look like a fuckin’ girl to you?”

“toji, it’s not at all like that,” you reply calmly, taking a seat directly on top of his flaccid cock. “jus’ wanna try something, if it’s okay with you.”

“fine, i guess. if this makes you stop whining about sucking my ti—nipples,” he grunts, the corners of his lips curving to the side in annoyance. toji’s thighs are loosely spread, his body entirely relaxed. you give him a chaste kiss with a playful sweep of your tongue against his lower lip before leaning toward his strong chest.

toji’s muscles gleam with the water from his shower, a few droplets racing down the slopes and curves of his pecs. although he’s trying his hardest to act uninterested and offended, a small part of him is strangely curious to see if you’ll prove him wrong. whenever you’re messing around together, you end up playing his body like an instrument—knowing all the places he wants to be touched, how he likes it, and so on.

he covers up the hitch of his breath with a cough into his palm, and your eyes flick up to his.

“what?” he asks accusingly. “fuckin’ throat’s dry.”

“nothing, toj,” you reply, eyes twinkling in a way that has his heart kicking against his ribcage. he expects you to say more, but you don’t.

his body’s cooled substantially since the shower, and the second your lips wrap around his nipple, hot tongue flicking over the hardened bud, toji’s letting out a choked groan. the dichotomy between the temperatures is the first thing that gets him going, but then the way you start to suck—you’re about to seriously humble him.

you look up at him, asking a silent question.

“‘s not bad,” toji huffs dismissively, “just not enough stimulation.”

you nod, fingers finding his other nipple and pinching it lightly. his leg twitches and his abs clench, but he plays it off with a small shrug. you know that toji has always been too prideful, writing things off without giving them a chance. heat sparks through his body, settling in his cock, and you feel him growing rock hard beneath you.

instead of saying something cocky to piss him off, you only let out a small giggle, teeth catching on his nipple. toji hisses, unconsciously cupping the back of your head to push you into his chest.

“doll, no need to be so gentle,” he drawls, gasping sharply when you bite down. it hurts a little, but toji’s something of a masochist—he spurs you on with a weak groan. pleased with your handiwork, you switch nipples, fingers growing sticky with your spit as you spread it around his pectoral.

pressed up against your cunt, his cock throbs, desperate for attention. just as you’re thinking about touching him to alleviate the pressure, toji beats you to it, large hand pushing you to sit on his abs. he grips his cock firmly and his body shudders, jade eyes squeezing shut as he sets up a lazy pace.

“h-holy fuck,” he bites out, head tipping back onto all the pillows as puffs of breath leave his flushed lips. “‘s good, just keep doin’ that . . yeah, right there, doll.”

KAMO CHOSO # ears

“baby, i—oh, fuck,” choso swallows, fingers lightly ghosting along the slope of your bouncing ass. “i can’t hold it anymore, ‘specially not with you riding me like this.”

“i know, i know,” you huff out, voice trembling. your chest presses against his and it’s a clamor of teeth and impatience as your lips meet, tongues pushing against one another. choso has always fought off his orgasm in favor of your own, too focused on you before himself. today, it’s no different, but this time you’re drawing it out to see just how long he can last.

his eyes are closed as he loses himself in the kiss, too focused to notice you pulling away; his lips drag against your cheek when you tuck your face into his neck. confused, he asks breathily, “h-huh? is everything okay?”

“of course, cho,” you say sweetly, pressing kisses against the flushed shell of his ear. almost immediately, choso tenses beneath you, arms wrapping around your midsection tightly. he gasps when you take it a step further, nipping at his earlobe in a way that’s not so gentle.

“what’re you doing? i wanted you to cum first—then i could too.”

“‘s okay, i want you to be selfish this time,” you giggle, “cum for me, ‘kay? can you do that, cho?”

“of course i can,” choso mumbles, “jus’ look at the way you’re fucking me . . hah, ‘m gonna cum.”

he leans into you, letting you tongue and bite at his ears. choso’s on the precipice of euphoria, walking the edge and ready to fall, but you keep teasing his ears in a way that drags it out of him. he cums deep, his cock spilling against your cervix and inspiring your own high. choso’s shuddering beneath you, teeth clicking together from the overwhelming strength of it all. he whispers a few incoherent things, fingers splaying over your back as you cum around him with a loud whine.

choso’s holding you closely, pressing a few kisses to your shoulder and hissing as your riding finally comes to a stop. you can feel the heat of his cum inside you, slipping because of gravity, pouring out of you and pooling at his base.

“pull my hair next time,” he says softly, sounding embarrassed. “and i want you to bite a bit harder.”

“‘m not trying to give you an ear piercing,” you laugh, kissing over the flushed skin your teeth sunk into. “but next time can be right now, if you want it, cho.”

your hips lift upwards, and he stifles a groan, watching his cum drip from your sloppy cunt. “yeah,” he bites his lip, looking at you with rosy cheeks, “i need a minute, so before we go again . . wanna taste her, if that’s alright?”

[shy9-29]

I actually need a two faced jake where at school hes a sore loser versus when he’s alone with yn—complete menace. Biggest cocky flirt out there. At first, yn didn’t know much about jake until he bent her over and fucked the living shit outta her. I’m just down bad for Jake ok.

Two Faced, One Heart: Who is Sim Jake?

심재윤 x reader

୨ৎ Two versions of Jake Sim—one the shy, clumsy boy who spills his coffee at school, the other the filthy-mouthed menace who had you shaking in his lap just hours before class—and somehow, you’re hopelessly addicted to both. ✉️ wc. 13.1k ⋆˙⟡ ⚠️ warnings : oral (both received), begging, teasing, cream pie, minor slut shamming, bullying, pet names, making out, swearing, harsh language, haur pulling, unprotected sex

📝: thats so fucking hot omg? I need jake so bad rn it’s not even funny

mndi · req open

———

The words come out before you can stop them.

“Do you think I could get Jake to fall for me?”

Your friends stare at you like you just confessed to having a crush on the cafeteria salad bar.

“Jake Sim?” Min gapes. “The guy who thanked the printer for working?” Jisoo raises a brow. “His Instagram only has twelve followers. Twelve. One of them is his dog’s account.” You try not to laugh. “Okay, but he’s kind of… sweet?” Min scoffs. “He wears socks with sandals.” You shrug. “Maybe I like that.” You don’t tell them that two nights ago, Jake had you bent over your tiny dorm desk, fingers tangled in your hair, voice low and smug in your ear while you struggled to stay quiet. Because no one would believe you.

Not when the Jake they know fumbles over his words in group projects and blushes when people look at him too long.

But you’ve seen the other side. The one who locks his door with a click and flips like a switch. You see him again the next day in class, right on time as always. Same oversized hoodie, same messy hair. He sits two rows behind you and doesn’t say a word.

You don’t look at him. Not really. But you feel him watching you. The weight of his stare pressed between your shoulder blades. Like he knows exactly what you’re thinking about. Then, when you stand to leave, he brushes past you. Just a little too close. His fingers graze the small of your back—light, subtle, hidden. But it sends heat shooting down your spine. You catch up to him by the vending machines, just outside the library. He’s pretending to debate between orange juice and sparkling water.

You stop beside him. “Healthy choices.” Jake doesn’t look at you. “You wore that lip gloss again.” Your lips curve. “Maybe I like the flavor.” He reaches forward, selects a drink without thinking, and pays. His voice drops, just loud enough for you to hear. “I like it better off my tongue.” Your breath hitches. A pair of students walk past, one of them waving vaguely in Jake’s direction. He nods back with that usual shy smile, all harmless and mild-mannered.

The second they’re gone, his hand brushes against yours, fingers curling briefly around yours before letting go. You’re not sure your heart knows how to keep a steady rhythm around him anymore.

You didn’t know when it started—maybe it was the way Jake always sat in the back of class, quiet and unassuming. Or the fact that, every time you glanced at him, he never seemed to notice. He’d scribble in his notebook, the only sound in the room his pencil moving across the paper. You thought he was weird at first. Too quiet. Too in the background. The kind of person everyone else ignored. But there was something about him you couldn’t shake. The way his glasses would slide down his nose when he concentrated, or how he always wore the same hoodie, despite the weather.

The first time you spoke to him was after class. Your notes were mixed up, and you needed help with something—so you took a deep breath, made your way to him, and asked.

He looked up, startled. His cheeks went pink, and he mumbled something about being “kind of bad at explaining things,” but he agreed to help. That’s how it started. He was awkward. Shy. And he was perfect. You thought about him more than you should have, even as your friends teased you about how he was “just a soft loser” or “too quiet to ever be interesting.” But something about the way he treated you—how he never rushed you, never pushed, always listened—had you intrigued.

