#he's so. like. coy in this scene

[choccy-milky]

clora's fav time to tease seb is when they're busy or in public and he has to restrain himself......girly knows what she's doing😇 (from my vellmore oneshot^^)

[grassbreads]

Gonna be rotating this dude in my head forever

Man, genuinely there's little that excites me more than encountering queerness in fiction where I wasn't expecting it. I'm gonna be thinking about Kikuhiko/Yakumo from SGRS for so long.

Even setting aside the subtext of his feelings for Sukeroku, the narrative around his relationship to gender norms and his own expression is so fascinating. Guy who grows up steeped in rigid 40s gender roles and actively tries to enforce them, yet only truly feels like himself when he's acting on stage as a woman. Guy who says his life would have been better if he were born a woman and then refuses to elaborate.

[kingtycoon13]

I have a lot to say how often the forwardness and literalness of autistic men is interpreted as "creepy" and there's like often zero room for forgiveness or understanding and how hurtful that is and yes this relates to Gale discourse explicitly

[hungharrington]

show-time

request: i cannot stop thinking about asking steve if he ever got himself off to you before you got together. he’d be so blushy and sheepish about it but man it’d be fun to watch him squirm 🤤

2.1k words, established relationship, masturbation (steve), gn!reader, MDNI this entire blog is 18+

It’s a universally awkward experience to have a sex-scene come on in a movie. Unless one’s watching it alone, of course.

You are not. Cuddled in behind you, cushioning you against his chest, Steve lounges, his eyes fixed on the screen.

Sure, in terms of awkwardness-rankings, watching this with your boyfriend who you also have sex with isn’t as bad as, like, watching with parents.

But still. You kinda can’t tell if you should be watching or averting your eyes — and you don’t want to peek over your shoulder to figure out what Steve’s doing.

The man in the film grunts, his hand in his pants jerking furiously, his eyes fixed on a polaroid of the film’s love interest.

You squint—surely this is stretching the truth a bit?

Yeah, yeah, guys jerk off, you know that - this isn’t your first day on earth.

You just didn’t think it would be like, romantic style. People in movies kiss in the rain and run through airports, so they’re hardly known for being grounded in reality.

The man in the film groans lewdly and you feel Steve shift slightly behind you, his fingers looped around your middle twitching.

Did he-? When you-? You suppose you’ve never really thought about it.

You’re asking before you can second guess yourself.

“Did you do this?”

Steve’s attention switches idly from the screen to you as you crane your neck to look back at him. His brows pinch together.

“Did I do what?” He asks, doting brown eyes searching your face.

You fluster a bit. This is certainly moving you up through the awkwardness rankings. But now it’s in your head —now you’ve said it — you can’t turn back.

The thought of it blazes hotly through your mind.

Steve, all those months ago, still just crushing on you, but never quite making a move. He’d told you, whispered his secret, when you’d finally gotten the nerve to ask him to be your boyfriend officially, that he’d been sweet on you far longer than you knew.

But the image of it is what has you interested. You imagine Steve, his fist stuffed into his tight jeans, working himself over and biting his fist to hide his moans, at the mere thought of you.

You’d had plenty of long, late night conversations on the phone before officially getting together.

The thought of if he’d ever touched himself while you talked, none the wiser on the other end, wanders into your mind — and your stomach clenches hotly at the thought.

Clearing your throat, you tip your head towards the screen.

“Like, before we got together?”

It takes Steve another glance at the screen to realise what you’re asking. A simmering, pink colour crawls up his neck and in a moment, you go from feeling awkward to feeling downright devious.

Steve clears his throat, his eyes darting rapidly back and forth from the screen to your face. “Uh, I- I mean, why do you ask?”

A coy smile curls at your mouth. “I wanna know how accurate it is.”

Steve stares down at you, the pink now creeping up his cheeks and to the tips of his ears. God, he looks delectable like this.

Is this how he looked when he did it too? Blushy and embarrassed to commit such a filthy act thinking of someone that wasn’t his? A hot buzz drizzles through your core, fringed with endearment.

Steve licks his lips nervously. His hands on your stomach stiffen and then relax. The film plays on in the background. His expression shifts towards something sheepish.

“It’s — I, uh, well, yes.” He stammers. “It’s accurate, yes.”

“How many times?”

Steve’s eyes narrow, but his face gets redder. “What is this, an interrogation now?”

You giggle, drinking in his evidently embarrassed state. The confirmation of him doing it solidifies the perfect image of him in your mind, your own film-scene imagining Steve in the same position as the character on screen. In real life, Steve moves his hand to tug at the collar of his shirt.

“I’m just… enjoying the idea of it.” You muse.

“Uh huh,” Steve says, tongue jammed into the side of his cheek. “Not just—” He fumbles for his words. “Just enjoying seeing me, I don’t know, like—”

His words trail off and his head tips back with a groan, exposing the delicious expanse of his throat. It begs you for kisses and love bites. He moves both hands up to cover his face.

You wait til he pulls them away to nod. “Absolutely, baby. Watching you squirm is far more interesting than this film.”

In the background, the man on screen gives a pornographic shout as he finishes in his pants. Steve manages to turn redder, even if he keeps his eyes fixed on you.

“But I’m just,” You huff and pout. “Put out, I guess. You did all that for me and I didn’t even get to see it.”

At the exact same time, you watch as Steve’s pupils dilate, blowing out in obvious lust, and something pressed against your back thickens up.

Steve, to his credit, only makes one strained noise which he immediately smothers with a cough. You feel his hips twitch beneath you and make a quick decision, confidence built on the sweltering heat of Steve’s face.

You push forward and up, then quickly turn, slotting your knees across either side of Steve’s thighs, perching atop them nicely.

You’re not outright in his lap—there’s room between the two of you for what you hope will happen.

It takes Steve another long moment to catch your drift.

“Wait, you want-?” He inhales sharply. You can see the twitch of his cock through his loose sweatpants. “To see?”

“To watch,” You clarify, smiling almost mischievously. “Yeah.”

Then just to check, “Is that okay?”

Steve’s breath shudders out of him but he’s nodding before the question is completely out of your mouth.

“H-Here?” He checks. You nod, resting your hands atop your thighs to show you don’t plan on using them. Steve’s hungry eyes scan you up and down, the tent in his pants pitching up in arousal.

“Just show me how you did it,” You murmur, words on the side of sultry. Your own excitement, that faint thrum of pleasure, has already started to pool low in your gut.

“Yeah, but I normally don’t have an audience for it,” Steve mumbles, his left-hand reaching for the drawstrings of his sweats.

They come undone with a simple tug. Steve stretches the elastic out a bit and then slips his hand in.

You know the moment his large hand settles around his cock from the flutter of his lashes, the soft groan that curls out his throat, rough and sweet all at once.

This… This is new. You usually don’t get such a focused look at Steve’s pleasure, at the little shifts in his expression, too wrapped up in your own pleasure to pay proper attention. Getting this much detail sends a delicious throb between your thighs. You hardly want to blink.

Steve’s hand moves slow to begin with, slow, gentle strokes to get himself properly warmed up.

After a moment, he draws his hand back and some part of you worries he’s too weirded out now. But he only brings it up, to his mouth, and you realise what he’s doing.

Quickly stealing his hand, Steve’s eyes widen as you let spit drop from your lips and pool in his palm. Another soft, jagged noise drags from his throat.

“Jesus Christ,” He murmurs, more to himself. “This is not what it’s like when it’s just me, this is, like, ten fucking times hotter.”

His hand sneaks back into his sweatpants but this time when he grips his cock, the reaction this time is immediate.

Steve moans, louder this time, his eyes crushing closed and his hand starts moving faster. With the help of your spit, it doesn’t take long before you can hear it, the slick sounds of him fucking his cock desperately.

His head tips back against the couch and a piece of hair flops over, into his eyes.

You reach out and brush it to the side and Steve’s eyes crease open at the same time a whine threads through his moans.

“Fuck,” He grunts. He sinks in teeth into his bottom lip, his eyes desperately roaming your face. “Fuck, baby, you’re so pretty.”

“That what you thought bout?”

You’re impressed with yourself for the cool, calm demeanour you’re portraying. Steve nods, the motion a little wild, his hand still making those lewd, wet noises.

“Uh huh,” His voice shakes a little. “Just, fuck, dunno, like, your face and-uh-what y-you’d sound like.”

Your eyes glitter with interest, ego raring at the devotion your boyfriend is spilling out.

“What I’d sound like?”

“Y-Yeah,” Steve stammers, his breathing heavy. “Like, doing this.”

Now that’s a picture; Steve jerking off to the thought of you, hot and bothered with your hand between your thighs. You give a breathy gasp without meaning to.

Steve hears it, groaning louder as he quickens his pace. You sort of want to reach forward and ruck up his shirt, so you can see the glorious clench of his stomach as he rolls his hips up into his warm hand.

“Can I see more?” You ask tentatively. “Please?”

This time, it’s more like a whimper that creeps out of Steve’s throat.

“Oh my god,” Steve mumbles through a stilted moan. “Jesus Christ. Yeah, yeah, of course.”

He swallows heavily, his free hand reaching down to push at his waistband. You help, lifting up to help tug the fabric out of the way.

Obstructions removed, your mouth salivates. Steve’s cock is pretty — and it looks that much more enticing when it’s worked up, pink and the tip of it leaking all over his hand.

Steve’s a fucking vision. His head still lolled back, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. His throat, dotted with moles, crawling with pinkness. His big, veiny hand wrapped around his cock, pumping it steadily.

You think about how much you’d like the lick the trail of hair on his tummy, down, down, down.

“You seem close,” You say and it earns you a reedy whimper in response. “Is it- does it normally happen this fast?”

“Are you kidding me?” Steve whispers back. His eyes are closed and after a moment, you realise he’s trying to keep himself from cumming too quickly, even as his hand doesn’t slow. “I—ngh— n-normally don’t have such good, ah, material. My imagination is— is not this good.”

You’re equal parts flattered and flustered, heat twinging in your gut.

“Can— can I?” Steve whimpers out suddenly.

The question nearly throws you. You almost say Can you what? when the meaning of it douses you in fire.

He’s asking permission.

Oh, that does something to you.

“Yeah, Stevie,” You say, voice lilting closer to a coo. “I wanna see it, please.”

Something shifts in his motions, changing gear as Steve’s hand suddenly starts moving in smaller, tighter strokes, just over the head of his cock. His head tucks forward, his eyes scrunched closed, and he’s whimpers out, “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

It only takes a few seconds, the whine in Steve’s voice pitching higher and higher, until something gives.

His hips take over, something desperate and primal shoving them up, his thrusts rapid and frantic. His hand doesn’t stop moving, not even as his cock starts to leak out ropes of cum, shooting out enough to cover the back of his knuckles. It joins your spit to rub slick against his cock.

He keens pitifully. For one long minute, you listen to Steve’s breathy whines get softer and softer, watch his desperate thrusts abate til an overstimulated shiver wracks through his body. Then, and only then, does he collapse back, sinking into the couch.

He’s a bit ruined, truthfully.

And you’ve soaked through your panties.

“You’re welcome,” You croak, throat dry. His hair is back in his eyes and lean forward, tenderly brushing it out of the way. You leave your hand there, cupping the side of his face, and Steve leans into it, still panting.

“What?” He asks.

“You were thanking me,” You point out cheekily.

Steve’s face plunges back to that scarlet colour you’re beginning to adore most ardently. He turns his face further to hide away in the palm of your hands.

“Shut up,” He mumbles.

“So you don’t wanna do that again?” You tease.

Steve pulls back and eyes you. “Now, hang on, I didn’t say that…”

[asapeveryday]

ALL NIGHT -P.B

one night. one apartment. two people. enhanced stamina.

warnings: fingering, oral sex, strap-on sex, vibrator use, face riding, degradation, dirty talk, slight food play, overstimulation, slight/unintentional somno, drug use

tldr: you guys take drugs and then fuck like rabbits. like, seriously it’s kinda cray

PLEASE READ: i honestly know nothing about honey packs or ANY libido enhancer. from my research honey packs only work on men(?) but for the sake of this fic they work on women too.

i have no idea what it feels like to be on an aphrodisiac/performance enhancing drug or how it affects anything so please go into this knowing i am utterly freeballing in hopes of pleasing the anon who requested this as best as i can.

11pm

rain pitter-patters the floor to ceiling glass window of your apartment as a movie plays in your living room. The tv screen paints your light-lacking home with faint colour. Aside from the rain, soft moans ring out all through the air.

Her arm is slung over your shoulder, her body warm and pressed against you. She shivers as your finger tips dance between the hem of her hoodie and the skin of her toned stomach, you try not squeak when she tugs at your hair in return.

Nights like these are the best, snuggled under blankets and dim lights in front of the tv, Netflix on full volume, Paige by your side.

“You picked the horniest movie possible.” Paige snorts, her words buzz in your ear since your head is on her chest.

“I knew there were sex scenes…just not this many.” You sigh, biting a lip as the main character moans loudly again as the main love interest smacks her ass. “What is this, the third one?”

“Second. But this one is long,” Paige tuts, clicking her tongue as the fucking on screen gets more aggressive, “goddamn, how does he have the stamina for that?”

“I know!” You laugh. “And look, it’s getting light outside.” You point to the tv, where one of the windows in the movie shows the changing time. “When they started it was dark.”

“Went all night, huh.” Paige whistles. “Lucky guy.”

“Lucky?” You sit up, turning to face her. She immediately raises both her hands in surrender, eyes wide.

“Not because of her,” she groans, talking about the main character, “but they’re going for hours like it’s no problem.”

“You’d think as an athlete you’d have the stamina.” You laugh, though it’s cut short when her brow raises in that challenging way that always pisses you off. Her mouth opens, then closes.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She shakes her head, but her face says otherwise.

“What is it!” You hiss. “Tell me.”

“It’s not me who doesn’t have the stamina.” She says, expression a mixture of superiority and guilt. “You can take like, two rounds max before passing the hell out.”

“Oh, what the fuck.” You frown. “Since when have you wanted to go for longer? What, do I go to bed and you’re just laying awake at night horny?”

“Psh, no.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m fine with two. Two is good, it’s enough.” She reassures you, hand on your waist. “But if you’d ever ask to keep going…”

“You’d have it in you.” You finish, understanding it’s no fault of your own. “I’d like to try, but honestly after cumming twice I’m tired.”

“I know, baby.” Paige shrugs. “S’not a big deal, I was just thinking. I can go for a while, but I dunno about all night anyways.”

“Yeah.” You settle, though sometimes tugs at your mind as you focus back on the movie. You watch as the girl is flipped from position to position, location to location, sexy music over the scene.

Paige shifts in her seat. You tense as it gets kinkier by the minute. And then the scene is over, and they’re laying in bed as morning sun fills the room.

And you suddenly have an idea.

“Where are you going?” Paige asks, eyes following you closely as you move her hand from your body and slip off the couch.

“Wait here.” You mumble, sending her a coy smile as you walk out of the living room. You know she’s watching your ass as you walk away like she always does. She loves the pyjama shorts you’re wearing, says they do you justice.

After rummaging through the back of the closet in your bedroom, you finally reach a large shoebox. You’d bought a really sexy pair of heels for Paige’s first wnba after-party a while back, and kept the box to commemorate that…as well as a few other things related to you and Paige.

When she sees you walk back into the living room, shoebox in hand, she immediately straightens. Paige recognizes it, of course. She’s practically been a Pavlovian experiment, you can see it as she licks her lips with eager flourish as you stand in front of the couch, tossing the lid of the box off to the side.

“What’re we doing?” She says, smile evident in her tone. She even takes the blanket off of her, and you almost laugh and how ready she’s willing to be.

“Chill.” You hum. You take out the the few dildos you have, leather components for the strap, and a huge bottle of lube that’s half empty, before tipping the box upside down and watching as the contents spill all over the coffee table in front of the couch.

Dental dams, ripped fishnets, mints that make you salivate like crazy, fuzzy handcuffs, the batteries you use for your toys, and a lot of little plastic packets.

Paige just takes everything in for a moment, brows slightly taught in uncertainty. Her eyes catch on the plastic packets, and she picks one up for inspection just as you’d hoped.

“The fuck is this?” She murmurs, squinting to read the small text on the plastic. “Oh, shit.” She adds, meeting your gaze.

You simply smile. “Well?”

“Where’d you even get these?”

“A few weeks back when me n’ the girls went clubbing. The place was handing them out, and I decided to keep them for later.” You admit.

“Oh, so you’ve been plotting, huh.” She quirks a brow, clearly amused.

“Not really!” You whine. “I was just curious, I guess. I heard they give you crazy stamina….and like, uhm…”

Her stare is heavy on you, head cocked, grinning sly as a fox. “And what?”

“They make you like, super horny.” You finish, unable to hold her gaze. “And stuff.”

“Right.” She nods, attempting to hide her smile beneath her hand. She rubs her mouth in thought as she reads the packet again. “This is so sketchy.” She murmurs. “But if it works, we could probably go all night.”

“Probably.” You nod.

Her eyes meet yours again. “Would you…wanna?”

You take a packet for yourself, attempting to mull over the small text written over the plastic. It sounds like gibberish, but it’s late and she’s already looking at you with sheer excitement, so your answer is obvious.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Let’s try.”

-★彡

What started as making out on the couch turned into you leading her to your room by the hand, not even bothering to close the door before she’s on you again.

There’s no urgency, no burst of energy like what you expected. It’s fairly normal, slow and sweet as she dips her head opposite yours to kiss you.

Her hands swim under the crewneck you wear, settling firmly on the crook of your waist with warm, rubbing thumbs grazing over your skin. Meanwhile you make quick work of her mouth, your tongue darting in to meet hers, tasting her.

You stumble around the room stuck to her like glue before your legs hit the foot of your bed and you topple over back-first, giggling as she follows.

Her legs cage yours in, hands arms settle on either side of you, and her mouth trails sweet kisses all over your face, jaw and neck. It’s loving and gentle, even when one hand leaves your side and carefully tugs your pyjamas pants down. You lift your hips to help her as she takes them off, before spreading your legs a little wider for her on the bed.

“Thank you, baby.” She mumbles against your skin, sucking pretty bruises onto your neck as her fingers pull your panties to the side, and tentatively slide between your folds.

“You’re so wet already.” Paige chirps, and you feel her teeth bared in a smile with a shiver. “How do I know it’s not the packets?” She adds.

“It’s not.” You hum, sliding your hands under her hoodie to feel at her abdomen. “Just you.”

She’s satisfied with that answer, because her fingers go from teasing your entrance to actually being inside you. One finger at first, before she realizes you’re loose enough for another.

You let your breath hitch as she pumps in and out of you, a gentle rhythm of pleasure humming through your body with every thrust of her hand. She whispers sweet nothings, pretty baby’s and so good’s until you’re squirming against her.

You kiss her again, half to shut her up and half to keep any whimpers from spilling out—because those will only feed her ego. Her pace quickens, her kisses turn sloppy, and your stomach tightens as your high begins and ends. She doesn’t let up, not until you’re panting too much to kiss back, and with a jolt you cum all over her fingers.

You feel her start to pull back from you before you grab her hand, holding it inside of you. “Don’t stop.” You plead, not thinking in the slightest.

Paige falters. “You sure? You just-“

“I know.” You whine, spreading your legs. You did cum, but you just weren’t done, the buzz wasn’t enough, you wanted it to keep going. “Just, please.”

“Okay.” She kisses your face. “You’re spoiled, you know that?” Paige grins, though her fingers start pumping again and you can’t help but genuinely flinch at the sensation, it’s unlike before.

Your stomach is tight again, your core is tingling. The stimulation is too much, too soon, but you need it. Even when you struggle to hold your legs open, when you beg her to do it for you. She obliges, wedging her knee between your thighs so she can keep going, lips bitten as she watches her fingers disappear and reappear by the second.

When you cum again it’s drawn out, fingers clenching the sheets of your bed as you finish.

“Whoa.” Paige hums. “That was- that was good.”

“Mhm.” You mumble, pulling her back in for another kiss by the fabric of her hoodie. You came for the second time, but instead of feeling ready to pass out, you’re surprisingly energized.

She pulls away, still close to your face. You watch her eyes as they dart from your clenched fists around her clothes to your lips.

And you feel yourself twitch down there again.

In a burst of energy you roll over, taking her with you. The positions are reversed now, you on top and her caged in against the ruffled sheets of your bed. You make quick work of straddling her torso, and when your already swollen clit brushes against her shorts you let out a little sigh.

This sensitivity is definitely new.

Paige is watching your every move, licking her lips as you throw the remainder of your clothes off and onto the ground.

And then you slide off of her.

“Take everything off.” You hum, crawling towards the nightstand by your bed.

“Or what?” Paige teases.

You don’t respond, simply opening the drawer of your nightstand and taking out your favourite vibrator wand.

The minute she catches sight of it her amused smile drops. You haven’t used this one on her—you haven’t used any on her at all.

“You don’t wanna?” You ask, shrugging.

She frowns, clearly unhappy at your false disinterest, but she holds your eyes as she slips her shorts off of her legs, her underwear with it.

“And the hoodie.” You add, gleefully at that. “And lay down.”

Paige grunts, but pulls her hoodie over her head regardless. She’s not wearing a bra, to your delight.

“Good.” You purr. You crawl over to her, swinging your leg over her head so that your pussy is hovering over her face. Her hands grab at your ass, already knowing what to do.

You shiver when she forces you down, her tongue licking an agonizingly slow strip across your folds. Before she can get too frantic, you lean forward enough to place the vibrator between her parted legs, turning it on once it’s settled correctly.

The whimper she udders at the start of the machine vibrates through your body.

She struggles to find routine at first, jolting as you toy around with the settings of the vibrator, but before you know it she’s holding your pussy down like she depends on it, lapping and panting against your ultra-sensitive skin.

The stimulation is one thing, but the sound of her breathy moans from beneath you rile you up on an entirely new level. You’re absolutely buzzing with sensation, grinding frantically against her parted mouth trying to chase that high.

“You’re so good, baby.” You mew, rocking your hips on her face. “So good Paige.” You add, upping the intensity on the vibrator as a reward for her. She lets out a strangled moan at that, hands gripping the skin of your ass hard enough to leave fingernail indents. You try to rise a little, unsure if it’s too much for her, but she forces you right back down, her tongue swirling around your clit and nuzzling into you with feverish energy.

Her legs are squeezing tight now, soaking wet at the core thanks to the wand wedged between them. You feel it too, practically shaking atop her. Before you know it, a huge feeling of release washes over you in big, sobering waves. You can’t help but cry out as you cum, the feeling of her mouth lapping it up engulfing you wholly. In turn she starts grinding against the vibrator, and then she cums too.

You turn the vibrator off and lazily crawl off of her, collapsing by her side and into her open arms. You’re both hard-breathing, flushed messes, eyes half-lidded and pupils blown wide.

“Holy shit.” Is all Paige can utter, her face glistening with what’s left of you. You can’t help but laugh, and she starts to laugh too, kissing your nose, forehead and lips with a smile.

Then the both of you are grinning and kissing, tumbling all over the bed like frantic teenagers. You thought you were exhausted till her teeth playfully pulled at your lip, and that burning spark in your gut came right back.

“Jesus,” you hum, sighing as her lips suck dark marks into your collarbone. “I could keep going.”

“So let’s keep going.” Paige murmurs.

“Mmh, seriously?” You sigh.

Her hands find your breasts, the calloused pads of her fingers brushing over your nipples. “We could go all night?” Paige smiles, eyes dangerously bright, full of energy again. “If you want.”

You hold her gaze as her mouth latches onto your chest, kissing all over the skin of your breasts in worship.

All night doesn’t sound too bad.

-★彡

1am

The next hour or so is filled with mindless making out, limbs tangled and shoulders bumping you suck every possible crevice of her face. It’s a break, in a sense, but a distracting one none the less. You’re both so incredibly sensitive, even the brush of her knee between your thighs sends waves of feeling through your body.

Paige’s lips struggle to part from you even when you both leave your room, stumbling around your apartment in an intimately naked scene, like she’s so obsessed that everything else has faded away. Even when she parts to grab another packet and the strap from the coffee table, her pinky finger stays lovingly entwined in yours.

You fasten it on her, adjusting every aspect with rigorous intent and bubbling excitement. Then you’re both stumbling through the place again, lips entwined with more ferocity.

It’s all in Paige’s control now, not that you mind. She’s leading with her tongue, her hands are groping whatever skin she can reach till you feel your back hit the surface of your kitchen counter. She lifts you up like you’re a doll, sitting you on the marble and pushing you to lie back against the cold material.

“What’re you doing?” You laugh, back arched to avoid the chill of your skin against the counter.

“Watch.” She orders.

She’s standing between your dangling legs as she rips the packet open with her teeth, drizzling the drugged-honey from your navel all the way to the valley between your breasts before tossing the plastic away.

You watch in excitement as her hands settle on either side of you, as she leans in and licks a clean stripe across your body, following the line of honey she drew till it’s all gone. The hairs on your arms stand up straight, goosebumps covering the expanse of your skin as her tongue cleans up the mess. Then she kisses you, and you taste it on her before she pulls away.

“Paige,” you whine, parting your legs, “please, please just fuck me.”

“I hear you, ma.” She rasps, fondling the silicone attached to her till the tip is grazing your slit. “You’re so fucking wet, I can tell you want it.”

“I want it so bad.” You nod vigorously. “C’mon.”

She pushes in, not nearly enough, then pulls back again. Then her hands are on your waist, pulling you forward and lifting your pelvis up just enough so that she can push into you at a better angle. You suck in a breath when she bottoms out, then bite out a whimper after the first thrust.

Then she sets her pace.

“Fuck,” you moan, “fuck, oh, Paige.” You cry out, hands trying to grip for anything you can on the flat surface of the counter. Slapping noises fill the room as her hips snap back and forth, lip bitten and eyes stark on the way you look splayed out on the kitchen counter like a meal. Your tits bounce with every shift of your body as she rocks against you.

“Just last week you could barely handle round two.” She grunts out. “Now look at you, moaning all over my dick. How many times are you gonna cum for me tonight, huh?”

The feeling of her filling you up makes you even more turned on. You can hear the noises of your slick against the silicon, the proof of your pleasure. It just feels so mindlessly good.

You reach for something, anything, but all you end up doing is knocking shit over. The sound of steel hitting the ground reverbs throughout the kitchen as an empty bowl and some cutlery fly off of the counter. You wince at the volume, but Paige leans in to grip your face.

“You’re a slut, you know that?” She bites, fully bottomed out, fingers around your face.

“Don’t stop.” You whine, shifting your hips. “Please, p.”

“You’re making a big fucking mess, moaning so damn loud and pushing things off the table.” Paige hisses, shoving your face slightly as she starts thrusting again. “Like a slut.”

