#i just ….. god i still can’t fucking believe it i know i don’t talk about it on here but it’s on my mind a lot

[satorena]

HOTLINE BL☆NG!

summ. wine nights and free will? a recipe for disaster— such as matching your ex on a corny dating app and having him in your bed within that same hour. . .

cw. eventual smut. 18+. fem!reader. alcohol/substance consumption. ex boyfriend!gojo. mild toxicity. breakup & makeup. girlhood ft jjk girlies. unreliable narrator sorta. sukuna slander. mild impact play. mild asphyxiation. oral (f). fíngering. backshōts. reader is a little questionable. self sabotaging my beloved. lowkey angsty. @/3aem on tumblr for art creds. most of these stories are real shit i’ve heard/experienced LOL. can you tell i’ve never used tinder a day in my life? 16.4k words. . oops.

rena’s note. @yung-notorious and her filthy mind. . .

“you like it when i fuck you like this? yeah you do.”

god, you do.

you can’t bring yourself to remember why you’d ever let go of dick this good. the kind that had you taking the rubber off and considering finishing inside. the kind that had you babbling apologies for having done absolutely nothing wrong. the kind that made you begin to believe his careless whispers, empty promises to work things out.

his fingers dig in the column of your throat, the weight of his hand wrapped tightly at your neck. he’s everywhere at once, but simultaneously no where to be found. while you can feel his tip prodding at your most sensitive spot, you don’t feel the overwhelming force of love he once bore with open arms for you.

“nahhh. . . don’t start running now.” you didn’t realize you were. the sheets are crumpled in your tight hold, while your other hand lightly pushes at his lower abdomen. naturally, he pins your wrist at your spine to maintain his ruthless pace, and with another gentle yet cruelly empty promise, “not when i’ve just gotten you back.”

how the fuck did you get yourself in this mess?

friday nights were meant to decompose after a long week. a cute tradition you followed— sipping on moscato wine and munching on takeout with your homegirls while the lamest horror movie played as background noise. the skincare bit happened every third friday of the month, which fell on this particular night, thin layers of korean products lathering at your skins while fluffy headbands sat atop your hairlines, keeping stray hairs away.

it was an easy way of recapping all of your week’s worth of bullshit and listing each girl’s new lineup of men of the season.

girlhood.

“i’m cool off men for a whileee,” you sigh, placing your third wine glass on the coffee table. you tuck your legs back onto the couch, propping your head into your palm. you watch as shoko, who’s seated on the floor, grabs your glass and fills it with another unsolicited round. you narrow your eyes at her, “after the shit kuna pulled— girl, slow down!”

“don’t watch me,” shoko chews at her unlit blunt tucked in her teeth, lifting an arm above her head to pass you your refill. despite the slight spin of the room, you accept the cup against better judgment, “keep talking. what the fuck did he do now?”

“you mean what didn’t he do,” seated in the pink bean bag rested on the floor, utahime quips. in between her teeth sits a wooden stick, drizzled in the honey-like wax residue she smeared over her shin. “i woulda left his ass the second i found out he— FUCK— lived with his mama at his big age.”

as utahime soothes her smoothened skin, yuki leans over the coffee table to grab at the blunt passed over to her. “y/n baby, you know i love you,” she starts off, taking a deep inhale before ghosting the smoke. you can tell she’s about the cook the shit out of you, “but come on— he lives in his parents’ basement. was that not a red flag in itself? is that seriously the kind of man you see yourself marrying.”

“nevermind the fact he’s pushing thirty and still unemployed,” shoko throws in her two cents, takeout back in her lap as she breaks open a new set of chopsticks, “he’s one more ‘tap in’ away from getting caught by the feds.”

“how much y’all wanna bet he’s at the club right now as we speak?” it’s a rhetorical question, but utahime pauses her waxing to check. with sticky fingers, she taps away at her phone, and with a knowing smile she yelps, tilting her screen towards you three, “aha!— and there goes the infamous money spread.”

“cornballllll.” shoko cringes.

you’re filled with dread and shame at the sight presented. god— every single chance you gave this man, he spun around and somehow does worse. it’s not like the two of you were together— never officially, but the sole fact that you’ve let this man treat you as if you were his girl haunts you. you’ve let countless of bullshit slide all because his stroke game came second within all the men you’ve dealt with.

the only thing you’ll give him besides a being a good lay is that you’ve never had issues concerning other women. he’s a very transparent guy— you’ve yet to receive a “hey girlie. . .” text from anybody. though, it isn’t like either of you have ever dropped any hard launches. it was mostly content that only close friends could catch onto— the interior design of his car, your latest set of nails, subtle shots of his tattoos, your purses and jewelry. nothing evident but pretty obvious to those who know.

if sukuna was still cool with him, however. . . yeah, he’d definitely know, considering the fact he purchased most of the purses you own. that’s excluding the fact your favorite necklace, the one with your name engraved, the one you always wear, was also bought by him.

“move,” you push utahime’s hand away from your peripheral, slumping further into the couch. embarrassment floods you yet again, and you drown it away with more wine. much to your chagrin, they spare no mercy as they giggle at your pout, “not too much on me— shoko, you’re literally the one who put me on!”

“don’t do that,” she rolls her eyes, picking at the orange chicken on her platter. you have half a mind at chucking your drink at her. “all i told you was to fuck him. nobody said anything about keeping him around.”

“instructions: unclear,” utahime giggles, smearing another coat of wax mixture onto her calves. “she’s now a year deep into a situationship with a man who files for disability checks to blow on parlays.”

you spring up in your seat, your wine nearly spilling on shoko in your excitement, “shit, i never told you guys!”

“told us what?” yuki kills the blunt in the ash tray, and stretches an arm to grab at her food. she knocks over a few emptied bottles as they roll on the carpet, and winces when one of them knock at shoko’s knee, “my fault girl.”

shoko clicks her tongue, but you loop your arms around her neck as you proceed, “before you bitches attacked me for literally just being a girl,” you decide ignore the way they all groan, “i was trying to tell you all why i finally ended shit with him.”

“well don’t hold back now!” utahime eggs on.

“guess what i found out,” you set the empty wine glass back onto the table. you’re most likely gonna need your hands in this specific conversation, “he bet thirty thousand dollars on the super bowl game— and lost.”

the room falls quiet. utahime pauses in her ripping, yuki drops her noodles from her chopsticks and shoko nearly chokes on her wine. amidst it all, three pairs of eyes slowly crawl to meet your gaze, in complete disbelief at what you’d told them.

“are you deadass?” shoko speaks first, her facial expression almost incredulous. her eyes are teary from her food slipping through the wrong tube. “you’re playing, right? right?”

“she has to be. . . this is a new level of low even for him.” yuki shakes her head, most likely in attempts to give him the benefit of the doubt. you don’t blame her— no sane person would drop thirty grand on a fucking betting app of all things— and on top of that, lose.

“i wish i was?!” you groan, still upset, “the worst part is that he told me that money was supposed to be deposit money for a condo he’d been,” you raise your fingers in air quotes, “looking into.”

“you know what though? this doesn’t actually surprise me,” utahime laughs, as if she hadn’t been in a daze for a solid minute. she rips at the strip, and winces, “didn’t i just say he was getting checks to place on parlays? frank gallagher looking ass.”

“but thirty thousand?” yuki emphasizes, blinking rapidly in her disbelief, “what the fuck would possess somebody to bet thirty grand on anything?”

“grown ass man, by the way.” shoko mumbles mindlessly, before chowing down some more food. you can’t find it in yourself to disagree.

utahime nods, blowing a puff of air, “on god, bro. don’t he got mortgages to pay off or some shit?”

yuki shoots her a deadpanned look, “girl, with what house.”

and that had been your final straw with him. not the fact he lived in his mother’s basement despite clearly having money to rent out a place, or the fact he was still flexing bands he allegedly has on the gram— but blowing all your money on a fucking football game. and losing. you do respect yourself, as much as these girls believe you don’t. a man with no ambitions and no money? you need to run and far.

“i’ll miss his dick though.” you pout, the alcohol already coursing through your body. being wine drunk always made you horny, that was a known fact, and letting go of one of your greatest eaters was not on your bingo card. naturally, the girls roll their eyes at your antics, “boo me all you want— he horsed me the fuck around in bed.”

“you used to say the same shit about gojo,” utahime points out, rising to her feet as she grabs the used strips in her hold, before circling around the couch, “and look how that ended up.”

technically. . . she wasn’t exactly wrong but that still stung a bit. “hime, seriously?” shoko rolls her eyes, and you feel her hand rubbing at your foot soothingly. her motions are a little stiff but you appreciate the sentiment, “we get you don’t fuck with him but he was still her man. and basically my friend, kinda.”

you hear her wince in the kitchen, followed by footsteps, “right. . . sorry girlie.” she runs back to you after throwing the waste away, and kisses at your temple. she doesn’t comment on the pout on your lips. “i didn’t mean it. . . okay maybe i did, but i’m still sorry!”

your history with gojo was complicated. you’d met him through shoko in your third year of college, at a kickback party hosted by his people. it’d been an invite only thing, but shoko had brought you along as a plus one, and you both instantly connected. as far as you were concerned, it was technically supposed to be a sneaky link vibe, but you soon learned gojo was anything but sneaky. in fact, he was so vocal in him wanting you, that he actually did end up getting you a couple months later.

he’s a year older than you, therefore he’d graduated a year ahead. the separation in itself was something you hadn’t looked forward to at all, but he had found himself a condo downtown, not too far from your residency, therefore seeing each other hadn’t been an issue. he always made it clear he wanted to see you— even after gruelling nine to five shifts in the office. his words matched his actions, driving you up to his place since yours had a stupid curfew policy for visitors.

(you’ve kept him in your dorm numerous times.) (your closet has suffered enough with his lanky ass.)

the first year worked out for the better. he was still welcomed to the parties you invited him to, he made time in his schedule help you with your studies, planned consist dates and even took you out on trips. he was physically, mentally and emotionally present— and you genuinely believed he would be your forever man when you’d introduced him to your parents at your graduation ceremony and he seemed thrilled. they adored him— and that says a lot considering they hated all your other exes. with good reason, but still.

it’d been the honeymoon phase until it wasn’t.

you expected arguments. those are inevitable in relationships, but with every argument he grew distant. you were now both graduated students juggling between jobs, rent and a relationship. it was a lot— your schedules never seemed to align which jumbled into multiple failed dates, which further escalated into more arguments. it hadn’t always been him, you could agree you were at fault too. that post graduation depression spiralled worst than you’d anticipated— the fear of falling behind when your boyfriend had already been successful so early into his career entirely consuming.

he reassured you plenty, but you could see it in his face as he spoke to you— he was exhausted. of work. of life. of you. he had bigger fish to fry than dealing with a workaholic girlfriend with low self esteem. the bigger the promotion, the less your value. you’d seen this play out before— it was less i love you’s and more hours in the office. less dinner dates and more project plannings.

the more time you spent by yourself, the more your mind began overthinking. you had no place in his life anymore. you didn’t resent him for it— you wish nothing but the best for him. he deserves to be successful in life, and he’s already so close to it. your slacking behind is nothing more than dead weight in his rise to the top.

the breakup had been anticipated. you’d broken up with him first. he never asked you to explain why. he nodded, never uttering a word. it’d been the first time you’d seen him in weeks. you kept it simple, “we should break up.” and he kept it even simpler, a curt bounce of the head in agreement. as quick as he’d entered your apartment, he left.

and that’d honestly been it. you’d been together for four years, and broken up for a year and a half. after all this time, you still don’t resent him for it. he made the rational choice in prioritizing himself and his future, and you simply didn’t fit in it. it took you quite some time to work on yourself as well, and you’re honestly satisfied with where you are in life. the breakup clearly worked in favour for you both.

it sucks that he was genuinely the only man you ever cared about. the only man you can confidently say you loved.

“look— now you got her thinking about him!” shoko complains, chucking the nearest thing— a throw pillow, at utahime. it hits her square in the face, to which she lets out a muffled oof! “way to fucking go.”

you blink out of your thoughts. well that’s embarrassing, you got caught up in the past again. you lift yourself from the slumping position you’d unintentionally fallen into the midst of daydreaming, “shit, my bad. got flashbacks to that time he ate me off the bone after his first promotion.”

“yo, what?!” yuki hollers, falling into a fit of laughter. shoko rolls her eyes so much you’re thinking it’ll get stuck at the back of her skull and utahime physically cringed from head to toe. “so fucking unserious— here we are, worried about your ass and here you go, upset you lost your best eater.”

not exactly, though there was some truth to her words. gojo was your best eater, and nobody’s topped him since. he really did tongue fuck you that night like you were the boss who raised his pay. but it wasn’t just the sex you missed— you wholeheartedly missed him. the closest thing to a soul bond you’ve experienced, now gone.

they don’t need to know all that though.

“oh come on,” utahime groans, picking at her nails. trust her to find any reason to slander your ex. for what reason? she’s never told you other than him annoying the fuck out of her, “he could not have been that great. it can’t be anything you can’t find elsewhere— plenty of men eat pussy.”

“okay but do they enjoy eating it or is it more of a duty thing?” yuki points out, rolling her thumb on her lighter mindlessly. she watches the flame arise, casting a soft glow on the sheet stuck to her face, “because you can definitely tell the difference. one eats for foreplay, the other eats for his own pleasure.”

shoko hums in agreement, still poking at her plate, “a man versus a munch,” and with a beat of silence, she takes a deep sigh, throwing her head back, “i should call him.”

“no! no you should not,” utahime laughs, before shooting you a glance. your smile quickly falters and is switched with a look of confusion as she points a nail filer in your direction, “and you,” you cock a brow, “stop thinking about him. we’re supposed to be independent women, y’all need to stand the fuck up.”

“hime, please, you were literally just complaining to your close friends about your latest dry spell.”

“irrelevant!” she dismisses yuki, waving a hand absentmindedly. you don’t see how it’s irrelevant exactly, but you let her proceed. “we are sexy, successful and strong women. stop relying on the past and focus on the future. there are bitches that fought for their lives for the freedom we have! you could literally get dick anywhere— they actually have apps for it, if you didn’t know—”

“so tell us, o’mighty one,” shoko cuts her off, “are you suggesting we download tinder to relieve our stress?”

she remains quiet, and you can see the gears churning in her head. you’re about ninety nine percent positive shoko was fucking around, but the scrunch in your friend’s eyebrows tells you she’s seriously contemplating the idea, “. . yes actually.” she finally decides.

“hime. . .” shoko groans, but is effectively cut off when she springs up to her knees to grab at her phone.

“no, seriously, think about it!” she scrolls through her phone like a maniac, searching through the app store and typing the name in. you all watch her incredulously, her enthusiasm in the matter as if she hadn’t been preaching about feminism half a minute ago, “i’ve met some of my best lays in college through tinder. i haven’t been on this app in years though.”

you don’t see why not. you were pretty tipsy and would never have agreed to this under typical conditions, however it could be regarded as a bonding activity. you also haven’t been on tinder since before your last relationship, and the shit sukuna put you through this past year was enough to make you want to deal with literally anything else.

“i’m down.” you pull out your phone, and shoko may have gotten whiplash with how quick she snaps her head back to eye you. you shrug your shoulders, “we don’t have to take this shit seriously— god knows i’m not entertaining anybody on this app for real.”

“exactly!” utahime nods, walking up to scoot herself beside you. she nudges at shoko with her foot, who flicks at her toes to keep her away, “it’s just for shits and giggles.”

“i’m definitely not doing this shit,” yuki crawls to sit at the couch’s feet, right at shoko’s side, and grabs at the remote sitting uselessly on the table, “but i will be watching you both embarrass yourselves.”

“the only other bitch with common sense here.” shoko sprawls her legs onto yuki’s lap. she receives a slap at the back of her head by utahime, and naturally she slaps the hand right back. “can’t stand that little fucker sometimes.”

“aweee, love you too!” she blows a kiss at her to which she receives a middle finger. you snort, eyes glued on your screen as you redownload that forsaken app back into your phone.

you’d probably regret it in the morning, but that was something saturday you would have to deal with. as of right now, with white wine in your system, logic was not an option. you were learning to live more in the moment, and apparently that starts with the corniest dating app in the world.

it’s not like you’d magically stumble upon your ex on the platform. now wouldn’t that be something? ha!

there’s no fucking way.

this had to be one big, fat cosmic joke. a cruel prank, even. and if it was, then the universe had a twisted sense of humour. you still don’t believe it— were the girls in on this? this kind of shit didn’t just happen to anybody.

it took about a total of twenty minutes between logging back into your old account, updating your password and bio, and swiping left on passing profiles until you landed on it. on. . . him.

you blink slowly. your phone is shaky beneath your unstable hands, and you’re pretty sure you’ve been holding your breath in far longer than recommended for the average human. it’s quiet as fuck in the room— despite the three girls huddled over your shoulders, sticking their noses in all directions to get a clearer view of your illuminating screen— almost as if to confirm if what they were seeing was truly was they were seeing, as if this was all too fucking ironic to be true.

there’s a knot of anxiousness that simmers in the pits of your stomach. you’re pretentiously aware that even the slightest movement— one wrong click or swipe, would ultimately change everything. there was too much at risk here. “oh there’s no fucking way. . .” shoko speaks up first.

utahime leans in impossibly closer, a few centimetres away from fully emerging with your iphone as her nose scrunches, “way too sexy? fuck around and find out? god, he’s still so corny, i swear.”

your eyes trail over his biography, curiously. that “way2sexy” had been an inside joke you both shared years ago— back when drake had dropped one of gojo’s favourite albums, certified loverboy. he overplayed the shit out of that song when it came out, so much that you received multiple complaints from your RA for “public disturbance”, but he swore it worked as daily affirmations for him in the same sense crystals and tarot cards worked for spiritual girlies. you called him corny for it, but before you knew it, it’d shown up in your spotify wrapped the following year.

rapid memories of morning rays of light peeking through blinds, a groggy yet mysteriously clear “alexa, play way 2 sexy” as you fixed your sheets and lit your candles, fighting over who gets to spit toothpaste residue first, hearty laughter to fumbled lyrics, shared minty kisses paired with one “gimme one more” too many.

the ache clenching at your heart is hard to ignore.

“i would give him the benefit of the doubt in believing he hasn’t updated his account,” yuki draws out, eyes narrowing as a finger sticks out to point, “but his age matches. emoticons as a grown man. . . no shade though.”

his age did match. inside joke aside, none of it was adding up. if he already had his account set up years ago, had he willingly changed his bio to one of your most infamous gags after the breakup? if you were to swipe right right now, would it instantly match? you don’t think you want to figure it out— both possible outcomes scaring you shitless.

“should i swipe left?” you speak uncharacteristically softly, torn between the idea of tucking your tail inwards and running away from the opportunity or your typical it is what it is mentality.

“yes! obviously— mmmph?!”

“do you want to?” shoko, with a pillow stuffing an agitated utahime in the face, counters. between all the girls, she seemed to understand you the most, granted her own relationship with the man. you’re sure he had given her his own version of their breakup, how you’d opened the doors to endless opportunities for him, had given him the easy way out. you never bothered asking her, afraid of the illusion you’d created to shield yourself shattering, “only you have the answer to that.”

“i honestly don’t know,” you sigh, joints in your thumb aching from hovering over your screen for too long. swiping left meant completely abandoning any the possibility of the two of you as one. you don’t want that responsibility weighted on your shoulders again, “what if he’s moved on? the shit that’ll do to my ego if i swipe right and he passes on me?”

shoko finally grants her friend the permission of speech, freeing her off the couch decoration, though the look she gives her serves as a warning to tread lightly. with a heavy breath, utahime releases a puff, “i’d crashout, just sayin’.”

“but what if he hasn’t moved on?” yuki poses, and apparently that was all the confirmation you needed to swipe. fuck pride— pride wasn’t going to get your back blown out. pride wasn’t going to help you get the love of your life back. pride can go fuck itself.

“wait—”

utahime is cut off again, however, not by shoko but tinder itself. the notification pings loudly, resonating in depths of your ear cavity and shoots straight to your chest. you can feel your heart pounding wildly against your rib cage. it’s so silent you can hear a pin drop, and the way your gut churns gives away the end result to your spontaneity.

it’s a match.

“well. . . shit.” shoko slumps back into the couch nonchalantly, and you don’t need to see her to know she’s sporting a smirk. you do feel her knee knock into yours. fake ass idgafer.

you’re no better, biting down your bottom in order to suppress the smile itching to spread. a year later and the sole idea that he’d already came across the same mindset as you, willing to give whatever it was that needed a second shot, had you beyond delusional. god, you need help.

“look at youuu, cheesin’ and shit!” yuki pokes at your cheek and you swat her hand away, ultimately caving into the smile. fuck yeah you were geeked— it’s hard carrying a nonchalant attitude when you were an honest to god, soft hearted lovergirl. if you played your cards right, with a few lash bats and glossy lips, you’d be getting dicked down in no time.

“i’m gonna be sick.” utahime deadpans.

“and i’m getting dickkk,” you sing, jumping to your feet as you stood on the couch. you turn around, hands clutching onto the headrest, giving your ass a cute shake as it rotates in circular motions. you feel shoko’s hand tapping it encouragingly, her phone illuminating as it records while she rests her head on your moving thighs. you hear yuki cackle, pulling out her phone to film as well. you giggle, “rip that pussy!”

“ayeeee!” they complete the lyrics, and the vibes are restored yet again, girly giggles filling the room. when your legs begin to feel wobbly, you stop your twerking to plop yourself right back down, leaning your head onto shoko’s shoulder.

you hear her click her tongue as the recording of your ass graces her screen, and she groans, “gojo is one lucky bastard— he can’t handle all that.”

he most definitely can, and has. you’ll opt with shrugging in the meantime.

“with that being said,” utahime jumps in, crossing her legs, “what’s the next move here? you reaching out first?”

your lips straighten as your mind reflects. if you still know him as well as you think you do, he’s definitely going to text you first as soon as he sees the green light. sure, you were anxious for a reply, desperate to check what his temperature was— but you’d already sacrificed a grand amount of dignity just swiping right. he could do take on the role of texting first.

“nah, i’m almost a hundred percent sure he’ll—”

ping!

you all whip your heads to the source of the sound. your phone. the screen shines as it undergoes facial recognition, and exposes the messenger. from tinder. gojo. sending you a message. just as you’d expected.

you can’t help the cocky smile, eyes trailing at their perplexed faces, “—text me first.”

naturally, the girls are impressed. even you are— that timing? would it be insane to genuinely be considering gojo might honest to god be your soulmate? yuki blows a puff of air, followed by a laugh, “your pussy has to be magical cause what the fuck?”

“ladies and gentlemen,” utahime stands to her feet, fisting her hand into an imaginary microphone, and addresses her fake crowd. in the hostiest voice she can muster, she curtsies as she continues in comedic fashion, “miss pussy fairy in thee flesh.”

“put a stamp on it.” shoko shakes her head in acknowledgment, laying her own phone in her lap as she claps. yuki places two fingers in her mouth and whistles at you, to which you rise to your own feet and dramatically place a hand over your chest in faux humility.

“oh please!” you flatter yourself, tucking your hair behind your ear. you smile behind your palm, your improv classes in high school coming in clutch, “this is too much— thank you! thank you deeply.”

“girl, byeee,” utahime breaks character first, giggling as she sits back onto the abandoned bean bag. you mimic her motions, as she pops open a stray water bottle and swallows a big gulp, “open his text! i wanna see what he said!”

you’re in the same boat, thumbing at your phone to unlock it and open the app. naturally the girls hover over you yet again, just as eager to see how he finally broke the no contact phase. it took him less than three minutes to slide in your messages, as the option had finally been granted.

right as your thumb hovers the message, a hum draws out your throat, “how much y’all wanna bet it’s something corny?” you tease, something close to a hunch giving it away. seeing as your assumptions were deemed accurate just a few minutes ago, the only way he’d think of clearing the ice would be with something plausibly lame.

“open itttt!” utahime ushers you, hands clamping at your shoulders. you roll your eyes, letting her dramatics sway your body back and forth before she lets up. you let out a sigh, and open the unanswered message.

and just as you’d predicted. . .

@gsatoru: they say shooters shoot 👀

“oh brotherrrr,” the girls groan in sync, and even you can’t stop the cringe that stiffens your face. if there’s one thing that hasn’t changed, it’s the fact he still doesn’t act his age. he needs to let those college days go.

“now, what’d i tell y’all.” you tut, leaving out the part of nostalgia simmering deep and warmly in your bones at his predictability. ever the goofy he was, gojo satoru. jeez.

“i was really found myself rooting for him too,” shoko sighs, rising to her feet. she dusts at her lap then stretches her limbs lazily, “i’m gonna go pee— hime, i swear to god, don’t take my seat.” she doesn’t look back to flip her off when she hears utahime blow raspberries her way. to which, against shoko’s wishes, leaps over to snatch her seat.

both you and yuki give her a deadpanned look, but yuki voices out your thoughts, “she’s gonna get on your ass and i’m not helping you out.”

“girl, boo.” utahime rolls her eyes, “more importantly, what the fuck do you answer to that?” her nail taps at your phone screen, peering at you expectantly through lashes.

you consider your options. do you reciprocate the same energy or do you call him out on his corniness? matching his vibe would be like starting off a blank slate— a new start, new conversations, something almost superficial. like a fling you meet at the bars for one night of fuckery that you regret the next morning. but calling him out would induce in falling into familiar patterns— calling him a cornball while he attempts to sweet talk you, old conversations brought up, risking broken boundaries for the sake of reminiscing.

decisions, decisions, decisions.

“i’m thinking taking the easy way out.” you nod your head, readying your fingers as you type your response out.

you miss the exchanged glances between utahime and yuki, too busy trying to format how to come off playful but not forgetful. flirty but not desperate. come pull up on me but demurely. well you’ll be damned— in what world had you ever expected second guessing yourself for gojo?

“what’s the easy way out?” yuki asks, and you hit send. where this confidence comes from is beyond you, but any error you make you can blame on the wine (you’re hardly fazed but it’s nice to have something to pin the blame on instead of yourself) (old habits die hard).

you tilt your phone, holding it out as you watch the girls’ brows furrow, eyes scanning over the screen. when their faces contort into a look of amusement mixed with horror, a girly giggle escapes your throat.

@yourstrulyname: sukuna ryomen wsp with you?? 🙈

“you didn’t!” utahime hollers, her laughter so intense she doubled over to clutch at her stomach. yuki sways her body back and forth as she finds herself in a hysterical fit as well. “goddd, i would kill to see the look on his face right now.”

“yooo, that’s evil.” the blonde swipes at a tear. “woulda had me deactivating the whole account.”

“who’s deactivating?” shoko pops back in, not without slapping utahime upside the head. she ignores the way utahime complains in favour to swipe a nearly emptied bottle to pour.

“it’s not even that bad,” you defend yourself, flashing her your screen as she installs herself in the bean bag utahime once occupied. her eyes squint as she reads the conversation, nearly bulging out their sockets when she catches your message, “nahhh, don’t give me that!”

“if he gives you the time of day after that,” shoko swirls the wine in her glass, snorting, “he must really still be in love with you.”

“he should know i’m playing. . .” you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince the girls, him or yourself. you really were just joking around— albeit a terrible joke, but one regardless! sukuna was officially removed from the roster, a financially irresponsible man never standing a chance against you, “right?”

“don’t ask us?” utahime chimes in, uselessly, to which you roll your eyes. well shit, maybe you should double text? let him know you were just fooling around, trying to check temperatures and establish the mood. your phone pings again, and all unnecessary thoughts are thrown out the window.

@gsatoru: oh so you got jokes now?

as you’re about to let him know you’ve been had jokes, but never the goofy type, you see the bubbles pop up, a telltale that he’s got more to tell you. you let him have it, already having possibly fumbled the mission before even starting. it feels like an eternity and a half waiting on his text, the girls having huddled over you yet again, just as curious to see what he had to counter with.

@gsatoru: can’t be a joke if the guy had you outside on valentine’s day tho. stk steakhouse? really girl?

your jaw falls slack. you watch with burning eyes at your screen as your built up suspicions were ultimately confirmed. okay, so those two were still somehow connected. you didn’t like to question male friendships, the lack of loyalty not one you’d ever understand. god forbid you ever started fucking with utahime’s ex of many years.

“wait. .” said girl speaks up, drawing the word out as she processes his answer. her tongue rolls around in her mouth, face cringing as the next words follow, “i can’t lie, he kinda ate you up.”

“just sassy as fuck,” shoko laughs, and it’s one of those giggles reserved to shit she honestly finds hilarious, “really girl is crazy. all comfortably like he’s one of your homegirls.”

“now what’s wrong with stk’s?” yuki grumbles, picking at her nails with a childish pout on her lips, “everybody isn’t born with a silver spoon plugged up our asses. god, i can’t stand rich people.”

you don’t bother answering the girls, already aware he chewed with his response, that he’s as sassy as he was years ago and that he had found that particular steakhouse shabby despite it being a fucking steakhouse. these were things you already knew. your thumbs proceed before your mind can register,

@yourstrulyname: been keeping tabs on me?

“you don’t look too happy,” shoko pokes at your cheek. there’s an ache creasing in your forehead, and you relax the furrow of your brows. you’re not exactly upset, just a bit on edge with his approach— you can’t tell whether he’s on tens or not. whether he’s genuinely joking around or not.

“i’m fine.” you poke back, and she nods. she ushers the other girls to pick a new movie to play, and you clock this is her way of allowing you some privacy between exes. you shoot her a grateful look, and she offers a sly wink. you’ll make sure to update her on whatever happens as soon as it’s over.

you switch your ringer off, and open his new message.

@gsatoru: hard not to when he posts you like he has smth to prove

@yourstrulyname: who said it was me?

you knew it was you. you knew he knew it was you. but still, you wanted to hear it from him yourself, wanted to know if he really was keeping tabs on you ever since the breakup. it’d help ease your mind with unanswered questions.

@gsatoru: you mean besides the bags and jewelry i got you?

@gsatoru: your build was a dead giveaway. could recognize you blindfolded in a room full of women

you bit your lip. you could work with this text, play around with it and see if shit flips. would he fall for the bait? you’ll start off slow, create an opening and see if he decides to indulge.

@yourstrulyname: like what you saw?

he answers instantly and your heart sinks a bit.

@gsatoru: of course

@gsatoru: you’re as a beautiful as the day you left me

is that how he saw it? you assume you did leave him in a practical sense, but there was no way he hadn’t seen it coming miles away. you had both been caught up in your lives, the additional stress of romance an unwanted factor in the rise of your careers. so yeah, you’d given him the opportunity to leave. it’s not as if he fought it anyway, so did you really leave him if he’d closed the door on his merry way out?

this was starting to get personal. toeing between the line of uncharted territory and familiarity. everything you didn’t want— debriefing the logic behind the underwhelming breakup on tinder of all places was out of the fucking question.

@yourstrulyname: you still cool with sukuna?

@gsatoru: something like that

@gsatoru: he’s slimey as fuck for sliding on you tho

you figured as much. you couldn’t imagine a world where gojo wouldn’t feel some type of way at his friend going after his ex girlfriend a couple months fresh off a breakup. he probably felt the same way towards you, the difference being one owes him more loyalty than the other.

@yourstrulyname: and what does that make me?

@gsatoru: did he mean something to you?

he didn’t. you think of the importance of somebody meaning something to you— the fear of losing that person larger than life itself. the joy of waking up in that person’s arms on a rainy morning. the vulnerability in bonding souls with that person. the relief your body undergoes as it melts in that person’s embrace.

he didn’t mean shit to you.

@yourstrulyname: no

@gsatoru: then that makes you someone who made a choice

neutral and impassive. you wondered if he truly meant that. in a sense, you assume he really did mature.

@yourstrulyname: so he’s in the wrong but i’m not?

@gsatoru: who am i to assign right from wrong? you’re both adults at the end of the day

you don’t know what to answer to that. there was a lot of truth to his words— you were both consenting adults with choices made. jeez, just what had gojo gone through all these months that made him none the wiser? you’re considering leaving him on opened for a while, at least until you come up with an answer to that philosophical ass message, when he double texts you.

@gsatoru: this is so backwards lmaoo. what’s good with you? how’ve you been?

so he realized it too. thank fuck— skipping small talk and diving into the nitty gritty this late at night was not how you expected your night to go. the girls had completely forgotten your predicament, invested in the latest reality tv show flashing on your flat screen.

@yourstrulyname: been good. you?

@gsatoru: wow you’re as dry as ever

@gsatoru: life’s been blessed, could be better tho. too much to explain over text

oh? was this what you were thinking it was?

@yourstrulyname: what are you getting at, gojo?

@gsatoru: gojo? so it’s fuck me then

@gsatoru: not getting at anything. ball’s in your court, yn

so it was. you contemplate it for a second— should you invite him over tonight? the girls won’t be upset about kicking them out, and if anything they’d encourage you to call them as soon as it’s over. you suppose your doubts lie within the idea of having your ex boyfriend back into your territory. in the comfort of your home, a home he’d once already graced.

as scary as it sounded, you also desperately craved seeing him. it’d been a solid eighteen months since you’ve broken up, and thirteen since you’ve last seen him entirely. ironically, around the time you started getting involved with sukuna. you weren’t sure if it was your heart or pussy talking, but laying up in bed with this man was not something you were against.

fuck it.

@yourstrulyname: you know where i stay at

and his response comes instantly.

@gsatoru: be there in half an hour.

oh fuck.

