#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

[gukcnt]

02 | SHADOWS OF OBSESSION ⭒ JJK

“You think you can scream at me? Threaten me? You’re nothing. You hear me? A little girl playing hero, and now you’re all over my head; you’re my fucking obsession. I don’t do love or believe in anything related to it, but you—you’re in my head, and I can’t rip it out. It pisses me off, you know that? You’re too soft, too pure, and I want to break you. I want to hear you scream just to see if you’ll look at me with those innocent eyes again.”

pairing — criminal dom!jungkook x student sub!femreader

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

warnings/tags — 18+, explicit smut, argument, emotional vulnerability, crying and screaming, mentions of being scared, non-consensual undertones, solo masturbation, he steals her panties, panty sniffing, cock palming and fisting, he cums on her panties, voyeuristic and obsessive elements, possessiveness, rough making out, bruising/marking, oral sex (f. receiving), cunnilingus, rough handling, angry confessions, pussy inspection, eating out, fingering, clit sucking and stimulation, tongue fucking, face sitting, face riding, cum swallowing, hair fisting, clothed sex elements, dirty talk, praise kink, restriction, slight aftercare

wc — 5.4k

series m. list | main m. list

────୨ৎ────

The damp night air clung to Jungkook, with the threat of rain, a cigarette between his lips, its burning tip the only light in the dark.

He was in front of your apartment, hand twitching towards the knob, a boundary he was about to break that he tried so hard not to. His obsession with you has turned into something monstrous, and it was eating at his insides, demanding more than just watching you from afar.

He couldn’t keep away, not from you, not from the feminine warmth of your apartment, so different from the coldness in his life.

Tonight, the pull was even stronger, dragging him to your door. His lock-picking ways were a skill from his past experience as he slipped inside, intruding your place like a thief.

The door clicked shut, and he stood in your living room, boots ruining the same rug that he had ruined that day with his blood, the rug fully tainted by him despite how much you tried to clean it.

The place took him back to the night when he last came here when you insisted on treating him—your apartment was like a cocoon to him, all soft pink. It was you, every inch of it. The lingering smell of you drove him crazy, so fragile that he could smash it with one hand.

He wanted to. God, he wanted to. But instead, he was here, drawn to it.

He moved through your space like a predator, fingers brushing over your belongings; each touch felt like a violation, yet his claim.

The couch squeaked as he sank onto it, still warm from where you'd sat earlier. He lit another cigarette, the lighter's snap loud in the stillness; he exhaled, the smoke souring the sweet air in your home.

His dark eyes scanned the room, memorizing every inch. Your life was laid bare here for him to see, every detail—your dreams, your fears, your innocence—laid out for him to devour.

His gaze fell on the laundry basket in the corner, almost hidden. His pulse quickened, a dark thrill twisting in his stomach. He crossed the room slowly and lifted the lid. There among your sweaters and tees was a pair of panties—pink, delicate with lace that made his jaw clench.

He picked them up, the fabric soft against his calloused fingers, and brought them to his face. Your scent hit him—musky sweet with a hint of your lotion so purely you it made his head spin.

His cock twitched, straining against his jeans, and he let out a low growl in the silence.

He returned to the couch and sank back down again with his thighs spread, the panties in his tight fist. The room felt smaller, the air thick with his own need, and his heart racing.

He unzipped his jeans slowly, fingers shaking slightly. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, tip already glistening with precum, veins pulsing and achingly hard.

He wrapped your panties around his length, the roughness of the lace sending shivers down his spine, he hissed at the sensation. His hand squeezed his cock, making him feel the throb of his arousal.

He dragged the fabric up harshly as it engulfed his entire cock, making him groan. He tipped his head back, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. It felt so damn good—your softness against his hardness, like you were touching him even if you’d hate him for it.

His hand moved slowly at first, savoring the moment even though he knew how wrong it was, that just caused his cock to harden even more. He didn’t give a single fuck about rules, when it came to you; he was a madman.

He twisted his wrist, letting the lace drag over the tip, the friction made his hips buck, a growl escaping his mouth, couch creaking from his movements. The panty was growing slick with precum dripping from his cock.

He imagined you—your eyes wide and innocent as your lips parted in shock, the way you’d gasp with a blush coating your cheeks if you saw him like this.

The thought made him harder, his grip tightening around his cock. “Fuck, baby,” he muttered, voice rough, “you’d hate me, wouldn’t you? But you’d stare…. You’d fucking stare.”

His hand sped up, the panty sliding over his cock faster; the lace was both like a torment and bliss to him. He tugged, and the slight pain grounded him made him fume with pleasure.

His hips started thrusting. “Fuck yeah,” the sensation was more than he had ever felt in his life, just from your flimsy panties.

His chest heaved, and the room was filled with the smell of his arousal and your sweetness, with the hint of cigarette smoke that he was smoking earlier, and it was messing with his head.

“you’re in my head little girl” he snarled, “every fucking where. I can't stop.”

His hips started bucking harder as he pressed the panties to his nose again, inhaling your scent now mixed with his—the smell of your essence, so you—his tongue flicked out, tasting whatever slickness, you left, and he groaned at the taste.

His other hand gripped the couch, nails digging into the fabric, leaving marks in your couch.

He imagined you—on your knees, mouth on him, your innocence broken by his touch. Your tongue tracing the shape of him, whimpers vibrating against him. Your cheeks flushed as you’d look up at him, trusting and trembling, and it was too much. It broke him.

His orgasm hit hard, vision blurring. His hand froze, keeping the panties pressed against his cock tightly as he came in hot, thick spurts, soaking the fabric, ruining it, he bit his lip hard enough to taste blood. His cock was pulsing, and he stifled the moan that threatened to spill out. Your panty was a mess, stained with his cum, his shame, and his obsession.

The release was violent, and his body shuddered. He sat there, panting, cock still twitching. “You’re mine,” he rasped in the empty room

He slumped back, panting, cock hard again, not even close to being relieved, it was a pain only you can help with.

The room was quiet again, with only the distant hum of the city. He stared at the ceiling and felt the weight of what he’d done.

He wasn’t a good man. He didn’t do gentle, didn’t do kind. But you—you were a fire in his blood, and he hated you for it. Hated how your softness made him weak, how you threatened to crack the shell he’d built around him

He tucked himself back into his jeans, zipping up, shoving the panties into his pocket, a dirty secret he couldn’t leave behind. He stood, legs unsteady, and lit another cigarette. He took a drag, smoke burning his throat, helping his mind to get distracted, even just a little bit.

He moved to your bedroom door, pausing to look at your bed—the soft sheets tangled with a dent from where you’d slept. He pictured you there, body vulnerable and exposed, nightie riding up, and his fists clenched, nails digging into his palms.

“You’re too fucking delicate,” he muttered, voice angrily low, with a softness he couldn’t name. “This world will break you. I’d break you.”

The words were like a warning. He turned away and slipped out of your apartment, leaving the cigarette butt on your table, marking his claim and his promise to return.

۶ৎ

Your apartment felt suffocating, trapping you in a danger that you’d built yourself. The air in your home was mixed with cigarette smoke, a reminder of the stranger who’d invaded your world.

Your heart pounded loudly as you stood in the living room, tears streaming down your cheeks.

The signs were everywhere—cigarette butts on coffee table, a pink rose on the counter or sometimes you'd find them in other random places, the small dent on your bed indicating someone's presence there, and everything in your place reeked of a male and smoke. Someone was watching you, following you everywhere, unfolding your life.

The money—envelopes of cash had kept you grounded and saved you from debt—kept you silent, but tonight, it was too much; everything was too much all at once, and you were about to burst.

You gripped the cushion tightly as your voice came out shaky. “Who are you?” you screamed into the empty room. “What do you want? Just leave me alone! Stop this! Stop torturing me!” Your voice broke, a sob left your lips, and you sank down to your knees.

The room spun, and you knew it was your fault. You were a fool for not calling the police, for letting the money involve you to this. You tugged at your hair, the pain helping with frustration

The silence was loud, swallowed by your cries. Then—a creak, a noise in your bedroom. Your breath hitched, body freezing as a shadow moved, stepping from the darkness like a monster into the night, his presence in your place attracting everything to him.

Jungkook stood there, filling the room with threat. His leather jacket hung open. Showing the hardness of his chest, with the tattoos all over him. His hair was messed up, falling into his dark eyes, burning with an intensity, pinning you where you sat.

He didn’t belong here, in your world, but he stood there as if he owned it, as if you were the one intruding

You gasped, recognition hitting you. The man you’d saved—the one whose blood had soaked your rug, who haunted your dreams—was here, real, in your home.

Your heart raced, tears drying on your cheeks and you scrambled to your feet, legs shaking. “You,” you whispered, voice barely audible over the pounding in your ears, “it was you. All this time… it was you.”

Jungkook didn’t move. His eyes locked in yours, dark and unreadable, like they could swallow you whole. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, the smoke invading your space like it's used to it now.

“You shouldn’t have helped me that night,” he growled, the gravel sending a shiver down your spine. “You should’ve run, sweetheart. Should’ve locked your door and prayed I’d bleed out on the street.”

His words cut sharp and cold, you stumbled back, hips hitting the couch. Fear and anger twisted inside you, as you pointed a shaky finger at him.

“I’m calling the police.” Your voice quivered but gaining strength from the betrayal, “You’ve been in my home, touching my things, leaving your… filth everywhere! Why? Why are you doing this? I saved you! I saved your life, and this is how you repay me?” You rambled, fueled by your own anger.

His eyes flashed dangerously, making your stomach lurch, and in two long strides he was on you. He towered over you, blocking everything from your view with his large frame. Before you could react, he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head, slamming you against the wall.

The impact shook you as your lips parted in fear. His body was radiating heat and danger, his scent overwhelming—cigarettes, leather, something so wild and primal. His grip was bruising, fingers digging in, and you whimpered, tears welling in your eyes.

“Don’t you dare,” he snarled, face only a few inches away from yours, breath hot against your lips, anger palpable. “You think you can scream at me? Threaten me? You’re nothing. You hear me? A little girl playing hero, and now you’re all over my head; you’re my fucking obsession. I don’t do love or believe in anything related to it, but you—you’re in my head, and I can’t rip it out. It pisses me off, you know that? You’re too soft, too pure, and I want to break you. I want to hear you scream just to see if you’ll look at me with those innocent eyes again.”

His words hurt you, and you shook as tears spilled down your face again. His eyes followed them, something hungry flickering in them, he leaned forward, catching a teardrop with his tongue making you gasp, the act so obscene and dirty, like he was possessing you; even the tears you spilled, he wanted to own them.

It scared you, thrilled you in ways you couldn’t understand. “I shouldn’t have saved you,” you choked out, voice filled with regret. “I should’ve just let you die out there, let the street take you. You’re a monster, and I was stupid—stupid to think I could help someone like you!”

His grip tightened, fingers almost crushing your wrists, nostrils flaring from his anger, and he leaned closer nose brushing your cheek, lips so close you could feel their heat.

“Say that again!” he roared, his voice shaking you to the core. “Say it, you little brat! Tell me you regret it; tell me you hate me! Go on, scream it because I’ll make you feel every second of my anger.”

His eyes were wild, burning with a fury that wasn’t just at you but at himself as well, at the obsession that had chained him to you.

You sobbed, body shaking, but you couldn’t look away, caught in his intense gaze. His face was full of rage, yet beneath it there was something else—wounded pain that he cannot heal from. Your lips parted, but no words came out, only a whimper, a sound of defeat.

The air was full with tension, almost electric yet suffocating; the space between you blurred until it was just him taking over your senses, and nothing else existed except him—his scent, his fury, his presence.

His eyes dropped to your lips, and for a moment, time stopped. Then with a growl he crashed his mouth against yours, claiming you with a force that stole your breath. The kiss was hard and consuming, full of anger. His lips moving against yours in a rough and consuming way, yet full of need. His tongue pushes past and forces into your mouth, claiming you.

It was messy, his teeth grazing your lower lip, the sharp sting making you gasp, his mouth swallowing that noise, as the kiss deepened. He tasted of smoke and salt, and it was overwhelming, pulling you under even more.

You moaned, and he growled at the noise, gripping you harder, tongue exploring all over your mouth, tangling with yours, fighting your tongue for control even though it was very obvious he would win.

His stubble brushed against your chin, rough and grounding you. His lips moved in a punishing way, sucking your lower lip before diving back in your mouth for more.

You suddenly came back to your senses, and your hands pushed at his chest, fingers curling into his shirt, making noises of protest, but he was a solid wall full of muscle and rage, body pressing you harder against the wall.

The kiss slowed, but his tongue was still coaxing noises from you, high and needy. He stole your first-ever kiss, and you felt your knees getting weak just from the kiss alone. For years you have imagined what it would be like to get your first kiss after reading about them in your silly romance books and getting it for the first time, from a criminal made you want to cry and push him away, not from anger directed towards him but towards your own self for enjoying it and making you ache.

Your own body betrayed you, a heat between your legs, skin tingling where his hands gripped your hips, sliding down your arms with a possessiveness that made your knees weak.

You were a virgin, untouched, and the sensation was overwhelming, a wave of fear and want crashing into you. It was too much—the kiss and being touched like this, drowning you in sensations you didn’t know how to name. His hands were rough against your soft skin, and each of his touches felt like he was marking you as his.

You hated him, terrified of him, but your body arched into him, your breasts pressing against his hard chest, craving everything he was willing to give you.

His taste and his raw hunger clung to your tongue. Your heart was thundering in a wild rythm, each of your gasps now filled with the scent of him—cigarettes, musk, and also with his promise of ruin just from his kiss.

He pulled back, chest heaving, eyes dark with desire and hunger. His jaw was tight, hands still gripped your hips, bruising yet firm, as if he was steadying himself.

His cigarette had fallen in between both of your makeout, forgotten for once

“You’re mine,” he said, hoarsely, trembling with an emotion he couldn’t name himself. “You don’t get to run; you don’t get to hide. I'll tear this fucking world apart before I let you go.”

You panted, lips swollen, body alive in a way you didn’t know was possible. The wall was cool against your back, but you didn’t even feel it because of the heat his body was radiating; the air between you both filled with anger, fear, and something else that could destroy you both.

Slowly he sank onto his knees. The sight of him—Jungkook, the cold, merciless criminal, kneeling for you—made your head spin; it felt wrong, like a king bowing in front of you.

His hands slid up your thighs, their roughness scraping your soft skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. You gasped, hands gripping the wall for support, nails scratching the wall.

“Tell me to stop.” He rasped, almost a plea, a desperation that you’d never heard from him, and he sounded like he was fighting himself.

His breath was hot against your inner thigh, lips hovering so close that you could feel them against your skin. “Say it, and I’ll walk away. I'll leave you alone.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out, throat tight, your mind a mess of fear, want, and something deeper, something that scared you.

His eyes met yours, searching and demanding, and for a second you saw something break in him—a flicker of vulnerability and a crack in the man who lived for himself alone.

Your silence was your answer, your surrender, and he saw it, gaze darkening, hands tightening on your hips until you let out a soft, trembling whine.

He didn’t wait any longer. With a low growl, he shoved your skirt up, the fabric bunching around your waist, baring your panty—white lace, a small piece that was your only barrier. His eyes locked on the wet patch on your panty from your arousal, the fabric clinging to your folds adorning the shape of your pussy, and he snarled.

He knew no matter how much you tried to resist him, push him away, or cry for him to let you go, your body said otherwise, always reacting to him like it had a mind of its own. He relished in that knowledge, knowing that he can control your body however way he likes.

He couldn’t wait any longer because he has spent way too long watching you from afar, wanting to consume you, and the hunger from such pent-up longing has turned into animal need.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and tore them apart, the rip loud and final as he took away the only part that was covering your dignity. The scraps fell, and you were exposed, pussy bare, for his gaze.

You gasped instantly, trying to put your legs together, tears welling in your eyes from shame of being so exposed, but his hands held you open and in place, thumb pressing into the soft flesh of your hips. His hold rough and demanding, your strength nothing compared to him.

His eyes locked onto your bare core, jaw clenched as he saw your little clit hiding under the hood throbbing under his gaze, begging for touch.

Your hand covers your own face as you let out a soft sob, with embarrassment and shame, this is the first time someone is seeing you so bare and open.

Your pussy soft, pink, and glistening with arousal; a faint sheen coated your folds, proof of your want, and Jungkook groaned lowly, the sound making your breath hitch.

His eyes drank you in, almost inspecting you everywhere like a man who has never seen such beauty before, tracing every curve like he wanted to etch everything in his memory, and your arousal dripped more the longer he stared, pooling on the floor, shyness and fear turning you on even more.

“Fuck,” he breathed, “you’re so damn perfect. Look at you—wet, bare, just for me. Like you were made for me.”

His reaction lit something in you, and you moaned, “Oh God…” That made his eyes snap to yours, wild as his thumb brushed the sensitive skin near your folds, you mewled, and he cursed, pressing his forehead against your thigh, he was trying to hold himself together for your sake.

The sight of you so vulnerable seemed to break him, his breath uneven, hands shaking with want. Nothing in his life had given him so much satisfaction or adrenaline like this exact moment; nothing, not even killing men or feeling blood spill on his hands, can compare to the feeling of owning you like this.

Without wasting time, his mouth was on you in an instant, hot and urgent, lips closing over your clit, and the first suck was like lightning to you, never having experienced this before, and the pleasure was so sharp it hurt.

“Jungkook!” a keening cry filled the room. His tongue flicked against your clit, slow at first, then faster, a pace that was both precise and feral, like a man starving for something he’d never tasted.

The wet heat of his mouth was overwhelming, lips sucking and drawing out sensations you didn’t know your body could feel, your pussy sensitive and clit pulsing under his tongue.

Your thighs trembled, threatening to give out, his hands slid to your ass, gripping you tight, holding you spread for him.

“Gosh, ahmm, nghh.” You cried, letting out noises you didn’t even know you could make, your head spinning, eyes half-lidded.

He groaned, the vibration hitting you, you moaned louder, “Fuck, Jungkook, please,” not knowing whether you were begging him to stop or keep going, the curse slipping out—something that rarely happens due to your innocence.

His mouth was trying several experiments on your overstimulated pussy. His tongue circled your clit, teasing it, tormenting and then flattened it, lapping with slow strokes that made your thighs shake.