“Maybe I am.” You choke out, feeling your core tense with every word. “I just need you so bad, need you to fill me up.”

“You don’t deserve it.” Paige grunts, grasping your skin so tight as her hips stutter agains you. “But I give you whatever you want, right? You just wanna get fucked.”

“Please, baby.” You moan, once again gripping nothing in attempt to smooth the pleasure. “Paige, please.”

She pulls your legs fully off of the counter now, roughly flipping you around and bending you over the cold expanse of the counter.

You’re breathless as one of her hands holds your back down while the other slaps your ass. Then she enters you again, slowly building up to the same rigorous pace as before.

The noises are louder now as your ass claps against her strap. You’re pushed forward against the counter with every thrust, your face smushed against the marble, lips choking out broken cries of satisfaction as she fucks you.

“Take it.” She mumbles, “You take my cock so good, baby.”

You cum with a full-body shiver, feeling the way it spills at she pulls out of you, the emptiness apparent.

It’s only a moments rest before you’re kissing her again, your back now meeting the wall before she picks you up. Her hands settle on your ass as you wrap her legs around her, and before you know it she’s fucking you all over again.

-★彡

3am

“Baby,” She moans, “Oh fuck, slow down.”

You can’t, or more accurately you won’t. You’re on a high, tits pressed against her back as her own are flush against the glass of your floor to ceiling windows. Rain hammers on one side of the glass as you fuck her against the other, skin sticky with sweat and arousal.

You can feel her legs shaking, you can see how her palms press against the window, or occasionally clench when you roll your hips just right. You rarely had the energy to use the strap on her, but thanks to your drug-induced heat, having the instrument was a blessing.

“Or what?” You breath against her neck, licking the spot where you left a hickey a few moments earlier, relishing how her shoulders raise in sensitivity. “Gonna cum like a little bitch?” You grin. The high of talking dirty felt good, you understood why she was so prone to it now.

“Yes.” Paige whines, voice raspy. “Fuck, yes.”

“You were calling me a slut earlier.” You bite, whispering into the shell of her ear. “But look at you now. What would happen to you if someone in the building across saw? Imagine the headlines.“

You grip her hips hard, forcing her into you, using her for your gain. She can’t even fathom your words, too drunk off of the sensations to formulate an answer.

“See? You don’t care.” You hum. “That’s why you’re not gonna cum yet.”

“What?” She finally snaps out of her daze, head whipping to meet your gaze as you slip out of her.

“No…” she bites her lip. “Wait, don’t stop.”

“Don’t be a baby.” You scoff, loosening the strap and stepping out of it. “Get on the floor. Legs spread.”

She’s a little confused, peeling herself off of the glass and stumbling around a bit, before you literally guide her to the hardwood and pry her legs apart with your hands.

The gasp Paige lets out when you lay down, lips against her pussy, is like music to your ears.

She’s already soaked from your strap, you can taste it as you press your tongue flat against her, sloppily kissing the mess between her legs as she throws her head back, hands gripping the hair on your head.

“Oh, god.” She whines.

“Shut up.” You snap, gripping the soft skin of her thighs. Her fingers tug at strands of your hair as you nuzzle into her heat, tongue swirling around her clit.

She’s grinding against your face, thighs shaking from the earlier denied orgasm and now your face between her legs. It’s almost too much when two of your fingers slip inside, tentatively pumping before they curl inside her.

“Shit.” She whines again, voice breathy. “Let me cum.”

You stop at that demand, smiling against her skin, fingers unmoving, and she groans in dissatisfaction.

“Beg for it.” You hum. “If you want it so bad.”

“Fuck, no.” She snaps, lips pouty as she looks at you. “Just—just keep going.”

You just raise a brow, slipping your fingers out of her.

“Beg.” You repeat, and you watch her mull the idea over. She’s never begged in her life, you can tell. Sex is easy currency for someone so sought after. “C’mon, begging never hurt anyone.” You add, licking a circle around her clit, to which she instantly screws her eyes shut in response to.

“Just beg for me, Paige.” You grin, kissing between her thighs. “Beg.” You tease her slit with your fingertips.

You can see her breaking, you can see it in the way her chest heaves, how her lip wobbles.

“Please.” She finally mumbles. “Please, baby. Please fuck me, please let me cum.” She moans pathetically.

Who are you to deny someone who asks so nicely?

-★彡

5am

You’re not sure what happened between ruining Paige on the floor of your living room to now, but you wake up groggy on your bed, sheets half off the mattress, legs tangled with hers.

You’re sticky between your legs, covered in sweat and god knows what else in general, hair totally a mess, lips swollen, ass sore—presumably from her hands getting a little too aggressive. She’s beside you, back pressed to your chest, her body rising and falling in shallow breaths of light sleep.

It’s still dark out. You cant’ve be asleep for long.

It takes great effort to untangle yourself from her and slip out of the bedroom. A hot shower is much needed, and the moment that steaming water hits your skin it’s like you’ve been regifted all of your energy.

You let your fingers dance all over the skin Paige had marked hours earlier, hickeys and bite marks tattering the expanse of your thighs, breasts, chest and neck. You think back to the start of the night—and everything that happened afterwards, and to your surprise, still have it in you to be turned on.

“What the hell is in those packets.” You mumble to yourself, letting your fingertips trail from your tits to your stomach, then lower, to the pulse between your legs.

Carefully, you let your fingers pull the hood of your clit back, rubbing the sensitive bud in slow circles. It feels good—not as good as Paige—but good enough. You can’t tell if you’re wet from the shower water or your own arousal, but it doesn’t matter. You speed up your hands anyways.

Soon enough your soft mewls fill the bathroom. You assume the sound of the shower covers them up a bit, now aggressively rubbing your clit in a pathetic chase for what must be your 5th orgasm that night.

And then you hear the click of the bathroom door, and you stop.

There’s a few quaint steps, they pause in front of the shower, and then continue. When the fogged-over shower door opens, you’re met with a freshly awoken Paige.

“Move.” She grumbles, stepping in with you. You oblige.

She’s covered in marks too, you can see it now that she’s showing off in front of you, wetting her hair and closing her eyes as her hands run over her tits, her stomach, the beginning of her thighs. Her neck is littered with pink and red hickeys, and her muscular back has long marks from your nails.

Her body is perfect. Breasts that fit in your hands like you were made for them, abs firm enough to ride on, legs strong and sturdy. Her back ripples as she runs her fingers through her hair. Her hands are personally your favourite, with her long fingers and veins.

You can’t help but slide behind her, running your hands all over her, gripping her ass and giving it a little playful smack.

“You’re so needy.” She scoffs, turning around and grabbing your hands, stopping you from touching her. “Calm down.”

“I can’t.” You frown. “You interrupted me. Now you have to deal with it.”

“Fucking whore.” She shakes her head, leaning in to kiss you. It’s aggressive, teeth clashing and lips bitten. Her hands grip your face, turning you to move against her the way she wants. “You jus cleaned off, now you wanna be dirty again.”

“You wanted all night.” You smile against her lips, letting your hands trail down to her pussy. “So I’m just giving what you asked for.”

“Don’t act like this is all for me.” She snorts, one hand leaving your face to graze your folds. “You’re selfish.”

“You’ve orgasmed more than I have.” You challenge, fingers toying with her.

“That’s such a fucking lie!” Paige groans, slipping a finger in you with ease.

“Maybe we’re even.” You shrug, biting your lip as she starts to pump in and out of you. Similarly, her lips part as you do the same.

“So—“ she murmurs, breathless already, “we keeping it even?”

“Yeah.” You nod vigorously, looking down to watch as your fingers disappear inside her—and as hers disappear inside you.

“Shit.” She sighs, watching the sight herself. “S’good.”

“Mhm.” You huff, throwing your head back. You can feel your stomach tensing already, skin hot and buzzing from her hands and the hot water. She adds another finger, you do the same. In no time you’re both heavy breathing messes, hands cramped and mouths entwined. She cums a little before you, but you keep going till you follow soon after.

She opens the shower door in a hurry, practically stumbling out with you alongside her.

The bathroom is full of fog, so you manage to turn the fan on before she tugs you out by the hand, right back into the bedroom.

Then you’re kissing again, slower, mumbling unintelligible words between breaths, parting to catch each other staring. Her eyes can barely stay open, and at one point you’re not sure if you’re kissing back. The ache in your gut, the one that’s been saying more, more, is dulling. You’re reduced to an exhausted hum, brain as foggy as your bathroom.

“M’ so fucking tired.” Paige whispers between little kisses on your face, hands holding you loosely against her.

You catch a glimpse of your bedroom window, and you’re surprised to see the beginning of morning, red hues mixing with the dark leftovers of the night.

She notices too, you meet her eyes as they part from the sky. She kisses you again, closed mouth, hands wandering.

“Good morning.” You mumble, lazily laughing.

“Good fucking morning.” She huffs back, holding you close. “That was something.”

You nod. “What is even in those packets?”

“Don’t wanna know.” Paige mumbles. You’re not sure if she says anything else, because your eyes shut right after.

That sleep in her arms is the best you’ve ever had in your life.

[mahowaga]

the nurse doesn't even get a full sentence out before you hear it—the loud, unmistakable, drawn out moan from behind the curtain.

"uuuuuuughghhghhhhhh."

you blink.

"that yours?" she asks, arching an eyebrow, holding back a smile.

you sigh. "unfortunately, yes."

she laughs softly and pulls the curtain back.

and there he is.

gojo satoru, the strongest sorcerer alive, your very dramatic boyfriend, currently conked out in the reclining recovery chair like a ragdoll someone left in the sun for too long. his blindfold is gone (carefully folded on the side table, somehow), his mouth is half open, one of his arms is hanging off the chair like he's mid-shakespearean death scene and one leg is swinging mindlessly like he's in the middle of an interpretive dance.

"ughhhhhhhhhh," he groans again, eyes fluttering, unfocused. "where am i. is this the void? the infinite void? am i in the purgatory between dimensions?"

"you had a wisdom tooth removed," you say, walking up to him with your arms crossed.

satoru's head rolls toward the sound of your voice. it takes him a solid five seconds to gain his bearings and settle his gaze on you.

and then—his whole body jerks.

"oh my god," he gasps, pointing a floppy, trembling finger at you. "you're the taco bell goddess."

you blink again, taken aback. the anesthesia is really doing a number on him. it's entertaining. "i'm sorry, what now?"

"i knew you were real," he whispers reverently, nodding to himself. "you came to me in a dream once. you had like, this glowing chalupa aura and you whispered 'live mas' into my soul."

you stare. "what—what the hell are you talking about?"

"don't play coy, my divine temptress of the drive-thru," he says, hand clutching his chest like he's about to write an epic soliloquy in your name. "you bring hot sauce and justice to this cruel, flavorless world."

"okay," you say slowly, looking around for the nurse, "how much anesthesia did they give you?"

"enough to see the truth," he says dramatically.

you laugh so hard you have to grab the side of his chair for support.

satoru squints at you. "wait—wait, no. are you—are you even the taco bell goddess? or are you some kind of fraud, preying on innocent taco followers?"

"i'm your girlfriend," you reply, still wheezing. "you live with me."

his sky blue eyes go comically wide. "you mean i bagged the taco bell goddess and i live with her?"

you pinch the bridge of your nose to calm yourself. "you need water and maybe an exorcism."

he doesn't hear you. of course he doesn't. he's busy throwing up both hands like he's just won an oscar.

"somebody better put me in a commercial," he says proudly. "'cause i'm livin' mas, baby."

you're practically crying with laughter now, and you don't seem to be stopping soon.

"you're a disaster," you choke out.

he grabs your hand and holds it reverently. "disaster, or super cool legend?"

you lean in and kiss his forehead, lips twitching. "definitely a disaster."

satoru beams. "you kissed me! i'm telling everyone. you kissed me first. that's legally binding."

"we've been dating for two years."

"two years?!" his jaw drops. "that's like—" he counts on his fingers "—more than ten kisses!"

you have to bite your lip before you start cracking up again. then, his eyes impossibly wide, he pats around on his lap like he's looking for something. "where's my phone. i gotta tweet this."

"you're not tweeting while high."

"but the world needs to know i'm in love with a celestial being."

"absolutely not."

"okay, but hear me out," he says, slumping deeper into the chair with a dopey grin. "what if we got married. right now. here. in the dentist's office. we've got witnesses. we've got—" he frowns at the table next to him "—fluoride."

you're really trying your best to not lose it. "you want to get married surrounded by cotton swabs and expired magazines?"

he reaches for your face with both hands like he's about to cradle something precious. except one hand flops uselessly against your cheek.

"you're all i need," he slurs.

you smile, warmth creeping up your neck. "oh my god."

"wait, wait. do i have a ring?" he pats his pockets in slow motion. "we can use a paperclip. i'll macgyver it."

"i'm confiscating your paperclips."

he groans. "you never let me have any fun."

you take his hand, kiss the knuckles. "oh, toru. you're a full-time menace, so i have to be the responsible one."

his eyes flutter, a soft, sleepy smile on his lips now. "but you love me."

you sigh, brushing his hair back gently. "i do. against my better judgement."

he grins. "ha. got 'em."

you let your forehead rest against his.

the strongest sorcerer alive. in love. loopy. wearing a bib that says 'tooth be told' with a cartoon molar giving a thumbs-up.

and somehow, impossibly, still the love of your life.

you whisper, "when you're coherent again, i'm going to tell you everything you said. never letting you live this down."

his eyes crack open. "noooo."

"yes."

"i'll sue."

"i dare you."

and he giggles. giggles. like a chaotic little gremlin in your arms.

you hold him close, his fingers twined in yours, as the strongest sorcerer in the world melts into a puddle of affectionate nonsense on anesthetic. and you think, grinning—

god, i love this ridiculous man.

[syluses]

fuck me like i’m famous

popstar! rafayel x female reader

in theory, attending your favorite popstar’s after party seems a dream come true. for you, it certainly is. in reality, though? it doesn’t live up to it- at least not innocently.

content popstar! rafayel, nsfw, smut, dubcon, fingering, disillusion, mc learns why idolizing celebrities isn’t wise (by being banged by one during his afterparty), yandere & obsessive undertones, 18+ characters

sidenote hrm… was supposed to be a lil drabble but it snowballed into almost 5k words. hopefully the fishie girlies will like this lil meal tho since he’s kinda a rare sight on the blog 💔 rafayel is freaked the fuck out in this deadass... also i literally had nothing better to name this but i believe chase atlantic kinda fits raf’s vibes here so :,] OH & THANK U FOR 600 FOLLOWERS I LOVE YALL ♡♡♡

Lights glitter on his face in the after party.

You don’t know what you did to earn God’s favor in this life, but whatever the reason, you’re thankful for scoring yourself that ticket. He’s all you listen to; a staple to each of your playlists. And so for what Thomas did- gifting you a special pass he had as an extra to your favorite popstar’s show- you’re ever in his debt.

He might be his publicist; that spare ticket may mean nothing to him. Alright, but-

It might as well mean the whole world to you.

Girls crowd his spot on the couch. It’s decadent: the room bathed in dim, yellow lights as the drinks, generously taken from, sparkle on the table before it. He kicks his long legs out on it and stretches an arm behind the woman at his side. She’s beautiful, scantily clad, all of them are- some curled up to his shoulder, others drunkenly twirling around the room- and because of it, you feel a little out of place.

In jeans and a band tee, you weren’t prepared.

Not for this.

One part of you is positively gushing at the scene that unfolds around you, deciding you could die in peace now that you’d finally experienced one of his concerts, especially in such an exclusive way. Still, another part of you, dwelling low in your belly, twisting like a bad gut feeling, quietly thinks, Has Thomas mistaken me for a whore? Perhaps it’s wrong to think that of those girls... But you also don’t believe they’d take any real offense to that if they were to hear your internal back-and-forth, because they seem delighted to put on their shows for him.

They can’t be blamed, right? I mean… It’s him. Rafayel. Everybody and their mom would trip over their own two feet trying to get an audience with him.

Still.

You ball your fists in your lap.

A-Are you even meant to be here?

Rafayel was always bold on camera, yes; flirtatious to a fault. Sure, he was a playboy and you were aware of that, the whole community was. Really, it was integral to his charm.

But this—

One of the girls giggles when she stumbles over her high heels and into Rafayel’s lap. It’s convenient. Too convenient: even if she’s only half aware of her surroundings, in for a bad hangover tomorrow morning, she still manages to go flying right towards him. You know the purple-haired man must be aware of it too, her frolicking stunts.

Nonetheless, he catches her in his arms before she topples, and he laughs, too.

It’s a pretty sound. Then again, everything about him is. With his dyed, lavender curls and the softness to his otherwise coy face, the little moles dusting it and his glossy, pink lips— he’s beautiful. All the more in that outfit. Cheeky but not enough as to be scandalous. His stylist and his designer have your applause. Clearly, they know what they’re doing.

On stage, he’d seemed playful, but was able to keep his gallivanting at bay. With a wink, though, all that sex appeal just oozes out, and—

It’s weird. How you can spend so much weeks and months and years idolizing somebody, and then suddenly have all that worshipful intent collapsing in a breath. Within the span of not even an hour, you’ve become so disillusioned with this celebrity- your all time favorite- that you can hardly bear to look at him and his wanton display.

Sat on the armchair opposite of it all as it takes place, deathly quiet, you begin to feel sick.

Is this really him?

You knew he was a flirt, yes, but- but what the hell is even this? Is this what he demeans himself to after each show? Just some cheap manwhore with his hand-selected throng of groupies, sipping away at an expensive wine just moments after he set the mic aside after a love song you’d thought to be heartfelt—

Your glass, the one a suited man offered on a tray and you took only to mimic the others, remains untouched before you.

This is startling. And far from your preferred scene.

M-Maybe you ought to go home. And soon. Is what you’ve been thinking for closer to thirty minutes now, and yet you’re too nervous to speak on it. I mean, maybe if you just stood up and left, nobody would notice your slipping out— the room is far from bright and everybody’s buzzed on something, anyway—

Marbled, coral-blue eyes stare at you over the rim of his glass, and they glint with something you think is mirth.

Curiosity, alongside it.

It makes you second guess yourself. Taking your leave.

He’s been watching you for a while now. Even when the stunning women gather in a flurry around him, tugging on his hair and teasing with whispering breaths in his ear, his attention doesn’t remain on them for long. It drags back to you and, for all the distractions occuring around you (the stereo playing an all too familiar song, the drunken chatter, the unease in your chest), he’s impressively focused.

It’s unnerving. It’s divine. He’s all you listen to in the car and in the shower and in your bedroom when you’re dancing to his newest album in an oversized sleep shirt and panties. You’ve cried to him and laughed to him and now he’s here, in shocking clarity, and you were so so excited, rambling about it to your girlfriends for months, but now you’re not so sure of what you’re seeing. If you like it.

He seems less god to you, now; oh, still heavenly, still angelic, for sure, but he toes more along the line of something wicked— like a cherub fallen.

And you can’t find it in you to get up and scurry out even when that’s all you can picture yourself doing in your head, escaping.

When you catch his eye again, you dip your chin (not out of reverence, no longer, but rather unease) and bite on your lip until you taste blood.

So when he lifts his hand with a snap then, the girls pouting as they crawl off him, dissipating no different than fog- you’re ever thankful for the opportunity to finally get up and leave, too—

A voice chimes over itself, layering over the familiar song playing in the background.

“Hey- wait up, cutie.”

You pause when you belatedly realize it’s calling for you.

As if your legs are stilts, you turn around hesitantly (strange: because really, shouldn’t you be happy he’s noticed you?) and try to lessen the shock on your face- even though his amused little smile tells you it’s as clear as day.

He laughs pleasantly, playful to a fault.

“What’s that silly face for? Oh, IIIIIII see, you’re feeling a lil left out, is my guess. Here,” he pats the cushion beside him and you actually blanche. For a moment you think your heart has stopped beating and those thumps you hear are the drum beats in his song as it drifts through the now empty room.

Save for you and Rafayel, it’s completely barren; the better part of its energy has left with the dancing girls but whatever remains of it, he holds.

You eye the spot beside him, unmoving.

An excuse, you realize right then— you can still spit out an excuse.

“I-I’m not one of the girls,” you stammer with a wince before clearing your throat, “I- I don’t even think I’m really supposed to be here.”

Another laugh, and a dismissive wave of his hand. You try to make yourself laugh too if only to appease him, your idol- endlessly nervous.

“Oh, well that’s just untrue,” he teases. “C’mon, don’t be shy~! I was just playing around with the others. It’s just you and me now, so no need to feel all nervous,” he assures, the image of harmless as he crosses his leg over the other and waits.

You blink rapidly. “I—“

You’re about to spew out a feeble rejection and that’s when his face drops.

You’re not sure, for all the records and posters and billboards you’ve seen of his face, if he’s ever made that expression. Not on camera, at least.

He lowly murmurs, “Aren’t you a fan?”

“I-…. Well-….”

A fan? For years now! His number one! A stupid girlish voice in the corner of your mind shrieks, and you almost dredge some joy out of this whole thing.

Letting out a shaky sigh, defeated, you creep over to him on equally shaky legs and take the spot beside him— all with great hesitance, though.

His pretty face alights again. Some of the pressure loosens up, even if only by a little, and your shoulders relax by a smidge.

Maybe it’s fine. Maybe you’re crazy and this is how he interacts with all his listeners no, no it’s not. Or maybe this is just a normal, celebrity thing and you’re blowing this way out of proportion here.

Just like he did with that other woman- that other likeminded fan or plaything or- or you don’t know- he loops an arm around the back of the couch behind you.

…What’s different, though, is that, unlike with her, he rests his hand on your shoulder and hugs you closer to his side. Clinging.

Rafayel smiles. Charming. Frivolous. With a glint in his eye, intense and engrossed, that’s weirdly sober when taking the half empty drink he sets down on the table into consideration.

“There. Good girl. So tell me, pretty,” he starts thoughtfully, fingertips twirling your hair as he leans into you. For the popstar that takes very little seriously, you think he appears awfully interested in some no-name girl who happened to score herself a limited-time lanyard to see him sing.

You swallow thickly. In the back of your mind, thoughts race. So does your heart. You might explode.

H-He didn’t act like this with the others— did you somehow present yourself in a way that made him think he could take more than what the others let him? More than what the others practically begged him to, but for some fucking reason he wouldn’t—

“Did you like the show?”

“Y-Yeah.” You don’t mean to whisper, but a certain, resigned silence is what you’ve been reduced to. His other hand stretches across his body to rest on your thigh.

Rafayel hums. But before he can speak, you- rudely, might he add- cut in. “I- I have to go home soon, so-“

Amused, he snorts. “Relax, alright? Tonight, you’re a very important person, aren’t you? Home can wait,” he muses, so close he’s near nuzzling your cheek.

A very important person? Funny. You’re just another fool bouncing around amongst the nosebleeds- a face he’ll be hard-pressed to catch and certain to forget. Honestly? This whole facade of his is as cruel as it is unbelievable.

Gradually, he’s letting you down.

Your throat bobs. Almost a bit bitterly, you remind, “I- I know you’re a popstar, but we’re still strangers. You don’t have to feel like you need to entertain me or be nice to me.”

“Huh. You’re one smart cookie,” he wryly comments before giving his head a tiny shake, almost more to himself than to you. “Um, look, cutie, you’re definitely no stranger to me,” his words leave you dazed because they sound genuine. You snap your head up to look at him, needing to gauge his expression and fish for deceit. You… find none.

He smoothly continues. “But I guess I’m no stranger to you either, huh? And tonight, you’ll be like, extra acquainted with me.”

✦

It’s difficult.

-When he’s hovering over you and gently pushing you onto the plush cushions into a half-lying position, to not only push him off but find the strength to.

Physically, Rafayel’s no hulking display of power, but he’s intimidating all the same. Mentally, he’s more or less your idol and although he may not hold too much weight in stature (still, he’s stronger than you), he still holds enough golden trophies to decorate a shelf— and too much influence for you to really comprehend.

Or try to toy with.

…You should want this. Should want to lie down and offer yourself up to him with eagerness— it should be like a blessing and yet you’re hesitating.

…Why are you hesitating? A voice in the back of your head, the one that had raved endlessly to her friends about the upcoming concert, asks perplexedly. You’ve no answer. But the man atop you seems to wonder much of the same, too; his brow twitching just slightly with what you think to be dejection before he tilts your chin with long, slim fingers to kiss you and it’s gone.

He moans into that first kiss. Prettily and soft.

Heat flutters in the core of you, your body involuntarily responding to him even as your eyes snap open and shift to where the door is- or where you think it is (have the lights gotten dimmer? or is he just all you see?)- his palm tugging at your hair softly to lie you down.

His lips are plump, pink, just as gentle as they look as they meld against yours— definitely aroused, there’s no doubt there, his warm breaths tinged with needy whines- but there’s an odd affection in them, too. Something personal and doting.

When he tries to slip in tongue, you reel away but there’s nowhere to go. Not really. Not when your head finally touches the cushion and he lets out a small, disapproving sound before giving up on that goal- for now- and attacking your neck instead.

It’s good. Delicious; that perfect mouth knows its way around a mic and a lover, you suppose- suckling and kissing and nipping with the barest amount of teeth as if he’s intent on leaving a mark.

You can’t hold back on it anymore— you drop your hands that had been hovering awkwardly on his broad shoulders, mewling in response, and he shivers.

“Yeah, cutie, make some noise,” he chuckles mildly. You think back to the auditorium. The roaring cheers and shrieks, the phone lights waving in the air and the mist rolling beneath his feet as he sang.

His hand descends down your belly, and you’re brought back to now.

It’s more instinct than anything that has you clamping your legs shut as soon as his fingers reach the denim. He tuts at you, and yet the glimmer in his eye is… endeared, almost.

“Nuh-uh. Don’t shut me away now,” Rafayel scolds, thought it lacks any real bite. Still, your lashes flutter and you stare agog at him.

Like this, he’s positively gorgeous as he props himself up mere inches away- albeit his little grin can almost be considered vulpine. “Didn’t I put on a great show for you out there? Don’t tell me I get nothing in return,” he pouts, tone light but what lies under it is a layer of desire. Opaque and thick.

Hesitantly, you mull over his words. I mean, you just really want this to be over- so to hell to with it, maybe you should just submit yourself. The sooner you appease the playboy with what he wants— that is, some nameless girl he perceives as cheap enough to get on her back for him— the sooner you can leave and pretend Thomas never gave you his special ticket.

The popstar’s words turn comforting as he watches you carefully. “If you’re shy, don’t worry. I’ve seen it plenty’a times before, you know.”

Bigheaded, you think then. Bigheaded but he has every right to be.