“yo. . .” you speak up, for the first time in a few minutes. the girls turn their heads, acknowledging you, as you shut your phone close and chuck it across the sofa. “i love y’all but y’all gotta go, like now.”

shoko shakes her head, but there’s a smirk on her lips. utahime, as lost as ever, gives you a frown. yuki has most likely caught on, rising to her feet, dusting her lap, “say no more.”

the girls do you an immense favour as they excuse themselves. they pick at empty bottles and containers, throw dirty dishes in the dishwasher, rearrange the throw pillows and even light up your candles. you feel bad for kicking them out so late, so you pitch in some money for gas as well as the inconvenience.

as they cleaned out your living room and kitchen, you’d rushed to your shower for a mini cleanse. pulling out your bests, you wash over intimate parts thoroughly, lathering your limbs in scented soap, before rinsing, brushing your teeth and stepping out. you stare at your reflection through the haze of steam, the foggy mirror reminding you of the missing messages he used to leave on mornings you had to get to work.

no point in dwelling on the past when he was on his way over this moment. you swap your silk robe for the skimpiest loungewear you own— matching camisole and shorts, and let your hair cascade back down. you’re about your fifth spritz of body spray when the doorbell rings, and your stomach flutters.

you halt in your step when you notice how fast you’re going. yikes! the last thing he needs is his ego inflating, knowing you were rushing to get him inside, nevermind the fact you washed, pulled out your sexiest pyjamas and even wore a brand new pair of panties. you know. . . just for preparations. better safe than sorry.

after the third mindless lap around your kitchen, you make your way towards the door. you inhale sharply, clenching at your shaky fingers, easing your nerves. you quickly snap out of your daze, pulling the door open.

his eyes, momentarily distracted by the number engraved in the wall next to your door, glaze over your figure curiously. his hands are tucked in the pocket of his sweatpants. he lets out a breath, a sound borderlining a chuckle as it shoots straight to both heartbeats, shoulders drop from its hunch,

“hey.”

he’s thick.

no perverted shit. you’ve noticed he’s put on weight in the right places— not to say he’d been anything less than nicely built in the past, but his biceps are significantly fuller and the material of his compression tee stretched over bulging muscles in a telltale pattern.

somebody’s been at the gym one too many.

“you good with this?” he mumbles, hand running across the smooth skin of your calf. with every stroke of his palm are fleeting memories of the past, burning deep into your limb. you hate the way your stomach sinks st the thought, “me being here and shit.”

“wouldn’t have let you in if i wasn’t.” you answer honestly, back pressed into the arm of the couch. you don’t understand how fast he’d gotten comfortable with being in your personal space just like that— you don’t understand how you’d allowed him in your personal space just like that.

he nods, and the air is eerily quiet. you watch with furrowed brows as he traces shapes into your skin with his fingertip, a frenzy of emotions resembling those of turbulence all in cerulean eyes. he’s torn— you can see it in the way his nose scrunches, as if he’s debating on whether he should voice out his thoughts or not. whether it’s worth debriefing— if this is his last shot or not.

with all this time passed, he’s still so easy to read.

“what is it?” you sigh, albeit irritated. the last thing you’d planned when you got rid of your friends in favour of having your ex over was this weird ass tension roaming. crazy sentence to speak— you know, but you were really hoping it’d be less talking involved and more sexing. it wasn’t that you were against conversing with him, but the way he was choosing to go about it was just so. . . awkward .

he senses the irritation laced in your question and immediately chuckles. his laugh sounds breathless, almost dry, but he shakes his head. his free hand swipes at his nose, a tic of his you noticed years ago whenever he’s feeling bashful or caught, and clears his throat.

“how’d you and sukuna happen?” he rips off the bandaid, and asks you the last question you wanted to hear. the tracing on your leg slows down, and your arms tighten a bit around your torso.

you let out a puff of air. if gojo notices your discomfort, he doesn’t mention it. in fact, he doesn’t pull the question back at all— he stares at you intensely, as if baring into your soul, as if the answer to his question will determine whether the boulder weighted on his shoulders will free him of restraint or not.

as if he still stood a chance or not.

“not much to say,” you shrug, as dismissive as possible. he doesn’t budge, the same intensity in his gaze and you roll your eyes, “honest to god. we broke up, he was there at the right time and shit happened.”

the words simmer into the stillness of the night, and he swipes his tongue over his lips pensively, “were y’all ever official?” he pushes, and you click your tongue against your teeth, offering him a deadpanned look. seriously, as if he didn’t know his own friend— in what world was sukuna anything worthy of official?

“god, no.” you shudder, and he nods again. “you know your friend.”

“i don’t,” gojo counters, momentarily wrapping his hand around your ankle. it fits as perfectly as it did all those years ago, where thumbs at your anklet— another prized possession he’d gotten you. your face heats in embarrassment, and he flicks his eyes to glance at you, a fleeting smirk on his lips, before staring back at the jewelry, “going after my ex girlfriend is not something i expected. i don’t know him at all.”

fair enough, you think to yourself. there has to be some lingering resentment towards you for the same reason. had the tables been turned and he’d gone after one of your closest friends, you would’ve cut him off from your life completely. you were being truthful— it wasn’t anything remotely serious with sukuna, not even close to how it’d been with gojo, but you could see it as a matter of principle. you’d already taken the initiative to break up with him first, and going after his homeboy?

god, you had questionable morals.

“it’s different with you,” he feeds in, as if he could read your thoughts. it was probably written all over your face, the scrunch in your brows never letting up. his index finger slides beneath the band of your anklet, the contrast of the silver shade lining perfectly against his complexion, “‘s hard to explain, but you broke up with me so you technically owe me no loyalty— besides, i get why you ended things. never blamed you.”

now that peaks your interest. he gets why you ended things with him? he never blamed you? you clear your throat, forcing the question out, “you do?”

“of course,” he shrugs naturally, as if it hadn’t taken you eons to conclude. as if it hadn’t broke you apart when you’d realized how unneeded you were, “i honestly expected it. you deserved better than what i was giving. you must’ve been lonely— work had always taken a big part of my time, and that left you behind in the dust.”

you’re waiting for the punchline. he continues, “i can’t lie to you— i was wishing you’d resort to cheating over breaking up. that way you’d still be mine, even if it was temporarily,” he chuckles, a soft shade of pink dusting over his cheekbones, as he sniffs, “corny, i know. but you didn’t deserve putting up with my bullshit, so you left. time is of the essence, and that was the one thing i never seemed to give you. you fell out of it— out of love, so. . . i’m sorry.”

words cannot seem to leave you. you’re left utterly speechless— that had been so far from the reason, the realization sitting bitterly at the pit of your stomach. anything, literally anything, would’ve been better than hearing him lie to you again.

“that. . .” you inhale a sharp breath, steadying yourself, “is nowhere near the reason why we broke up.”

he stops in his caress. you think he got whiplash from how fast his neck snaps, eyeing you incredulously. he genuinely seems so confused, and you hate it. to think he’d show up with some lame ass excuse, so far stretched from the truth of the matter, and expected you to believe that. to believe him.

he blinks slowly, “i don’t understand.”

you try to pull your leg away from his lap, feeling like he was stripping you bare of the last bit of dignity you had left, wanting to rip you open. he presses the weight of his hand lightly, urging you to stay near while simultaneously giving you the option to pull away. the ball was in your court yet again.

“wait— help me understand,” the pad of his thumb rolls over your ankle bone gently— far too intimately. your feet curl away, protectively, and his fingers stroke at the ball of your heel, “please. what drove you away? what was it i did?”

there’s a pang in your chest. does he really plan on keeping this up? right in your face? it was one thing wishing him well despite the obvious, but dragging it out even a year later was a bit much. inviting him over was starting to seem like a terrible idea.

“i fell out of love?” you parrot, unbelieving. “gojo— i’m not the one who fell out of anything. i gave you a way out, and you happily took it,” his face contorts into a deeper state of confusion. you huff, “i’m not blaming you for it or anything, but shit, don’t get up in here with lies to cover your ass.”

“lies?” he whispers, to himself, running his free fingers through tousled white locks. he stares at your anklet hardly, like the gift has all the answers he’s looking for. you don’t think he’s avoiding eye contact, but he seems so distraught, so out of the loop, that broadway ought to sign him to a new movie deal. what an actor.

“time is of the essence and you failed to give it?” you continue regardless, throat restricting as it burns in an emotion you’re far too familiar with. suddenly, you feel like you’re twenty five again, left to your own devices and thoughts in the emptiness of his apartment, dressed in your prettiest outfit and another failed date night. “i never gave a shit about that, i knew how much of a hardworking man you were. i took it to the chest— anything to keep you from leaving. you stopped loving me, gojo.”

his jaw falls slack, mouth gaping and you blink your lashes furiously to prevent tears from appearing. god, this was so humiliating, bearing your heart raw in front of your ex boyfriend, “y/n, i never—”

“spare me,” you scoff, mortified by the rush of emotions coursing through you. you take a deep breath in, calming yourself to avoid further explosive feelings, “this isn’t me saying i was the perfect girlfriend. i know i wasn’t— you know i wasn’t, and piling a spiralling partner on top of all the shit you were dealing with wasn’t an option. that’s fine,” it was fine. it didn’t matter, “doesn’t matter anymore. i broke up with you, you didn’t fight to stay, and we both moved on. shit happens.”

it hurt a lot. the sound of the door clicking shut, followed by the crack splitting in your chest. the run towards your bathroom, emptying your contents from both your stomach and heart. you were undeniably a mess, that period of time it took for you to recover. you would never voice it out loud, but you’d been praying he’d tell you just how wrong you were. how he needed you in his life. how you weren’t a burden to him. how he loved you enough to fight through it all.

he hadn’t.

there’s a soft hum in the silence. the sound of your clock ticking near the entrance door. the pounding of your heart against your rib cage. seconds turn into minutes of quietness, and it does no good to your mind. you’re focusing your gaze on the inanimate objects in your apartment, anything to dismiss the reality of the situation. your leg feels cold as his hand pulls away suddenly.

he rolls his tongue against his cheek. another tic of his— he’s formulating his word choice, carefully. you’d seen a ton of this before, though it usually followed a deep sigh and a you’re good baby, trust me. the more you’d see it, the more anxious you became. and christ, if that anxiety wasn’t forming right back.

it takes a while for him to speak, and every passing breath had your chest tightening. he runs his hand across his face, tiredly. when he pulls it away, there’s a melancholic smile on his face, “i think there’s a lot that needs to be addressed. jesus, i always knew you sucked at communicating but this is something else.”

you glare at him. he doesn’t mind it, continuing, “no, you weren’t the perfect girlfriend. but you were my girlfriend, and that’s all that mattered to me. you wanna talk about spiralling? nothing i’m not familiar with— you’re the only reason i didn’t let myself fall into that rabbit hole. you kept me going after graduation. i worked as hard as i did to make sure you wouldn’t have to lift a finger around me. that was the end goal— you were end goal.”

gagged is what you felt. nothing else pure shock. he doesn’t stop there. he isn’t merciful anymore.

“i know i didn’t go about it the right way,” a regretful puff of air is released, “i canceled on you often. our phone calls were shorter, our texts were vaguer and at some point i’d forgotten what you tasted like. but i never loved you any less. not once, even after we argued. not to say i’ve converted into those spiritual people, but you’re the closest thing to a soulmate i’ve experienced.”

shit, you weren’t tripping. he felt it too. fuck. the weight of his words made it impossible to steer him away. you want to intercept, to call him a liar and turn a blind ear at his confession, to shield yourself but how could you when every word he spoke broke the bricks you’d built down?

“i’m not an asshole— i could feel you slipping away. i did try my damned hardest to reel you back in, as you’d done with me. clearly that hadn’t worked how i was hoping it would,” a bitter laugh, or maybe a resentful one. towards you or himself? you wouldn’t know, “it’s because i loved you so much, i let you go. i knew i was losing you, and when you finally came to me, the right thing to do was agree. why keep you from reaching your fullest potential? you weren’t happy with me, trying to fight the inevitable was cruel.”

the inevitable. letting you go was the right choice to make because fighting the inevitable was cruel. he loved you so much he had to let you go because you deserved more than what he had to offer. you call bullshit— in what right did he have to make that choice for you? what right did you have to make that choice for him?

it’s too much at once. your eyes burn with a remorseful feeling, your heart aches in agony and your mind is clouded with thoughts. there your ex boyfriend sat, wide eyes still as blue as when he’d once been yours, presenting you his heart raw in cupped hands— and you still couldn’t find it in you to believe him fully. everything yet nothing made sense. vulnerability was a scary thing, and you weren’t ready to face it.

so, you kiss him.

his breath is taken out of his chest as you lean forward, sealing his mouth shut. you can’t take any more of his merciless words, and the only way to get your mind off it is by getting on it. he feels stiff against you, pupils dilating as you mould lips with his own. your hand travels to the back of his neck, sitting on your knees as you hold him still.

and with a faint lip smack, he pulls away ever so slightly, hands hovering awkwardly over your waist, his breath warm and fanning your cupid’s bow, “wait—”

“don’t wanna talk,” you interrupt, placing another chaste kiss on his lips. he tastes as good as the day you left him. and with another soft smack, your voice lowers, reduced to a whisper, “you gonna fuck me or not?”

he blinks and you stare back at him, full of conviction. a simple yes or no question— and he could gladly see himself out if his answer didn’t satisfy you. his hands finally rest on your waist, and you take it as an invitation to straddle over his hips. he eases your movements by aiding, lifting you just barely to sit on him. his hands fit just as they did all those times ago. a sour, bittersweet feeling— fingertips caressing the nakedness of your torso beneath your camisole.

your back arches as he finds your sensitive spots with quickness. he’d always been great at that, leaving trails of goosebumps past his teasing touches.

“you’re doing it again,” he mumbles against your lips, ever the hypocrite, fingers gripping at your waist like a vice. he rolls your hips over his own, reeling in the softness of your palms cupping at his face. you ignore him when he continues, still nibbling on his bottom lip the way he loves, “you can’t— mmh, avoid this forever.”

maybe not, but you sure as hell could right now. the tip of your noses bump into one another as you tilt your head, deepening the kiss. you want to rid your mind of these plaguing thoughts, ones that made you doubt everything you thought you knew. losing control was out of the question, so naturally you needed it back into your grasp.

sex was an easy way to do that.

“yes or no, gojo.” you give him one last chance, grinding your hips down on his awakening dick. you feel his bulge through his pair of sweats, the print so evident you wondered why he was trying to fight it. the sight alone had your panties dampening in your arousal, uncomfortably sticky against your loungewear.

he hums in between kisses, a false pretend of debating his options. his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your shorts and past your panties, fondling at the flesh that sat beneath. he could fake it all he wants, but fuck chivalry— he was turning to mush the more you sucked at his tongue, licking at the crevice of the roof of his mouth.

it’s when you sink your teeth into the flesh of pink lips, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to draw a moan from him, he comes to a conclusion. he nods his head, snaking his arms to wrap at your waist tighter as finally kisses you back.

“it’s always a yes.” for you. he doesn’t say it, doesn’t need to, but you hear it and dismiss it. no more lovey doveyness and time to get to the nitty gritty of shit— getting your back blown out. the very thought alone is enough to put a smile on your lips.

bingo.

your bedroom door hardly shuts before he pins you against it. he’s annoyingly big— tall in height and wide in weight. he towers over you comically, hands roaming at every inch of your body as he drinks you up. his lips seek yours desperately, sliding over your glossy ones with practice that suggests hints of comfort.

your arms loop at his neck, and his at your waist. his mouth hardly lets up of yours, mumbling a little jump, as you comply with ease. thighs trapping him in your hold, you then find yourself face to face with him as he lifts you, large palms cupping at your ass. you fit just as perfectly in his hands as you did years ago, flesh so fat he gropes it tenderly.

the walk from the door to your bed passes in the blink of an eye, a timeframe you find pointless to recall as you indulge in the taste of him through his tongue. his presence is so overwhelmingly powerful— every touch and caress at your body reducing your limbs to mush. you cling to him, either out of safety reasons or desire, tilting your head from side to side to deepen the lip-to-lip action.

when he gets to the edge of your bed, he lowers you until your toes reach the floor. due to the difference in height, your lips part, a thin string of saliva connecting from both your mouths as proof of your unison. the blue shade of his orbs darken with desire, eyelids lowering as he drinks up the sight of you— lips plump and swollen, slick in saliva, chest heaving from lack of oxygen.

he raises a hand from your waist to cup at your face, and you detest the way your lean into his touch. your cheek fits in his large palm, and he swipes a thumb at your bottom lip, collecting your shared spit onto the pad of his digit. as he smears the fluid further across your mouth, he prods his thumb a little further— testing out the waters, wanting to see if you’d cave into old habits.

naturally, you allow it, his thumb swallowed by your puckered lips. you roll your tongue over his finger and your eyes never leave his— hoping to convey the rush of emotions you feel through your sultry gaze. your core throbs in want, your stomach erupting in butterflies and your heart pounding unnecessarily. unspoken words you’re positive he understood, if the way he groans when your teeth sink lightly into his digit said anything.

“you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mumbles, popping his finger back out. it’s coated in saliva, and like the freak he is, pops it into his own mouth. once he’s had his fill, he removes his hand from his mouth, and lowers it to your fleshy waist, slipping past the waistband of your panties, “take these off— ‘m hungry, need a taste of that pussy.”

your cheeks nearly split from your excitement, and you comply to his order, gripping at the hem of your shorts to pull them down to your ankle. he assists you despite the previous demand, his own hands atop of yours, a warmth and sense of security so familiar. when your shorts reach past your mid thigh, you allow him to meet you halfway.

he pulls your shorts down to your ankles, lowering himself to a knee. his movements are agonizingly slow, basking in the sight of your thighs in contrast of the shade of your loungewear. he steadies a hand onto your calf, patting it lightly, and you lift your leg just barely, permitting him to slide the shorts off your ankle and tossing it aside.

when the item is discarded, he redirects his focus back to you. he pampers your skin in kisses— delicate but hungry, trails of moisture crawling back up at your inner thighs and shooting right to your core. he looked unexplainably sexy on his knees, littering your body in hushed praises, the tip of his nose nudging at your soft skin. you bit your lip in attempts to cease it from wobbling at the intimacy he was providing.

“god, you smell so good,” he speaks into you, hands snaking to the back of your thighs, pressing you forward into him. your panty covered cunt presents itself right before him, and he plants his nose right into your intimates, your body shuddering as his nose bumps into your clit deliciously. a shaky breath escapes you, and his hands travel upwards to play with your ass. “turn around, wanna eat it from the back.”

the words are taken from you when his hand slaps your ass encouragingly, releasing a mini squeal, “you’re still too freaked out.”

“mhm, something like that,” you don’t see it, as you’re occupied on spinning on your feet to plant your hands on your matters for stability, but you’re positive he’s smirking. your arch your back for him, wanting to properly present the meal he plans on devouring. your cunt oozes slick against your thong just thinking about how he’s going to do you in, “there’s that arch,” a hand slides in the curve of your lower back, before snapping the band of your thong. it recoils against your cheek and you jerk forward at the sting.

“oh? did that hurt?” he taunts, and as you’re about to protest, he does it yet again. the snap is intense but never painful, but the nerve he had to play around like your pussy wasn’t a few centimetres away from his face. you don’t acknowledge how your panties cling even tighter to your folds.

“fuck off,” you curse through gritted teeth, but your hips wiggle backwards in attempt to get him to hurry it up. as if now was any time to tease— you couldn’t stand it when he did it all those years ago, and your feelings haven’t changed since, “get on with it. . . the fuck?”

you hear him sigh, almost disappointedly, and it only aggravates you further. your brows furrow in annoyance and you think you feel a vein tick at your temple.

“still so disrespectful,” gojo tuts, rubbing at your booty tenderly. so he wasn’t exactly wrong, but how was he expecting you to react when he’d just said he was going to eat you out, and proceeds to do anything but that? of course there’s going to be a little pout on your lips, “we gotta work on that attitude of yours.”

your face twists into a look of further aggravation, and you tilt your head back, readying whatever other bratty objections you had— though you’re ultimately interrupted by a sharp sting that spreads across your ass.

the strike of his palm against your cheek sprawls into an intense heat, the pain oddly pleasurable, and the moan that rips out of your chest is impossible to suppress. your eyes nearly jump out of their sockets at the audacity, and right as you’re about to complain, he does it again. and again.

“o-okay, shit!” you attempt to voice out, but he’s relentless, delivering blow after blow onto the same ground. there’s a curve in his palm, and it amplified the sound across the room. despite your protests, you can’t deny every jolt of pain rushes to your clit. you’re positive he knows you’re enjoying this, “gojo— fuck, okayyy!”

to your pleasure, he eases the slaps, opting to smoothen his hand flat across the reddened flesh. he hums pensively, the heat of your skin radiating against his palm in a way that forces a smile on his lips, “ ‘okay?’ what do you mean by that, baby?”

you clench your teeth at his faux ignorance. you know exactly what he wants from you, and you’re not sure if you’re able to give it to him as you are. an apology— he wants you to apologize, that bastard. your left cheek stings like a bitch, even with his now gentle touches, and your core is begging you to cooperate with him, in order for that attention it was neglected of. he is such a dickhead— putting you in a predicament like this one.

you swallow the last bit of dignity you hold, a constant reminder in the back of your mind that this was for the greater good— for the sake of your pussy. with a pained sigh, you tilt your head backwards to meet his playful gaze that stares back at you, right below the plump of your ass, and you muster the cutest look you can give.

doe eyes paired with a little pout, “‘m sorry. . . for the attitude,” you’re not sorry at all, but you desperately want your cunt in his mouth, so you do what you have to do, “can you eat it now? please?”

he flashes you a million dollar smile, all thirty twos on full display, and it takes every ounce of willpower in you not to roll your eyes right then and there. he was so full of shit, his eyes might as well brown. but still, you knew he got off on this kind of thing, and when he presses a quick kiss at the print of your lips, he replies, “of course, sweet girl— only because you asked so nicely.”

there’s no further need to speak, as you feel your thong being pushed to the side, followed by a cold breeze hitting your bare cunt, meshed with warm breathe as he feasts .

gojo eats you out like he has something to prove, and you know what— maybe he does. to prevent you from straying from him, he grounds you with two firm hands gripping at your ass. he spreads the flesh apart, his tongue lapping at your slick greedily. you can’t tell who’s moans are louder— yours or his, the man so engaged in sucking at your clit, nibbling on the bundle of nerves with practiced ease. you hold onto the sheets on your bed with dear life, thighs trembling as you struggle to hold yourself up.

“fuck, don’t stop,” you whine, pushing your hips further back, your mind overcame with utter greediness for more of that insatiable pleasure. you might as well have swallowed him whole into you, just as he’s swallowing you whole into him, his tongue diving deep past your hole and into your folds. he flicks his tongue expertly, licking at every crevice and nook of your cave, his jaw working overtime as his bottom lip never lets up at your clit.

your entire pussy is consumed by him, no area going neglected— drool slips past his mouth and spills onto your floor. a familiar heat licks at the pit of your stomach, a telltale that your dam is bound to burst anytime soon. he remedies your ache with another painful spank at your ass, groaning into your pussy when you clamp down on his tongue.

he was so fucking nasty— fucking into you with his tongue like he needed this more than you did. he makes out with your cunt, like he was a starving man on death row. at a particular cruel angle of his tongue fucking, your body would react with an all consuming tremble, fingers clawing at your duvets, your lungs releasing pathetic mewls. and the further you pushed back into his merciless mouth, the closer his nose nudged at your puckered forbidden hole.

he pulls away with a gasp, subbing his mouth out for his fingers, the pads of three fingers rubbing messily at your sloppy lips. the sound it creates is downright filthy, so painfully loud that it damn near drowns out your own moans.

“pretty fuckin’ pussy,” he spits a wad of saliva at your already soaked cunt, further amplifying the squelching sounds. he drags his fingers down to your clit, pinching at the bud with enough pressure to have your knees buckling, before sliding back upwards to your clenching hole. he slides into your entrance, index and middle fingers twisting in with ease, “bet she missed me, hm?”

“y-yes!” you nod mindlessly, your high creeping up on you as he works himself into you. taking six inches of fingers twice was a task in itself— the average length of a man’s dick serving purpose as fingering was just downright disrespectful. his knuckles poke at your silky walls, stretching you out to the best of his abilities, “shit— oh fuck, ‘m gonna cum!”

to your statement, he latches his lips back to your neglected clit, sucking on the bud as if he were intentionally trying to milk you dry. he hums at your taste, the vibrations shooting right up your alley and into the knot tightening in your guts— and when he curls his fingers upwards, at that spot that has stars dancing beneath your eyelids, the dam breaks. that knot stood no chance.

“oh goddd,” you cry out, spraying your release all over. it dribbles out your pussy and past the lower half of his face, to which his jaw widens as his mouth gapes— greedily aiming to slurp at your juices while simultaneously flicking your bean. the stimulation has your brain going dumb, as you fall flat onto your bed, drool collecting at the corner of your mouth and staining your sheets damp.

he lets you ride out the euphoric bliss, the movements of his fingers and the lapping of his tongue slowing down the more your body reacted to the overstimulation. when he deems you well spent, he lets up, slipping his fingers out and popping them back in his mouth, swirling your taste across his pallets, “as sweet as ever,” rising back to his full height.

you haven’t came that hard in a while, limbs reduced to nothing as you merge into one with your bed. your legs are still trembling, and your chest heaves as you exhale deep breaths. letting your eyelids close shut, you take the time to regroup yourself from that mind shattering orgasm. who the fuck had he been fucking that forced him to keep this skill? granted, you had no right to complain but holy shit, he was no fucking noob.

you feel the weight of his body press on top of you, a well-built chest meeting your moist back. it doesn’t take much to realize he’s hovering over you. his lips litter kisses at the column of your neck, moving up to the shell of your ear, leaving a trail of goosebumps after each embrace, “you tappin’ out already?” gojo snickers at your shell of a body, and you kiss your teeth at his typical mockery, “what happened to my champ while i was gone?”

“fuck off,” you pout, a little embarrassed by the fact that you really were retired from the game. sure, you were getting dicked down real good by your previous partner (question mark), but it never had you as exhausted as you currently were. there was absolutely nothing gojo satoru couldn’t do, and that ticked you off to no end, “nobody said shit about tappin’ out.”

“hm. . .” he hums, nuzzling his nose into your jugular, his hips grinding into the cleft of your ass. it’s impossible to ignore the bulge poking into you, and you doubt he was trying to hide it regardless, his hips rolling against the plushness of your behind, “guess sukuna didn’t do as good of job as he should’ve.”

that has your eyelids opening right back up. talk about an awkward situation— bringing up you and your ex’s (question mark) sex life while having sex with your other ex was a double edged predicament in itself. had you agreed, which lowkey wasn’t entirely wrong, you’d be stroking the fuck out of gojo’s ego and be disrespecting sukuna. but had you disagreed, you could end up on gojo’s wrong side and fumble an entire night worth of dicking.

so, once more, you take the easy way out, at the expense of inflating the white haired man’s ego, much to your dismay, “think you can do better?”

he stays silent for a while. in what you assume is him coming up with an answer to your question, his kisses travel to the dead centre of your shoulder blades, wet and open mouthed, as they crawl lower down your spine. with every kiss, your body caves into a state of relaxation, as if he was undoing every stress clouding at your hazed mind with his mouth alone.

he lands at the middle of your back, before he pulls away abruptly. and just as soon as he started, he was finished— removing himself off your body entirely. panic settles quickly in your stomach, as you turn your head around to see what he was up to. had you unintentionally hurt his feelings? damn, and here you were enjoying the body worship.

“what are you—” your words are cut off as his hands cup at your waist. he slides you back towards the edge of the bed, your feet planted on the floor once more. you feel some residue of your previous orgasm beneath your heels, eugh. you don’t have much time to spend thinking about how gross it feels when a hand holds your shoulders, and lifts you right back up.

your brows jump to your hairline in surprise at the sudden manhandling, though you can’t deny you found just a bit sexy. with his chest pressed into your back once more, you can feel his heartbeat thudding at the blade of your left shoulder, the organ withholding a steady rhythm— the tempo of a lullaby you’d once been accustomed to. and then big arms wrap around your frame, and holds you.

you hate the way your body folds so easily to his touch. it’s been an entire year, and despite your mind shouting at you for the intimacy you’re allowing to gallop right back into your life, your heart craves it. the sense of security his embrace offers you alone makes the least of sense, but you blindly lean into him, allowing yourself to be deluded for the time being. he won’t be yours as soon as this is over, so you might as well take the most advantage of the situation.

it takes a minute for either of you to speak. here you stood— half naked and legs sore, but still happily in his arms. his cologne is still as rich and dominating as it’d been all those times ago. he breaks the silence first, his chin resting above your shoulder, as he mumbles, “you really hurt my feelings, you know.”

to some degree, you know you did. about what exactly? you weren’t sure, but still, you offer him what you believe he wants, the realization leaving a bitter taste in your mouth, “i’m sorry.”

“‘s all good,” he kisses your cheek so tenderly that your neck cranes to the side to meet his gaze. gojo had always been so readable when it came to emotions, as he always wore his heart on his sleeve, but even with all the knowledge you knew about, you weren’t prepared for the look in his eyes. raw, unfiltered emotions. you only notice the close proximity between you both when your noses bump into one another. he shoots you a warm smile, “could never be upset with you. you hold that power over me.”

it’s you who kisses him first, and he returns the favour with more intensity. it’s an awkward positioning for your neck, but you don’t let up regardless of the ache in your joints. his mouth stays on yours as if you were his lifeline, tongues sloshing one over the other, brushing your lips together so gingerly.

in the midst of his tongue down your throat, he slips a hand in between your thighs, cupping at your abandoned pussy. the casual brush of his fingers at your core sent a breathy whine from your throat right into his mouth, and it only motivated him to work harder, rubbing slow patterns into your throbbing clit. your hips chase the feeling, riding the wave of his fingers.

he pulls away from your mouth, just barely, mumbling against your kiss bitten lips, “one of these days you’re gonna let me finish speaking,” followed by a knowing smile. sure, it could be seen as a flaw, but it was the only way you could protect yourself while keeping him within arm’s reach. never ready to have him but never prepared to let him go, “we can do that later— gotta blow your back out first.”

you couldn’t agree more.

it all happens so quickly— he retrieves his hand from between your thighs, having collected your juices at his fingertips, before lubricating his dick. he pumps at the length leisurely, his bottom lip tugged by his top row of teeth, and the groans he lets out are enough to have you squeezing your thighs eagerly, your cunt aching and ready to go. in the midst of your eagerness, you slip your hand behind you and catch his twitching cock, working your wrist right above his own, jerking him off.

a deep groan grumbles from his chest, and he instantly stops your hand from moving any further. you frown at his ceasing, but when you tilt your head to voice out your confusion, he offers a sheepish smile, “don’t wanna cum too soon,” ever the minute man, he was.

though, you soon find yourself regretting your own thoughts the very instant you feel the tip of his dick pushing past your entrance.

there’s a blended harmony of both your moans that bounces off the walls. his fingers dig deep into the flesh of your hips, holding onto you so tightly you’re positive you’ll bruise, and you clamp down on his intruding dick so tightly you’re positive you never want to let him go. the initial stretch is a feeling you’ll never get used to, but the sensation is all but unwanted.

“fuckkk, y/n,” he moans right into your ear, his voice so full of want, you can’t help but understand exactly where he’s coming from. he pulls his hips back, almost entirely, though his tip stays inside. it takes him a second to regroup, mumbling incoherent words under his breath, before he plunges back into your cunt.

and from that point on, it’s wraps. he fucks into you like a madman— as if he’d been punishing you for your crimes. punishing you for sleeping with another man. punishing you for leaving him a year and a half ago. punishing you for punishing him. his pace is ruthless— hips meeting your ass as fast as he’d pull out, pounding into your little hole to mould it into the shape of him.

he’s thick, this time on perverted shit.

you’re so painfully full of him, and despite your arms stretched outwards to grip at the sheets that had suffered more than enough of your abuse on them, your walls never let go of him. you don’t want him to pull out ever, utterly obsessed with the rough pace he set from the jump. it feels impossible keeping the curve of your back when the tip of his length repetitively attacks at your golden spots.

“ohmygoddd,” you words come out slurry, head lolling forward uselessly. if he kept fucking you like this, you weren’t going to let him leave again. stuck in an endless loop of bliss, with every thrust into your folds, his balls would slap at your clit and drive you insane, “y’re d-doing me s’gooddd,”

“yeah?” he eggs on, his voice as breathless as you’d been, though his pacing would never suggest so. there’s a hypnotic recoil of your ass bouncing back onto his pelvis that indulges him into disrupting it, delivering a new spank at your cheeks. you cry out at the feeling, and he strikes again, hips never letting up, “tell me more baby.”

you rise at your tip toes when you feel yourself sinking, legs giving out yet again. you hold yourself up at your elbows, a newfound confidence pushing your hips back to match his pace. when he heaves out a loud moan, you’re encouraged to keep going. the melody of your skins slapping against each other echoes into the stillness of the night, arching your back the further he plunges into your guts. you’re so turned on, the evidence creaming around the perimeter of his cock, easing the slides of his dick inside of you.

“toruuu,” you whine, too fucked out to notice your first mistake— calling him by his favorite nickname. at that given moment, you couldn’t care any less, the intense heat in your guts growing once more. the curve of his dick reaches spots you don’t think anybody could reach, almost as if he was made entirely for you, “you’re so big— can feel you, nghhh, everywhere!”