Then, the texts started coming. Small things at first—like a picture of a puppy he saw that reminded him of you. Or a random meme about books you both liked. They came at odd times, too. Late at night. In the middle of the day. And you found yourself looking forward to them, even though you knew he wasn’t exactly the “popular” guy at school.

One night, after a study session that stretched long into the evening, you both found yourselves alone in the library. It was just the two of you, the quiet hum of fluorescent lights above, the scent of paper and coffee between you. He looked at you like he wanted to say something, but he never did. Instead, he helped you pack up your things, careful not to touch you too much, but his fingers brushed yours when he handed you your coat. You thought you imagined it, the little spark that shot through your hand, but the way his eyes flicked to yours said otherwise.

“Uh, good night,” he mumbled, voice hushed. You smiled, feeling your heartbeat in your throat. “Good night, Jake.” You didn’t know it then, but that would be the night it all started to shift.

The next few weeks were a blur of fleeting glances, stolen moments. You’d catch him looking at you in class, only for him to quickly look away. Sometimes, he’d find reasons to walk the same path as you, his steps light, as if testing the water between you. And each time, the air between you would grow heavier, electric, like something unsaid was hanging in the space between your words. It wasn’t until one rainy afternoon that things finally tipped over the edge. You were on your way to the library when you spotted him standing under the awning of a building, looking at his phone. His hoodie was pulled up over his head, and he seemed to be oblivious to the fact that the rain was starting to soak through the sleeves.

“Jake!” you called out, jogging over to him. “You’re gonna get soaked.” He looked up in surprise. “Oh, uh… I was just trying to figure out when the rain’s supposed to stop.” He smiled sheepishly. “I should’ve checked the forecast before heading out.” You shook your head, already pulling your umbrella out. “Come on. You’re coming with me.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You’re not standing out here getting drenched. You’re walking me to the library.”

He hesitated, then smiled, a soft, shy grin. “Okay.”

You shared the umbrella, walking side by side. The world outside was blurred by the rain, everything muted except for the sound of your shoes on the pavement and the occasional brush of his elbow against yours. It felt casual, but something about it—something about him—made your heart race in a way you couldn’t explain.

When you reached the library, you both stood under the awning for a second, the warmth of the building just inside. You were both still close, the air between you thick with unspoken things.

And that was when it happened.

Without saying a word, Jake leaned in just enough to let his breath ghost against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “If I walked you to class every day, would you still act like I’m invisible?” he whispered.

Your heart skipped, and you didn’t know how to respond. You didn’t know what to say, or what he was really offering. But you knew, in that moment, everything between you had shifted.

And you weren’t sure you were ready for it.

But you wanted to be.

You’d never seen Jake without his glasses.

The guy everyone knew—shy, reserved, a little awkward—was always framed by those round lenses. It was part of his quiet charm, the way they softened his features, how he hid behind them like a shield. No one really saw the guy underneath, the guy who barely made waves, who faded into the background of every class.

Until today.

You hadn’t expected this when you got the text. “Roommate’s out. You wanna come over?”

It wasn’t anything crazy. It could be a quiet hangout, maybe some late-night studying. But there was a strange feeling building in your stomach, something telling you that tonight might be different.

When you knocked on Jake’s door, you barely had time to brace yourself before it swung open.

And there he was.

Jake, standing there, no glasses. He was wearing contacts, and the difference hit you immediately. His eyes, normally hidden behind lenses, were now wide open, sharp, clear. They looked darker somehow, and for the first time, you saw something in them that wasn’t there before. Confidence. A kind of intensity that threw you off guard.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice smooth, low—nothing like the awkward, stuttering Jake you were used to.

“Hi,” you replied, unsure of what to say, suddenly aware of how close he was standing.

Jake stepped aside, letting you into the room. You took a quick look around—same dorm, but the vibe was different. The room was tidier than you expected, clean, almost meticulous. No clutter, no random piles of clothes or books. It felt… like a space where Jake had control, where things were on his terms.

“You can sit wherever,” Jake said, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. His posture was relaxed, but there was an edge to it now, something about the way he stood that was different from the usual quiet guy you saw on campus.

You sat on the edge of his bed, but you didn’t know where to look. His eyes were still on you, and the way he watched you made the air between you feel thick, charged.

He took his time, like he wasn’t in any rush. “You didn’t expect this, did you?” Jake’s voice was quieter now, almost like he was daring you to admit it.

You shifted slightly, trying to act casual, but it was hard. “No. I didn’t think you’d be like this.”

He smiled, but it wasn’t the kind of shy, soft smile you were used to. It was different. “Like what?”

You hesitated, but then shrugged. “I don’t know. More… sure of yourself. Less… nervous.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, and there was a flash of something dark in his eyes. “You think I’m nervous?”

You nodded slowly, testing him. “Yeah. I mean, you’ve always been… kind of quiet.”

Jake took a step closer, his expression unreadable now, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m not shy. Just don’t feel the need to put on a show for anyone. And I don’t think you’re stupid enough to believe I’m some clueless guy.”

You stayed silent, suddenly aware of how close he was now, how his presence filled up the space between you.

He was different tonight. No hesitation. No awkward stutter. Just… Jake. But the version of him that you never saw—sharp, self-assured, and unbothered by anything or anyone around him.

“Want to see how different I am?” he asked, his voice lowering, the question hanging in the air.

You barely had time to process before his fingers brushed your arm, the simple touch making your heart race. And just like that, you realized you weren’t ready for the change that was happening between you—but you were already in too deep to turn back.

You weren’t sure what you expected when you agreed to come over, but it wasn’t this.

Jake leaned against the wall in front of you, and for the first time, you felt a shift in the way he held himself, like there was something between you that wasn’t there before. His gaze didn’t flicker away from yours, and his posture was different. He was comfortable—too comfortable, and it made the room feel smaller, hotter.

You opened your mouth to say something, but Jake beat you to it, his voice low and steady. “You don’t look at me the same way you used to.”

Your chest tightened. “What do you mean?”

His smirk deepened. “You’re looking at me like you’re seeing me for the first time. Like I’m not just the quiet guy in the back of class.”

You tried to ignore the way his words made your pulse pick up speed. He was right, and it unsettled you more than you wanted to admit. The Jake you knew was always reserved, always hiding behind his quiet act. But the Jake in front of you now? He was different. More sure of himself. More… commanding.

Before you could find the right words, Jake pushed off the wall and closed the distance between you. He didn’t touch you at first, but you could feel the heat coming off him. You took a shallow breath, the air between you thick with tension.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

You shook your head, but you could feel the unease building in your stomach, creeping up your chest. It wasn’t nerves—it was something else. Something new. Something dangerous.

He seemed to sense it, that tiny shift in your energy, and it made him lean in closer. “You can admit it,” he whispered. “I won’t bite.”

Your lips parted slightly at the sound of his voice, thick and low. There was nothing innocent about him now. You could see it clearly. This wasn’t the guy who stumbled over his words or blushed at the slightest attention. This was a version of Jake you hadn’t been prepared for.

And now that you were seeing him—really seeing him—you weren’t sure you wanted to turn away.

Jake’s hand came up to touch your chin, his thumb brushing over your skin with purpose. He tilted your head slightly, studying you like you were a puzzle he was dying to solve. His touch was slow, deliberate, and it made every nerve in your body stand on edge.

“Do you like this?” he asked softly, his thumb tracing along your jawline. “Do you like seeing me like this?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you found yourself staring at him, watching how his eyes flickered with something darker, something that made your heart race in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“I don’t know,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jake’s smirk only grew, and before you could react, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t a soft kiss, the kind you were used to. It wasn’t gentle or cautious. No, this was different. This was hungry. It was messy. He kissed you like he’d been waiting for this moment, like he couldn’t wait any longer. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, his lips parting against yours as if he was trying to steal every breath from your lungs.

You let him. You let him pull you in, let him show you what he was capable of when there was no one around to see it.

When he pulled away, just enough to let you catch your breath, his eyes never left yours. There was something predatory in his gaze now, something that made your pulse race.

“You’ve been looking at me for a while,” Jake murmured, his breath warm against your lips. “You never thought I could be like this, did you?”

You swallowed hard, your mind scrambling for something to say, but all that came out was a shaky breath.

Jake smiled, that same smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll show you just how different I can be.”

And that was when you realized—there was no going back now.

Jake’s lips hovered just inches from yours, his breath mixing with yours, the tension in the air making every nerve in your body feel alive. His eyes were locked onto yours, and you could see the way he was waiting for you—waiting for you to decide how far you wanted to go, how far you were willing to let things shift.