“You taste so fucking good. So sweet. Like you were made for me,” breath fanned against your pulsing heat. His words making you clench around nothing, as you forget about all your defenses.

Head falling back, your hand finding his hair as you clutched onto it. His tongue finally stopped abusing your clit and went to lapping at your entrance, tasting the slickness that gathered there, probing your entrance, tasting you.

You were embarrassingly wet, the sounds of his mouth against you—wet obscene—filling the room, mixing with your gasps and whimpers.

Your cheeks burned with shame and need, but you couldn’t push him away, not when his mouth felt like this. His tongue thrusting in and out in lewd motions like he wants to consume you entirely, and it was too much, almost breaking you

“Ahh, oh god, too much!” You hiccupped between your cries. He dove back, lips sealing over your clit, sucking hard, tongue flicking quickly, and your vision blurred. “Jungkook, I can’t no—"

“Look at you.” He pulled back enough to speak, giving you a moment to breathe, his lips glistening with your arousal, some dripping on his chin, and the mess made you squirm, cheeks pinking. “Falling apart for me. You’re mine, you hear me? This pussy is mine. No one gets to see you like this. No one gets to taste you.”

His possessiveness sent a thrill through you, intoxicating, and you nodded, unable to form words as his fingers slid to your entrance.

He pushed one finger inside slowly, digit thick and rough against your untouched walls. You croaked out a sobbing gasp, never having had anything penetrate you before, and he cursed under his breath.

“So tight,” he murmured, voice thick with lust, “fuck, you’re going to ruin me, aren’t you? My little virgin, so perfect, so untouched. I’m going to break you, and you’re going to love it.”

He added a second finger, stretching you; the burn mingling with pleasure, your head dizzy. His lips returned to your clit, sucking in time with the thrust of his fingers, “Ah, ah, ohmm, Jungkook, hah!” You let out uncontrollable noises as his fingers curled inside you.

He scissored his fingers, searching and hitting the spot that made your legs shake, moans turning to cries, it felt like your body was a live wire that was only capable of feeling.

The room smelled of sex and cigarettes, mixing with your arousal, and it was overwhelming.

“Jungkook, please,” you croaked, throat aching from all the loud noises leaving you, hips bucking against his mouth as you chased the release, unknowingly tightening the coil further. “I can’t, I can’t—I’m going to—”

“Come for me, let me feel it, let me taste it,” he growled. “Come on my tongue, baby.”

His tongue and fingers fucked your pussy together, then back to your clit sucking and licking, repeating again and again until you broke, with his words which were your undoing. The climax hit, squirting your release until you saw stars beneath your vision.

“Jungkook!” You screamed, hands yanking at his hair, thighs clamping around his head, but he didn’t stop.

His tongue and fingers worked you through it, tongue lapping your release, drawing out every shudder until you were a trembling, a gasping mess, his fingers still lightly thrusting. Your pussy was achy and way too sensitive, even the lightest touch made you wince; your moans were now of pain mixed with slight pleasure.

“Please, no more.” You breathed as you slumped against the wall, legs weak, his mouth still on you as he kissed your swollen mound with a softness that made your heart ache, never receiving such a treatment from anyone

He pulled back, mouth soaked with you as his eyes burned into yours. He stood towering over you again and kissed you, deep and possessive, letting you taste your own release. You moaned into his mouth, hand clutching his shirt, twisting the fabric under your fist, holding onto the man who unraveled you.

“You’re mine,” he spoke gruffly, his voice almost broken, “don’t forget that.”

Your body was spent, mind still in a haze of pleasure and confusion. Your hands still clinging to the man who was both your savior and your stalker, who’d knelt for you and made you feel alive for the first time

The weight of everything and your orgasm—it was too much and your eyes fluttered shut, no longer having any energy to keep your eyes open or even move.

He didn’t let you fall, his strong arms holding you up. Your body safe in his arms, a fragile weight in Jungkook's arms. Your breath hitting his chest, his heart pounding from your proximity, not used to such tenderness.

He carried you towards your room. Each step felt like he was fighting against the urge to stay with you; he couldn't just leave you, not when you are so vulnerable like this. He wanted to claim you as his own.

Your head rested against his chest, your hair spilling on his arm, and your scent—with that floral lotion of yours and the smell so uniquely yours—clung to him, a drug that he needed even if it was dangerous.

Your warmth seeped into his skin, a huge contrast compared to the coldness of his world, and it terrified him because he craved it and wanted all of it and more.

۶ৎ

Your bedroom was soft like you, even in the dark. The smell of you even more evident now that he entered your bedroom, it always haunted him.

He laid you down with a gentleness he didn’t know he had, your body sinking in the mattress, skirt riding up enough to reveal the smoothness of your thigh.

Your lips parted in sleep, cheeks flushed with messy hair from the first orgasm of your life, and the sight of you made Jungkook's chest tighten with a sharp ache that felt like a knife was twisting inside his chest.

He knelt beside you, hands hovering but scared to touch you, afraid to ruin even though he knows he has already done it, your softness tainted by him.

He wondered how someone so innocent and alive could exist in this ugly world.

You were a flower, a delicate petal, and he will eventually rip you up, crushing you until the life snuffs out of you like it was nothing.

His fingers twitched, wanting to trace the curve of your cheek, to feel the warmth of your skin one last time, but he held back, even though he touched you and tasted you so intimately a few moments ago, his jaw clenching so tightly, it ached.

“You don’t belong with me,” he whispered voice ragged.

The words were like a confession: “You’re too fucking pure, too good, and I’ll break you, petal. I’ll crush you, and you’ll hate me for it.”

His eyes burned with an unknown sting he refused to acknowledge. He wasn’t soft. He wasn’t weak. But you—you made him feel things he’d buried long ago, things he’d sworn off his life.

The memory of your cries, your body trembling under his touch, flashed through his mind, and he gripped the edge of the bed, knuckles white.

He wanted to keep you, to lock you away in a cage of his own making, where no one else could touch you, a place where you’d be his alone. The thought was sweet yet deadly, and it made him glare with a possessiveness.

He leaned closer, his breath hitting your face, and pressed his lips to your forehead in a gentle kiss. Your skin was impossibly soft, and he lingered, memorizing the feel of you, knowing it was the last time.

The weight of his decision settled heavily in his chest. He stood, his shadow falling over you like always.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice breaking, “I can’t do this to you. I won't. You deserve someone who’ll hold you like you’re made of glass, not shatter you like I will.”

He backed away, each step making his chest ache as the distance grew between you two.

He paused at the door, turning back one last time. You were still asleep, oblivious to the war inside him, your chest rising and falling, your lips parted and swollen, and the sight of you—so small and trusting—made his jaw clench.

“I won’t come back,” he swore, the words painful but a promise, for the sake of you, for both of you, “I’ll stay away, even if it fucking kills me.”

He slipped out in the night, the door clicking shut behind him, his decision final. He lit a cigarette, and it tasted like regret, like you.

His enemies waited for him, revenge was calling for him, and he could no longer ignore that.

But you—you were something he’d carry; he cannot ever shake the obsession of you, and as the darkness closed around him as he entered the world of crime once again, he wasn’t sure that he’d ever be free from you.

────

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[vettelsvee]

SO IT GOES... | Charles Leclerc

⋆ PAIRING: Dom!Charles Leclerc x Sub!Girlfriend Female Reader ⋆ SUMMARY: Charles and you have one of the worst fights of your relationship but, instead of talking, Charles decides it's time to let you know who you belong to ↳ REQUESTED: Part of REPUTATION in MY TORTURED DRIVERS DEPARTMENT ⋆ WARNINGS: Smut (Dom!Charles, Possessive!Charles, female receiving oral sex, unprotected p in v, fingering, cowgirl position, orgasm denial). Curse words, mentions of cheating ⋆ WORD COUNT: 2377 ⋆ VEE'S NOTES: As promised, we're back with MTDD fics! Hope you like this one and, if so, remember reblogs and your comments are very much appreciated! Thank you so much for reading <3 ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

The atmosphere in Charles’ driver room was suffocating you both, but what was truly killing you was the silence… and the fact that neither you nor your boyfriend could find the words to speak.

He stood in front of you, breathing heavily. His hands were clenched tightly into fists, arms hanging rigidly at his sides. His pupils were dilated, almost swallowing the green in his eyes. Frustration, rage, and above all, a crushing sense of pressure radiated from them.

His words, laced with anger, packed with everything left unsaid, all the broken promises, were what was tearing you apart.

"Are you seriously telling me you don’t know if you can trust me?" you asked him again, your voice lower now, though the irony still lingered in your tone. "After everything? After all these years together?"

“Fuck. I didn't fucking say that!” Charles shouted, running a hand through his hair, his mouth spitting out frustrated sighs.

"You don’t have to say it. You doubted me, Charles. God… you doubted me."

He let out a bitter, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. He couldn't wrap his mind around the situation… How foolish he had been to believe the pictures of you with that guy didn’t mean anything.

At first, he had convinced himself it was nothing. But now? Now he truly believed you were cheating on him, and no amount of evidence could erase that thought from his mind.

"And can you blame me for that? Do you know what this looks like? Do you have any idea how I feel right now?"

His voice cracked.

You wanted to agree with him. You wanted to scream that you, too, had felt neglected, unimportant, even suspicious. All those times after races, seeing him surrounded by girls, some Ferrari staff, others just familiar faces, posted all over social media by fans. It had hurt, even if you’d never said a word.

“I spent the whole day walking through the paddock while people stared at me like I’m pathetic. Like I’m some fucking idiot too blind to see what’s right in front of him.”

“And that’s on you for thinking that! And on them for judging me like that, Charles!” you shouted, pacing nervously around his room in Ferrari’s hospitality. “It’s not my fault that someone took pictures of me with my best friend and now everyone, including you, thinks I’m cheating!”

“But I can’t ignore it!” he exploded. “I seriously can’t. When I see those damn photos, I feel like a complete idiot. You have no idea how much I hate it.”

Your throat tightened. The anger and the crushing pressure in your chest were unbearable.

"And what about me? Don’t you think I feel humiliated too? Jesus, Charles! I feel like absolute shit knowing that the person I love most in this world thinks I’m hurting him, when all I wanted was to spend time with a friend so I wouldn’t drown in loneliness with you across the world instead of in Monaco."

Charles didn’t answer. His jaw clenched, his entire body tense with fury not at you, but at himself.

“I don’t know what else you want me to say,” you continued, trying to steady your voice as Charles struggled to calm his breathing. “I’ve told you the truth. I’ve told you it wasn’t what it looked like, and still, you don’t believe me.” Your voice broke at the end, and you cursed yourself for losing control now of all times. “What more do you want from me, Charles?”

He closed his eyes for a second, taking in shaky breaths that he hoped would steady him. They didn’t. He still looked at you like you were fragile, like you were everything he loved, and everything he feared losing.

Deep down, Charles hated himself. And he knew the reason this had spiraled so far was because of him.

“I just… I just want to stop feeling like this, love,” he finally admitted, voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

And those words hit you like a knife to the gut.

You didn’t know what to say; not with Charles looking at you like that, with a mix of longing and shame, searching for something you weren’t sure you could give just yet.

But even so, you stepped toward him. Determined, though something inside you still felt fragile.

“Then stop.”

Those two words were enough to make Charles shift his gaze from your eyes to your lips just for a moment, but it told you everything. How much he was holding himself back. How much he didn’t want to.

And then, he didn’t.

In one desperate motion, Charles closed the gap between you. He cupped your face in both hands and kissed you, hard and deep. It wasn’t sweet or soft. It was raw, fueled by anger, pain, and everything you’d left unsaid.

You moaned against his mouth, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him even closer, your back slamming against the wall.

Your boyfriend groaned now, his hands running up and down your waist before moving to your chest, teasing your nipples through your dress. You couldn’t help but grind against his thigh, silently begging him to part your legs and make this pain disappear with pleasure.

“Charles…” you whispered against his lips when you pulled back just enough to breathe.

“No. Don’t say anything,” he muttered, and kissed you again.

This time, it was deeper, more tender. Like he was trying to apologize for every cruel accusation. Trying to heal you with the only thing he had left to give: himself.

Charles knew you’d need to talk, really talk. But right now, all he wanted was to make it up to you the only way he knew how: by giving you one of the best orgasms of your life.

When he began tracing a finger over your underwear, you stopped trying to hold back your moans. Instinctively, you tugged at the hem of his shirt, desperate for his skin. He didn’t hesitate. He pulled back just long enough to yank it off, tossing it aside without a second thought.

The last thing he felt like doing was getting rid of your skin.

Charles came back to you and lifted you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, and gestured poorly with your hands for him to set you down on the couch in the room, trying not to fall down the short, but winding path, littered with things on the floor.

By the time he set you down on the couch you were already out of breath. Charles got on top of you, carefully, his lips brushing your jaw, your neck, leaving a trail of kisses with his mouth all over your stomach until he reached your lower stomach.

The moment he knelt in front of you and lifted your dress, torturously and slowly, never taking his eyes off you, you felt the power Charles Leclerc had over you no matter how hard you tried to stop him.

“You drive me insane...” he murmured, leaving kisses on your thighs, massaging them.

“Charles, if someone hears us....”

You didn't have time to finish speaking.

His mouth slipped between your pussy, soaking wet and ready for him. Next to it, two fingers were added to the equation quickly and deeply. You bit your lip to hold back the moans that were so threatening to come out of your mouth, and that you didn't want Lewis, whom you had overheard in the next room, to hear.

That was proof enough for Charles to let himself go. His fingers rammed you faster, at a brutal pace, while he sucked harder and harder on your clitoris.

“You're mine,” the Monegasque shouted. “Come on, love. Say it.”

Your knees buckled. Instinctively, you clutched at Charles' shoulders because you couldn't take the pleasure you were feeling any longer, and somehow trying to keep yourself from screaming.

“I'm... I'm yours...” you whispered, screaming the last word and regretting it instantly.

“That's it, love…” Charles slowed down, but curved his fingers even more to make me reach that spot that gave you so much pleasure. The palm of his hand was in charge of rubbing your clot, completely swollen. “No one else touches you like this. And, above all, no one else makes you moan and cum like I do.”

Those words were enough to make you come hard, throwing your head back and leaning it against the back of the sofa. You bit down hard on your hand to keep the moan, that scream you wanted so badly to let out. Your eyes were filled with tears of pure pleasure, and all you wanted to do was lie next to Charles and do nothing but run up and down his body.

He sat up and kissed you, then stood up and brought his fingers to his lips, full of you, to suck and taste you once more.

Then he sat down next to you and signaled you to get up, to which you did not hesitate to respond.

“I hope you know I'm not done with you yet.”

You tried to answer him, but he tugged at your dress, which you were still wearing, to pull you closer to him. He silenced you with a kiss that made you taste yourself.

“You taste like fucking heaven, love,” he murmured into your mouth.” And now, to make up for it all... you're going to ride me. But don’t get confused… Even if you think you're in control, I am.”

You trembled under his touch and his words, the excitement returning to you. Charles quickly removed his pants and boxers, leaving his fully erect dick exposed, not taking his eyes off you, shy for no reason. His hands grabbed your thighs and you were spread open, facing him, with your entrance perfectly aligned with his cock as Charles moved it to pleasure your clitoris.

Suddenly, he rammed into you, forcing you to sit completely on top of him.

Now you really let out a deep moan, and Charles felt it as a great victory.

“Good girl…” he whispered, putting his hands on your ass. “Just like that... Take all of me…”

You started to move, trying different speeds and movements. You made slow circles with your hips even though you knew that your boyfriend wouldn't agree with that provocation.

And so it was: his hands went to your waist, his fingers digging into your skin to force you to go faster.

“Do it my way. You know how I like it. I want to feel you.”

You didn't have a chance because, by the time you put your hands on his chest, Charles was the one who started ramming from below, hard and relentless. You ended up accompanying his movements with the swaying of your hips, joining in his panting as you tried to keep up with him, getting faster and faster and you don't know how he could do it after running a race.

You felt tired but, at the same time, noticing him deep inside you. Hearing him tease you, possess you, was just what made you want to keep going.

“You're mine,” he said softly, gutturally, over and over. “I want to show each and every asshole who wants to fuck you that you're mine. Maybe I should invite them to see us as we are now....”

You tried to speed up, seeking the orgasm you knew was building in your lower stomach and was about to burst.

Charles, however, noticed.

He grabbed you by the hair, pulling it into a ponytail, and pulled you close to his face:

“You're not going to cum unless I tell you to. You're going to hold on until I tell you to, so I hope that's clear to you. Alright?”

You moaned, trying to control yourself, and nodded your head quickly. 

“I love seeing you like this,” Charles thrust harder into you, and by the way he gritted his teeth, you knew he was as desperate as you were. “So needy, so desperate for me... Look at you, trying your best to be a good girl, today, for me...”

He brought a hand to your neck and squeezed you lightly, just enough to drive you even crazier, while I kept forcing you to ride at his pace.

“You're going to cum when I tell you to do so, and I want you to scream my name so the whole fucking paddock, this whole fucking team, hears you.”

You were still there, on top of him, trying to avoid the friction of his penis against your clit to avoid stimulating yourself more. You were squirming. Your nails were digging into his chest as you begged him with your eyes to let you cum.

And he seemed to understand.

“Go on. Now.”

You broke down, screaming his name as, perhaps, you had never done in all the time you had been together. You collapsed; you broke down as you loved every time you had sex with Charles. He, however, didn't stop and kept ramming into you, caring little about how you trembled or how overstimulated you were on top of him.

He finished cumming soon after, and you felt that, if he had done it later, he would have given you the third orgasm of that make-up sex session.

“I must admit that, although I don't like that you think I'm cheating on you, I should make you think about it more often, because the way you fucked me today....”

Charles shook his head, chuckling under his breath. His hands were around your waist, much less possessively now, but he still wasn't going to let you go. One hand began to run down your back in a different way, too overprotective for your liking, but you thought you were overthinking, so you let it go.

In the end it was just Charles, your boyfriend.

“I hope you know you're mine. Always.”

And the way he says that?

You didn't know if it was really his possessive self invading him, or because it was one of those promises, the kind that are meant to be broken before you can even dream about them, that he was making to you again.