“that’s cause i am everywhere,” you think you can hear him smirking behind you. though, he has every right to feel entitled, with how much of a mess he’s reduced you to. he rolls his hips deep, a firm bulge forming into your tummy. as if he’s got a sixth sense or eye, he leans forward to rest his chest against your back— your eyes rolling back from the new angle. he slides a hand beneath your stomach and presses at the bulge hard. you can’t help the squeal you let out, “that’s me right there.”

you nod your head feverishly, the applied pressure on your stomach pushing his cock right at your cervix. oh god, he was going to kill you. what a wonderful way to go— all judgements clouded in favour of an eight inched dick penetrating your walls, “‘s all yours— mmh, always been.”

and that’d been your final mistake.

because the chuckle he lets out right into your ear is dark. the sounds shoot right up to your spine, shivers crawling up your back deliciously. he might as well be back stabbing you with how his cock plunged so sloppily out of your gaping cunt, “you always knew how to, fuck, pillowtalk,” he pants into your neck, his additional weight onto your shaking frame nothing short on welcoming. the hand pressing into your stomach lowers to your clit, and pinches meanly at the bud, “you know i’d, mmh, give you the world if you asked— my smart girl, shit.”

he’s so cruel, talking to you so lovingly despite it all. you tighten your eyes, in poor attempts to ignore the tenderness of the words fleeting his lips and focus instead on the stretch of your cunt down his dick. you feel yourself creaming on him, further proof of both your unison through his diabolical thrusts. he pinned you into place like this— unable to do anything but take what he gave you gratefully.

at a particular stroke at your abused golden spot, your body releases another tremor of shudders. it overtakes you from head to toe, a moan so ripe escaping your lips as you claw at ruined sheets. gojo works into aiming at that spot over and over again, each thrust more intense than the previous one. the change of his pace, slowing for a minute, draws you near the end of the line quicker than you’d anticipated.

“oh?” he grunts playfully, swaying his hips back and forth into your poor pussy. mercy is nowhere to be found, however, “you like it when i fuck you like this?” another agonizingly beautiful thrust at the same place, you can’t help but reward him with a cry. he’s fucking you into the damn mattress, and he has the balls to ask this question knowing the answer. still, you nod your head mutely, tears collecting at your lash line, and he nips at the skin on your jaw, “yeahhh you do.”

god, you do.

and suddenly, you can’t bring yourself to remember why you’d ever let go of dick this good. the kind that would have you taking the rubber off and considering finishing inside. the kind that had you babbling apologies for having done absolutely nothing wrong. the kind that made you begin to believe his careless whispers, empty promises to work things out.

in the midst of your delusions, he pulls you both back up from the bed, standing once again. at this new position, he reaches impossibly further into you, the difference in your heights making up for the inches he’s dug into you. his fingers dig in the column of your throat, the weight of his hand wrapped tightly at your neck. he’s everywhere at once, but simultaneously no where to be found. while you can feel his tip prodding at your most sensitive spot, you don’t feel the overwhelming force of love he once bore with open arms for you.

or was it you were feigning you don’t? because as he works himself back into you, at a pace so tender yet cruel, the line of boundaries you’d once set has been entirely deterred. a force so overwhelming, just like his entire being, bringing you right back to him as if you’d never left— nevermind the fact your thighs could barely support themselves, quaking pathetically. it was getting too much— everything was a lot.

“nahhh. . . don’t start running now.” you didn’t realize you were. the sheets are crumpled in your tight hold, while your other hand lightly pushes at his lower abdomen. you were a trooper, but there was only so much pleasurable torture you could handle. naturally, he pins your wrist at your spine to maintain his ruthless pace, and with another gentle yet cruelly empty promise, he coos, “not when i’ve just gotten you back.”

how the fuck did you get yourself in this mess?

oh right. . . tinder. you had a bone to pick with the ceo of that app right after you come back to your senses.

“i— i can’t,” you fumble at your words, the lack of oxygen catching up to you. you’re bound to his mercy— hands tied, breath nearly restricted, pussy obliterated, and yet, there’s nowhere else you’d want to be. the pressure on your throat lolls your head backwards, chin facing the ceiling as your eyes fall onto snowy lashes, “gonna cum again— oh fuckfuckfuck,”

and despite his brutality, he shoots you a sweet smile, the contrast in his words versus his actions grand, “right behind you, baby.”

you cum, and hard . much harder than you had before. you gush your fluids down his piercing cock, your folds squeezing him tight as you release. you think your mind blanks for a minute, an orgasm so powerful, you fear your eyes would stay stuck at the back of your skull. you shiver in his embrace, the insatiable desire racking your body from top to bottom.

when he pulls out, you fall flat yet again onto your stomach, face first. you assume you look like a puddle of nothingness, your limbs spent from the overexhaustion. but still, you find yourself in a similar position to prior, as gojo leans over your body, a hand holding him up as the other works on his jerking him cum out. smart move, not finishing inside, though a weird feeling of disappointment sits in your stomach, swapping the fiery heat from your orgasm.

he sinks his teeth into your shoulders as you wince, emptying himself right onto your lower back. it runs hot and smooth into the dimples of your back, that you can’t help but stretch your limp arm towards the mess to collect the residue on your fingers. you pop them into your mouth, his taste still so familiar as he plops right at your side, face up.

there’s a thick silence that fills the sex scented room. you wonder what is going through his brain now that the lust demon that was half his ego had been taken care of. was he on the same page as you were? had he realized just how messy this could turn out? he’s too quiet for a man of his nature— and that terrified you shitless. no matter the outcome, you’re ready to kick him out. post nut clarity was a scary thing— it revealed the violent truth of how tempting the flesh could be, even with consequences on the line.

you want to beat him to it. the last thing you need on your consciousness is your ex boyfriend who’d you invited into your home a year after you broke up with him, leaving you. he seemed petty enough to do the eye for an eye shtick— it wasn’t too out of character for him.

with a heavy heart and sigh, you turn your head to the side where he lays comfortably. the words want to die in your throat, but your urge them out, the sooner the better, “you should—”

“no.” he interrupts, followed by a yawn.

you frown at that, brows scrunching as you insist that yet again, “you need to—”

“nah.” gojo cuts you off yet again, rolling onto his side. his dick falls limp onto your bed, and you don’t think about the mess it’s making. to be fair, you’d done far worse. and it was proven difficult to care about that mess when he brought a finger to play with your loose hairs, cerulean eyes zeroing in on them, “i’m tired. let’s get you cleaned up and go to bed.”

“you’re not listening to me.” you click your tongue, a little desperate to have him hear you. you’re scared to keep him around longer, because you know you’ll grow attached again and that already ended terribly once, and took you forever and a half to get over. he has to leave and right now, “you have to go.”

gojo hums at that. he stops the twirling of your hair, rather reluctantly, and finally meets your sharp gaze. he still looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, “why?”

you narrow your eyes, “you know why,” you shouldn’t have to explain why two exes cozying up after indulging into each other was a bad idea. common sense, you figured, but was it common sense to have him over in the first place? a flurry of various emotions coursing over you laced with exhaustion had you overthinking like a motherfucker, “this was a bad idea.”

he trails his finger along the slope of your clenched jaw, and you don’t think about the fact it immediately relaxed at his touch. the longer he traced your skin, the longer he kept looking at you like that, you were wavering in your own logic. you’d both gotten what you wanted in the first place, so why was it he was still here? the rational decision would be to pretend this never happened and part ways again, but why was the thought of him locking the door behind him once again at your expense making you feel sick to your stomach?

when his finger lands at your pouty lips, he taps his index finger twice against the flesh. naturally, your pout deepens. his eyes flick from your mouth to your shying gaze, and his index swaps for his thumb. he runs the pad of his finger across the reddened surface, and his voice falls a few octaves lower, hushed for nobody else but you to hear, “you don’t want me to leave.”

you don’t.

he takes your silence as acceptance, and plants a soft kiss to your lips. it’s enough to rid your mind of its plaguing doubts in the meanwhile. and when his hand slides to cup at the back of your neck, ultimately deepening it, you can’t find it in you to care about the consequences for the time being. not when he was swallowing you whole like he was the one terrified to feel you slip from his fingers. you melt into him far too easily.

well. . . that was something you’d deal with in the morning.

tinder: 1, you: 0.

now can y’all stop calling me a deadbeat 🙎‍♂️

[killmymind]

man man man. breaks my heart to think of 1d getting such a tragic ending..

[nashdoesstuff]

ship discourse my beloathed

[exopelagic]

this election feels so hollow even though it’s likely ostensibly gonna be a good outcome. labour really just sucks fucking ass rn huh

[kole-cooler]

Take it or Leave it

Shin Yuna x male reader

word count: 9K

It’s Friday night, and the week’s been a grind—exams looming, group projects sucking the life out of you, the usual college chaos. Your phone’s been buzzing on and off with Yuna’s texts all day, starting with some dumb meme about a cat in a wig, then escalating to her dropping flirty little jabs like “u surviving without me or what?” You play along, firing back with your own sarcastic quips, but deep down, it’s gnawing at you. The way she struts across campus like you’re a ghost, not even a flicker of eye contact when her squad’s around, it’s like you’re her dirty little secret. And yeah, maybe you are. Four months of this shit—her sneaking over, the two of you tangled up in your sheets—and still, you’re nothing to her out there. But tonight, she’s coming over again, and your stomach’s already twisting, half from want, half from dread.

The doorbell chimes, and there she is, bursting through the frame like she owns the place, her voice spilling out before the door’s even shut. “Oh my god, you won’t believe what Chaeryeong said to me today—she’s so extra, I can’t,” she’s rattling on, tossing her bag onto your couch like it’s her second home. You catch a good look at her, and fuck, she’s dialed it up tonight. She’s wearing this black satin slip dress, short enough that it’s riding the line between bold and reckless, the hem cutting off mid-thigh to show off those legs that could kill a man. The fabric’s got this subtle shimmer, clinging to her slim waist and flaring out over her hips—those wide, perfect hips that you’ve memorized by now. A cropped leather jacket’s slung over her shoulders, unzipped, giving it that effortless cool-girl edge, and underneath, the dress dips low, a little lace trim peeking out where it teases her chest. Her hair’s loose, dark waves spilling down her back, and she’s got these chunky silver hoops glinting when she moves. It’s sexy as hell, provocative without trying too hard, but chic enough that she could pull it off anywhere. She’s a walking Instagram post, and she knows it.

She spins around mid-sentence, all that energy zeroing in on you, and before you can blink, she’s bounding over, arms outstretched like she’s about to pull you into her orbit. Her lips are glossy, puckered for that kiss she always lands on you the second she walks in—half playful, half claiming. But tonight, you don’t budge. You just stand there, hands shoved in your pockets, jaw tight, letting her momentum crash into your stillness. Her lips hover an inch from yours, and you see the flicker of confusion in her eyes when you don’t lean in. She pulls back a little, tilting her head like a puppy who’s been denied a treat. “What’s up with you?” she says, half-laughing. You take a breath, feeling the weight of everything you’ve been swallowing for weeks piling up in your chest. “Yuna, we need to talk,” you say, voice low but steady, and her whole vibe shifts—she steps back, crossing her arms under that damn dress, her jacket sliding off one shoulder, and she’s staring at you now, lips parted, waiting for the bomb you’re about to drop.

“Maybe we should just stop seeing each other,” you say, letting the words drop like a brick on the hardwood floor. She freezes, her arms still crossed, that leather jacket slipping further down her shoulder. “What?” she says, voice spiking with disbelief. You shift your weight, rubbing the back of your neck, and say it again, slower this time, “I think we should stop this, Yuna. Whatever this is.” Her brows knit together, and she steps closer, heels clicking on the floor—she’s still got those strappy sandals with heels on, the ones that tie up her calves like she’s some goddess descending from Olympus. “Why the hell would you say that?” she asks, and her tone’s sharp now, like she’s daring you to keep going.

So you do. You let it all spill out, raw and messy, like you’ve been holding it in too long and the dam’s finally busted. “Because I’m sick of feeling like shit, okay? At college, you act like I don’t exist—like I’m some random dude you barely know. I’m busting my ass with these classes, trying to keep up, and then there’s you, waltzing around with your crew, pretending I’m not even on your radar. But here? In my apartment? It’s all good, right? You’re all over me, and I’m supposed to just be cool with that split? Nah, it’s fucking with me.” She blinks, lips parting like she’s about to interrupt, but you push on. “I’m starting to feel like you’re embarrassed to be seen with me—like I’m some loser you’d never admit to touching. It’s like I’m just your little plaything you pull out when you’re bored or horny, and I’m done with it.” Your chest’s heaving by the end, and you can feel the heat creeping up your neck, but it’s out now, no taking it back.

Yuna’s staring at you, and for a second, you think she might actually get it. But then she rolls her eyes, tossing her hair back with a little huff. “Oh my god, chill out. This is just a casual thing—we’re not dating, you know that. Why are you catching feelings over something that’s not even serious?” She uncrosses her arms, gesturing with her hands like she’s trying to wave your words away. “I’m not embarrassed of you. I just don’t see why it’s a big deal.” You laugh, but it’s bitter, hollow. “Not a big deal? Yuna, it’s not simple for me. I can’t just switch it off like you do. And yeah, maybe you’re not embarrassed, but it sure as hell feels that way when you won’t even look at me in public. Like that time I came up to you when you were with your friends—middle of the quad, broad daylight—and I asked about the project? You brushed me off, said, ‘Text me about it,’ and walked off without a second glance. Didn’t even introduce me, didn’t even pretend I was worth a damn to you. I felt like a fucking idiot.”

Her face shifts—she remembers that day, you can tell by the way her lips twitch, but she doubles down anyway. “I’ve always treated you fine! I come over, we hang out, we have fun. I don’t get why you’re making this a thing.” She’s pacing now, sandals clicking again, her dress swishing with every step. You shake your head, leaning against the counter to steady yourself. “If it’s not a thing, then why can’t you talk to me out there? Why’s it always gotta be this secret shit? I’m telling you, it’s better if we end it here. You can find some other guy to mess around with—someone who’s cool with being your shadow.” That flips a switch in her. Her eyes narrow, and she stops pacing, planting herself right in front of you. “Oh, please,” she snaps. “You’re the one who’s pissed because I won’t parade you around like some trophy. What, you think I’m using you? Maybe you’re the one chasing me, trying to ride my coattails because I’m popular and you’re—what—just some nerd who got lucky?”

You can’t help it—you laugh again, loud and sharp, cutting through her bullshit. “That’s rich, Yuna. Yeah, I’m totally the one taking advantage here. I’m the one sneaking over to your place, right? Oh wait, no, that’s you.” She glares, cheeks flushing pink, and you can tell she’s not used to this—being called out, being rejected. She steps closer, voice dropping low. “You’re ruining my night, you know that? I was so pumped to come over, kick back, watch that stupid horror movie you’ve been on about. I even brought snacks—those sour gummy worms you like.” She points at her bag on the couch, like that’s supposed to fix everything. You smirk, leaning in a little. “Yeah, and you were also pumped to fuck me, right? That’s the routine—movie, snacks, then you’re climbing on top of me like clockwork.” Her jaw drops, and she looks genuinely offended, hand flying to her chest. “Wow, rude much? It’s not like you’re complaining in the moment—you’re just as into it as I am!”

And that’s the kicker. The way she moves, the way she tastes, the little gasps she lets out when you’ve got her pinned under you—it’s like a hit of something strong, something you can’t shake. “Yeah, I am,” you admit, voice quieter now, “and that’s the problem. It’s too good, Yuna. You’re too good. It’s like a drug, and I’m hooked, and that’s why I’ve gotta cut it off before I’m in too deep.” She stares at you, lips parted, and for once, she doesn’t have a comeback ready.

The silence stretches out for a beat too long, and then Yuna’s voice cuts through it, soft and low. “Okay, fine… if that’s how you feel, then this’ll be the last time.” She’s looking at you with those big, dark eyes, and there’s something in them—maybe a flicker of hurt, maybe just stubbornness—but it’s enough to make your stomach twist. You shake your head, leaning back against the counter, hands gripping the edge. “Nah, Yuna, I don’t think that’s a good idea. We’re trying to end this, not drag it out.” She steps closer, her sandals clicking softly, and her voice firms up, sharper now, like she’s made up her mind. “No, listen—I’m here, right? I didn’t haul ass across town for nothing. Let’s make it the last fuck, then. One more, just to say goodbye proper.” She’s right in front of you now, close enough that you can smell her perfume—and it’s hitting you hard, stirring up that familiar ache.

She reaches out, her fingers brushing your chest through your shirt, light but deliberate, and it’s like a jolt straight to your core. You clench your jaw, trying to hold your ground, keeping your hands locked on the counter so you don’t give in and grab her. “Come on,” she murmurs, leaning in, her lips hovering near your ear, breath warm against your skin. “Please, I know you want it too. Don’t make me beg.” Her hand slides lower, grazing your stomach, and your resolve’s crumbling fast. You sigh, loud and ragged, and before you can stop yourself, your hands are on her hips, pulling her closer. “Fuck it,” you mutter, voice rough, “this is the last time, Yuna. The farewell fuck, that’s it.” She’s already nodding, her lips crashing into yours, hungry and messy, and between kisses she’s gasping, “Yeah, last time, promise.” You’re tugging that leather jacket off her shoulders, letting it hit the floor with a soft thud, and she’s pressing herself against you, all heat and curves.

You stumble toward the couch, half-guiding, half-dragging her, and she’s giggling—low and breathy. You collapse onto the cushions, pulling her down with you, and she lands on your lap, straddling you for a split second before you roll her under you. Your mouth’s on her neck, kissing and nipping at that soft spot just below her jaw, and she lets out this little sigh—half moan, half surrender—that sends a shiver down your spine. Your hands slide up her sides, finding her small, perky tits through that satin dress, squeezing just enough to make her arch into you. “Goddamn, you’re too much,” you mutter against her skin, and she laughs, tugging at your shirt. You pause, sitting up to yank it over your head, and her eyes rake over you—chest, abs, the whole deal. “You’re so fucking hot,” she says, grinning, reaching out to run her nails lightly down your stomach. It’s cheesy as hell, but it still gets you—except tonight, you’re not in the mood for her commentary.

“Shut up,” you say, diving back in to kiss her hard, swallowing whatever smartass reply she’s got lined up. Your tongue’s in her mouth, and she’s melting under you, but then she pulls back just enough to whisper, “Gonna be tough—I can’t keep quiet when you’re fucking me. You know you love it when I get loud.” She’s right, and that’s the problem—her voice, those little gasps and whines, they’ve got hooks in you, and tonight you need this to be clean, primal, no strings. “Then I’ll keep your mouth busy,” you shoot back, smirking, and you shift off her, sitting up. “Get on your knees.” She doesn’t hesitate, sliding off the couch with this wicked little gleam in her eyes. Before she drops, she reaches down, shimmying that black satin dress up over her head in one smooth motion—leaving her in just a lacy black thong and those sandals still strapped around her ankles. The sight of her—tan skin, curves bare and glowing in the low light—almost knocks the air out of you.

You’re on your feet now, kicking off your jeans and boxers in a rush, and your cock springs free, already hard as hell, aching from just the thought of her. She’s kneeling in front of you, looking up with that mix of defiance and want that’s pure Yuna, her hair spilling over her shoulders, framing her face. “Last time, huh?” she says, voice teasing, but there’s a tremble in it—like she’s feeling the weight of it too. You don’t answer, just step closer, and she reaches for you, her fingers brushing your length before you tangle a hand in her hair, guiding her where you want her. The room’s quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the sound of your breathing, and you know this is it—the final hit of her before you try to quit cold turkey.

You’re standing there, one hand still tangled in her dark hair, the other gripping the back of the couch for balance, and you look down at her—kneeling, bare except for that skimpy thong and bra—and you can’t help but feel the weight of this moment. “Memorize it good, Yuna,” you say, voice rough, edged with something raw. “This is the last time you’re getting anywhere near my cock, so make it count, 'cause you're gonna miss it.” Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and there’s this spark in them—part challenge, part hunger—and fuck, it’s like pouring gas on a fire. She doesn’t say anything right away, just leans in closer, and you feel her breath hot against your skin as she drags her nose along the length of you, inhaling deep like she’s savoring it. Then her tongue darts out, slow and deliberate, tracing from the base all the way up to the tip, leaving a wet streak that’s got your knees twitching. She’s kissing it now—soft, teasing little pecks along the shaft, down to your balls, where she lingers, sucking gently, and it’s so damn good you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from groaning too loud. The way she’s working you, it’s like she’s putting on a show just for you, and it’s flipping every switch in your brain.

She pulls back for a second, lips shiny, and smirks up at you. “Goddamn, I’m gonna miss this cock so much,” she says, her voice all husky and low, like she’s confessing some deep, dirty secret. “It’s my favorite, you know? Perfect size, perfect everything. Gonna be a crime not having it anymore.” She’s laying it on thick, and you’re caught between rolling your eyes and getting lost in it because, shit, she knows exactly how to play you. Her hands are on you now, one wrapped around the base, stroking slow while her tongue flicks over the tip, and you can’t tell if she’s for real or just fucking with you to keep you hooked. Either way, it’s working—your dick’s throbbing, and every little move she makes is winding you up tighter. Then she takes you into her mouth, full-on, lips sliding down until you’re hitting the back of her throat, and it’s so wet and warm and tight that your head tips back, a low curse slipping out before you can stop it. There’s nothing in the world like watching her suck you off—those pink lips stretched around you, her cheeks hollowing out, the little slurping sounds she makes like she’s starving for it.

She’s bobbing her head now, steady and deep, but then she pulls off just enough to talk, her hand still pumping you, keeping the rhythm. “You know,” she says, voice muffled around you, “I was so fucking jealous when Yeji dropped that bomb about hooking up with you. Just casual, like, ‘Oh yeah, that guy you doing the project with? We fucked at that party.’ Like it was nothing.” She’s licking you again, long, slow stripes, and her eyes don’t leave yours, like she’s daring you to react. “And then she started going on about your dick—how big it was, how she couldn’t believe I hadn’t jumped you yet. I was standing there, fuming, thinking, ‘No way this bitch gets to have him and I don’t.’ So I made my move—stole you right out from under her nose before she could even think about round two.” She laughs a little, soft and smug, then sinks back down, taking you deep again, and you feel her throat flex around you. “Yeji was cool about it, though—she’s a real one. Said she wasn’t gonna fight me over some guy. Lucky for me, huh?”

You’re barely processing her words, caught up in the heat of her mouth and the way she’s working you like she’s trying to etch herself into your memory. But it’s too much—her voice, her story, the way it’s all tangled up with how you feel. “Shut up, Yuna,” you growl, tightening your grip in her hair, pushing her back down. “Just keep sucking.” She hums around you, obedient for once, and dives back in, harder this time, her tongue swirling over the tip every time she pulls up, her hand twisting in this perfect rhythm that’s got your head spinning. You can see her thighs pressed together, like she’s getting off on this as much as you are, and it’s driving you wild—the idea that she’s this into it, that she’s claiming you in her own fucked-up way. Her cheeks are flushed, and she’s making these soft, needy noises that hit you right in the gut. You’re not sure what’s true anymore—whether she’s really gonna miss you or if she’s just spinning a line—but right now, with her on her knees, worshipping your cock like it’s the last time, you don’t give a shit.

Yuna’s relentless, her mouth working you like she’s got something to prove, and she’s not letting up with the dirty talk either. She pulls off for a second, just enough to catch her breath, and she’s grinning up at you, spit glistening on her lips, her tongue flicking out to tease the tip of your cock. “You like this, don’t you?” she purrs, voice all sultry and rough. “Me down here, choking on you, making a fucking mess of myself.” It’s obscene, how perfect she is, all that polished campus-queen vibe turned into something cheap and nasty just for you. “Look at you,” you say, voice low and biting, “you look like a fucking slut right now.” It’s harsh, but it’s true, and you mean every word.

Her eyes light up at that, like you’ve just paid her a compliment, and she lets out this wicked little laugh. “Then I’m your slut,” she shoots back, leaning in to kiss the underside of your cock, slow and sloppy, leaving a trail of spit that drips down to her chest. “Yours to fuck however you want.” She’s baiting you, and she knows it—knows how her words twist you up, how they make you want to give in and let her have it all. But she’s pushing too far, talking too much, and you’re not about to let her take control of this. You need her quiet, need to shut that pretty mouth up before she worms her way deeper into your head. So you grab a fistful of her hair—those silky waves bunching up in your hand—and yank her forward, hard. “Enough talking,” you growl, and then you’re shoving your cock back into her mouth, past those glossy lips, all the way until you feel her throat clench around you.

She gags a little at first, eyes watering, but she doesn’t pull back—fuck no, she leans into it, like she’s been waiting for you to snap. You start thrusting, rough and fast, holding her head steady so she’s got no choice but to take it. Her hands fly up to your thighs, nails digging in, and the sounds she’s making—wet, choked little moans vibrating around you—are pure sin. You’re moaning too, can’t help it, because her mouth’s a fucking dream—hot and tight, that tongue still trying to swirl around you even as you’re pounding into her. “Yeah, that’s it,” you mutter, voice ragged, “take it like you love it.” And she does—she’s a mess now, mascara streaking down her cheeks, lips swollen and red, spit slicking her chin, and it’s so goddamn satisfying to see her like this. That perfect, pampered face—always so untouchable at college, always too good for the likes of you—getting ruined, all because she can’t get enough of your cock.

Her bra’s slipping, one strap falling off her shoulder, and her tits are bouncing just enough to drive you crazy as you keep up the pace. She’s trying to say something, muffled words garbled around you, but you don’t let up—don’t want to hear it, don’t need her sweet-talking her way out of this. “Fuck your face feels good,” you groan, tightening your grip in her hair, and she whimpers, eyes fluttering shut like she’s lost in it. You can feel the heat building, that tight coil in your gut winding up fast, but you’re not ready to blow yet—not until you’ve pushed her as far as she can go. She’s drooling now, a steady stream of spit spilling down onto the floor, and the sight of her like that—kneeling, wrecked, totally at your mercy—has your head spinning. “Look at you,” you pant, slowing just enough to let her catch a ragged breath, “fucking gorgeous and filthy all at once. Bet your fancy friends wouldn’t believe it, huh?” She tries to nod, or maybe it’s a gag, but you’re already moving again, slamming back into her throat, the rhythm of your hips relentless as you fuck Yuna’s face, no holding back, no mercy—just raw, animal need driving every thrust.

Her mouth’s a perfect mess around you, wet and tight, and she’s choking on your cock, little gags and sputters escaping every time you push in deep. Those big, dark eyes lock onto yours, watering like crazy, tears pooling at the corners and streaking down her cheeks, but she’s not backing off—she’s taking it, every brutal inch, like she’s daring you to keep going. Her mascara’s a disaster, black smudges framing her gaze, and her lips are swollen, stretched wide around you, spit dripping down her chin in sloppy strings. “Fuck, you’re such a slut,” you grunt, voice rough and low, and it just spills out—you can’t stop it, not when she’s looking up at you like that, wrecked and willing. She moans around you, a muffled little hum that vibrates through your cock, and it’s like she’s agreeing, reveling in the name.

Your hand tightens in her hair, fingers twisting into those dark waves, and you pull hard, angling her just right so you can slam even deeper. Her throat’s convulsing around you, squeezing every time you hit the back, and the sound—wet, messy, obscene—fills the room, mixing with your own ragged breathing. “Yeah, choke on it,” you mutter, half to yourself, half to her, and she does, her eyes fluttering shut for a second as she gags hard, but then they snap back open, fixed on you again, like she’s begging you to see her take it. You’re moaning louder now, can’t help it—low, guttural sounds ripping out of you because her mouth’s so fucking perfect, so hot and sloppy, and the sight of her like this—kneeling, ruined, all that campus-princess polish stripped away—is pushing you right to the edge. “Love this, don’t you?” you pant, thrusting harder, feeling the pleasure coil tight in your gut. “Love me fucking your pretty little face.” She can’t answer, not with you buried in her throat, but her hands grip your thighs, nails biting into your skin, and that’s enough.

You go deeper, as deep as you can, your cock lodged so far down her throat you’re sure she can barely breathe. Her whole body jerks with each thrust, tits bouncing in that flimsy bra, heels digging into the floor like she’s bracing herself. You’re close—fuck, you’re so close—and you can feel it building, that hot, electric rush surging up your spine. “Gonna cum,” you groan, voice breaking, and she makes this desperate little noise, eyes pleading even as they water more. You thrust once, twice, then hold her there—head yanked back by her hair, your cock shoved all the way in—and you let go. You cum hard, pulsing deep in her throat, thick and hot, and she’s choking, coughing around you, but she doesn’t pull away. She swallows it all, every drop, like the good little slut she said she’d be, her throat working against you as you empty yourself into her. It’s intense, almost too much, and your legs are shaking as you ride it out, keeping her there, softening in her mouth while she struggles to keep up.

Without even thinking, your hand loosens in her hair, and you start stroking it—gentle, absentminded, like some weird reflex kicking in while you’re still coming down. She’s trembling, chest heaving, and you finally pull out, slow and deliberate, your cock slipping free with a wet pop. Yuna gasps, gulping air like she’s been underwater, panting hard as she slumps back on her heels. Her face is a total fucking wreck—mascara streaked down to her jaw, lipstick smeared, spit and cum glistening on her chin—and it’s gorgeous in the most fucked-up way. You grab a handful of tissues from the coffee table, crouching down in front of her, and start wiping her face, soft and careful, tracing over the mess you made. “You okay?” you ask, quieter now, a little worried you went too far. She looks up at you, still catching her breath, and then she smiles—weak at first, then breaking into this raspy little laugh. “I’m fine,” she says, voice hoarse, “just… gimme a sec to breathe, yeah?”

You nod, standing up and dropping onto the couch, your own chest still heaving as you try to recover. She crawls over after a minute, still in that bra and thong, heels clicking faintly as she moves, and plops down next to you, snuggling in close. Her skin’s warm against yours, her head tucking into your shoulder, and it’s weird—soft and intimate after all that roughness. “Can I crash here tonight?” she asks, voice small, almost shy. You hesitate, rubbing a hand over your face. “I dunno, Yuna. Not sure that’s smart.” She shifts, propping herself up to look at you, her hair falling messy over one eye. “Come on, it’s the last time, right? One night won’t kill us. Be nice to just… chill, y’know? After all this.” She’s got a point, and you’re too wiped to argue hard. You sigh, slumping back into the cushions. “Fine, yeah, okay. Just tonight.” She grins, snuggling back in, her body curling against yours like she’s already settled, and you’re left staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about everything that's happening right now.

Her body shifts, warm and soft against yours, and before you can fully register it, her lips are on you—slow, lazy kisses trailing across your chest, her breath hot against your skin. Her hand slides down your stomach, fingers brushing over your softening cock, and she gives it a gentle squeeze, coaxing it back to life. “Gonna miss this so fucking much,” she murmurs, her voice low and husky, lips hovering near your collarbone as she strokes you slow and steady. You feel that familiar twitch, the heat creeping back in, and you can’t help but let out a quiet, “Yeah, me too,” your voice rougher than you mean it to be. It’s true—she’s got you hooked, and even if this is supposed to be the end, the thought of not having her like this again stings more than you’d admit.

She pauses, her hand still wrapped around you, and looks up, those dark eyes narrowing just a bit. “This isn’t about Yeji, is it?” she asks, and there’s an edge to her tone—like she’s fishing for something, testing you. You shake your head, meeting her gaze dead-on. “Nah, Yuna. It’s just you. All this shit—it’s about you, not her.” She doesn’t say anything for a second, and you can’t tell if she’s pissed or pleased—maybe both. Her lips part like she’s about to snap back, but instead, she crashes her mouth into yours, hard and needy, kissing you like she’s trying to prove a point. It’s all teeth and tongue, messy and desperate, and your hands are on her before you can think, fumbling with the clasp of her bra. It’s one of those flimsy lace things, and you get it undone in a snap, letting it fall to the floor as her tits spill free—small, perfect, begging to be touched. She’s stroking you faster now, and your cock’s fully hard again, pulsing in her grip, ready for round two.

You pull back from the kiss, both of you breathing heavy, and she’s got this wild little smirk, like she knows she’s got you right where she wants you. “Fuck the couch,” you mutter, grabbing her by the hips and hauling her up with you. She lets out a surprised little yelp, but it turns into a laugh as you spin her around, pushing her toward the wall by the kitchen. Her hands brace against it, palms flat, and she arches her back, sticking her ass out like an invitation. You’re right behind her, pressing up against her, your cock nudging her thong to the side—no time to take it off, no patience for it. “Goddamn, you’re unreal,” you say, voice low in her ear as you line yourself up, feeling how wet she is already, slick and hot against you. She shivers, tossing a look over her shoulder. “Just fuck me already,” she says, half-pleading, half-demanding, and you don’t need to be told twice.

You slide in, slow at first, just the tip, teasing her until she’s pushing back against you, desperate for more. Then you thrust hard, burying yourself deep, and she gasps—loud, sharp, echoing off the walls. “Fuck, yes,” she moans, her voice breaking as you start moving, pounding into her from behind. Her hips rock back to meet you, matching your rhythm, and the sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, raw and filthy. You’ve got one hand on her waist, the other gripping her shoulder, pulling her into every thrust, and she’s taking it all, her body trembling but holding steady. “Miss this too much,” she pants, her words choppy between gasps, “your cock—fuck, it’s so good.” You smirk, leaning in to nip at her neck, tasting the salt of her skin. “Told you I’d miss it,” you say, driving deeper, feeling her tighten around you, hot and perfect. “But this is it, Yuna—last fucking time.”

She doesn’t answer, just moans louder, her nails scraping the wall as you fuck her harder, the pace brutal now, chasing that edge again. Her thong’s bunched to the side, cutting into her skin, and those heels make her legs look endless, trembling every time you slam into her. You reach around, sliding a hand down her stomach, fingers brushing her clit, and she jolts like you’ve shocked her, a high-pitched whine spilling out. “Shit, right there,” she gasps, head tipping back against your shoulder, and you keep it up, rubbing tight circles while you pound her, her whole body shaking. “You’re such a dick,” she mutters, but it’s breathy, almost a laugh, like she’s loving every second of this. “Yeah, but you love it,” you shoot back, voice strained, feeling the pressure build again, your cock throbbing inside her.