You had never seen him like this. The quiet guy you knew had been replaced by someone far more confident, far more intense. His hand was still resting at the back of your neck, and the way his thumb traced small circles against your skin sent a shiver down your spine.

He didn’t kiss you again right away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying you, watching for any sign of hesitation, any sign that you weren’t ready. His thumb grazed your jaw again, this time a little firmer, almost as if he was marking his territory, making sure you knew he was in control now.

And then, without warning, he pressed his lips against yours again—but this time, the kiss was slower. It was deeper, more deliberate, as if he was savoring it. His other hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the heat of his body against yours.

You tried to breathe, but it was hard. It felt like the world was closing in around you, leaving only the two of you in that small, charged space. You couldn’t focus on anything except the way his lips moved against yours, the way his hands shifted, each touch sparking a new wave of heat in your body.

He pulled away just enough to speak, his voice low, gravelly. “I told you… I’m not the guy you thought I was.”

You nodded, your throat tight, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. You could barely process what was happening. Everything about this felt different, so different from anything you’d imagined. The shy, awkward Jake had been replaced by someone who wasn’t afraid to take what he wanted.

His lips trailed down to your neck, and the soft press of his mouth against your skin made your breath catch in your throat. He moved slowly, deliberately, his hands never straying far from you. The warmth of his touch spread through you, and you felt your body responding in ways you hadn’t expected.

“Jake,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper as his lips traced along your collarbone.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with something primal. “Tell me what you want baby?” His voice was barely audible, but it cut through the fog in your mind.

You didn’t know how to answer, not with words. You had never been this close to him, not like this, not with the air crackling between you like it was about to catch fire. The way the pet name slipped so easily from his mouth made your pussy clench around nothing. But the look in his eyes, the intensity of his gaze, made something stir inside you.

Without thinking, you leaned in again, your lips pressing against his. This time, there was no hesitation. You kissed him back, a little harder this time, both groaning into the kiss as if you were trying to prove something—prove that you were ready for whatever came next.

Jake didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands slid lower, around your waist, pulling you even closer. You felt the heat of his body against yours, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His hands were firm, confident as they explored the curve of your back, the tension in your muscles, the way your body responded to him. 

Every inch of space between you seemed to vanish, and soon there was nothing but the heat, the closeness, and the feeling of his hands on your skin.

For the first time, you weren’t sure if you were in control anymore—or if you ever had been.

Jake pulled away from the kiss, his breath ragged as he looked at you with that same intense gaze. There was something in his eyes—an unspoken challenge, a promise of something you couldn’t quite yet name. You could feel the tension building, heavy in the air between you, thickening with each second that passed.

He reached up slowly, his fingers brushing the collar of his shirt, and your heart skipped a beat as he pulled it over his head, revealing the smooth skin of his chest. The movement was casual, effortless, like he’d done it a thousand times before. His muscles shifted under his skin, the soft light of the room catching the contours of his body, and it was like everything about him felt real now—far more than you ever thought.

You couldn’t help but stare, your gaze tracing over the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. There was no trace of the shy, reserved guy from before. Instead, he stood there—bare, exposed—looking at you with a calm confidence that made your pulse race.

Jake didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His eyes spoke volumes as they flickered to yours, waiting for you to respond, to make the next move.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you took in the sight of him, suddenly feeling a shift, a hunger building within you that mirrored his own. It was a quiet power, a tension you could feel in your very bones.

Jake’s eyes never left yours as you stood there, frozen for a moment. The air felt thick, charged, as if time had slowed down, and the weight of his gaze made everything around you fade into the background.

He stepped toward you, his chest still bare, his body moving with a kind of fluid confidence that made your pulse spike. Each step he took seemed to make the space between you shrink, until you were once again within inches of him. He didn’t rush. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were savoring every moment.

“Do you want this?” he asked, his voice low, steady. The question hung in the air, but there was no hesitation in his tone—only the calm certainty of someone who knew exactly what they wanted.

Your throat tightened, and you nodded, though words seemed impossible to find. The only sound in the room was the quickening rhythm of your breath, mingling with his.

Jake’s hand reached for the hem of your shirt, his fingers grazing your skin as he lifted it, gently pulling it over your head. You let him, your heart pounding in your chest, your skin heating under his touch. He didn’t rush, his hands tracing the curves of your body with careful attention, like he was memorizing every inch of you.

When your shirt finally joined his on the floor, he stepped back slightly to take you in, his gaze sweeping over your exposed skin. His eyes darkened further, a look of quiet admiration in them, but there was something else there too—something predatory, possessive.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, the words low but full of meaning.

You could barely process what was happening, but the way he said it—like he was claiming you, and yet somehow honoring you at the same time—made your chest tighten. His hands were at your waist now, pulling you closer again, and his lips found the curve of your neck. He kissed you there softly, his mouth warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

As he kissed you, his hands moved lower, slowly, deliberately, until he was holding you, guiding you gently toward his bed. There was no rush, no urgency—just the feel of his strong hands, the weight of his body against yours, and the soft pressure of his lips as they trailed down to your collarbone.

Jake was taking his time, savoring the moments. He wanted you—he was showing you that much, but he was also letting you see a side of him that no one else got to experience.

And as he lowered you onto the bed, his lips never leaving your skin, you felt a kind of surrender that you couldn’t explain. He was confident, sure of every move he made. But so were you.

This was new. You were new.

Jake’s lips found the delicate curve of your neck, and you inhaled sharply as a wave of warmth flooded your body. His kisses were slow, teasing, each one leaving a faint, tingling trail on your skin. You could feel his breath against you, warm and steady, as he placed soft, lingering kisses along the sensitive spot beneath your ear.

His hands, still resting on your waist, tightened their grip slightly, pulling you closer to him. Every movement was deliberate, purposeful, as if he was in no rush to get anywhere, wanting to savor every moment.

“You’re such a good girl,” Jake murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough. The words sent a shiver down your spine, stirring something deep inside you. His praise, soft yet commanding, made your heart race even faster, the air between you growing thick with desire.

You couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped your lips, your body reacting to the way his voice made you feel—like you were exactly where you needed to be, like you were his.

Jake smiled against your neck, the words lingering in the air. “So good for me,” he whispered, his lips brushing the spot again. You could feel the confidence in his words, the way he was claiming the moment, claiming you. The heat that had been building between you both was undeniable now, and you knew, without a doubt, that this was no longer the shy, quiet guy from school.

This was Jake. The Jake who knew exactly what he wanted—and wasn’t afraid to take it.

The room felt smaller now, even with the space around you. The air was thick with a quiet tension, a sense of something inevitable hanging between you two. Jake was no longer standing across from you, maintaining that careful distance. He was close—too close—and it was clear that neither of you wanted to back away.

You could feel the pull of him, an invisible force that seemed to draw you in, making it impossible to ignore the heat that had been simmering between you both. You’d known this feeling, this desire, had been building for weeks. But now it was no longer just something you could push aside, something you could pretend wasn’t there.

“Do you trust me?” Jake’s voice was soft, but there was a weight to it, a seriousness that sent a ripple of excitement through you. He was close now, his chest nearly brushing yours, and the way he spoke made it clear he wasn’t just asking out of curiosity.

You nodded, unable to find your voice for a moment, the words lost in the heat of the moment. Jake smiled—genuine, a little wicked—and his hand reached out to guide you toward the desk.

The desk that had become a symbol of something you didn’t even fully understand yet. He placed his hands on your hips, his touch firm but not rough, leading you with careful, deliberate steps. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the edge of the desk against the back of your knees.

He stopped, his lips grazing the side of your neck as he whispered, “Stay still for me baby.”

There was an undeniable force in the way he held you, a promise in his words. Your pulse raced as your hands rested against the cool surface of the desk. The room was suddenly quieter, the sounds of your breaths louder than anything else.

Jake stood behind you, his chest pressed against your back. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his breath ghosted over your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. There was a certain thrill in knowing that he was completely in control, that he was in charge.

His hands moved with purpose, sliding from your hips up your sides, lingering over the curve of your waist, tracing slow circles over your ribs. You wanted to press back against him, to feel the weight of him against you, but something kept you still, some tiny shred of self-control.

Jake's hands moved higher, fingers trailing over your collarbone, and you couldn't help the soft gasp that escaped your lips. His touch was firm, possessive, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. You wanted to arch into him, to feel the weight of his body against yours, but you kept your hips planted against the desk, fighting the urge.

Jake's lips traced a path down your neck, and you could feel the smile on his face as he spoke, his voice low and rough. "You're doing so well for me," he murmured.