[soleilwoo]

calling the boyz by their name

[☀︎] — sangyeon. ok it can go one of two ways with him. either he will just side-eye you with a knowing smirk on his lips because he knows you’re just trying to get his attention and he will entertain you for a while because he thinks it’s cute. or he won’t even budge when you call him by his name and will just nonchalantly go “you don’t call me that”, refusing to even look at you until go back to calling him honey or something.

[☀︎] — jacob. he will just laugh a little bit. whether he gets the joke or believes you somehow don’t want to call him your baby anymore, he’s got that “[laughs nervously] what the fuck…” vibe going for him. he does try to check with you if he did something but he’s just constantly laughing the whole time and you don’t actually know if he means it. even after you tell him it’s just a joke he’s still kind of frozen in place like “yeah.. haha.. ok..” so you will have a broken boyfriend for the next 3 hours or so.

[☀︎] — younghoon. stop don’t even pull this shit on him. deadass he’ll be so hurt. just stares at you in disbelief for probably like a whole 30 seconds trying to process what just happened and comprehend just why on god’s green earth you would call him anything other than your usual pet name. “did i do something?” “are you mad at me?” “are we okay?” like honestly the questions will!! not!! stop!! coming!! until you just call him baby and ease his mind because he’s just so deeply afraid of upsetting you </3. true baby.

[☀︎] — hyunjae. without missing a beat he goes “what was that?” as you continue calling him by his name. he would just keep saying things like “what? i’m sorry, i can’t hear you” and he’s laughing the whole time too because, a). he knows he’s gonna win this and b). you’re trying to get a rise out of him by playing a prank which is just so funny to him. he will keep this up until you give in and call him babe or something. then he smiles real wide, clearly very satisfied with himself, and goes “ah! that’s my baby”

[☀︎] — juyeon. if you thought he would react, lmfao, think again. he’ll probably not even think anything of it and when you’re like “you know i just called you juyeon right?” he’s like “yeah…. that’s my name…” honestly the most you’ll get out of him is a semi-confused look for about 3.2 seconds before he goes on about his day. 0/10 reaction. wouldn’t recommend.

[☀︎] — kevin. he’s also team “oh shit what the hell did i do” but after the initial shock, he just gets kind of… sad? he’s very attentive to you and your body language so depending on that he might pick up on the fact that it’s a joke and be like “ahhh don’t do that!! i was worried!!” or he might actually believe something’s wrong and just try to discuss the relationship right then and there. either way he’s just so glad when you call him baby again. will probably put his hand to his chest and sigh very dramatically while smiling real big or something like that.

[☀︎] — new (chanhee). he would be taken by surprise at first, smiling nervously because he’s unsure of what he should do or even what’s going on. he asks “are you mad?” and when you say no he’s still like “ok……. but are you mad?” he keeps replaying the last week in his head trying to figure out if he did something wrong and how he could make it up to you until you put the poor boy out of his misery. he’d let out the biggest sigh of relief when you call him baby again and he’s already on his way to cuddle you, talking about how relieved he is that you’re not actually mad at him and laughing at how silly he is :(.

[☀︎] — q (changmin). has got no time for this shit. he will either a). be like “that’s not my nameeee” and whine and annoy you until you lose your mind/give up on the joke (whichever comes first) or b). actually act like he has no time for this and go “i’m breaking up with you” after the second time you do it, tops. don’t even bother calling him babe afterwards cause he’ll just be like “yeah, have fun being single tho.”

[☀︎] — juhaknyeon. he sort of panics when you call him by his first name. he freezes in time and space and it takes him all of his courage to ask you if he did something. his mind immediately jumps to the worst case scenario: that this is all actually leading up to you breaking up with him. he’s honestly, actually, so scared. you’ll just have to be like “haha just kidding baby!!!!!!! its a joke BABY” to calm him down immediately afterwards.

[☀︎] — sunwoo. he is offended. just absolutely outraged. how dare you. “what did you just call me?” as if his own birth given name is the worst insult in the world. when you’re like “your name” he just straight up denies that. suddenly he doesn’t know a sunwoo. that’s not his name. 1000% the type to go “my name is BABY and you know damn well”. will still pout and sulk even after you give up and call him baby.

[☀︎] — eric. could either be really annoyed and pull a “actually that’s BABY to you 😠” or be rly upset and whiny and pouty about it because he is actually baby. you can honestly keep this up for as long as you like because eric physically lacks the ability to stay angry at you but just call him baby afterwards and i swear- all’s good. you’ll have a smiling, satisfied eric right back in your arms again.

[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

[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 🙎‍♂️

[littledes1re]

In the car, in the car, in the backseat, i‘m your baby.

Pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

Summery: it’s summer break and you are spending it by your parent’s house and your father’s best buddy is also there. The one you tried to fuck for years and finally it’s happening.

Warnings: 18+, oral (m!receiving), big teasing, sub!joel, insecure joel, he has some body and age issues, riding him in his car, unprotected sex, praise kink, pet names, m!body worship (hell yea), age gap! (reader is 23, joel is in his late 40’s), Sarah is like 10 in this, no outbreak.

A/N: Still haven’t recovered from that episode and i’m kinda scared of the new one…😀 BUT! First time writing dbf!joel which is like my fav trope on here, this is more smutty than anything but I will write a more angsty one in the future🤞🏻

Summer break at your parents house were not exciting because you saw them again. They were not exciting because of the food your mom would cook, not because of the barbecue party your father threw every time. It wasn’t exciting because you saw your childhood bedroom again, even tho it felt good sleeping there once more as you kind of missed your childhood but no— you were excited about seeing him again.

Joel Miller.

Your fathers best buddy.

He was his best friend for as long as you could remember. They met at the construction company joel owns and since then they were spending every single weekend together. And after Joel broke things up with his wife and got custody over Sarah—his daughter, he somehow became a family member as much as he was visiting and helping around.

This was a huge deal for you.

Joel got so so much hotter after his divorce. He was always hot but after that he suddenly grew more of his beard out, biceps got bigger, he leaned more into the dad bod and he slicked his hair back that slowly turned grey. It was killing you, always having him over for the holidays or some special events, your thoughts were just only on him and they were dirty. But deep down you kinda felt bad. He was a nice and sweet man, doing the best for his daughter and being a best friend for your family, you could trust him with everything. It felt wrong reducing him just for his looks.

But that didn’t stop you. You wanted to fuck him.

And you always tried to. Every god damn year.

You can remember one years ago, you were trying the same thing. A summer break, visiting the family and joel also being there, a sweet little barbecue evening with your family. And after the party ended and the sun slowly start to set, you saw him sitting on the couch, drinking his beer while looking trough his phone.

And hell, he wasn’t stupid.

He saw the way you looked at him hours ago. He saw the was your eyes scanned his body up and down all the time, trying to not catch his gaze as he sat with you on the dinner table, your cheeks blushing whenever he caught you looking. The little summer dress you wore, barely covering knees as you bend over besides him, showing him the panties you wore and doing that so sneakily that so nobody around you saw that.

And you can’t believe how bold you were on that day. As he sat on the couch you came over to him, sitting on down on the other side and putting your legs up, your feet landing on his lap. He sighed, putting his drink and phone down.

“You’re trouble.” He murmured, gripping your ankles and yanking them from his lap earning a gasp from you.

“Heyy, don’t be so mean. I didn’t do anything! Just let me rest my feet.”

“Is that so, hm?” His jaw was clenched, eyebrows pinched he looked at you. The slicked back hair, his tanned skin and his big board shoulders made you absolutely feral.

“Mhm, yea! since when did you become so mean joel? You were always nice to me” you fake pouted, seeing him swallow looking around the room and sighing.

“I was nice to you before you started to cause so much trouble, girl.”

“I don’t even know what you are talking about.” You shrugged your shoulders, acting so clueless. You put your feet back on his lap, precisely on his bulge that you already saw forming on that day many, many times before.

He just looked at you, his face not pleased as he put his hands on your leg and squeezed as a warning and went back on his phone with a disappointed small shook of his head. He couldn’t be mad at you, your father would absolutely tear him to pieces, you knew that.

You were absolutely dripping after that, still feeling the hand on there whenever you thought about it, to this day.

So today you were going to see him again. Already standing in front of your mirror trying to find the best thing to wear, because this time, you were going to fuck this man. Your choice was simple but effective as always. A small white sundress. Perfect for this breezy summer day. And perfect for Joel too, you knew it.

The day began slowly with you helping your mom and dad make the garden as comfortable as possible, table put, chairs, some sweet radio playing summer hits, gras was recently trimmed, a cool box ready to keep beer cool, the beautiful flowers your mom planted saying hello and oh!— There was the doorbell.

He was there.

Excitement run through your body, warmth spread all over you and your cheeks heated as you saw him coming in. Sarah besides him already grown so much.

But you only looked at him.

Almost the same clothes, same board shoulders, huge frame, hair slicked back and his hair and beard got just a tiny bit more grey which made you almost lightheaded. There was this tan on him again, sweat was dripping from his forehead, his hands looked like he just worked hard, he probably came from his job. And his smell. His usual cologne mixed with the smell of the Marlboro reds he always smokes and tad bit of sweat. You were absolutely going feral and if no one saw you in this room you would be drooling.

“Hey, sweets” his rough voice greeted you, opening his arms for a big hug. You embraced him, hugging his huge body tight as you used that opportunity to really inhale his scent and make up for the days you missed him. He kissed the top of your head and let go of the hug, looking at you up and down, his gaze staring a bit too long on your legs. Even tho he acted as normal as possible there was still uncomfortable air between you two.

“And everything alright so far?”

“Yea, everything fine. What about you and sarah?” You asked smiling softly.

“jus’ the same old. Sarah was actually very happy about the gift you send her, so thank you, girl.”

You smiled again, you loved Sarah and never missed her birthdays even tho you were away. She was the sweetest girl and you loved spending time with her whenever you could.

“That’s why she avoiding me right now? Where is she?” You looked around the room.

“Ah there she comes again, got a little sweet treat from your mom I suppose.” He chuckled as Sarah walked to you a bonbon in her hand and the biggest smile, she hugged you.

The day was going well. So far.

You were playing with Sarah while the "grown-ups" sat at the table, talking about everything they've missed lately. Every time you heard his voice, however, you looked for his eyes. But he absolutely wasn't looking at you. He laughed a lot, talked a lot, but never looked over to meet your eyes. You could just feel the way he wanted to avoid you, to make it really seem like nothing happened and maybe you were just messing with him. But you were not going to let this go so easily.

“Sweetheart, can you go with Joel? While he buys the charcoal, you buy this list I made you.”

Jackpot.

This is the moment you were waiting for. An opportunity. On Joel’s face you could read how he was absolutely not fond of this idea. Your father needed charcoal for the grill and conveniently, Joel wanted to be the one to get it with his truck and even more conveniently was it for your mother to want you to go with him so you could buy a few groceries that were still needed for the party.

But joel couldn’t just say no. Your parents knew that you two had a good relationship so they would question on why he would not want to go with you.

So you and joel made your way to his truck, he did not once look at you or talked to you. He completely avoided you just like the whole day but you knew this was going to change.

It’s been so long since you were in his car, he was a clean man so nothing changed, everything still smelled like leather, a picture of sarah hanging on his mirror, with that an air refresher.

The windows were open, you were enjoying the fresh summer breeze as he drove to the next best grocery store, still not even looking or talking to you. But him driving was another level of hot. His big arm on the steering wheel, flexing his muscles, one hand on his chin as he looked concentrated to the streets. Eyebrows pinched and all grumpy.

You laid a tiny bit back on your seat, gently and sneaky putting the hem of your dress up till it reached your thighs. You opened a little bit your legs, laid your head on your hand and leaned to the door, sighing trying to get his attention.

You saw his grip getting tighter on the wheel, his expression changing into that of someone who was barely controlling himself. And then you caught him, just with a little side eye he looked down on your thighs.

You got him.

He was sweating more than usual beside you, you could see the little pearls forming on his forehead, his jaw was clenched and the concentration he built while driving away from your house completely left him.

You bit your lips, tracing your hand up and down your thigh slowly. Making circles, teasing yourself and him.

“Joel.” You called out, your hand still on your thigh as you looked at him with a pout and tried your best to put on your pretty doe eyes.

He first looked at you, trying to act like his bulge wasn’t growing in his pants and then his eyes fell to your thighs again, he followed your hand going up and down, he cleared his throat and then swallowed.

Poor guy.

“What.” He murmured his voice not pleased and not kind like as you greeted him today. You wonder what happened.

“How long till we arrive? I’m hot.”

You saw him rolling his eyes, sighing as he turned his head to you.

“Rolled the windows for you down, ain’t that enough girl? We arrive in like 5 minutes, be patient.”

His tone was stern and you didn’t except him to be this harsh by the way he was talking with you. So you crossed your arms and looked at him, trying to act all angry but in a playful manner. His face didn’t change a bit, he didn’t give you a smile, a wink, nothing. His eyebrows were still pinched and jaw clenched he drove you two to the store and parked.

He walked in straight without saying nothing, he was fast, doing everything to avoid you.

It had been 10 minutes and you already had the things your mom put into the list she gave you and now you waited for Joel. You didn’t even know where he was, let alone when he was coming. So you tried to catch his attention.

You stood there and spoke to an employee, a normal young guy who doesn’t look older than 23. You turned a strand of hair on your finger, leaning to the side and laughed about nonsense, making it seem like you were flirting. And then you saw him.

He was standing there with narrowed eyes the charcoal in one of his hand and the other one on his hip. He stood there jaw clenched looking like he was trying to control himself not to take apart the poor guy you were talking to.

“Girl, c’mon now. We ain’t got all day.” He suddenly almost yelled to you. The boy you were talking to flinched and you had to suppress a giggle.

As he paid for the stuff you walked to the car again and waited for him to come. He came with the two bags in his hands, opening the cockpit and putting the things in. But he suddenly stopped there, looking to you as he wanted to say something.

“What?” You asked

“You’re gonna get us both in trouble.”

“What the hell are you even talking about?” You still tried to act all clueless.

“Sweetheart. I know what ya’ doin’. It ain’t gonna work on me.“ his voice sounded softer but he was being serious.

“It’s already working tho.” You pointed down to his bulge, biting your lips by doing so.

He looked around the parking spot, his whole face flushing red. You kinda fell bad for him, exposing him like that but he was giving you a hard time so one way or another it had to happen.

“You get in the fucking car.” He suddenly spit out, you heard his loud boots walking to you as he quickly grabbed your arm and yanked you to the passenger seat.

“Hey! Ow, that hurt, you asshole.” You muttered out, as he sat you down on the seat and put your seat belt on.

He didn’t even say anything after that, he was furios. The car started as you sat there with crossed arms and this time being really angry and disappointed at him. The car suddenly slowed down and he looked at you, his gaze softening and a sigh leaving his lips.

“Baby, I don’t even know what you want from a man like me.” He said, his voice sounding genuine and warm.

You looked at him dumbfounded

“Look got all these grey hair, haven’t been able to go to the barber shop for god knows how long and I trim my beard but it’s still messy, and heck— look— look at my body. Ain’t the one I was once.”

Your eyes widened. He wasn’t being serious right now, right? You have never seen a more handsome man than him and that after he started to look like how he just described. He was waiting for an answer with those big puppy dog eyes, from his stern and harsh manner was no trace left.

Instead of an answer, you slowly and gently neared your hand on his thigh. Feeling the rough material of his jeans underneath your fingertips, you softly stroked his thigh. You heard him shudder under his breath, his body sitting up, just like his cock. The bulge was growing just more and you wanted to tease him more.

But most importantly you wanted to show him how pretty he is.

“Ain’t gonna let me go so easily, huh?” He mumbled softly, earning a giggle and a shook of your head.

You leaned over, putting your seatbelt away and slowly unbuttoned his flannel shirt. His breath hitched, suddenly steering the car towards the side and stopping it on the field of gras.

He dropped his hands from the wheel and let you fully take control. You opened his shirt, greeted with a beautiful body, the one you just dreamed of having on top of you. His chest hairy going down to his soft belly and then a pretty salt and pepper happy trail. You were drooling.

You didn’t waste any time as you softly rubbed your hands over his chest, leaning in to gently kiss him, working yourself down, kissing his belly and happy trail.

“Jesus christ, girl.” His head was thrown back but he was watching you. You hummed, biting down his breast, then neck, and suckling on his skin. His breathing was coming quickly, you could feel his poor heart beating at a higher rate.

“You don’t even know.” You mumbled, slightly standing up and kneeling on your seat, now your body was completely turned to him and this way you had full access to his body.

“Don’t even know how fucking sexy you are.”

One of your hand went to his bulge squeezing him earning a groan and a desperate buck of his hips. Your mouth continued to work on his tanned body, kissing his collarbones, nipping at his skin.

He was whining.

“Sweet girl.” He groaned as he made his way to your waist, squeezing you there then making a stop on your back because now you were unbuckling him. Pulling his pants down, you gently stroked his hardened cock through his shorts, seeing a small spot getting wet, knowing it’s pre cum. You decided to tease him more as you pulled his briefs slightly down so his bush was out. Your face diving into the hair, kissing him and smothering in it while rubbing his shaft up and down. Slowly you licked your way from his happy trail to his chest to his neck and then landed on his lips.

You kissed him, catching him by surprise as he moaned into your mouth. Hot breaths left him, your hand never stopping on his dick. He took your cheeks into his hands and deepened the kiss, messily making out with you. It was unbearable for you too. You finally had him where you wanted, as his beautiful lips kissed you, you drooled down your chin, bit landing on his briefs, mixing with the pre cum that was already oozing out of the material.

Whining out loud you broke the kiss, taking in deep breaths as he looked at you. His puppy eyes, trying not to squeeze with pleasure, his lower lip trembling.

“Baby—fuck. What are you doing to me hm?” He took your chin between his fingers.

“If your daddy finds out what we are doin’, whatcha gonna say to him?”

“That his best buddy’s cock was hardening every time I was around and that I decided to help him out.” You shrugged your shoulders, smirking at him as he looked at you dumbfounded, he was clenching his jaw, veins popping up on his neck, he was close.

You pulled his shorts finally down. Revealing his big cock, red and switching. He could never be insecure, that was a blatant lie. He was beautiful, the big mushroom head red and glistening, veins trailing down and his big salt and pepper bush was covering his balls.