You’re deep in it now, hips slamming into Yuna’s tight little pussy with a rhythm that’s borderline feral, every thrust rocking her against the wall like you’re trying to leave a permanent mark. She’s so fucking wet—dripping, slick, the sound of it loud and obscene every time you drive in, her thong still shoved to the side and soaked through. You can feel her squeezing around you, hot and greedy, pulling you in like she can’t get enough, and it’s got your head spinning, every nerve lit up. She’s moaning your name now, over and over, her voice all high and desperate—“Fuck, yes, harder, please”—and it’s like gasoline on the fire, making you want to wreck her even more. Her heels scrape the floor as she tries to brace herself, legs trembling, but you’re not giving her an inch to recover. This is too good, too raw, and you’re not stopping until she’s completely undone.

You shift your grip, grabbing both her arms and yanking them back, pinning them behind her with one hand. It’s rough, controlling, and she fucking loves it—you can tell by the way her back arches even more, her ass pushing out to meet you, giving you full access to pound her harder. “Oh my god, yes,” she gasps, her head tipping back, hair sticking to her sweaty neck, and you’ve got her totally at your mercy now, her body bending to your will. Her tits bounce free with every slam, small and perky, and the sight of her like this—helpless, pinned, taking it like a champ—sends a jolt straight through you. “You like that, huh?” you growl, leaning in close, your breath hot against her ear. “Me holding you down, fucking you senseless?” She nods, frantic, her breath hitching. “Fuck yeah, I love it—don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop.”

You tighten your hold on her arms, pulling her back harder so her spine curves just right, and you can hit that spot that makes her go wild. “Look at you,” you say, voice dripping with heat, “taking my cock like a good little slut—fucking perfect.” She whimpers at that, a shaky little sound that’s half pleasure, half surrender, and you can feel her pussy clench tighter, like she’s trying to milk you dry. The wall’s creaking under the pressure, her hands flexing where you’ve got them trapped, nails digging into her own palms. “Shit, you’re so deep,” she pants, her voice breaking, “ruining me—fucking ruining me.” And you grin, wicked and sharp, because that’s exactly what you want—to leave her a mess, to make sure she feels this long after you’re done.

Your free hand slides up her side, rough and possessive, gripping her waist, then her tit, squeezing hard enough to make her hiss. “This tight pussy’s all mine right now,” you mutter, slamming in again, watching her shake with it. “Nobody else gets you like this—nobody.” She moans louder, a slutty little “uh-huh” slipping out, and you can tell she’s losing it, her whole body trembling, thighs quivering like they might give out. You let go of her arms for a second—just long enough to grab her hips with both hands, spinning her around so her back’s flat against the wall, her legs instinctively wrapping around you. She’s panting, eyes half-lidded, lips parted and shiny with spit, and you dive back in, thrusting deep, her arms looping around your neck to hold on. “Fuck me up,” she whispers, right in your ear, hot and needy, “make me feel it tomorrow.”

You’re pounding her so hard the wall’s rattling, her heels digging into your back, urging you on, and she’s clawing at your shoulders now, nails leaving red streaks that sting just enough to keep you sharp. “You’re so fucking hot like this,” you say, voice rough and strained, “all desperate and slutty—can’t get enough of my cock, can you?” She shakes her head, frantic, her breath catching every time you bottom out. “No, fuck, I can’t—feels too good, gonna—shit, gonna lose it.” Her pussy’s gripping you like a vise, tight and wet and perfect, and you can feel the pressure building again, that hot, heavy pull in your gut. But you’re not there yet—not ready to let go—so you slow it down just a notch, grinding into her deep and deliberate, making her feel every inch. “Take it slow, baby,” you tease, smirking against her neck as you nip at her skin, “let me fuck you proper—gonna savor this tight little cunt while I’ve still got it.”

She’s whimpering now, clinging to you, her hips rolling to meet every thrust, and the way she’s pressed against you—sweaty, shaking, totally fucked out—is driving you wild. “You’re such an asshole,” she gasps, but there’s a grin in her voice, like she loves you for it. “Yeah, but you’re still begging for it,” you shoot back, picking up the pace again, slamming her into the wall so hard her breath stutters. “Fuck, Yuna, you’re killing me—gonna miss this pussy so bad.” And she just nods, too gone to argue, her moans turning into these broken little cries that hit you right in the chest, pushing you closer to the edge but still holding off, determined to drag this out as long as you can.

You’ve got Yuna pinned against the wall, her body trembling under you, legs hooked tight around your waist as you keep hammering into her. Her pussy’s so tight it’s unreal, gripping you like a vice, all hot and slick, and she’s losing it—moaning your name in these broken, needy little gasps that make your blood burn. You’re relentless, hips snapping hard, driving your cock deep with every thrust, and she’s taking it like she was made for it, her nails clawing at your back, leaving raw streaks that sting in the best way. “Fuck, you feel so good,” you growl against her ear, nipping at her lobe, and she shudders, her breath hitching as you hit that spot inside her that makes her whole body tense. “Yeah, right there,” she whines, voice all slutty and desperate, “don’t stop—please, don’t fucking stop.” Her submissiveness is killing you, the way she’s begging, totally at your mercy, and you’re loving every second of ruining her like this.

You shift your grip, one hand digging into her hip, the other sliding up to squeeze her tit, thumb flicking over her hard nipple. “Look at you,” you say, voice rough and thick with lust, “such a needy little slut—my big cock’s wrecking you, huh?” She nods, frantic, her eyes half-lidded and glossy, lips parted as she pants, “Yes, fuck, yes—wreck me, please.” You smirk, leaning in to kiss her hard, sloppy, tongues clashing as you pound her harder, the wall thudding with every slam. Her pussy’s dripping down your cock, soaking you, and the wet slap of your bodies colliding is loud enough to fill the whole damn apartment. She’s close—you can feel it in the way her walls flutter, the way her moans turn into these high-pitched whimpers, her thighs starting to shake around you. “Gonna cum for me?” you mutter, slowing just enough to grind into her deep, rolling your hips so she feels every inch. “Come on, baby, let that tight little pussy cum all over me.”

She’s practically sobbing now, clinging to you like she’ll fall apart if she lets go, and you speed up again, ruthless, fucking her through it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—I’m—” she stammers, and then she’s there, her whole body locking up as she cums hard, a sharp, shuddering cry ripping out of her. Her pussy clamps down on you, pulsing tight and wet, and it’s like she’s trying to pull you over the edge with her, but you grit your teeth and hold back, not ready to finish yet. She’s shaking, gasping, her head dropping against your shoulder as she rides it out, and you keep going, slower now, letting her feel every thrust through the aftershocks. “Good girl,” you murmur, kissing her sweaty temple, “took it so fucking well.” She’s whimpering, oversensitive but still pushing back against you, needy even now, like she can’t help herself.

You pull out slow, her pussy clenching around nothing as you do, and she lets out this pitiful little whine, like she’s mad you’re leaving her empty. “Come on,” you say, voice low and commanding, grabbing her hand and tugging her toward your room. She stumbles after you, legs wobbly from the orgasm, her heels clicking unevenly on the floor. You kick the bedroom door open, the dim light from your bedside lamp casting shadows over the messy sheets, and turn to her, nodding at those strappy sandals still clinging to her feet. “Lose the heels,” you tell her, and she bends down—ass in the air, thong still askew—unstrapping them quick, kicking them off so they clatter against the wall. You're still fucking hard, cock throbbing just watching her, and when she straightens up, you point to the bed. “All fours, now.”

She doesn’t hesitate, climbing onto the mattress, sinking down on her hands and knees, ass up high like a fucking offering. Her back’s arched, thong stretched tight over her hips, and you step up behind her, running a hand over the curve of her ass before smacking it lightly, making her jump. “Goddamn, look at you,” you mutter, grabbing her hips and yanking her back a little, lining her up. “So fucking slutty—begging for more even after I made you cum.” She glances back over her shoulder, hair falling in her face, lips parted. “Please,” she says, voice shaky but dripping with want, “fuck me again—need your cock so bad.” You grin, dark and hungry, and tug her thong down just enough to bare her pussy, still glistening, swollen from before. “Yeah, you do,” you say, sliding your cock along her slit, teasing her until she’s squirming. “This big dick’s all you can think about, huh?”

You don’t wait for an answer—just thrust in, hard and deep, filling her up in one go. She cries out, loud and raw, her hands fisting the sheets as you start fucking her again, the bed creaking under you. “Fuck, you’re huge,” she moans, voice muffled as she buries her face in the pillow, but you grab her hair, pulling her head back just enough to hear her better. “Take it,” you growl, pounding her steady, watching her ass jiggle with every slam, “take this cock like the little slut you are.” She’s whining, pushing back against you, needy and wild, and you can feel her pussy still twitching from her last orgasm, sensitive as hell but greedy for more. “Ruin me,” she gasps, voice breaking, “fucking ruin me with it,” and you do—fucking her hard, deep, relentless, determined to leave her a shaking mess all over again.

Her pussy’s tight and dripping, swallowing your cock with every brutal thrust, and she’s rocking back into you, desperate, her elbows sinking into the mattress as she arches that perfect ass higher. The thong’s still tangled around her thighs, stretched and useless, and her skin’s glistening with sweat, glowing in the low light of your room. You’ve got her hips in a death grip, those wide, sexy curves filling your hands, and you’re pounding her so hard the sound of your skin slapping hers is echoing off the walls, filthy and loud.

Then she turns her head, just enough to catch your eye, lips parted and panting. “Spank me,” she says, voice cutting through the haze, all breathy and raw. “Fucking slap my ass—leave a mark so I’ll never forget this.” And fuck, that’s like a match to dry grass—exactly what you want, what you’ve been itching to do since you bent her over. You grin, dark and feral, and bring your hand down hard on her right cheek, a sharp crack ringing out over her scream. Her whole body jolts, ass jiggling from the impact, and she clenches around your cock so tight it’s almost painful. “Yes, fuck, like that!” she cries, voice breaking into this slutty little whimper, and you can tell she’s loving it, the sting, the heat, the way her skin’s already turning pink. You don’t stop—slap her again, harder this time, leaving a bright red handprint blooming on that perfect curve, and she’s screaming now, pleasure ripping out of her in waves.

“Goddamn, you’re such a freak,” you growl, smacking her left cheek now, matching the mark, and her hips buck back against you, chasing your cock even as she gasps from the pain. “Want me to brand you, huh? Make sure you feel this last fuck every time you sit down?” She moans, loud and shameless, nodding into the pillow. “Yes, please—fucking mark me, make it hurt, I don’t care.” You oblige, spanking her again and again, alternating sides, each hit stinging your palm as much as it’s lighting her up. Her ass is a masterpiece of red now, glowing hot under your hand, and you grab those wide hips tighter, fingers digging into her flesh as you keep railing her, the bed shaking like it might collapse. “Look at this ass,” you say, voice rough with lust, “so fucking sexy—gonna miss spanking it red, watching it bounce while I wreck you.”

She’s whimpering now, half-screaming into the sheets, her body trembling but still pushing back for more, like she can’t get enough of the mix—your cock stretching her out, the sharp sting of your hand, the way you’re owning her completely. “Harder,” she begs, voice muffled but dripping with need, “slap me harder—fuck me up, it’s the last time.” You growl low in your throat, bringing your hand down with a smack that’s so loud it’s almost deafening, and she shrieks, her pussy clamping down on you again, wet and pulsing. “Like that, you little slut?” you ask, spanking her once more for good measure, leaving her ass a fiery red mess of handprints. “Gonna remember this cock, this spanking—gonna feel me for days?” She’s nodding, frantic, her moans turning into these broken sobs of pleasure, and you can feel how close she is again, her walls fluttering, her body begging for release even as you keep punishing her.

You grab her hips with both hands now, holding her steady as you pound into her harder, the spanks still ringing in your ears, her ass so red it’s practically glowing. “Fuck, Yuna, you’re unreal,” you mutter, voice strained, feeling the sweat drip down your back as you fuck her senseless. “This tight pussy, this slutty ass—gonna miss ruining you like this.” She’s gasping, barely coherent, just a string of “yes, yes, fuck, yes” spilling out of her as she takes it, her wide hips swaying with every thrust, her skin marked up and claimed. You’re not letting up, determined to drag her over the edge again, to make this last fuck something she’ll never shake—your cock, your hands, the way you’re breaking her down into a trembling, needy mess.

Then you switch, flipping her onto her back on the bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and she doesn’t fight it—just lets you take control, her body pliant and trembling from how hard you’ve been working her. Her ass is still red-hot from the spanking, handprints stark against her skin, and that thong’s been stuck around her thighs long enough to be a damn nuisance. You grab it, yanking it down her legs in one rough tug, the fabric snapping against her sweat-slicked skin before you toss it somewhere behind you—don’t care where, just want it gone. She’s sprawled out beneath you now, slim and gorgeous, all tan lines and sharp curves, her chest heaving as she catches her breath. You climb on top, pressing your weight down on her, pinning her to the mattress, and her legs spread wide, instinctive, inviting you back in. You slide your cock into her again, slow at first, feeling that tight, wet heat swallow you whole, and she gasps, her hands flying to your shoulders like she needs something to hold onto.

“Fuck, I wanna see your face when you cum,” you tell her, voice low and gritty, locking eyes with her as you start thrusting again. Her pussy’s so slick it’s obscene, sucking you in with every move, and this new angle—it’s intense as hell, deeper, hitting her just right. She’s staring up at you, lips parted, eyes glassy with lust, and there’s something softer in there too, something that catches you off guard. You lean down, your chest pressing against hers, her tits crushed between you, and the pace picks up—still raw, still dirty, but it’s shifting, turning into this messy, passionate thing that’s got your head spinning. “Gonna watch you fall apart on my cock,” you mutter, lips brushing her jaw, and then you’re on her neck, sucking hard, leaving a mark—a dark, bruising hickey right where her pulse is hammering. She moans, loud and slutty, her fingers tangling in your hair, tugging at it like she’s trying to pull you closer.

“Babe—fuck, babe,” she gasps, the word slipping out all needy and raw, and it hits you like a punch, twisting something deep in your gut. She’s never called you that before—not like this—and it’s killing you, the way it sounds so desperate, so fucking real. Her legs wrap around your hips, pulling you in tighter, and you can’t help yourself—you’re kissing her neck again, leaving another hickey, then another, marking her up like she’s yours, even if it’s just for tonight. “You’re driving me insane,” you groan against her skin, voice breaking a little, and you pull back just enough to look at her—her face flushed, eyes wild, that perfect mouth open and begging. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Yuna—damn, you’ve got me losing it.” It’s too much, too honest, but you can’t stop it from spilling out, not when she’s looking at you like that, not when her pussy’s clenching around you, hot and tight and perfect.

She’s close—you can feel it, the way her breaths are coming faster, sharper, her body tensing under you, her nails digging into your scalp. “Fuck, I—I can’t,” she whimpers, her voice cracking, “you’re too good, babe, too fucking big—gonna cum again, I swear.” Her hips are rolling up to meet every thrust, needy and frantic, and you’re pounding her harder now, the bed creaking like it’s about to give out, your cock slamming into her so deep she’s shaking. “Do it,” you growl, nipping at her collarbone, leaving another mark, “cum for me, let me see that pretty face when you lose it.” She’s moaning your name now, over and over, her hands clutching at you like she’s scared to let go, and the way she’s giving herself up to you—raw, slutty, but somehow soft too—is making it impossible to keep your head straight.

You shift, propping yourself up on your forearms so you can watch her better, your thrusts slowing just a little—not enough to ease off, but enough to drag it out, make it linger. Her eyes flutter shut, then open again, locking onto yours, and there’s this spark there, this connection that’s more than just fucking. “You’re killing me,” she whispers, voice all shaky and sweet, and her hand slides from your hair to your cheek, trembling as she touches you. “Last time, huh? Then fuck me like you mean it.” You groan, leaning down to kiss her—hard, messy, tongues clashing—and it’s still dirty, still rough, but there’s this edge of something tender creeping in, making your chest tight. You pick up the pace again, slamming into her, her slim body rocking under you, and she’s so close—her pussy’s fluttering, her moans turning into these high, broken cries.

The room’s thick with it—the smell of sex, the sound of her moans mixing with your grunts, the slap of your hips against hers as you drive into that tight, pink pussy like it’s the last time you’ll ever feel it. Because it is. Her legs are locked around your waist, pulling you in, her nails raking down your back, leaving trails of fire that only make you thrust harder. She’s a mess beneath you—hair splayed out on the pillow, lips swollen and parted, hickeys blooming dark on her neck—and you’re just as gone, sweat dripping down your chest, your cock throbbing inside her with every move. You can feel it building, that hot, heavy pressure in your gut, and you know you’re close. “Fuck, Yuna,” you pant, voice rough and strained, “I’m gonna cum—gonna blow any second.”

Her eyes snap open, wide and wild, locking onto yours, and she tightens her grip on you, legs squeezing your hips like she’s scared you’ll pull away. “Cum inside me,” she says, voice low and desperate, cutting through the haze of your lust like a blade. You freeze for a split second, brain short-circuiting—did she just say that? “What?” you choke out, thrusts slowing but not stopping, and she nods, frantic, her hands clutching at your shoulders. “I’m on the pill, it’s fine—please, cum inside me, I need it.” You’ve never done that before—not with her, not ever. It’s always been her face, her mouth, those flat, tight abs, or that perfect ass. The thought of filling her up, pumping your load deep into that sweet, tight cunt—it’s like a switch flips, and suddenly you’re hornier than you’ve ever been, your cock twitching hard at the idea. “Fuck, you serious?” you ask, voice gravelly, and she nods again, biting her lip. “Please, babe—I need to feel your cum inside me, just once. Gotta know what it’s like.”

That’s it—you’re done for. “Alright,” you growl, leaning down to kiss her neck, sucking another hickey into her skin as you pick up the pace, slamming into her with everything you’ve got. “Gonna give it to you, Yuna—gonna fill that tight little pussy up.” She moans, loud and slutty, her whole body rocking with you, and it’s like she flips a switch of her own, turning into this needy, begging mess. “Yes, fuck, please—give me your cum, babe, make me your cumslut,” she whines, voice breaking as her legs tighten around you, pulling you deeper. “I wanna feel it—wanna feel you unload in me, need it so bad.” Her words are filthy, dripping with lust, and it’s driving you wild, the way she’s begging like some desperate little slut who can’t live without it. “You’re such a fucking cumslut,” you mutter, grinning darkly as you pound her harder, the bed shaking, her tits bouncing under you. “Begging for my load—gonna give you every drop, make you take it all.”

She’s panting, sweaty, her hands in your hair now, tugging at it as she stares up at you, eyes pleading. “Please, please, cum in me—make me yours, fill me up,” she chants, her voice all high and slutty, and you can feel her pussy clenching around you, hot and wet, pushing her closer to the edge again. You’re right there with her, the pressure in your balls building, your cock swelling inside her, and you know it’s gonna be big—huge, even. “Fuck, Yuna, I’m close,” you groan, thrusting deep, your hips slamming against hers so hard she’s sliding up the bed. “Gonna cum—let’s do it together, yeah?” She nods, frantic, her breath hitching. “Yes, yes—cum with me, babe, fill me while I cum on your cock, please!” Her begging’s got you teetering, and you can feel her tipping over too, her walls fluttering, her moans turning into these raw, broken cries.

Then it hits—you both lose it at the same time. “Fuck, here it comes,” you rasp, and you thrust one last time, deep and hard, burying yourself in her as you cum, hot and thick, unloading everything you’ve got. It’s a flood—your cock pulsing, pumping rope after rope of cum into her, filling her up just like she begged for. She’s cumming too, her pussy spasming around you, milking you dry as she screams, her head tipping back, eyes rolling up in pure, slutty bliss. “Oh my god—fuck, I feel it,” she gasps, voice shaking, “so much cum—shit, it’s so good.” You’re emptying your sack into her, a massive, sticky load, and she’s taking it all, her body shuddering under you, legs locked tight like she’s scared you’ll pull out too soon. You keep going, groaning as you pour it into her, and she’s beautiful like this—face wrecked, mouth open, those dark eyes rolling back as she savors every pulse.

You’re spent, chest heaving, but you can’t resist—leaning down, you kiss her cheek, soft and quick, then again, murmuring, “Fuck, you’re gorgeous—absolutely fucking beautiful.” She blinks up at you, dazed, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. “You gave me so much,” she says, voice hoarse but warm, “so fucking much cum—I’m never gonna forget this, babe.” You pull out slow, reluctant, and she spreads her legs a little, reaching down with shaky fingers to part her pussy lips. Your cum leaks out, thick and white, dripping slow from her swollen, pink hole, and she sighs—this long, satisfied sound that’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. “Look at that,” she whispers, almost to herself, “you filled me up good.” It’s obscene, the way it’s spilling out, pooling on the sheets, and you just stare, mesmerized, because it’s also the most beautiful fucking thing you’ve ever seen—her, marked by you, claimed in a way you never thought you’d get to have.

—

The shower’s running hot, steam curling up around you both as you stand under the spray, the water pounding against the tiles like it’s trying to drown out the heavy silence between you. Yuna’s in front of you, her back turned, all slim and delicate, her wet hair plastered down her spine like a dark ribbon. You’re soaping her up, hands sliding over her skin—smooth, slick, warm—rubbing the bar of soap across her shoulders, down the curve of her back, tracing the faint red marks from earlier that are starting to fade. It’s quiet, too quiet, and the weight of everything that just happened is sitting on your chest like a brick. The sex, the cum, the way she begged, the way you gave in—it’s all there, swirling in your head, mixing with the steam, making it hard to think straight. She’s not saying anything, just letting the water hit her face, and you’re not sure what to say either, so you just keep soaping, hands moving slow, almost mechanical.

Then she turns around, sudden and soft, and the water’s streaming down her face, soaking her lashes, dripping off her chin. “I don’t want this to end,” she says, voice low and shaky, cutting through the sound of the shower like a knife. You freeze, dropping the soap, letting it clatter to the floor, and your hands find her back, holding her there, feeling her heartbeat through the wet press of her, because it sounds like she’s crying—her words wobbling, her breath hitching—but the water’s blurring everything, and you can’t tell if it’s tears or just the spray. She steps closer, pressing her thin, naked body against yours, her arms wrapping around your waist, her head resting on your chest.

“I don’t want this to end,” she says. “I mean it—I can’t do this ‘last time’ bullshit. I need you, okay? I need us.”

You just stare at her, water streaming into your eyes, blinking it away because you’re caught off guard, heart hammering against your ribs. She’s crying now—you’re sure of it, her breath hitching, her lips quivering—and she steps closer, pressing her forehead to your chest, her wet hair sticking to your skin. “You’re so fucking great, you know that?” she mumbles, voice muffled against you. “You’re funny as hell—like, you make me laugh so hard I forget all the crap in my head. And you’re kind, not fake-nice like some assholes, but real, quiet kind. You listen when I talk, even when I’m just bitching about dumb stuff like my profs or whatever. And those late-night talks? After we fuck, when we’re just lying there, sweaty and stupid, talking about movies or what we’d do if the world ended? That’s my favorite thing. I didn’t even know I could like someone this much, and it scares the shit outta me, but I do. I like you—a lot. More than I ever meant to.”

She’s shaking a little, clinging to you, and you feel this knot in your throat because—fuck—you’re so gone for her it’s ridiculous. You pull her back gently, just enough to look at her—eyes red, lashes clumped with water, lips parted like she’s waiting for you to say something, anything. “Yuna,” you start, voice rough, scraping out of you like it’s been buried too long, “I don’t want this to end either. You think I can just walk away from you? From this? I’m fucking in love with you, alright? Like, stupid, head-over-heels, can’t-think-straight in love with you, and it’s been killing me pretending this is just some casual hookup thing.”

Her eyes widen, a little gasp slipping out, but you’re on a roll now, hands sliding to her face, cupping her cheeks as the water keeps falling, soaking you both. “You’re everything, you know that? You’re badass and smart—way smarter than me, don’t even try to deny it—and you’ve got this way of looking at me that makes me feel like I’m worth something. I love how you tease me, how you call me out on my shit, but then you’ll just curl up next to me like I’m your safe place or whatever. And those nights? When we’re just talking, laughing, fucking around until we’re too tired to move? That’s the best shit I’ve ever had. I love how you’re not afraid to be you—all messy and loud and real. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, and it’s freaking me out, but I don’t wanna lose it. I don’t wanna lose you.”

She’s staring up at you, water running down her face, and for a second, it’s like the world stops—just you and her, the shower drowning out everything else. Then she laughs, this shaky, relieved sound, and buries her face in your chest again, arms wrapping tight around you. “God, you’re such a sap,” she mutters, but it’s soft, affectionate, and you can feel her smiling against your skin. “I fucked up, okay? I was a bitch—pushing you away, acting like I didn’t care. I didn’t mean it. I was just… scared, I guess. Scared I’d fuck this up, scared you’d figure out I’m not as cool as I pretend to be. But I like you so much—too much. I love this, us, all of it. I don’t wanna stop.”

You tilt her chin up, thumb brushing over her wet lips, and she’s looking at you like you hung the damn moon. “So don’t,” you say, voice low but firm. “Don’t stop. I’m in this, Yuna—I want this, I want you. But you gotta stop running, alright? No more pretending I don’t exist out there.” She nods, quick and earnest, her hands sliding up your back. “I won’t—I swear. I’ll be better. I’ll brag about you to everyone, I don’t care. Just… give me another shot. Please.” You lean down, forehead pressing to hers, and it’s like all the tension just melts under the hot water. “Promise me,” you say, and she surges up, kissing you deep and slow, her lips soft and salty with what might be tears or just the shower. “I promise,” she whispers, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, “I’m yours, okay? For real.”

You slide your hand to her cheek, cupping it gentle, thumb stroking over her wet skin, and you feel this dumb, happy grin tugging at your lips. “I’m happy,” you say, simple and honest, and her face lights up—really lights up, like the sun breaking through clouds. “Me too,” she says, voice soft but sure, and then she perks up, that playful edge creeping back in. “Hey, can we still watch that horror movie? The one you’ve been hyping up?” You laugh, the tension melting away, and nod, stepping back to grab the shampoo off the ledge. “Hell yeah, we’re watching it. Gonna scare the shit outta you, and you’re gonna love it.” She grins, turning around so you can lather her hair, and as you work the shampoo in—fingers massaging her scalp, her leaning into your touch—you’re both giggling like idiots, the heaviness from before washing away with the suds. It’s not perfect, it’s not figured out, but it’s something—something real—something big—and something yours.

[tiza0925]

okok hear me out but Akaashi dating reader and she has a spit kink 👉🏻👈🏻 you don't have to write anything about it but i would love to hear about it from you! (i love your works sm 💗)

…i think you’ve just woken something inside me, anon 🫠

Intimate | 18+

Warnings/Tags: nsfw, afab/female!reader, praise kink, jealous!reader, dom!Akaashi, raw sex, multiple orgasms, slight dumbification, squirting, pussy slapping, petnames, little bit of choking, overstimulation, creampie, spit kink ♡ SET IN A TIMELINE WHERE ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED-UP AND OVER 18

Pairing: Akaashi Keiji x Female Reader

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

You’re not a jealous person, you swear.

Your relationship with Akaashi is the most secure relationship you’ve ever been in—not once has he ever given you a reason to doubt him. 

To not trust him. 

He’s shown you nothing but respect, kindness—god, so much love and patience—ever since you two started dating. 

But—

Your jaw ticks as you watch a random girl get a little too close to him—watching how she laughs a little too much and looks at him with stars in her eyes. 

You can’t blame her, though—you look at him the same way—he’s good-looking and deserves to be appreciated for that. 

But that doesn’t mean it still doesn’t get to you whenever you see other people do it. 

Especially this��particular girl who seems to refuse to leave his side ever since you two arrived at Kuroo’s house party. 

Because apparently—she’s close with Bokuto. 

Which means she knows Akaashi. 

But you barely hear Akaashi talk about her so it’s either he doesn’t see her as close as she thinks they are—

Or he’s hiding something from you. 

But that would be ridiculous—it’s Akaashi. 

He wouldn’t.

Right? 

You take a sip from your drink, then you turn to the person who’s currently talking to you—you think her name is Yachi—and you give her a slightly apologetic look as you walk away and straight towards him. 

And the girl that’s seemingly too giddy with whatever Akaashi is saying. 

It’s why you come up to his side with a small smile at the other girl, your arms around his waist, and Akaashi stops mid-sentence to look at you with a slightly concerned look—his one eyebrow raised as he asks in a soft murmur, “You okay?” 

You hum, a small smile threatens to pull at your mouth as he wraps one arm around you, holding you closer, and you nod. “Just tired.” 

He gives your waist a small squeeze, his voice a soft rumble against you. “Wanna go home then?” 

You blink up at him, then you quickly glance at the girl that was talking to him—and you feel a slight bud of satisfaction in your chest when you notice how annoyed she looks—and you nod, blinking up at him all sweetly. “Please?”

You end up in the passenger seat of his car a few moments later—looking out the window—as he drives you two home.

It’s quiet—comfortably so—as you watch light posts and buildings until—

“Are you going to tell me what that was all about?” 

You hear him ask that, his voice calm and quiet, and your eyes widen with surprise as your heart flips. 

You blink, turning to look at him—his eyes remaining on the road ahead—and you frown. “What?” 

“Suddenly wanting to go home and hugging me like that,” Akaashi then turns his head a little to give you a look like he knows something. “What was that about?” 

Oh. 

Was it that obvious how you felt? 

You blink. 

Silent. 

Then you swallow hard, playing dumb as you look away, murmuring, “…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

But then you hear him let loose a low, caustic laugh—as if he doesn’t believe you—and you feel his hand, heavy and large on your thigh, with the heat seeping through your pants and skin, as he gives it a small squeeze. “Alright.” 

It’s how you end up with your face stuffed into a pillow, back arched, and ass out the moment you two arrive back home—

“Oh fuck—”

And you’re cumming around a thick cock with your moan getting muffled into the cushion. 

“Look how well you take me,” His voice comes out a low drawl, sounding so nonchalant as if he isn’t fucking you deep into your cunt with a harsh grip around your waist—holding you in place as Akaashi makes you take all of him with your orgasm throbbing through you. 

Your mind goes numb, and you whine when he drags his dick against your G-spot, overstimulating you. 

“Keiji—fuck—please—”

But then he pulls out—leaving you empty and pulsing around nothing—causing a trickle of your juice to leak out, and you let out a sudden cry when Akaashi leaves a harsh slap against your wet pussy with his hand. 

“Turn around.” 

Fuck. 

You listen almost immediately—moving to lay on your back, breathing heavily, and Akaashi smiles down at you from the bridge of his nose, admiring you for just a moment—

Then he’s hooking your legs over his shoulder—and your eyes grow wide when you feel the head of his cock slide over your drooling pussy, bumping your clit that has your head going dizzy, and then—

“Do you think she’d be able to take me as well as you do?”

Then he starts to ask that—in that taunting, calm voice of his—and your cheeks grow hot at the mere mention of that girl, jealousy pricking the edges of your vision and—

You whimper when he pushes his cock back inside you, filling you and making you feel so full as he rolls his hips against yours, building that sweet buzzing ache in your pussy again. 

Akaashi watches the way your cunt swallows him so perfectly—his girth opening you up as you cream all over him—and he wets his lips, his smirk turning lecherous. “You think she’d look this pretty around my cock too, baby?”

He’s not blind.

He can pick up on the small signs of jealousy from you with just a small look, word—even the way you act.

He’s observant—and he clearly didn’t miss the way you were eyeing that girl from earlier.

You suck in a large breath, feeling him in your damn throat as he fucks you languidly, and your voice is breathy when you bite out a response. “Why don’t you go and find out for yourself then.” 

Akaashi leans down and god—you sob out a moan when he nearly bends you in half, shoving his dick so deep into you that your entire body goes limp. 

You’re practically shaking as his lips hover over yours, and his eyes—all half-lidded as he observes you—grow alight with something darker and amused as he hums lowly. “I don’t think I will.” 

He pulls out, the tip of his dick catching your hole, then he immediately thrusts back in with one, harsh slap of his skin against yours—making you gasp as your juices gush out. “Nobody else can get messy like you do, baby.” 

His smirk comes slow and syrupy, his hooded eyes observing you—how your eyes are glossy with tears threatening to spill out—and he goes to pull on your lower lip with his mouth, kissing you so achingly soft despite the harsh fucking. “Nobody else feels this tight around me.” 

You moan against him, your arms numbly wrapping around his neck as you take his cock pushing in and out of you—your pussy swallowing him whole like it needs his dick in there. 

It’s so fucking needy that even when you feel him digging into your lungs with his cock—you still want more of him, that swelling ache in your clit just begging for it.

And god—he gives it to you. 

He fucks you with one hand coming to thumb your sensitive clit—rubbing it in slow circles with your juices coating it until you’re clenching around his cock, squeezing him and throbbing as you cum for a second time. 

“Shit,” Akaashi groans, driving into you as his head gets foggy with lust, and heat overwhelms him as you make a mess on you both—clear liquid squirting out of your poor little pussy with every rock of his hips, and tears finally spill down your cheeks with oversensitivity. 

“Don’t cry, angel,” Akaashi soothes you, his voice throaty and heavy, and his hand that was on your clit comes up to wipe your tears—spreading your fluids all over your face and getting you dirty as he calmly shushes you. “You asked for this.” 

You know. 

You just didn’t anticipate how intense Akaashi will be to make sure you know that you were being irrational for feeling jealous—to fuck you until you felt all loose and dumb from his dick that you can’t do or say anything but whimper and cry for him. 

God—

You suck in small, gasping breaths as he slides his hand down until he’s rolling his thumb over your bottom lip, and—

And then his pupils grow wide and dark, there’s a small tick at the side of his lips that looks carnal, and your heart leaps into your throat as he forces your mouth open as he presses down onto your lip—your heart thundering in your ears as you watch with shiny eyes, unsure what he plans to do until—

Until he also opens his mouth as well, and your mind grows heady with submission with your tongue out for him, your pussy clenching him so fucking tight as he lets a small, pearly glob of his saliva string down onto your tongue. 