Maybe if it was any other guy bragging about the chicks he fucked and scrutinized, you’d throw up in your mouth— and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t cringe a little on the inside— but it’s embarrassment for yourself above all that stirs in your stomach. It joins the butterflies as your cheeks warm over.

“Now,” he continues, his familiar lilt flattening into heavy, breathy lust, “All I want is to see yours. I’m sure your pussy is pretty, cutie- really,” he convinces.

A tremble. “So pretty.”

Oh, you’re erupting on the inside— heart snapping like a snare drum in your chest, overpowering the faint music and drowning it out- your hand shaking where it weakly closes over the back of his own, now only half trying to drag it away.

He hammers the last nail into your coffin. With a ragged, but gentle breath and- as he leans in- a surprisingly chaste peck to your lips, appreciative of what he has before him.

“Won’t you show me it?”

But jaw slack, you hesitate. And- Of course you hesitate. The reasons for your deliberation, that weird gut feeling, become clearer and clearer as seconds progress:

Firstly, he’s the image of fame- and if you were to deny him, if he said the smallest word over it, your whole entire social life as you knew it would backfire on you. The possibility of his saying mean things on the internet hangs in your mind. Rumors circulating, as untrue as they are vivid, coming to bite you in the ass. For as many hours as you’ve spent watching and listening to Rafayel, you don’t know his true colors (as evidenced by right now); that includes what a wounded ego would look like if you rejected him.

Secondly, you hesitate because—

Because he’s perfect. Much like an idol on a pedestal, carefully set there with a singular light overhead to define him and him alone.

In a dark room, all look to him.

Once- an hour ago- you did, too.

Maybe you still do. You don’t know. There’s a whole bunch of feelings (confusion, awe, a betrayal that makes you question just how parasocial your relationship with him was) swirling inside you, none able to be grazed or grasped, and it shakes a part within.

“Please?” He breathes, ever headstrong.

…Your rationale is headlong, falling into the abyss with a word.

“O-Okay,” you all but squeak out. It’s the best you can manage. Rafayel’s breath hitches at that, though, your given assent, no matter how feeble, planting satisfaction deep in his chest.

And so with that he’s swiftly undoing your jeans and rucking them down your thighs.

It’s less out of good will that you help him shimmy them off you, to a bunch above your shoes, and more so eagerness to be done with this whole thing.

When he tucks his knuckles beneath the waistband of your panties- cutesy cotton put on full display for him, perched above pretty thighs- he curses under his breath.

His hands are as big as a man’s but as soft as a woman’s. His fingertips are dutiful as they brush along your folds, as singleminded, hungry, as the former.

…But when they nudge between your pussy lips and at your tight hole, his thumb prodding expertly at your clit, it’s like he has all the awareness of the latter.

“Ah, you’re so wet…” he muses aloud. Very pleased with his discovery.

His eyelids, dazzling with some glittery shade his makeup artist applied prior to his show, droop and don’t meet your flustered stare as he focuses on the space between your legs. And he takes it upon himself to rid you of your panties, too: for as adorable as they are, Rafayel knows it’ll be ten times better for you both if he can just-

Finally fucking see for himself what you’ve got goin’ on down there—

Undies midway down your leg, he comments, “you’re really hyped up after the show, huh?” His exhale is a shaky sound. His gaze is utterly fascinated (and perhaps a touch unnerving, what with its intensity) when it bounces back to that soft dip below your belly.

You’ll give him this much credit— for as wild as that glint in his unblinking stare becomes, he’s fortunately gentle with you.

He wets his lip absently. “Yeah… it gets me going, too. All the lights and cheering faces... Feeling the bass vibrate up from the floor. Can I be honest, though, cutie? When Thomas- oh, shit-“ he shivers when he inserts a digit in- his pointer one- and your hole instinctively clamps down around it, juices glistening to the base of his knuckle as you try not to squirm.

Y-You can’t believe this is happening. Your clothes are all in a disarray- the only piece intact, actually, is your tee that just so happens to be merchandise of the popstar that hovers over you now with his hand between your legs—

You blink back to real life when he sharply inhales.

“…When Thomas told me you were comin’, I made absolute sure to know your standing. That way, I could find you easily in the crowd. I was gettin’ so worked up just looking at you. Could you hear it-? My voice began to shake.” he chuckles, voice euphony to your ears. Familiar in its lilt but not in its timber.

His words stun you. They don’t make sense- is this is all some cruel, sick game after all-? Or- Or maybe he’s mistaking you for someone else? or he’s just choosing a really weird, admittedly screwed up way to let off some steam. God knows, what with his recent album built on the back of unrequited love, he needs the stress relief—

But no. He continues on like nothing is amiss, like your heart doesn’t plummet to the tips of your toes at his offhanded admission, and you forget how to breathe.

“When our eyes met- you looked like you were doubting yourself, but I really was staring at you, you silly girl.” Again, he’s fucking laughing, albeit this time, it takes on a more self-deprecating tone. You witness, almost unseeing, as his facade crumbles in increments. More and more he undoes it by the seams- much like he is with you.

“I was… Hm. I was even singing about you. All those stupid pining love songs— who do you think they’re for, princess?”

A gasp punches out from your lungs. You don’t know what it’s for- his nonsensical confessions, or his handling as he stuffs in another finger (you could’ve used some more working up to it, sure, he knows, but he’s a little impatient tonight) and scissors you open.

Wet shlicks ring in between guitar riffs. Your essence flows all over his knuckles and the numerous- horrifically expensive, you realize- jewels lining them. Rafayel doesn’t seem nearly as appalled as you do, though... If anything, aroused.

It feels so good. He’s hitting that spongey spot inside you just right. It’s a surreal experience, so much so you almost feel like you’ll coalesce into a dream at any moment. The melody playing in the background, the opulent couch as it groans beneath you with every piston of his arm, the twinkling, but dim lights and his face. That picturesque, idol face.

“Here, I’ll tell you the answer…” he leans over you to whisper in your ear, subjecting you to all the charm of a siren. You’re helpless to it ‘cause you’re just a girl.

“You. Always you.”

You’re dizzy. Your head is light but your lower half is heavy, the inner portion of your thighs numbed and sticky. Your limbs tingle but all you can feel is his lips tenderly suckling at your neck and your gushing walls as they constrict around their intruder.

Though they, too, ease up on him. He’s good at disarming you. That’s how you were walking in here, anyway, disarmed and beyond yourself with excitement.

Rafayel moans over you, finding a great amount of pleasure in the whole ordeal.

“You gonna cum? yeah?” He’s sweet, purring in your ear, making sounds as pretty as a girl- maybe even more so. His voice has won awards for a reason. You recall binging musical ceremonies on the internet and shrieking as soon as his name was called to stage, his seeming nonchalance as he accepted an accolade…

Yet you saw his ears, too, the tips of them red under the resounding applause, and wondered just what or who it was that had him bowing his head to the camera—

“A-Ah, mmph- Rafayel, please—!” You choke, fingers curling into his shoulder. In response, he lets out a pleasured, breathy sound, all encouragement and delight in his eyes.

“Mhm. Go ahead. Cum. Cum, pretty girl, all over my fingers. Oh- I really wanna taste you- will y’let me taste you afterwards?” He’s moaning unabashed as you come undone at warp speed. It’s shameful and your cheeks toast over but you clamp your eyes shut and choose to bask in the feeling of it all as it overwhelms you.

He’s good. So good. Masterful with it, really. Not like any of the bungling guys who courted you for all of one date (the more patient: two) before ripping your pants off and sticking their fingers inside without prompting or even half the skill to back their confidence.

No- he’s every bit qualified and then some.

Your nails dig into his clavicle. Rafayel doesn’t care- if that pinch of pleasure between his brow is the least bit credible, maybe he even likes the sting.

“Good girl. There, good girl.”

It’s building inside you. He works you up progressively, rapidly, and it shows in the little gasps you make that fall back to back, the L shape you make with either of your legs as they hitch up around his hips and quake, the ball in your gut that suddenly hardens before—

“Ngh— Rafayel-!”

You scream. Louder than the music. Louder than his words of encouragement, sugar-sweet, hungry, susurrating as they spill in your ear. He sensually nibbles on it and wraps his free hand around your head- with a misplaced affection, you think- to anchor you throughout your climax. He manages to keep you grounded there on the couch but only barely.

Your mind does slip off to another place, though, floating in white oblivion for a number of seconds as your limbs offer small trembles.

Rafayal takes close to nothing serious. So the light, but bubbly laugh that draws you back to consciousness with a sigh is fairly appropriate.

What isn’t is his touchiness as he drags you to sit on his lap— boneless; your skin damp with heat, your damned pants still cuffed awkwardly around your ankles— and croons into your neck. Holding you close like a lover would in the after glow. But this isn’t the after glow, this is the after show. But then again, if his earlier words were true- the ones that barrel back into you with clarity, the haze dissipating- then…

But no. No, how could that be? Those songs aren’t about you— and when you met his eye during the opening, and all the times afterward, you were sure it was just your imagination, especially after the fan beside you threw up her arms and cheered as if his stare was for her instead—

You might know Thomas (very vaguely- more of a friend of a friend you’ve seen at a few get-togethers; you follow him on insta), but that doesn’t mean Rafayel, the man he works for, should know you... I mean, you doubt they hang out often, anyway. Especially not since Thomas would more or less be viewed as the king of no-fun in the popstar’s eyes.

His whole job is to assure that Rafayel keeps his lips sealed tight: you can’t imagine that he’d be loose with his own by chatting with him about you, a girl he’s not all too familiar with but knows just enough to throw a spare ticket at.

So there’s just no way any of this is true.

Half of you expects Rafayel to shove you off his lap at any second, snap back to the reality that you’re not the woman he mistook you for, and flusteredly point you to the door. The other half of you is like it’s waiting for him to pull out his cock (it stirs underneath your ass, hard and by the feel of it, very excited) and take all that’s left to.

He moves your hair aside your shoulder and rubs along your back, instead.

And he whispers in your ear (or into your neck, really), his warm breath fanning there as he says like it’s a vow:

“Wanna see you at my next show. Better be there.”

Your throat bobs. As he speaks, you try not to focus too much on the fluid that oozes from your pussy lips and onto his expensive, designer slacks- but that’s no easy task when he seems to want for that, slightly lifting his hips up.

“No. Before that, even—“ he pauses for a moment, seemingly deep in thought before smiling, resolved. “Oh, I know- I’ll have Thomas help get you settled in with the tour bus. That way, you can just be on the road with me.”

You gawk. Whatever he’s saying doesn’t reach you; you’re only receiving that garbled bits of it, like a radio interpolated by static between voices. Your palms lift to his chest and push there softly.

Smoothly, he takes them in his own and kisses the knuckles, peering up at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky, giggling.

“Doesn’t that sound just great, cutie?”

“I- wait, you-?”

“I’ll name my next song after you- my next album, even!- and then we can go public immediately.” You can recognize it for what it is, even coming from someone as frivolous as him.

A promise.

“The fans will love you,” he says excitedly before leaning in and smushing a kiss to your damp hairline, murmuring there with a fiery tinge of what you think is devotion. “But not as much as I already do.”

He fishes into his pocket, then, one hand still securing your waist.

“Lemme give Thomas a call… I guess he kinda deserves my ‘thank you’, too, huh?”

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓��𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

[confused-wanderer]

The villains are utterly confused.

They remember the first robin. They remember how bloodthirsty the little gremlin was, how he appeared out of the darkness with a “HIYA FOLKS” that gave people near heart attacks with PTSD so bad they flinched everytime they walked into a dark corner. They remember his grin, baring few too many teeth with a glint in his eyes whenever the bat wasn’t around to curb him. They remember the death stare, the brooding that made no one doubt this was the Bat’s son. They remember how a punch would land a lot harder than it was supposed to, or the screaming that followed. Oh they remembered him alright.

The second one thank the stars was better. The second robin was giggly. He would hop around town, offering his help to everyone who needed it. Sure he was rough with abusers but hell no one cared about them. Matter of fact, the villains were glad because those assholes deserved no sympathy. They remember his puns, his wonder, his innocence and his spark. They remembered his laughter, his concern - the kind that only comes from one who’s been on the streets. This one was better, and the villains thanked their lucky stars. They remembered him alright.

But now, as the years passed and new characters emerged, the crime city saw the rise of two characters - a sunshine happy nightwing and a ready to kill red hood. And naturally, from their experiences in the past, the villains ended up making an honest mistake that ruined the two vigilantes’ reputation:

The villains assumed the first robin was Red Hood and the other was Nightwing. And BY GOD Gotham has not seen unhinged chaos like this.

SCENE 1

Red Hood *drawing his pistol* : Please, reach for your weapon. I’m itching for an excuse for my intrusive thoughts to become extrusive.

Two-Face: You dare mock me little bird?! Well.. I may not have my weapon.. but I have something I know you’d like..

Red Hood: Oh yeah?What’s that?

Two-Face: TAKE THIS! *slams button and coconuts start falling from the sky, all cracking and spilling as they hit the ground*

Red Hood:

Two-Face:

Red Hood: .. the fuck was that supposed to do?

Two-Face: .. HOW ARE YOU STILL STANDING?! YOU HATE COCONUTS ROBIN!!

Red Hood: The fuck- .. wait did you call me robin?

Two-Face *grins* : Yea.. robin. The first one. Thought I didn’t notice?

Red Hood: The first one? Does this *gestures vaguely to himself and his weapons* seem like something the first robin would do?

Two-Face:

Goon 1: I mean.. yeah

Red Hood: What! The first robin was nice!

Goon 2 *guffawing*: I beg your fucking pardon??

Two-Face: .. you took my coin and attached a magnet beneath it so everytime I flipped it it wouldn’t stop spinning. Do you know how long that took me to figure out?? Do you know how insane it drove me?? Joker had to help me out of pity. OUT. OF. PITY.

Red Hood:

Goon 1: ..Also you did steal some of our bones

Red Hood: hedidfuckingwhatnow-

SCENE 2

Nightwing: Hey there buddy! You look frostyl!

Dr. Freeze: Aha! You are too late to stop me robin!

Nightwing: .. robin?

Dr. Freeze: why yes! Don’t act coy, I know it’s you there. Now that we’ve got that clear.. I was wondering if you remembered all those years ago when you gave me a source for electricity to power a hospital keeping my Nora?

Nightwing:

Dr. Freeze: well you weren’t careful enough and never told me how much I could take from it.. so I used it to power so many of my inventions that came after

Nightwing *remembering when Jason was robin and every damn time he came to visit Wayne Manor his room would always run out power and the countless cold showers in freezing winters he had to take because of it*: .. oh? Well, sorry to break your bubble, but that wasn’t me Elsa.

Dr. Freeze: no? You joke around, make puns and I’m supposed to believe it’s NOT you?. The first one brooded like there was no tomorrow. He pissed me off so bad once I overheard him saying his favourite ice cream flavour and I made sure it wouldn’t be available in Gotham for YEARS. You’re not as bad as the first one. I’d remember if you were him.

Nightwing:

Nightwing *firing up his escrima sticks to maximum voltage*: Oh let me jog your memory then :)

[shotmrmiller]

pornstar au

f!reader x simon 'ghost' riley

3.7k words (sorry)

tw: teacher-student relationship but it's just a scene for porn. explicit. horrifyingly so.

You burst into the classroom and stride purposefully towards your professor, who is seated in his leather chair, engrossed in his work. Impatiently tapping your foot, you waited for him to finish marking essays. However, after 5 minutes, your patience with this unbearable man ran out.

"Professor."

He hums, a deep sound coming from the back of his throat yet doesn't look up from what he's doing. A real piece of work, he is. How fucking aggravating.

"Professor Riley," your voice takes an irreverent tone.

The hand that had been writing non-stop comes to a sudden pause, and he finally directs his attention to you. Meeting your gaze, his dark eyes are hooded, his lips set in a firm line. His job is to literally deal with students, yet he dares to look annoyed.

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong 'r am I gonna have to learn how to read minds?" he states.

Taking in a calming breath, you clench the crumpled essay in your hand. "Can you explain to me why you failed me on this? I did exactly as you asked!"

He must know precisely what you're talking about because he simply turns back to the papers on his desk.

"Tha's your problem. You did exactly as I asked, with no thought behind it. Just wrote the bare minimum, if you can even call it writin'. It's copy-paste," Professor Riley sets the pen down and leans back in the chair.

"I need ya to use tha' head o' yours when in this class. Otherwise, you'll fail the rest o' your classes too."

Fucking hell.

Professor Riley shifts in his seat, seemingly done with the conversation, and finishes, "If tha's all."

Shit. Your pause is too long, and the director calls it. Fuck.

"I'm really sorry, Ghost, I didn't mean-" Your words of apology dissolve into thin air as his strong hand finds its place on your hip— giving it a gentle, but firm squeeze.

"S'all righ', love. Mistakes happen. Matter fact," his eyes drift from you to behind you to beckon someone with two fingers. "C'mere, you."

It's the set assistant, and he's brought the script with him. Ghost swiftly stops him from handing it to you, instead pushing it onto the assistant's chest. "Won't be needin' tha', thanks. Tell the director tha' we'll be ad-libin'. Now sod off."

The assistant follows his command in haste, scurrying off to follow Ghost's instructions.

"Hey," he murmurs. Your eyes meet his, feeling the intensity of it quickens your heartbeat. "Say whatever you like, just remember to follow the storyline, alright?"

Follow the storyline. In porn. The irony isn't lost on you, but you bite the side of your gummy cheek to keep from laughing. "Yes, sir."

He drops his hand from where he held you slowly, seemingly almost reluctant to let go. "Ready?" Ghost's thin lips curl into a smirk when you nod at his question. "Good girl."

Your fingers tightly grip the flimsy material of your uniform skirt at his praise, and warmth pools in your lower belly.

His good girl.

A high-pitched voice cuts through your thoughts, signaling the restart of the shooting. You exhale a long breath, unclenching your hands in the process.

Action.

"If tha' all." Ghost reaches for his pen when you frantically grab onto his Oxford sleeve.

"Wait, Professor, please! I can't," you stammer, "I cannot fail this class! My parents would kill me if I studied abroad only to flunk. The tuition—"

His tone is authoritative as he abruptly cuts off your lengthy excuse. "Enough. Nothing can change the mark I've given you."

Your ears pricked up at his wording, and the corners of your lips pulled up into a roguish smile. "No?" Ghost stills before turning to face you, countenance blank. "Nothing at all, Professor?" With a coy tilt of your head, your wide, doe-like eyes meet his as your fingertips trace an alluring path from his forearm down to his knuckles.

"I really can't convince you in any way to change that grade for me?" You lean on the edge of his wooden desk— skirt so short it doesn't even graze the surface of it— and lightly curl your hand around his pointer finger. "It can be our little secret, Professor Riley," you purr.

Ghost lifts a single brow, and settles back into his seat, arms crossed over his barrel chest as his eyes travel from your feet to your exposed cleavage, fixating on the soft skin peeking out from your uniform top.

"Please?" his hushed voice reverberates inside your skull. "I promise to be a good girl."

That catches his attention, eyes flashing to yours, the fire behind them hot— you hope it burns you.

"'Sat, right? Tha' changes things now, doesn't it?" Ghost rolls his chair back, away from his desk, and spreads his thick legs apart in invitation, arms resting on the rests— the dictionary definition of casual. "Convince me then, pet."

"Yes, sir." Sauntering to stand in between his legs, you swallow thickly— the bulge in his groin was quite frankly, intimidating. You've had large, but this was in a league of its own.

"You gonna do it from up there? I know I'm bigger than average but not tha' big." A huff escapes from your lips. A whole comedian.

Knees pressed into the cold, tile floor, you expertly undo the button of his trousers and with his help, pulled them down along with his pants— just enough for his cock to spring free.

Bloody fucking hell.

His cock is monstrous. It rested against his belly, heavy and thick. The pink tip slightly peeking from under his foreskin. There was a groomed thatch of coarse hair at the base, and his balls were also heavy— one hanging lower than the other.

Ghost leans forward and cradles the underside of your jaw with one large hand, fingers gently caressing the delicate skin of your cheek, while the other pumps his rigid cock in anticipation. "Not scared, are ya?" His grin was wicked. "I promise it don't bite."

Grabbing his wrist, you maneuver his hand so that his thumb now rests on your soft lips. "Might not, but I do, Professor." And catch the tip of his finger between your blunt teeth, the subtle sting of it making him hiss.

"Perfect, pretty girl," he says, almost inaudible. His words of praise are for you alone— not for the scene, nor the camera. You peer up at him through your lashes, mewling softly at the expression on his face.

His brow was set, hooded eyes sultry, a rosy hue across his cheeks and nose, and lips parted as he panted quietly.

Delicious.

Ghost then pushes his thumb further into your slick mouth and hooks it behind your bottom teeth, delicately pulling you closer to him as he tips his head down— taking his thumb out with a pop. His warm breath fans across your face as he moves closer until his lips connect with yours. He slid his tongue into your mouth, tasting of frosty mint and his own unique taste.

Your hands come up, fingers digging into the meat of his thighs when he grasps your wrist and moves it to the focal point of his desire— his breath hitching when you give his cock a firm squeeze. Ghost bites your bottom lip before breaking away, a guttural noise escaping him when you begin to stroke him. "Tighten your hand around—" he breaks off, moaning against your kiss-swollen lips when you comply.

He threads his fingers through your hair that sits at the base of your skull, curling them into a fist and tugging back— craning your neck, hair pulled taut.

"So obedient. Jus' f'me, love?" you hum cheekily, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

"Would you hold it against me if I said no?" he chuckles under his breath, the grip on your hair tightening marginally.

"I'd say tha' you're lyin'." He sucks in a breath when you press down lightly onto his slit with your thumb. "Cheeky."

He loosens the hold he has on you, feeling your scalp prickle with tender relief, and relaxes back into the chair. "All yours, sweetheart."

That light wasn't getting any greener, so with a grunt, you shifted your weight, ignoring your aching knees, and wrapped your lips around his cock.

Barely.

The salty bite of his arousal and musk spread on your tongue as you took him in deep, stilling once he hit the back of your throat.

"Fuck, look at me."

Slightly tipping your head back, you do as he says, your throat closing around him as he slips in even further.

"Fuckfuckfuck," a hiss, "such a hot little mouth, just swallowin' me righ' up." Your lungs burn with the lack of oxygen, forcing you to pull back to gasp for air. Ghost squeezes himself at the base and taps your cheek with his saliva-coated length.

"A dirty slag like you, jus' takin' me like a professional. Tha' what you are? A professional cock sucker, love?" he taunts. Your pussy clenches when he calls you a slag, pressing your thighs together in the hope of some friction; Something to alleviate the throbbing ache in between your legs.

Ghost with eyes as keen as ever, notices. Damn.

"Oh? Little harlot likes to get degraded, does she? Reminded of her place? How I'd love to teach you exactly where you belong, but tha' wouldn't be you convincin' me to change your bad grade, now would it?"

His cock taps on your swollen lips. "Another time, hm? Now open. Make me see reason."

Ghost's wish is your command. With enthusiasm, you take him in your mouth, slowly bobbing your head, place a hand right under your lips, and twist with every push and pull.

It's sloppy, spit covering your hand, dripping down to his balls. Your jaw aches, a burning pressure a little under your ear, but what gives you the strength to continue is the loud moans coming from Ghost. He holds nothing back, his hand engulfing the crown of your head while he gently pushes you down. A performer down to his very bones.

You were about to pause the recording, the pain in your mandible and knees almost becoming too much when he suddenly pulled you off of him.

"Wha—?" Ghost seizes you by the upper arms, forcibly bringing you to your feet, disregarding your pained whimper, and places you on the sturdy desk.

He's curling his fingers into the waistband of your frilly knickers, slipping them down your legs and pocketing them. There's a quiet popping sound when he bends his knees, going eye level with your bare cunt.

In a hushed tone, you say, "This isn't part of the scene." Ghost drags his eyes from your glistening slit to your face, gaze suffocating, smothering the very air in your lungs.

"Just a taste, love." He curls one hand under your thigh, lifting it to perch it on the edge of the desk, the other he throws over his strong shoulder. The only sound in the room is your soft moans as he expertly slides his warm tongue through your slick folds, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

By god does he eat pussy like it's his job. Peering down at him, you can't stop the sounds that spill from your mouth when his tongue visibly splits your pussy lips open, flicking at your clit, lapping up your arousal like it is honey. You take hold of his short hair, tugging at the strands as each swirl of his talented tongue pushes you closer to your peak.

His eyes cut to yours when he presses a thick finger into you, drinking in your desperate expression as you keen, begging for more, blabbering about it being so good, yet not enough, please god more.

Ghost curls his finger, only taking a second to find your sweet spot, and pushes— bursts of light flashing in your peripheral vision. You begin to rock your hips unconsciously, chasing your ecstasy, and Ghost simply flattens his tongue, letting you grind against it.

You teeter on the edge of bliss, a tightening in your stomach, right under where his finger is. Shaky exhales leave you, the leg that's on the desk visibly trembling from the tension that threatens to snap you in half.

He presses a kiss to your sodden pussy, and croons, "Gonna come f'me?" You jerkily nod.

"Yes fuck yes, I'm gonna come for you, just for you, Professor Riley pleaseee—" your blathering turns into a high-pitched squeal as he lightly sucks on your pearl, hips lifting off the desk as a blinding orgasm crashes into you, pleasure bursting through your very core, cunt pulsating with every wave of ecstasy around Ghost's finger.

He wastes no time in rising to his feet and slotting his mouth over yours, the taste of your slick strong, potent on his tongue. Ghost breaks away, his breath smelling of your desire. "Exquisite, like ambrosia. Addicting."

Ghost's hand cups your sensitive quim and whispers, "Think you can take me? Tha' orgasm took a lot outta ya."

Silly question. "I'm a big girl, Ghost. I can take it."

He licks the front of his teeth and glances down to where his hand rests. "Course you can, love. Turn around f'me."

Your movements are sluggish as you turn over onto your stomach, rising to the tip of your toes as you present yourself to him.

Ghost grabs the sides of your waist, and flips your skirt up, tucking the edge into the waistband of it. His hands palm your cheeks, thumbs digging into the meat of your ass to spread you open, completely exposed to him.

"Fuck me if tha' isn't the prettiest sight I've ever had the pleasure of seein'." He doesn't acknowledge your scoff as he spreads your hands out, placing them flat on the table— enveloping your hand with his own, intertwining his fingers with yours.

His leans over your semi-prone body, cock gently prodding at your entrance, gliding easily through your folds. "Ready?"

Arching your back, his tip slips inside, just barely. That's your answer.

You can hear the smarmy grin that spreads on his face, and wanted to snark back but you're rendered mute when he pushes in. Your eyes cross at the stretch of his cock, a feeling so sublime you know that no one will ever be able to duplicate. Your fingers tighten around his as you mewl when he bottoms out, hips flush against your arse.