You squeezed your own thighs to relieve some friction. Gently grabbing the base of his shaft, you squeezed to the top, smearing the pre cum on his tip earning a big hiss. He gripped your arm tighter, the other hand gripping the car door.

You looked at him through your eyelashes batting them one and two times before starting with kitten licks on his head. You kissed down, licked and enjoyed the way he was a big mess under you.

“Please, fuck— please baby.” His voice was coming out shaky, the rough man from before was now completely gone.

You smiled, finally opening your mouth and taking him in. Swirling your tongue first around his tip then slowly sinking and hollowing your cheeks as you went up and down. His hips were bucking into your mouth as he released moan after moan.

“Y’look so fucking beautiful, sweets. So fucking beautiful.” He said through gritted teeth.

Your one hand wrapped around his base, and the other one down his balls, taking them and messaging them. Joel’s eyes were shut down as the pleasure overcame him. You felt him pulse one and two times on your tongue and he was shooting his cum into your mouth.

He gripped your hair, putting it in a ponytail and gently moved your head up and down the way he liked. His legs were shaking and his chest was going up and down as he released his last drops of sperm and let go of your hair, taking a deep breath and laying there almost boneless.

You swallowed, gently stroking him for a few more times and then letting him go soft, laying his dick down. You sat up, seeing his face being all soft and sweaty. His eyes droopy and breathing heavy. He looked fucked out. And you didn’t even fuck him yet.

Your hand slowly traced down your dress, as you sat down, leaned back and strategically removed your soaked panties. You held them in front of his face, swaying them left to right, making him chuckle.

“S’that what ya wanted the whole time? Tempting me right in front of your daddy.”

“Mhm, s’what I wanted, joel.” You mumbled, your body laid on your seat as you opened your legs, your fingers finding your soaked pussy, gathering some of the wetness and bringing it slowly to his mouth.

He immediately opened them and sucked on your fingers, his cock starting to pulse again, as you giggled.

“Don’t even know how long, I wanted you joel. Always made myself cum by thinking of you.”

You pulled your fingers out, going down to your cunt again and hooking them in, gently thrusting them in and out while whining into the car.

“Fuck baby. Can’t say shit like that. If I knew you were serious I would’ve already took you to the bathroom, bent you over and fucked you.”

His hand pulled the hem of your dress up, revealing your swollen cunt to him. He gently laid one thumb on your clit and started rubbing in a steady place.

“Hmph— was always serious. Always wanted you to fuck me always, always.” Now you were the one turning into a mess as your fingers pumped in your pussy, his thumb pressing and rubbing just the perfect way.

His other hand took his cock into his hand, jerking up and down, his shaft harding again as the sweat on his face began again.

“C’mon, c’mere then.” His hand left your cunt, going to your waist and gripping you so you could move. You stopped your movements and obligated, carefully going over his lap and standing on top of him. He rubbed his cock up and down your cunt, gently smearing the tip on your little nub as you tried your best to holding yourself up, grabbing his shoulder and moaning his name out.

“Gonna fuck you nice baby, so nice. Just like you’ve been waiting for.”

With that he gently pushed his cock into your hole, the stretch slightly burning you as you slowly and steadily sunk into his lap. You both squeezed your eyes shut as you enjoyed the slow place of his cock entering your pussy.

You looked at him, your mouth gaping open, as you run your hands trough his beautiful hair.

“Shh, take it, yea baby. Yeah. I know. Begging for it so long and now taking it so good.”

His praise was echoing in your head, not leaving as you sat down his lap, his dick now fully buried in you. The stretch was too good, you truly felt full of him.

He didn’t leave you time before bucking his hips in need, little breaths leaving his lips. He suddenly latched himself on your neck, gently nipping at the skin, careful enough so he wouldn’t leave any marks for your parents to see and while doing that he massaged your tits trough the fabric of your dress.

You whined out, slowly getting used to his stretch and him slowly figuring out a good pace to steadily fuck into you. His cock going in and out as his big rough hands were deliciously tight on your hips, they were going to leave marks for sure.

You ran your hand trough his hair once more but this time tugging it gently away from your neck, revealing his pleasure blissed face, cheeks flushed red, the sweat making his hair and beard wet as he gave you these pretty ‘fuck me’ eyes.

“Take what you need baby, there you go.” He whispered as you took the lead. Your hips now going with a rhythm, fucking yourself on his cock, hips bucking and tits bouncing up and down as the car filled with you two’s moans and whines both desperate and pathetically trying to chase the high you guys deserve.

“Poor fucking man. Fuck— haven’t been taken care of for so so long.”

“Yea, baby.” He could only agree, his gaze never leaving you. You could literally see sparks in his eyes, totally mesmerised by you and the way you were handling his cock.

“Gonna take care of you from now on. Not gonna leave without empty balls, joel. Man like you need all the lovin’ they can get. Wanna see your cock bent after a while at how much i’m taking care of you.”

He grunted, almost releasing at that but you stopped with your hips, leaving him high almost at his orgasm. He was breathing out, whimpering and shaking as you took his cheeks into your hands and gently stroked the skin.

“You don’t even know how handsome you are, so fucking sexy.” You murmured, his eyes turning into those sad doe eyes again, clearly unsure and not excepted the way you were thinking about him.

“You understand?” You asked him, pinching his cheeks together as he nodded his head up and down.

“Mhm. Yea—yeah. Understood.” He breathlessly said, his hips starting to buck into you again, seemingly wanting to finally release and get the satisfaction he totally earned.

You leaned back to the steering wheel so you could get access to your clit, gently rubbing the nub he fucked up to you again, finding his pace once more. His gaze never left yours as his cock deliciously touched that one spot over and over again, making you roll your eyes.

“Gonna take care of you too hun. Feed you my cock whenever you want, fillin’ you up so it makes up for the times i’ve left you hanging.”

You whined at that, nodding your head up and down, whispering a little ‘please’ out.

“So pretty, look at that. Just enjoying her sweet fucking, rubbing her little clit and taking care of her man.”

Now he was the one who suddenly got a mouth on him. You thought maybe he wasn’t that talkative but apparently you were wrong. You felt his cock switch in your cunt, knowing he was close and you were too.

“In me—please. In me.” You whimpered out, your legs shaking and his thrusting growing sloppier and sloppier, he harshly tugged you into him making you yelp. He held your hips tighter then before, his groans and moans getting louder and louder.

“C’mon baby, c’mon. Cum. Show me how good this pussy takes care of her man.” He said into your ear and that was it. Your legs completely shook, as a sharp cry left your mouth. You squeezed your eyes shut as the waves of the release washed upon you, making you feel almost dizzy at how good it felt.

He thrusted as much as he could one and two more times, making you ride out your orgasm as he stilled and released into you. His face burying in your neck, chest going up and down and silent groans and whimpers leaving his mouth. You let yourself get filled, enjoying the fullness and coming down from your climax as you gently stroked his hair, slowly moving your hips at the rate at which his cock was shooting his cum and after it getting soft in you, you stopped gently kissing his cheeks and neck, while softly praising him.

“Mhm, we are so fucked baby. Look at how messy we are, how are we going to go back to your parents?”

You giggled at that, shrugging your shoulders at him, enjoying the quiet after the storm and finally having his presence near you, just like you wanted.

You finally fucked him.

I actually don’t really like reading sub!male but I don’t know what got into me in this fic, I think it fits very well. Feedback is very much appreciated and AAA thank you so much for 300 followers🥹😭

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🫶🏻🫶🏻 @vickie5446 @a-goose-on-mars @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs

[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.

[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

[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

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Epilogue

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and his lover :) That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, suggestive language, finally some fluff lol A/N: I missed writing for Error!! God, deliver me from the shackles of schoolwork and capitalism pls (I wanted this, I wanted this....) Enjoy! <3

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue (-> spin-off)

“When I look at you, I can't believe it's true You're all I ever dreamed of, and you love me (And you love me) And you love me.”

The two of you are holding hands as you make your way to the new café that just opened on 6th Avenue, near Darlington Square, your fingers woven into his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

You’ve heard great things about the place, and not just the usual noise from clickbait-y blogs desperate for engagement, but from people who actually know what they’re talking about. The hipster types—the new-age purist fucks who claim they can taste the "notes of apricot and the warmth of an abuela’s love" in a single origin Santuário Sul pour-over, brewed with beans ethically scoured from the mystical depths of Carmo de Minas or whatever.

You think they’re full of shit. But for all their unbearable pretentiousness, they’ve never steered you wrong. So.

It still feels… unreal sometimes. Sylus, here, beside you. Present, in a way he never could have been before. In a way you two could only think of as a passing pipedream, not so long ago.

He’s here. Solid, tangible. And so, so warm. 

His thumb traces soft circles against your knuckles, an absentminded caress that sends a shiver up your spine. He does that a lot—little touches here and there, like he’s committing the texture of your skin to memory. Like there’s still a part of him that can’t quite believe that you two exist in the same space now. In the same plane of existence. 

And maybe you’re just as bad; sneaking glances at him whenever you could, half-expecting him to flicker out like a glitch in the system. Like some cruel error will right itself and erase him from this reality at any given moment, when you least expect it.

He never does. 

He’s still with you. Always with you. 

And day by day, the knot in your chest loosens; not all at once, but in slow, steady increments. Like frost clinging to the soles of your boots, melting under the first touch of spring. Day by day, the small voice in your head—the one that whispers warnings of borrowed time, of happiness slipping through your fingers—slows to a mum. 

Not gone, not yet, but it's quieter. Fainter now. Sounding more and more like the lingering echoes of a bad dream.

(You hope that one day, when you look into Sylus’ fathomless grey eyes, the reflection staring back at you will be filled with certainty. Of this. Of him. Of what you have. Nothing else.)

And whenever reality hits you – and what a novel thing it is, that this is what you now consider reality – it steals the very breath from your lungs. 

It’s an exhilarating kind of happiness; the way it makes you feel as if your heart's too big for your ribs, too much for your mortal body to contain. It spills over, bright and absurd—almost to a ludicrous degree, honestly. 

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to it. The utter magnitude of your bliss. 

And he’s just as lost in this as you are—though you suspect he’s just a tad better at making it less obvious.

He never strays too far away from you. He stays close to your orbit, always within arm’s reach; his fingers brushing against yours when they can, as if he doesn’t quite trust himself to let go. Your personal shadow.

It’s more than just physical proximity. There’s a gravity to him now, almost on a molecular level, like he’s in the very air you breathe. Inescapable, even if you tried.

(Not that you’d ever want to.)

Sometimes you think you’re not even consciously doing it, but when he moves, you move with him. You lean into him as if by instinct, finding the curve of his body and the spaces in between as though it was made just for you. It’s a rhythm that feels both thrilling and comforting, the kind of closeness that makes your heart thump a little faster; your cheeks a little redder. 

“Sweetie.”

Sylus’ voice breaks through your thoughts. It settles over the buzzing noise in your mind, soothing as ever. As it always has.

Has it really been four months?

You still find yourself mesmerised by the way he’s easily integrated himself into your world. His world now, too. All six-foot-five (!) of him; impossibly tall, broad-shouldered, and so naturally magnetic. 

It’s in the way he carries himself—not unlike the way he’s always done, back when he was no more but your impossible, sentient character. That presence is still there, the one you always thought was larger than life. But it's slightly more subdued now, toned down into something less intimidating. Something less… exorbitant. 

Something just for you.

And then there’s also the fact that he’s stupidly, ridiculously handsome.

It’s unfair, really. As if it weren’t already enough of a miracle that he’s here, real, flesh and blood, he had to step into this world looking just as breathtaking as his video game counterpart. And hey, maybe you’re a little biased, but you think the changes that came with his mortality only made him all the more perfect in your eyes.

Sure, you miss the silver hair from time to time. And occasionally, your brain still expects the sharp contrast of crimson when his gaze cuts to yours—only to be met with a monochromatic grey, deep and electrifying as a thundercloud in mid-July.

But then there’s everything else. The way his chest rises and falls under your palm, the steady heartbeat that lulls you to sleep at night. The way his hair sticks up in all the wrong places in the mornings, no physics engine rendering it down to a smooth perfection. The scratch of stubble when he steals kisses from you throughout the day, because body hair is a thing now (thank god). 

The off-key singing when he’s taking a shower—

Oh. Nevermind. 

The little imperfections that weren’t designed to be attractive but somehow make him even more so.

He isn’t all clean-cut lines anymore, no longer a carefully-crafted fantasy meant to appeal to an audience. There’s a rawness to him now, something that’s inexplicably human. He’s just some… guy. 

Granted, an extremely hot guy, but still. 

Just himself. Just Sylus.

And maybe… maybe, that’s what makes this version of him the most beautiful of all.

Because he’s yours. Completely and wholly yours.

“Sweetheart, we’re here.”

There’s laughter in his voice. You blink up at him, only to find that look in his eyes—amused and endearingly fond. You realize, a beat too late, that you’ve been spacing out for the last couple of minutes. 

Sylus tips his chin toward the double doors a few metres away, and he feels the way you startle slightly. 

You give him a sheepish smile. He merely chuckles, squeezing your hand in response. 

He’s used to this, revels in this. The way your mind drifts so freely when your hand is in his. It’s not unlike the way you used to depend on him, back when his existence was confined to a screen. 

But now, in this corporeal form, he can be more than a voice in your ear—do more than just watch from the sidelines. 

He can pull you back when you get too close to the curb, for one. Tuck you into his side when the cold bites too sharply at your skin. He can prevent you from walking straight into oncoming traffic whenever you get too lost in your own head… because of course you would. Carefree thing that you are.

He likes seeing you at ease; so completely trusting of the man who, in the grand scheme of things, has only truly been here for a fraction of a year.

As if he’s always belonged by your side.

Oh, how he adores you.

He’d take care of you forever, if you let him. His little dove.

You two enter the café, and immediately, your eyes are drawn to the eclectic décor of the place. It’s almost like you’ve entered a fever dream—or what you can only describe as a frankensteined aquarium. 

Circular faux windows line the stone-clad walls, imitating a sort of subterranean oceanic sanctum, drowning the space with an atmospheric blue. There are hanging lamps reminiscent of jellyfish floating at sea, casting vivid hues of bioluminescent purples and pinks across the room; the mix of colours gives off the illusion of something sunken, almost psychedelic. An abundance of plants of varying sizes can also be seen at every corner, from the creeping ivies to the potted lilies, as if they’ve simply sprouted into existence.  

The main kicker, though, is that – aside from the predominantly nautical motif – the owner seems to have a strange fondness for… the cabaret? 

Framed photographs of harlequin girls wink from gilded edges, and there’s a signage in cabochon lettering that looks like it belongs outside a burlesque theater rather than in here. It spells out a cryptic phrase in a swirling font, in a language you don’t recognize.

You’re still trying to process the visuals of it all when you register the familiar notes of Paradise Circus filtering in through the speakers.

…They’re committed, you’ll give them that. 

"Woah," you can’t help but say, momentarily disoriented by the overwhelming interior of the unassuming—or at least, from the outside—café. "This is… definitely something."

Sylus glances around, his lips curling into a wry smile. "Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting a full immersion," he remarks dryly. "I was wondering what all the fuss was about. Glad to see they didn’t oversell it."

You snort. “I hope good coffee is part of the experience.”

You both amble toward the counter, third in line behind a girl with a bob cut who’s swaying to the music in a pair of silver bell-bottoms, and a shorter fellow wearing a flatcap and trench coat like he’s on the damned set of Peaky Blinders.

Clearing your throat, you quickly glance up at Sylus—just to see him watching you with a knowing look, an eyebrow arched.

You roll your eyes, pressing your lips to suppress a smile. Judgemental little shit. 

"It’s possible we missed a dress code somewhere," he says drolly. 

“Shh,” you hiss at him, trying to keep your voice low—or as low as you can manage—trying your hardest not to laugh. “You’re wearing leather pants. You don’t exactly have the fashion high ground here.” 

Sylus pinches your side in retaliation, and you swat his hand away. 

Tommy Shelb—rather, the cap wearing twenty-year-old-something dude—gives the two of you the stink eye, clearly unimpressed by your not-so-quiet banter. You can’t help but think that maybe he’s the type to take himself a little too seriously.

After a few minutes, you two are next in line.

You’re looking up at the hanging menu—an aged wooden board with elegant yet slightly smudged calligraphy, suspended by fibre twine that gives it a rustic feel without making it look too tacky. Your eyes skim past the more familiar offerings before landing on something called The Drowned Saint. 

It’s intriguing. You’re intrigued. 

Why not?

“Ready to order?” an easygoing voice asks, prompting you to tear your gaze away from the menu.

The barista in front of you is tall, with large, square glasses that sit slightly crooked on his nose, like they’ve been knocked askew one too many times. It gives him a friendly, bookish vibe, the kind of charm that might fool you into a sense of security… if not for the sly look in his eyes. 

Something that spells mischief. 

“Oh, hi—yeah, can I get The Drowned Saint? Just, uh, a regular.” You say, glancing down at the silver name tag pinned to his shirt.

… Red. Does everybody in this establishment need to have a certain degree of quirky to them...?

“–-and a strawberry muffin, too.” 

“And for you?” The dark-haired man seems to size Sylus up, his gaze sharpening with something you can’t put a name to. “Sir?”

There’s a pause. It makes you peek up at Sylus, and you’re surprised to see the same look of quiet consideration on his face.

You shift your weight awkwardly, glancing between the two men. Um.

Finally, Sylus lists his order in a measured tone. Red hums noncommittally, grabbing a paperboard cup from the stack behind the counter.

"Alrighty, and can I get a name for that?”

“... Silas.”

A snort; followed by a barely-restrained cough. 

Your brows lift. Okay. What’s this guy’s damage?

“Riiight, so do you spell that with an ‘I’?” There’s a deliberate smirk playing on Red’s lips. “Or maybe a ‘Y’? Sorry, still getting the hang of–” he makes a vague gesture with his fingers, “all this.” 

You squint, getting a little annoyed by the whole ‘cool guy’ act. Fucking hipsters, man. “Look, it’s not that complicated. It’s S-I-L–”

You feel the light press of Sylus’ palm at the small of your back—a silent reassurance while he cuts in, unperturbed. “It’s alright, sweetie,” he murmurs by your ear. 

Then, without looking away from the irritating barista, he languidly pulls out his wallet. There’s something almost amused in the way his brow lifts, the barest flicker of challenge. “Write it however you want.”