And fuck—he lets out a low groan of approval, making your chest swell at how satisfied he looks as you please him. 

“Swallow.” His voice is so deceptively soft.

But you listen and swallow. 

With no hesitation. 

And it should feel gross with him spitting in your mouth like that—making you feel like some whore under him—

But instead—it does things to you. 

It makes things so much more fucking intimate. 

You keep eye contact with him as your throat bobs with an obedient swallow, your body moving with every thrust of him inside you, and Akaashi can’t help but lean down to kiss you so deeply that you shudder against him—

“Such a good girl for me—shit,” His hand comes to the front of your neck, his calloused fingers wrapping around it and giving it a little squeeze, making you moan as you sloppily kiss him back, your vision growing blurry. 

Then he leans back, hand still on your throat, and his chest rise and falls as he continues to fuck your abused pussy, your fluids making a mess, and he turns his head to brush his lips against your calf. 

“I want you to cum on my cock again, love, you do it so well for me.”

Then he brings his other hand to press on your lower stomach, making you keen with a wet moan—and you feel so fucked out and dumb in the head as another orgasm steadily pulses through you. 

“And say my name when you do, love,” Akaashi breathes out lowly, his dick in your guts as he pushes his hand down a little more, “Because nobody else gets to do that except you.” 

More clear liquid gushes out of you, spraying and squirting all over him as your legs shake with another orgasm for that night—his name on your tongue, making his head spin as he fucks you through it. 

And then he’s spurting out thick loads of his hot cum into your sore pussy, shoving it further into you with every push of his cock inside your walls—making sure you know that only you get to be marked like this by him. 

end.

Masterpost

[bloodfiendarling]

𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓵𝓮𝓭

【 𝐈 】 , 【 𝐈𝐈 】

pair — octopus siren!reader x pirate!aventurine

wc — ~600

contains — dom top reader, sub bottom char, written with fem reader in mind but it can be seen as gn, porn with plot i guess?, dubcon bordering on noncon, tentacle fucking (duh), choking (only in the start tho), mindbreak, belly bulge, pregnancy mention, violence mention (at the end only)

ah .. i cant believe my first posted fic is avenchan .. x_x even tho my entire theme is argenti .. a little scared of posting my work www ;; either way , i think i busted when i saw this art sob sob . cogs in my brain making out a whole hentai plot .. i wrote this with my dick and not my brain . gomenne avenchan ! youre in the hands of a degenerate ! >_<

he really was the greedy type — despite being covered head to toe in stolen goods, aventurine really just can’t help but steal more, more, and more. those riches were the source of his infamy—and of course, his ego. he was a respected captain, feared, even.

of course, it didn't stop at stealing. the man gambled — be it his life or wealth. and he never lost, not once. lady luck really was always on the captain’s side, huh?

not today.

not when he decided to steal from a siren of all things.

“mnngh—!!” aventurine let out a muffled moan, eyes rolling back. his mouth was restricted with a tentacle — another was snaking around his neck, occasionally squeezing on it. the captain’s legs were pressed up against his chest, of course, restrained. he can’t even remember how many times he’s came.

aventurine, one of the most respected pirates out there, folded like a lawnchair and being fucked like a common whore by a siren.

what a sight.

“ah, are you gonna pass out, captain?” you ask, tone laced with fake pity, tapping on the side of his head a few times, “don’t tap out on me, captain. you said you wanted it, no?”

she wasn’t wrong, either. aventurine was the one who offered himself when he was caught. maybe even steal something once it was over — he wasn’t expecting to be the one on the receiving end, though..

as the tentacle on his mouth and neck finally loosened, the blonde let out a sharp gasp of air afterward — finally. though he went back to those pretty moans as soon as she continued to thrust the one in his hole deeper — loud, lewd squelching noises filling the siren’s cavern.

“you’re so tight. i can feel you squeezing me…” she rubbed on his stomach, a visible bulge on it. the second aventurine’s head drops down to see it, his eyes go wide — very obviously horrified. he didn’t even know he could take that much!

“mnn… look at that, captain,” she started, very much referring to the bump on his abdomen. “it’s so deep in you, huh? ah, i wish i could get you pregnant.”

the captain shook his head rapidly — “ah–! nnh.. no– nonono…” he sobbed.

“don’t worry, captain. not like i can anyway.” you teased, still relentlessly thrusting into him. you pressed a kiss on his cheek, wiping his tears away. he would be kicking you off, trying to get you the fuck off if him if it weren’t for your tentacles restraining all of his limbs. poor thing, how helpless he looked.

he let out a strangled moan, feeling her somehow thrust even deeper. his back arching into such a pretty crescent, tongue starting to loll out with how hard you were going.

dear god, he really did feel like he was going to get pregnant.

his moans were getting louder and louder. not to mention more erotic. you were sure a passerby fisherman would hear him.

“ah, ah, ah, more ♡”

“you want more, captain?” you asked. it was a genuine question, though. the aventurine, completely submitting with a few hard thrusts? the one oh so feared and infamous — you’ve even heard some other sirens talk about him.. and this is how he’s really like? a common slut?

“nngh– yes ♡” he nods, you swore you saw hearts in those gorgeous eyes looking back at you. the ones that looked in disgust and anger at first. “ahn, ah–♡ i wan’ you ♡”

you really did fuck him till he was braindead, huh.

maybe you were glad he didn’t come with a crewmate. you would’ve missed an opportunity and killed this pretty little gem.

hsr masterlist ♥︎

[pucksandpower]

Pride and Prejudice and Bullets

mafia boss!Max Verstappen x professor!Reader

Summary: your life is predictable — revolving around teaching about Jane Austen novels and grading term papers — and you like it that way … until an old classmate makes a sudden appearance that turns everything upside down

Warnings: minor character death

The sharp rap at the door jolts you from your late-night reading. You glance at the clock — 2:37 AM. Who could it possibly be at this ungodly hour?

Cautiously, you approach the door, peering through the peephole. Your heart skips a beat. Is that ... no, it couldn’t be. But as you swing the door open, there he stands — the boy who vanished from your high school without a trace nearly a decade ago.

“Max?” You breathe, scarcely believing your eyes.

He doesn’t respond, just pushes past you into the apartment, one hand pressed firmly against his side. As he moves, you catch a glimpse of crimson seeping through his fingers, staining what looks like an absurdly expensive shirt.

“Jesus, Max, what happened to you?” You gasp, instinctively reaching out.

He flinches away from your touch, his eyes wild. “I hear you’re a doctor now. Do your doctor stuff,” Max barks the order at you, his voice rough with pain.

You blink, momentarily stunned. “I’m a doctor of British Literature! What are you even doing here? How do you know my address? Why are you here?”

“Needed a doctor, you’re a doctor,” he grunts, stumbling toward your couch.

The reality of the situation starts to sink in. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, I need to call an ambulance.”

“No,” Max snaps, his tone brooking no argument. “Don’t. Are you stupid? I’m here because I can’t go to a hospital.”

Your mind races, torn between concern and confusion. “Yes, right, fuck, I should call the cops. Why do you know my address?”

“Wound. Fix it,” he growls through gritted teeth.

“Yes! Wound. Uhhhh, take off your shirt?” You stammer, fumbling for your phone. “I need to Google this- oh my god that’s disgusting, oh fuck, is the bullet still in there?”

Max’s eyes narrow. “You really don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

“Of course I don’t!” You exclaim, your voice rising in pitch. “I write papers on Jane Austen, not ... whatever this is!”

He groans, both from pain and exasperation. “Fine. First aid kit. You have one?”

You nod frantically, dashing to the bathroom. When you return, Max has managed to unbutton his shirt, revealing a nasty wound just below his ribs.

“Okay,” he says, his voice steadier now. “Antiseptic. Clean the wound.”

With shaking hands, you do as he instructs, trying not to gag at the sight of so much blood. “Max, please, what’s going on? How did this happen?”

He ignores your questions. “Tweezers. The bullet’s still in there. You need to get it out.”

“What? No! I can’t — I’ll hurt you!”

A humorless laugh escapes him. “Trust me, it already hurts. Just do it.”

Swallowing hard, you position the tweezers. Max’s hand shoots out, gripping your wrist. “Wait,” he says, fumbling in his pocket with his free hand. He produces a flask, takes a long swig, then nods. “Okay. Go.”

You take a deep breath and plunge in. Max’s entire body goes rigid, a string of curses flowing from his lips that would make a sailor blush. After what feels like an eternity, you feel the tweezers catch on something.

“I think I’ve got it,” you whisper.

“Then pull it out,” Max hisses.

With a sickening squelch, you extract the bullet. Max lets out a strangled groan, then goes limp.

“Max?” You say, panic rising in your throat. “Max!”

His eyes flutter open. “I’m fine. Just ... give me a minute.”

As you clean and dress the wound, a tense silence falls between you. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you speak. “Max, please. What’s going on? I haven’t seen you in years, and now you show up at my door in the middle of the night with a bullet wound?”

He sighs, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “It’s ... complicated.”

“No shit,” you retort. “Start talking. Now.”

Max runs a hand through his hair, wincing at the movement. “After I left school, I got mixed up in some ... stuff. Bad stuff. It was supposed to be temporary, just a way to make some quick cash. But things ... escalated.”

“Escalated how?” You press.

He meets your gaze, his eyes hard. “You really want to know?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

“I run the Dutch Crime Syndicate now,” he says flatly.

You can’t help it — you laugh. It’s a high, slightly hysterical sound. “The Dutch Crime Syndicate? Are you serious? That sounds like something out of a bad movie.”

“Does this look like a joke to you?” Max gestures to his wound.

The laughter dies in your throat. “Oh god. You’re serious.”

He nods grimly. “Dead serious. And now you know why I couldn’t go to a hospital. Too many questions.”

“But ... why me?” You ask, still struggling to process this information. “We were barely even friends in school.”

Max shifts uncomfortably. “I ... kept tabs on people from back then. When I heard you’d become a doctor-”

“A doctor of literature,” you interject.

He rolls his eyes. “When I heard you had become a ‘doctor,’ I made a note of it. Just in case. Never thought I’d actually need to use that information, but ... here we are.”

You shake your head, trying to clear it. “This is insane. You’re insane. I should be calling the police right now.”

“But you won’t,” Max says quietly.

“And why’s that?”

He looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time since he arrived. “Because you’re curious. Because part of you, whether you want to admit it or not, is excited by this. By me showing up and shaking up your nice, safe, predictable life.”

You open your mouth to protest, then close it again. He’s not entirely wrong.

“So what happens now?” You ask instead.

Max shrugs, then immediately regrets it, judging by his wince. “Now, I rest for a bit, then I leave. And you go back to your life of Jane Austen and tea cozies.”

“That’s it?” You can’t keep the disappointment out of your voice.

He raises an eyebrow. “What were you expecting? That I’d sweep you off your feet and into a life of crime?”

“No, of course not,” you say quickly. Too quickly.

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well, well. Maybe there’s more to you than meets the eye, Y/N.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Shut up. You’re delirious from blood loss.”

“Maybe,” he concedes. “Or maybe I’m seeing clearly for the first time in years.”

There’s a charged moment of silence between you. Then Max groans, breaking the spell. “God, I sound like a bad romance novel. Must be the whiskey talking.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Well, you did show up bleeding on my doorstep in the middle of the night. It’s all very dramatic.”

“What can I say? I aim to please,” Max quips, then turns serious. “Look, Y/N ... thank you. For helping me. For not calling the cops. I know I don’t deserve it.”

“No, you probably don’t,” you agree. “But ... I’m glad you came. As crazy as this all is, it’s ... nice to see you again.”

Max’s expression softens. “Yeah. It’s nice to see you too.”

Another silence falls, but this one is comfortable, almost companionable. Finally, Max speaks again. “I should go. I’ve already put you in enough danger.”

“Wait,” you say, surprising yourself. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere. At least stay until morning.”

He hesitates, clearly torn. “I shouldn’t ...”

“Please,” you insist. “For my peace of mind, if nothing else.”

Max searches your face, then nods slowly. “Okay. But just until morning.”

As you help him settle more comfortably on the couch, you can’t shake the feeling that your life has just irrevocably changed. For better or worse remains to be seen, but one thing’s for certain — it’s going to be one hell of a ride.

***

The early morning sunlight filters through your curtains, rousing you from a fitful sleep. For a blissful moment, you forget the events of last night. Then reality comes crashing back, and you bolt upright in bed.

Max. The wound. The Dutch Crime Syndicate.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. What were you thinking? In the harsh light of day, the whole situation seems utterly insane.

Steeling yourself, you pad out to the living room. Max is still there, sprawled on your couch, his chest rising and falling steadily. He looks younger in sleep, almost vulnerable. It’s hard to reconcile this image with the hardened criminal he claims to be.

As if sensing your presence, Max’s eyes flutter open. He winces as he tries to sit up.

“Morning,” he grunts.

“How’s the wound?” You ask, your voice carefully neutral.

Max prods at his side gingerly. “Better than it has any right to be, thanks to you.”

You nod, then take a deep breath. “Max, about last night ...”

He holds up a hand, cutting you off. “I know what you’re going to say. And you’re right. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” you agree, relief washing over you. “Look, I won’t tell anyone about this. But I think it’s best if we just ... pretend this never happened. You should go, and we should forget we ever saw each other again.”

Max nods slowly, his expression unreadable. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” you say firmly, trying to ignore the small part of you that’s screaming in protest.

He starts to gather his things, moving stiffly. You turn away, heading to the kitchen to make coffee, needing something to do with your hands.

That’s when you hear it. The sharp crack of a gunshot, followed by the tinkling of shattered glass.

You freeze, your heart pounding. “Max?” You call out, voice barely above a whisper.

“Get down!” He shouts back. You drop to the floor just as another bullet whizzes overhead, embedding itself in your kitchen cabinets.

Max is at your side in an instant, his earlier stiffness forgotten. “We need to move. Now.”

“What’s happening?” You ask, your voice shaking.

“Rivals,” Max says grimly. “They must have followed me here. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I never meant to put you in danger.”

Before you can respond, there’s a thunderous banging at your front door. “Open up!” A gruff voice shouts. “We know you’re in there, Max Emilian!”

Max’s face hardens. “The Silver Arrows,” he mutters. “Persistent bastards.”

“What do we do?” You whisper, panic threatening to overwhelm you.

Max’s eyes dart around the room, assessing. “Is there a fire escape?”

You nod. “Through the bedroom window.”

“Okay,” he says, his voice calm and authoritative. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to make a run for it. Stay low, stay behind me. Got it?”

You nod again, not trusting yourself to speak.

“On my count,” Max says. “Three ... two ... one ... GO!”

You scramble to your feet, keeping low as Max leads the way to your bedroom. The banging on the door intensifies, accompanied by the sound of splintering wood.

“They’re breaking through!” You gasp.

“Almost there,” Max says through gritted teeth. He throws open your bedroom window, then turns to you. “Ladies first.”

You hesitate for a split second, then clamber out onto the fire escape. The metal is cold beneath your bare feet, and you realize with a start that you’re still in your pajamas.

Max follows close behind, pulling the window shut just as you hear your front door give way.

“Down,” he hisses, guiding you towards the ladder.

You descend as quickly as you can, your hands shaking so badly you nearly lose your grip more than once. Max is right behind you, his presence oddly reassuring despite the circumstances.

As your feet hit the alley below, you hear shouts from above. “There they are!”

“Run!” Max yells, grabbing your hand and pulling you along.

You sprint down the alley, your bare feet slapping against the cold pavement. Bullets ping off the walls around you, and you let out an involuntary scream.

“Keep going,” Max urges. “There’s a car around the corner.”

“A car?” You pant. “How do you know?”

“I always have an exit strategy,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice despite the situation.

Sure enough, as you round the corner, you see a sleek black car idling at the curb. A man in a dark suit is behind the wheel, looking tense.

“Get in!” Max shouts, practically shoving you into the backseat before diving in after you.

The car peels away from the curb before Max even has the door closed. You’re thrown back against the seat as the driver weaves through traffic at breakneck speed.

“What the hell, Max?” You finally manage to say, your heart still racing. “Who were those people? Where are we going?”

Max runs a hand through his hair, looking more rattled than you’ve seen him yet. “Those were the Silver Arrows. They’ve been trying to muscle in on our territory for months. As for where we’re going ...” He exchanges a look with the driver in the rearview mirror. “Somewhere safe. For now.”

You let out a hysterical laugh. “Safe? I don’t even know what that word means anymore. My apartment just got shot up! I’m in my pajamas in the back of a strange car, running from a gang war. This is insane!”

“I know,” Max says softly. “And I’m sorry. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid by leaving last night.”

“Well, bang-up job on that one,” you snap.

The driver clears his throat. “Boss, we’ve got a tail. Two cars, about three blocks back.”

Max curses under his breath. “Can you lose them, Daniel?”

The driver — Daniel, apparently — nods grimly. “I can try. Hang on.”

The car suddenly swerves, cutting across three lanes of traffic. Horns blare as Daniel takes a sharp right turn, tires squealing.

You’re thrown against Max, who instinctively wraps an arm around you to keep you steady. Despite everything, you can’t help but notice how solid he feels, how good he smells ...

No. Focus. You shake your head, trying to clear it.

“Max,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I need you to be straight with me. What exactly is going on here?”

He sighs, his arm still around you. “It’s complicated.”

“Un-complicate it,” you demand.

Max is quiet for a moment, seemingly weighing his words. “The Dutch Crime Syndicate ... we’re not just petty criminals. We’re big. International. And lately, we’ve been expanding our reach. The Silver Arrows don’t like that. They think we’re encroaching on their territory.”

“And are you?” You ask.

A ghost of a smile flits across Max’s face. “Maybe a little. But business is business, you know?”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You’re talking about illegal activities like it’s a corporate takeover!”

“In a way, it is,” Max says. “Just with higher stakes.”

“Boss,” Daniel interrupts. “I think we’ve lost them for now, but we can’t go to any of the safe houses. They might be compromised.”

Max nods. “Good thinking. Head for the marina. We’ll take the boat.”

“Boat?” You echo. “Max, I can’t just leave. My job, my life-”

“Your life will be over if the Silver Arrows find you,” Max says bluntly. “You’re involved now, whether you like it or not. I’m sorry, but there’s no going back.”

The gravity of the situation finally hits you. This isn’t some exciting adventure that you can just walk away from. This is real, and it’s dangerous.

“What have you gotten me into, Max?” You whisper.

His arm tightens around you. “I’ll keep you safe,” he promises. “No matter what.”

You want to believe him. Despite everything, despite the insanity of the past twelve hours, you find that you do believe him.

As the car speeds towards the marina, you try to process everything that’s happened. Your quiet life of academia seems like a distant memory now. In its place is ... what? Danger? Excitement? A chance at something you never knew you wanted?

You look at Max, studying his profile. He seems different from the boy you knew in high school. Harder, certainly, but there’s something else too. A confidence, a magnetism that you can’t deny.

As if sensing your gaze, Max turns to look at you. For a moment, the facade of the hardened crime boss slips, and you see a flicker of the boy you once knew.

“I really am sorry about all this,” he says softly. “If I could go back and undo it all, I would.”

“Would you?” You ask, surprised by your own boldness.

Max looks taken aback. “Wouldn’t you want me to?”

You consider this. “I don’t know,” you admit. “This is all terrifying and insane, but ... I’ve never felt more alive.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well, well,” he says, echoing his words from last night. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet, Y/N.”

Before you can respond, Daniel announces, “We’re here.”

The car pulls up to a private dock where a sleek yacht is moored. Max helps you out of the car, his hand lingering on your lower back.

“Last chance to back out,” he says, his eyes searching your face. “Say the word, and I’ll have Daniel take you back. We’ll figure out a way to keep you safe.”

You look at the yacht, then back at Max. In your mind’s eye, you see your apartment, your job, your safe, predictable life. Then you see bullets flying, feel the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of the unknown.

Taking a deep breath, you make your choice.

“Let’s go,” you say, taking Max’s hand and stepping onto the gangplank.

As the yacht pulls away from the dock, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re leaving more than just the city behind. You’re leaving your old self, your old life.

And as terrifying as that is, you can’t wait to see what comes next.

***

As the yacht cuts through the waves, you find yourself standing at the stern, watching the city skyline grow smaller by the minute. The reality of your situation is starting to sink in, bringing with it a cocktail of emotions — fear, excitement, and a nagging curiosity that won’t let you rest.

You turn to find Max leaning against the railing, his eyes fixed on the horizon. There’s a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before, a reminder that you’re not the only one affected by this sudden turn of events.

“Max,” you say, breaking the silence. “Why did you really pick me?”

He glances at you, a flicker of something crossing his face before his expression settles back into careful neutrality. “The doctor part, obviously ...”

You raise an eyebrow, sensing there’s more to it. Max sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“And you have no one who would miss you,” he continues, his voice softer now. “No contact with family and, as far as I’m concerned, no friends who would notice.”

Your heart sinks at his words, partly because of the stark truth in them, and partly because of the implications. “Notice ... oh fuck, you’re gonna kill me?”

Max’s eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in what looks like genuine offense. “No. That’s a last resort, too many questions. You’re on my boat now, aren’t you?”

You let out a shaky breath, not sure whether to feel relieved or more worried. “So what then? Am I your hostage? Your accomplice? What exactly is my role in this mess?”

Max pushes off from the railing, moving closer to you. “Right now? You’re under my protection. Beyond that ... I guess we’ll have to figure it out as we go.”

“Figure it out?” You repeat incredulously. “Max, I left everything behind. My job, my apartment, my entire life. I need more than ‘we’ll figure it out.’”

He has the decency to look chagrined. “You’re right. You deserve answers. But right now, our priority has to be getting somewhere safe.”

“And where exactly is that?” You press.

Max glances around, as if checking for eavesdroppers, before leaning in closer. “We’re headed to Monaco.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Monaco? As in, the luxury resort town on the French Riviera?”

He nods, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “The very same. I have an ... associate there who can help us.”

“An associate,” you echo skeptically. “Another crime lord, I assume?”

Max’s smile widens. “Something like that. His name is Charles. He’s the heir to the Rosso Corsa Mafia.”

You can’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation finally getting to you. “The Rosso Corsa Mafia? Seriously? What is this, some kind of international crime syndicate convention?”

“Hey, networking is important in any business,” Max quips, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

For a moment, you’re both laughing, the tension of the past few hours dissipating slightly. But as the laughter fades, reality sets in once more.

“Max,” you say, your voice quiet now. “What am I doing here? Really?”

He sobers, his gaze intense as he looks at you. “Honestly? I’m not entirely sure. When I came to your apartment last night, I was just looking for help. I didn’t plan for any of this.”

“But you must have had some idea,” you press. “You said you kept tabs on me. Why?”

Max is quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching your face. Finally, he speaks. “Do you remember our last day of school together? Before I ... left?”

You furrow your brow, thinking back. “Vaguely. It was just an ordinary day, wasn’t it?”

He shakes his head. “Not for me. That was the day I decided to leave. I was in the library, trying to figure out how I was going to tell my parents I wanted to drop out. And then you came in.”

“I did?” You ask, surprised. You have no memory of this.

Max nods. “You were returning a stack of books. You looked ... happy. Excited about your future. I remember thinking how different we were. How I’d never have that kind of certainty, that sense of purpose.”

You’re not sure how to respond to that. “So... what? You’ve been keeping an eye on me out of some kind of twisted nostalgia?”

He winces. “When you put it like that, it sounds creepy. I just ... I guess I wanted to know that someone from our old life made it. That it was possible to be normal and happy.”

“And now you’ve dragged me into your world,” you say, a hint of bitterness in your voice.

Max looks stricken. “I never meant for this to happen. If I could go back-”

“But you can’t,” you interrupt. “We’re here now. So what happens next?”

Before Max can answer, a crew member approaches. “Sir, we’ve just received word from Monaco. Mr. Leclerc is expecting us.”

Max nods. “Thank you, Rupert. Tell the captain to push the engines. I want to make it there before nightfall.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “This is insane. You know that, right? This whole situation is completely insane.”

“Welcome to my world,” Max says, his tone light but his eyes serious. “It’s not too late to back out, you know. Say the word, and I’ll have the captain turn this boat around.”

You consider it for a moment. Your old life seems so far away already, like a half-remembered dream. And despite the danger, despite the uncertainty, you can’t deny the thrill of excitement coursing through your veins.

“No,” you say finally. “I’m in this now. For better or worse.”

Max’s expression softens. “I promise you, Y/N, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

As you stand there, the salt spray on your face and the wind in your hair, you find yourself believing him. It’s crazy, it’s reckless, but you trust him.

The next few hours pass in a blur of activity. Max is constantly on his phone, speaking in hushed tones in what sounds like a mix of Dutch and French. You catch snippets about “security measures” and “clean identities,” but most of it goes over your head.

As the sun begins to set, casting the sea in shades of gold and pink, you find yourself back at the stern of the yacht. The coastline has long since disappeared, leaving nothing but endless ocean in every direction.

You hear footsteps behind you and turn to see Max approaching, two glasses of champagne in hand.

“I thought we could use a drink,” he says, offering you a glass. “To new beginnings?”

You take the glass, clinking it gently against his. “To new beginnings,” you echo, taking a sip. The champagne is exquisite, of course. You wouldn’t expect anything less from a mob boss’s yacht.

“We should be arriving in Monaco in a few hours,” Max says, leaning against the railing beside you. “Charles has arranged for a car to meet us at the marina. We’ll be staying at his family’s villa in the hills.”

You nod, trying to process this information. “And then what?”

Max shrugs. “We lie low for a while. Figure out our next move. The Silver Arrows won’t give up easily, but they’ll have a hard time touching us in Monaco. The Leclercs practically own the place.”

“And where do I fit into all this?” You ask, voicing the question that’s been nagging at you since you stepped onto this boat.

Max turns to face you fully, his expression serious. “That’s up to you, Y/N. I won’t force you into anything. If you want to walk away once we’re in Monaco, I’ll make sure you have the means to do so safely.”

You consider this. The sensible thing would be to take the out he’s offering. Go back to your life of books and lectures and quiet evenings alone. But the thought leaves you feeling ... empty.

“And if I don’t want to walk away?” You ask, surprised by your own boldness.

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Then I suppose we’ll have to find a place for you in this brave new world of ours.”

As you stand there, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear beneath the waves, you can’t help but feel like you’re on the cusp of something momentous. Your old life is behind you now, growing more distant with every passing moment. Ahead lies uncertainty, danger ... and possibility.

You take another sip of champagne, savoring the bubbles on your tongue. Whatever comes next, you realize, you’re ready for it. Ready for the adventure, the risk, the chance to reinvent yourself.

As the yacht cuts through the darkening waters, carrying you towards a future you never could have imagined, you find yourself smiling. For the first time in years, maybe for the first time ever, you feel truly, exhilaratingly alive.

***

The yacht glides smoothly into the marina, the lights of Monaco twinkling like a galaxy of stars against the night sky. You stand at the railing, taking in the sight of luxury yachts and sleek speedboats bobbing gently in their berths. It’s a world away from your modest apartment back home.

Max appears at your side, his face tense. “Remember,” he murmurs, “stay close to me and don’t say anything unless you’re directly addressed. Charles is an ally, but he can be ... unpredictable.”

You nod, swallowing hard. The reality of your situation is sinking in again, the brief respite of the boat ride fading away.

As the crew secures the yacht, a figure emerges from the shadows of the dock. Even in the dim light, you can tell he’s striking — all lean muscles and sharp cheekbones, with piercing green eyes that seem to take in everything at once.

“Max,” he says, his accent a mix of French and something you can’t quite place. “You’ve brought trouble to my doorstep again, I see.”

Max steps forward, clasping the man’s hand. “Charles. Thank you for this. I owe you one.”

Charles’ lips quirk up in a half-smile. “Add it to your tab, my friend.” His gaze shifts to you, curiosity evident in his expression. “And who might this be?”

Before Max can answer, Charles is already moving towards you, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips in a smooth motion. “Enchanté, mademoiselle. I am Charles Leclerc.”

You stammer out your name, caught off guard by his Old World charm. Charles’ eyes sparkle with amusement.

“Adorable,” he says. “Now, shall we? It’s not wise to linger here.”

With that, he turns on his heel and strides towards the parking lot. Max gives you a gentle push, urging you to follow.

As you round the corner, your jaw drops. Sitting there, gleaming under the streetlights, is quite possibly the most ostentatious Ferrari you’ve ever seen. It’s matte black with an eye-catching racing stripe in the colors of the Monegasque flag, and sleek lines that practically scream speed and luxury.

Charles is already sliding into the driver’s seat, while Max ushers you into the back. As the engine roars to life, a thought occurs to you.

“Is this a kidnapping?” You blurt out, your nerves finally getting the better of you.

Charles catches your eye in the rearview mirror, a smirk playing on his lips. “You seem very willing for one.”

Your cheeks flush. “That doesn’t calm my nerves!”

“It is like this,” Charles sighs, accelerating smoothly as he maneuvers through the narrow streets of Monaco. “Do as Max says or we dump your body.”

“What!” You exclaim, your heart rate spiking.

Max shoots Charles a glare. “Charles, do not scare her more than necessary. The poor girl is already terrified.”

Charles shrugs, not taking his eyes off the road as he takes a sharp turn that has you clutching the seat. “I merely state facts, mon ami. Our world is not for the faint of heart.”

You look to Max, seeking reassurance. He meets your gaze, his expression softening slightly. “Ignore him. You’re under my protection, remember?”

“And what exactly does that mean?” You press, emboldened by the adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I still don’t understand my role in all this.”

Max hesitates, glancing at Charles. The two seem to have a silent conversation before Charles speaks up.

“You, ma chèrie, are an unexpected variable,” he says, his tone lighter now. “Max has a habit of collecting strays, but you ... you’re different.”

“Different how?” You ask, not sure if you should be offended or intrigued.

Charles’ eyes meet yours in the mirror again, a glint of mischief in them. “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it? But I suspect you’re made of sterner stuff than you let on.”

The car falls silent as you process this. The streets of Monaco fly by outside the window, a blur of high-end boutiques and lavish casinos. It’s like stepping into another world.

Finally, the Ferrari begins to climb, winding its way up into the hills overlooking the city. The road narrows, becoming more secluded, until you’re passing through an ornate gate flanked by high walls.

The car comes to a stop in front of a sprawling villa that looks like something out of a movie. Marble columns, manicured gardens, a fountain bubbling gently in the courtyard — it’s almost too much to take in.

As you step out of the car on shaky legs, Charles is already striding towards the entrance. “Welcome to Casa Leclerc,” he calls over his shoulder. “Try not to break anything irreplaceable.”

Max appears at your side, placing a steadying hand on your lower back. “You okay?” He asks quietly.

You nod, not trusting your voice. Max guides you inside, where you’re immediately struck by the opulence of the interior. Priceless artwork adorns the walls, and you’re pretty sure that’s an actual Fabergé egg sitting casually on a side table.

Charles leads you to a spacious living room, gesturing for you to sit. As you sink into a plush armchair, he busies himself at a well-stocked bar.

“Drink?” He offers. “I imagine you could use one.”

You nod gratefully, and soon find yourself nursing a glass of what’s probably the most expensive cognac you’ve ever tasted.

Charles settles into a chair across from you, swirling his own drink thoughtfully. “Now then,” he says, his tone suddenly all business. “Perhaps it’s time we discussed the situation at hand.”

Max, who’s been pacing near the windows, turns to face the room. “The Silver Arrows are getting bolder. This attack ... it’s a clear escalation.”

Charles nods grimly. “They sense weakness. Your recent expansion has left you vulnerable, mon ami.”

You listen, feeling increasingly out of your depth as they discuss territories, alliances, and what sound like complex financial maneuvers. It’s like overhearing a board meeting for the world’s most dangerous corporation.

Finally, unable to contain yourself any longer, you speak up. “I’m sorry, but what exactly am I doing here? I’m not a part of ... whatever this is.”

Both men turn to look at you, as if suddenly remembering your presence. Charles raises an eyebrow at Max. “Yes, do tell. What is your plan for our unexpected guest?”

Max runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you’re starting to recognize as a sign of frustration. “I didn’t have a plan. It all happened so fast, and I couldn’t just leave her there.”

“How gallant,” Charles drawls, though there’s a hint of genuine amusement in his voice. “But now we must decide what to do with her. She knows too much to simply let go.”

Your grip tightens on your glass. “I won’t say anything. I swear. Just ... let me go home.”

Max’s expression softens as he looks at you. “It’s not that simple, Y/N. The Silver Arrows saw you with me. They’ll assume you’re involved, whether you are or not.”

“So what then?” You ask, frustration bleeding into your voice. “Am I your prisoner now?”

“Non, ma chèrie,” Charles interjects smoothly. “Think of yourself as ... a valued guest. Under our protection.”

You laugh bitterly. “Some protection. I’ve been shot at, kidnapped, and threatened with bodily harm in the span of 48 hours.”

To your surprise, Charles actually looks chagrined. “Ah, yes. My apologies for that. I have a flair for the dramatic, you see.”

“What Charles is trying to say,” Max cuts in, shooting his friend a warning look, “is that you have options. We can set you up with a new identity, somewhere far from here. Or ...”

He trails off, and you find yourself leaning forward despite yourself. “Or what?”

Max and Charles exchange another of those loaded glances before Max continues. “Or you could stay. Become a part of this.”

You blink, sure you must have misheard. “Become a part of ... your crime syndicate? Are you insane?”

Charles chuckles. “Now you’re catching on, chérie. We’re all a little mad here.”

You shake your head, trying to clear it. The cognac isn’t helping. “I’m not a criminal. I’m a literature professor, for god’s sake!”

“And yet,” Charles muses, leaning forward, “here you are. You could have called the police at any point. You could have refused to get on that yacht. But you didn’t. Why is that, I wonder?”

You open your mouth to protest, then close it again. He’s not wrong. Despite the fear, despite the danger, there’s a part of you that’s been thrilled by all of this. A part that’s been longing for something more than your quiet, predictable life.