Ghost sucks in a breath through his teeth when you shift your weight, and whatever you did has him sliding in deeper— turning his hiss into a guttural groan. "Fuck, you have no fuckin' idea how good you feel."

Probably not, but you have every idea how good he feels.

"You okay, love? Took me so well like you were made jus' f'me. So warm and soft, tight like a vice around my cock. Pretty pussy split wide open, stuffed full of me." He speaks unfettered filth to you, dripping over your ears like molasses, thick and syrupy. Your head feels heavy on your shoulders— dizzy, drunk on his scent, his cock that's got you tearing at the seams.

Then he begins to move, pulling out until an inch remains inside, and pushing in until he's nudging the plug of your womb, feeling a deep pinch under your navel.

This is what it's like to get fucked by Ghost. The one everyone covets after, hoping he drags down the very heavens with his bare hands and lays it at their feet. And here he is, fucking you. A newbie, a fresh face no one knows yet, a name that'll probably never grace the front page.

You doubt his motives are altruistic, but goddamn does it not matter; Not with the way he's carving a space inside of you that only he will ever fit in, or the way he's curling his free hand around your neck, thumb pressed right over your racing pulse.

He lowers himself until his strong chest is to your back, his teeth nipping the tip of your ear. "The moment I saw you gettin' fucked by Johnny, I knew I had t'have ya." Your walls clamp down on him involuntarily, wrenching a pained noise from him. "Fuckin' hell, I knew this pussy would be magical."

Ghost's lips skim over the shell of your ear before pressing a chaste kiss on it. "Lemme hear how good I make ya feel, pet. Don't hold back on me now." He grinds into your arse, going in so deep that it feels like he's trying to push past the entrance of your womb. "S'alrigh'. I'll jus' have t'pull 'em outta ya."

He releases you, placing both hands flat on the desk, on either side of your shoulders. "Take em for myself, make 'em mine." Straightening all the way, he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your waist.

"What a view. Perfection." He rolls his hips, rhythm languid, loud squelching noises coming from where he fills you. "Drippin' cream all over my cock, pet. Can't tell me this isn't 'cause of me."

How the fuck can he still talk? How is he coherent? Why isn't his brain turned into mush like yours is?

"Fuckin' ya speechless, am I? Oh, sweetheart, but I'm barely gettin' started." Ghost slowly pulls out, and curls his hand around your shoulder, nudging you to turn over. "On your back, now."

You lazily flip over, hair sticking to your sweat-slick skin, and he hooks his arms underneath your legs and drags you to the edge until your arse hangs from it. "I wanna see that pretty face when you come." He wastes no time in sheathing himself back inside your swollen channel, walls fluttering at the invasion.

Ghost hooks one leg over his shoulder to lean forward, pinning you to the desk with his upper body, and maneuvers your other to wrap around his wide waist. "That cock drunk look on your face makes my balls tighten, what a fuckin' expression you've got, christ," he growls. "Knowin' I put it there makes it all the better."

He gives you a chaste kiss on the lips and gives you a smile that is all teeth. "Now let's make you sing."

Grunting, he straightens. plants his feet firmly, stance wide, and begins to fuck you. The videos of the famed Ghost you saw are nothing, nothing, in comparison to real life. His full weight is behind every spine-jarring thrust, it makes your teeth clack, it rattles your brain inside your skull. He does it so perfectly because at no point do you feel any discomfort, not even a twinge. It's all a pleasure that blazes, an all-encompassing heat that threatens to swallow you whole, burn you from the inside out.

His cock punches the breath out of your lungs, wails clawing out of your throat, and it's so good, so fucking good— god, maybe he is god, you don't know, everything is so blurry, hazy—

All senses focus on the sudden touch between your legs, an expert thumb drawing tight circles on your slippery clit and there's no way you're going to survive this—

"There she is, the girl I saw in the video. Tha's an expression I see in myfuckin' sleep. Give me what's mine, pet. Let me feel you, cream all over my cock."

He's relentless in his pursuit of your climax, a wave of pleasure so intense, it just might drag you out to sea, drowning you.

Ghost, the fucking god of sex, stops his ministrations to spit on your pussy. Spit. From his full height, a glob of warm saliva drops to your mons, and he smears it with his fingers over your pussy lips before rubbing your clit. His thrusts slow in pace, turning into a firm snap of his hips, making sure you feel every ridge of his cock, and in less than a minute, your spine arches off the desk.

Your mouth opens into a silent scream, lids snapping shut as you break underneath him, warmth gushing from where he's continuously sinking into you, a steady, slow rhythm that never ends.

"Came all over me, didn't ya? Bet you didn't know you could even do tha'."

You didn't.

"Jus' for tha', I'm gonna give you somethin' in return, yeah? A little reward for bein' so good," he praises.

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, swollen and thick, and unconsciousness creeps at the very edges of your mind.

All you can do is lie there and take it, his sloppy thrusts, his harsh panting until he moans, "'m close, so fuckin' close," and with whatever remnants of strength you have left, you use to squeeze him tightly— unwilling to let go because his come is yours now, you've earned it.

"Come in me, Ghost," you whimper.

That does it. He slams his hands on either side of your head and borderline roars out his release, cock twitching inside of your used cunt, filling you with his spend.

Cut.

Ghost's breathing is labored, a harsh pant that fans over your overheated skin, damp with sweat.

His brows are furrowed, his eyes squeezed shut, gulping in air and shivering in the aftershock of his climax.

To be fucked by Ghost is to see the Garden of Eden behind your eyelids.

Now you understand. You understand why he has no equal. He is unparalleled.

Jesus Christ, you're fucked. So, so fucked.

He slowly opens his eyes and peers down at you with a wolfish grin.

"Perfection."

--

A week later, your video with Ghost is the most viewed on the entire website. Not one other video even scratches the bottom of where your video sits.

Ghost truly is the king.

Curiously enough, your friend is the one who lets you know that Mr. life-altering cock himself never kisses during work. Not once in any video of his has he ever kissed, apart from a short pressing of lips to skin.

Your heart traitorously flutters at the thought of it meaning something more. Catching feelings when you get fucked for a living is not the move. But there's no stopping it from misbehaving, especially when you receive another script, to make another video with Ghost.

Another. one.

Fuck. Fuck!!

You cannot wait.

@mishaglass

[dekuneho]

prohero!katsuki x reader — suggestive, mdni

Walking home alone at this hour is dangerous. Reckless, stupid. You'll get swallowed up by all kinds of creeps, your boyfriend told you once.

That’s why you need a hero to take care of you when this happens.

Pro Hero Dynamight — first in the official Chart, the bastard that makes all the villains shriek and the girls scream — makes this clear as he presses up against your back, thigh peeking between your legs, mouth to the shell of your ear — all for security, of course. He slides a heated hand from your hip to the curve of your thigh, his gloves rough on skin if it weren’t for the barrier of your jeans.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doin’ out here all alone?” Dynamight rasps to your neck.

You gasp at the heat of his body towering over you, feeling a little weak in the knees. A big, strong Pro Hero cornering you like this… It’s a little scandalous. Your heart pounds for all the wrong reasons. “My— My boyfriend's working overtime. He’s a Pro, too, you see. A little too busy for me sometimes, Dynamight, sir.”

His big hand spans across your thigh, a steady weight that twitches at your formal address. It explores boldly. “A Pro, huh,” he echoes, gripping your chin to press his mouth against your jaw. “Looks like he ain’t doin’ his job to me.”

You shudder, and he follows it with a finger trailing up your spine near possessively, a dragon to his newly-found treasure. You tilt your head to meet the pierce of his red eyes, too helpless to not draw closer to the mouth that’s putting you in a trance with each filthy word. A handsome man like him, so eager to touch you... Who is to blame you, really? Your boyfriend’s left you a little needy.

“Ah, but — it’s okay.” You squirm and look up at him through your lashes. Coy and easy. “I’m used to taking care of myself. He’s busy enough.”

“He’s a jackass,” Dynamight says fiercely, half-distracted by your mouth.

You nearly break character, a little laugh slipping out. And with the way he grins, he knows what he’s doing wrong.

“Ahem. Dynamight, sir,” you return seamlessly, with the grace of a professional. Your back arches willingly as he drags you impossibly close, hip to hip. “We can’t… not like this. Someone might see.”

“Who gives a shit,” he says, then grips one whole thigh and squeezes appreciatively. “You’re already ruttin’ against me like a horndog, anyway.”

“Like a—” Incensed, you slap his chest, then hit it a few times more out of frustration. “Katsuki, gross! Stop ruining the scene, dammit.”

“What?” Katsuki’s frowns rather theatrically. The picture of innocence that doesn’t quite fit with his growing smug grin. “I didn’t ruin anything. Look, I’m still har—”

“Okay.” You exhale sharply, pushing away from him. Katsuki laughs, trying to pull you back to him, cooing. “You know what? Just skip the foreplay and take me home.”

[cumironi]

JEALOUS, JEALOUS, JEALOUS

RYOMEN SUKUNA . . . your boyfriend got jealous because some underclassmen were helping you carry your bag.

warning. collage boyfriend! ryomen sukuna, cūnnilingus, mat-pressing, squirting, pet-names, established relationship, cum-play, biting, fingering.

wc. 11,3k

you walk towards the big tree near the field where your best friends and boyfriend, ryomen sukuna, are hanging out with your friends— toji, gojo, geto and choso. as you approach, their heads turn towards you, smiling brightly. It's not just you who catches their attention but also the two freshmen boys trailing behind you, each holding a bunch of paper bags.

“hey boys,” you call out in your honeyed voice as you arrive. “i brought something for you,” you announce, nodding to the two freshmen who quickly place the paper bags down on the grass. the bags are filled with snacks, drinks, and small gifts.

“thank you for being so kind to me,“ you say, turning to the freshmen and gently cupping their cheeks for a moment. they both turn crimson, clearly flustered and melting under your touch.

your boyfriend, ryomen sukuna, watches the scene with a mix of amusement and mild jealousy, smirking as he sees the two boys blushing and trying to keep their composure.

“you can go now,” you say, your tone soft yet commanding. like obedient puppies, they nod and quickly make their exit, casting one last longing glance at you before scurrying away.

as soon as the two boys scurried away, sukuna wasted no time in pulling you onto his lap, a possessive glint in his eyes. his strong arms wrapped around your waist, tugging you closer so that you're practically sitting on him. the others snicker, clearly amused by his display of possessiveness.

“and what's with the two boys, princess? the bag is too heavy you're afraid you're gonna break a nail?” toji makes fun of you. you roll your eyes playfully, a coy smile on your lips. “jealous, toji? need me to carry your bags for you too?” you tease. the others chuckle at your quick response. toji just rolled his eyes.

while toji teases you, sukuna tightens his grip around your waist possessively, his jealousy still very much present. he doesn't like seeing other boys looking at you like that, especially as if you're some eye candy. but he knows you belong to him, and he's going to make sure everyone else knows it too.

he grumbles under his breath about how the freshmen boys should've known better than to look at what's his, and how he's going to teach them a lesson if they ever thought about you again.

“well, there were quite a lot of snacks and drinks in there,” you reply, playfully defending yourself. “and besides, it's not like those boys were complaining when they were carrying the bags, were they?” you added , still trying to justify your actions. toji raises his hands in mock surrender, “hey, i'm just asking a question, sweetheart.”

as toji raises his hands in fake surrender, sukuna rolls his eyes at your attempt to justify your actions. he knows you're right—the boys weren't complaining about carrying the bags, but that's not the point.

he huffs, pulling you even closer to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you like a vice grip. “yeah, yeah,” he says, irritation clear in his voice, “but they were eating you up with their eyes.”

“oh, shut up, you big baby,” you scoff, shaking your head with a smile. your fingers softly pinching sukuna's arm. “they offered to carry it for me, and they seemed eager to do it, so why not?” gojo grins, joining in on the teasing. “yeah, the princess can't handle carrying a few bags by herself. she needs her loyal subjects to do it for her!”

sukuna grumbles further, his irritation growing as gojo joins in on the teasing. he scowls, shooting a glare at gojo before wrapping his arms even tighter around you, as if trying to shield you from their mockery.

“she doesn't need anyone,” he mutters under his breath. “and she certainly doesn't need some simpering freshman boys drooling all over her.”

toji barks out a laugh. “yeah, suku, why not just put a leash on her so no one else can touch her?”

“hey, i'm not a dog,” you roll your eyes, playfully swatting at toji's arm as his words. “besides, it is easier for you to say, you're not the one who's carrying the bag, did you know how heavy it is? i can't do it by myself,” you added. you adjust your position to wrap your arms around sukuna's neck before speaking, “and besides, no girl should carry a heavy bag all by herself, don't you think baby?” you finished your words by looking at sukuna.

sukuna's irritation begins to soften as you wrap your arms around his neck and address him directly. he can't help but soften at your touch, and your question makes him huff out a sigh.

“yeah, yeah, i know,” he mutters, his arms still wrapped tight around your waist. he can't help but secretly like having you on his lap like this, like you belong to him. “i just don't like seeing other guys drooling all over you,” he grumbles, his jealousy still bubbling beneath the surface.

choso rolls his eyes, a cloud of smoke covering his face for a second before he adds, “oh, please y/n, you're just spoiled little princess, even those bag as heavy as the feather you still want people to carry it for you.”

sukuna chuckle, “she's a gentle soul, wouldn't want to trouble her delicate hands,” he replies, his tone dripping with sarcasm. toji merely snorts and rolls his eyes. “right,” he mutters, clearly not buying into sukuna's bullshit.

you pout, feigning indignation at choso's comment about you being a spoiled princess. “hey, i am NOT spoiled!” you protest, giving him a playful glare. “i just know how to appreciate good service when i see it.”

sukuna chuckles again, his hand idly tracing circles on your stomach, enjoying the feel of you being so close to him. toji rolls his eyes once more, a weary expression on his face.

“uh-huh... sure. keep telling yourself that, princess.”

sukuna grins at that, enjoying the banter between you and his friends. he can't help but savor the fact that they can all see how possessively he's clinging to you, how you're sitting on his lap like you belong there.

he tightens his grip on your waist even more, his hand resting on your hip as if to further claim his ownership of you. “yeah, she's spoiled all right," he mutters, "spoiled rotten.”

toji's eyes glint mischievously under his sunglasses as he glances at the two freshmen boys in the distance. they're standing a good distance away, whispering to each other and throwing furtive glances in your direction, their faces still flushed.

“they're still staring at you, princess,” toji comments with a smirk. sukuna glances in the direction of the two freshmen boys, his gaze hardening slightly as he notes their lingering gaze on you. his arm around you tightens possessively, a subtle warning to them.

“yeah, they look like desperate puppies waiting for scrap,” he sneers, his words dripping with disdain. choso and the others snicker, enjoying the show. “keep staring, i might break someone's neck today,” sukuna rumbled under his breath but loud enough for you and the rest to hear.

you roll your eyes at sukuna's protective and possessive attitude, but secretly you find it endearing. you're used to his jealous streak by now, but you can't help but enjoy the fact that he's so territorial about you.

you turn to toji, a playful grin on your face. “oh, come on toji,” you say, waving your hand in dismissal. “they're harmless. just a couple of boys with a crush, it's not a big deal.”

but you can't help but blush slightly at sukuna's possessive and slightly threatening tone, his hand gently tracing your waist as if to emphasize his claim over you. geto chuckles, raising his hands in mock surrender. choso rolls his eyes, clearly amused. satoru chimes in, “woah there, tiger. no need to go all alpha male on them.”

“relax, sukuna,” toji retorts, a smirk plastered across his face. “besides, it's not like the princess needs to do any heavy lifting anyways. not with all those boys practically tripping over themselves to do her bidding.”

“they're just some underclassmen from my class,” you explain with a shrug, “they offered to carry the bags for me on my way here.”

“oh? and you couldn't say no to them?” sukuna teases, his arms tightening around your waist possessively. you give sukuna a playful swat on the arm, rolling your eyes at his teasing. “oh, shut up," you say, trying to sound annoyed but failing to hide the smile on your face.

satoru grins, clearly enjoying the banter between you two. “yeah, suku, don't be a caveman. the princess is allowed to enjoy a little male attention, isn't she?”

sukuna's expression darkens as satoru teases him, his hand still possessively gripping your waist. he grumbles under his breath. “not from them, she isn't.”

you click your tongue as you turn to your boyfriend, “i just got my nails done? and besides carrying those bags alone from the parking lot and looking for you guys is a lot of work, don't wanna hurt my hands,” you pout while showing your boyfriend your new nails.

sukuna huffs out an amused chuckle, his gaze shifting to your painted fingernails. “ah, of course,” he feigns a dramatic tone. “can't have the princess straining her delicate fingers, can we?” he takes your hand in his, gently inspecting your newly painted nails with a smirk.

“they do look pretty,“ he concedes. “you're such a princess,” he teases, a smile tugging at his lips. “always worried about your pretty hands. but i wouldn't mind if you had asked me to carry those bags for you. you know, like a good boyfriend would.”

you give sukuna a cheeky grin, pretending to be offended by his comment. “are you calling yourself a bad boyfriend, then?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

toji rolls his eyes, scoffing under his breath. “jeez, you two are disgustingly cute together. get a room already.” choso lets out a low chuckle, and geto shakes his head. gojo grins, clearly amused by the whole situation.

sukuna's smirk widens as he looks at toji, his gaze dripping with arrogance. “jealous? can't handle seeing a display of affection between two people in love?” he retorts sarcastically. toji just snorts in response, seemingly not bothered.

“yeah, right. love. more like possessiveness. besides, i can't handle her, too delicate and too high-maintenance.”

“hey! I'm not high maintenance, it's hard getting an appointment for this nail salon, you know,” you are protesting, still pouting, “i mean you wouldn't know since you don't have a girlfriend, but okay,” you shrug your shoulder. toji feigns an offended gasp, clutching his chest in mock hurt.

“don't worry, princess,” sukuna says, his voice dripping with possessiveness. “i don't mind indulging your 'high-maintenance' habits. i'm the only one who gets to pamper you, after all.”

toji rolls his eyes, but there's a hint of amusement in his expression. “yeah, yeah, suku. whatever helps you sleep at night.”

gojo snickers, clearly enjoying toji's sarcastic comments. “oh, come on, toji. don't act like you're not secretly jealous watching them being all lovey-dovey.”

geto shakes his head, grinning at the whole exchange. “oh, leave him alone. he's just bitter because no one ever offers to carry his bags for him.” you just chuckle before standing up from sukuna's lap. “come on baby, let's get away from these losers,” you tell your boyfriend without giving a second glance at your friends.

sukuna doesn't hesitate, quickly getting to his feet and wrapping an arm around your waist possessively, pulling you close to him. he grins at your group of friends, a smug look on his face.

“you heard her," he says, his voice dripping with pride. "we're off to spend some quality time alone. try not to miss us too much, losers.” the others just scoff in response, some rolling their eyes, others shaking their heads in mock disappointment.

as you and sukuna make your way away from the group, you can hear their jeers and comments.

“yeah, sure. 'quality time.' as if that's not code for making out and being all gross and mushy together,” toji mutters.

“aww, they're gonna miss us so much,” satoru pipes up, feigning sadness. choso just grunts, while geto chimes in with a smirk. “yeah, right. i doubt we'll even notice their absence.”

as you and sukuna begin to walk away from your friends, his grip on your waist remains firm, his strides confident and possessive. he leads you away from the group, towards a parking spot . once you're out of earshot, he turns to you with a sly smile.

“so, tell me brat,” he says, his voice low and taunting. “enjoying all that attention from those underclassmen, were you?” you roll your eyes, but can't help but smile up at him. you know exactly what he's referring to, and you also know that this is his way of being possessive and protective of you.

“oh, please,” you say, feigning nonchalance, “they were just being polite, that's all.” sukuna let out a scoff, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. “yeah, right. like they were just being ‘polite’ by offering to carry your bags and drooling all over you like puppies. they were practically ogling you.”

he pulls you closer to his side, his arm still wrapped possessively around you. he glances over at you, his gaze drifting to your newly done nails.

“but i have to admit, those nails do look pretty cute,” he says, raising your hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “but next time, let me carry the bags for you. i don't like the way those dumb underclassmen were looking at you.”

you can't help but blush a little at his unexpected compliment. even though you know he's being possessive, there's something endearing about him liking your nails. you give him a small smile, playing along with his possessiveness, “thank you and don't worry, baby. i'll make sure to ask you next time. i wouldn't want your delicate ego getting bruised.”

he scoffs, a hint of amusement in his expression. “oh, don't worry about my ego, princess. i can handle a few smitten underclassmen staring after you. but it's my job to make sure they know their place.” he stops walking, suddenly turning to face you. he presses you against the side of his car, pinning you between the cool metal and his toned body. he leans in close, his eyes darkening with desire.

you feel a shiver run down your spine as sukuna pins you against his car. he's so close to you that you can feel his body heat radiating off of him, and the intensity of his gaze makes your heart skip a beat. “yeah?” you murmur, trying to sound nonchalant despite the butterflies in your stomach. “and how do you plan on doing that, tough guy?”

he leans even closer, his lips hovering just above your ear. his breath is hot against your skin as he speaks, his voice low and gruff. “oh, i have a few ideas, princess,” he purrs, his hand tracing a path down your side to rest on your hip.

he pulls you even closer to him, pinning you even tighter against the car. he cups your chin with his other hand, tilting your head back so that you're looking up at him. he gazes down at you, his eyes dark and full of desire.

you're smiling ear to ear, wrapping your arms happily around his neck as you look up to him. “like what?” you ask, voice low and sultry. he chuckles, the sound low and smooth. he gazes down at you with a predatory gleam in his eyes, “oh, princess, if i told you all of my ideas, i'd be here all night.”

his hand on your hip slides lower, slowly tracing the contour of your body until it rests on the curve of your ass. he gives you a slight squeeze, his fingers digging into your flesh.

his other hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. he leans in closer, his lips mere inches from yours. he glances down at your mouth, his eyes filled with desire. “but trust me, i have all sorts of ways of making sure those stupid underclassmen know you're mine,” he whispers, his voice dripping with possessiveness.

you tear a low, softly hum the moment his thumb makes contact with your bottom lips, “i think everyone on campus already knows that, don't you think?” he smirks, enjoying the sound of your hum. he runs his thumb lightly over your bottom lip again, tracing the curve of your mouth.

“oh, i know they do,” he replies, his voice low and smooth like honey. “but it never hurts to have a little reminder every now and then, doesn't it?” he leans in closer, his eyes locked on your mouth. he's so close now that you can feel his warm breath against your skin.

“yeah?” you mumble, eyes never leaving his red irises. your fingers trace a gentle path on his undercut. sukuna's eyelids flutter shut as your fingers trace over his undercut, a low rumble escaping his chest at your touch. he practically melts under your touch, his body tensing and then relaxing at your caress.

“yeah,” he murmurs, his voice low and gruff. “i want everyone to know you're mine. no one else gets to touch you, look at you, hell, even breathe the same air as you.”

you chuckle, shaking your head ever so, “you're so jealous. but that's a bit selfish, don't you think, baby?”

sukuna leans in even closer, his lips hovering just above your ear. “hmmm, maybe i am. but you don't mind, do you, princess?” he brushes his nose against your neck, inhaling your scent. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, nuzzling his nose against the sensitive skin. he peppers light kisses along your jawline, his mouth skimming over your pulse point.

you shiver slightly at his touch, a smirk tugging at your lips. “who am i to be mind by my boyfriend's jealousy?” you murmur, tilting your head slightly to give him better access. your hand reaches up to tangle in his hair, pulling him even closer as you whisper, “i like it when you get possessive.“

sukuna smirks against your skin, his kisses growing more intense as he hears your words. he lets out a low hum, reveling in the fact that you enjoy his jealousy.

he presses his body against yours, pinning you more firmly against the car. his hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. “good,” he growls, his lips trailing up your neck towards your ear. “because i love getting possessive over you. you're mine and mine alone, princess.”

you let out a breathy laugh, feeling the heat of his words and the intensity of his touch. “maybe we should take this home,” you whisper back, your voice teasing yet full of desire. you lean into him, brushing your lips against his ear before continuing, “unless you want to risk someone seeing just how possessive you can get.” your hands slide up his chest, urging him to move, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

sukuna's lips curve into a devilish smile at your words. he knows exactly what you're getting at, and the thought of getting caught in the act only adds to the thrill.

he chuckles, his eyes darkening with desire. “oh, princess, you know me too well,” he purrs, his voice low and smooth, “but i wouldn't mind giving some nosy strangers a show.” he doesn't hesitate, quickly scooping you up in his arms and carrying you to the passenger door.

he opens the door and gently sets you down on the leather seat, his eyes never leaving yours. a wicked smirk plays at his lips as he climbs in after you, shutting the door behind him.

he buckles you in, his hands lingering on the seatbelt for a moment longer than necessary. he takes a moment to appreciate the way your body looks in the dim light, biting his lip at the sight.

“you look so good, all strapped in and waiting for me,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with desire. “let's go home, princess. i have some unfinished business with you, and i need some privacy for it,” sukuna mumbled. you chuckle, letting your hand hang in the air for a second to touch his cheek and giving his lips a peck.

sukuna let a low hum escaping his lips. he leans into your touch, his body responding instantly to your affection. he doesn't hesitate to start the car, the engine roaring to life as he peels out of the parking lot. his eyes stay focused on the road, but his hand finds its way to your thigh, his fingers tracing light circles on your skin.

he's silent for a moment, his thoughts consumed by the events of the day and the thought of being alone with you. as he drives, his grip on your thigh tightens slightly, his fingers digging into your flesh. he's impatient and eager to get you alone, and the longer the drive goes on, the more tense he becomes.

but he says nothing, his jaw clenching slightly as he focuses on the road. the only sound that can be heard in the car is the low hum of the engine and his deep, steady breaths.

the door slams shut behind you both as sukuna presses you against it, his lips moving hungrily against yours. his hands slide down your back, gripping your waist as he lifts you effortlessly, deepening the kiss. your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging him closer as your lips move in sync, the intensity between you two growing with each passing second.

he growls low in his throat, his impatience from the drive spilling over as he carries you to the bedroom, not bothering to turn on the lights. the darkness only heightens your senses as he lays you down, hovering over you, his breath hot against your skin.