Red, looking unruffled for the most part, is already jotting something down on the cup. There’s no visible reaction; just that same ever-present ghost of a smile, which you’re starting to find… kind of weird, to be honest.   

After paying, both of you move to the side, settling into the wait. You narrow your eyes at the flamboyant man who's busy humming something upbeat under his breath as he moves effortlessly behind the counter. Steam rises in the air while he works the espresso machine like he’s done it a thousand times before. 

You wouldn’t be surprised if he started twirling a milk frothing pitcher mid-pour, like a performer in some kind of latte circus act. He seems like the type.

Finally, Red pings a tiny brass bell by the pick-up area, the tinkling chime almost mocking. “Order up,” he calls out, flashing the two of you a toothy grin. “Enjoy, lovebirds.”

Sylus scoffs, unimpressed. He doesn’t respond—just picks up the tray in one smooth motion, nudging you toward an empty table near the centre of the room, right below a floating indigo anemone. 

He pulls out a chair, and you drop into it with a huff. “The fuck was that guy’s deal?”

He takes his seat across from you, unbothered. To your surprise, instead of the ire you expected to be written on his face, he looks more fascinated than anything. 

He studies you, eyes flickering with something you can’t put your finger on. 

“Does he remind you of anyone?”

You frown. The question throws you. “Huh?” Your brows knit together, head cocking sideways in confusion. “Wait—you know him?”

He gives you an indulgent smile, but doesn’t say anything. He picks up his cup, gaze dropping briefly as he turns it in his hand.

Do you know him?

Sylus watches you, patient, the faintest curl of his mouth betraying nothing as you mull it over. It’s as if he’s waiting, trusting you’ll make the connection yourself without his help. But how would you know the owner of a newly-opened café—if he even is the owner? (He sure carries himself like he owns the place.)

You wrack your brain, trying to pin him down. Where else would you know a roughly six-foot-tall guy with dark, wavy hair and shifty-looking eyes the color of a dead aubergine? 

He’s certainly… a character. And he doesn’t pass off as local—maybe foreign, or at least mixed—so should be easily recognizable, right? 

Yet, for some damning reason, nothing’s clicking. 

It’s in the way he acts too, you think. The easy arrogance, the look of mirth lingering in his expression, as if he’s in on some inside joke you’re not privy to. It’s nagging at you, like an itch in the back of your brain. You’ve seen him before, right? 

You’re pretty sure you have… but for the life of you, you can’t figure out where.

“I mean, like, he does look kind of familia—” Wait.

Oceanic décor. Dark irises that glint into a near-violet hue under the dim, overhead lights. 

Red. 

Reddie.

The realisation hits you like a ton of bricks.

“Wha—no.” You spin your head around so fast it almost gives you whiplash. 

And as if he’s already expecting it, Rafayel meets your wide eyes. 

He gives you a wink. 

Holy fucking shit. 

“So he found a way out, as well,” Sylus muses, his large hand comically dwarfing the coffee that he’s back to examining. When he meets your stunned gaze, he casually flips the cup around, revealing the name scribbled on the sleeve.

‘Sylus’ 

And just right below: ‘still got here first lol ;)’

You let out a sharp exhale, the dots starting to connect in your head. “Did you know?” Your voice pitching higher than you intended, brows scrunched up as you look at the calm man in front of you—the nonchalance to your overreaction. “Is that why you wanted to come here?”

He picks up your strawberry muffin, tapping the excess crumbs off the edge of the plate. “I had my suspicions,” he admits, cupping a hand beneath the pastry, angling the muffin closer to your face. “Ahh, baby.” 

With no small amount of frustration, you take a bite, your eyebrows still furrowed as you chew. The flavors don’t even register on your tongue as you try to wrap your head around this… unexpected development. 

Of course, that’s putting it lightly—inside you’re freaking out. What does this mean? When did this happen? Two of them now?

Are you losing it? Again?? 

It’s too much to process in one go. You’ve just come to terms with your very own freak of nature, thank you very much. 

Sylus tuts gently, dabbing a napkin at the corner of your lips. "No need to stress over it, my love," he rubs his thumb on your lower lip to draw your focus back to him. The corners of his mouth curl into a small smirk when he sees you nibble on it absentmindedly. "Careful now."

Suddenly, your ears pick up a voice calling out, “Raf!” from behind, and you glance over your shoulder just in time to see someone step out from the small kitchenette. 

They’re wearing a navy blue apron over a glittery top, carrying a square pan of what looks to be a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls. 

On the taller side, standing only a couple of inches shorter than Rafayel, sporting a silver nose ring. Their hair is in a split-dye, parted down the middle, and styled into intricately braided space buns—likely a labor of love from the man himself. 

“Ah, that must be his partner,” Sylus notes idly.  

Rafayel reaches for the tray with all the confidence of someone who has absolutely no plan beyond offloading the weight from their lover’s hands. His partner, quicker and clearly wiser, snatches it away at the last second with a knowing look. "Cutie, I was about to get that," he whines in protest, lips forming a pout.

"And yet here I am, actually getting it," they reply dryly, maneuvering the steaming buns out of his reach.

Undeterred, he makes another attempt; only for them to sidestep, holding the tray higher like a seasoned veteran at dealing with his antics. 

Rafayel huffs but refuses to back down, making for another grab. This time, faster. 

He gets his fingers around the edge of the baking tray—only to hiss in pain and immediately jerk back. "Just let me– ow, fuck, hot!" 

His partner gives him a long, unimpressed stare. "You don’t say."

"You could’ve warned me," he accuses, shaking out his hand with all the theatrics of a man in peril. 

"I did. With common sense," they deadpan, but you detect a hint of laughter beneath the monotone.  

That earns a full-blown scowl, but it’s betrayed by the way his eyes soften—something unmistakably fond in the way he watches them, as if their amusement alone makes the now-forgotten burn worth it. 

You don’t miss the subtle shift in his posture; the way his shoulders loosens, the telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth like he’s biting back the urge to grin.

After a few more playful back-and-forths (one of which involves Rafayel attempting a truly ridiculous reach-around that gets his wrist lightly smacked in retaliation), they finally place the cinnamon rolls into the glass display, arranging them alongside the rest of the baked goods.

It’s the ease between them that sticks with you. The way he casually fixes the strap of their apron, how they don’t even flinch when he brushes a stray crumb from their cheek. 

It’s an old, familiar rhythm—one that speaks of something long-established. The kind of comfort built over time. Like it's already habit. 

It makes you smile. 

(In your periphery, you catch Sylus smiling, too.) 

You exhale a long sigh, sinking back into your chair, only now noticing the weight you’d been carrying—the one you hadn’t even realized was there—finally lifting off your chest.

Questions swirl in your mind, most of them aimed at the busy couple manning the counter. The hows and whens. The adjustment period. The hardships. 

And, honestly? Just the need to have someone to freak out with and scream say, Can you actually believe this? 

… But you suppose it can wait. There will be time for questions, for stories, for untangling the mysteries of it all.

For now, you’re just going to enjoy a normal weekend afternoon with your very normal boyfriend.

After all, they’re not going anywhere. Nor will the two of you.

- -

An errant thought pops into your head.

Before you can stop it, your mouth blurts out: “You think Xavier’s ever gonna come out of the game, too?”

A beat.

Sylus freezes for a split-second before his gaze locks onto you, wry and amused—like he’s debating whether he heard you right. 

You get the bad, bad feeling that you’ve made a mistake somewhere.

He lets out a low, throaty chuckle. “Xavier, huh?” he muses, almost patronizingly, eyes alight with an intensity that makes you squirm in your seat.

The nervous little action doesn’t escape his notice.

“Look at the time, kitten.” His voice drops an octave, deceptively calm and even, but there’s an undercurrent to it that has you squeezing your thighs together. “I think we’ve stayed here long enough. Don’t you?”

Uh-oh.

End A/N: Ok, so I’m a big, fat liar who lied about not including anything about the silly lil fishman ≽^-⩊¬^≼ I’m anal about spoilers if you haven’t noticed. 

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy @touya-apologist @gladiolus-mamacitia @btszn @wrimaira @writingmyladsdelusions @borkunlimited

[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?

[fgojous]

silver springs ( satoru g. )

satoru's life was planned down to the very last detail. every clinical rotations, every exam, especially his future—laid out carefully like a surgical procedure. but then you came along—loud, sarcastic and seemed to have no remorse when your ice cold coffee was dripping down his white coat—and into his perfectly planned life. and now? he can't stop thinking about you. everything he had planned? yeah, that went sideways.

med student!gojo x pre-med student!reader

tags. romance, fluff, light angst (hehe), hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, slow burn, medical au, college au, age gap, banters (a lot), sexual tension, use of profanities, explicit sexual content, kissing/making out (like a lot too i think? lmao), unprotected sex (pls always use protection), little hair pulling, fingering, p in v, creampie, overstimulation (?), pillow talks | eighteen plus only!

word count. 13.4k

status. completed (one-shot)

note. i know! 13.4k is crazy but i love satoru sm can u blame me. anyway, i can't get enough of med student satoru, he drives me insane. this is kinda self-indulgent (cos yn is a pt student, and me too hihi). btw, satoru is 25 and yn is 20! <3 i think that's all i wanted to say. anyway, i love u <3

Satoru was—safe to say, pissed. 

He hasn’t slept for hours. There’s his clinical instructor breathing down his neck. He’s still got to study after this. 

Then you, wide your eyes wide, jaw slightly dropped, are just staring at him. Like you were sent by the heavens above to add to his problems today—maybe they said, it wasn’t enough, you had to come.

Fuck this day, really.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” his voice was low, irritation unmistaken. 

You blinked, frozen in place, your caramel macchiato—wasted, dripping down his white—very white coat. Does this day get any better than this? You think not.

You stared at the man in front of you. His jaw was clenched and his specs are slightly askew, and there’s obvious irritation dancing in his sharp sapphire eyes, his long white lashes fluttering. Goddamn, he’s tall.

And you are pissing him off.

“Uh—what—you bumped into me!” 

His figure was towering over you—his white messy hair caught a glimpse of the fluorescent light. 

“Because you weren’t looking. You’re on your phone.”

Well, sorry, if you were stressing about your upcoming long test—but you were here in the hospital instead of studying, accompanying your mother. Maybe she thought it’d be better to string you along in the hospital on the weekends.

“And you’re walking too fast.” you retorted, your chest was brewing. “Can’t you watch where you’re going?”

His lips twitch, almost smirking. You’re so fucking… irritating. “Wow. Was it your mission to irritate me today?”

You scoffed, my god, you hate him already and you don’t even know his name yet.

You reached for a napkin from your purse, attempting to ‘alleviate’ this situation but you know that there is nothing you could do anymore. You were about to dab on his coat when he stepped back.

“Are you seriously going to dab it in?”

“Wow. You’re so grumpy.”

“And you are irritating.” 

Yes. You get it.

“Then maybe you should get some more sleep?” 

He paused, for a moment, before he laughed. He actually laughed. 

Not that loud, but enough for you to ease a bit. He can’t believe that you still have something to say—and yet to say the one thing that he’s waiting for you to say.

“You’re unbelievable.” he muttered, he adjusted his glasses before peeling the coat off. “You owe me. Dry cleaners.”

You blinked, he’s only wearing his dark navy scrubs now, you see his badge clipped on his breast pocket. 

Gojo Satoru | Clinical Clerk

His name lingered in your mind longer than it should be. Where have you heard that name again?

But you didn’t have any time to rack your brains out when he handed his white coat to you with care, like it’s something so fragile it almost makes you scoff. But you took it anyway, because taking it to the dry cleaners was the only thing that you could do now—and you know, it’s kind of your fault too.

“Don’t put bleach on it. I’m serious.”

“I know how laundry works.” you rolled your eyes, folding his white coat carefully in your arms.

“Really? You’re not just a spoiled brat who spills coffee on someone’s coat?”

You deadpanned, not bothering to answer him because seriously, you can’t argue with him anymore. You handed him your phone and his brows furrowed, “Your number. How could I give this back to you if I can’t contact you?”

He snatched your phone from your hand, “For once you were actually thinking.”

Oh my god, give me the strength not to wipe his coat on the floor right now.

You just watched him type in his number, he called his phone from yours so he could save your number. 

“There.” he says, handing you your phone back. “I expect my coat to be sparkling clean.”

“Yeah, fine.”

He didn’t answer you anymore and just turned to walk away. But before he disappeared into the hallway, he waves over his shoulder. 

“Talk about dramatic.”

Three days have passed before he reached out to you.

You had honestly forgotten about the coat—well, you blame the myriad of long tests and practical exams for the past three days. You’d gotten immersed in studying that you forgot that you had to actually give his coat back. 

But it was already clean and hanging neatly in a garment bag, just forgotten for a bit.

And honestly? You didn’t know how to face him again without getting embarrassed. You may have been too much of a brat that day. 

[grumpy med student | 6:57 PM] where’s my coat i need it

[grumpy med student | 6:58 PM] you’ve thrown it away, didn’t you?

You rolled your eyes, typing on your phone.

[You | 6:59 PM ] i can bring it to you right now, my classes have just finished. 

[You | 7:00 PM] i had it cleaned, don’t worry. u asked for bleach, right?

[grumpy med student | 7:01 PM] stop fucking with me. meet me at the ER entrance in 20

You stared at the screen for a bit too long. How in the hell did he manage to annoy you with just a text?

But still, you were there twenty minutes later with his coat draped over your arm. You’re still wearing your white uniform, your ID badge hanging on a lanyard embroidered with the hospital’s name—you’re scrolling through your group chats to read about the practicals that were coming up.

“Huh.” you looked up at the voice, his face etched with surprise as he looked at you, “ You actually look so miserable.”

Your eyes fell on him and there he was with his navy scrubs with a stethoscope slung around his neck and the only thing missing was his white coat that was hanging from your arm. 

“Thanks. I just came from a six-hour lecture.” you say, voice laced with sarcasm then you handed him his coat. “Here. We’re even now.”

“Didn’t know we study in the same university,” he says. 

How could he even know when you’re in different buildings? And he’s already in med school?

“So, what are you?” He didn’t give you a chance to answer when he reached for your badge, “Physical Therapy, huh?”

You snatched it from his hand, “I’m leaving.”

He smirks, “Don’t trip and spill some coffee on someone else now, YN.”

“Try opening your eyes while you walk, Satoru.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and turned away. God, he was so annoying. 

Your mother’s rounds were running longer than usual.

She keeps on insisting you wait for her at the hospital so you could have lunch together. With you, living in the dorms and your long, grueling classes eating up most of your days, this was the only time you get to spend together.

And she’s late. And you’re hungry.

Now, you’re in the hospital cafeteria, eating the chips that you got from the vending machine. 

This is the only place you could think of where you could spread your books and notes. You can’t afford not to study right now. 

Your mind was full of some terms you’re not even sure you’re understanding. You were muttering words, teaching yourself like it actually helps. You didn’t even notice a group of med students passing by your table until a voice cut through the noise going on in your head.

“Hey, Miss PT.” 

You looked up at him.

He looked the same. Glasses perched on top of his nose, same navy scrubs except he was the one holding the coffee now. 

“Are you planning to get back at me?”

Satoru stared right at you, eyes flickering between you and your notes, “As much as I’d love to stain your white uniform, fortunate for you, I’m not as clumsy as you.”

“Aren’t you too busy to irritate me right now?” you retorted, looking back down at your notes to… read? 

Anything. 

Just so you could look away from him. 

Then you hear him laugh lightly—annoyingly, before turning away. You stare at his back as he walks away then you see him talk to a dark-haired med student who looked just as tired as he is before disappearing.

Then you look down, something caught at the side of your eyes.

Then you see a small chocolate bar on top of your open notes.

Huh.

You muttered a curse under your breath. How else are you going to go to your dorm when it’s pouring?

A heavy breath escaped your lips as you tuck your arm in your chest, watching the rain splatter down the pavement. The rain was cold, loud—and seemed like it would not stop any time soon.

“Let me guess, you’re trying to catch a cold to miss clinical exams?”

Your head tilted to the side quickly. That familiar voice grazing through your ears.

It has been almost a week since you saw him. He wasn’t wearing scrubs anymore. He’s just wearing his white uniform just like you are, a university hoodie for med students draped on his arm.

“Let me guess, you’re going to annoy me to death now?” you gave him a sarcastic smile, “What are you doing at our building?”

“Had to drop off something. Why? You thought I was looking for you?” a menacing grin tugging on his lips.

Does he really have to be this annoying? And unbelievably good looking?

You ignored his comment, “I don’t suppose you have an umbrella?”

“Nope.” he answered, you just sighed and looked away—you frown a bit as you saw some of the students from different programs were looking your way, you just shrugged it off, trying to wait the rain out. 

Satoru stared at you, really stared at you like you’re a mnemonic that he was memorizing—you were hugging yourself, teeth clattering slightly, your hair strands stuck in your cheeks.

“Here.” you glanced back at him, your eyebrows furrowing.

“What?”

“Take it. Don’t want you dying from hypothermia over there.” 

It’s his hoodie. 

You looked at him and back at the hoodie again. You blinked once trying to comprehend what he’s offering you right now. 

Is he really? This grumpy, annoying med student is offering you his hoodie?

“Are you going to take it or not? My arm is killing me.” he says, nudging it closer to you. 

You sighed, taking it from him with slight hesitation, if you weren’t so cold right now—but you are, so you swallowed your pride, “Thank you.”

“Huh?” he leaned closer as if he didn’t hear what you said, but you know he did because there’s a smirk pulling on his lips right now. “Didn’t hear what you said. Come again?”

You leaned closer, whispering in his ear. “I said, fuck off.”

You slipped on his hoodie, it was annoyingly soft and smelled like him. That’s actually the first thing that you noticed—and you suddenly realized, you actually know what his scent is.

You actually know what Satoru Gojo smelled like even if you’re not around him that much.

And it pisses you off just a little how nice it felt around you. 

“You know you’d have to return that to me, right?”

It’s been two days and you still have his hoodie.

You told yourself you’re going to return it. That’s why you’re here again.

In front of the emergency room entrance, in the middle of the day. 

If anyone sees you, maybe you could say that you were going to see your mother.

Or, maybe because your professor had canceled his lecture for today and you had nothing else to do.