Max kneels in front of you, taking your hands in his. “I know it’s a lot to take in. And I’m not asking you to decide right now. But I want you to know that if you choose to stay, we’ll teach you everything you need to know. You’ll be protected, valued. Part of something bigger than yourself.”

You look into his eyes, searching for ... you’re not sure what. Deception? Ulterior motives? But all you see is sincerity, and something else. Something that makes your heart beat a little faster.

“I ... I need time to think,” you manage to say.

Charles claps his hands together, breaking the moment. “Excellent idea. A good night’s sleep will do wonders for clarity of thought. Allow me to show you to your room.”

As you follow Charles up a sweeping staircase, your mind is whirling. Two days ago, your biggest concern was finishing grading papers on Jane Austen. Now, you’re being offered a place in an international crime syndicate.

It’s absurd.

It’s terrifying.

And yet ...

Charles stops in front of an ornate door. “Your quarters, mademoiselle. I trust you’ll find everything to your liking. We can discuss more in the morning.”

As he turns to leave, you can’t help but call out. “Charles?”

He pauses, looking back at you with those piercing eyes. “Yes?”

“Why are you doing this? Helping Max, offering me a place here? What’s in it for you?”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Let’s just say I have a good feeling about you, Y/N. You might be exactly what our little organizations need.”

With that cryptic statement, he’s gone, leaving you alone in a luxurious bedroom that probably costs more than your entire apartment back home.

As you sink onto the plush bed, your head spinning from more than just the alcohol, you can’t help but wonder: what would Jane Austen make of all this? Somehow, you don’t think even she could have imagined a plot twist quite like this one.

***

The morning sun filters through the luxurious curtains, rousing you from a surprisingly deep sleep. For a moment, you’re disoriented, the opulent surroundings a stark contrast to your cozy little apartment back home. Then the events of the past day come rushing back, and with them, a sudden clarity.

You sit up, your mind made up. It’s crazy, it’s reckless, but you’ve never been more certain of anything in your life. You’re staying.

After a quick shower and change into clothes that have mysteriously appeared in the wardrobe (and fit perfectly, which you decide not to question), you make your way downstairs. The villa is quiet, save for the faint clinking of dishes coming from what you assume is the kitchen.

You follow the sound, finding Max nursing a cup of coffee at a marble island. He looks up as you enter, his expression guarded.

“Morning,” he says cautiously. “Sleep well?”

You nod, taking a deep breath. “I’ve made a decision.”

He sets down his cup, giving you his full attention. “Oh?”

“I’m staying,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I want to be a part of this. Of your world.”

Max’s eyebrows shoot up, surprise evident on his face. “Are you sure? This isn’t a decision to be made lightly, Y/N. Once you’re in, there’s no going back.”

You meet his gaze, unflinching. “I’m sure. My old life ... it never felt right. Like I was just going through the motions. But this? As terrifying as it is, it feels real. It feels right.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face, transforming his features. “Well then,” he says, standing up. “I guess we better start your training.”

“Training?” You echo.

Max nods, his expression turning serious. “If you’re going to survive in this world, you need to learn how to protect yourself. First lesson: shooting.”

Your eyes widen. “Shooting? As in, guns?”

“No, we’re going to teach you competitive archery,” Max deadpans. “Of course guns. Come on, Charles has a range in the basement.”

As you follow Max through the winding corridors of the villa, your heart races with a mix of excitement and trepidation. This is really happening.

The shooting range is state-of-the-art, with multiple lanes and an impressive array of weapons displayed on the walls. Max selects a handgun, checking it over with practiced ease.

“We’ll start with something simple,” he says, holding out the gun. “A Glock 19. Easy to handle, reliable.”

You take the weapon gingerly, surprised by its weight. Max positions himself behind you, adjusting your stance and grip.

“Remember,” he says, his breath warm against your ear, “breathe steadily. Squeeze the trigger, don’t pull.”

You nod, trying to focus on the target at the end of the range rather than the heat of Max’s body behind you.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he murmurs, stepping back.

You take a deep breath, aim, and pull the trigger. The gun goes off with a deafening bang, and you can’t help but let out a surprised scream.

Max tuts, shaking his head. “Don’t do that, it will give you away.”

You turn to him, incredulous. “Like the loud noise wouldn’t? I shot a gun!”

“And missed,” Max points out, nodding towards the untouched target. “Now go again.”

Gritting your teeth, you face the target once more. This time, you’re prepared for the noise and the recoil. You squeeze the trigger, and to your surprise, the bullet hits the outer ring of the target.

“Better,” Max says, a note of approval in his voice. “Again.”

As the morning wears on, you find yourself falling into a rhythm. Aim, breathe, squeeze. The shots become more accurate, your stance more confident. Max is a patient teacher, offering guidance and correction with a gentle touch here, a murmured word there.

“You’re a natural,” he says after a particularly good round. “Must be all those Jane Austen novels. Secret badass under all that propriety.”

You laugh, lowering the gun. “I don’t think Lizzy Bennet ever handled a Glock.”

“Her loss,” Max grins. “One more round?”

You nod, raising the gun once more. As you fire off the last few shots, you’re aware of Max’s gaze on you, more intense than before. The final bullet hits dead center, and you turn to him with a triumphant smile.

“How was that?” You ask, breathless with exhilaration.

Max doesn’t answer immediately. He’s looking at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher — admiration, certainly, but something else too. Something that makes your pulse quicken.

“Max?” You prompt, suddenly very aware of how close he is.

In one fluid motion, Max closes the distance between you. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and before you can process what’s happening, his lips are on yours.

The kiss is electric, sending sparks through your entire body. You respond instinctively, your free hand fisting in his shirt to pull him closer. The gun clatters to the floor, forgotten.

Max backs you up against the wall of the shooting range, his body pressing against yours. When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily.

“I’ve wanted to do that since you opened your door that night,” Max admits, his forehead resting against yours.

You laugh breathlessly. “Even with me in my ratty pajamas?”

“Especially then,” he grins. “You were adorably flustered. And then you went and patched me up without hesitation. I was a goner.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “This is insane, you know that? A few days ago I was grading papers on 19th-century classic literature. Now I’m making out with a crime lord in a secret shooting range.”

Max’s expression turns serious. “Is it too much? We can slow down, or-”

You cut him off with another kiss. “No,” you say firmly. “It’s not too much. It’s ... exactly right.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well then, doctor. Ready for your next lesson?”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what might that be?”

Max’s grin turns wicked. “I was thinking something in the realm of close combat. Very hands-on.”

You laugh, a thrill of excitement running through you. “Lead the way.”

As Max takes your hand, leading you out of the shooting range, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. It’s dangerous, it’s completely illogical, and yet ... you’ve never felt more alive.

Whatever comes next, you’re ready for it. With a gun in your hand and Max by your side, you feel like you could take on the world. And who knows? Maybe you will.

***

As Max leads you out of the shooting range, there’s a palpable tension in the air, crackling with unspoken promises. You follow him through the winding corridors of Charles’ villa, your heart racing with anticipation.

“So,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “where exactly are we going for this close combat training?”

Max glances back at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I thought we’d use the gym. Plenty of space, padded floors ... you know, for safety.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Safety, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

He stops abruptly, turning to face you. “Y/N, if this is moving too fast-”

You cut him off, stepping closer. “Max, I literally left my entire life behind for you. I think we’re well past too fast.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Fair point. Still, if at any point you want to stop-”

“I’ll let you know,” you assure him. “Now, are you going to show me these close combat moves or what?”

Max’s grin turns predatory. “Oh, I’ll show you alright.”

He pushes open a door, revealing a state-of-the-art gym. The space is impressive, with gleaming equipment and, as promised, a large area covered in training mats.

“Shall we?” Max asks, gesturing to the mats.

You nod, suddenly feeling a bit nervous despite your bravado. As you step onto the mat, Max begins circling you slowly.

“The key to close combat,” he says, his voice low and intense, “is to always be aware of your opponent’s movements. To anticipate their next move.”

You turn, keeping him in your sight. “And how do I do that?”

In a flash, Max is behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist. “By staying alert,” he murmurs in your ear.

A shiver runs down your spine at his proximity. “I thought I was doing pretty well,” you manage to say.

You can feel Max’s chuckle rumbling through his chest. “Not bad. But you’re still too tense. You need to relax, feel the flow of movement.”

His hands slide up your arms, gently adjusting your posture. You lean back into him, relishing the warmth of his body.

“Like this?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max’s grip tightens slightly. “Getting there. Now, if someone grabs you like this, what do you do?”

You consider for a moment, then make your move. You twist in his arms, using the momentum to break his hold and face him. “How’s that?”

Max looks impressed. “Not bad at all. You’re a quick learner.”

“I have a good teacher,” you reply, a bit breathless from the maneuver and his proximity.

For a moment, you stand there, faces inches apart, the air heavy with tension. Then Max moves, swift and sure, sweeping your legs out from under you. You land on the mat with a soft thud, Max following you down, pinning you beneath him.

“Rule number one,” he says, his face hovering above yours, “never let your guard down.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that so? And what’s rule number two?”

Instead of answering, Max lowers his head, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You respond eagerly, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily. “I think I like rule number two,” you say with a grin.

Max laughs, the sound rich and warm. “Oh, we’re just getting started with the rules, doctor.”

He leans in for another kiss, but this time you’re ready. Using the moves he just taught you, you manage to flip your positions, straddling his waist triumphantly.

“How’s that for staying alert?” You ask, feeling a thrill at the surprised and appreciative look on Max’s face.

“Impressive,” he says, his hands coming to rest on your hips. “But you’ve left yourself open.”

Before you can ask what he means, Max surges upward, capturing your lips once more. As you lose yourself in the kiss, you feel him shift, and suddenly you’re on your back again, Max looming over you with a satisfied smirk.

“Distraction,” he says, “can be a powerful weapon.”

You laugh, breathless and exhilarated. “I’ll keep that in mind. Any other lessons you want to teach me?”

Max’s eyes darken. “Oh, I’ve got plenty more to teach you. If you’re up for it.”

You reach up, pulling him down to you. “I’m a very dedicated student,” you murmur against his lips.

What follows is less a lesson in combat and more an exploration of each other. Clothes are discarded, hands roam freely, and the only sounds in the gym are gasps, moans, and occasional laughter.

Later, as you lie tangled together on the training mats, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. Just days ago, you were grading papers in your quiet apartment. Now, you’re in the arms of a mob boss, in a luxurious villa in Monaco, having just had the most exhilarating experience of your life.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Max asks, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin.

You turn to face him, propping yourself up on an elbow. “Just thinking about how surreal this all is. A week ago, the most exciting thing in my life was finding a rare first edition at an antique book fair.”

Max chuckles. “And now?”

“Now?” You grin. “Now I’m learning to shoot, engaging in ‘close combat training’, and apparently joining an international crime syndicate. It’s ... a lot.”

His expression turns serious. “Is it too much? It’s too late to back out now, you know. I could have set you up somewhere safe, given you a new identity earlier, but now-”

You silence him with a kiss. “Max, I meant what I said earlier. I’m in this. All of it. With you.”

The smile that spreads across his face is radiant. “Good,” he says, pulling you closer. “Because I don’t think I could let you go now if I tried.”

You settle into his embrace, feeling safer than you have in years despite the objective danger of your situation. “So, what’s next on the criminal training agenda?” You ask, only half-joking.

Max pretends to consider. “Well, we’ve covered shooting and hand-to-hand combat. How do you feel about safecracking?”

You laugh. “Safecracking? Seriously?”

“Hey, it’s a valuable skill in our line of work,” Max defends, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Uh-huh,” you say skeptically. “And I suppose pickpocketing is next on the list?”

Max grins. “Now that you mention it ...”

You swat his chest playfully. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he points out, capturing your hand and bringing it to his lips.

“Here I am,” you agree softly. “So, what happens now? Do we stay here in Monaco? Go back to face the Silver Arrows?”

Max’s expression turns thoughtful. “For now, we stay here. You need more training before we can risk going back. And I need to regroup, strategize.”

You nod, a mix of relief and excitement coursing through you. “So I get to play princess in a Monaco villa while learning the finer points of criminality? I think I can handle that.”

“It won’t all be fun and games,” Max warns. “The Silver Arrows are still out there, and they’re not going to give up easily. We need to be prepared for anything.”

“I know,” you say, your tone turning serious. “I understand the risks. I’m ready for whatever comes next.”

He studies your face for a long moment, as if searching for any sign of doubt. Finding none, he nods. “Alright then. Welcome to the family, Y/N.”

***

The Monaco sun beats down relentlessly as you step out of yet another luxury boutique, arms laden with shopping bags. Oscar and Lando, your assigned bodyguards, trail behind you, their eyes constantly scanning the surroundings.

“I think that’s the last one,” you say, unable to keep the excitement out of your voice. “Who knew shopping could be so exhilarating?”

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “I think the exhilaration comes from Max finally letting you out of the villa, not the shopping itself.”

You laugh, conceding the point. “True. I never thought I’d be so happy to see the inside of a Gucci store.”

Lando grins. “Just wait until Max sees the bill. That’ll be truly exhilarating.”

As you make your way towards the parked Ferrari, you can’t help but reflect on the past few weeks. The intensive training, the late-night strategy sessions with Max and Charles, the growing feeling that you’re part of something bigger than yourself. It’s been thrilling, but also claustrophobic at times.

“I still can’t believe Max agreed to this little excursion,” you muse as you reach the car.

Oscar shrugs, opening the trunk. “You can be very persuasive when you want to be. Those puppy eyes of yours should be classified as a weapon.”

You’re about to retort when a sudden movement catches your eye. Before you can react, the air is filled with the deafening sound of gunfire.

“Get down!” Lando shouts, pushing you behind the car as he and Oscar draw their weapons.

Your heart pounds as you crouch behind the meager cover, the sounds of a firefight erupting around you. This isn’t like the controlled environment of the shooting range. This is real, chaotic, and terrifying.

“Y/N, stay down!” Oscar yells over the din, returning fire at unseen assailants.

You nod, too shocked to speak. But as you huddle there, a horrifying realization hits you — you recognize some of the voices shouting orders.

The Silver Arrows. They’ve found you.

Suddenly, a strong arm wraps around your waist, yanking you up and away from the car. You struggle instinctively, but your captor’s grip is like iron.

“Well, well,” a deep voice rumbles in your ear. “What do we have here? Max’s new pet, I presume?”

You crane your neck, looking up into a face you’ve seen before — in photographs, in briefings. Toto Wolff, leader of the Silver Arrows himself.

“Let me go,” you growl, trying to sound braver than you feel.

Toto chuckles, the sound devoid of humor. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, my dear. You see, you’re my ticket to bringing Max to his knees.”

As he speaks, you become acutely aware of the weight on your thigh. The gun. The one Max insisted you carry, “just in case.” This, you realize with startling clarity, is that case.

Moving as subtly as you can, you reach for the holster strapped to your leg. Toto, focused on the fight around you, doesn’t notice.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say, stalling for time as your fingers close around the grip of the gun. “There are other ways to resolve conflicts.”

Toto’s laugh is harsh. “Spoken like someone who doesn’t understand our world. This isn’t a negotiation, it’s war.”

You take a deep breath, Max’s training echoing in your mind. Stay calm. Aim true. Squeeze, don’t pull.

“You’re right,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I don’t understand your world.”

In one fluid motion, you pull the gun free and twist in Toto’s grip. Before he can react, you press the muzzle against his chest and pull the trigger.

The gunshot seems impossibly loud, even amidst the chaos of the firefight. Toto’s eyes widen in shock, his grip on you loosening as he stumbles backward.

For a moment, everything seems to freeze. Then, chaos erupts anew.

“Boss!” Someone shouts, and suddenly you’re being pulled away, strong arms encircling you protectively.

“I’ve got you,” Oscar’s voice says in your ear. “We’re getting out of here.”

As he hustles you towards the car, you catch glimpses of the scene around you. Silver Arrow members rushing to their fallen leader. Lando providing cover fire. And blood. So much blood.

Oscar practically throws you into the backseat of the Ferrari before jumping into the driver’s seat. Lando dives in barely a second later, and then you’re peeling away from the curb, tires screeching.

“Are you hurt?” Lando asks, twisting in his seat to look at you.

You shake your head, still too shocked to speak. The gun is still clutched in your hand, and you stare at it as if seeing it for the first time.

“You did good, Y/N,” Oscar says, his eyes flicking to you in the rearview mirror. “You kept your cool. That’s not easy in a situation like that.”

“I ... I shot him,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Toto Wolff. I shot him.”

Lando and Oscar exchange a glance. “You did what you had to do,” Lando says gently. “He would have killed you without hesitation.”

As the adrenaline begins to fade, the reality of what just happened starts to sink in. You’ve just shot one of the most powerful crime lords in Europe. In broad daylight. In the middle of Monte Carlo.

“Oh god,” you groan, leaning your head back against the seat. “Max is going to kill me.”

Oscar lets out a surprised laugh. “Are you kidding? He’s going to be thrilled. You just took out his biggest rival.”

“Took out?” You repeat, a new wave of panic washing over you. “You mean he’s ...”

“We don’t know for sure,” Lando says quickly. “But a point-blank shot like that ... it doesn’t look good for Toto.”

You close your eyes, trying to process everything. Just hours ago, your biggest concern was whether to buy the Prada or the Fendi handbag. Now, you might have just assassinated a mob boss.

The rest of the drive passes in a blur. Before you know it, you’re pulling up to the villa, where Max is already waiting, his face a mask of concern and anger.

As soon as the car stops, he yanks open your door, pulling you into a fierce embrace. “Are you okay?” He demands, his hands roaming over you as if checking for injuries. “When I got the call, I thought ...”

You cling to him, the familiar scent of his cologne grounding you. “I’m okay,” you assure him. “I’m okay.”

Max pulls back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. “What happened? Oscar said there was a firefight.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “The Silver Arrows ambushed us. And Toto ... he grabbed me. I ... I shot him, Max. With the gun you gave me.”

For a moment, Max just stares at you, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, a slow smile spreads across his face. “You shot Toto Wolff?”

You nod, still unsure of his reaction. “I think ... I think I might have killed him.”

Max’s smile widens into a full-blown grin. “Y/N, do you have any idea what you’ve just done? You’ve single-handedly changed the balance of power in our world.”

“I have?” You ask, feeling slightly dazed.

He nods, pulling you close again. “You’re incredible, you know that? I knew you were special from the moment I showed up at your door, but this ... this is beyond anything I could have imagined.”

As Max leads you into the villa, his arm protectively around your waist, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. From literature professor to potential assassin in a matter of weeks. It’s terrifying, exhilarating, and completely surreal.

“What happens now?” You ask as Max guides you to the study, where Charles is already waiting, phone in hand.

Max exchanges a look with Charles before turning back to you. “Now? Now we prepare for war. The Silver Arrows won’t take this lying down, Toto dead or alive. But with you by my side ...” He trails off, a fierce pride in his eyes.

“You can be unstoppable,” Charles finishes, raising his glass in a toast.

As you sink into a chair, the events of the day finally catching up with you, you realize that this is your life now. Gunfights and power plays, luxury shopping sprees and criminal empires. It’s a far cry from grading papers on Jane Austen, but as you look at Max, seeing the mix of pride, concern, and love in his eyes, you know you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The war may be just beginning, but with Max by your side and a newfound confidence in your abilities, you’re ready to face whatever comes next. After all, you’ve already taken down Toto Wolff. What’s a little inter-syndicate warfare compared to that?

***

Five Years Later

The small apartment buzzes with the energy of five recent college graduates, sprawled across mismatched furniture in various states of relaxation. Empty pizza boxes and half-empty wine bottles litter the coffee table, evidence of their Friday night catch-up session.

“Alright, alright,” Emily says, reaching for her phone. “What should we put on for background noise? Music? TV?”

Jake, lounging on the worn leather armchair, perks up. “Oh! What about that true crime podcast I was telling you guys about? The one about modern mobs?”

Zoe, curled up on the couch, raises an eyebrow. “Seriously? Isn’t that a bit heavy for a chill hangout?”

“No, no, it’s fascinating!” Jake insists. “It’s not just gruesome stuff. It’s all about the economics and politics of modern organized crime. Super interesting.”

Lisa, sitting cross-legged on the floor, shrugs. “I’m game. Could be fun to learn something while we drink.”

“Seconded,” chimes in Alex from his spot by the window. “Hit play, Em.”

Emily fiddles with her phone, connecting it to the bluetooth speaker. “Alright, here we go. ‘The Mob in the Modern Age: Episode 7 — The Dutch Syndicate’s Rise to Power.’”

As the podcast’s intro music fades, a smooth, professional voice fills the room:

“In the world of organized crime, power shifts can happen in the blink of an eye. But few have been as sudden or as dramatic as the meteoric rise of the Dutch Crime Syndicate over the past five years. Once a minor player on the European stage, the Dutch Syndicate now controls vast swathes of territory and influences everything from high finance to international politics. But how did this happen? The answer, dear listeners, lies in an unlikely source: a literature professor turned criminal mastermind.”

The friends exchange amused glances. “A literature professor?” Zoe snorts. “Now that’s a career change.”

“Shh,” Jake hushes her, leaning forward intently.

The podcast continues: “It all began with a chance encounter. The Syndicate’s boss, known only as Max Emilian, was injured in a firefight with rival gang members. Desperate for medical attention but unable to go to a hospital, he turned up on the doorstep of a young literature professor in the middle of the night.”

Emily pauses the podcast. “Okay, this sounds like the plot of a bad romance novel.”

“I know, right?” Lisa laughs. “What are the odds?”

Alex shakes his head, grinning. “Maybe our old prof is secretly living it up as a mob wife somewhere.”

The group erupts into laughter at the absurd image.

“Can you imagine?” Zoe gasps between giggles. “Professor Y/L/N in a shootout?”

Jake wipes tears from his eyes. “God, remember how she used to get flustered just operating the projector?”

As the laughter dies down, Emily resumes the podcast.

“What happened next is the stuff of legend in criminal circles. The professor, whose name we now know to be Y/N Y/L/N, not only patched up the crime boss but ended up joining his organization. Within weeks, she had become his right-hand woman and romantic partner.”

The room falls silent, the friends exchanging wide-eyed looks.

“No way,” Alex breathes.

“It can’t be,” Lisa shakes her head. “It’s got to be a coincidence.”

Jake holds up a hand, shushing them as the podcast continues.

“But Y/N’s true moment of infamy came just a month into her new life of crime. During what should have been a routine shopping trip in Monte Carlo, she and her bodyguards were ambushed by members of the rival Silver Arrows gang. In the ensuing chaos, Y/N found herself face to face with none other than Toto Wolff, the notorious leader of the Silver Arrows.”

“Oh my god,” Zoe whispers, her face pale.

“What happened next would change the landscape of European organized crime forever. Y/N, using a gun given to her by Max for protection, shot Toto Wolff at point-blank range. Wolff did not survive the encounter, his death throwing the Silver Arrows into disarray.”

Emily pauses the podcast again, her hand shaking slightly. “Guys ... this can’t actually be our Professor Y/L/N, right? I mean, it’s impossible.”

The room is silent for a long moment, each of them lost in thought.

“Remember how she just ... disappeared?” Alex says slowly. “In the middle of the semester? The department said it was a family emergency, but no one ever heard from her again.”

Jake nods, his brow furrowed. “And it was right around the time this podcast is talking about. Five years ago, give or take.”

Lisa shakes her head vehemently. “No. No way. Our Y/N? The one who cried when we threw her a surprise party for finishing her PhD? There’s no way she shot someone.”

“But think about it,” Zoe says, warming to the idea. “She was always talking about how literature reflects real life, how the best stories come from unexpected places. What if ... what if she decided to live a story instead of just teaching about them?”

The group falls silent again, each of them trying to reconcile the image of their soft-spoken, cardigan-wearing professor with the gun-toting criminal mastermind described in the podcast.

Emily takes a deep breath. “Should we ... should we listen to the rest?”

After a moment of hesitation, they all nod. She presses play:

“In the years since that fateful day in Monte Carlo, Y/N has become a force to be reckoned with in her own right. Known in criminal circles as ‘The Professor,’ she’s rumored to be the strategic mind behind the Dutch Syndicate’s most daring and successful operations. Her background in literature and analysis has proven unexpectedly valuable in the world of organized crime, allowing her to see patterns and opportunities that others miss.”

Jake lets out a low whistle. “Okay, that part I can actually see. Remember how she could break down a text? Find connections no one else saw?”

The others nod, still looking shell-shocked.

The podcast continues: “Last year, Y/N and Max officially tied the knot in what insiders describe as the criminal event of the decade. The guest list reportedly included high-ranking members of various international syndicates, as well as several politicians and business moguls whose connections to the underworld had previously been only rumored.”

“A mob wedding,” Alex says faintly. “Our professor had a mob wedding.”

Zoe suddenly sits up straight. “Wait a second. Guys, remember that weird email we all got about a year ago? The one that looked like spam but had our names in it?”

The others nod slowly, realization dawning.

“It said something about a ‘special event’ and how the sender wished we could be there,” Lisa recalls. “We all thought it was just a weird phishing attempt.”

“Holy shit,” Jake breathes. “She invited us to her mob wedding.”

The podcast wraps up: “Today, the Dutch Crime Syndicate stands at the pinnacle of European organized crime, with Y/N and Max as its power couple. Their story serves as a reminder that in the modern criminal underworld, brains can be just as valuable as brawn. And sometimes, the most dangerous person in the room might just be the one with a literature degree.”

As the outro music plays, the friends sit in stunned silence.

Finally, Emily speaks up. “So ... do we think it’s really her?”

They look at each other, years of shared memories and inside jokes about their favorite professor flashing through their minds.

“I mean, what are the odds of two literature professors named Y/N Y/L/N getting mixed up with the mob in the same year?” Alex points out.

Jake nods slowly. “And it would explain why she just vanished. Why the department was so weird about it.”

“But ... but it’s Y/N,” Lisa protests weakly. “She used to bring us cookies during finals week. She cried when we analyzed sad poems.”

Zoe reaches for her phone. “Only one way to find out for sure. I’m googling her.”

The others crowd around as Zoe types in their former professor’s name. The search results load, and they collectively gasp.

There, staring back at them from countless news articles and blurry paparazzi shots, is an unmistakable face. It’s older, harder somehow, but undeniably the woman who once taught them about Jane Austen and Shakespeare.

“Well,” Emily says faintly, “I guess this explains why she always said Pride and Prejudice needed more action scenes.”

The room erupts into hysterical laughter, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting them full force.

As they catch their breath, Jake raises his wine glass. “To Professor Y/L/N,” he says solemnly. “May her gun be as mighty as her pen.”

The others join in the toast, clinking their glasses together.

“You know,” Alex muses, “I always thought her lectures on Crime and Punishment were a little too detailed.”

Another round of laughter fills the apartment as the friends settle in to re-listen to the podcast, this time with a whole new perspective on their former professor turned criminal mastermind.

As the night wears on, they share memories of their college days, now tinged with the surreal knowledge of where life has taken their beloved professor. And though none of them would admit it out loud, there’s a small part of each of them that can’t help but admire the sheer audacity of it all.

After all, how many people can say their literature professor went on to conquer the criminal underworld?

[harmonyrae]

Crimson Intimacy

Synopsis: Ovulation week is intense, but shark week is... something else entirely. When Sylus finds out, he is more than happy to help alleviate those symptoms.

Content Warnings: Mention of menstrual cycle, feminine products, blood/bleeding, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, angst, before & after care, PiV, cream pie, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 3.8k

You toss the blanket away, the heat overwhelming. You turn to your side, clutching your stomach. Your cramps have been worse this month and the hot flashes were getting on your last nerve. 

You feel your thighs glide against each other, you assume the sweat has built up and you’ll have to take another shower to cool off. You huff a breath, blowing a stand of hair away from your nose - there’s no shot you’re risking a sneeze right now. You hear the door creak open and you squint your eyes against the stream of light pouring in. The light frames his form in the doorway, his silver hair damn near glowing. 

“Still sleeping, sweetie?” 

His voice was so gentle, you wanted to cry. Of course you wanted to cry, everything made you want to fucking cry. God, you hated this. It was your first weekend in two months you had completely off and you were so excited to spend time with Sylus. But here you are, curled up in a ball in his bed, downing pain meds every few hours and biting your tongue to avoid snapping at your patient boyfriend. 

“Not anymore… I’m sweating again…”

Sylus pushes the door open wider before making his way to you, letting the hall light guide his way. He switches on the bedside lamp and leans down to place a kiss to your damp forehead. His eyes trail down your body and stop at your waist. His eyes widen, his calm expression returns just a moment later, but you’d already seen the momentary change. You glance down and your heart drops.

The bedding beneath your hips was stained with blood along with your satin sleep shorts. The comforter was also spotted with blood and damp with sweat. Tears stream down your face and you can’t suppress a sob. You were already boiling, but now your cheeks felt positively molten. 

Sylus lifted a hand to cup your face, wiping your tears with his thumb.

“No, stop. Don’t cry.”

“But yo-your mattress and th-the sh-sheets… I’m so-sorry…” You manage to stutter through your sobs.

“It’s not an issue. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” 

He gathers the comforter and tosses it to the floor. He swiftly untucks the bedding and wraps it around your waist before gently placing a hand to your lower back, trying to help you shift off the bed. You squirm against his touch, your skin slick with sweat and, most likely, blood. He doesn’t pull back, helping you to the edge of the bed. You stand and turn and look back at the mattress, but Sylus circles behind you blocking your view. He guides you to the bathroom and closes the door. He leans you against the counter and prepares the shower.

He doesn’t run the water for too long, knowing the steam will only make you warmer. He places a lavender aromatherapy shower tablet on the floor of the shower, the scent already filling the room and making your shoulders relax. He turns to you slowly and starts to peel away the sheet.

“I can do it, you’ve done too much already.”

“Kitten…”

His warning tone shuts you up immediately. You know he isn’t going to leave you alone. He folds the sheet and places it on the counter before kneeling to help you step out of your sleep shorts. 

“I should probably use the…” You don’t look up at him, you don’t want to explain that you were wearing a tampon and an emergency pad that you bled through. You couldn’t believe this was even happening, this hasn’t happened in so long and never at someone else’s house. 

“Okay, come on then.”

He leads you over to the toilet and you finally look up at him with a grimace. He looks at you and smiles sweetly - damn him for being so nice about this. You want him to be upset or disgusted. His gentle demeanor was making your other symptoms worse… 

Defeated, you sigh and wiggle your way out of your bloody underwear. Your emergency pad was soaked and you cleared your throat as you striped it off and folded it. You hover over the toilet and carefully tug your tampon free before sitting. Sylus brings the trash can to you and you toss your products away. 

He goes to the sink and wets a washcloth, returning to clean your hands and wipe some blood off of your legs while you sit. A cramp pinches your side and you double over, groaning quietly. Sylus rubs your back and continues to clean your legs.

When you’re finished, he helps you stand up and moves to lift your satin sleep tank. You grab his wrists suddenly, eyes widening as you look up at him. Your chest tightens and you grit your teeth. He needs to leave and let you deal with this, you will only embarrass yourself further.

“This isn’t the first shower we’ve shared, sweetie. Let me help you.”

You don’t loosen your grip and Sylus leans down slightly to try to meet your gaze. However, you’ve found a very interesting spot on the floor and don’t intend to stop staring at it. 

“I know, I just… I’ve got this. Go.”

Sylus pulls a hand out of your grip and lifts your chin. He puts more force behind his movements sensing your reluctance to work with him. Your eyes flare with defiance and he watches you pout for a moment before leaning closer.

“Why are you pushing me away?”

You let out a frustrated breath, you didn’t want him to think you were pushing him away, but the alternative… You felt your cheeks heat once again as you felt a familiar throb between your legs. You quickly pull your bottom lip between your teeth and pinch your brows together trying to look angry rather than unbelievably horny. 

Sylus tilted his head, analyzing your response. His brows lifted before knitting together in a subtle confusion. He let his fingers drift from your chin down to your collarbone, goosebumps rising beneath his touch, shivering slightly.

“I’m not, I just want to take my shower in peace.”

His fingers don’t stop at your shoulder, he trails them down your arm before placing his hand on your hip. You squeeze your thighs together, the throb getting stronger and harder to ignore. You lift your eyes to meet his eyes once more and notice he is staring at your thighs. Oh great, he noticed. You try to back away, but he grips your hips with both hands and pulls you closer. 

“When were you going to tell me cramps aren’t the only troublesome symptom you deal with?”

You shake your head, frowning at him.

“I just don’t want to bleed all over your bathroom, I’ve already ruined your mattress and sheets and –”

Sylus cradles your head as he leans down to capture your lips with his. His soft lips slide against yours as his tongue presses to urge your lips apart. You gasp as you open your mouth and his tongue slips inside. His tongue dances with your own, pulling a needy moan from you. He pulls back, his smug smile would usually irritate you, but tonight… 

“Sylus, please don’t tease me…”

Sylus tugs at the bottom of your satin top and pulls up slowly. With your willpower dwindling, you don’t stop him. He pulls it over your head and drops it to the floor before tugging his shirt off. He pushes his sweatpants over his hips while he backs you closer to the shower door. Your chest heaves as you take in his naked body.

“First we get you cleaned up, then I’ll take care of you.”

“Sylus! I –” You gasp.

“You what, kitten?”

You place your hands against his stomach, your eyes seemingly unable to stop staring down at his cock. Your chin trembles, he reaches around you to open the shower door. You feel a cool mist coat your back and the lavender overwhelms your senses.

“It isn’t – I’m – I’m bleeding and it’s –”

“You think I’m afraid of a little blood, is that it, kitten?”

“Well obviously it isn’t just 'a little blood’ now is it?”