The words slipped out before you could stop them, your voice shaky and desperate, "I need to feel you-need your cock."

You could feel him smirk against your skin, his hands tracing slow, teasing circles over your hips. "You that desperate, you slut?" he scoffed, his words like a taunt, a challenge.

Jake's words sent heat coursing through your veins, the sound of your own whimpering catching you off guard. It was a sound of desperation, of need, and it betrayed a vulnerability you hadn't meant to show.

But he heard it. Of course he did. He was so close to you, his body pressed against yours, and there were no more secrets between you.

You could feel the anticipation building, the air around you thick with tension. Jake's hands moved with purpose, tugging at your skirt, and it came down in a swift motion, pooling around your ankles. He took a step back, giving you space, and for a moment, you were left standing in just your underwear.

Jake's eyes darkened as he watched you, the desire in his gaze unmistakable. He moved closer again, crowding you against the desk, and you could feel the heat radiating off his bare skin, the way it made your skin prickle with anticipation.

You looked back to see Jake stroking his already leaking cock, letting out a low groan in the process. You could feel a smirk form on his lips as he shoves your panties aside. “Jesus yn, you’re dripping.” His words brought a throbbing sensation to your pussy, a desperate whimper leaving your mouth. “Jake…please,” you begged. “I need to feel you.” The heat in your body was almost unbearable now, your words little more than a ragged breath as you plead with him, "Fuck, Jake." It was like all the thoughts had slipped away from you, replaced by a pulsing need.

Jake didn't hesitate. He was still gripping your hip with one hand, his other wrapping around your waist as he pulled you back against him. There was no more waiting, no more teasing. He was hard and ready, and you could feel it pressed against you, and you were slick and wanting, and you couldn't take it any longer.

With a low, guttural groan, Jake slammed his cock inside your soaked cunt in one motion, causing you both to let out the filthiest sound. 

“fuck, look at you,” jake groaned quietly, fingers spreading your ass apart. “such a filthy little thing, huh? letting me use that pussy mouth like it’s all you’re good for.”

his hand is tangled in your hair now, not tugging—just resting there, warm and heavy, like a crown you’ve earned. you try to stay quiet, knowing that the building has thin walls, spit pooling and dripping down your chin as your rhythm falters under the weight of his words. “Jake, it feels go good—“

“quiet,” he snaps softly, and your lashes flutter as you obey.

good. obedient. ruined.

“that’s it, baby. show me how good you are at taking my cock,” he says, voice almost tender if not for the filth of it. “can’t even breathe right, but you don’t care, do you? you love it too much. love being my perfect little toy.”

you whimper around him, and it makes his hips stutter. his thighs tense.

his control cracks just a little.

“god, you’re so good for me. fuck, baby—so fucking perfect.”

he grits his teeth, hand tightening just slightly in your hair. “no one else gets to see you like this. no one else can. only me.”

your jaw aches. your throat burns. but still, you don’t stop. “this pussy is made for me,” he continued, throwing his head back. “Fucking made for me yn.”

Jake was losing control, his words coming out in sharp breaths. He'd never spoken to you like this before, never so openly, so shamelessly filthy. Your mind was reeling, the sensations overwhelming as he took what he wanted from you, his words only fueling your own desire.

“J-Jake- too much.” you whisper cry to him. He giggles a bit, only looking at you the whole time. “And you love it.” he grabs onto your waist gently. 

You help fuck yourself on him a bit faster and he lets out a groan. “You’re so tight around me.. y/n..” he thinks he hasn’t stretched you out enough beforehand. “We can.. do it..” you say, already out of breath.

You spread your legs a bit more, releasing a bit of tension on him. You succeed taking on his big cock, whilst using his shoulders as handles. “You’re taking it so good..” he whispers. You go faster at his praises.

He’s been stretching you out for a while now, and it definitely got easier over time. The slight discomfort turned into satisfying pleasure for you. His swollen tip hits your g-spot every single time, making you want to cum right there. However, he’s been wanting to finish ever since you started. You feel so good wrapped around him he’s surprised he hasn’t let out any further moan yet. 

His hips move faster again, getting closer to cumming again. Your puffy cunt is crying at this point, while you let out a slight moan with every thrust. You keep going for a bit before, before rolling your eyes back to cum. “I’m— gonna… I… oh m… Jake..” you struggle. 

You don’t get to say anything—your body gives out before your voice can even catch up. Your thighs tremble around him, and you’re a mess in his lap, clinging to him like he’s the only thing grounding you. The sound you let out is raw, louder than before, and Jake just leans back in his chair, watching you fall apart with that smug, wrecked grin of his.

His hands tighten around your waist, keeping you moving even as your body begs for mercy. He’s not letting go—not yet.

“You’re not done,” he mutters low against your throat, lips brushing your skin. “Not until I say so.”

You try to respond, but it’s all heat and haze now. Your chest presses against his as your head drops to his shoulder, and he doesn’t stop—he guides you through every slow grind, every twitch of your body that draws another gasp from your lips. His voice is rough, breathless, right in your ear.

Then his body jerks beneath you, and the way he holds you after—tight, possessive—tells you everything you need to know. His hand slides up your back as you both sit there, the room thick with the aftermath, your bodies still tangled.

You think it’s over. You think maybe now he’ll let you breathe.

But then his grip shifts, and he pulls you right back down onto him, your body jolting at the sudden contact.

A gasp leaves you, and his laugh—low and dangerous—rumbles against your collarbone. “Still so sensitive,” he teases, brushing your hair back as he presses a kiss just below your ear. “Thought you could handle me.”

Your arms drape around his neck again, head buried against his skin, and all you can do is hold on. You kiss the sweat-slicked curve of his jaw, trying to catch your breath while he stays buried deep, unmoving, content to just keep you there—full, overwhelmed, and completely his.

And with one hand still steady on your hip, Jake casually slides his chair back toward his desk, like it’s just another night—like you’re not still trembling on top of him.

Just before he grabs his headset, he whispers, “You should hear yourself.”

By the time you got back to class Monday morning, it was like nothing had ever happened. Or at least, that’s how Jake made it seem.

There he was, slouched in his usual seat at the back of the lecture hall, hoodie half-zipped, glasses perched slightly crooked on the bridge of his nose. He was typing away at his laptop like he hadn’t just had you moaning his name into the crook of his neck two nights ago, skin flushed, bodies tangled.

He glanced up as you walked in. His eyes found yours for a second too long—and then he looked away, pretending to be distracted by something on his screen. You swore you saw the corner of his mouth twitch, like he was fighting a smile.

You took your seat a few rows ahead of him, and a minute later, you felt the faintest buzzin your pocket.

“I had fun.”

You turned around. He was staring at his laptop like he hadn’t just texted you that. Like he hadn’t just ruined you on that same voice he used to answer class questions with a stutter.

Jake was still quiet in public, still awkward. He still pushed up his glasses too often and knocked over his water bottle when reaching for his pen. But now, there was a glint in his eyes every time he looked at you. A silent smugness. A private joke only the two of you knew the punchline to.

And when your professor called on him to answer a question, and he stumbled over the words “data structure,” turning slightly pink, you thought—no one else in this room had a clue. No one knew that he’d whispered “stay still for me” against your skin like a command. That the same clumsy guy blushing in front of the class had told you with a dark smirk, “such a good girl, you took me so well.”

You looked over your shoulder again. Jake met your eyes, and this time, he didn’t look away. Just popped a piece of gum into his mouth, chewing slow, gaze steady. And then he winked.

You almost dropped your pen.

You tried to keep it to yourself—you really did. But your friends had spent the last ten minutes at your table giggling over Jake like he was some weird cryptid.

“I checked his Instagram again,” Yuna said, sipping her iced coffee. “He lost a follower. And he posted a blurry picture of a squirrel once.”

“Do you think he even knows how to use Instagram?” Soojin added, snorting. “He gives off ‘my mom made this account for me’ energy.”

You bit your lip, trying not to smile too hard.

“What?” Yuna asked, eyes narrowing at you. “Why are you smiling like that? Don’t tell me you actually think he’s hot.”

“I don’t think he’s hot,” you said slowly, stirring your drink.

They leaned in.

You sighed, leaning back in your seat, glancing over your shoulder out of habit.

“Okay,” you whispered. “This doesn’t leave this table.”

Yuna and Soojin practically vibrated with anticipation.

“I went to his dorm,” you started, voice low. “A few nights ago. His roommate was gone. And he wasn’t wearing glasses. He had contacts in. And he—” you hesitated, heartbeat picking up. “He was acting completely differnt. And we kinda.. you know.”