You’ve got about two hours before your next subject and you got time to kill. Your friends had already gone to the nearest mall and you had no energy to walk around right now.

That’s why you’re here.

That’s what you’re telling yourself because you’re seeing him so often these days, it’s almost becoming a routine and it weirds you out in a way that you can’t explain.

“Hey.” 

You turned and there he was again, tall as ever, just a few steps from you.. 

“Your hoodie.” you say, lifting it. “Thanks.”

His eyes just flickered to the fabric on your arm then back to your face again. “You busy?”

“Not as busy as you.” you say with a mischievous grin.

He almost rolls his eyes, “Have you eaten yet?”

“No.” you answered, a teasing smile escaping past your lips.  “Why? You want to eat with me?”

“You like hospital food?”

And that’s how you ended up in that cafeteria again, except you’re sitting across from him now and his hoodie was still on your arm. So, you set it down on  the chair beside you—it’s just sitting there, waiting to be brought up.

You’re twisting the pasta with your fork, and stared at it like it hurt you—how could it look this… bland? 

But that’s not what concerns you the most, it’s the fact that the silence between the two of you was more comfortable than it is awkward. 

Like you had done this before—or, like this isn’t going to be a one-time thing.

Satoru was about to bite on his sandwich when he looked at you. “Do you always stare at your food like it has done you wrong?”

“Do you always sound this irritating when you’re chewing?”

“Yeah. There’s actually a class in med school for that.” he bites on his sandwich, not shying his blue eyes from you.

You stare back at him, sipping from your cup. “You think you’re so funny, huh?”

“I know I am.” his smugness didn’t escape past you. Annoying.

You huffed a breath, “Should’ve gone with my friends.”

“Uh-huh.” he agreed, nodding his head. “Then I wouldn’t have to sit here and endure this torture.”

You scrunch your nose, glaring at him and he just gives you a sheepish smile. 

Isn’t he the one who invited you here? And now he’s acting like you’re the one who interrupts his peace. 

You didn’t answer—but you glared at him enough to let him know that he’s an exhausting little prick.

When is the bickering ever going to stop?

You bite back your breath before finally bringing it up, “Aren’t you going to take your hoodie back?” 

You couldn’t take the way his hoodie just stares at you. It’s too weird—like it’s really meant for you when it’s not.

It shouldn’t.

“You keep it.”

“Why?”

Satoru looked at you, “So you’ll have to return it again.”

So here you were, in your next class, wearing his damn hoodie because the air conditioning in this lecture hall was on full blast. 

“Medicine.” you hear Maki say. 

“Huh?”

She pointed at the back of the hoodie with her lips, “You’re wearing a hoodie from the college of medicine and surgery. You’re a med student now?”

“It’s not mine.”

“Then why are you wearing it?”

Yes. 

Why?  

Why are you wearing it?

It has been two weeks since you last saw him.

Not that you were counting. 

Well, maybe, it’s because your mother hasn’t been begging you to eat lunch with her and you had no business being at the hospital.

Not that you were hoping for him to drop something off at your building again. My god, why are you even thinking about him now?

It’s because you were staring at his hoodie right now, just sprawled across the backrest of the seat of your study table. You looked away, reaching for your phone to check if he had messaged you—

No, what business does he have messaging you? You tossed your phone away and buried your face on the pillow.

This is so goddamn embarrassing.

The next day, you were about to finish your last class for the day when your mother had texted you and wanted you to come.

And, fuck, you couldn’t get out of your building fast enough. You were almost sprinting to the hospital.

Then you slowed down… why in the hell are you this excited? Isn’t he annoying to you?

So you walked—tried to walk normally, but you were clearly searching for that white hair as you walked through the hallway. 

And then you paused, your heart gradually pounds inside your chest, until the only thing that you could feel was your heart trying to claw its way out of your ribs. 

There he was, standing just outside the exam room, reading something on the charts when you sneaked behind him.

“Hey, annoying.”

Satoru pauses for a fraction of a second before looking at you, your eyes met, and he looked like he hasn’t slept for about a year. 

“Hey.” he greeted you back, his voice was flat—tired.

You blinked, letting out a faint smirk. “Wow, don’t get so excited now.”

You could almost see that grin tugging on his lips but… none. He just adjusted his glasses and scratched the back of his neck. “Just had a long day.”

You searched his face. Yeah, he looked so tired like he hasn’t slept—which, really he hasn’t. But there was something else.

“Oh, you okay?” you swallowed thickly, clutching on your bag—where his hoodie sits heavy just like that feeling creeping up on you.

“Fine.” he says, “I gotta go back.”

Satoru didn’t give you any chance to answer, he walked past you—not a single grin or snarkiness. He didn’t even give you a second glance.

So, you stood there, words still stuck on your throat, standing there a few more seconds than you should have.

[grumpy med student | 11:58 PM] u still up?

You stared at your phone. The bright light from your laptop screen illuminating the frown etched on your face. 

[You |11:59 PM] what do u think

[grumpy med student | 11:59 PM] studying?

[You | 12:00 AM] how else am i supposed to answer the long test tomorrow

[grumpy med student | 12:00 AM] what topic

[You | 12:01 AM] orthopedic conditions

You hated how much you stared at your phone, your conversation still open as if you’re really anticipating everything that he’s going to say. 

Then three minutes passed and he still hasn't answered and you thought that he had vanished again. And that was it. 

It was three days since he gave you the cold shoulder in the hospital, you were supposed to be mad at him for reasons that you don’t even know—or if you even had the right to, and now you’re just waiting for him to respond—

The shrill ringing of your phone cuts off your thoughts.

You looked at the screen and there was his contact. 

grumpy med student Calling…

Don’t answer it, you say. Why is he even calling you this late? 

Your fingers hovered over the screen, thinking it over, debating yourself if it’s a good thing that you talk to him right now.

But then you sighed, your finger clicking the answer button. 

 “Hi.”

You heard him breathe on the other side of the phone, “Sorry.”

“For what?” you were almost whispering, like you couldn’t believe that you were talking to him right now.

“Three days ago. I wasn’t in the mood.” 

You didn’t say anything right away. 

The silence filled with quiet breathing from either of you. 

Why is he saying sorry, even though it wasn’t a big deal?

It really isn’t.

Right?

“Okay.” you say softly, and then it was his turn this time to stay quiet. Then you hear him shift, maybe from his bed.

“You still have my hoodie?”

Then your heart pounds. Because you were wearing it. You’re fucking wearing it. It’s wrapped around you, clinging on your skin along with his scent that still lingers in it.

“No, I threw it out.” then you heard him laugh, a breathy laugh that made you slightly insane. “Cause you pissed me off.”

“I said I’m sorry, didn’t I?” he paused for a bit, “Are you still mad?”

You huffed, “Am I allowed to?”

You hold your breath waiting for his answer. What kind of question is that?

“You are.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. So instead, you say, “I’m hanging up. I’m studying.”

“Wait.” 

“What now?”

“I’m studying too.” he says, you can hear shuffling on the other side, “Don’t hang up.”

An irritated groan came out of your mouth, refusing to lift your head up from your desk. If you could get just a minute of sleep you’d be fine. 

But there’s someone pissing you off by nudging your arm. Repeatedly, to say. 

You haven’t had the chance to sleep, thanks to a certain someone who called you at midnight and kept you talking until your brain turned to mush.

And the nudging doesn’t stop.

You finally lifted your head, your eyes stinging from the lack of sleep. “What?!”

Then you froze, just seeing who it was.

Satoru was standing there, looking down at you with an infuriating smirk on his lips—his eyes flickering down briefly to his hoodie that you were wearing. “Now, you’re the grumpy one.”

“And who’s fault is that?” your brows furrowed as you narrowed your eyes. 

Then you suddenly realized, he’s in your building. 

In your lecture hall.

Right in front of you—in front of your entire block.

You blinked—a little stunned as he placed a coffee on your desk, with a chocolate bar just like the one he left you last time. 

Did he just come all the way here to give you a cup of coffee?

Your eyes darted around slightly, your block mates were already watching—whispering like you’ve brought someone famous. Because how often do you see a third year med student in his scrubs, dropping off some coffee for a second year pre-med student?

Exactly. Never.

Then all of it clicked into place like a perfect puzzle.

Satoru Gojo.

You’ve heard his name before. From all around the campus—from the whispers, he’s that med student your block mates were all talking about.

You just didn’t realize it was him. Took you a month. 

“Now we’re even.” he says casually, “Bye.”

Then he left you there, with your mouth slightly open—and with the knowing looks that your block mates were giving you. 

Especially the one beside you.

“Oh.” Maki smirks, “So, that’s Satoru Gojo.”

You blinked at her, mouth shut tightly. 

“Didn’t know you were dating the med school’s golden boy.”

Dating?

Is she kidding right now?

Your eyes gaze upon the coffee he left for a little too long.

“We’re not—he’s… not—”

“Uh-huh.” Maki nods, now staring at the hoodie that you are wearing. “Sure.”

The one thing that you were wishing as of now was for the ground to swallow you whole.

“You’re being weird.”

There you were, elbows propped on the table, cheeks resting on your palm as you shamelessly stare him down.

It didn’t matter that he was famous in your university and everyone was talking about him, blah blah. It bothers you that it took you this long to realize.

Well, you really don’t pride yourself on engaging in senseless gossip, much less about some handsome someone you don’t even know—well, now you know.

Because you’re eating with him side by side, at the hospital cafeteria, with the shitty food.

“You know they call you the ‘golden boy’, right?”

Then he groaned, poking on his food. “So?”

“How come I didn’t know?” you murmured, “I mean, I always hear them talk about you, I just didn’t realize it was you. I just felt stupid?”

“It’s because you are.” and he said that with a straight face, you glare at him and he smiles, “Can you just eat?”

“Okay, golden boy.” 

“Can you stop?” 

You scrunch your nose and give him a little smile before snatching a fry from his plate, “Make me.”

“Ah.” he laughs—adjusting his specs before leaning in, “You really want to go there? I don’t think you can handle it if I do.”

It was safe to say that you’re flustered, you tried to hold your ground but something in the way he stared at you made your stomach churn in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

“Shut up.” that’s all you could say before pushing his forehead away using your index finger. “Just eat your food.”

─── MONDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 5:45 PM] i’m outside your lecture hall

[You | 5:46 PM] why? u miss me?

[grumpy med student | 5:46 PM] no. i’m just not irritated enough today, maybe seeing ur face would fix that

You purse your lips, trying so hard not to let a smile slip past your lips. Your professor was still on the last slide of her lecture, wrapping things up.

While you were already shoving things in your bag rather hastily for someone who ‘doesn’t care’ whether he’s there or not—and when your professor said the class was dismissed, you said a quick goodbye to Maki before stepping out the hall.

He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed—hair messy, specs looking unfairly good on him. 

He looked up from his phone, “Took you long enough.”

You raised your brows, “Well, I’m sorry if my studies are a bother to you having your need to be extremely irritated today.”

“Apology accepted.” he says, pushing off the wall to step beside you. “Library?”

You started walking, side by side—not minding the looks coming your way. “Uh-huh.”

Maybe you could see now why they called him the golden boy.

It’s not just his looks, but the way he’s so focused—head dipped down on his books like his eyes were glued on the paper. He was scribbling notes, tapping his pen lightly—his lips parted slightly.

You could see why they’re talking. 

He’s like an all-in-one package—the looks, talent, skills… the way his face looks intent but calm while he’s studying.

But for you, he’s just the grumpy med student who bumped into you and made you spill your coffee on him.

─── TUESDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 3:12 PM] i think my legs would fall of if i moved

[You | 3:12 PM] why

[grumpy med student | 3:13 PM] they made me stand for 6 hours straight. fuck it, i’m never moving from this gurney

[You | 3:14 PM] aw, poor baby. want me to carry u home? );<

[grumpy med student | 3:15 PM] yes baby

[You | 3:16 PM] fuck u

─── WEDNESDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 6:17 PM] bring highlighters, forgot mine. not YELLOW

[You | 6:17 PM] what’s your beef with yellow

[grumpy med student | 6:17 PM] hurts my eyes

[You | 6:18 PM] you know what hurts your eyes? lack of sleep

He looked up at you when you laid out a bunch of highlighters in front of him, “Don’t worry. Not one of ‘em is yellow.”

“Did you go around and ask a bunch of people for highlighters?” his eyes followed you as you sat in front of him. 

You just shrugged your shoulders, opening your own notes—hiding a grin behind the paper.

─── THURSDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 6:45 PM] where are u? some freshmen stole our table. the fuck

[You | 6:46 PM] our prof is still wrapping up

[grumpy med student | 6:47 PM] get here fast

You roll your eyes as you read his text. Your professor ended the class and you stood up almost immediately. 

“Going on a date again?” 

You glanced at your friend, brows furrowing. “It’s not a date.”

Maki doesn’t know why you’re still fooling her, maybe because you don’t know yourself what this is. 

“Oh. Okay. Say hi to Gojo for me.” she says, laughing before stepping out the door. And you just huffed out a breath before picking up your bag.

You walk slowly—just to spite Satoru, and to think about what really is this. 

Well, you’re just studying together. There’s nothing wrong with that, right?

─── FRIDAY───

[grumpy med student | 4:45 PM] i forgot to tell u earlier, someone just came up to me and asked if MI stands for mild infection

[You | 4:46 PM] my god

[grumpy med student | 4:46 PM] haha right.

[grumpy med student | 4:46 PM] what time’s your out? lecture just finished

[You | 4:47 PM] i'm here at the 2nd floor lounge w my friends. why?

He didn’t respond after that, you didn’t think much about it. Maybe he got pulled into a case, or he thought it’d be better to annoy his friends other than you.

Not until Maki nudges you with her shoulder, looking at the figure walking up to your table. 

And there he was, Satoru Gojo, gracing your building with his presence—still in his lecture uniform, his hands were in his pocket like he’s a walking drama that’s about to happen.

“I don’t think you belong here.” you say as soon as he sat beside you, in front of your friends who’s just looking at him with their jaw slightly dropped.

“Yeah? I was told I could find the most irritating person here. And, yeah. Here she is.” 

Your eyes were flickering in between your notes and him. 

Because for the past ten minutes, he’s been blinking slowly—nodding off just a little before snapping his eyes back open.

You try not to stare at him but it’s really hard not to.

Satoru  shifts in his seat, his cheek dips down on his folded arms—and then, poof, out cold.

Seriously?

You pressed your cheek against your palm and let yourself stare at him. His white hair was messier than usual, his specs almost out of place—his lips are parted slightly, small huffs of breath shuffling out. 

He looks so exhausted. 

This is so stupid, my god.

Your eyes darted around the library to see if someone else is looking—but they’re caught up in their own world, so you extended your arm, reaching out for his glasses before removing them slowly and placing them neatly on the table.

You should’ve stopped there.

But your fingers lightly grazed his hair strands, brushing it gently out of his face. 

It doesn’t make sense why—you’re here tucking his hair like you’re meant to do it. You don’t know why you keep meeting up with him when he’s just supposed to be a stranger you accidentally spilled your coffee to. 

It’s like suddenly you’re looped in each other’s orbits and you can’t go on a single day without even talking to each other. 

This is so stupid.

You sighed, leaning back on your chair and focused on your notes again. 

Twenty minutes later, maybe more, he stirred.

You look up just in time to see him squinting his eyes against the light, he looked at you still a bit disoriented.

“You didn’t leave?” he mumbled—voice hoarse from sleep, now sitting up and stretching his arm.

“No.” you replied, “I’m afraid the librarian might kick you out.”

He lets out a soft laugh before rubbing the back of his neck. His eye catches yours—neither of you says anything for a moment. 

You coughed a bit, handing him his glasses. “Here. I thought you might need it.”

[grumpy med student | 6:30 PM] cafe’s too loud

[grumpy med student | 6:30 PM] someone got our table in the library again

[You | 6:31 PM] find another place, we’re almost finished here

[grumpy med student | 6:32 PM] it's all packed

[You | 6:33 PM] are u sure

[grumpy med student | 6:34 PM] ?

[grumpy med student | 6:34 PM] yes im sure, u wanna go check it yourself?

[You | 6:35 PM] ugh so maybe next time?

[grumpy med student | 6:35 PM] how about my place? it’s quiet

You were having a staring contest with your phone again.

His place and quiet didn’t quite add up to you. Your brain was reeling its wheels trying to conjure every possible way going to his place for the first time ever might entail.

It’s not like this is the first time you’re going to be alone together. It’s just that—this feels different, too different.

[grumpy med student | 6:37 PM] unless you don’t want to, it’s fine we can study tomorrow

[You | 6:37 PM] no it’s okay

[grumpy med student | 6:37 PM] okay, i’m outside your lecture hall

And that’s how you ended up in his place, at the living room floor with your notes and books splayed on the coffee table and on the floor—just anywhere near. 

His place was surprisingly clean. Not too clean, but enough to surprise you considering he’s too busy. There were a lot of medical textbooks near the coffee table, some takeout containers but that was it. 

And there’s definitely his scent that lingers around the air. 

It was silent between you two—it’s always like that, not awkward silence but comfortable. You were both flipping through books, handouts and whatnot. 

You were scribbling left and right and sometimes mumbling mnemonics like you’ve lost your mind.

Sometimes he’d ask you some questions about anatomy because he needs to recall something—or when you’re spacing out, he’d nudge your knee with his and you’d flick your pen or a yellow highlighter to his direction.

Yeah, well, it was a mix of peaceful yet chaotic. 

Satoru looked up from his book, arching his brow when you sprawled on the carpet, your handouts placed above your face.

“If I read the word vertigo one more time, I swear I’ll jump off the balcony,” you say, your voice a little muffled due to the papers that were covering your face.

“Neuro?”

“Uh-huh.” you replied, groaning. 

“Okay, I get why you’re being so dramatic now. Take a break?”

You pulled the papers out of your face as you sat up, “Yes. Please.”

You lean the side of your  body against the couch, elbows resting on the cushion as you look at him. “So, were you like this when you were in college?”

“Like what?” He removes his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“Uh—annoying?”

“Yeah, it’s innate.” and you both snorted, “It’s a gift, don’t you know?”

You waved your hand off, “But seriously, what were you like?”

He turned, mimicking your position. “Just like this but minus the parties. Kinda reckless. Uh, handsome?”