“you have no idea how long i've been waiting for this, princess,” he murmurs against your lips before capturing them in another passionate kiss, his hands exploring your body with possessive intent. sukuna's touch is both rough and gentle as he worships your body, his hands roaming over every inch of your skin. his lips move down your neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses in their wake.

he bites and sucks at the skin of your collarbone, leaving small marks that he knows will be there tomorrow. his hands caress your curves, his fingers tracing over the fabric of your clothes as if impatient to get to the skin beneath.

he pauses for a moment, his hands gripping the hem of your shirt. he tugs at it, looking up at you with darkened eyes. “princess, i need these clothes off. now.”

he's barely got the words out before he's already yanking your top over your head, discarding it to the floor without a second thought. his lips immediately return to your skin, his mouth trailing a path down your chest. you're gasping for air softly, looking down at him with your hands on his hair. “r-ryo..” you whisper his name.

sukuna freezes at the sound of his name on your lips, his eyes fluttering closed at the sound. he loves when you say his name like that, in that soft, breathless whisper. it makes his heart skip a beat, and his grip on you tightens slightly.

he looks up at you, his eyes dark and intense. “yeah, princess?” he murmurs, his lips hovering just above your skin. “don't stop,” you pleaded, fingers knead with his pink locks.

sukuna smirks against your skin, his lips curving into a devilish grin. he loves how desperate you sound, how much you want him. it's a huge ego boost, and it only makes him more determined to drive you wild.

“don't worry, princess. i'm not stopping anytime soon,” he assures you, his voice rough and gravelly. he continues his assault on your skin, his lips and tongue worshiping every inch of you.

he slowly peels your clothes off you, his fingers caressing your skin with every piece of fabric that's removed. his mouth follows his hands, his lips trailing over your body like a starved man.

he takes his time, taking in every inch of you until you're completely bare before him. he looks up at you, his eyes raking over your body with a possessive desire. “you're so damn beautiful, princess,” he murmurs approvingly, his hands roaming over your curves.

you put your hands around your chest— put a shield on your bare breast away from his sigh and a crushed cherry makes its way to your cheeks. you put yourself on your elbows before leaning closer, trying to hide your shyness by kiss him.

sukuna notices your shyness, and he smirks at the sight. he knows it's part your natural shy nature and part your subconscious reaction to his compliment. he doesn't call you out on it, though. instead, he accepts your kiss, his lips moving against yours with a possessive intensity. he cups your chin in his hand, holding you in place as he kisses you deeply.

he can feel your hands on your chest, trying to hide from him, and he tsks softly. he gently pulls your hands away, his eyes flashing with possessiveness. “no hiding, princess,” he growls lowly. “i want to see all of you. every inch.”

he gently pushes you back down onto the bed, his body covering yours. he pins you down, his hands roaming over your skin as he looks down at you with his intense, possessive gaze.

you tug at his jacket, silently telling him to also take his clothes off. making the man standing on his knees between your legs start to peel his clothes one by one without leaving your gaze, slowly revealing his muscular, cover with his signature tattoos to you. sukuna smirks down at you, his eyes never leaving yours as he begins to strip. he slowly peals off his jacket, tossing it aside before unbuttoning his shirt. he lets the fabric hang open for a moment, giving you a glimpse of his toned torso before pulling it off entirely.

his hands go to his belt next, unbuckling it with a quick flick of his wrist. he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his pants, pushing them down along with his boxers in one swift motion. he steps out of his clothing, his cock standing proud and hard, throbbing with need. he grins down at you, enjoying the look of hunger in your eyes as they drink in the sight of him.

“like what you see, princess?” he teases, his voice thick with lust.

you shift slightly, straighten your position and back to prop your burning-with-desire body to catch a better look of your boyfriend. unconsciously, you biting your nail, smiling as you look at him with hunger. “handsome,” you mumble, voice low.

sukuna preens under your gaze, his ego swelling at your little compliment. he loves the way you look at him, the way your eyes rake over his body with such hungry desire.

he smirks at you, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “thank you, brat. you're not so bad yourself,” he replies, his voice low and smooth. he looks down at you, his eyes roaming over your body, taking in every curve and dip.

a satisfied hum vibrates out of your lips before you are leaning towards him while he still standing with his knees between your legs. closing the gap between your starving lips and his skin. your lips wander— giving sukuna an open-mouthed kisses on his abs while your nails digging invisible hole on his muscular thighs.

sukuna groans low in his throat as your lips make contact with his skin, your warm mouth sending shivers through him. his hands instinctively reach down to tangle in your hair, holding you close as you pepper his abs with open-mouthed kisses.

he can feel the slight pinch of your nails digging into his thighs, and it only serves to heighten his arousal. he's rock hard, his cock twitching with anticipation as he watches you worship his body.

“fuck, princess... keep doing that and i might not last long enough to fuck you properly,“ he warns, his voice strained with desire. despite the threat, he doesn't pull you away, content to let you explore his body to your heart's content.

he looks down at you, watching as your lips and tongue leave a trail of wet kisses over his abs, your nails leaving little indents in his skin. he lets out a low, guttural groan, his body responding to your touch with each passing second.

“fuck, princess,” he mumbles, his voice strained. ��you're driving me insane.” you chuckle faintly, finding his struggling amusing. “you are so responsive, ryo..” you mumble on his abs before biting the skin in tiny.

sukuna lets out a low growl at the feeling of your teeth on his skin, his body tensing in response. he's struggling to maintain control, his hands twitching at his sides as he fights the urge to grab you and flip you over.

"you have no idea how much you're affecting me right now, princess," he replies, his voice low and ragged. "i'm trying to be patient, but you're making it damn difficult."

he's practically vibrating with tension, his entire body coiled tightly like a spring ready to snap. he's determined to let you have your way with him, to let you explore and worship his body to your heart's content.

but it's taking all of his willpower not to give in to the overwhelming desire that's surging through his veins, the desire to take you, to make you his over and over again.

“so hot,” you whisper, eyes never leaving his burning red irises. your tongue sticks down to his abs, leaving a trail of your saliva on his skin. sukuna groans loudly at the sensation of your tongue on his skin, his cock throbbing in response. he bites his lip to stifle another moan, his hands tightening in your hair.

"fuck, princess... you're going to kill me," he mutters, his voice laced with both pleasure and frustration. he can barely stand it anymore, the feeling of your tongue tracing patterns on his skin is driving him absolutely mad.

he finally decides to take matters into his own hands (or rather, his mouth). he leans down, capturing your nipple between his teeth, biting down gently. a soft moan tears away from your throat while sukuna's hands pushing your body against the pillows, letting you slightly sitting. “oh, baby,” you whisper.

sukuna smirks at your soft moan, his eyes darkening with desire. he continues to tease your nipples with his teeth and tongue, alternating between gentle nibbles and rough sucks. he pulls back after a few moments, looking up at you with a wicked grin. “you like that, princess? you like when i bite you?” he asks, his voice dripping with lust.

he moves lower then, trailing kisses down your stomach until he reaches your hips. he nuzzles against you affectionately before spreading your legs wide apart, exposing your wet pussy to his hungry gaze.

“yes..” you answer, a soft groan leaving along with your gasp the moment cold air kissing your already dripping pussy. your gaze meet with sukuna's hooded eyes and his smirk.

sukuna chuckles darkly at your breathless yes, his eyes glinting with mischief. he loves seeing you like this - spread out beneath him, desperate and wanting.

he takes a moment to admire the view, his gaze raking over your glistening folds hungrily. “you're so fucking perfect, princess,” he murmurs appreciatively. “i could stare at this pretty pussy all day.”

he leans in closer, his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh. he inhales deeply, savoring your intoxicating scent. “and you smell so good too... i bet you taste even better.”

“please, ryo..” softly, you pleaded, begging for his mercy.

sukuna smirks at your pleading, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. he knows exactly how to push your buttons, how to make you beg for more. “what do you want, princess?” he taunts, his fingers tracing and teasing circles around your clit. “tell me how badly you need my tongue on this sweet little cunt of yours.”

he leans in, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. “beg me for it,” he commands, his voice low and husky with desire. “let me hear you plead for my attention like the needy little slut you are.”

you huff a soft gasp when sukuna slightly pull you towards him and lift your legs on his shoulders, wrapped his tattoos and muscular arms around your thigh to keep you close. “ryo..” you calling him between your gasp, “please, need you— miss you so much,” you pleading. you haven't seen him for a month, and when you finally do, you get him between your legs, ready to eat you out to oblivion.

sukuna groans at your desperate pleas, his cock throbbing in anticipation. he's been craving you just as much, dreaming about having you writhing beneath him once again. "I've missed you too, princess," he admits, his voice raw with emotion. "i've thought about this tight little pussy every single day we were apart."

his other hand moves lower, sliding between your slick folds to tease at your entrance. “but you know what they say about absence making the heart grow fonder,” he continues, his tone dripping with seduction. “i think it's time we made up for lost time, don't you?”

he dives in then, his tongue delving deep into your soaked folds. he laps at you hungrily, savoring your addictive 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. “fuck, you taste even better than i remembered,” he growls against your core, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. “i could feast on this pussy for hours...”

your soft moan drifting away along with your breath when you throw your head back the moment his tongue touches your clit. your finger desperately looking for support and found his hair, scratching his scalp with your long nails in the process.

sukuna moans deeply as your nails dig into his scalp, the mix of pain and pleasure only spurring him on further. 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.

his fingers join the fray, two digits plunging knuckle-deep into your soaked channel as he pumps them in and out at a rapid pace. he curls them just right, hitting that special spot inside you that has your toes curling in ecstasy.

“that's it, princess,” he croons, his voice muffled against your core. “let me hear those pretty sounds. i want the whole neighborhood to know who this pussy belongs to.” he scissors his fingers, stretching you deliciously as he works you closer and closer to the edge.

his words alone are enough to send sparks shooting through your veins. the thought of him stretching you open, filling you completely, sends a rush of heat pooling in your belly.

“oh god..” you whimpering breathlessly. your hand still clutch tightly around his hair while the other grasping the blanket underneath you, “feel so g-good, baby..”

sukuna grins against your pussy, his pride swelling at your praise. he loves knowing he can reduce you to such a state of desperation with just his mouth and fingers. “you like that, princess?” he teases, pumping his fingers faster as he sucks harder on your clit. “you like feeling stuffed full, stretched open for me?”

he adds a third finger, scissoring them even wider inside you as he curls them to hit that magic spot over and over. his tongue lashes at your clit mercilessly, driving you higher and higher.

“so close, aren't you?” he purrs, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. “just let go, princess. come all over my face like the naughty girl you are.” your thigh shaking along with your breath the moment his finger keep poking your g-spot, making you crying for release. “o-oh—” you stammered, eyes tightly shut and your thigh unconsciously leaning towards each other, clamping down sukuna's head on the way.

sukuna hums in approval, loving the feel of your thighs clenching around his head. he keeps up his relentless assault on your clit, flicking it relentlessly with his tongue as he drives his fingers deeper into your quivering walls.

“that's it, princess,” he encourages, his voice vibrating against your pussy. “give it to me. show me how much you love my fingers fucing this tight little pussy.” he quickens his pace even more, pumping his fingers faster and curling them even deeper within you. the sound of your moaning fills the room, echoing off the walls and spurring him on.

with one final lick across your swollen clit, he pushes you over the edge. your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave, ripping a scream from your throat as waves of pleasure wash over every inch of your being. the combination of sensations pushes you closer and closer to the brink, until finally, you tip over the edge.

with a loud cry, your back arches off the bed as your orgasm crashes over you. your inner walls clench around his pumping fingers as wave after wave of pleasure rocks through your body. “o-oh, god!” your high-pitched moan filling the room the moment you squirting on his face. tightly clenching his head between your thigh along with his fingers inside you.

sukuna groans in satisfaction as your juices flood his mouth, your thighs clamping down around his head like a vice. he doesn't let up though, continuing to lap at your pulsing walls and flick your clit as you ride out the intense waves of your climax. sukuna drinks in your sweet release eagerly, lapping up every drop of your juices as they coat his tongue. he doesn't stop until your orgasm subsides, until your trembling form is left limp and satisfied beneath him.

“that's it, come for me princess,” he coaxes, his fingers buried deep inside you as he helps work you through the aftershocks. “fuck, you taste so good when you squirt like that.” he slowly pulls his fingers out, bringing them up to his mouth to clean them off with relish. “i could watch you fall apart on my tongue all day,” he says with a wicked grin, licking his lips. “but i'm not done with you yet...“ he crawls up your trembling body, capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

you let out a satisfied sigh when his lips touching yours. in an instant your arms found its way to his neck, pulling him closer until there is no gap between you and him. “i almost forgot how your tongue feels, we should never be apart like that ever again,” you murmur softly on his lips. sukuna chuckles lowly, his hands roaming your curves possessively as he settles himself between your spread thighs. “oh, i fully intend to make sure you never forget again,” he promises darkly, grinding his rock hard erection against your sensitive core.

he claims your lips in another heated kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to tangle with yours. you can taste yourself on him, a heady reminder of the pleasure he just brought you to. “i'm going to fuck you so hard, princess,” he growls against your lips, reaching down to line himself up with your entrance. “i'm going to fill this tight little cunt up until you're screaming my name.”

with one powerful thrust of his hips, he sheaths himself fully inside you, stretching you deliciously around his thick length. he thrusts it inside you gently, reveling in the warmth and wetness that greets him. “i hope you're ready for more, baby, because i'm far from finished satisfying this insatiable appetite of mine...”

your body once again arch away from the bed towards sukuna. your warmth breath fanning across his ear with your nails scratching his back. a month away from your boyfriend and your pussy back to being unfamiliar with how big his cock are.

“f-fuck, since when you're became so big?” you mumble between your panting. sukuna lets out a low, pleased rumble as he continues to pump his hips, sinking deeper and deeper into your welcoming heat. “since I've been dreaming about this moment,” he confesses, nipping at your earlobe teasingly.

“ever since you left to your stupid vacation, i've been thinking about how good it would feel to be balls deep inside you again.” he punctuates his words with another hard thrust, his cock throbbing inside you. “and now that i am... fuck, princess... you're tighter than i remember.“

he starts moving with purposeful intent then, setting a punishing rhythm designed to drive both of you insane with pleasure. each stroke of his hips sends waves of bliss coursing through your bodies; each pull of his cock dragging moans from deep within your chest.

sukuna leans down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure as he pounds into you relentlessly. his hands grip your hips hard, holding you in place as he fucks you with wild abandon.

"you take my cock so well, princess," he rasps against your mouth, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “so fucking perfect.” he breaks the kiss to gaze down at you, his red eyes blazing with lust and possession. “look at me,” he commands, his voice rough with desire. “watch me claim this pussy as mine.”

as you meet his intense stare, he reaches between your bodies to rub your clit in time with his thrusts, pushing you closer and closer to the edge once more. “come for me again, princess,” he urges, his voice dripping with hunger. as sukuna picks up the pace, you can see the lust burning in his crimson eyes. they flicker dangerously as he watches you writhe beneath him, taking every inch of his massive dick with eagerness.

his hands grip your hips firmly, guiding your movements to meet his thrusts perfectly. with each stroke, he hits that sweet spot inside you, sending jolts of ecstasy racing up your spine. “oh, fuck me— ah!” you whimpering, your breath shattered each time sukuna thrust faster into you.

the sight of you writhing beneath him, your body slick with sweat and flush with arousal, fuels sukuna's lust even further. he grunts with satisfaction as he feels your walls clench around him, tightening deliciously with every thrust.

"fuck yes," he groans, slamming into you harder and faster. "take my cock, princess. milk it dry." his fingers find your clit again, rubbing it in tight circles that send sparks shooting through your veins. the sensation coupled with the relentless pounding of his cock has you teetering on the edge of another orgasm.

"you're gonna cum for me again," he pants, leaning down to nip at your collarbone. "and then I'm gonna fill you up until you can't walk straight." his words send shivers down your spine, igniting a fire in your veins. you arch into him, desperate for more of his delicious friction. your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks in their wake.

“please, baby!” you beg, your voice breaking on a sob, “harder! faster!”

sukuna snarls with pleasure at your plea, his thrusts growing even more erratic as he loses control. He buries himself deep inside you, hitting that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. "oh, fuck..." he curses, feeling his climax building rapidly. "i'm close, princess. so fucking close."

he doubles his efforts, pistoning into you with reckless abandon. his fingers work your clit mercilessly while he drives himself to the hilt over and over again. with a final, guttural groan, he tips over the edge. "here it comes!" he warns before spilling his hot seed deep within your quivering depths. Your walls clench around him greedily, milking him for everything he's worth.

“oh. my. god. .” you groan low in pleasure. your hands holding tightly to his shoulders. he stays buried deep inside you, his still-hard cock still twitching occasionally as the last remnants of your shared climax ebb away.

after a moment, he lifts his body to sit between your legs to look at you, a lazy, satisfied smile spreading across his face. “always so beautiful,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair away from your sweaty forehead. "you took every inch of me like a champ, princess.”

slowly he pull his cock out of your pussy, watch your cum and his dripping out to the bed. sukuna gently shove his two finger to scoop your cum back inside your pussy. he smile in satisfaction, “don't want it go wasted,” he murmur. sukuna watches as you relax in post-orgasmic bliss, your limbs sprawled out haphazardly and your skin glistening with sweat. a sense of satisfaction fills him, knowing he was able to give you such pleasure.

"that's it, princess," he murmurs encouragingly, watching as your belly firms up after the release of all those endorphins. "just lay back and enjoy the ride. we've got all night..." he moves lower then, kissing and nibbling along your inner thigh before pressing a tender kiss to the spot where his cock had just been. his tongue laps up the remaining evidence of your combined orgasms, cleaning you thoroughly before moving back up to lavish attention on your needy nipples.

"you're quite the little slut, aren't you?" he teases, pinching and rolling one of your hard peaks between his fingers. you open your eyes and chuckle hearing the words rolling out of his tongue. “i'm your little slut,” you murmur on his lips as you sit up straight. “those loser underclassmen don't stand a chance, do they?” you ask, remind him of his little jealousy at the underclassmen before.

sukuna smirks wickedly, enjoying the way you tease him. "they don't," he confirms with a possessive growl. "no one else gets to touch what belongs to me." his hand slides down to squeeze your ass cheek firmly. "especially not my tight little pussy," he adds, giving it a playful slap.

to prove his point, he rolls his hips against yours suggestively, letting you feel the renewed hardness of his cock. “see? this is what you do to me, princess. no other woman could get me this worked up.” leaning forward, he captures your lips in another searing kiss. As he pulls back slightly, he trails kisses down your neck before whispering against your skin. "now let's get you nice and ready for round two, shall we?"

his hand slips between your thighs again, fingers delving into your slick folds to start preparing you for his next conquest. sukuna smile, “let's have you on my lap and see if you still can take me fully,” he murmur. without a warning he scoop you from the bed and sitting you on his lap, your legs cage him in between. you gasp from the sudden movement before giggling, having sukuna mirroring you. your arms again found its own to wrap around sukuna's neck.

sukuna chuckles darkly as he positions you on his lap, his hands gripping your hips securely. "let's see how well you can handle me now, shall we?" with a swift tug, he lines up his throbbing cock with your entrance, teasing you with the tip before slowly sinking you down onto his impressive length. inch by thick inch disappears inside you, stretching you deliciously as you envelop him completely.

"fuck, you feel amazing," he groans, relishing the way your velvety walls hug his shaft. "ride me, princess. take what you need."

his hands guide your movements as you begin to bounce on his lap, setting a steady rhythm that has you both panting with pleasure. the new angle allows him to hit even deeper, striking that magic spot inside you with every downward grind.

"that's it." the new angle makes his cook suffocating you, fill you up completely and have your eyes rolled back to your head for a second. “oh fuck, oh god!” you whisper as your breath hitched.

sukuna's eyes blaze with lust as he watches you struggle to breathe around his thick girth. "look at you, taking me so deep," he praises huskily, one hand coming up to cup your face. "such a good girl for me." the praise only serves to fuel his desire, and he begins to move beneath you with increased urgency. his hips snap upward to meet your downward strokes, driving his cock impossibly deeper with each powerful thrust.

"i'm going to ruin you for anyone else," he vows, nipping at your earlobe. "my cock will be the only thing you crave, the only thing that can satisfy you." as he speaks, his free hand slides between your bodies to rub at your clit, adding an extra layer of stimulation to the intense fucking. the dual sensations quickly push you toward another explosive climax.

your voice shaking as you hummed a protest the second he adds another pleasure with his hand. “o-oh,” your voice wavering while your forehead pressed against his neck. your fingers hug his wrist, a sign of your protest from the pleasure unconsciously.

sukuna feels your resistance but doesn't relent, continuing to stroke your sensitive clit in time with his relentless pounding. "shh, it's okay, princess," he coos, his breath hot against your ear. "just let go. I've got you."

emboldened by your submission, he increases the pressure on your clit, determined to bring you to the brink once more. his cock throbs inside you, signaling his own impending orgasm, but he focuses on pushing you first. "that's it, come for me," he urges, his voice a low rumble. "squeeze my dick with your tight cunt. show me how much you love being filled by me."

sukuna's words are your undoing, and with a keening cry, you shatter around him, your inner muscles clamping down on his pulsing cock like a vice. Wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. at the sensation of your pussy convulsing around him, sukuna's control snaps. with a hoarse roar, he slams up into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt as his own release floods through him. spurt after spurt of hot cum paints your insides, marking you as his in the most primal way possible.

“yes! fuck yes!” he roars, slamming into you one last time after finding his own release. for long moments, you remain locked together, riding out the aftershocks of your shared climax. finally, fukuna gently eases you off his lap, allowing you to collapse against his chest as he wraps his arms around you.

sukuna holds you close as you both catch your breath, his heart pounding against your back. he presses a tender kiss to your temple, savoring the feeling of your naked body pressed so intimately against his. sukuna's breathing is heavy and ragged as he holds you close, his chest rising and falling with every breath he takes. he can feel his heart pounding in his chest, beating in perfect time with yours.

he nuzzles his face into your hair, inhaling deeply as if trying to commit your scent to memory. his hands roam over your body, his touch gentle and possessive as he worships you with his touch.

"you're mine," he murmurs, his voice a low, possessive growl. "all mine, princess. don't ever forget that." as your breathing steadies, he shifts slightly, maneuvering you both to lie down on the bed. he gathers you close, draping an arm across your waist possessively as you rest your head against his chest— draping you with a cover along with him.

sukuna holds you close, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist as you curl up against his chest. he pulls the covers up around you both, enveloping you in a warm, cozy cocoon. he lets out a satisfied sigh, his eyes fluttering shut as he relaxes into the bed. he's still buzzing with the aftermath of your intense encounter, but he's blissfully content just holding you in his arms like this.

he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, his voice a low murmur. "you okay, princess?" you lift your head from his chest, your eyes meeting his with a warm, affectionate gaze. a gentle smile curves your lips as you hum softly in response. “perfect,” you whisper, brushing a tender kiss against his chin.

sukuna's heart skips a beat at the feeling of your lips on his skin, and he can't help but smile in response to your answer. he loves seeing you like this, all soft and sleepy in his arms. he pulls you closer, if that's even possible, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back as he holds you. he's still running on adrenaline, but seeing you so content and relaxed is enough to start calming him down.

he brushes a kiss against your forehead, his voice gravelly and drowsy. "i love you," he murmurs, his words heavy with meaning.

you roll over to your stomach— prop your elbows for support, your smile softened as you look up at him. sukuna hide his hand behind underneath his head as he looks at your figure when resting your chin on your hands, you gaze into his eyes with affection. “i love you too,” you reply softly, your voice filled with warmth. you lean closer once again, gently pressing your lips against his lips.

sukuna's heart skips a beat again as you lean in to press a soft, sweet kiss against his lips. he can feel his whole body melting beneath your touch, his guard completely dropping as you express your love for him. he's still completely naked beneath the covers, but he doesn't care. he doesn't care about anything other than being close to you right now, feeling your soft skin against his and the sweet heat of your breath on his lips.

he lets out a soft sigh into the kiss, his hand coming up to cup your face gently. you pull away before chuckling. the sweet, sweet sound of your little laugh puts a smile on sukuna's face. his thumbs gently sweep across your soft skin on your arm. the two of you just drowning in comfortable silence for a moment, far away behind all the intensity and sensual that filling the room before.

sukuna watches you closely as you pull away, his gaze soft and affectionate. he can't help but smile at the sound of your sweet laugh, his thumb tracing idle patterns on your skin as you both bask in the comfortable silence.

he's soaking in the moment, drinking in the sight of your face so close to his, the feeling of your body pressed against his. it's moments like these that mean the most to him, when the world fades away and it's just the two of you.

he lifts his hand, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. sukuna’s eyes shift from your face to your hands, a hint of concern crossing his features as he notices the broken nail. his voice softens, tinged with regret. “oh, baby, i must have broken your nail,” he murmurs, his gaze lingering on your hand.

he gently takes it on his own, examining now bare nail with a touch of amused. “i’m sorry about that,” he adds, his tone light, feeling everything except sorry for accidentally broking your extension nail. he noticed the extension of the nail near the pillow, picked it up and handed it to you— the nail that you've been waiting for a month for its appointment. “oh man,” you pout, your feature deepens with sadness, making the man chuckle.

sukuna's lips curl into a smirk at the sight of your pouting face, his eyes sparkling with amusement. he can't help but find it adorable when you pout, and it only makes him more fond of you. he watches as you take the broken nail extension from him, looking at it with a mixture of annoyance and sadness. he knows how much you've been looking forward to getting your nails done, but he can't help but find the situation a little bit funny.

he runs his hand through his hair, still chuckling softly.

you frown, hearing his chuckle, and your pout deepens. “baby, that’s not funny,” you protest, your voice carrying a hint of frustration mixed with your lingering sadness. you look up at him, trying to stay serious but finding it hard not to smile at his amused expression. “you really broke my nail,” you add, your tone balancing between exasperation and affection.

sukuna can't help but smirk at your protest, his amusement growing with every passing moment. he loves seeing you frustrated like this, even though he knows he should probably apologize. he shakes his head, his voice tinged with faux innocence. "i didn't mean to, brat. it was an accident," he replies, his tone playful.

he reaches out and gently brushes his finger over your lips, as if trying to soothe away your sadness. "don't pout like that," he murmurs. you look at him, still with your pouting lips and frowning in your forehead, “do you know how long i’ve been waiting for this? you know how hard it was to get this appointment and how much i paid?” you protest dramatically. groaning as you show him the broken nail.

sukuna stifles a chuckle at your dramatic groaning, knowing that he's definitely in trouble now. he looks at the broken nail in your hand, trying to look serious but failing miserably as a smirk keeps threatening to break through. he puts his hand on his chin as if contemplating, his tone teasing. "yeah, i know. you've been bitching about it for weeks," he replies, attempting to sound sincere.

he takes the broken nail from you, examining it with a faux look of concern. "i guess i got a little carried away in the moment," he adds, his voice dripping with fake apologeticess.

you smack his tattoos arm softly, “you are so annoying.”

sukuna lets out a low, amused chuckle at your soft smack on his arm, his smirk widening even further. he loves riling you up like this, seeing the way your cheeks flush with frustration and the adorable pout on your lips. he looks back down at the broken nail, his voice filled with mock sympathy. "well, i can't help it if i get a little passionate in the moment, princess. you know you bring out the best in me."

you can't help but smile at his words, “you better find me another appointment and you're going to be the one who's paying,” you scolded the man. sukuna raises an eyebrow, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. he can tell that you're trying to be serious, but he's not entirely convinced.

he leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "oh, is that right? and what if i don't?" he teases, his voice low and sultry.

you shrugged your shoulders and took the nail from his hand, trying to act nonchalant. “i can ask satoru to pay for me, he wouldn't mind spoiling me since my boyfriend didn't want to,” you jokingly said, making the man rolls his eyes, knowing how he hates that gojo and geto always spoiled you with the fact that they are your childhood friends.

sukuna's eyes narrow at the mention of satoru's name, a possessive flicker flashing across his expression. he doesn't like the idea of you spending time with those two, especially not when they're always showering you with gifts and attention.

he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer to him with a possessive grip. "oh, no, you don't," he growls, his voice edged with jealousy. "you're not going to him asking for anything. you're mine, and if you want your nail done, i'll do it myself."

you are laughing softly. “yeay,�� you mumble before giving the man a peck. sukuna just groans and rolls his eyes but happily lets you kiss him. “you are a spoiled rotten, did you know that, brat?” he asked, voice dripping with affection as he lovingly caressed your head.

you can't help but laugh at his complaint, knowing full well that he loves pampering you just as much as you love being pampered. you lean into his touch, nuzzling into his hand as he caresses your head. "i know," you reply, a cheeky smile spreading across your face. "but you love me anyway, don't you?"

sukuna's expression softens, his irritation melting away in an instant. he can never stay mad at you for long, especially not when you're so damn adorable. he lets out an exaggerated sigh, pretending to sound exasperated, even though he secretly loves indulging your spoiled brattiness. "yeah," he replies, his voice filled with affectionate fondness.

he runs his fingers through your hair, gently caressing your head. "but i love indulging you, brat." you grin as you hear his response, knowing that he's secretly enjoying indulging your every whim. you love the way he tries to act all tough and dismissive, but he's always quick to give in to your requests. you lean into his hand, enjoying the feeling of his fingers running through your hair. you look up at him, a mischievous twinkle in your eye. "you can't help but spoil me, can you?"

sukuna’s smirk widens as he hears your playful remark, his eyes gleaming with a mix of affection and amusement. he leans in slightly, his hand still gently brushing through your hair. “everyone around you always spoils you,” he says, his tone carrying a hint of mock seriousness.