You couldn’t hide your frustration any longer. He was acting like it wasn’t a big deal and the mess didn’t bother him. You had just bled all over his bed and he knew how embarrassed you were, why was he being so annoying?

“You bleed every month. Sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. There’s usually not much I can do to help you through this time, but this… This I can help you with.”

You open your mouth to protest, his hands circle your shoulders and he backs you into the shower completely. As the warm water rushes over your skin, you close your eyes and tilt your head back. Sylus runs his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp. You meet his eyes again, seeing them glow in the dim light. You knew he was hungry, that he wanted this too. 

You look to the floor and see the water run pink. The dried blood slowly rinsing away from your skin. Sylus lathers soap onto his hand and kneels before you, washing your legs and thighs until the water runs clear. You rested your hands against your stomach, feeling bloated and self-conscious again. Sylus recognized that look, he moves your hands away and places kisses across your stomach and hips. You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning against the shower wall and sighing. His hands caressing the backs of your thighs. 

“Sy…”

He stands, turning you around so you lean against his chest, your hands braced against the shower wall. He works the soap over your shoulders and arms before moving to your stomach. He makes his way up your torso until he cups your breasts, his thumbs lightly flicking over your extra sensitive nipples. You moan as he pulls you under the water to rinse before lathering the soap across his own body. You turn back around and run your hands over his chest and arms, the water running down your hands to rinse the soap away. Sylus hums as he feels your hands roam and settle low on his hips. He dips his mouth to your neck as he turns off the water. Your back arching off the tile wall, pressing your chest against him. 

“I’ll make a mess…” You whisper.

He grabs a towel and places kisses along your shoulder while he dries you. 

“I don’t care if I have to buy a whole new bed, you’re not going to sleep tonight frustrated or embarrassed, do you understand me?” 

He scoops you up and carries you to the bed bridal style. He sets you down and walks over to a cabinet across from the bed. He takes out a thick blanket and spreads it out on the mattress. You blush and glance down at your naked body. You hated the idea of ruining his things, even though you knew you couldn’t control it. Sylus immediately caught onto your concern.

“It’s a special blanket I got a few days ago. The tag said it was ‘the most reliable waterproof intimacy blanket on the market.’ I guess we will put it to the test, won’t we?” 

Your eyes widen as you glance between the blanket and Sylus. He bought a sex blanket? 

He presses you back onto the bed, you crawl on your elbows backward, squeezing your thighs already worrying about leaking. Sylus leans down over you, one hand settling by your shoulder while the other rests on your knee.

“I want you to relax. Let your body respond how it needs to.”

Tears pool in your eyes, no one had ever been willing to do this when you were on your period. And he was being so gentle and sweet, wanting you to enjoy yourself without worry. Your clit throbbed, aching for friction. You hated how horny you’d get during your period. Everyone talked about ovulation hormones, but no one talked about period hormones having a similar effect. The simplest thing could make you moan and tremble. 

You lowered yourself to the bed, letting your back settle into the silky blanket. Sylus crawled on top of you before pulling your leg open. You let your hip relax as he looked down and trailed his fingers down your inner thigh. You close your eyes and hold your breath, still worried he would change his mind once he felt your blood on his hand. 

“Breathe, my love…” His warm breath tickles your ear, his voice low and husky. His fingers finally touch you where you need him most. 

His fingers circle your clit, already swollen from being frustrated for the majority of the day. He pinches lightly, your hips lifting off the bed in response. Every part of your body was more sensitive and you couldn’t stop yourself from responding, loudly. You feel one of his fingers circle your entrance and you tense, he lowers himself to his elbow and dips his head to take your swollen nipple in his mouth. A delicious burst of pleasure spirals through your chest. He licks, sucks and nibbles as he works his finger around your entrance. 

You could feel how slick you were and while you knew it was partially your arousal, you knew you were bleeding. But every time Sylus felt your body tense, he would shift his mouth. He took your other nipple between his teeth and circled his tongue over its peak. The tension melts away as you arch your back off the bed to push your breast further into his eager mouth.

Your hips were stretching wider and wider as Sylus worked you, his fingers dipping inside of you finally. He stroked your sensitive walls slowly, feeling your body writhe and your fingernails dig into his shoulders. 

“Does it hurt?”

You shake your head, his purposeful touch makes your head swim. You start grinding against his hand. He places his hand flush against you and rubs his palm against your clit. You lift your head to look down, expecting to see his hand covered in your blood, but his lips meet yours and your head tilts back onto the mattress. 

“Do you want more?” He mumbles into your mouth.

“God yes… please…”

Your thrusts match your whine as you dig your heels into the bed to push his fingers further inside of you. Your mind is fighting with your hormones, you want to be worried, but it feels so good you can’t focus long enough to visualize the mess you’re making. 

You whimper as he removes his fingers, he doesn’t let you lift your head, his kiss holding your attention. When you feel the tip of his cock slide along your folds you shake and gasp, your eyes flying open. He presses his forehead against yours, keeping you still. 

“Sy, I need…” 

He slowly presses his cock into your entrance, your body tensing.

“What do you need, angel?”

You can’t speak, your body shakes as he pauses, letting your body relax and stretch for him. You reach your hands up to his hair, still damp from the shower and grab a fistful. You yank his head back and he groans.  

“I need you I need y-ou I need you I need ughh fuck…”

You ramble until he pushes into you in one thrust and bottoms out. You cry out feeling him hit your g-spot immediately. Your chest heaves as your walls pulse, damn near vibrating with pleasure. He tucks a hand under your arm sliding up to your neck and lifts you to where you’ve trapped him by pulling his hair.

“Do you want me to be gentle or rough, angel? Speak to me.”

You place kisses over his cheeks, his nose, over his eyelids. Your hands loosen and you let his hair go, locking your arms around his neck and your chest against his.

“Sy… ahh mhm…”

You can tell your body wouldn’t mind if he fucked you so hard you splattered the walls and couldn’t walk tomorrow. But hearing him call you angel, his voice gentle and his attention being solely on you and making sure you don’t get distracted by… wait, what embarrassed you earlier? You just wanted him close to you, touching you, holding you, whispering to you.

Sylus moans and pulls out to slowly push back inside of you. There’s no resistance, he slides in and out with ease, but he keeps his movements slow so you feel everything. In a stark contrast to his cock, his mouth races across your chest. He captures a nipple and suckles before nipping at your collarbone or fully biting at the fullness of your chest. 

Your hips press into the mattress and you work to keep your legs open. You want to wrap your legs around him and thrust, but he’s fucking you so perfectly and you don’t want to ruin it. Yes, you want to flip him over and ride him so hard until he has tears in his eyes. You want to deny his orgasm until he is begging for it and his fingers are digging into your hips leaving instant bruises. You want to get on all fours and tell him to fuck you from behind, wrapping your hair around one of his hands while he chokes you lightly with the other. 

“You want me to be rough, don’t you?” 

Your eyes fly open and you stare at him. He traces your forehead with his nose, his breath tickling your lashes.

“Your tense, restless. Tell me what you fucking need.” 

You bite your lip and moan breathlessly as he rams into you harder and harder.

“Fuck m– ugh… fuck me fuck me until– until I scream…” 

Sylus doesn’t hesitate. He drops you onto the mattress and plants both hands by your head. His knees push your thighs upward. He rises to his knees, his cock still buried inside you. He reaches down and pulls your legs up, holding your legs flush against your chest. His hand wrapping around your thighs, his grip tightening as he pulls out only to ram back into you harder and harder.

“Moan for me, whimper and moan until you can’t stand it and then when you’re about to come, scream. Scream my fucking name. I want to hear you when you come all over my cock, angel.”

He doesn’t talk to you like this in bed normally. But your neediness is different. It’s not desperate, it’s commanding. Maybe it’s the hormones? It doesn’t matter, he is matching your energy and giving you exactly what you need and nothing less. The aggression is mutual and it’s making you feral.

His pace is rapid and you can’t close your eyes. Your gaze locks onto Sylus, his cheeks red, sweat trickling down his forehead, his eyes half-closed, his mouth slightly open as he gasps. Your moans and whimpers turn into grunts and gasps, your body wriggling to get away from the intensity building at your core. 

Finally you scream, you scream so loudly you know Sylus’ neighbors would probably think he is killing someone... again. Sylus doesn’t slow down, he releases your legs and leans down to grip your hip. You come hard, your orgasm intense and overwhelming. You scream his name over and over and then you feel his movements stutter. His hips snap forward and he groans your name just as loudly. You feel the heat of his release spreading and leaking out of you already. He forces himself to continue to move his hips, working you both through the high. 

You lift your arms over your head and grip the edge of the mattress above you. You’re almost tempted to pull yourself away from him as you near the point of over-stimulation. Your swollen clit and tender pussy ache from the exertion. It’s a welcome ache, but you can’t handle much more.

Sylus pulls out and nearly collapses on top of you, letting out a sigh before nuzzling into your neck. You press a sideways kiss to his temple as you rub his back slowly.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“I’m perfect.”

He lifts his head and looks at you. He smiles and shifts his hips, this is when you feel how slick your bodies are against each other. Your stomach tightens. You try to lift your head to look, but Sylus stops you. He hovers over you and looks at you with a stern expression.

“You’re going to close your eyes and I’m going to carry you to the bathroom for another shower, okay? I’ll take care of everything once you’re settled in the living room.”

“The living room? Oh god, I ruin –”

Sylus reaches down to cup your pussy, the sudden touch making you jump and whimper.

“What did I say, kitten?”

“I – you…”

He circles your sore clit with the pad of his finger, pressing harder than he needs to. You pull your hips backwards into the mattress, groaning.

“Okay, okay! I didn’t ruin anything.”

“We are going to the living room to watch a movie with dinner. The bed is fine.”

You sigh as he kneels over you. You stare at the ceiling trying to stifle the temptation to look. You finally close your eyes and feel Sylus pick you up, once again carrying you bridal style to the bathroom. 

“And don’t even think about peaking over my shoulder.”

You giggle into the crook of his neck and squeeze your eyes closed. You hear the bathroom door close but you keep your eyes closed reveling in the tender moment. Sylus walks right into the shower and turns it on, letting the water warm as it spills over your skin. He holds you for a while, twisting from side to side to let the water rinse over your skin. He puts you down and takes care of you, washing your hair and using your favorite soap. 

The rest of the night you are at ease, satisfied and sore. Sylus holds you in his lap after dinner, holding a heating pad to your lower stomach and feeding you chocolate covered strawberries. You lean your head back against his chest and fall asleep. When you wake up the next morning you are in Sylus’ bed with no blood stains in sight. Sylus walks in the bedroom with two cups of coffee and sits down next to you. You smile and sit up to wrap your arms around him.

“What’s this for?” He whispers into your hair, wrapping an arm around you to hug you back.

“I just… Last night… Thank you.” 

“Of course, my love. Now that I know your symptoms, I can better take care of you.”

He leans back and winks at you. You roll your eyes, but can’t help but smile. 

“You’re going to be insufferable, aren’t you?”

Sylus chuckles before pulling you into a gentle kiss. You’ve never felt so safe. The embarrassment you felt, a distant memory. Sylus never judged and he loved you no matter how messy you might become. Yeah, he can be insufferable if he wants to. After last night, he’s earned it.

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora

[gay-dorito-dust]

Controversial younger s/o things

Slight mentions of like one nsfw thing, especially for Stanley, it’s not much but still I thought I should say.

Ford worries that he’s far too old for you, but yet is unable to keep his distance from you when you spent every waking moment at the shack with Soos, Wendy, Dipper and Mabel.

He feels like a perv whenever he lets his gaze linger a little too long on you for it to be platonic, yet he could never bring himself to look away as you had him bewitched mind, body and soul for all he knew and he didn’t mind it, even if it did mean he lost sleep dreaming about you being his youthful spouse who often stole his turtlenecks just to get his attention.

He thinks you could be better off with someone your own age, and yet despite believing this, Ford can’t help but harbour this mentality that he could treat you far, far better then anyone your own age. He’d worship the ground you walk on, treat you with respect, dignity and trust.

You’d probably be brought down to the lab quite often per his request. Ford claims he needs your opinion on something but the moment your down there, you’re making out with your back pressed against his workbench as his hands remained above your waist; maybe teasingly trailing to your thighs but still he’s a respective gentleman towards you forever and always.

There the moments you gladly wait all day for moments like these as you got to feel just how badly Ford wanted you in more ways then one ;)

You make out in his bed too but that’s only if you couldn’t make it to the lab, so Ford makes sure to lock the door when you do, for privacy and such.

There’s multiple entries about you and Ford’s conflicted feelings towards you followed with sketches of you looking the most beautiful he’s ever seen you. Seeing you be great and supportive with dipper and Mabel defiantly awakens something in him that he later puts down in the journal.

Will loose it if he ever saw you in his turtleneck, he’s not gods strongest soldier in their regards as he’s more then happy to get on his knees for you right then and there. You in his turtleneck is his secrete fantasy and to see it become reality is enough for this man to believe that there is a heaven.

Stanley feels that you deserve better then him

the girdle stays off! You don’t give a fuck, the girdle stays off and you will fucking hide it from him, much to his dismay but you love his tummy so, so so much!

Heated make outs in el Diablo while on road trips just the two of you at night.

Spoils you rotten however he could in meaningful ways, kinda feels sad that he can’t do more for you like you deserved but you didn’t care as you pepper his face with kisses and reassurance that he’s more then enough for you.

Probs gets jealous of you talking to other older men that has deeper pockets, but is smug as fuck the moment you came back to him with wads of their money in your hands as he pulls you in close by the waist and kisses you firmly on the lips saying, ‘that’s my girl/boy/ spouse.’

You will get love bites from him for making him jealous but also for making him so proud of his gorgeous/handsome/ beautiful spouse. You wear them with pride as you know no one else can elicit the same feeling as Stan did and he’d show off his own love bites with pride as he’s shameless and wants to show that he’s more then taken.

Does get moments of insecurity about your age gap but with a few words of reassurances, kisses and caresses to his body and he’s more than back to being confident of your relationship.

Stan wants you to sit on his lap all of the time, no excuses you’re on his lap and he gets the prettiest view of his unbearably cute spouse as his large hand rubs your thighs, getting progressively closer as to where you needed him most. ;)

[gremlingottoosilly]

Beekeeping age [Dilf!Konig x fem!Reader]

You're ex-boyfriend is an asshole, so you decided to fuck his hot military dad instead. You're going to find out why his first wife ran as fast as she did, very soon - but Konig is still the best dick that ever happened to you.

CW: Daddy kink(obvi), power imbalance, possessive Konig, perverted Konig, age gap(Reader in her early twenties, Konig in his early forties), mentions of cheating(your ex is a douchebag anyway), slightly obsessive Konig, size kink, unprotected sex.

FIRST PART (can be read separately) AO3

— Why your wife left you, again? 

You stuff your face full of…something. He cooked it – gods did he cook it well. It’s meat and vegetables and spices, and it feels like your dad cooking but twice as good. It feels like pure sin because he says you shouldn’t worry about calorie counts or how fat the meat is, or how good everything tastes fried because he needs his special girl to feel good and healthy and fatten up a little bit, and you…gods, you’re down. Bad. 

You wonder if König’s wife left because she couldn’t compete with his cooking. You wonder if his wife left because he was feeding her too good. 

— Why don’t we leave uneasy questions for later, Schatzi? 

He brushes his hand over your hair, taking in the way you look – dressed up in his shirt, skin covered in bites and bruises from his hold. He can’t see it right now but can almost testify to the way your lipstick was all over his collar – good thing he wasn't wearing his uniform shirt, wouldn’t want to make dorks from Kobra jealous. 

He brings you another plate, he fills your glass – you never knew beer could taste this good, but he whispered something about having his own little homemade brewery for wine and beer somewhere in the mountains, in his Summer house. This man has a hug apartment in Vienna and a Summer house – you think you heard him having enough land to go hunting and to keep bees, and you might have cum a little bit just here and there. 

— I would like to know the story, actually. To not repeat her mistakes, you know. 

— You won’t, Liebling. I can already picture you with a ring on your pretty finger. 

— Not so fast. Maybe I don’t believe in marriage. 

— You’re too young to stop believing in it. 

— Way to talk when you’re the divorced one, sir. 

— Shut it, Schatzen. I can still take care of a good girl like you, ja? König leans in to kiss you, his lips brushing over your mouth – it’s wet and swollen, he bite you quite a few times already, and you feel dizzy just from the way his tongue lingers just a second before going in, taking your arousal even more. His hand gently brushes some hair from your face and you giggle from the sensation of his rough fingers on the softness of your skin. It never failed to mesmerize you, just how seasoned and old the colonel might be – and his hands would still tremble as if he is handling the finest porcelain doll in his hands. He has the expression of an anxious, devoted follower – you are not sure how his wife could left him. If he was looking at you like this every day, even as you go through with pregnancy and a piece of shit kid like Paul, you would die before leaving him. 

— Could you two please stop fucking each other? 

— I thought you wanted to move to dorms.

— This is my house too!

— Not on the documents, it’s not. — You can’t just throw me away, dad! — Your new stepmom needs her space. 

König grasps your shoulder as you try to stop them from arguing again – it’s embarrassing enough that you’re fucking your ex’s dad. Colonel makes it a whole fucking show, parading you around as his controversially young girlfriend, making sure that his son will hear your moans and whimpers as you get fucked at every surface of this apartment. You were wondering if you could ask him to move to the Summer house – even with your college and all. You can take a gap year and write a journalist investigation about lonely veterans and their mastery at brewing alcohol. You can take a gap year and try your best in the new trophy wife gig. König’s hand is firm on your shoulder – you know better than to try and argue with him, the silent recognition of authority loud in your head. You sigh, trying your best to just stop yourself from acting too damn weird. It’s their male thing, and you’re just an intruder in a big T-shirt and old leggings. König said it wasn’t his wifey’s – that he burned all of her stuff when she left. Somehow, you find peace in that statement. 

— How could you even…Jesus fucking Christ, this is disgusting. She is my age! — And the most beautiful girl in the world. I can see why you liked her. — She is my girlfriend! — Schatzi came to me in distress and begged me to take her. I think we both knew you weren’t…the best option. You feel more embarrassed with each second of their conversation. You don’t want to listen, you don’t want to take in their words, you feel like a trophy being discarded between two different winners. You feel like a prized mare on a farm – and they won’t even look at you. Too distracted by the sound of their voices, you eat your dinner in somewhat somber peace because you need to eat, after all, and you really like what König cooks. You like what König does most of the time. All of the time. 

Paul storms off the room after a few minutes of bickering. You feel guilty for not stopping him because he was still kinda your boyfriend. You ex-boyfriend. Your asshole incel-ish ex-boyfriend whose assholless literally made you go and sleep with his dilfy dad, and…god, you feel like a whore. Good. Paul was calling you a whore a lot of the time, you may as well take the new name and plaster it in your new badge. 

König’s hand lingers on your back, caressing it gently. You whimper because you feel bad and you’re still in college, and Paul’s disgusted reaction reminds you that fucking a guy in his forties isn’t the best business decision. Even if the said guy is a retired colonel with shitload of money, even if he still goes to work sometimes, just because he wants to feel cool and shoot guns at bad guys, even if this guy buys you cool gifts and he promised to renovate your car or buy you a new one, and he makes plans and takes you to places that don’t make you feel like begging for attention. 

If anything, you feel like he is drowning you with attention. 

His hand lets go of your shoulder – he was holding you so tight the whole conversation, you can sense the bruises forming on your skin. You lick your lips, and he moves to kiss you again. You feel like drowning, you feel like this is all just a dream – and you’re also drunk because gods, König knows how to make a good glass of…something. 

— You shouldn’t act like this. He is your son. 

He laughs dismissingly. He dismisses a lot of things you said – you think it’s the age difference. You think he is just being traditional, and you don’t want to be too nagging. You don’t want to end up like his wife and wake up from the dear you’ve been seeing. 

König’s lips are soft, and you can look past his hands, taking you too possessively – you can close your eyes, and you can just listen to his accent, smiling as his tongue worms its way into your mouth. He is good, you think – at this whole kissing thing. At this whole “Hi there, I’m a retired old dog and I am fucking the girlfriend of my only son. I’m divorced btw” .

He has experience – you know it when he tucks your lip between his teeth, when he massages your shoulders as you spread your legs already, so wet for him, it’s almost embarrassing. You never slept much with Paul – his poor excuse of a son – it was always never enough lube, it was always never enough attention, he always needed you to shave or to leave your hair to grow a little bit, it was either your perfume being too sweet or you no wearing anything at all. You thought he would have much more fun masturbating to his anime chicks and poor gaming sessions with his friends. 

But König isn’t like this – every time he drops on his knees to eat you out like a man starving, you feel utter and complete devotion. In his tongue, in his mouth, in his teeth as he sucks little marks into your thighs, making sure you will remember it tomorrow when he will ask you to stay for breakfast and then ride you to whatever you need to come next. Last time he promised to drive you to the library, he took a few turns and took you to some restaurant instead. You gushed about not having proper attire, he was still in his half-uniform and rocking dark cargo pants, and he was apologizing every time his fingers hit that special spot in your cunt as he fingered you during the second course of meals. He said that he was so, sorry about not fucking you properly, about having to resort to public displays like this – and you were too high on loving him to care. You still are. — I don’t think we should be…

— He left. Won’t bother us anymore. 

— I’m not in the mood right now. 

— You’re always in the mood, Schatzen. Enough to drive me crazy. — You’re a pervert. Like Paul. 

— He takes on after his father, ja?

It would alarm you how much contempt he had for his own child right now. Then, again, you were the one who dumped his son for the powerhouse of a dad. Maybe it was your daddy issues, maybe it was your dumb reasoning and the summer break that you didn’t want to spend with your family. Good thing you’re spending it with the other. 

König’s face is buried between your legs, his teeth tugging on the soft fabric, forcing your leggings down. God, it feels good – he is so high on wanting you, can’t even wait to take off your clothes properly. You never had a man wanting you so badly before – it’s addicting, it’s crushing, it makes you feel like a goddess among men. Makes you feel wanted, a thing that your ex never did. 

You forget about guilt when he kisses your lower tummy, when his lips trace down to your cunt, taking sharp licks through your panties. You wore them this morning, something from a new lacy set he bought – one of the only ones that weren’t torn off from your body the moment you took them on. He always wanted you to make these little fashion shows for him, making good use of his money – you weren’t a sugar baby, not on paper, you still clutched to the last traces of your dignity, but he did buy you a lot of gifts. 

— S’ pretty for me, Liebling. The prettiest girl in the world.

— I assume after…af..ter your wife. 

You giggle when he frowns, his rugged face filled with concern. He doesn’t like jokes about his marriage – you don’t want to ask him about it because it would mean waking up from a dream you want to experience over and over again, but you heard what Paul was talking about. What his mom told him about. you heard enough to know that kissing a man like König is a safety hazard and a liability that you can’t afford, but it’s warm, and he is rich, and you don’t want to go back to your part-time job this season. You want to be dumb and you want to be young – right now, you’re doing both. — Don’t be so dumb, Schatzi. Although it suits you. 

— I’m not dumb! 

— Nein, you’re not. Just silly. 

— You just call me a different type of dumb. 

— I like it when you’re dumb. Makes you cuter. 

König is awkward and funny, and he buys you things that you could never afford. He is mysterious and kind – to you, not his enemies – and he uses German words randomly in his phrases because he knows the accent, and the pronunciation drives you crazy. You never thought of thinking of yourself as a dilf hunter but, hell, here you are. With his dark ginger stubble – and grey streaks that make you go wild every time you look at him – between your thighs. It’s tickling, and it’s a bit irritating, and he will rub some calming lotion in your skin after this, making sure to cover every inch of your skin with some expensive cream that he knows jackshit about, but you wanted it, and so he went out and bought it. Gosh, you felt dumb even asking him for this. 

He traces his kisses along your thighs, tongue lingers to press against your wet, swollen folds. Flirting in front of Paul made you embarrassingly hot, solidifying you as a shitty, bad, horny person who needs fat cock stuffed in your leaking pussy. You lick your lips, and you tremble when he pushes his tongue inside. He is starving, pushy with all of his needs – makes you almost beg for it, like a pet he took from the street. 

— I want to take you to the Summer house next week. 

You open your eyes, shocked. It’s nothing, really, you shouldn’t be this surprised about him wanting to show off his other properties. You want to check out his wine cellar and how sturdy the furniture is. You want to see if he had deers running around the house. If he had any pictures of his family – and if you could ever hope to compete with his ex-wife. It’s a petty competition, but you don’t have much to do and to think about. It’s obvious the love here won’t last until the end of the break, and you want to get as much from it as possible. Maybe even some hot bikini picks at his pool. He has to have one. — What if I have plans, sir? 

It’s innocent and you play the role well. You think some of your friends wanted to hang out or make a study group for the upcoming semester. You are a good girl at heart, with nice grades and a perfectly played-out future, and not as many working opportunities as you may like, but you could manage with something. Writing a killer essay about your life with a smoke show during Summer would be easy with someone like him. 

He laughs, his hand lightly smacks your butt. You bite your lip and whimper, not accustomed to pain feeling this good. 

— You will change them, little one. For the whole Summer. 

— I wanted to study. 

You moan when he lightly presses his tongue on your swollen clit, kissing and licking it. Slick runs down your legs, and he collects it with his mouth. You whimper again, tears prickling at the edge of your eyes – the sensation is sudden and overwhelming, makes you get your hands in his hair and slightly tug. He groans, pleasure from having you so active, so participating is overwhelming. He loves you, loves you, loves you, adores you. God, you’re beautiful. And so, so restrained – just his special good girl. Only for him. — You can study at our house. 

— You mean you and your ex’s house. 

He smacks you again for the foul language – although you know you didn’t even curse, he is still punishing you. In the lightest way possible, of course, you know you won’t handle anything too harsh – still, you feel nice and warm when he isn’t just eating you out, but also smacks you for speaking in such unpretty words again. 

You don’t even register the way he called the house yours too. All too dumb for this, again. 

— I mean our house, Schatzen. Just you and your daddy, ja? You worry too much about studying. 

— I want a nice job. Without…distractions. 

He slips one finger in your warm, tight hole – even just one digit is enough to make you shiver, clenching it like a sloppy whore. He is big in every way – just two of his fingers are bigger than a normal cock, and no, you didn’t want to compare a son with his father, but even Paul’s cock, as big as it was, was still way thinner than his father’s. 

— Why you need a job? 

— Not everyone are retired military. I need money. 

— You have me. 

— I d…don’t want to be a sugar baby. Sir. 

— I have no problems with being your daddy, Schatzen.

König is build like a powerhouse – when he slips just the tip into you, ignoring all previous preparation because, by god, you both need to feel connected, he is dragging you on top of the table, tossing aside the dirty dishes with remains of his perfectly cooked dinner…and you feel like home. Almost. 

You imagine waking up with his cock every morning, and with the nice cup of coffee only he can make. You imagine him gushing about rebuilding the house and working on his tight and neat desk job at the mercenary company – something about instructing, dumb recruits, only the most elite missions as an operator in retirement, creating strategies and tactics for the warfare – and thinking that, wow, your husband is really cool. You shouldn’t be thinking this because this is just a summer fling. Your relationships with Paul weren’t too serious either, you just didn’t want to be alone. 

König gently caresses your fingers, whispering something about numbers – you think you could recognize the word for a ring a bit later when he was making a call to some friend. In German, of course, you don’t quite understand it, but you worm your warm on his lap like a spoiled cat, purring on his crotch like a good fucking girl. But it was a while later. 

Now, you’re gasping and panting, his cock spreading you open and stuffing you like the poor bird he was cooking for dinner. You know you won’t be able to walk after a short while – would probably have to spend the day at his house, with him cooing and gushing about your sore body while he is quietly proud of himself. If you’re lucky, you could convince him to let you go in the evening. If you’re not, he will ask you to stay the night, and maybe even a bit more, and then he will just get the bag with your stuff from your room in the dorm by himself, and then… — What do you think about getting married in August?

Maybe, you do know why his wife left him. 

[okaylikeschaewon]

Convinced

~4k words, KAMPFyre Part 2, smut

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I don’t see the issue. I feel like it actually worked.”

“Oh my God!” Karina shouted, her voice brimming with exasperation. “How do you not realize that this guy basically just convinced you to give him a blowjob?”

“He seemed really kind, though,” Winter pleaded, starting to get embarrassed. “He did it to help me.”

“Help you? You realize it makes no sense, right? Letting a guy cum down your throat isn’t going to help your vocals.”

“He said it did, and I believe him,” Winter muttered quietly, looking down at her feet.

“Yeah?” Karina scoffed, crossing her arms. “Did he also say you’d dance better if he fucked you?”

“No! He never tried to force anything like that!” Winter argued back. “I’m not stupid.”

“So it was just a blowjob? That’s a relief at least,” Karina sighed, letting her arms fall to the side. “At least you didn’t do anything really stupid.”

“Y-Yeah, just a blowjob,” Winter lied, avoiding eye contact with her bandmate. “Please don’t tell anyone else.”

“Come here,” Karina said while pulling Winter into a hug. “I won’t tell anyone. In the future, be more careful, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Winter whispered.

“It’s fine, no one else will find out,” Karina reassured her while patting her back. “It’s in his best interest to keep this a secret, not that anyone would believe him even if he did speak up.”

“I’m really dumb, aren’t I?” Winter asked while standing up, pouting at Karina.

“No, you’re not really dumb,” Karina sighed. “It’s fine, you learned a lesson, that doesn’t make you dumb.”

Winter nodded, feeling a bit better about the whole ordeal.

“So, how’d it taste?” Karina asked casually.

“What? I’m not answering that!” Winter replied angrily.

“Come on, what’s done is done,” Karina chuckled. “We might as well talk about it now, it was your first blowjob, right?”

“Yeah, my first.”

“So how was it? It’s honestly kinda exciting,” Karina pushed. “I still remember mine.”

“You go first,” Winter said, her face getting warm.

“Well, he didn’t last very long at all,” Karina said, thinking back. “He wouldn’t stop apologizing for finishing in my mouth so quickly.”

“Did you like the taste?” Winter asked, her curiosity taking over.

“I loved it,” Karina gushed. “I let him play with my tits for like two minutes, and then as soon as my lips hit his cock he filled my mouth. He barely lasted thirty seconds.”

“Wow,” Winter sighed. “Mine took… a bit more effort.”

Karina cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t feel bad, every guy is different,” she added. “You got there eventually, not every girl can do that.”

“Yeah…” Winter exhaled. “I don’t think it tasted bad, but it felt so weird.”

“You’re just not used to it,” Karina laughed. “Since apparently you love giving random dudes blowjobs now, maybe you’ll find someone whose taste you like.”

“Hey! I don’t,” Winter whined while angrily walking away.

“Where are you going, I was kidding!” Karina shouted after her.

“Going for a walk,” Winter mumbled before leaving the room.

Karina sat there with her eyes squinted at the door, suspicious of what Winter was getting up to, debating internally whether or not she should follow after her.

“I can’t believe that happened,” Karina whispered softly while returning her attention to her phone.

—

“I can’t believe that happened,” you muttered to yourself, still in absolute shock as you sat on the couch, scrolling your phone to find out more about Aespa. Apparently they were quite popular, which made sense seeing as how they were closing. Winter also had a bandmate who caught your eye, Karina - she was stunning.

Suddenly, there was a very aggressive knock on the door. You got up, quickly running your hand through your hair and fixing your clothes to look presentable. As soon as you opened it, you were pushed back into the room.

“Did you lie?” Winter demanded, glaring at you.

“Lie about what?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” she hissed, her angry expression being unintentionally adorable. “The load thing, was it all made up?”

“Winter, you agreed to do it,” you argued, trying to calm her down. “It was my first time hearing about the… technique… but I think it actually did work.”

Her expression suddenly softened a bit.

“Do you mean that?”

“Yeah, I do,” you lied while grabbing her hand. “What got into you? Just a bit ago you were so excited and happy about it.”

“I told one of my friends,” Winter sighed, slouching her shoulders. “She basically called me an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” you said kindly, pushing her hair back over her ear. “I’m sorry if you feel like I tricked you, that wasn’t my intention.”

“I told her that!” Winter said, her spirits lifting. “I really don’t think you did either. I’m sorry for this, I think I’m just super nervous about tonight.”

“Hey don’t worry about it, I completely understand.”

After a bit of an awkward pause where the two of you simply stood there holding hands, Winter spoke up again.

“Did you really like my voice more afterwards?”

“I did,” you answered, despite not noticing any difference. “I don’t know how I can make you believe it.”

“You don’t have to, I believe you already,” she smiled warmly at you. “I just knew I could trust you.”

“Uh, yeah,” you were starting to feel guilty. This girl was unbelievably naive and it was starting to weigh on you.

“Could I ask another favor of you?” Winter asked, stepping closer to you.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Do you think I could try again?”

This had to be a joke - you were almost convinced there were hidden cameras watching you now.

“What do you mean ‘try again’?” you clarified, reluctant to jump to any conclusions.

“Well, my friend told me she could make a guy cum just by touching her lips to his cock, I want to learn how,” Winter explained as she dropped down to her knees in front of you. “Could you please guide me?”

“I don’t know if this is right,” you hesitated as Winter began unbuckling your pants.

“Why not? You were happy to help me earlier without thinking twice about it,” Winter argued. “What will it take to get more help?”

“It’s not like that, I want to help,” you answered. “But if we got caught, or if you told anyone again, I’d get in so much trouble.”

“Please,” Winter begged. “I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“As much as I want to believe it, you did just tell me that you told your friend.”

“I’m sorry, she won’t tell anyone else, please!” Winter begged, she almost looked like she was about to cry.

“Okay okay, it’s fine,” you calmed her down, if she was this desperate to suck your cock then who were you to say no. “Alright, go lock the door and then take off your clothes,” you instructed her.

Unable to believe this was about to happen, you walked over to the couch and sat down. Winter quickly ran over to you and wasted no time in stripping down to her underwear.