Then you threw your handouts at him. 

“And you, after college are you going straight to med school?”

You hummed, because that was always the plan. It never changed. 

“Yeah. That’s always the plan.” you answered, “So, you partied in college, huh? I could see it.”

He raised his brow, a smirk appearing on his lips. “Oh, yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” you narrow your eyes, looking at him carefully like you are analyzing him. “You’re wearing a backwards cap and oversized long sleeves with the first few buttons unbuttoned, probably holding a red cup—then there’s girls hovering over you, while you give your number left and right, did I nail it?”

Satoru blinked for a bit, then he suddenly laughed. “That’s oddly specific. What are you, a witch?”

You snorted a laugh, pointing at the small picture frame on his TV console. It’s a picture of him with his friends at a party—and he was wearing exactly what you had said. 

Satoru blinked, looking at the photo then back at you. 

Then he suddenly flicks your forehead—not too strong, but enough for you to glare at him.  “You saw it earlier, didn’t you?”

“Ouch?!” you winced, a menacing smile slowly creeping up to your lips. “Even if I didn’t, I know you were like that.”

“Okay, miss psychic. But you were wrong about one thing.” he stretched his arms, and you could almost see the electrical field of smugness around him.

“And what is that?”

“I never gave my number to anyone.”

You raised a brow, “And why?”

“Because they wouldn’t stop texting.”

“But you gave your number to me.” 

He stops for a bit.

“Yeah, because you have my coat. I was afraid you’ll throw it out of spite,” he smirks.

“You’re so annoying.” you roll your eyes, your lips trying to twitch into a smile. “So you never dated anyone serious?”

He hummed, like he’s trying to think of every girl that he dated and you almost threw a pillow in his direction. “Just the one. But we broke up after a year.”

You were about to speak when he did it first. “How about you? You ever had a boyfriend?”

You shrugged, “I had a boyfriend. First year. For just a few months. But it’s fine, we’re just friends now.”

You swore you saw his grin falter a bit—his jaw clenched slightly before speaking, “Ah. Dark-hair, looks like he hasn’t slept in quite a while, that guy?”

You blinked, “How did you know?”

“That day in the lounge,” he paused, “He was  staring at you and he looked pissed when I sat beside you.”

Your brows furrow a bit then you laugh, “He always looks like that.”

“Right.” he paused, he was smirking but his eyes told a different story. “Totally normal.” 

Both of you just stared at each other until you looked away and he cleared his throat like there’s something stuck in there that he couldn’t quite say. 

“Okay. Break’s over.” he says, and just like that he’s got his specs on and a book on his lap again.

“Yeah.” you mumbled, and reached for your handout then you turned away.

The silence envelops the two of you again. All you could hear was his AC unit humming, his shallow breaths and the papers rustling. You were tapping your fingers on the carpet over and over again while you tried to read what was on the paper.

But all the letters all seemed mushed as you try to comprehend the look he gave you earlier. 

What the fuck. 

It was ten minutes until you spoke again.

“Satoru.”

“Yeah?” he answers, gaze not leaving the book.

“Let me try the Dix-Hallpike maneuver on you.”

Then he looked up—you were holding the book up to show him the illustration, his eyebrow creased. “You really think you could pull me down without dislocating my neck?”

You thought about it. He’s taller than you, probably a bit heavy. But, hey, there’s no harm in trying, right?

You squint your eyes, “Come on. I just want to practice. It’s for the sake of medicine and my future patients.”

He groaned, removing his glasses, then he stood up to sit on the couch. Thank god his couch is L-shaped, you have plenty of space for him because he is freakishly tall. 

You had him on the couch in a long sitting position, then you stood in front of him. Your hands shake a bit when you hold his face on each side, tilting it gently.

Your heart was pounding, how can it not when this  six-foot tall med student was staring at your face like you’ve got all the answers in the world—

“You’re shaking.” his voice was low.

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“It’s because you’re annoying, put your weight on me.” you say a little bit pissed, and he just laughs. “I’m going to lean you back now.”

And you tried, like, really tried but his muscle mass and gravity weren’t on your side. He leaned a little bit too enthused, his shoulders were also hanging because you hadn’t calculated the size of this couch.

This maneuver isn’t meant for this couch, really.

He burst out laughing and you did too, “You broke your patient.”

You were still laughing, hands clutching your stomach, he sat up. “Let me try it on you.”

“You don’t even know how.” you say, still giggling.

“I saw you did it, didn’t I? And lucky for you, I’m a fast learner.” he reached out to your book and read the section for a bit.

You just watched as he read for a while, a smile creeping up on your lips.  “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Don’t break my neck.” you say as a warning.

“Yeah, yeah.” he says, tapping the couch for you to sit on. Then it was your turn.

Your breath hitched when he placed his hand, his palm on your jaw—his thumbs placed on your cheeks, and his fingers were supporting your neck. 

Then he leaned you back, your head hanging from the couch—you didn't realize that he was too close until you felt his breath on your cheeks. 

“So, tell me,” he says, his voice almost a whisper. “What signs to look out for when your patient is positive for this maneuver?”

“Uh—” you paused, your voice was close to cracking. “Nystagmus.”

“Good.” he mumbles, his breath getting heavy. “For how long?”

Then you tilt your head to look at him, he was still holding you. His thumb was brushing your cheeks.

“For… uh—seconds to minutes…”

My god, this felt like hours.

You could feel the air shift and all the nerves in your body had awakened.

Your gaze locked into each other and it just clicked.

Then he pressed his lips onto yours, not a sliver of hesitation like he was sure he wanted to do this.

The kiss felt inevitable. 

Your eyes widened before you closed them, tugging on his shirt to pull him close—his hand moved to the back of your neck before pulling you up without breaking the kiss. 

You could feel your body warm up despite the air conditioning being on low temperature—the nerve endings on your skin were working full-time as his fingers grip the back of your neck a little.

Then his back hits the cushion with a soft thud.

His hands settled on your hips—your weight hovering over him as you straddle his lap—he deepened this kiss, biting your lower lip—pushing his tongue in, making you whimper in his mouth.

Your hands travelled to his hair, grasping the locks in between your fingers. His hands were circling in on you now.

He was kissing you like he was being starved—like he wanted to devour you whole.

Then the kiss turned deeper, messier and louder—teeth clashing, lips biting, tongue delving inside just to taste every inch of your mouth—none of it was neat, he was kissing you sloppy.

Satoru groaned into your mouth when you moved your hips a little. You could feel him bulging underneath your clothed sex, he gripped your hips trying to keep you steady.

Then he pulled away—his eyes lidded, lips were swollen as you looked down at him, both your breaths uneven.

He didn’t say anything—just looked at you like he was memorizing the way your lips quiver as you breathe.

“We should stop.” he finally says, his voice rough.

“Why?” you ask softly, chest heaving—your hand still tangled in his hair, your fingers combing his soft locks.

“Because if we don’t,” he swallowed thickly, gripping your hips like he’s holding to what restraint he has left. “I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back anymore.”

Your ears pulsate, your face warms up as you stare at him. 

God, you’re making him crazy.

The walk back to your dorm was silent. Not the tense silent kind of thing, where someone is about to throw a fit or cry.

It’s a ‘we-just-full-on-make-out-and-don’t-know-what-to-say’ kind of silence.

The kind that made your footsteps heavy on the sidewalk—you can’t even look at him, and you know he can’t look at you too. 

Because he hadn’t said much since he offered to walk you back to your dorm—just took your bag without even saying a word, his skin brushes against you a bit and that was all, that was the last contact that you two ever made.

You were asking when the bickering would stop, and here it is. It stopped.

You used to walk like this together all the time. To the library, to the hospital cafeteria, to the café—bickering, nudging each other, making stupid jokes and annoying the hell out of each other and now it’s just… all gone.

You have no idea what else to do now. It’s like an itch on your brain that you can’t scratch. How are you supposed to act now? How do you even walk normally? How do you even breathe normally?

You swallowed hard, your brain was starting to irritate you. It’s screaming at you over and over again. You kissed him.

Nuh-uh, not just kiss, you made out with him. On his couch. With his hands gripping your waist. His fingers tracing your spine. Your lips clashing, molded into each other like it was the most natural thing in the universe.

You pursed your lip, huffing out a small breath that you wish he didn’t notice. Your thoughts were scattered, you couldn’t even think straight. You couldn’t find any right words to say.

And yet, you caved.

Your eyes looked forward, “You’re awfully quiet.” 

“So are you.” he replies, then you look at him and he is staring at you.

And there he was calm. He always looked like that. Like this didn’t shake him.

Was he spiraling too? Is he pretending right now? You don’t know. You can’t even tell.

What now? What are you going to say? Are you going to ask him now what that kiss meant?

You looked away again. Wouldn’t it be better if he said something—maybe joke about it a little or annoy you, tease you—like he always does. But none of that was happening. 

He stayed silent. And so did you, until you reached your dorm building.

“This is you.” he finally says, handing your bag to you.

You took it, and his fingers brushed into you again.

You open your mouth to say something but none of the words come out. Your throat felt like something big was stuck in it and you couldn’t spew what you wanted to say. 

“Good night,” he said, and you just gave him a faint smile  then you nodded.

What even is this? Why can’t you say something—

“Is this going to be weird now?” 

He blinked, frozen in place but then he gave you a smile. Not that annoying, smug, teasing smile of his—it was a genuine smile, the kind that makes your heart squeeze. 

“Only if you want it to be.”

You wanted to scream because how does he do it? How does he say it so casually while you’re here, like a ticking time bomb, about to explode?

Your fingers tightened around the bag that you were holding. 

No, of course, you wouldn’t want it to be weird.

“I don’t want it to be.” you said, almost whispering.

Because that’s the truth. You didn’t want anything to change. Even if you’ve crossed that line. Even if you didn’t know what it meant for the two of you. 

You don’t want to lose whatever this is.

He nodded, then stepped forward—placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, YN.”

You just swallowed hard. Your eyes followed his figure while he walked back to his place that was just a few blocks from yours. 

Your heart was pounding inside your chest. It’s funny you realize this now—but you know, it’s the truth.

That he’s either going to be the one… or the one you’ll never recover from.

You just didn’t know which is which.

You both said you were just taking a short break.

But now you have no idea how long you’d been like that on the couch.

Your back on the armrest, while he’s above, pressing his body against you—your legs curled up beside him and the other, slightly on him. It was getting kinda hard to breathe—from the kiss but also from the fact that whatever this is, there’s no coming back from this.

Your grip on his hair tightens when his lips trailed down to the side of your lips, to your jaw down to your neck—sucking and licking, “Satoru—don’t… don’t put—mhm!”

Then he presses his lips on yours again, and you could feel him smile—his teeth grazing on your lower lip.

“You know we should be studying, right?” he says in between, breathing heavy, then he was on you again—biting and nibbling on your lips.

“Mhm—hmm.” you hummed into his mouth, pulling him closer, like there’s any space left in between. Your lips were probably swollen—wet, from all the sloppy kisses that he was giving you but you didn’t have any care in the world.

Your notes and books were long forgotten on the floor and on the coffee table. 

Your hair was probably a mess, a few buttons on your white uniform were unbuttoned—his white shirt was wrinkled from all the tugging that you did.

His hand moved to your hair, gripping on it a bit to angle your head—you moan into his mouth, and he pushes his tongue, swirling it around then sucks your tongue in—

“Yo. You weren’t answering—oh. OH.”

You both froze, eyes now open and you’re becoming painfully aware that he’s still above you. Then you heard another voice coming in.

“Hey! We brought—my god, we’re so sorry!” Then you heard a soft thud on the floor. 

You pushed Satoru off you so fast that you almost hit your head against his. You sat up, fixing your hair and buttoning your white uniform again—while Satoru, this dumbass, was groaning—his back leaned on the couch now.

“For the record,” the tall guy with a dark-hair tied loosely into a bun—the one you saw in the cafeteria, started speaking, “We knocked.”

Satoru was about to speak when a voice cut into the conversation. “Hey, what’s up?”

“What’s happening in here?”

And another.

Now, there’s four of them. Looking back and forth at you and Satoru.

“Hi. I’m Yuki!” the tall blonde girl cracked the awkward silence, she walked towards the couch where you were sitting, then she pointed at her friends. “That’s Choso. Shoko then, the one who interrupted you first was Suguru.”

You smiled at them, still catching your breath—pulling your uniform down slightly, “I—uh… I’m YN.”

Then her eyes widened, “Oh! You’re YN?! The YN?”

Was he talking about you to his friends?

“The YN that spilled a coffee on his coat then he bitched to us about it like a fucking baby?” Shoko—the short-haired girl nudges Satoru to move so she could sit beside you.

Satoru glared at her but he moved anyway. Then slowly they were placing the food here and there, Suguru even handed you a soda.

“He was so dramatic about it,” Choso says, “We almost kicked him out of the group chat.”

You whip your head to look at Satoru, “I can’t believe you told them.”

“What was I supposed to do? I was pissed off.” he says, groaning. “And you didn’t even say sorry!”

“Uh—what? Cause you’re the one who bumped into me like you’re walking with your eyes closed! And I did say sorry!”

Did you? That memory was kind of a blur now.

Satoru laughs, “Uh. If I could remember, the only thing you said to me was I needed to get some sleep.”

And just like that the whole room burst into laughter—they were watching with amusement as you bicker back and forth with their friend, like they haven’t caught you making out with him on this very couch. 

They were very loud—but funny, and so comfortable with each other and yet, you didn’t feel left out. Not even for a bit. 

Now you’re all on the floor, your back leaning on the couch and Satoru was seated beside you.

Yuki was looping you in on the jokes. Shoko was asking you how pre-med is now and then, Choso and Suguru were asking you a bunch of questions about anatomy like you were in a trivia game. 

They like you.

And that made you feel overwhelmed—in a good way, maybe? How are you supposed to feel in this position anyway?

You didn’t even notice the embarrassment gone out of your body like it was nothing. The room was filled with jokes, banters—and god, Satoru’s laugh. His laugh was annoyingly good. It was driving you insane. 

You were still laughing when you looked at him and he looked back at you with a faint smile etched on his face. 

Then your eyes landed onto his, he was looking at you like there’s something brewing on his mind—like there was something that he wanted to say but he couldn’t. 

“You okay?” you asked him, nudging  his knee slightly.

“Yeah.” he slung an arm around your shoulder, “Good.”

You smiled and looked away because you can feel something shifted. You can feel something tiny—an ache, pressing onto your ribs that was supposed to be protecting your heart. 

You just didn’t know what it was.

Your days felt the same but at the same time it wasn’t.

You were still talking. 

He was still messaging you. 

You were still studying together—not at his place, but at the library. 

And he was quieter than usual.

He wasn’t nudging your knee, flicking your forehead or grumbling about his back-to-back rotations where they made him stand for hours again. 

He was just… there. Reading. Writing something in his notebook. Not even sparing you a single glance. 

“Are you okay?” you asked and he just hummed, you took a deep breath, “Am I annoying you?”

He stopped for a bit, still not looking. “No.”

You were expecting that his answer would be ‘yes, you’re annoying me. you always do.’  because… that’s how he’s supposed to answer you, right?

With a cocky grin and a teasing tone. That’s how. 

Maybe he was just too tired. Maybe his instructor was too much. Maybe he was just… you don’t know what reasons you could come up with anymore just to justify him acting like this.

But still you brushed it off. Holding onto some stupid reason that you don’t even know. 

But the next day came. He canceled lunch, saying he was backed up. Rounds were taking too long. 

He said he’ll see you later at the café, that he’ll text you once he gets there.  

But he didn’t. 

But you let it slide, maybe it slipped his mind. Come on, he’s a third year med student, of course, he’s busy.

And for the next two days, he was silent. He wasn’t messaging—and how you hated that every single time you stepped out the lecture hall, you were wishing he was there, leaning on the wall—waiting for you.

But he wasn’t. 

So, you’re staring at your phone for the whole lunch break. Contemplating whether to send him a text. Typing then erasing, then typing again—and the cycle just continued until you had the guts to press the send button.

[You | 12:32 PM] u still alive? haha

So, you waited. Until the lunch break finished. Until it was time for your one pm lecture.

None. 

Then you check your phone.

[grumpy med student | 4:45 PM] just busy

It took him four hours.

Four. fucking. hours. It was starting to piss you off. Why is he acting like this? Why is he avoiding you like you’re some plague?

Was it something that you did? Was it the kiss?

Your mind can’t comprehend why he’s acting this way. You were good, right? 

You were so good. Not just good. Everything felt right, everything was into pieces like a puzzle locked in together and now it shattered, and the pieces were missing.

You already felt like you belonged. 

And suddenly, it’s just… this?

[You | 4:55 PM ] okay

And that was the last thing you sent him.

Then a week passed by agonizingly slow—just like this elevator ride up to your mother’s office. 

There were days that you found yourself staring at your phone—reading the old texts, and his damn hoodie wrapped around you while you slept, just to fill a large chunk of space that he left.

You hated how much you noticed the space where he was supposed to be. You hated all of it because he wasn’t just ignoring you—he’s making you feel his absence, and no matter what you did—you can’t escape this raw, aching feeling that’s clawing its way to your chest.

Like it wanted to rip your heart and lungs out.

Maybe it was all too much for him? Maybe he regretted it now. 

Maybe.

You looked at the elevator door when it opened—

Your breath caught in your throat. Your heart stopped beating for a short while before screaming inside your chest.

There he was—Satoru, standing in front of you, his hair was messy like he ran his fingers through it a lot of times, his specs still perched on top of his nose and a stethoscope was hanging around his neck.

You could see the look on his face—like you’re a ghost that he was trying to avoid. But then he stepped in and stood up a few inches away from you.

You knew this was going to happen if you went to the hospital. You know you’re going to bump into him—the problem is, you didn’t know what to say, you didn’t know how to act anymore.

This was the kind of silence that you hated—it was heavy with the words that you couldn’t utter. Words that you don’t know how to get out.

You wanted to say something. 

Open your mouth but all you could do was look straight ahead.

Like he’s just some stranger who you share memories with.

You know he was about to say something by the way he breathed but then the elevator door opened again.

But you didn’t wait—didn't look back, didn’t spare him a glance and just walked out until you were out of his sight.

And that was the moment you realized—it was all gone. 