“i can’t be the one who doesn’t give you everything you want. my pride couldn't take being a loser, especially for you,” his gaze softens, showing how much he values meeting your standards and keeping up with your expectations, even if it means letting his own pride take a backseat.

sukuna's words make your heart flutter in your chest, your smile growing wider at the hint of mockery in his tone. you know he's playing and enjoying every moment of this, but you can't help but be touched by his words. you reach up, gently twirling a strand of his hair around your finger as you look up at him. "aww, you're so sweet," you tease, unable to resist poking fun at his ego. "it's cute how much you care about not being a loser in my eyes."

sukuna chuckles at your playful jab, his eyes sparkling with mischief. he leans in closer, his hand moving from your hair to your cheek, gently caressing your skin with his thumb. "you little brat," he mutters, his tone affectionate despite the hint of scolding.

he loves this banter between the two of you, the way you can tease each other and still maintain the intense chemistry between you. he looks down at you, his voice turning slightly serious. "you know i'd do anything to keep you happy, right?"

“even if that means pampering me rotten?” you ask playfully, followed by scrunching your nose. sukuna lets out an exaggerated sigh, pretending to be annoyed. "even if that means pampering you rotten," he affirms, rolling his eyes teasingly. he knows there's no way he's ever going to say no to indulging you, but he likes to play the part of the reluctant boyfriend for comedic effect. he gently pinches your nose between his fingers, a cheeky smile on his face. "you're such a damn brat, you know that?"

you nod with a playful grin, clearly enjoying his teasing. “i know,” you reply, your voice is light and teasing. you lean in closer, savoring the affectionate gesture and the cheeky smile on his face. sukuna's smile widens as you lean into his touch, his hand shifting from your nose to your chin, gently tilting your face up towards his. he holds your gaze, his eyes filled with a mixture of affection and amusement.

he can't help but love how easy it is for the two of you to banter and tease each other like this. he lets out a low, affectionate growl, pulling you closer to him. "you're such a handful, you know that?" again, you nodded your head, “uh-uh.” your finger gently touching his face, tracing the tattoo in tender.

sukuna can't help but lean into your touch, his expression softening as you brush your finger over his tattoos. he loves the way you touch him, so gentle and affectionate. he watches you closely, his gaze warm and affectionate. he gently captures your hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your fingers. "you're going to be the death of me, brat," he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly.

he pulls your hand down, still holding it in his own as he continues to look at you. his fingers interlace with yours, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles.he can feel the tension between you slowly building, the air thick with a subtle hint of desire. but he doesn't rush it, instead he just savors the moment, enjoying the simple intimacy of being close to you.

“but you don't mind, hm?” you softly ask, resting your cheek on your palm while you are still lying in your stomach before him. “you love me too much for that,” you added. sukuna can't help but chuckle at your question, his eyes sparkling with amusement and affection.

he reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "you're damn right i do," he replies, his voice filled with pride and adoration. "and i wouldn't have it any other way." he leans in closer, his lips hovering just millimeters from yours. "you've got me wrapped around your little finger, princess."

you raise your eyebrows, pretend to be questioning him. “yeah? or it is because i'm naked under your cover, in your bed?” you playfully ask him. sukuna lets out a low chuckle at your bold question, his eyes darkening with desire. he can't deny the effect you have on him, especially when you're laying there in his bed like that, completely naked under thecovers.

he leans in even closer, his lips nearly touching yours as he replies in a low, seductive murmur. "well, that definitely doesn’t hurt," he admits, his hand sliding slowly down your side. you chuckle as he wraps his arm around your waist and rolls you over until you are in your back with him on top of you. “oh, you are so dirty,” you tease him, hands kissing his cheeks.

sukuna grins at your playful comment, his body hovering over yours as he looks down at you, a mixture of amusement and desire in his eyes. he enjoys the way you tease him, the way your lips gently kiss his cheeks. it just makes him want you more. he chuckles again as he presses his hips against yours, pinning you to the bed. "only for you, princess," he teases back, his voice low and sultry.

you smile ear to ear before pulling the cover over both of you. ready to continue what was left and for round three. sukuna lets out a low chuckle as you pull the cover over the two of you, his arms wrapping around you and pressing you close to his body. he can feel the heat radiating off of you, the desire building between you once again. he leans in, his lips gently brushing against your neck, his voice low and sultry as he mumbles between kisses. "round three already, huh? you are such a greedy little thing."

[sixxels]

it girl

nerd!gojo x popular!model!reader

part 1 ! part 2 !

wc~ 14k

!!disclaimer!! will include heavy mentions of fling!sukuna, mentions of drug use, alcohol consumption, smut, angst/eventual confort.

summary so far: you’re the campus icon, glamorous, untouchable, always in the spotlight. but your world tilts when you fall for satoru gojo, awkward, brilliant, weirdly hot. what starts with flirty banter spirals into unexpected intimacy, and something real. you invite him into your life, your world, even your heart. but your past isn’t finished. sukuna, your toxic, magnetic almost-ex, crashes back in with chaos and temptation. now, torn between danger and devotion, you face a choice, the storm you know or the calm you crave.

the music feels louder now, like the bass is trying to drown out the lingering tension. satoru, suguru, choso nanami and shiu go back to their drinks, to their idle conversation, but there’s a charge in the air that hasn’t settled. you can feel it under your skin, buzzing hot and erratic, and it all traces back to him.

sukuna.

you clench your jaw, fingers curling around your drink too tight, and you know if you don’t get away right now, you’re gonna explode.

“i’ll be right back,” you mutter, not really waiting for anyone to answer. gojo blinks up at you, concern flaring in his pretty blue eyes, but you can’t look at him right now. not when your blood’s boiling and your vision’s turning red.

you sit up quickly, your pink bedazzled handbag left abandoned next to satoru as you stalk towards the exit of the kappa house.

you spot sukuna by the hallway, leaning against the wall like he owns the place. some girl’s trying to talk to him, all doe eyes and giggles, but he doesn’t even glance her way. his attention is on you, and the second your eyes meet, his mouth curves like he’s already won.

“you have five seconds to get your ass outside,” you hiss, storming past him. “or i’ll make a scene even you can’t top.”

he follows, of course he does, cocky and quiet, slipping through the crowd behind you like a shadow. you shove the door open and step out onto the porch, cold air rushing to your cheeks like a slap. it’s quieter here, but the anger still rings loud in your ears.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” you snap, spinning around to face him.

sukuna lets the door fall shut behind him with a lazy click. “you’ll have to be more specific,” he says dryly. “i do a lot of things wrong.”

“don’t play coy,” you spit. “what the hell was that in there? you humiliated satoru, you embarrassed me, and you ruined the entire fucking vibe. why? because i brought someone new around?”

he raises an eyebrow. “i didn’t ruin anything. you brought a stray into the lion’s den, and i treated him accordingly.”

you blink at him, stunned. “you’re so fucking arrogant it’s unreal.”

he laughs, a dark, humorless sound that makes your chest tighten. “and you’re so naive. do you even know who that guy is? do you really think he gives a shit about you, or is he just riding the high of being seen with the school’s favorite wet dream?”

“fuck you,” you snap, voice rising now. “you don’t get to talk about him like that. you don’t get to act like you know anything about what i want or who i want.”

“i know you,” sukuna says sharply, stepping closer. “i’ve seen every version of you, the real ones. and you don’t fall for soft boys who flinch when someone looks at them sideways. you fall for assholes. you fall for people who can fight you and fuck you up at the same time.”

your chest heaves, fists clenched. “so that’s what this is about? jealousy?”

he smirks. “don’t flatter yourself.”

“you’re insane,” you hiss. “you think you get to waltz in here, throw a tantrum in front of everyone i care about, and still act like you’ve got some fucking claim over me?"

“i don’t have to act,” he growls. “i know what’s mine.”

“i’m not yours, sukuna!” you scream, voice echoing off the porch walls. “i never was!”

there’s a beat of silence.

his eyes flash, dark and dangerous. “then why the fuck do you keep coming back to me?”

you falter, lips parting, but nothing comes out. the words shrivel on your tongue because goddamn it, he’s right. you hate him. you want to rip his stupid smug face off. but your feet never seem to know how to walk away.

he steps forward again, close enough that your breath stutters. “you think gojo’s ever gonna get you? you think he could ever handle the mess that lives in your head? he doesn’t know you. not like i do.”

you open your mouth to fire back, but his hands are already on your face, rough and sudden, and before you can think better of it, you’re kissing him.

or maybe he’s kissing you. it doesn’t matter. it’s all teeth and fury, lips bruising against each other like a war cry. you shove at his chest, but it only pulls him closer, his hand sliding to your jaw, tilting your face up like he’s starving and you’re the only thing left on earth.

your back hits the porch railing, the wood biting into your spine, but you don’t care. you claw at his shoulders, your anger spilling out through every movement, every breath. he bites your lip and you moan, half in pain, half in something you don’t want to name.

“i hate you,” you gasp against his mouth.

“liar,” he breathes, and then he’s kissing you again, harder this time, like he wants to destroy every thought that isn’t him.

you hate this. you hate how his mouth fits against yours like it was made to, how every furious breath you take just drags him in deeper. your fingers are in his hair, pulling hard, like maybe you can hurt him enough to make yourself feel better. like maybe pain will make sense of the ache that’s been festering under your skin since the last time he touched you.

but it doesn’t. it just makes you hungrier.

your head is spinning, chest heaving, your lips swollen and stinging. it’s like trying to breathe underwater, like drowning in something you swore you were done with. you tell yourself this is a mistake. that you don’t want this, don’t want him. but your body isn’t listening.

because this is sukuna. it’s always sukuna.

every time you try to run, he finds you. every time you try to choose someone softer, safer, someone who smiles with his whole face and says your name like it’s something sacred, someone like satoru, you end up back here. back in the fire.

his hands are all over you now, possessive and rough, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he’s not touching enough of you. like he can keep you with his grip alone. but it’s not enough. it never is.

your heart is a snarl of guilt and want and why can’t i let this go?

“you ruin everything,” you whisper into his mouth, breath hitching.

his laugh is low, bitter. “then stop letting me in.”

you could. you should. god, why don’t you?

because you know what this is. what it’s always been.

it’s not love. it’s not soft. it’s a fucking car crash. it’s the chaos after a storm. it’s ugly and loud and burning, and you’ve always been too vain to admit how much of you is built like that too.

he sees it. he sees you. not the filtered version in the magazines, not the perfect smile you wear for the camera, not the queen bee everyone fawns over at parties.

he sees this. the bite in your voice, the tremble under your fury, the craving that lives in your bones. he matches it. mirrors it.

and you fucking hate him for it.

your fingers slip under his shirt without thinking, nails scraping along his stomach, and he growls into your mouth. it’s a mess—tongues, teeth, heat radiating off both of you like a fever. your back slams harder into the porch railing, and it almost hurts, but you like it. you need it.

your name leaves his lips like a threat and a prayer. like he’s begging and taunting you in the same breath.

you gasp. “you’re not allowed to say my name like that.”

“i’ll say it however the fuck i want,” he mutters, his mouth dragging along your jaw, biting at your skin. “you gave it to me.”

“i didn’t give you shit,” you snap, even as your thighs press together, as your hands fist in his shirt like you’re clinging to the edge of a cliff.

he pulls back just enough to look at you. his eyes are glassy and sharp all at once, drunk on you, on this, on the violence that lives between your mouths. “you don’t kiss someone like that if you want them gone.”

you stare at him. lips parted. breath ragged. the porch light flickers behind his head like a bad omen.

your chest aches. your stomach twists.

he’s right.

and you hate that he’s right.

but he’s wrong, too. wrong in the way he believes he’s the only one who sees you. like he’s the only one capable of wrecking you.

because gojo sees you too. in a different way. in a way that makes you feel safe, and not just seen. and suddenly the memory of those bright blue eyes flashes behind your lids, and it’s like a bucket of cold water.

you feel sick.

you shove sukuna off you.

he stumbles back a step, dazed, lips bruised and wet, his chest rising like he’s just come up for air.

“don’t,” you whisper, voice cracking.

he blinks. “what?”

your hands are shaking. your whole body’s shaking. “don’t pretend this means anything.”

his face twists. “are you fucking kidding me?”

“you’re not—” you bite down hard, fists clenched at your sides. “you’re not good for me. you know that. i know that. this—this thing we keep doing, it doesn’t go anywhere.”

he’s silent for a second, just staring at you like he’s trying to memorize you. or maybe figure out what the fuck you’re doing. his jaw ticks.

“you kissed me back.”

“i always kiss you back,” you snap. “and it always ends the same.”

he steps closer again, but this time you flinch.

“don’t,” you say, softer. “please.”

he stops.

your breath hitches again. “you’re supposed to be the bad choice. the one i got over. the one i left.”

“then why are you still here?” his voice is raw now, low and wrecked. “why do you keep choosing me?”

you don’t answer.

you can’t.

because this isn’t a choice. it’s an addiction. a wound you keep scratching open. a ghost you keep trying to fuck into silence.

and for a second, you almost say it. almost tell him that you don’t know how to stop. that you’re tired of hating yourself every time you leave his bed. that you wanted tonight to be different. to feel new. to feel clean.

but you don’t.

you just turn around.

your palms are sweaty. your face is hot. your lips are sore. and you want to cry.

you make it three steps before his voice catches you like a hook in your spine.

“he’s not gonna make you feel like this.”

you pause.

“he’ll never make you burn like this.”

your jaw clenches. your eyes sting.

you don’t turn around. you just whisper, “good.”

then you open the door, walk back into the party like you weren’t just sobbing on the inside. like your heart isn’t caught between a boy who looks at you like you’re made of gold, and one who touches you like he wants to ruin you.

like you aren’t already ruined.

~

you slammed the porch door shut, taking deep breaths as you try to calm yourself down again, trying to make the thought of that asshole go the hell away. heels clicking against the wooden floor, you navigate your way back to the couch where satoru and the rest were supposed to be sitting. 

everyone seemed to be there, except satoru. you scanned the couch once, twice, no sign of him. 

'shit, shit, shit.' you knew he wasn't a baby, but this was a new experience for a nerd like him, so where the hell was he? your pace quickened as you approached the couch, disrupting whatever dumb story chico was telling the others.

"where is he?" you pant.

they all give eachother looks, then point to the back entrance.

your eyes trailed to a retreating satoru, looking distraught as he pushed past people towards the exit, and he did not look happy. 

'fuck? did he see? does he know?'

all the worst thoughts came flooding into your mind like a tidal wave, and before you new it, you were chasing after him. 

you catch up to him just as he’s shouldering through the side door, the thud of it swinging shut behind him echoing in your ribs like guilt. the backyard is dark, string lights swaying in the breeze, but he’s already halfway across the lawn, walking like he doesn’t want to be followed.

“toru, wait—” your voice is too loud in the night, but he doesn’t stop. doesn’t turn around.

you jog after him, breath catching, dress hitching, heart still beating erratic from sukuna’s mouth and the shame curling under your skin.

“satoru!” you grab his arm.

he freezes. not the soft, playful kind of freeze, not the kind where he turns with a dumb grin and says something that makes you roll your eyes. no, this is cold. stiff. like touching him burned you both.

he turns around slowly.

his glasses are gone, tucked away in his pocket. you can see his eyes now, wide and blue and hurt, and it knocks the wind right out of you.

“why did you kiss him?” he asks.

you open your mouth, but nothing comes out. your lips part, the taste of sukuna still clinging to them like blood.

satoru huffs a breathless laugh and shakes his head. “don’t lie. just don’t.”

“i wasn’t—i didn’t mean to,” you say quickly, weakly, and you hate how it sounds, how pathetic it feels on your tongue.

“right,” he scoffs. “you accidentally made out with the guy who’s been staring at me like he wants me dead since the second he walked in.” he scoffs lightly. "I thought you'd at least be decent enough to at least try stay away from him while i'm here."

you flinch. “it wasn’t like that. i didn’t—he—god, satoru, he cornered me, and i was mad, and—”

“and you kissed him,” he says, like that’s the only part that matters. maybe it is. "y/n, you know how much i like you, how much ive spent obsessing over you. i'm not mad that you have flings and maybe ours didn't matter as much to you as it did me, but really? did you have to do that when you're supposed to be here with me?"

you don’t know what to say. the words are a mess in your mouth. you feel like a mess, standing here in your perfect outfit with your makeup smudged and your heart unraveling.

“do you still want him?” he asks, voice low. serious. it’s not a joke. it’s not a tease. it’s real. “because i need to know what the fuck i’m doing here.”

“i don’t want him,” you say. “not really.”

“‘not really’?” he repeats, blinking like he can’t believe this is happening. “jesus.”

“you don’t get it,” you say, chest tightening. “he’s in my head. he knows where all the broken parts are, and he uses them. he’s... he’s toxic.”

“and you kissed him anyway.”

you fall silent. the string lights hum above you. the muffled bass from inside is a heartbeat you can’t keep in time with.

“i thought maybe—” he starts, then cuts himself off. presses his lips together. swallows.

“what?” you ask, too softly.

he looks at you, eyes glassy, like he wants to say something brave but doesn’t know how. “i thought maybe i could be good for you, someone you could rely on, not just someone to bring around like a new handbag then go make out with another guy.”

you close your eyes. that’s the worst part. because he is good for you. he’s so fucking good it makes your chest hurt. and you—god, you’re the one who keeps reaching for the fire even though you know how it ends.

“you are good for me,” you whisper.

“then why do you keep running back to the guy who isn’t?” he snaps.

because you’re scared. because sukuna doesn’t ask you to be soft. because he meets you in the dark and doesn’t flinch. because being loved by someone kind feels like walking into the light with all your scars exposed.

you open your mouth, but he’s already stepping back.

“don’t,” he says. “it’s okay. i get it now.”

“satoru, please—”

“you don’t have to choose me,” he says, quiet. “just don’t pretend like you’re trying.”

and then he turns around.

and you let him go. because maybe that’s all you’ve ever known how to do.

but god, it fucking hurts.

~

you don’t go back inside.

you just sit there, out on the back steps, wrapped in silence like a punishment. the string lights flicker above you, dull and golden, casting little shadows across your knees as you lean forward and press your forehead into your hands.

your lipstick is smudged. your mascara’s probably ruined. the breeze lifts the hem of your dress and you don’t even care. you feel… hollow. like something vital has been scooped out of you and replaced with shame.

what the fuck was wrong with you?

you kissed sukuna.

you kissed him.

after everything. after the photo shoot, the café, the way satoru looked at you like you were the only girl in the world. after he made you laugh in front of your friends and actually held his own and didn’t even flinch when choso and suguru weee scoping him out.

you kissed someone else.

and not just someone else.

him.

you curl your fingers into your scalp, breathing hard. it wasn’t even worth it. sukuna was angry. you were angry. it wasn’t tender or special or even satisfying. it was just messy. bitter. a collision of teeth and heat and ego and old wounds. it tasted like guilt before it even ended.

you think about satoru’s face.

not just the hurt in his eyes, but the way he tried to hold it in. the way he looked at you like he was bracing for impact. like part of him already knew.

he told you how much he liked you.

satoru told you.

and you still...

you press your palms harder against your eyes until your vision pulses. maybe you’re a bad person. maybe sukuna was right all along, that you’re good at breaking things, even better at pretending you didn’t.

you don’t know how long you sit there. the party thumps on behind the walls, and eventually someone opens the door and asks if you’re okay. you say yes. you lie.

you always lie.

~

later that night in satoru’s dorm, he can’t sleep.

he’s tried.

he took a shower, burning hot, like he could scald the night off his skin. changed into clean clothes. even microwaved one of those sad little dorm ramen cups, just to have something to do with his hands.

but it’s almost 2 a.m. and he’s still wide awake, staring up at the ceiling like it might start answering questions if he looks long enough.

his room is quiet. too quiet.

no music, no phone calls, no stupid tiktok edits of you playing in the background as ambiance. just the hum of the mini fridge and the occasional creak of the floor above him.

his mind won’t shut up.

he keeps seeing her face.

god, your face.

the way your eyes looked when you grabbed his arm. panicked. guilty. pretty.

he hates that he still thinks you’re pretty.

that’s the worst part.

you could probably ruin him a thousand different ways, and he’d still think you look like art in the aftermath. like the kind of pain you’d thank for teaching you something.

he rolls over, groans into his pillow.

'why did you kiss him?'

he knows it’s stupid to ask. he already heard the answer. or at least part of it. the excuses, the guilt in your voice, the way you stood there like you’d already lost him and couldn’t figure out why.

but he’s not mad, not really. not anymore.

he’s just… embarrassed.

he replayed it in his head all night. how proud he’d felt showing up with you. how lucky. how fucking cocky, thinking he could handle this. that he could actually keep up with someone like you.

everyone was watching.

and he swore he could hear it, when it shifted.

the mood. the tension. the way suguru and choso exchanged glances like they knew. like something was wrong.

and then you came back without him.

lipstick smeared. breathing like you’d just sprinted through a storm.

and he knew.

he knew.

god, he’s such an idiot.

he’d been so sure it was going somewhere. that he wasn’t just another phase, another fling, another accessory in your glittering, chaotic world.

maybe he was just the nerd you flirted with for a week because he said something funny and liked your instagram pictures from 2019. maybe he was your rebound. your charity case. your soft, safe thing to play with until someone more exciting pulled you back in.

he rolls onto his back again, arm flung over his face.

he hates this.

he hates how his chest aches.

how he misses you already.

how every part of him wants to text you, even now, even after everything. not to yell. not to guilt you. just to ask if you got home okay. if you’re warm. if you’re still thinking about him.

he wants to delete your number. block your stories. act like he doesn’t care.

but he can’t.

because it wasn’t fake for him.

not even a little.

the way you looked at him over the coffee cup. the way you sat on his lap and whispered things that made his brain short-circuit. the way you smiled when he made you laugh, like you couldn’t believe he was real.

he felt seen.

he felt wanted.

and now…

now he just feels stupid.

his phone buzzes once on the desk.

he flinches. hopes it’s you. knows it’s not. still hopes anyway.

but it’s just yuji.

“u okay?”

he stares at the message. doesn’t answer.

he doesn’t know how to say 'yeah, i’m fine' when his chest feels like it’s full of glass.

he gets up, pacing.

his dorm is small, cramped, still smells faintly like instant noodles and cologne. the window’s cracked open but the night air does nothing to cool his thoughts.

he’s spiraling. he knows he is.

but how is he not supposed to? how do you go from being kissed like a secret in someone’s bedroom to being forgotten like background noise in the span of two days?

he sinks into his desk chair, elbows on his knees, face in his hands.

he can still feel your skin.

the way you smiled at him in that dress.

he didn’t imagine that.

he knows you’re not perfect.

knows you’ve got a past, and messy people in it.

he just thought maybe… maybe you wanted to leave some of that behind.

he thought he could be something solid for you. not flashy. not dangerous. not the guy who sets your world on fire, but the one who stays behind to put out the flames.

and maybe that was the problem.

maybe you don’t want to be saved.

he sits like that for a long time.

the sky outside goes from navy to gray, like the sun can’t quite make up its mind. the city’s still half-asleep. he’s exhausted but wired, rubbed raw with disappointment.

he doesn’t know what happens next.

doesn’t know if you’ll call. if you’ll say sorry. if you’ll even want to fix things.

and he’s not sure if he should let you.