Yuna let out a dramatic gasp. “No way.”

Soojin cackled. “Shut up. Jake? Jake Sim and y/n fucked?”

You nodded slowly, lips twitching.

“And?” Yuna prompted. “And? What, did he trip over his desk accidentally slip his dick into you?”

You hesitated. “We, uh… no…”

Both of their jaws dropped—and then they burst into laughter.

“No, no, you’re joking,” Soojin said, leaning into Yuna for support. “Jake? Jake had you—what, bent over his gaming chair while his twelve Instagram followers cheered him on?”

“I’m serious,” you said, laughing despite yourself. “He’s not—he’s not how you think he is. Not when we’re alone.”

“Okay, now you’re just making it sound like he’s Batman,” Yuna snorted. “By day, he’s a bio major with a screen protector on his calculator. By night—”

“Hey.” A voice cut in behind you.

You froze.

Yuna’s eyes widened.

Soojin slapped a hand over her mouth.

You turned your head slowly—Jake was standing there, tray in hand, his expression unreadable. His glasses were on, hoodie loose, hair a little messy like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“Hi,” he said, voice calm, like he hadn’t just caught you mid-confession.

You blinked up at him. “Jake.”

He looked at your friends, then back at you. “You forgot your charger last night.”

He placed it next to your drink, eyes flicking down to your hand for half a second.

“Thanks,” you said, voice quiet.

Jake gave you a lazy smile—barely there, but you knew it. You knew that look now. He turned, walked away like nothing happened, headphones already around his neck.

You turned back to your friends.

Their mouths were hanging open.

“…You’re not joking,” Yuna said flatly.

“I told you,” you whispered, trying—and failing—to hide the grin pulling at your lips.

Your friends were still frozen, processing, as Jake walked off toward the other end of the café like he hadn’t just detonated a bomb and left you to deal with the aftermath. He didn’t look back, but the slow, smug drag of his steps made it very clear—he knew exactly what he was doing.

“I…” Yuna blinked. “Was that your charger?”

You nodded, sipping your drink to hide your smirk.

Soojin finally found her voice. “Did he say last night?”

You nodded again, this time a little slower.

Both of them let out the most synchronized gasps you’d ever heard in your life.

“Girl,” Yuna whispered, leaning across the table like she was afraid someone would overhear, “what the hell is going on? That’s not even—Jake? Like, Jake Sim? He’s—he’s a meme. We literally made a Bingo card of the number of times he trips in the hallway!”

“Yeah,” you said, unable to stop the warmth in your cheeks. “And apparently, he’s also capable of blowing my back out while explaining the difference between RAM and ROM.”

Soojin shrieked. “Stop!”

You were laughing now, the kind that bubbles up and won’t stop. It was ridiculous. All of it. And yet, every time you thought about the way he kissed you—like he knew what he was doing, like he’d been waiting for the right moment to show you—you felt your knees threaten to give out.

“Okay,” Yuna said, gripping your arm. “So, wait. Is he, like… your boyfriend now? Or is this just an elite phase?”

You opened your mouth—then closed it again.

You hadn’t even thought that far.

Jake hadn’t said anything official. No labels. No talks. Just quiet texts. A stolen charger. A wink in lecture. And the memory of him whispering in your ear, voice low and breathless, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“I don’t know,” you admitted honestly. “But I don’t think this is just a one-time thing.”

At that exact moment, your phone buzzed again.

“also, I meant every word I said to you”

Your head snapped up. Across the room, Jake was seated with his laptop open, headset slung around his neck, biting into a sandwich like the most innocent man alive.

Your stomach flipped.

This menace. This liar. This actor.

Your thumbs hovered over the screen, a mix of embarrassment and fondness curling in your chest.

“you’re actually evil”

“i hate you”

“i hate that i don’t hate you”

A beat passed.

“you’re cute when you fluster. wanna come over after chem?”

Your friends didn’t even need to ask who you were texting. They saw your face and groaned in unison.

And for once, you didn’t even deny it.

Jake was a master of the double life. You didn’t know how he did it, but it was like he could flip a switch whenever he stepped foot in the hallways of the university.

In class? A complete disaster.

The shy, bumbling guy you’d always seen—his glasses slipping down his nose, tripping over his own feet as he made his way to his desk. He’d stammer when he spoke to the professor, barely making eye contact with anyone, and was always the first to look down at his phone when group discussions came up. The Jake everyone saw was awkward, quiet, and somehow endearing in his nerdy way. The one who sat by himself in the cafeteria, fiddling with his notebook, hoping no one would notice him.

And yet, you knew. You knew there was something more beneath that awkward exterior. Something darker, something confident. You’d seen it for yourself, just two nights ago. The quiet guy who barely spoke a word in class had turned into a completely different person behind closed doors.

But here, in the hallway, between classes, you wouldn’t have been able to guess that same Jake was the one who had you shivering under his touch, whispering praises into your ear like he owned you.

You were walking past his usual spot in the library when you caught him fumbling with a stack of books, his face scrunched up in concentration. He didn’t notice you at first, too focused on his task. But when he looked up, the usual blush crept up his neck, and his mouth opened, but no words came out.

“Hi,” you said casually, a teasing grin tugging at the corner of your mouth. “You need help with those?”

He gave a nervous laugh, adjusting his glasses and dropping the books onto the table like his hands suddenly didn’t know how to hold them anymore. “Uh, yeah, no, I—um, I got it. Thanks, though.”

You could barely contain your laughter. Here he was, this guy who had literally whispered praises in your ear only days ago, looking like a total mess in front of you. He couldn’t even manage eye contact without turning an embarrassing shade of pink.

“So,” you said, leaning against the bookshelf beside him, your arms casually crossed. “You been doing any more squirrel photography lately?”

Jake froze, his face flushing deeper. “Uh, n-no,” he stammered, grabbing his books a little too quickly. “I— I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It was like watching a completely different person. Gone was the guy who had held you close, kissed you with authority. Gone was the guy who made you forget everything when his lips were on your neck. Now, he was just a bumbling mess, avoiding your eyes, looking everywhere but at you.

“You’re so weird,” you teased lightly. “You know, I’ve been wondering… is it really the glasses, or is it the awkwardness? Which one is the real you?”

Jake opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He just looked at you, a mixture of embarrassment and—was that a hint of guilt? Like he had a secret he didn’t want anyone to know.

“Never mind,” you said with a smirk, walking away from him. “Keep up the good work, loser.”

You could feel him watching you, probably frozen in place, but you didn’t care. It was almost unbelievable how different he could act when it was just the two of you alone in a room. The guy who couldn’t make it through a simple conversation in public had turned into the man who made you forget your own name when he had his hands on you.

But for now, all you could do was shake your head and laugh, marveling at how Jake was pulling off his double life—completely clueless and completely in control, all at once.

The cafeteria went silent the moment you walked past your usual table and headed straight for his.

Jake was sitting alone, as usual—tray of barely-touched food in front of him, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands like he was trying to disappear into himself. He was hunched over his phone, earbuds in, completely unaware of the social earthquake that was about to hit.

You plopped down across from him without warning.

His head snapped up. He blinked, startled. “Wh—uh… hey?”

Conversations around you dipped, and you could feel the whispers starting. Not subtle ones either. Real, full-body turns. Eyes darting. Forks pausing mid-air. People whispering you’re joking, is that Y/N? and she’s sitting with him?

You just smiled, opening your drink like this was the most normal thing in the world. “Relax,” you said, lowering your voice and leaning forward just a little. “You’re acting like I just declared war on the entire social order.”

He pushed his glasses up and blinked a few times. “You… you don’t usually—uh, sit here.”

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’. “But today I felt like sitting with my favorite academic weapon slash secret menace.”

Jake choked on his water.

You grinned. “Also, I think I’ve figured you out.”

He swallowed hard. “F-Figured me out?”

“Yup.” You tilted your head at him, keeping your voice low and teasing. “I think your glasses are what activate your awkward personality. Like a switch. You wear them? Jake the human embodiment of a shy turtle. You take them off? Boom. Total menace.”

His ears turned pink. He scratched the back of his neck, trying to look casual but failing completely. “They’re prescription…”

“And yet they’re also your disguise,” you smirked.

Around you, the buzz of conversation slowly picked back up. Everyone was still sneaking glances, but they were getting bored now that you weren’t making out on the table or confessing your love with a boombox overhead. One by one, people returned to their own lunches.

And that’s when he looked up at you—and really looked.

The second your audience was gone, the timid act melted off his face like it had never existed. His back straightened. His expression shifted, eyes sharpening just a little, mouth tugging into that familiar slow smirk that made your stomach flip.