“Do you want me to take it all off?” she asked eagerly as she unbuckled her bra, tossing it to the side.

“Yeah, it’ll be better that way.”

She nodded and dropped her panties down, picking them off up off the floor and placing them on top of the pile of her clothes.

“Here,” you tossed a pillow onto the floor between your legs.

Winter dropped to her knees in front of you, eagerly waiting for your next instruction. You pulled your pants down to your ankles

“Start by using your tongue,” you suggested.

She nodded her head and leaned forward, sticking her tongue out and giving your shaft a lick. It was adorable how she licked up and down your shaft, not knowing exactly what to do, but doing it so passionately.

“Good, keep going,” you encouraged her.

The girl kept working, licking each side of your cock. Up and down she licked, spreading her saliva all over. Then she started working your tip, licking circles around it.

“Oh yeah Winter, you’re getting good at that,” you moaned, closing your eyes as her tongue coated your cock. “Lick my balls too.”

She was definitely a great listener. Without a moment’s delay, you felt her soft tongue press against your nuts, licking every single bit of skin. She put them into your mouth, still licking them while she sucked with all her strength.

“Good fucking girl,” you moaned again. “Now try taking my whole cock down your throat.”

This was something you had to see. You opened your eyes back up as she lifted her body up slightly to get a better angle. She took a deep breath before engulfing half of your cock and then pausing.

“You got this,” you encouraged her as she struggled to go deeper. “Come on.”

She was pushing as hard as she could, her face getting slightly red. She got about three quarters of the way down your shaft before pulling it out and gasping for air.

“I can’t, it’s like there’s a wall,” she coughed, a trail of saliva connecting her lips to your cock still.

“It just takes practice, try again,” you reassured her gently. “Whenever you’re ready.”

She wiped the back of her mouth with her hand and took another deep breath. After giving you a look of determination, she once again turned her attention to your cock, this time immediately plunging back down to the same depth she reached last time.

“Oh fuck,” you gasped, watching her mouth stretch as she tried her hardest to push down.

It felt fucking amazing having her struggling to take your cock. The willingness was what really did it for you. Without thinking, you placed a hand on the back of her head and gave her a small push. Your cock went deeper down her neck for a moment before she immediately pulled back.

“I’m sor-”

“I did it!” she cheered. “It felt like the wall just disappeared for a second, I guess I just needed a small push! Thank you!”

“N-No problem,” you stammered, taken aback by her reaction. “Here, come up here.”

Winter got up off her knees and climbed onto the couch so that she was on her knees next to you, bending over your crotch.

“Try to relax your neck,” you instructed her as you grabbed her head with your hands and guided her back to your cock. “I’m going to help you, just let it happen.”

“Mhmm,” Winter agreed, her mouth already filled with your cock.

She moved up and down a couple of times on her own as you gave her a moment to adjust to the new position. After a few more, you pressed your hand down against the back of her head, forcing your cock down her throat.

This time, she managed to make it all the way down before launching back up and coughing. Before you could ask if she was alright, she had already pushed her mouth onto your cock. Again, you pressed the back of her head until she went all the way down, but this time she didn’t pull out - she moved back about halfway before pushing back down onto your cock.

“Oh fuck yes Winter,” you moaned loudly. “Now you got it.”

It went on for a few minutes where nothing but the sound of Winter gagging on your cock could be heard in the room. She’d pull back halfway, then push down all the way with the help of your hand. With each consecutive thrust, you felt less and less need to push with your hand - It was starting to get easier for her.

At this point, you were barely pushing the back of her head. You started to push your hips upwards, matching her pace so that each time she plunged down onto your cock you would shove your hips into her mouth.

Your free hand began to explore her body, reaching over and grabbing a handful of her ass. You squeezed it hard, gave it a few slaps, but nothing stopped the girl from throating your cock again and again. She was determined and it showed.

“Holy fuck I’m getting close,” you gasped, feeling the pressure building up. “Wait, stop.”

Winter released your cock with a plop and turned her head sideways to look up at you.

“I thought you were getting close?” she asked innocently.

“I am, I want to do it properly,” you answered, standing up from the couch and getting in front of her. “I’m going to fuck your mouth until I cum, alright?”

She nodded eagerly, sitting down and looking up at you.

“You’re doing a fantastic job,” you complimented the girl as you brought your cock to her mouth.

She opened up with a smile before you shoved your cock into her mouth. Just like last time, you started to slam your cock into her mouth relentlessly. With a firm grip on her head with both of your hands, you started thrusting with all your energy, slamming your balls into her chin each time.

The intensity of it forced Winter to grab your thighs for support, but she held strong. She took your cock like a champ, not fighting against it at all, letting you use her throat for your own pleasure.

“I’m about to cum,” you warned her, a mere two seconds before it happened.

It wasn’t clear if she even heard you, but as soon as you felt it happen, you pushed your cock as deep down her throat as you could. You held her nose to your crotch, making sure she could feel each and every gush of cum launching out of your cock.

“Fuck yes,” you gasped, letting your cock empty itself into the cute girl’s mouth.

Once it finally felt thoroughly emptied, you let go of Winter’s head. She didn’t immediately release your cock, she slowly pulled back - it was reassuring to know that she wasn’t struggling. A bit of your cum spilled out of her mouth, sliding down her chin.

“Here, let’s not waste any,” you grabbed your cock and used it to scoop up any of the white mess that escaped her lips.

She gracefully opened her mouth to suck the cum off your tip until it was all clean. After swallowing as much as she could collect, she closed her eyes and sat there obediently as you began rubbing your cock all over her face.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

Instinctually you pulled your cock away from Winter’s face and turned around, covering your junk with your hands. In the doorway stood Karina, the girl you had looked up earlier, Winter’s bandmate.

“I thought I told you to lock the door,” you whispered to Winter.

“I thought I did!” she defended herself.

Karina closed the door behind her and walked into the room, right in front of the two of you. The anger in her eyes was somewhat terrifying, but it was difficult to not be blown away by her beauty even in this moment of anger.

“So, you’re the one lying to my friend?” Karina hissed, staring right into your eyes.

“He’s not lying to me,” Winter protested from the couch.

“Shut up,” Karina turned her attention to Winter. “And why the hell are you naked?”

Winter sheepishly crossed her arms and legs to cover up.

“No point covering up now, you have no dignity left to maintain,” Karina scolded her. “And you, why are you also trying to cover up? Come on, move your hands, you clearly have no shame.”

It was odd, you couldn’t explain why you listened to her, but you moved your arms aside so that your messy cock was in the open. Perhaps it was because Karina was so fucking beautiful, you just had to listen to her. As she took a look at it, she seemed to pause for a second, losing her train of thought momentarily before snapping back into reality.

“So who’s going to explain what the fuck is going on here.”

“It was my idea,” Winter mumbled from the couch. “I was jealous of what you said, I wanted to get better at it.”

The tone in the room immediately shifted. Karina crouched down next to Winter, wearing a soft expression on her face.

“Hey,” Karina put a hand on Winter’s thigh. “I didn’t tell you that stuff to make you feel bad, it’s not a competition.”

“If it was, I’d be losing.”

“It’s not,” Karina repeated herself.

“And I know you think I’m stupid for thinking swallowing cum helps my voice,” Winter continued, the sadness felt in each syllable of her words. “But I really believe it.”

“I…” Karina looked torn, not knowing how to tell her friend she was an idiot while also not hurting her feelings. “Look, I don’t think you’re stupid for believing it, maybe it does work for some people, and maybe you’re one of those people. I don’t think it’s dumb to try.”

“You really mean it?” Winter looked up at Karina with hopeful eyes.

“Yeah, it can’t hurt to try, right?” Karina smiled back at Winter.

“Did you want to try?” you asked, suddenly feeling audacious enough to take the opportunity at hand. You wanted to see how far this beauty of a girl would go to make her friend feel better. “Maybe it works for you, too?”

Before Karina could even speak, Winter lit up in excitement.

“That’s a great idea!” Winter cheered. “Like you said, it can’t hurt to try! And then I could also learn how it’s done properly!”

“W-What…” Karina began to stammer. She was stuck and she knew it.

This felt like a fever dream. Standing there with your rock hard cock out while this drop-dead gorgeous girl consoled her nude friend. It made literally no sense. What made even less sense was what Karina decided to do next.

“I… guess I could…” she sighed, gasping as Winter jumped up from the couch and hugged her.

“Thank you for believing!”

“No problem…” Karina answered half-heartedly while she glared at you over Winter’s shoulder.

After letting go of Karina, Winter got up and sat on the couch where you joined her. Karina slowly dropped down to her knees, lifting her arms up behind her head to tie her hair into a bun. Your cock was already itching to blow again, and you tried to mentally prepare for what was about to happen, but you knew already there was no chance you’d be able to last very long.

Winter watched intently as Karina began to lean forward, giving you a clear view of her very deep cleavage. Karina didn’t even bother using her hands, she brought her lips to your tip and slowly parted them, engulfing your cock slowly.

The way she slowly inched your cock down her throat in its entirety made you realize immediately that this girl knew what she was doing. Just as slowly as she swallowed your whole cock, she moved back up until only your tip was in her mouth. She licked at your hole a couple of times before slowly going back down your cock.

Winter was in shock, watching her friend take your entire length with ease. You almost felt bad as you were reminded of how much the girl was gagging on your cock just moments ago, but those feelings lasted barely seconds as Karina’s mouth was taking over all your senses.

Just as you predicted, this was going to be fast. As Karina bobbed up and down your cock, you could feel the pressure building up already - It was almost embarrassing. She started to move faster, steadily increasing her speed, consistently taking your entire length down her throat with each pump.

Karina’s lips made a tight seal around your cock. Perfect, it meant not a single drop of cum would be wasted. She kept her lips tight, up and down your cock, using her tongue every time she came back up to coax your load out of you. It was working - much faster than your prediction even.

The thought of warning her as you were about to blow crossed your mind, but when you remembered that sexy glare of hers from earlier, you decided against it. You’d probably feel bad about it, however right now everything felt right. She was fucking amazing at sucking your cock.

One final little lick of your tip was all it took. You started unloading ropes down her throat. Karina jolted as the first spurt shot into her mouth, but just as you predicted, she kept her lips tight around your shaft. By the time your second and third shots of cum surged out of your tip, Karina had already pushed her mouth down your cock. She held her mouth at your base until you finished unloading.

Then, as slowly as physically possible, she began lifting her mouth off your cock. She stared at you with that burning passion in her eyes, those unrealistically beautiful eyes, before tilting her head back slightly and parting her lips, showing you all the fresh cum on her tongue.

Winter squealed in excitement, covering her mouth and watching intently as Karina then closed her mouth again. In one singular motion, Karina swallowed, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

“That was so impressive,” Winter gushed, in awe at what her friend just did. “Can I try again?”

It took great effort to not burst out laughing at the absurdity of her words, but you held it together. You leaned back into the couch, breathing heavily as your cock softened in front of Karina’s face, finally receiving some much-needed rest.

“Not now, you need to go get ready,” Karina replied to Winter’s request while keeping her eyes locked on you.

Winter quickly hopped off the couch and started putting her clothes back on. Even though you could see her in your periphery, your eyes were fixated on Karina. The two of you stared at each other, it wasn’t entirely clear what was going on in her head.

“Are you not coming?” Winter asked after getting dressed.

“You go, I’ll catch up in a minute,” Karina said, still staring at you.

No more words were spoken until Winter left the room and closed the door behind her. The pause felt like an eternity, only being broken up by the sound of your deep breaths.

“A warning would have been nice,” Karina broke the silence casually.

That was not what you expected. You thought she’d be mad at you or threaten you or yell at you or all of the above.

“My bad, I was lost in the moment,” you responded, equally casually. “You’re pretty good at that, by the way.”

“I know,” Karina commented confidently.

There was a moment of awkward silence between the two of you.

“So…” you began to speak before Karina cut you off.

“What are you doing after the show?”

---

A/N:

Random inspiration, wrote this in basically one evening. I know it's not super long or anything, but this mini series is very much just a fun side project! I don't know exactly why I find so much enjoyment in writing such a ridiculous scenario, but hopefully someone else enjoys this silliness as much as I do.

Karina is very hot. Bit of a cliffhanger at the end I guess, but I'll just confirm now; Whenever I do get to writing the next part, it will probably be very Karina heavy. I don't know, I'm just on a bit of a Karina high lately.

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

TW: dubcon-ish due to suggestiveness and alcohol, yandere, breakup, depression, schemes, manipulation, office au for some reason

part two in Gojo's pov

fem reader

It’s been two weeks since your breakup—since you got dumped on your sorry ass.

You wished you could say you were fine, wish you could say fuck that guy, anyway, good fucking riddance—that you’d make him regret it, that he didn’t know what he lost, that he’d come crawling back begging your forgiveness soon enough. You really wish you were that girl—the one who gets up and dusts off and gets back out there with her head still held high. You really do.

But no, you’re one of those girls who feel silly getting dressed—worried that you’re trying too hard. Fuck, it’s hopeless. You feel like shit, and you look like shit, and you don’t even want to go out anyway—it’s just some shitty office party at some shitty little bar where everyone’s going to make your breakup their business. It would be best not to go—leave them to talk shit about it behind your back. 

Sure, you could slap on your best tough act and tell them all to go fuck themselves, but why bother? You’re just going to drink too much and end up doing something you regret.

And oh, how right you were.

It’s not even been a good few hours before you’ve got the office slut’s tongue down your throat—all but clinging to him as you press your body up against his. Manicured hands tussled in his pretty white locks, pulling on him while sucking each other’s faces, leeching off the feeling of his hands grabbing your waist—oh god, it feels good to be wanted again.

Yes—yes, this is what you need. Fuck your ex-boyfriend, he’s probably out fucking some skank himself. Well, two can play that game. He’ll see. You’ll make him see. That fucking asshole—

Oh no.

“Wait—stop,” you break off the desperate kissing. 

Hanging your head while steadying your breath, you push both hands flat on his hard chest, keeping him distanced even as he leans after your lips. 

You swallow thickly, then wipe your mouth, taking a step back. “The fuck am I doing…”

You don’t dare look back up at him. Beyond embarrassed, you just want to get out of there as quickly as your feet can carry you—catch the first cab home and forget all about it. Pretend it never happened. 

“Sorry, ‘m gonna go,” you mumble as you start walking away, leaving your confused colleague behind, alone outside the bathroom stalls, still recovering.

You make your way down the hallway with dim neon lights flickering overhead, feeling swallowed up by the graffiti-littered walls.

What a sorry place for mistakes.

“Ugh, I can’t believe I was about to be one of those girls.” You shudder as you wrap yourself in your own hug, feeling silly for wearing a cropped jacket—and why the fuck is your dress so short? You’re not a fucking teenager anymore. “Fucking hell… I’m such a mess.”

“No, wait.” A tug of your jacket holds you in place. Oh, but you really don’t want to look at him. It’s humiliating enough already that you’d sought him out for validation—you don’t need his pity as well. It’s Gojo, for fuck’s sake. A different girl brings him lunch about every day—the whole office knows.

You might just die from the toll of it.

“Com’on. I’m perfect for this, aren’t I?” he asks under his breath while maneuvering you up against the wall again, his dewy breath brushing your scalp as he peers down at you in wait for your answer.

“What are you on about?” You veer away. You should be in a cab already. Better yet, you should have never gone out in the first place. What was your goal here anyway? To not wallow in your own worthlessness? And you really thought seeking Gojo’s seal of approval would make you feel any better about yourself? The office hottie and the century’s ultimate fuckboy?

Fuck, it’s so wrong on so many levels, you feel disgusted with yourself.

“We’re both drunk,” he states, but you don’t really want to hear it—head too filled with your own bullshit to heed any of his. You swear, if he tries any one of his sleazy pick-up lines on you, you’re gonna knee him right in the balls. It would be nice to get fired now anyway—you’d take it as a blessing.

What he says instead is unexpected—brutally and grossly honest, “You need a rebound, right? And I wanna fuck.”

Your thoughts stop shaming you as you look back at him, returning his gaze with an awaiting silence, allowing him to go on.

“So let’s use each other and blame it on the drink.”

It sounds like the lyrics of an angsty heartache song they might have played back inside the bar—the muted thuds seeping in through the walls makes it all but true. And still, there’s something oddly enticing about it, even as it makes you cringe.

“No hard feelings. No strings,” he continues, a small grin playing in the corner of his lips. “Just a good ol’ tit for tat.”

He almost sells it. But you’re just one too many bad nights too tired to buy.

“Don’t be dumb—” you dismiss and try nudging him away again—only, he doesn’t let up.

“C’mon—you’re angry, aren’t you?” he poses with a quirked brow. “What better way to stick it to him than fucking the hottest guy around?”

It stunts you. Suppose that had been exactly your objectives tonight, unknowingly and much to your shame. At least you can find some mediocre solace in your next confession, for as it turns out, “I’m not that kinda girl.”

It’s a depressing outcome. Made even shittier by how you sort of wish you were—that kind of girl. The type who doesn’t let anything get to her, who moves on and doesn’t think twice about it—who fucks the hot guy in front of her and wakes up feeling empowered the next morning. If only you weren’t such a tragic fucking loser…

“Be her for a night?” he suggests, still not having given up. He cups your chin and brushes a thumb over your lips. It’s really intimate, makes you feel pinned beneath that look in his eyes—as if the sky was coming down upon you. His words are low, brushing your face with heat as he says them, “I promise, I’ll make you feel so good you’ll forget all about him.”

Goddamn it—there it is, the fucking pick-up line. Now, it doesn’t really make your knees weak or anything, but you’re sorry to say you can’t deny it’s tempting, either. 

Besides, you really didn’t want to go home and spend the night crying yourself to sleep—again, now paired with regrets about this night on top of it all.

You look at him through the thicket of your mascara, into those big blue puppy-dog eyes looking at you in something so strange such as earnest. Oh God, he really wants to do this for you, doesn’t he? He could go find himself any other girl—everyone had been eyeing him earlier—it’s not too late for him to simply go pick any one of them up. 

Is this his way of being considerate—being a good colleague by offering you a fuck? Ugh… that makes you feel so fucking pathetic. But then again… why does it really matter? You couldn’t really stoop any lower at this point—might as well have some fun while at it, right?

You were out of ice cream anyway…

“C’mon,” he drawls, eyes growing heavier as he leans further in—once again, only a tiny inch separating you. So close you taste his breath and feel his voice on your lips. “Don’t make me beg.” 

You don’t. No, you end up saying not another word. Too busy drowning your sorrows, getting drunk while kissing him breathless.

And oh, you and your bittersweet heartbreak taste so good on his tongue—coercing your boyfriend into dumping you was the greatest ploy for your heart he could ever do.

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[luvrxbunny]

so much

pairing: bf!Miguel O’Hara  x f!reader

summary: You give Miguel a handjob for the first time.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, handjob, lots of cum (lmk if i forgot anything)

wc: 2.1k

a/n: i blacked out again. 

Miguel stopped kissing you maybe fifteen minutes ago. He said he was getting too worked up and that you guys should stop, of course, you respected his wishes. You’re both now sitting in bed, he’s reading and you’re supposed to be doing some extra research but all you can focus on is the bulge in his pants. 

This happens a lot, you guys get heated and Miguel stops everything. It’s been six months and you’ve never seen him cum. You’ve told him you love him, he’s made you cum with his fingers and his mouth but you’ve never seen him cum. It doesn’t bother you too much, you just assumed he wasn’t a very sexual person, although you are and you love pleasuring your partner, you love him more. So you decided you could deal with it, but then you noticed that he would get hard, quite hard, and just not let you help him. You’ve offered many times and he always protests, saying “It’s fine, it’ll just go away.” 

Once he even went into your bathroom for it. He chose to get himself off instead of just letting you do it. You tried to ask Jess about it but she says that Miguel doesn't talk about that stuff, all she knows is that he’s definitely not a virgin. So your last option to understand is to just ask him. So you do. 

“Miggy?” His head comes up from his book to look over at you, peeking over his glasses like a librarian, making you chuckle. “Um… You- You’re—” You start the sentence but soon realize how awkward this conversation could be. You try and figure out ways to piece it together as Miguel sits up straight, closes his book, and takes his glasses off, giving you his full attention. Now that he’s straightened himself out he’s looming over you a bit, making you even more nervous. 

“You’re still… hard..?” It comes out as a question more than a statement and mumbles more than words but he understands you. He clears his throat awkwardly as you slowly close your laptop and cast it aside. “Y-yes, I am.” He’s looking around the room now, his eyes avoiding yours. 

“Okay. So do you not like handjobs or something? I just- I know that you’ve gotten something before I just don’t- I don’t know why you won’t let me.” You’re looking at him as you speak, he’s looking at the duvet, and from the corner of your eye, you swear you see his dick jump in his pants. 

“Cariño… I-” He takes a deep, slightly frustrated breath and looks up at the ceiling, trying to figure out how to explain himself. “I want to… Tan jodidamente mala but… you’re different.”

(“... So fucking bad but…”)

Insecurity spreads through your body at his words. Your mind is already racing, trying to decipher what he could mean.   

What the fuck? How am I different? Oh god, is he not even attracted to me sexually? Maybe I’m not his type. Is there something I’m missing? Maybe it’s something that he’s into, maybe I just need to get into whatever that is? Unless it really is just me that’s the problem…

“I love you so much…” The words instantly relax you. You believe him when he says it, but his tone implies that it’s a bad thing. “I’ve never felt the way I feel about you for anyone else. So-” He sighs again and runs his fingers through his hair. “So I’m- I’m more sensitive… when- when it comes to you.”

Arousal pools at the bottom of your stomach as you process his words. ‘More sensitive’

The thought that he hasn’t wanted you to touch him because it would feel too good has you leaking between your legs. 

He’s silent as you process, he’s waiting for you to laugh. But when he looks over at you you’re looking up at him with those eyes. The ones that always have him hardening in his pants before you have to say anything. The ones that he pictures on late nights when he can’t sleep. The ones that burn into his eyelids as your name falls from his lips and he cums all over his sheets… Those eyes. 

He huffs out a breath and shakes his head, denying you before you can even propose your suggestions. “No, cariño. I- It’s embarrassing.” He protests but his voice is getting breathy, arousal leaking its way in as he watches you seat yourself by his knees, facing him. Your hand is placed on his upper thigh which has begun to twitch under your touch. “We can’t, I can’t. Habría mucho también.”

“Mucho?” You question, only understanding some of what he said. “A lot, what?” You’re focused on his face, watching it contort as he whines at the Spanish that rolls off your tongue. Your hand has begun to massage his thigh, you can feel the fabric pull tighter with every pulse of his cock. Your hand slides up, closing in on where he wants you the most. His head falls back against the headrest as pleasure shoots through him. 

You can tell he’s being honest with his reasoning as you watch him. He’s letting out tiny moans, little whines like you’ve been teasing him all day but you’re just massaging his thigh. You keep it up, just groping his twitching leg as he tries to hold his moans in so he can answer you. “C-cum, habría tanto semen.” His hips start thrusting off the bed, barely noticeable.

(“C-cum. there would be so much cum.”)

“Yeah? You’d cum so much for me, Miggy?” You move from your spot, throwing your leg over him, straddling his thighs as you begin to palm his dick. His eyes roll back into his head as moans rip from his throat. He quickly grabs your wrist, roughly, stopping all your movements. His head raises to look at you. 

“I’m- I’m a bit… nervous, cariño. It would be a lot for me. I- No one has ever seen me like that. I’m only like this for you, I- can’t help it." His eyebrows furrow, and he huffs at a breath, like he's angry at himself. "I don’t want you to think it’s… extraño, anormal, or that I’m- I don’t know.” You can see the genuine concern on his face, and the fear in his voice as he anxiously rambles. 

("... strange, abnormal,")

“Miguel…” He whines at how you say his name, you smile brightly and fondly at the sound. “I love you. In a way I didn’t even know was possible. I’m never going to think you’re-  like, weird or something. At least not in a bad way. I-” You sigh gently and look into his eyes, you wrench your hand out of his grip and place it on his face, pulling him in for a soft kiss that he whimpers into. You pull away and give him the most serious look you can manage. “We don’t have to if you’re too nervous but if you’re worried about what I’ll think? Please don’t.”

He holds your gaze, considering your words for a moment. “But there’s mucho, cariño. No importa lo que yo haga. When- whenever I think of you, there’s… so much.” He tries to express his concern but you really don’t understand.

("No matter what I do.")

“Miguel.. That just- That just turns me on even more I- I don’t see why that’s a bad thing.” You speak honestly, watching his face shift into a mix of pleasure and confusion as his head falls back again. His hips press into the air, his legs spread, opening himself up for you as a pathetic “Por favor” falls from his lips. 

You spring into action immediately. You pull his pants low enough for his cock to fly out, instantly standing straight, hitting and staining his shirt. A hiss falls from his lips as you wrap your hand around him, and his head comes up to watch you. His eyes are watery as they stare at your little hand around his huge cock. You’re watching him, you don’t move yet, you can see him taking in every detail, committing the scene to memory before meeting your eyes. 

“Ready?” You ask him with a devious smile on your face. He nods vigorously, “Sí, estoy... estoy tan lista, cariño. Por favor.”

(“Yes, I'm... I'm so ready, honey. Please.”)

You run your hand up his cock, swirling around the head before meeting the base again. His reaction is instant and extreme. His hands leave your hips for the bed as his claws rip into the sheet. His body is already shaking as tense, short, and quick moans fall from his lips. All his muscles are pulled tight as you slowly run your hand over him. His eyes are wide, staring at your hands as they pleasure him. 

You’re mesmerized by his cock, red, hot, and pulsing in your hand as you stroke him. Pre-cum is spilling from his slit at a consistent pace, making him all wet and sloppy. You hear his head hit the headboard again as his moans grow more unrestrained, shouting out into the open air. “I- I-’m not- Can’t” He lets out a frustrated whine that morphs into a genuine moan before he tries to speak again. “No voy a durar. Joder, tus manos son el paraíso, cariño. No voy a durar mucho, no puedo-”

(“I’m not gonna last. Fuck, your hands are heaven, honey. I won't last long, I can't-”)

You can’t understand the words but based on how frantically he says them, the way his hips have started thrusting up into your hand gently and the way his legs are spreading themselves wider underneath you are good clues. “You’re gonna cum, Miggy?” You finally look away from his saturated cock to observe him. His face is flushed, as he nods at you desperately. He tries to moan your name at you but he can’t form the syllables. You love it. Seeing him like this, wet and aching for you. This is definitely going to become a daily thing. 

“Yeah? You promised me a lot, hermoso. I want it all. Give it to me, baby.” He fully shouts your name at the Spanish pet name. He grunts pathetically as he lifts his hand from the bed, willing his claws to retract so he can touch you. His hand squeezes your hip desperately, shaking as his moans quickly rise in pitch and volume. Your eyes are focused back on his erratically twitching cock, you don’t see his head lift to look at you.

He’s cumming the moment he can see your face. 

You stroke him as fast as you can, listening to his breathy sob as his cock shoots out heavy ropes of cum. He’s watching your face, trying to gauge your reaction through his cloudy eyes. You’re watching his cock in awe, his cum runs over your hand, coating your fist as you jerk him through it. He’s nothing but a bundle of gasps, moans, and sobs as his cock spurts out a whole new load. He watches your face as it morphs from disbelief to burning arousal, your breathing speeds up the longer he cums. He can hear whines start to slip out of you as his hips jerk into your hand. You tear your eyes away from the cum pooling around and coating his cock just in time to see his eyes shift from you to the back of his head. He lets out one last drawn-out wail before his hips rest back on the bed. His cock begins to soften, spurting out tiny ropes as you stroke him softly, helping him down. You try to get the raging fire in your stomach and the flood between your legs under control before getting up for a towel. He was right. There was so much.

You wipe him down as he whines and mumbles deliriously until you hear a little sob and he reaches out for you. You throw the towel to a corner of the room as he pulls you into his chest. He whispers what sounds like thanks and praise into your hair as you kiss his chest. 

“Gracias, cariño. Eso- eso se sintió tan bien, te sentiste tan bien. Te amo.” You giggle at him gently. “You’re welcome and I love you too, baby. You know I can’t understand most of what you said, right?” You feel his chest rumble with a chuckle before he speaks again. “I- I know, it's just… El inglés se me hace difícil. Yo olvido. I- I’m” He laughs at himself. “You get my head all mixed up, cariño.” 

(“Thank you love. That- that felt so good, you felt so good. I love you.”)

(“English is difficult for me. I forget”)

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Oh really?” You say in a playful tone as he chuckles at you. You turn and pull him in, his lips just inches from yours. “Me encanta eso.” You had to pull all your Spanish I classes together to figure that sentence out but the reward is worth it. Miguel’s eyes widen and he gasps before smashing his face into yours, you can feel his wide smile against your lips as he kisses you and you’ve never felt happier. 

(‘I love that.”)

thank you so much for reading!! please please please give any feedback you may have! I want it all! also if you liked it please take a look at my masterlist!

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You and Luke had been arguing for the past 20 minutes in the living room of his apartment. Jack was somewhere hiding, not wanting to get involved or make things worse between his brother and you.

The argument was draining you more than you realized. What most people didn’t know about the young, up-and-coming star defenseman for the Devils was that he was an overthinker and, at times, incredibly insecure. Tonight, the team had decided to go out to a bar after the game, with some of the guys bringing their girlfriends along. You had agreed to join Luke, hoping to spend time together.

You knew Luke was a social guy when it came to his teammates, and especially when he started drinking, he could go up to anyone and make a friend. It was honestly one of your favorite things about him. But tonight? Tonight, he barely spent any time with you. You ended up sitting in a corner booth with Nico and a couple of other teammates. There were times you couldn’t even spot Luke in the bar because it was so packed. You talked to Nico for most of the night, laughing and hearing embarrassing stories about Luke from before you moved to New Jersey.

You thought you were just having fun, getting to know your boyfriend’s teammates. What you didn’t know was how pissed off Luke was going to be when you both got home.

“How do you think I feel, looking at my girlfriend flirting it up with my captain?” he snapped at you.

You both had gotten home about an hour ago. Most of the alcohol had left Luke’s system, but he was still tipsy, which meant he had no filter.

“I wasn’t flirting, Luke!” you shot back, your patience wearing thin. “You left me alone all night. I don’t know anyone on your team except for you, Jack, and now Nico! So excuse me for trying to talk to someone.”

Luke groaned, running his hand down his face in frustration. “Come on, Y/N. If you really wanted to find me, you would’ve come and gotten me at the bar. But newsflash—you didn’t. You stayed there with Nico.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “Do you really think I would flirt with your captain in front of your whole damn team, Luke?”

“How can I not think that? It sure as hell looked like it,” he yelled, throwing his hands up in the air.

His face was flushed from the alcohol, and his hair was messy from running his hands through it.

“But that’s not what happened,” you said, your voice trembling with frustration. “Nico and I were talking about you! He was telling me about all the embarrassing stuff you did before I moved here.” You threw your hands up, mimicking his earlier gesture. “And God forbid I learned about his family and what it’s like in Switzerland.”

There was a long, heavy silence between you two after that. You knew that Nico would never do something like that to Luke, and Luke knew it too. But the thought of you talking to the hotshot captain of the New Jersey Devils made him feel insecure, and he couldn’t handle it.

Finally, Luke met your gaze. The scowl on your face was clear, and he knew he had crossed a line. He opened his mouth to apologize, but you cut him off before he could say anything.

“Honestly, Luke, fuck you for thinking I would cheat on you like that. I’ve given you no reason to think that,” you snapped. “Do you think I get pissed when we go to bars after you guys win a game, and all these puck bunnies are all over you? Yeah, of course, I get fucking jealous. But I trust you. Why can’t you trust me?”

Luke opened his mouth but remained silent. You took that as him shutting you out. His stubbornness stung more than the words he had just said.

“You know what? Never mind. I’m going to bed,” you muttered, shaking your head and turning to walk down the hallway to your shared bedroom.

“Wait, no, stop.” You heard Luke call after you. Sighing out of annoyance, you felt your body freeze.

“What, Luke?” you asked bluntly.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” His voice was quieter now, filled with regret. You raised an eyebrow, surprised by his words. Slowly, you turned around to look at him.

“You’ve given me no reason to think you’d cheat on me. No reason at all. And I’m ashamed that I thought that. And I know it’s no excuse, but look at you, Y/N…” He groaned, his voice breaking slightly. “Fucking look at you, and look at me. In my mind, it makes no sense. I just always think you could do better. I have no idea what I’m doing in life. All I know is hockey. You’re in university, supporting yourself, having a job, and you actually know where you’re going. I have no fucking clue,” he admitted, his voice raw.

You were genuinely shocked. Did Luke really think you were too good for him? Was that what this was about?

“Luke, I think the exact opposite. I think you're way too good for me,” you said softly, wanting him to understand your feelings. “But I still don’t treat you like that.”

“I know, I know,” he murmured, his head hung low in guilt. “And it’s no excuse. I was drinking, and I let my emotions get the best of me. I’m kicking myself for it right now.”

When you first started dating Luke, you were surprised by how he handled arguments—he always owned up to his mistakes. He never let things fester, always wanting to sit down and talk things out. He was nothing like your exes, and that was because you were too important to him to let something stupid end your relationship.

There was a brief silence, but you both felt the anger fading. It was Luke who spoke first.

“I’ll let you be alone tonight. I get it. I’ll sleep on the couch or crash with Jack if he’ll let me,” he said, shaking his head in frustration at himself.

You sighed deeply still hurt and Luke could see that on your face “No, Luke. You’re not sleeping on the couch. This is too stupid for you to be sleeping on the couch. Just come to bed.”

You smiled at him, and he was clearly taken aback by your words. You waved him over, signaling him to come to bed.

He immediately walked over, pulling you into a tight hug and kissing your forehead.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He squeezed you tightly before letting go, allowing you to lead him to your bedroom.