~

~

two weeks.

that’s how long it’s been since the party. since you kissed sukuna. since you chased after him, breathless and guilty, and he walked away with that look on his face like you’d gutted him clean through.

since then, you’ve hardly seen him. you tried ,once, twice, but the timing was never right. or maybe it was and he just didn’t want to see you.

and satoru? he’s been surviving.

not in a dramatic, falling-apart kind of way. more like he’s forcing himself into the shape of a normal person. waking up, brushing his teeth, putting on clean clothes, going to class. no more daydreaming about you between lectures, no more rereading your old messages or checking your instagram like it’s gospel.

okay... maybe he does that last one. but only sometimes. only late at night when he’s half-asleep and weaker than usual.

what’s surprised him most is suguru and choso.

he wasn’t expecting them to reach out. they were your friends first, after all, your ride-or-dies, the intimidatingly cool guys who always hovered somewhere at the edge of your spotlight, sharp and beautiful and effortlessly magnetic.

but the night after the party, he got a text from suguru.

suguru [3:04am]: you free tomorrow? come kick it with us. no drama. just chill.

and satoru had stared at it for a full ten minutes, wondering if it was a trap. but the next morning, choso had caught him outside the dining hall, handed him an iced coffee, and nodded like that was that.

they were both surprisingly normal.

well, normal for two guys who looked like they walked out of a cursed gucci ad campaign.

suguru was cool in a dangerous kind of way, always calm, always watching. and choso was dry, a little deadpan, but had a weirdly comforting presence. they didn’t talk much about you, at first. just dragged him to their favorite ramen place off campus, introduced him to their movie night rituals (choso had incredibly niche horror taste), and made him feel like he wasn’t completely drowning.

he learned that choso actually did art, really well. but the brown haired boy had to quickly put away his sketch pad when showing satoru some of the stuff he's done when sketches of you suddenly flipped past. 

surprisingly, suguru was lowkey a genius who edited most of your essays when you didn’t feel like doing them yourself. they made fun of satoru’s nerd tendencies, but in a gentle way. never cruel. never dismissive.

it made something in him loosen.

“you ever gonna stop moping?” suguru asked one night, a week and a half in, stretched out on the floor of choso’s room with a joint between his fingers and his laptop open to a cursed playlist full of slow jam remixes.

satoru was curled up in a beanbag chair with a bowl of stale popcorn, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. “not moping.”

“you’re a little mopy,” choso said, sprawled on his stomach like a sleepy cat, paint under his fingernails.

“i’m trying to move on,” satoru muttered, cheeks hot. “this is me moving on.”

suguru snorted. “you’re sulking and stalking her instagram. that’s not moving on. that’s… spiraling with extra steps.”

satoru groaned and shoved his face into a pillow. “i hate that you’re right.”

they didn’t press the issue after that. just let him lie there, halfway stoned and emotionally gutted, while slow music thudded in the background and the lights flickered like a lullaby.

the thing is, he liked hanging out with them. not just because it was a distraction, but because they were actually good company. smart. grounded. weirdly funny. they made him feel like maybe he wasn’t completely lame, even if he still wore anime hoodies and overthought everything to death.

but no matter how much fun he had, no matter how many late night hangouts or inside jokes they built, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

you were a background hum. a ghost in the static. always there, just out of reach.

he’d be laughing at something choso said and suddenly remember the way you used to scrunch your nose when you were really amused. he’d be scrolling through his phone and see your story, half your face in golden hour, lips glossy, eyes unreadable, and his stomach would drop like a stone.

it wasn’t fair.

he knew you weren’t perfect. he knew sukuna was a whole mess of a situation. he knew you’d made your choices, and maybe it should’ve been enough to just… let it go.

but he missed you anyway.

he missed the way you looked at him like he was interesting. like he wasn’t just some nerd you found amusing but someone who could actually keep up with you. he missed the way you teased him, the way you touched him, like you weren’t afraid of breaking something delicate. like he wasn’t fragile at all.

and he hated that he still wanted you.

hated that every time someone mentioned your name . in passing, in stories, in whispers across campus, his chest tightened just a little. hated that every hallway he walked down, he scanned for a glimpse of your outfit, your laugh, your perfume.

hated that the night you kissed sukuna still lived behind his eyelids when he closed his eyes.

“you’re doing better,” choso said, two weeks in, as they sat on a campus bench under a gray sky, sketchbook open in his lap. “you don’t look like you’re gonna cry when someone says her name anymore.”

“wow,” satoru said dryly, sipping his third coffee of the day. “glowing review.”

“seriously, though,” suguru added, standing nearby with his headphones around his neck. “you’ve come a long way. just… don’t trick yourself into thinking she’s your only shot.”

satoru nodded. because he knew they were right.

he’d gone from completely crushed to almost functioning. from heartbreak to the hazy kind of ache that feels survivable, even if it still hurts.

but late at night, when the music’s off and his phone’s quiet and the dorm room feels too still, it’s your name that sits in his chest like a song stuck on repeat.

you, in that ridiculous mcbling outfit the first time he saw you.

you, grinning behind your phone at the cafe. you, on his lap during the photoshoot, skin warm, voice low. you, whispering that some of those pictures were only for him.

he exhales, pressing his forehead to his pillow.

you’re not his anymore. maybe you never were.

but god, he wishes you had been.

~

now, it was late. later than it should’ve been for three college guys to be cramped into a diner on a tuesday night, the air heavy with the smell of grease and cheap cigarettes from the patio two tables over. satoru stirred the straw in his milkshake for the fifth time, his long fingers twitching around the paper cup. he hadn’t taken a sip in fifteen minutes.

choso sat across from him, hood up, dark circles under his eyes. suguru leaned back beside him, stretched out like he owned the booth, but there was a tension in his posture that gave him away, his knuckles were tight around the root beer glass, jaw clenched.

they hadn’t talked about you all night. they’d been talking about some dumb movie suguru wanted to drag them to next weekend, about choso’s lab partner who smelled like onions and always messed up the titrations. they laughed, satoru forced a smile or two, but it all kept coming back.

your name was on the tip of his tongue.

he couldn’t stop seeing you in the back of his mind. that same bright, filtered version of you, laughing in the latest instagram reel, posing in low lighting with sunglasses on inside some house party, tagging friends he’d never met, showing off outfits and drinks and that same fucking smile. like none of it had happened. like that night on the lawn hadn’t torn something open between you.

“can i ask something?” satoru finally said, voice too soft for how loud the question felt in his chest.

choso looked up first, eyebrows raised. suguru stopped stirring his drink.

“for sure,” suguru said carefully.

satoru hesitated, tapped his finger on the table. “how’s she doing?”

neither of them responded right away. choso blinked, eyes sliding toward suguru. suguru’s lips pressed into a line, his jaw ticking once. they looked at each other like they were silently deciding who would speak first, like the question was loaded. like they hadn’t expected it.

that’s how satoru knew.

“guys?...” he said softly. "i've seen her stories, her tiktok's, it looks like everything's fine-"

“it’s not,” choso said, and his voice was so quiet, so flat, it made satoru’s stomach drop.

he looked between them, his milkshake forgotten. “what do you mean?”

“she’s not doing great,” suguru said simply. his fingers toyed with the condensation on the side of his glass. “she’s trying to make it look like she is. but it’s bad.”

satoru felt his mouth go dry.

“how bad?”

choso exhaled through his nose. “she parties almost every night. not even with us anymore. she goes out with friends we've never even met, or ends up crashing wherever there’s noise. doesn’t text back. won’t answer calls unless she’s blacked out and sobbing.”

“drugs, too,” suguru added. “she’s not subtle about it. ket, molly, sometimes coke. whatever keeps her numb enough to not think.”

satoru looked down at his hands.

“why?”

suguru glanced at choso. “you really wanna know?”

he nodded. “i do.”

“because she feels like shit,” choso said bluntly. “like she ruined everything with you and now she doesn’t know how to deal with it.”

there was a silence after that. just the low hum of the diner lights, the soft clatter of dishes in the kitchen. satoru felt like something heavy was pressing against his ribs, like all the air had been sucked out of the booth and he was stuck inside a vacuum of his own thoughts.

satoru doesn’t breathe. his throat tightens. “but she looks—”

“yeah,” choso cuts in, voice low. “she looks great. viral. perfect. whatever. but the second she’s off camera, it’s like someone shuts the lights off inside her. she’s barely sleeping. barely eating unless someone forces her. the other night she had to be carried out of a club because she blacked out in a stairwell.”

satoru’s heart cracks so hard it echoes in his chest.

he tries to picture you like that, not the version with glossed lips and glittery eyeshadow, not the one who called him baby and straddled his lap like she owned him, but the one behind all that. the girl with shaking hands. the girl who’s hurting.

“and sukuna?” he asks, quietly. “are they…?”

suguru snorts. it’s bitter. “they’re done.”

choso nods. “she blew up at him. told him to go fuck himself. said he ruined everything. blocked him on everything. hasn’t spoken to him since.”

satoru’s eyes sting.

“it wasn’t pretty,” suguru adds. “they were screaming at each other outside some gallery opening. like, full scene. she was shaking. he tried to touch her and she slapped him.”

something inside satoru goes cold. “jesus.”

satoru swallowed hard. his throat was tight. “why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“because we didn’t want to make it worse,” suguru said. “we know how you felt about her. still feel, probably.”

satoru didn’t say anything to that.

he didn’t need to.

choso leaned forward a little. “we didn’t pick sides. we’ve been trying to hold her together without enabling her. but honestly, she’s falling apart either way.”

“she asks about you sometimes,” suguru said. “not directly. just… in passing. like she’s pretending she doesn’t care but hoping we’ll slip up and say something.”

“we don’t, though,” choso added. “she’s not ready.”

satoru let out a shaky breath and leaned forward, elbows on the table, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms. “i hate that i still care,” he admitted.

“you don’t,” choso said. “you just hate that she doesn’t care about herself.”

satoru stared down at the milkshake between his hands.

“yeah,” he whispered. “that too.”

they sat in silence again, the three of them surrounded by the buzz of fluorescent lights and clinking silverware. the outside world moved on around them, uncaring, fast, dizzying. and still, satoru felt stuck.

“she ever gonna stop?” he asked eventually. “the partying, the drugs, the… self-destruction?”

“we’re trying,” choso said.

“but it’s not about us,” suguru added. “she has to want it. and right now? she’s just trying to block everything out.”

satoru nodded slowly.

he understood that.

maybe more than he wanted to.

“you think she’s gonna be okay?” he asked.

neither of them answered right away.

then suguru looked him dead in the eyes. “maybe. if she gets out before it eats her alive.”

satoru closed his eyes.

he could still see her, laughing in a video from just two days ago. some party, some guy’s lap she was half-sitting on, a drink in her hand and too much glitter on her cheeks. you looked like you were having the time of your life. you always did.

but now, it didn’t look fun anymore.

now it looked like drowning.

he opened his eyes again, staring blankly at the drink in front of him.

“i miss her,” he said quietly.

choso didn’t say anything.

suguru just nodded.

“we know." he murmured.

~

you wake up in a stranger’s bed. again.

the sheets smell like stale sweat and cheap cologne. your head pounds, a dull throb that echoes the bass of last night’s club. you sit up, the room spinning, your mouth dry and tasting of regret.

flash.

you’re in the club, lights strobing, bodies pressing against you. someone hands you a drink—you don’t ask what it is. you down it, chasing the numbness.

flash.

you’re laughing, too loud, too bright. someone’s lips are on yours, but you don’t care who they belong to. it’s not him. it’s never him anymore.

flash.

you’re in a bathroom stall, powder on your fingertips. you tell yourself it’s just to keep the night going. to keep from feeling.

flash.

you’re dancing on a table, bottle in hand, screaming the lyrics to a song you don’t know. your 'friends' cheer, but their faces blur. they're not your real friends, you're ignoring them right now.

flash.

you’re alone in your room, the silence deafening. you stare at your phone, his name still blocked. you want to call, to hear his voice, but pride and shame hold you back.

flash.

you’re at another party, another drink in hand. someone offers you something stronger. you take it without hesitation.

flash.

you’re in a car, the city lights blurring past. you don’t know where you’re going, and you don’t care.

flash.

you’re back in bed, the stranger beside you snoring softly. you slip out, gathering your clothes, avoiding the mirror.

you tell yourself you’re fine.

you post a selfie, filters hiding the bags under your eyes, the hollowness in your gaze. the likes pour in, affirming the lie.

but the emptiness grows.

you see him in your dreams, his eyes filled with hurt. you wake up crying, the ache in your chest unbearable.

you try to fill the void.

more parties, more substances, more meaningless encounters. more more more. each one leaves you feeling emptier than before.

your real friends notice.

they try to intervene, their voices filled with concern. you brush them off, insisting you’re just having fun.

but deep down, you know.

you’re spiraling, losing yourself in the chaos. the pain you’re trying to escape consumes you.

you miss him.

his laugh, his touch, the way he looked at you like you mattered. you wonder if he thinks of you, if he regrets walking away.

you want to reach out.

but you’re scared. scared of rejection, of facing the consequences of your actions.

so you continue the cycle.

numbing, partying, pretending. hoping that one day, the pain will fade.

but it doesn’t.

and you’re left with the fragments of who you used to be, trying to piece yourself back together in the aftermath.

~

now you were drunk at some house party, you don’t remember what he said, this random asshole.

something stupid. something smug. something about how he “always knew you’d come back,” like you were some broken thing crawling back to its owner.

it’s not sukuna, but it might as well be. same type. same eyes. same voice that makes you feel like your ribs are cracking under the weight of old mistakes.

you’d laughed at first. that sharp, detached laugh you’ve perfected over the past two weeks, where your teeth gleam and your eyes stay dead. but then he touched your waist and said it again, said something about how “girls like you always need attention,” and something just snapped.

“fuck you,” you’d hissed.

he grinned. smug. wide. “god, you’re a mess. weren’t you, like, crying over some nerd last week?”

and that was it.

something inside you went cold and then red-hot all at once.

you don’t remember lunging at him, not really. don’t remember screaming. don’t remember shoving your drink into his chest or the sound of the cup hitting the floor. just your voice cracking and screaming “you don’t know shit about me!” as everything else blurred out.

the music stopped.

the room hushed. just like that.

you were shaking. mascara streaming down your face, hands clenched at your sides, chest heaving as you stared at him like you wanted to kill him, but mostly like you wanted to disappear.

he was laughing. of course he was. brushing you off like you were nothing. like your breakdown was a punchline.

and that hurt more than anything else.

everyone was watching.

you stumbled backwards, caught someone’s shoulder, shrugged off the hand that tried to steady you. you muttered something, maybe fuck all of you, maybe i’m fine, and bolted out the front door, into the cold.

the walk back to your dorm is a blur of static. your heels in your hand, feet bleeding. phone dead. everything else too loud.

the second your door clicks shut behind you, you collapse against it, sliding down the wood until you’re a heap on the floor.

you breathe.

and then you sob.

your dorm smells like laundry detergent and fake perfume and something rotting in the trash. it’s a mess. like you. discarded outfits on the floor, makeup-stained tissues, a magazine with your own face on the cover torn in half and stuffed under a pillow.

you pull your knees to your chest and press your face to them.

and finally, the silence hits you.

and the silence says: you did this.

you let go of the good thing. you fucked up the only love that ever felt real. you kissed a ghost and chased it straight into hell and now you’re here, screaming at strangers and crying on the floor of your overpriced dorm because no one loves you enough to stop you.

no one loves you like he did.

no one ever has.

and you didn’t know how to handle it. didn’t know how to be held that gently without flinching. didn’t know how to believe someone like satoru could really want someone like you.

not after everything.

not when you’re like this.

because what are you, really, without the followers and the outfits and the fake smiles? you’re just a girl who doesn’t know how to be soft. who only knows how to survive. who only knows how to run when things get too quiet.

you think about that afternoon in the library.

how warm he looked. how he looked at you like you were a secret he wanted to learn by heart. how careful he was when he touched you. how he blushed when you teased him.

how safe you felt.

and then you remember how he looked when he asked, “do you still want him?”

and how you said “not really.”

god.

what the fuck is wrong with you.

your body feels like it’s giving out. like there’s nothing left.

because no matter how many parties you go to or bottles you finish or people you let touch you, you still feel empty. still feel haunted.

he’s in everything.

you see him in your notifications, even when they’re not from him. in the mirror, when you put on that shade of gloss he liked. in the way your fingers still hover over his contact at 3am. in every guy you ignore because he isn’t tall enough or kind enough or awkward enough.

he’s in the way your chest aches when you’re alone.

he’s in the way no one else has ever made you feel like you were more than pretty.

you curl up tighter, sobs wracking your ribs.

you want to call him.

you want to say i’m sorry and please come back and i think i’m in love with you and i don’t know how to live with that.

but you don’t.

because he deserves better.

he deserves peace. he deserves mornings with someone who doesn’t disappear at night. he deserves someone who won’t break his heart just because she doesn’t know how to hold something so gentle.

you deserve the emptiness.

you stay on the floor until your legs go numb.

~

~

satoru doesn’t think twice when suguru texts him.

suguru [6:23pm]: party tonight. u coming?

he stares at the screen for a while. it’s not like he wants to go. he’s not really in the mood to pretend he’s fun or normal or even okay. but it’s been three weeks now since everything cracked open. two weeks since that night he saw you pressed up against sukuna like nothing had ever mattered. two weeks of trying to breathe through the ache.

suguru and choso have been good to him. better than he deserves. they don’t mention you unless he does. they keep things easy. movies, ramen, lazy afternoons in suguru’s apartment. they never pressure him to talk about it. they just sit with him when the silence gets too heavy.

maybe that’s why he says yes.

he wants to be normal. wants to be fine. wants to believe he can be in a room with people again without thinking of you.

so he throws on a hoodie and jeans, meets them outside the apartment, and pretends he’s not thinking about you when suguru says, “you sure you’re up for this?”

“yeah,” satoru says, forcing a grin. “i’m not gonna cry in the bathroom, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

choso snorts. “please do. it’ll give the party some depth.”

the three of them laugh, and for a second, it almost feels okay.

~

the bass was thudding through the floorboards. lights were low and hazy, smoke curling around the ceiling like the whole house was about to levitate. bodies pressed in on all sides, moving like one dumb, brainless thing. the stink of alcohol, sweat, perfume and something sharper thick in the air. he hated it. he used to imagine parties were exciting, glamorous even. that’s how you always looked in them, anyway. perfect lighting. perfect makeup. perfect body. always with a drink in your hand, someone whispering in your ear, laughing like your world wasn’t on fire behind your ribs.

he’d forgotten for a second. just a second. forgotten this was your scene. your territory.

and then he saw you.

it knocked the air right out of him.

you didn’t see him. not even close. you were across the room in a dress that barely stayed up, mascara smudged under your eyes, glitter on your collarbones like dust. and you were smiling. at least, your mouth was. your eyes didn’t look like they were part of your face anymore. they were glassy, unfocused, empty. like someone had taken the real you out of your body and left a wind-up doll in your place.

he watched as you tossed your head back and laughed too loud at something a guy said, someone he didn’t know, someone with his hand way too low on your waist. he watched you throw back a drink, wince, then immediately go for another. he watched you stumble when someone bumped into you and laugh like it was the funniest thing in the world.

suguru nudged him. “hey,” he said. “you okay?”

satoru didn’t answer.

his hands were in his pockets, jaw clenched so tight it ached. he couldn’t look away.

“you didn’t know she’d be here,” choso said quietly, from his other side.

no, he didn’t. they hadn’t told him. maybe they hadn’t known. maybe they had. he didn’t care. what mattered was that you were here, and you were unraveling in front of his eyes.

“she looks like she’s having fun,” suguru said, but even he sounded like he didn’t believe it.

satoru scoffed under his breath. “yeah. a real blast.”

he watched you take a shot like it was medicine, watched you lean into the guy you were with, whisper something in his ear, pull back and laugh like it was a game. you weren’t like this before. not like this. even in the middle of chaos, you had always looked composed. seductive. untouchable. now you just looked… lost.

you looked like you were trying to disappear.

“you sure you wanna stay?” choso asked, voice low.

satoru nodded once. too stiff, too quick. “yeah,” he muttered. “i’m fine.”

~

he wasn’t. every second was hell.

he didn’t want to see you like this. didn’t want to feel this sick, weighted thing sinking deeper into his chest with every minute. he hated you a little, just then. hated you for not seeing him. for not noticing. for making him watch.

and then he saw it.

some guy, some random fucking guy in a hoodie, holding something small and white in his palm, offering it to you like it was a secret. and you, laughing like none of it mattered, plucked it from his hand without hesitation. like it was candy. like it was nothing.

satoru snapped.

he didn’t remember moving, didn’t remember the plastic cup slipping from his hand or the way the music turned into a dull, echoing thud behind his ears. all he knew was that he saw you tilt your head back, laughing like the world wasn’t burning around you, and that little white pill disappearing past your lips like it meant nothing. like you meant nothing.

he was moving before he could think. heat rising under his skin like fire. maybe suguru called after him. maybe choso did, too. he didn’t hear. he just moved.

you didn’t even notice. of course you didn’t. you were busy spinning in slow, unbalanced circles near the kitchen, holding onto a stranger’s arm like it was your lifeline. your mascara was smudged. your lip gloss was all rubbed off. your dress was crooked on one shoulder. and you were smiling.

like you weren’t slowly breaking in front of everyone.

satoru shoved past the guy closest to you without hesitation and grabbed your wrist, not rough, never rough, even now, and pulled you out of the noise, down a dim hallway that smelled like dust and perfume and old beer.

“heyyy,” you giggled, stumbling into his chest with a hiccup. “wait—where’re we goin’?”

he backed you gently against the wall. not to scare you. just to make you stop. to see you.

“what the fuck did you just take?” he asked, voice low and shaking. “do you even know what that was?”

you blinked at him slowly. your lashes stuck together a little with old mascara. your smile stayed soft, dreamy.

“whoa… y’re really pretty,” you murmured, completely dazed. “d’you always yell at girls you just met?”

satoru froze. “you don’t recognize me?”

you tilted your head and giggled again, swaying a little. “no… but you... you kinda sound like...”

he stared at you, heart kicking.

you kept smiling, glassy-eyed and soft. “mm. like—like my toru…”

satoru’s breath hitched. your toru.

“w-who do i sound like?” he asked carefully.

you blinked slowly, lip gloss smudged. “my toruuu,” you whispered like it was a secret. “he talks like you. all bossy. gets mad when i do stupid stuff. but he’s sooo cute about it. he used to get all flustered and blushy when i called him pretty. ‘s’so cute…”

satoru couldn’t breathe.

“he always looked at me like i hung the moon or somethin’. he used t’get sooo serious when i was sad. even when i was tryin’ to hide it, he knew.”

you wiped at your face with the back of your hand, eyes getting wet. “he’d just—ugh, he’d hold my hand real tight under the table. or text me hearts in class. one time he ran across campus in the rain to bring me my stupid lip balm ‘cause i left it in his bag—so dumb, right?”

your voice cracked, but your smile stayed. dreamy. faraway.

“i love toru,” you whispered, eyes unfocused.

satoru’s chest was splintering.

“what happened?” he asked softly.

you leaned your head back against the wall and giggled through your tears. “i messed it alllll up. kissed the wrong guy. made my toru sad. real sad. now he’s gone and i’m like... y’know, jus’ floatin’ around. bein’ a mess. tryna party him outta my brain.”

you swayed again. satoru caught you before you could fall.

“everyone thinks i’m sooo fine,” you slurred. “they’re like, ‘wow, she’s soooo fun, she’s soooo cool, look at her little outfits, she’s sooo hot.’ but i’m like… dying inside. literally dying.”

you said it with a giggle. like it was funny. like it wasn’t killing you.

“i miss him so bad,” you sighed. “his dumb glasses. his dumber shirts. the way he used t’get so excited about science crap, ugh, it was so hot when he nerded out.”

satoru’s throat was raw.

“y'know you kinda smell like toru...he made me feel so…” you paused, eyes fluttering. “safe. like i didn’t have t’be anything but me.”

your voice broke. “i don’t feel like me anymore.”

he didn’t know when he’d started shaking. he just knew you didn’t see him. really see him. you were too far gone. too out of it. too wrapped up in the haze of loss and liquor and longing.

“he’s prolly moved on,” you whispered, slumping against him, head to his chest. “prolly forgot all about me. ‘s’okay. i get it. i’m messy. i’m a lot.”

you looked up at him eyes completely unfocused, lip trembling. “but i miss him.”

your voice was barely audible.

“miss him every’ day.”

he caught you as your legs buckled again, arms cradling you like glass. your perfume was familiar. your weight against him felt like everything he’d ever wanted and everything he’d lost, all at once.

“i still sleep in his shirt sometimes, he- he left it at my dorm when we slept together for the first time...” you mumbled. “even tho it don’t smell like him no more.”

satoru held you tighter.

“i jus’ want my toru back,” you sobbed. “i promise i’ll be good this time.”

and when your voice cracked, when you whispered “i love him” like it was the only truth left in you, satoru closed his eyes and held you close, because he couldn’t say anything. not yet.

not when you didn’t even know he was there.

so he stayed. trembling. breaking. aching.

and you clung to him like he was a stranger.

still calling his name. still calling him yours.

~

satoru didn’t even remember getting out of the house.

he just knew you were in his arms.

you’d passed out sometime between the end of that hallway and the front door, your body slack against his chest, face tucked against the crook of his neck. you smelled like tequila and cherries and perfume, your perfume. the one that made his heart ache now with every inhale.

someone said something as he carried you through the living room, choso, maybe. suguru was behind him, he thought, offering to help. but satoru didn’t stop. he didn’t look back. he just held you tighter and walked out into the cool night air like a man with one purpose.

the city buzzed quietly in the background. neon lights flickered off rain-slick pavement. everything felt slowed down and far away.

he got the passenger door open with one hand. it was clumsy, fumbling, but he didn’t want to let you go. not even for a second.

you didn’t stir as he laid you back gently against the leather seats of his car. you just breathed softly, cheek pressed to your shoulder, a little smudge of glitter still clinging to your eyelids. you looked so small like this. so far from the glossy, untouchable girl on everyone’s feed.

he sat in the driver’s seat for a moment before starting the engine. his hands were shaking.

you loved him.

you said it over and over, like a spell. and you hadn’t even known it was him you were talking to.

satoru had tried so hard these past weeks to let you go. he’d gone out with suguru and choso. laughed. trained. even flirted with some girl at the bookstore who asked about his glasses.

but none of it stuck. nothing filled the space you left behind.

he watched the streetlights blur past the windshield as he drove, one hand tight around the steering wheel, the other resting on your thigh to steady you. like you’d vanish if he didn’t keep you grounded.

you missed him.

you still slept in his shirt.

he let out a breath that was half a sob and blinked hard to keep his eyes clear. he couldn’t cry. not now. not when you needed him steady.

he pulled into the male dorm parking lot, parked, then walked around the car. you shifted a little as he opened the door and scooped you back into his arms, but you didn’t wake. just buried your face deeper into his chest like your body still knew him even if your mind didn’t.

the elevator ride felt endless. the whole building was quiet. just the soft hum of fluorescent lighting and the occasional shuffle of his sneakers on tile.

he carried you down the hall, fished out his keys, and nudged the door open with his foot.

his dorm was still the same. clean, minimal. a few books stacked on the counter. 

satoru laid you gently on his bed, brushing your hair back from your forehead with shaking fingers. your lashes fluttered but didn’t open. your lip gloss had mostly worn off. your breathing was steady now, quiet and warm.

he kneeled beside the bed and stared.

you loved him.

you were falling apart without him.

how had he not seen it? how had he convinced himself that your pretty stories and perfect posts were real? that you were just moving on while he was losing his mind?

you weren’t okay. not even close.

his chest cracked wide open. all the things he’d buried over the last few weeks came rushing back in like a flood, every moment he missed you, every time he started to text you and couldn’t, every time he saw someone else look at you like you were a prize and had to pretend it didn’t kill him inside.

he pressed the back of his hand to your cheek. you were still warm. still here.

you loved him.

your toru.

he let out a slow breath and leaned forward, resting his forehead lightly against your temple.