“You like the glasses?” he asked, voice lower now, smooth and lazy.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden switch.

He leaned forward on his elbows, gaze steady and annoyingly smug. “You think that’s what keeps me from bending you over this table right now?”

You nearly choked on your drink.

“There’s the menace,” you muttered, eyes narrowing as your pulse spiked.

Jake smiled like he’d just won something. “You came to my table, remember?”

“And now I’m questioning everything.”

He laughed under his breath, picking up a fry from his tray and tossing it into his mouth like he had all the time in the world.

“Too late,” he said, chewing. “You already made your choice. Better hope no one figures out what I look like without the glasses.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you threatening me?”

He grinned. “I’m warning you.”

And just like that, he went back to sipping his water, glasses slipping again, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. Back to harmless, quiet Jake.

But you knew better now.

So did he.

You were two seconds away from dragging Jake by the collar.

He sat stiffly next to you on the couch, surrounded by your friends, looking like someone who’d just been dropped into a completely foreign dimension. His hoodie was zipped all the way up to his neck, hands tucked into his sleeves, legs pressed together like he was trying to take up the least amount of space possible.

Your friends were trying. God bless them, they were.

“So, Jake,” Yuna said, passing him a slice of pizza. “What are you majoring in again?”

Jake blinked. “Um. Bio.”

Silence.

Soojin tried to jump in. “Cool! Are you doing like, pre-med or something?”

Jake stared at the pizza in his lap like it personally offended him. “No.”

You gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs. He flinched. “I, uh… I just like cells.”

More silence.

You shot him a look.

Jake gave a weak smile. “Cells are nice.”

You excused yourself to the kitchen before your soul could physically leave your body from secondhand embarrassment. Jake followed, like a lost puppy—but once the two of you were out of earshot, you whirled on him.

“Are you serious right now?”

Jake blinked innocently. “What?”

“You’re acting like a scared freshman at their first club meeting. Can you just…” You groaned, tugging him by the sleeve. “Be normal. Be you. The you that had me on my knees last weekend.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You want me to flirt with your friends?”

You narrowed your eyes. “I want you to act like you’re not a socially-anxious squirrel.”

He leaned against the counter with a little too much confidence now. “Babe, I already got what I wanted. I don’t need to charm your friends.”

You stepped closer, lowering your voice. “If you keep acting like a brick wall, I swear to god I’m not giving you head again.”

Jake blinked.

Then he straightened.

“You wouldn’t.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

There was a moment of silence. He stared at you like you’d just ripped the moon from the sky and thrown it in his face.

And then—he sighed dramatically. “Fine.”

You watched him walk back into the living room, a defeated slump in his shoulders. But right before he sat down again, he glanced back at you and mouthed, rude.

You just smiled sweetly.

You watched him march right back into the living room like a man on a mission. No hoodie shielding his face, no sleeves hiding his hands—Jake dropped onto the couch next to Yuna like he belonged there. Like he hadn’t just been threatening to pretend he didn’t know the English language five minutes ago.

“So,” he said casually, draping one arm along the back of the couch. “Y/N tells me you guys stalked my Instagram.”

Your head snapped up.

Yuna blinked, caught. “W-What?”

Jake smirked. “Twelve followers and still managed to bag your friend. Pretty impressive, right?”

Your jaw dropped.

Soojin choked on her drink.

Yuna looked like she’d just short-circuited.

“I mean, I don’t post thirst traps or anything,” Jake continued, tone light but clearly enjoying himself. “Y/n says I should.”

You were frozen. You hadn’t even known he could talk in complete sentences around your friends, let alone roast them.

He glanced at you mid-sentence, lips twitching. “What? You said be normal.”

“This is not what I meant by normal,” you hissed under your breath.

Jake only smiled wider.

“I mean,” he said louder now, eyes gleaming, “Y/N didn’t really stand a chance. She was obsessed with me from the moment she saw me trip over a recycling bin.”

You stared at him, half-horrified, half-impressed. The duality of this man was actually insane.

“You’re the worst,” you muttered, but your voice was shaking with barely contained laughter.

He leaned back on the couch, one leg crossed over the other like he’d been doing this all his life. “I prefer ‘underrated.’”

Soojin blinked at you, stunned. “Is this the same Jake?”

“Sadly,” you deadpanned.

Jake stretched his arms overhead, smirking like he’d just won something. “Told you. Glasses on—loser. Glasses off?” He looked at you over the rim of his drink. “Problem.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

Because he was right.

The conversation shifted, but Jake didn’t shrink back like he normally would. In fact, he leaned in. Tossed out a few sarcastic remarks, made a joke about the weird guy in your chem lecture, and even stole a fry off Yuna’s plate like he’d known her for years.

You sat there stunned, barely able to process the whiplash of it all.

At one point, Soojin gave you a look—eyebrows raised, lips parted like girl…—and you just blinked back, equally bewildered.

Jake caught the exchange, of course. He always did. He leaned over toward you, his voice dropping low, just for you to hear.

“Still mad at me?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You didn’t look at him. “You’re skating on very thin ice.”

He chuckled softly. “You threatening me again?”

You smirked, finally glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “I don’t threaten, Jake. I warn.”

That seemed to only encourage him. “You know I love when you talk like that.”

You elbowed him under the table, but he didn’t even flinch—just grinned like the menace he was.

Eventually, your friends began packing up their things, saying goodbye, and heading out one by one. Jake stayed close beside you, still riding the high of finally breaking his “awkward loner” act in public.

As the room cleared, he bumped your shoulder lightly. “So… did I do good?”

You stared at him. “You did too good.”

He raised a brow, amused. “Jealous?”

“No,” you scoffed, gathering your stuff. “More like terrified of the monster I just unleashed.”

Jake slung his bag over his shoulder, his grin never fading. “Told you. You’re the one who wanted me to be social. You made this happen.”

You paused at the doorway, giving him a long look. “You’re still not getting head tonight.”

He laughed, following close behind you. “Liar.”

God help you—he was right again.

Jake walked you back to your dorm with a bounce in his step, like he hadn’t just caused a minor social earthquake in your friend group. You kept glancing over at him, trying to find even a trace of the shy, fumbling version of him your friends had always known—but nope. Gone. Completely replaced by this smug, way-too-proud-of-himself creature strutting beside you like he’d just won an Oscar.

“You seriously said ‘bagged your friend,’” you muttered, shaking your head.

Jake shrugged, completely unapologetic. “I was being honest.”

“You’re impossible.”

He smirked, leaning closer so his shoulder bumped yours. “But you love me anyway.”

Your heart did a weird little skip, but you masked it with a scoff. “Mm, debatable.”

He laughed, but you could tell he noticed the way your ears flushed. Jake always noticed. Which made it all the more dangerous when he decided to push.

“You sure?” he said lowly, glancing at you sideways. “Because if I remember correctly, few nights ago you were practically begging—”

You slapped a hand over his mouth before he could finish. “Don’t you dare say that sentence out loud.”

Jake’s laughter vibrated against your palm, and he licked it just to be annoying.

“Jake!”

“What?” he said, completely unbothered, mouth curling into that damn smile again. “I’m just saying, you seemed pretty in love with me when you were—”

“I swear to god, I won’t let you cum tonight.”

He grinned. “Still wouldn’t change what happened on my desk.”

You groaned, unlocking your door and stepping inside, not even bothering to push him out. He followed like he lived there, already dropping his bag on your floor and toeing off his shoes.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” you muttered, tossing your jacket on the chair, “but I kinda miss socially awkward Jake.”

Jake leaned against your desk—the very one he had completely ruined you on—crossing his arms with a smug tilt of his head.

“I’ll bring him back next time we’re around your friends,” he said sweetly. “Wouldn’t want to scare anyone.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re the worst.”

He took a slow step toward you. “And yet…”

You backed up until the backs of your knees hit your bed. Jake caged you in without touching you, just that cocky little smirk inches from your mouth.

“…you keep letting me in.”

Your breath hitched.

You hated how right he was.

He didn’t even have to touch you—just standing there, close enough to fog up your brain, was enough to make your breath catch. That same smug little smirk tugged at the corner of his lips like he knew. (And he did. He always did.)

You crossed your arms, trying to look unaffected. “We’re not doing anything tonight.”

Jake tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Didn’t say we were.”

“You were thinking it.”

He grinned. “Can’t a guy hang out with his girlfriend without being accused of crimes?”

You blinked. “Your what?”

Jake froze for half a second—just enough to catch it—then played it off with a shrug, looking entirely too casual. “You. My girlfriend.”

“Jake,” you said slowly, “we haven’t even been on a date yet.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Okay, and?”

You stared at him.

He held your gaze, deadpan. “We’ve had sex on your desk.”

Your mouth opened, then shut again. He just kept going.

“I’ve had my tongue in you. Multiple times. You think a coffee date is gonna make it moreofficial?”

You smacked his shoulder, cheeks burning. “You’re insane.”

Jake smiled, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. “You’re stuck with me now. Might as well give me the title.”

You rolled your eyes, but your hands found the hem of his hoodie anyway, fingers curling there.

“This better not mean I have to start posting you on my story.”

“Oh no,” he teased. “Anything but that.”

You sighed. “Fine. One date. But you’re planning it.”

Jake smirked, already way too pleased with himself. “Good. I was gonna make you fall in love with me anyway.”

It became… a problem.

First it was your friends catching you two making out in the library stacks. Then it was the quad. Then the empty art building stairwell. At one point, Yuna dramatically threatened to carry a spray bottle in her bag just to spritz you both like misbehaving cats.

You tried to tone it down. Really. But Jake had this stupid, unfair ability to get under your skin with just one look. One whisper. One brush of his hand against your lower back when no one was watching.

And then there was the incident. The one no one dared to speak about—but everyone knew.

You’d followed Jake into the men’s washroom between lectures, heart pounding, brain nowhere near your upcoming lab. One minute you were teasing him red, leaking tip with minor kitty licks, the next—A very unfortunate and traumatized TA walked in at the exact wrong time.

To this day, you’re not sure who was more horrified: you, Jake, or the TA who immediately did a full 180 and walked straight back out without a word.

Jake couldn’t stop laughing. You couldn’t show your face in that building for a week.

Now every time you pass that hallway, he leans in with a whisper and a smug, “Wanna relive the glory days?”

You elbow him. Hard. But your ears still burn.

Because the worst part? You absolutely do.

You hadn’t even had a chance to settle into the cozy atmosphere of a movie night with Jake, Sunghoon, and Sunoo before everything went to hell.

It was supposed to be a simple night. You, Jake, and his friends, chilling on the couch, watching some random movie Sunghoon picked out after a few too many awkward silences. You’d been mentally preparing yourself for this, maybe even looking forward to getting to know his friends better. You’d heard so much about them, and Sunoo had been sending you memes for weeks now, always so sweet and teasing.

But instead of a normal movie night, you ended up on Jake’s lap with your lips pressed to his, unable to hold back as he slipped his hands beneath your hoodie. Your fingers were tangled in his hair, and you completely forgot about the stupid film Sunghoon had started. All that mattered was the heat building between you and Jake, the sound of his breath against your mouth, the way he was slowly getting bolder, moving his lips to your neck—

And then, the unmistakable sound of a throat clearing from across the room.

You froze, eyes widening, and pulled back from Jake just as Sunghoon and Sunoo exchanged awkward glances.

“Well,” Sunghoon said, adjusting his glasses with a little too much casualness, “This is… an interesting way to start a movie night.”

You sat up quickly, heart racing. “We—uh, we weren’t—”

Sunoo cut you off with a laugh that had a slightly knowing edge to it. “Don’t worry, I’ve seen worse. But wow, didn’t think I’d be walking in on this so soon.”

You could feel your face heating up, but Jake, the menace, only smirked, his arm still casually draped around you. “I was just showing her how comfortable the couch is. Isn’t it nice, babe?”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow at that, glancing between you two. “Comfortable, huh? Good to know.”

Sunoo chuckled. “I guess I’m glad we finally got a front-row seat to Jake’s ‘split personality.’” His voice dropped to an exaggerated whisper, adding, “Who knew the shy, awkward guy could get so… intense.”

You looked at Jake, whose eyes were practically glowing with mischief. You knew exactly what that meant.

“I told you guys,” Jake said, sliding his fingers through your hair, his voice low and smooth. “She’s got me wrapped around her finger. Not just with the whole ‘studious boyfriend’ act.”

Sunghoon chuckled and shook his head. “I’m just here for the popcorn, but whatever you guys are doing, you’re definitely ruining the vibe of the movie.”

You swore you could feel the heat radiating from your face, but Jake was entirely too smug, his hand never leaving your waist. “Movie’s overrated anyway,” he said with a wink. “Better company right here.”

The tension in the room was palpable, but somehow, you knew this was just the beginning. Jake wasn’t about to stop teasing you in front of his friends, and now they definitely knew what he was like when he wasn’t playing the quiet, shy guy.

It had been exactly one month since you and Jake made things official, and somewhere along the way, he had somehow charmed all your friends.

Yuna, especially.

What started off as teasing glances and snarky comments turned into him greeting her with “What’s up, my other girl?” in front of literally everyone—like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You’d laughed the first time. Sort of.

The second time, your smile was tight.

By the third, you didn’t even look at him. Just turned around, grabbed your bag, and left without a word. The silence that followed was deafening.

He texted. Called. Showed up at your dorm with snacks, guilty puppy-dog eyes, and one of your hoodies you’d accidentally left at his place.

You didn’t budge.

Not when he spammed you with voice memos or when he got Sunoo to send you dramatic apologies on his behalf. Not even when Yuna told you that Jake had asked herhow to fix it, which was ironic in the most painful way possible.

A week passed. You were starting to miss him—his touch, his stupid jokes, the way he looked at you like you hung stars in his sky—but you were petty, and prideful, and notabout to forgive him over something as dumb as a nickname that made your stomach twist.

But Jake knew you. And Jake never lost.

The night you finally gave in, he showed up to your dorm without a word, eyes dark, hands careful. He didn’t ask if he could stay. Just got down on his knees, pulled you to the edge of the bed, and showed you how sorry he was.

You didn’t even realize your fingers were tangled in his hair, hips shaking as he flicked your clit around with his tongue, breath caught somewhere between a moan and a sob.

By the time he looked up, lips swollen, pupils blown wide, your legs were trembling and you couldn’t remember what planet you were on.

“Still mad at me?” he asked, voice hoarse, a little smug, but mostly sincere.

You tried to speak, failed. All you could do was blink down at him.

He kissed the inside of your thigh. “Good. Because you’re my only girl.”

And yeah—he won. Again.

The next morning, Jake acted like nothing happened.

He was sprawled across your tiny dorm bed, hair a mess, hoodie half-off his shoulder, munching on the cereal you kept strictly for late-night study stress. Like he hadn’t just given you an out-of-body experience twelve hours ago.

You stood at the mirror brushing your hair, shooting him a look through the reflection. “You’re really just gonna sit there like you didn’t have me literally sobbing last night?”

Jake grinned around a spoonful of cereal. “I figured you forgave me when you couldn’t feel your legs after.”

You tossed a hair tie at him. He dodged, laughing.

“You’re lucky I didn’t call you a cab,” you said, turning back around.

“I am lucky,” he said, voice lower now, more serious, “but not just for that.”

You paused. Met his eyes.

Jake set the bowl aside and stood up, crossing the room to wrap his arms around your waist from behind. His chin rested on your shoulder, voice soft. “I’m sorry for the Yuna thing. I thought I was being funny. I didn’t realize it hurt you.”

You didn’t respond right away. He held you tighter.

“You know I only want you, right?”

You nodded, finally. “You’re still an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “But I’m your idiot.”

You rolled your eyes, but leaned into him anyway, the tension finally melting.

Later that day, Yuna raised an eyebrow as you walked into the café together, hand-in-hand with Jake.

“Back from the dead?” she teased.

Jake smirked. “Had to perform a little resurrection.”

You buried your face in your drink. Yuna just laughed.

“Oh god,” she muttered. “Don’t tell me it was head.”

Jake shot her a look. “Mind-blowing head.”

You choked.

“Please stop speaking,” you begged.

Jake just kissed your cheek and pulled you closer.

You really were doomed.

You’d completely forgotten your parents were in town until you got the text while Jake was still whispering absolute filth into your ear in the café line.

[Mom]: Just landed. So excited to see you, sweetie! Brunch tomorrow? Bring your boyfriend!

You choked on your iced americano so violently Jake had to pat your back.

“Everything okay?” he asked, smirking like he already knew it wasn’t.

You turned your phone around to show him the message.

He blinked. “Wait. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Like—your parents tomorrow?”

“Yes, Jake. My parents. Brunch. You. Me. And them.”

He stared at you for a full three seconds, then grinned. “I’ve already got the button-up shirt in mind.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re way too calm about this.”

“I’m amazing with parents.”

“You’re amazing at pretending to be someone’s quiet, innocent boyfriend. That’s not the same.”