“i love you,” he whispered. “god, i love you so much.”

he stayed like that for a while. breathing with you. trying to memorize the sound of it.

then, gently, he stood.

he brought you water, set it on the nightstand.

he found wipes in the drawer. he cleaned your face carefully, wiping away the smeared mascara and glitter. then he slipped one of his shirts over your dress, warm from the dryer and smelling like him, and tucked the blankets around you.

you looked so peaceful now. no pain on your face. no glassy, fake smile.

just you.

satoru sat on the floor beside the bed, knees pulled up, arms draped over them, watching you breathe.

he didn’t know what came next. didn’t know what he was supposed to do tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that.

he just knew you were here.

and that was enough, for now.

~

you wake up slowly.

your head is pounding, mouth dry, and there’s a bitter taste in the back of your throat that makes your stomach churn. everything aches. the air smells faintly like clean linen and something warm, cologne maybe, expensive, familiar. your fingers twitch against the duvet, soft and foreign, and when you blink your eyes open, you’re not in your dorm.

you’re in his.

the light filters through sheer curtains you’ve never seen before, washing everything in muted gold. the bed is big, too big for just one person. there’s a hoodie slung over the desk chair. a textbook cracked open on the floor. a sleek pair of glasses folded neatly beside a stack of manga.

your heart lodges in your throat.

satoru.

you sit up too fast. the nausea hits you like a punch to the gut, but you bite down on it. memories come in fragments, shots, music, spinning lights, a hand offering a pill. then a hallway. then him. a voice you’d swear belonged to your memories. the warmth of arms around you. not cruel, not cold. safe.

a creak.

your head snaps to the doorway, and there he is.

satoru, standing there like a ghost you wished for too hard.

his hair’s a mess. he’s still in the shirt from last night, wrinkled and slightly damp at the collar like he’s been rinsing his face over and over. his eyes lock onto yours and his expression break, just a little, like he wasn’t ready to see you awake. like he’s been pacing the edge of this moment and now he’s fallen in.

“hey,” he says softly.

your throat tightens. “hey.”

silence. thick. heavy. his fingers twitch at his sides, and you grip the edge of the duvet like a lifeline.

“i—” you start, but the words crumble. shame floods you, hot and choking. “was it really you? last night?”

he nods. his voice barely makes it out. “yeah.”

you drop your head. your hands tremble as they pull the blanket up higher. “god. i thought—you—I thought i was talking to a stranger.”

“i know.”

“i said so much.” your voice cracks. “i didn’t know it was you.”

he steps forward then, cautiously, like you might vanish if he’s too quick. he sits on the edge of the bed, not too close, not too far. you glance at him, and he looks… wrecked. like he hasn’t slept. like he’s been hollowing himself out to make space for this grief.

“you meant it though,” he says, quietly. “everything you said.”

you nod slowly. “every word.”

you don’t mean to cry, but you do. the tears come fast, hot and silent, trailing down your cheeks as your lip trembles. you wipe them away quickly, but he sees.

of course he sees.

and when he reaches for you—hand slow, careful—you let him. his fingers brush yours, warm and steady, and it’s like breathing for the first time in weeks.

“i didn’t know how to live without you,” you whisper. “after that night. i kept trying to be okay and i just… fell apart.”

his hand shifts, cups your cheek, thumb swiping away a tear. “i saw. at the party. i saw you.”

“oh my god,” you bury your face in your hands. “that’s so fucking embarrassing.”

“no,” he murmurs. “it’s not. it was awful. watching you like that. i wanted to pull you away the second we got there.”

you lower your hands. his eyes are glassy. you’re not sure when he started crying too.

“you shouldn’t still care,” you say, quietly. “after what i did.”

“i couldn’t stop if i tried.

he leans forward, forehead pressed to yours, breath hitching against your lips.

“i love you,” he says. it spills out like a secret too heavy to hold. “i love you so much it fucking ruins me. i tried to forget. i tried to move on. but every time i close my eyes it’s just you. laughing. posing. slurring about your toru like he hung the stars.”

your breath shakes. “he did.”

his lips are soft when they kiss your cheek. then your jaw. then the corner of your mouth. not greedy. not hungry. just there. grounding.

“you looked so happy when you talked about me,” he whispers. “even when you didn’t know it was me. like i meant something. like i wasn’t just—temporary.”

“you’re not,” you breathe. “you never were.”

your fingers find his shirt and tug him closer. your body curls into his, all shaky breath and uneven heartbeats. he gathers you into his lap without hesitation, arms wrapped around you like he’s terrified you’ll disappear again. your face presses to his shoulder, and his palm runs up and down your back.

“i should’ve fought harder,” you murmur. “i let you go because i didn’t think i deserved you. and maybe i don’t. but i missed you so much, toru. every day felt like drowning.”

his voice is thick, soft. “then let’s come up for air. together.”

you clutch his shirt tighter. “i don’t wanna do this without you anymore.”

“you don’t have to,” he whispers into your hair. “i’m here. you hear me? i’m here.”

you nod. your tears soak into his shoulder, and his thumb strokes your spine gently, his breath shaking each time you shudder against him.

and when you finally pull back to look at him, eyes puffy, nose red, breath uneven, he cups your face with both hands and kisses you. really kisses you. slow and deep and aching, like a promise.

like home.

you don’t know how long you stay wrapped in his arms, the sun just barely starting to rise through the blinds, painting the room in soft streaks of gold and pink. your head is on his chest, and you can feel his heart, solid and steady, under your palm like it’s trying to hold yours together too. everything still feels fragile. delicate. like if you moved too fast, it might all fall apart again.

his hand is stroking your hair, fingers so gentle it makes your eyes sting.

“can’t believe you’re here,” he murmurs, voice low and rough from sleep and crying. “thought i lost you.”

you close your eyes, squeezing his shirt in your fist. “you almost did.”

it’s honest. there’s no point in lying now. not when everything’s cracked open and raw between you, not when his scent is all around you and his arms feel more like home than anything else has in weeks.

“i was so stupid,” you whisper. “i ruined everything.”

he exhales slow, presses his lips to your forehead. “you were hurting.”

“i still am,” you admit, voice shaking. “i was trying not to feel anything at all.”

he doesn’t say anything for a second. just holds you tighter. “you think i didn’t notice?” he says quietly. “you think i didn’t see it all over your face that night?”

you curl into his chest, ashamed. “i didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again.”

“god,” he breathes, “i never stopped wanting to.”

he rolls onto his side, gently shifting so he’s facing you, hand sliding up your arm, your neck, until his fingers are cupping your jaw. his thumb traces your cheekbone, like he still doesn’t believe you’re real.

you look at him, really look, eyes soft, mouth parted, the vulnerable kind of handsome that makes your chest ache.

“i thought about you every day,” he says, and his voice cracks on it. “even when i hated myself for it. even when i wanted to stop.”

your breath hitches. “me too.”

his forehead presses to yours. “i thought about your laugh. the way you talk. the way you looked at me like i was something special, even when i didn’t know how to be.”

you close your eyes, a tear slipping out. “you are special. you’ve always been.”

his hand moves down to your waist, drawing slow shapes through the thin fabric of your shirt, his shirt. “you looked so happy online. all those stories, those parties… i wanted to believe you were okay. but i knew.”

you swallow. “i wanted to forget.”

“you took something from a stranger,” he says softly. “that night. you could’ve…”

“i didn’t care,” you say, voice small. “nothing mattered without you.”

he’s quiet for a moment. then, “you told me all of it. in the hallway. you didn’t even know it was me.”

you blink, eyes wide. “i—what?”

he nods slowly. “you were out of your mind, but you told me about how much you loved your toru. how good he was to you. how much you missed him. you cried in my arms and didn’t even realize it was me.”

your lips part, a breath caught in your throat. you remember slurring something. you remember crying. but not that.

“fuck,” you whisper. “i’m sorry. i’m so fucking sorry.”

his thumb catches the tear slipping down your cheek. “don’t be. it was the most honest thing i’ve heard in a long time.”

you reach for him then, hand threading into the soft white hair at his nape, pulling him closer until your noses brush, until his breath is warm against your lips. “i still love you,” you say. “i never stopped.”

he kisses you.

it’s not rushed or messy. it’s slow, deep, like he’s drinking the words from your mouth, like he needs them to breathe. his hand tilts your chin, the other anchored to your waist, and he kisses you like he’s making a promise, one he’s been aching to say for weeks.

your hands slide up under his shirt, pressing to the warm skin of his back, and he shivers at the touch. you feel him melt into you, the tension draining from his shoulders, and it makes you pull him even closer.

“toru,” you breathe into his mouth, voice soft and trembling.

he exhales your name like a prayer. kisses you again. and again.

his lips move down your jaw, to your throat, open-mouthed and reverent. every touch is careful. every breath against your skin feels like it means something.

“you’re everything to me,” he murmurs, voice shaking. “you don’t even know.”

“show me,” you whisper.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes searching, ocean-blue and so full of pain and love and want that it makes your heart clench. “i don’t want to hurt you.”

“you won’t,” you say, threading your fingers through his hair. “i trust you.”

his forehead presses to yours again, breath uneven, and then he kisses you like he’s pouring all of it into you — the fear, the sorrow, the love that never died.

you let him. let him hold you like you’re made of something precious, like he’s terrified of losing you all over again.

your hands roam his back, his shoulders, memorizing the shape of him again. and when he leans down to kiss the hollow of your throat, you gasp, tears slipping free again because it’s just so much. everything you thought you’d lost. everything you’ve missed. he pulls you into his lap, arms firm around your waist, grounding you. your noses brush. your lips meet again. and again.

and somewhere between the kisses and the whispered apologies, the soft gasps and trembling hands, something inside of you starts to heal.

not all at once. not completely.

but enough to let the light in again.

enough to believe that maybe — just maybe — you can have something good.

with him.

with your toru.

m.list !!

ong fic number two DONE YAYAYA

guys idk how to do tag lists SOMEONE TEACH ME 🙏🏼🙏🏼

omg all your sweet comments make me cry i'm so happy you like my writing 🙁❤️❤️

[newtkelly]

tell me all the ways you love the make out scene

i genuinely love everything about it

i love that buck is so forward about taking tommy home, and that tommy looks shocked yet also sort of amazed at his luck. he’s truly giving top who can’t believe he gets to fuck that energy

i love the desperation they’re exuding, the fucking relief and release of energy. literally episode after episode of buck pining and miserable and yearning and it wasn’t all in our heads, it was genuinely building up to this erotic, cathartic moment

i love that they’re touching each other all over and that they both look so goddamn big. that buck is so dazed that he doesn’t react to a carpet landing on his head. that even when they part because tommy has questions, it’s short-lived and they gravitate right back to each other with another flirty little quip

best of all, i love that buck pulls tommy into his bedroom with a fist twisted into his shirt. he wants him and he’s not being coy about it or playing hard to get. he just fucking wants him so bad. there’s a wonder radiating off of the both of them, like they are stunned that they are lucky enough to have each other again. the way buck pulls him in is bratty and seductive, it’s so fucking hot how unafraid he is to show tommy how bad he wants it, and that’s always, always how i’ve pictured their sexual dynamic. it’s just the affirmation and validation of everything i’ve ever thought about them. they enjoy each other like this so much

and one more thing- it’s one thing for buck to say he’s into tommy, that he’s into men, that he has (or had) a boyfriend, but truly seeing buck and tommy getting dirty, the tangible evidence of his bisexuality- it’s a treat beyond what i ever expected. from his very first solo scene, sex has been at the center of buck’s character, and honestly, this scene connected this era of buck’s story to the core of the show

[dollfacefantasy]

dont think ive ever tried requestig from you (hello i love the way you write) and if its okay could you write old man logan with like a daddy kink... or one where hes being a little cocky or teasing her about liking it while shes sat on his lap

older bf!logan howlett x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, fingering, daddy kink, in public, slight intoxication a/n: thank you so much <3 i hope you like it, i feel a little rusty with logan lol

i just can’t get you out of my head.

the words blared through the club’s speakers with a beat of drums thumping behind it. pink and blue lights swirled around the dance floor to the rhythm.

normally, logan stayed outside places like these. he sat in the parking lot behind the wheel of the limo until the bachelorette party or group of drunk twenty-something’s came staggering out, ready to be driven to their next destination.

but tonight he’s inside. he’s in a booth in the back corner of the room, drink in hand. that group of drunk girls with IDs that show they’re not far past twenty-one are here too. half of them are seated at the table next to him. the others are out on the dance floor, hips rolling and arms raised as they dance along to the song.

his eyes lingered on one in particular. you.

you’re out there in your shimmery dress you’d bought last week, heels on your feet that boost your height several inches. he watched from a distance as you laughed and spun around to the song. your hand stayed linked with your friend while the two of you danced.

he had tried to get out of coming here with you tonight. as much as he loved you, he was often wary of flaunting your relationship to your friends. he didn’t need people seeing you, young and vibrant and in the prime of your life, with him, someone who couldn’t be hurdling any faster towards the end if they tried.

but you’d begged and pleaded, thrown in some puppy eyes and claimed that some of your other friends would have plus ones as well. so here he was.

and even though this wasn’t really his scene, he couldn’t deny that he liked watching how your skin glowed under the lights. and how your body bobbed around in perfect time to the music.

when the current song ended, another one started up, but your dancing came to a slow stop. your eyes found his across the room. you grinned before starting to make your way back to him.

your walk was bouncier than usual, still going along with the beat of the music. you did a little spin and swayed your hips extra. your friend trailed along behind you, but she diverted in paths to go to the booth beside the one logan occupied.

“having fun out there?” he asked once you were within range of his voice.

you nodded quickly. “mhm,” you hummed, doing one more twirl before plopping down in his lap.

his arm came to loop around your waist while his other hand smoothed out the skirt of your dress, making sure it wasn’t riding up and giving a show to any other set of eyes in this place.

you smacked a breathless kiss on his cheek. “did i look good out there?” you asked above the loud music.

“‘course you did. you even gotta ask?” he said. his voice was much lower than yours. husky and rough, spoken right into your ear.

that same coy smile you had out there reappeared. “i know i did. i saw you watching me. and you looked less grumpy than normal,” you teased.

“oh yeah?” he said, raising his brows to indulge you. “well, knowing i have the prettiest girl in this place all to myself does make things a little more tolerable i guess.”

that brought a giggle out of you. you looked away and brought your drink to your lips, swallowing down some more of the bright green liquid inside.

maybe if logan had a better head on his shoulders he’d tell you to ease up on the drinking since you were clearly already a little buzzed. but at the same time, if you wanted to get tipsy and cute, who was he to tell you no? he’d be the one taking care of you anyways.

you plucked the cherry out from your glass. sucking it into your mouth, you detached the small bulb from the stem. he watched you swallow it down before you tugged on his collar and brought him in for a kiss.

that saccharine syrup was all he could taste as your mouths made contact. you weren’t being coy about this. the kiss wasn’t a chaste peck, far from it. your tongue swiped against his own as your breath fanned out over his face.

“you gettin’ antsy? feeling ready to leave soon?” he murmured as you began to pull away.

“maybe…” you said.

“ah-ah. not gonna be a maybe if you’re kissing me like that,” he said, taking hold of your chin.

you bit your lip and looked at him, lashes fluttering over your dilated pupils.

“but i might wanna dance more…” you said.

“really?” he asked, his voice lilted enough to let you know it was a challenge. his hands came to grab your waist and boost you to your feet. “be my guest.”

“wait-“ you whined, hooking your arm around his neck to keep you there. “not yet.”

“and why’s that?”

“causeeee…” you said with a subtle pout.

his hand delved south to give your thigh a rough squeeze. “what’d i tell you about whining?” he asked, his voice quiet and raspy.

he could see that switch flick in your eyes, that spark that would soon be a full-fledged flame.

“because…” you went to correct yourself. “i’m still catching my breath from before… and i want daddy to take care of me.”

you were so easy. he shook his head slightly and let out a low chuckle.

he hummed in feigned realization. “i see,” he said. his hand on your waist slid around, rubbing over the small of your back down to your hip in a massage of sorts.

“mhm. my legs are tired. and i missed youuu while i was out there,” you mumbled, slotting your face against his neck.

“my poor baby,” he said.

he shifted a little in the booth, shifting his position enough that your lower half would be almost entirely shielded by the table. you were already separated from your friends by the partition between booths. and two of them had made their way over to the bar again, meaning you’d have a couple of minutes to yourselves guaranteed.

his fingers dipped underneath your skirt and found your panties in seconds. he wouldn’t waste time while you were out in public. they swiped over the cloth a few times, almost testing the waters.

“you’re lucky you have me, huh?” he said as his digits hooked under the garment and pulled it to the side. “i don’t know how you get through nights out on your own.”

you whined softly against his throat, spreading your thighs a few inches.

“i know,” he whispered. “daddy’s got you right now. you don’t have to worry.”

his fingers slid into your slick warmth. you inhaled sharply as he filled you up in one go. he just held them there for a few moments. you wanted more though, and you wanted it now.

you tried rocking your hips a bit to get some friction, but his other hand held you still.

“be good or you’ll have to wait until you get home,” he said.

it was quiet and curt, but it was the only direction you needed. from then on, you kept still.

you gasped quietly as he drew his fingers back and then pumped them in again. your body remained motionless though. you stayed in the same position as he began thrusting them at a consistent rhythm. in and out, in and out.

the music in this place was loud enough to conceal any tiny noises you let slip. all your little squeaks and whimpers were reached logan’s ears only.

“i can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” he mocked quietly. “never knew my little girl could be so dirty.”

your nails dug into the shoulders of his suit. “fuck, just need it,” you whimpered.

“i bet you do. if i made you go out there to dance for me some more, you’d be lost, wishing my hands were all over you, giving you something to grind on instead,” he rasped.

your own hand flew to your mouth to muffle the noise threatening to come out that would undoubtedly be louder than the others.

his breath on your neck combined with the music thumping throughout the place and the liquor in you had your head spinning by now. even through the haze though, you could feel release creeping up on you.

you looked at him, wide eyes pleading for permission.

“ask me, baby. ask like you’re supposed to,” he said.

you peeled your hand an inch or two away from your mouth. just enough to squeak out. “please, daddy. please. please. need to cum.”

“good girl,” he praised. “let go, sweetheart. let me feel it.”

your legs went taut beneath the table and your hand clamped over your lips once again. you could only hope no one was looking over here as you let yourself hit the high. your eyes rolled back as you melted into his strong arms.

he held you close and worked you through it. he turned enough that you weren’t exactly in plain view of just anybody. his fingers kept at their task until your walls no longer spasmed around them.

“atta girl,” he said, pulling them free. he gave you a squeeze to coax you back down to earth. “did so good for me, honey.”

you sat up just a little bit before nuzzling further into his neck. he chuckled and wrapped both his arms around you, giving you a couple of moments to calm down.

after a minute, you pulled back and looked at him. your forehead shined slightly with a sheen of perspiration while your eyes had that faint fucked-out look.

“you still want that last dance?” he asked knowingly.

as he expected, you shook your head. you were more than ready to stand from the booth and head home now.

[malusokay]

Stop Flirting With Me Just Because I’m Breathing

On how everything a pretty girl does is seen as flirtation. (from my substack <3)

I look up and blink too slowly, and they think I’m in love. I say “interesting” in a flat voice, and it becomes a riddle to be solved, a clue in some invented puzzle about my affection. I once said “oh?” and was asked if I meant it flirtatiously. I leave a message on read for three days, and suddenly I’m orchestrating a psychological thriller. I wear a black chunky knit because it’s cold and I don’t want to be perceived, so they decide I must be hiding poetry in my bra, and unspoken devotion in the sleeves.

I’m told I look like I’d ruin someone’s life, which is meant as a compliment when all I’ve done is exist politely in a public space. I nod in a lecture, and it becomes longing. I cross my legs, and it becomes a metaphor. Everything becomes a metaphor.

There is no such thing as neutrality when you’re a pretty girl. You become a canvas for other people’s projections, their longing, their delusions, and their need to be chosen. 

Every silence is suggestive. Every quiet moment is a seduction scene they’ve rewritten in their heads by the time you’ve finished your tea. Every disinterest is taken as a puzzle to solve, a performance of restraint. They don’t believe you when you’re bored. They think you’re playing bored. Every boundary is a dare.

I say “I don’t date,” and he hears “try harder.” 

I say “I’m not looking for anything,” and he hears “ but I might be with you.” 

I say “I have to go,” and he hears “ convince me to stay.” 

I say nothing, and he hears everything. 

I leave the room, and it becomes a narrative arc. 

I stay silent, and it becomes flirtation. 

I look at a painting, and it becomes a metaphor for his feelings.

A man at a gallery once told me I had “mysterious energy.” I was just tired. I was just hungry. I was just not looking at him.

But they fall in love with the refusal. The lack. The half-second glance that wasn’t meant for them. They romanticise the unreturned gaze, the closed door, the girl who leaves early. They write poems about women who never replied. They crave the untouched part of you that has nothing to do with them, especially that. That’s the part they try to claim. That’s the part they call fate.

I once sent a man a list of corrections to his love letter. Marked it up in red like a school essay. Split infinitives, misused semicolons, a dangling modifier in the third paragraph. He called it “enigmatic.” Said I was “hard to read.” Said he’d “never met a girl like me.” You mistake disinterest for depth and correction for flirtation. You think anything that doesn’t kneel is mysterious. You call it high standards. You call it a challenge. You call it feminine mystique. I call it punctuation.

The problem with being charming is that people forget it’s often done out of boredom. It’s a reflex, not a promise. A trick you learned at dinner tables, in waiting rooms, on the phone with men twice your age who couldn’t take silence. It doesn’t mean you like them. It means you like control. Or maybe you just didn’t want to be rude.

The problem with being beautiful is that people think it means you owe them something warm. That you’re a hostess of some private emotion, and every glance should be dipped in honey. You smile once, and they remember it forever. You don’t smile, and they call you cold. You hold the door, and it’s taken as encouragement. You cross your legs, and it’s an invitation. You speak plainly, and it’s condescension. You retreat, and it’s foreplay. They want you glowing and grateful. Soft, but not cold. Sexy, but not complicated. They want the kind of beauty that never asks to be left alone.

And when I say no, they always think I’m flirting. As if I’m playing coy. As if “no” is the beginning of a story, not the end of one. I say it flatly, with the softness stripped out, and they still tilt their heads and grin like they’ve uncovered a secret. Like I’m hiding a yes somewhere in my tone, waiting to be coaxed out.

A few days ago, I rejected someone I had known for a while. Kindly, clearly. Two days later, he came back asking if I wanted to hook up. He only left me alone (for now) after I told him I had a boyfriend. I don’t. But apparently, a man’s existence is the only boundary they respect.

Sometimes, I just smile because why wouldn’t I? Because it’s polite. Because I was raised to be gentle in rooms full of noise. Because I don’t see the harm in kindness. But they always think it means something. They take good manners for invitation. A thank you becomes a breadcrumb. A glance becomes bait. Politeness, in their minds, is the opening act of seduction, never just softness for its own sake.

You learn quickly that innocence gets devoured just as fast as intention. That even your unthinking gestures get rewritten in someone else’s script. And then they call you manipulative. Say you “led them on.” As if their inability to read the room is your strategy. As if their projections are your responsibility. You smiled. You were nice. You said, “thank you.” And now you’re the villain in their heartbreak story. 

They fall in love with an idea, and when you don’t return it, they act like you stole something. Like affection was a contract you broke by breathing near them. Like your politeness was a promise you forgot to keep.

my insta: malusokay

[martiniluvr]

18+ minors dni

finally processed the unimaginable horror of a second consecutive stanley cup win by the florida panthers. for those who may still be grieving, here’s some more hockey player!jason to ease the pain 💔

warnings: jason drops the gloves, mentions of blood, size kink 🧘‍♀️

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

hockey player!jason who takes his enforcer role seriously. maybe too seriously. he’s only just made it back on the ice after a penalty when a rookie on the opposing team decides to try his luck chirping; jason mostly ignores him, until the kid lets out a line that cuts through the noise of the arena. “hey, todd, y’think that little puck bunny of yours handles a stick better than you?”

hockey player!jason who doesn’t even let the smirk fade off the rookie’s face before he drops the gloves and starts swinging. teammates from both sides swarm to try and pry him off—no small feat when you’re dealing with one of the biggest players in the league. the crowd cheers wildly and the refs are yelling, but all jason can focus on is the bright red blood coating his knuckles as his fist splits the skin on the kid’s cheekbone.

hockey player!jason who sits out the rest of the game in the locker room after an immediate ejection and the promise of a chewing out by the coach and general manager later. he glares down at his bloodied and bandaged hand, and the bruises forming under the gauze, knowing they pale in comparison to the reaming he’s going to get for this. worth it.

hockey player!jason who won’t tell you what the kid did to piss him off like that as you lie in bed after the game, but swears he was justified while you examine his injuries. you meet his gaze, and his expression is nothing short of cocky. typical. “so…how’d he look?” he asks, a coy smirk on his lips. you know he loves this part. “awful,” you reply, feigning disapproval, “but he’ll live.”

hockey player!jason who goads you into recounting the fight, taking note of the way your cheeks flush as you detail the scene. “it took, like, six guys to get you off him,” you say, and he chuckles. there’s a pause as the air thickens between you, and you bite your lip. “I mean, it was…pretty hot.” his grin widens as your hand trails down his abdomen.

hockey player!jason who listens intently to you singing his praises, his green eyes dark with lust as your hand rubs his hardening cock over his boxers. “I forget how strong you are,” you coo sweetly, slipping your fingers under the waistband. he moans quietly as you stroke him, your pace measured despite struggling to fit him in your hand. “even in the gear you were, like, almost two feet taller than him, jay.”

hockey player!jason who has you straddling his lap before you can even begin explaining the aftermath of the fight, your panties lost somewhere in the bedsheets. you whine as you feel his thick cock split you in half, and his calloused hands guide your hips as he slowly bottoms out inside you, groaning at the feeling of your dripping cunt gripping him like a vice. “fuck, that’s my girl, hm?” he breathes, feeling your walls relaxing around his substantial size. his smile is arrogant despite his ragged voice. “nothin’ you can’t handle, right, ma?”