Jake leaned in, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Don’t worry, baby. They’ll love me.”

“You’re gonna wear your glasses, right?”

“Obviously.”

“Act like you’ve never touched me.”

“Sweetheart, I’ll act like I don’t even know what a woman is.”

You snorted, already stressed. “This is going to be a disaster.”

Jake pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Nah. I’m gonna charm them. Just like I charmed you.”

You turned to give him a look. “You charmed me by blowing my back out in a library storage room, Jake.”

“Exactly,” he said, way too proud.

You groaned.

Tomorrow could not come fast—or end—soon enough.

The next morning, Jake showed up ten minutes early to your dorm, looking like he’d walked straight out of a K-drama.

Crisp white button-up, hair brushed neatly off his forehead, his glasses perfectly in place—he even brought your mom’s favorite pastries, like he’d been studying your family’s group chat for weeks.

“You look…” You blinked, slowly dragging your gaze down his outfit. “So well-behaved.”

Jake smirked, tucking the pastry box under one arm and reaching for your hand. “Don’t worry. I left the demon version of me in your sheets.”

You nearly tripped on the way out the door.

Your parents were already waiting at the little brunch spot downtown, and as soon as your mom saw you, she lit up—then caught sight of Jake behind you and blinked like she was seeing a puppy dressed in a tuxedo.

“This is Jake?” she asked, already halfway through hugging him. “You’re even cuter than she said!”

Jake laughed, soft and shy, adjusting his glasses. “Thank you, ma’am. It’s really nice to meet you.”

You sat stiffly across from them, fully prepared for the absolute chaos that was surely coming, but Jake? He played the role like he’d been training for it all his life.

He complimented your mom’s earrings. Asked your dad smart, boring questions about work. Even waited until you were done speaking before cutting into his food.

It was unsettling.

“Jake’s in my organic chem lecture,” you said at one point, trying to keep the conversation neutral.

“Oh, is he any good?” your dad asked.

Jake smiled bashfully. “She usually tutors me, actually. I’m a bit hopeless when it comes to chemistry.”

You almost choked on your orange juice.

Your mom beamed. “I love that. I always told her she’d be such a good teacher.”

Jake nodded sincerely, resting his hand on your knee under the table, subtle and grounding. “She’s been teaching me a lot.”

Your stomach flipped for a very different reason.

By the end of brunch, your mom was begging him to come over for dinner “next time we visit,” and your dad gave him a shoulder pat like he’d just been accepted into the family.

As soon as you were out of earshot, walking back toward campus, you smacked his arm. “You manipulative little bitch!”

Jake grinned, holding up the box of leftover pastries like a trophy. “They love me.”

“You were lying through your teeth!”

Jake shrugged. “It’s not lying if I really do think you’re amazing at teaching me things. Like patience. Self-control.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re a menace.”

“And yet,” he said, stepping in close, voice low in your ear, “your mom just called me boyfriend material.”

You shoved him. “You are never seeing my parents again.”

“Sure, baby. You tell yourself that.”

And yeah, fine—he was boyfriend material. Just not the kind your parents had any idea about.

That night, you laid in bed scrolling through your messages while Jake sat cross-legged at the foot, shamelessly eating the last of the leftover pastries your mom had insisted he take.

Your phone buzzed again.

[Mom]: He’s adorable. Polite, smart, and that accent?? Keeper.

You rolled your eyes so hard your soul almost left your body.

Jake leaned over your shoulder. “What’d she say now?”

You turned the screen toward him. He read it, then bit into a croissant like he’d just won a championship.

“I am polite. And smart. And my voice is sexy, apparently.”

You deadpanned. “You’re a literal demon. With glasses.”

Jake leaned down and nuzzled against your neck with the fakest innocence he could muster. “You weren’t saying that when I was—”

You slapped a hand over his mouth. “No. My mom said ‘keeper.’ Don’t make me reevaluate.”

He laughed into your palm, biting it lightly before you yanked it back. He flopped onto the bed beside you, stretching out with a satisfied sigh like he’d just wrapped up a performance of a lifetime.

“I could get used to this,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded. “Winning over your friends, seducing your parents…”

“Manipulating the entire population,” you muttered.

Jake turned his head, smirking. “But only for you.”

You tried not to melt. You really did. But then he pulled you down beside him, arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you into the warm curve of his body.

“You know,” he whispered, voice dropping back into that cocky, devastating register, “your parents think I’m this sweet, respectful, glasses-wearing boyfriend who can’t even pass chem without your help.”

You blinked up at him, breath catching.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “And they’ll never know what their daughter sounds like when she’s underneath me, begging.”

You slapped his chest with a muffled laugh, face buried in his shirt. “You’re the worst.”

Jake just grinned against your temple.

“I’m yours.”

The next morning, Jake was already pulling on his hoodie, his bags—stuffed with random clothes, books, and a few things that had slowly found their way into your dorm—strewn across your floor.

You sat up in bed, the lingering warmth of his body beside you still making your heart flutter. It had become a regular thing now—Jake staying over, bringing more of his things each time, settling into a routine that felt strangely comfortable. It was a mixture of affection and chaos, and you loved every minute of it.

“You should’ve just left your stuff here last night,” you teased, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “Could’ve saved us the trouble.”

Jake smirked, looking up from rummaging through his backpack. “Don’t want to seem too comfortable too soon, babe. You know, I’ve still got that mysterious ‘bad boy’ act to keep up.”

You rolled your eyes. “Uh-huh. Sure. That’s what you’re going for.”

He shot you a wink, tossing a hoodie at you. “Anyway, can’t let the world see the ‘good boy’ too much, can I?”

He was back to his cocky self, the guy who showed up to school acting like the confident, teasing Jake you had come to know, and honestly, you couldn’t help but smile at how effortlessly he flipped between his personas.

You both left the dorm and started the walk to campus, his hand in yours, the usual mix of comfortable silence and random teasing that filled your daily routines.

Just as you were about to walk up the steps to your building, Jake, always the graceful disaster, tripped on the stairs and sent his coffee flying across the sidewalk.

“Are you serious?” you asked, blinking in disbelief.

Jake stood there for a second, coffee splattered all over his hoodie and the ground beneath him, looking utterly stunned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You couldn’t stop laughing. “Every time. I swear to god, you’re like a walking disaster.”

Jake turned to you, the faintest blush coloring his cheeks as he scratched the back of his neck, trying to play it off. “I meant to do that. Just making sure everyone’s paying attention.”

“Yeah, you definitely got their attention, Jake,” you teased. “Don’t worry, I’m sure everyone saw your epic performance.”

He shot you a grin, wiping at his clothes like it would make a difference. “I’m not a loser. I’m just… trying to get a reaction.”

“And you definitely got one,” you snorted, taking his hand and leading him inside.

Even though he tried to play it off as cool, the truth was, you were starting to see a side of Jake that was a little more… normal than you first expected.

And as ridiculous as the whole thing was, there was something about it—the balance of confident teasing and hilarious clumsiness—that felt right.

At least, for you and him, it did.

You nudged him with your elbow. “You gonna be okay, or do I need to get you another one before you wither away in front of me?”

Jake groaned dramatically. “I needed that caffeine. My whole personality relies on it.”

You laughed as you pushed open the lecture hall doors. “Your personality is currently soaked into your hoodie.”

Unfortunately for Jake, your shared class had already started to fill up. A few people looked up as you both walked in—him with wet coffee splatter down his front, you trying not to laugh loud enough for the whole room to hear.

“Is that Jake Sim?” someone whispered behind you.

You heard a snort. “Why does he look like someone’s intern who just got fired?”

Jake sat down beside you with a huff, dropping his bag and whispering, “This is the most humbling morning of my life.”

You rached over, wiped a little splatter off his sleeve, and leaned close. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He blinked at you, caught off guard. “Wait. You think I’m cute even like this?”

You grinned. “I think you’re cute especially like this.”

Jake slumped in his chair, defeated but amused. “I’m literally a walking split personality. Demon boyfriend at night, clumsy nerd by morning. This isn’t sustainable.”

“You say that like I’m not completely obsessed with both versions.”

He paused, looking at you with that soft, wide-eyed gaze he got when you caught him off guard.

“Yeah?” he said, quieter this time.

You nodded, bumping your knee against his. “Yeah.”

Jake smiled down at his ruined coffee cup.

“Still not over the fact I tripped in front of like thirty people though,” he muttered, and you snorted so loud the row in front of you turned around.

At least now, everyone knew—Jake Sim might’ve been a quiet loser to the rest of the campus, but to you?

He was everything.

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