The bickering, the coffee, the waiting outside your lecture hall so you could walk side by side to the library—the mnemonics, the late night calls and—the kiss.

It was all lost. 

Just like that.

The cafeteria was just the same. It was a little more crowded than usual but it was just the same. 

But instead of him, you sat across from your mother, quietly eating her food while her phone was buzzing nonstop, and she kept looking at her watch while you just poked on your food like it done you wrong.

“Sorry we can’t eat outside,” she sipped on her coffee, “The surgery took longer than I expected and I still have a consult after this.”

“It’s okay.” you answered softly, absentmindedly poking. You hadn’t said much since you saw him earlier.

You hated him for doing this to you.

“You alright?” your mom asked, staring at your face and you lift your head, giving her a faint smile.

You nodded, but something caught the side of your eye and it darted past your mother’s shoulder—to the table at the corner of the cafeteria, why is the universe playing with you today?

There he was, sitting with his friends, and he looked how he was earlier—except he looked like the skies fell on him.

She followed your line of sight, furrowing her brows a bit before turning to you.

“You know Gojo?”

Your ears pulsate with just a mere utterance of his name. 

You looked away, “No.”

“I hear he’s a bit popular in the university,” she continued, giving you a look like she was looking out for your reaction, “Even here. One of the top students. Brilliant.”

You just hummed, and she just kept on talking about him—and you just wished she would stop. “He’s in his third year, right? His mom and I were residents together.”

You blinked, looking at her. “Okay. Tell me what happened.”

“It’s nothing.” you puffed out a small breath, and you avoided her gaze. “It’s really… nothing.”

She looked at you, gaze softening as she watched you push your food around. “Hm. Okay, you don’t have to tell me what happened.”

“It’s really nothing, Mom. It’s fine.”

She just chuckled, her hands cupped yours above the table. “If it was nothing then you wouldn’t be looking at him like that.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what he’s doing.

He bought food but he was barely touching it. It was hard to breathe when he knew that you were there—just a few tables from him.

He hated this. He hates himself—he always does this, when everything feels too good—too real, it terrifies him that he turns away.

Except, when he had done this before—he didn’t get hung up, he had protected himself before it got real, before everything went too deep. 

He doesn’t just let anyone in, but then you came, you invaded his space—and this barrier between him and his emotions just came crumbling down.

“Satoru,” Suguru called him, tossing a crumpled tissue his way, “You good?”

“Yeah.” he just nodded, a bit distracted. 

Yuki was ranting about her rotations when she suddenly stopped, squinting across the room, to the table where you were sitting. “Wait. Isn’t that Dr. LN?”

Shoko and the others followed her gaze, “Yeah. It is.”

“Isn’t that YN with her?” Choso says, turning away and suddenly, all of them were just staring at him—Satoru, like he had done them wrong too.

“What?” he asked, his eyebrows creased.

Yuki waved her hand first, “Wait. Before we get to Satoru’s stupid ass, why is YN eating with Dr. LN?!”

Satoru lifted his head—he couldn’t help but look in your direction, your chin was resting on your hand, you were looking at the food again like it said something that offended you.

He muttered, “Dr. LN’s her mom.”

“Whaaat?” Yuki shrieked and Shoko was taken aback too.

“You’re kidding?”

But he didn’t answer them. He wasn’t surprised at his friends’ reactions because Dr. LN is one of the top surgeons at the hospital, maybe it just shocked them that you’re her daughter.

Well, it wasn’t a surprise. You’re smart—just like her. You’re…

Fuck. Why can’t he look away? He made his decision, right? Why can’t he get you out—

“The fuck was that for?” his train of thoughts vanished when he felt Shoko smack his head. “Are you—”

“You’re a dumbass.” she hissed, and the other three hummed in agreement. “She’s the only girl that we liked. Like, ever.”

“I mean,” Suguru started, “No offense to your past trainwrecks.”

“She just clicked, you know?” Yuki said, sipping on her juice, “I mean, she didn’t even look nervous around us. She laughed with us, she never had that awkward silence, you get me? Like, you could feel her—ah, I’m rambling. Bottomline, you’re fucking stupid.”

He knew that—and that’s what terrified him, you fitted in so easily. You slid so easily in his life like you really belong there. 

The problem was never with you.

He used to be content with what you two had—the endless bickering, the studying together quietly—all of it was enough for a person like him. Enough for him who didn’t have time, who couldn’t offer anything more. 

Because what if he couldn’t give you what you wanted? What you deserved?

And it scared him when you two kissed for the first time. Because it felt like whatever you two had, could be something more.

But he wasn’t ready for more.

Not when his life was already hanging on a balance with the endless responsibilities, pressure, expectations—he couldn’t bring you into this.

He was hunched into the desk when Suguru placed a paper bag in front of him. He looked at him and frowned. “What is this?”

“Nurses said someone dropped it off. It’s yours.”

Satoru sighed then reached for the bag. 

And his heart stopped.

It was his hoodie. 

The one that he gave you so that you could have something of his, that you could return—so you could—he could see you again. 

He knew what this meant. He knew why you gave it back.

Because he wasn’t going to see you again.

He just stared at it, barely moved, afraid that if he touched it, it would explode. It didn’t smell like him anymore—it smelled like you.

“You know, it’s the first time that I saw you like this.” he looked at Suguru who was leaning on the wall, staring right at him as if watching him come to his senses.

But he didn’t speak, he just looked away as if scared that the truth would hurt him. And it did. 

It does.

“She was really good for you,” Suguru added, “I mean, granted that you ditch us for her like an asshole but still, she made you breathe just for a bit.”

Suguru didn’t say this just to be cruel. He was just telling the truth. Because that’s what he saw. 

Satoru’s fists clenched, “I didn’t mean for it to get this far.”

“It’s too late for that, you know that, right?”

“And I told you before,” Satoru muttered, “I can’t do this. I don’t have enough time, space—”

“And yet you did.” Suguru pressed, “You made time. You brought her into your space. You let her in, man. She even met all of us. And I know you, you don’t do that.”

Satoru’s breath caught into his throat. 

“And it was a mistake.” he says quietly, like he was trying to convince himself. But he’s too smart for that.

They both know it wasn’t. He never regretted it once. He’s just too terrified.

Because you weren’t supposed to matter. But then you started showing up in places where he was. Everywhere he went you were there. Everywhere he looks, he sees you.

Even in his thoughts—you were there.

You were in every goddamn thing that he touches. 

And now all of it is just… just. 

There’s no more lunch breaks where you kick his leg slightly under the table, no more yellow highlighters flying to his direction just so you could annoy him.

He would never see the crease in your brows again whenever you were muttering mnemonics like the world would end if you didn’t memorize it all.

He would never get irritated now that you’re not here to pester him about practicing something on him—and he’ll say yes anyway.

Now, there’s no more pretending that he wasn’t falling for you. Because he did, he fell hard and he crashed.

There’s no coming back from that.

He really fucked up, huh?

You were about to drift off to sleep when you heard a knock on your door. 

You groaned, clutching the paper that was on your face. You hadn’t slept properly in days and of course—of fucking course, just when you’re about to, someone decides to knock on your stupid door.

Great. Just fucking great.

You  removed every paper that was on you and set it aside.

You drag yourself up pulling the blanket over your shoulder to cover up the fact that you were only wearing your cami top and shorts—meaning, you’re not to be disturbed, god, it’s late.

You walk to the door, barely awake, cracking it open just to see who it is.

And it’s like a cold bucket of water was splashed onto your face. 

Sleep? Gone.

Your heart? Gone. It exploded.

“What are you doing here?”

He was staring at you like you stole all air from him. 

You looked around the hallway before pulling him in—shutting the door behind you. You don’t even know how he got in your dorm building—but here he is, interrupting your sleep, your life.

You turned to him, clutching the blanket around you, waiting for him to speak.

“The hoodie,” he whispered, breathing heavily, “You gave it back.”

“That’s what you came here to say? That I gave you your hoodie back?”

He parted his mouth like he wanted to say something. But he didn’t. He just stood there, staring at you like he’s afraid that you were going to slip away.

So you did, “I gave it back because it’s pointless. I gave it back because I know you weren’t going to talk to me anymore. I didn’t want to hold on to something that… that you clearly don't want.”

His heart dropped when your voice cracked.

“YN—”

“What?” your tone was sharp, like you were protecting yourself. “What do you want, Satoru? Are you going to show up again, act like I fucking matter to you and the next few days, ignore me?”

You laughed bitterly, tears cascading down the side of your eyes. You said you weren’t going to cry. 

You didn’t cry in the past two weeks that he didn’t talk to you.

But seeing him here, in front of you, it’s like a dam broke inside of you.

“It’s not that—It’s not that I didn’t want to talk to you,” he muttered, trying to step closer but his feet wouldn’t move. “I fucked up.”

“You did!” you snapped, wiping your tears hastily, “So what was it? You were busy? You forgot I existed?”

“No.” he paused, “Because you weren’t part of the plan. You weren’t supposed to happen—I don’t fucking do this, YN. I don’t stay up late with someone, I don’t just eat lunch with someone because I want to—I… fuck.”

“So you just pushed me away? Because life didn’t go the fucking way you want it to?”

He just looked at you, every word that you were saying sits heavy on his chest.

“Because, God forbid, you feel something real?” your voice shatters, “You made me think, I mattered. Then you just up… and leave. You didn’t even say goodbye.”

And that’s what hurt the most. How easily he walked away like none of it meant anything to him.

You buried your face in your palms, sobbing—the blanket that was hugging you pooling on the floor. 

“YN.” he stepped forward, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I fucked up. I’m sorry I was such a fucking jerk—”

“You are!” your voice was muffled, your shoulders shaking as you cried. Then you feel him—his arms circling around you to pull you close, the side of your head resting on his chest.

“I didn’t know what to do.” he almost choked, resting his cheek on your head. “I didn’t know how to deal with something like this. You weren’t just a distraction, you weren’t just a girl who flirted with me at a party—you were, you.”

You could feel his hand tremble by the way he held you, but you let him speak. “You were there almost every day. God, you were the first person I think about whenever I hear something funny or someone irritated the fuck out of me.”

“Then I got scared when I saw how easy it was for you to slip into my space, into the people I care about.”

You pull away from him, your hands wiping your tears. Your gaze finds each other.

“When I was watching you laugh with them… I realized that I care so much about you. And that scared me because I don’t want to lose you—I didn’t want that moment to end, and if I said the wrong thing or did something stupid then I would lose you for good? I could not let myself do that.”

“What changed?” you paused, “So, what? You’re not scared now?”

“No. God, I’m scared.” his eyes didn’t leave yours, “But I’m scared of not being with you at all—of walking away, then spending the rest of my life wondering what we could’ve been.”

You didn’t know what else to say.

Or if there is something else to say.

You were just standing there, his hands trembling on your hips—his lips flutter every time he took a breath. 

“Kiss me.” 

You say but you didn’t even let him react when you tugged on his shirt, pulling him close to press his lips against yours—your teeth grazing his lower lip to let you in.

And he did, he let you in.

“Fuck,” he muttered, breathing heavily before letting you jump into his arms, he carried you to your bed—pushing everything on the floor, the sheets under you rustles as he set you down along with the sound of the papers scattering on the floor.

And just like that, he was all over you again—on top of your body, pressing himself against you.

“I missed you,” you let it slip in between the kisses, in between the whimper into his mouth. “I miss you, Satoru.”

His fingers trail inside your shirt, skimming your waist up to your ribs until he reaches the underside of your breast. 

He groaned into your mouth before pulling away, his kisses trail down to the skin of your neck, peppering you with desperate—hungry kisses, “You have no idea how hard it was to stay away.” 

“Then don’t.” you gasp as he bites the skin just above your collarbone, “Just stay… with me.”

God, you’re driving him insane. 

Then he was back on your lips again. His kisses getting frantic—desperate, he pushed his tongue past your lips—hot and heavy, swirling his tongue inside your mouth like he needed to taste every inch of you.

Because he does. Satoru needed you, he craved you.

You moan against his mouth, his fingers tracing the strap of your camisole before pulling it down—the strap falling flawlessly from your shoulders. 

His hand gripped your shoulder—like he was making sure you were okay with his hands all over you, but you reached for his wrist almost immediately and placed it on top of  your breast yourself.

Then he froze for a bit, both your eyes opened—until a startled laugh broke out of him—and next, you. 

“I thought you were getting shy or something,” you say breathlessly, laughing softly. 

“I was being respectful,” he brushed the tip of his nose against yours and yet his hand was still on your breast. 

“Don’t you think that went out the window when you stuck your tongue down my throat?”

“Point taken.” he says before his mouth crashes on you again, licking your lips as he starts to knead your chest—he presses soft kisses against your jaw until he is down to your chest, pulling your cami top down with his teeth.

Fuck, he’s so hot.

You catch your breath as he takes your breast into his mouth, his tongue swirling on your nipple while the pad of his thumb brushes over the other. 

Your fingers find their way to his hair—gripping it desperately, like you were aching for more, more touch, more of him.

He lets go of your breast with a pop, his eyes staring at you like he was burning your skin. 

“Satoru,” you look up at him, your fingers tightened on his hair, “Fuck, please…”

“I know.” his breath stutters when he sees you part your swollen lips, “I got you, baby.”

His lips were back onto yours—greedy, breathless as his hands roam everywhere, he grips on your hips like he’s melding his hand onto your skin. His fingers trace the waistband of your shorts before pulling it down in a swift motion, throwing it on the floor. 

His fingers dug into your thighs, coaxing them apart before moving his hands up, his fingers drawing the fabric of your underwear to the side.

You whine against his lips when he slid his finger up and down your folds, his fingers slick with your juices before sliding one finger in, “Mhm—fuck.”

“You like that?” he murmured, his voice was almost reverent—but the smirk tugging on his lip betrays him, your lips part—breathless moan leaches out of your mouth when he adds a finger. 

Then he moves his fingers in then out—hooking it just enough to make you tremble and grip his wrist when he moves it fast. 

His fingers coated with your wetness creates a hungering sound, he watches as you arch into his hand—and it makes his stomach curl in an animalistic way. He couldn’t even think straight, he was just watching your every gasp and shiver like he was memorizing it.

“Sa—toru! Mhm, fuck, more—please.” you moaned, tugging him close to pull him close just so you could feel him more, it wasn’t enough that his fingers were inside you—you needed more. “I want you. Please.”

“Ah.” he half laughs, breathlessly—almost moaning, his fingers still pumping in and out of your cunt, “You’re driving me crazy.”

“I know.” you lift your head a bit to reach his lower lip, you graze your teeth into the wet skin of his mouth, “Let me—ngh—drive you even crazier.”

“Yeah?” he groans, and you nod, your fingers reaching out for the waistband of his pants, until you reach the button of his pants—your hands reach inside cupping his hard dick with your palm, moving your hands agonizingly—slowly.

“Ah—fuck—” you whimpered when he stopped pumping his fingers—you didn’t even know how he rid himself of his clothes that fast, then he was on top of you again.

Maybe he was just that desperate—and fuck,  you know you were too.

His body was hoisted slightly as he stroked his cock above you while pressing sloppy kisses on your mouth.

Then you pulled away, you watched with heavy-lidded eyes as he tilted his head back slightly—your fingers tracing the line of his abs—guttural moans came out of him like he came straight out of porn, his hand still pumping his cock.

You loop your legs on his waist, pulling him close—you both gasp as the tip of his dick almost dips in your cunt. “Impatient, are you?”

“Mhm.” you pull him more—his jaw clenches, eyes darkening at how maddeningly desperate you are. 

“Fuuuck. You’re killing me.” he slides his tip up and down, just to tease you—and it loses his mind how you're faltering with even a small touch. He’s ruined.

You ruined him.

“Please—Satoruuu—OH.” 

You both gasp when he suddenly pushes in, slowly—deliberately, like he wanted to relish in the way that you clench around him, walls hugging his dick so tight he might’ve come right there and then.

“Shit,” he groans, voice cracking while pushing in deep—until you take all of him, “You’re so—tight, ah, fuck. So good.”

You dip your fingernails into his shoulder, lips apart—your head tilted back slightly. Your eyes flutter shut as you take the abrupt stretch—the pleasure.

“Satoru—mhm, please. Need you to move, baby.” 

He groans into your neck—the pet name added to the things cutting into his restraint, he gripped your hips trying to keep you still—god, he couldn’t move. He was getting overwhelmed with the way you feel soft and tight around him. 

There was a hitch in your voice when he started moving, slowly—then deeper, faster—harder. 

The shaky, uneven—heavy breathing  fills the air. The sheets rustle just below you as the bed starts creaking but all you could focus on was how delicious his hips slaps into you—wet, sloppy thrusts fills your ear, making your body ache in ways you didn’t even know.

Your moans grew louder, air catches on your breath with every thrust that he makes. 

“Satoru—ah. Fuck!” you close your eyes from the hundreds of pleasure coursing through your body. 

He pulls back just a bit, to see your face. 

“Look at me,” he breathes, and when your eyes meet his—he loses it. He was all over you—on your mouth, on your face, neck—pressing wet kisses while he rams you into oblivion. 

And fuck, how it drove you insane when he gripped your hair and tilted your head just so he could lick your collarbone up to your jaw—then it suddenly hit you like a wave, his name left your mouth broken.

The muscles on your abdomen contract, toes curling into the sheets.

Your grip on him tightens as your thighs quivered, hips arching into him. “Sat—nggh—toru! Feels so good,”

“Fuck, you came?” he groans, his grip on your hips tightens as he fucked you into overstimulation.

You make him crazy. So crazy—he’s losing his mind—you’re going to make him lose his mind until there’s just a scintilla of sanity left on him. 

Satoru cursed under his breath—hips curving slightly as he pushed in deep. Your name leaves his lips, strained—low. His hips stutter a bit before he collapses on top of you.

You could feel his chest rise and fall against yours, your breathing in sync. 

“You’re heavy.” you muttered, and he just hums—sinking himself deeper against your body.

“I think I just went to heaven.” 

You laughed, swatting his back lightly. “You’re so dramatic, you know that?”

“Well, I’m sorry—but you ruined me.” he groans—you let out a whimper when he shifts slightly, aware that he’s still inside you. You both winced when he pulled out, but still not getting off of you.

“I ruined you?” you arch your brow, he places his head on your chest—listening to your heartbeat like it was the only thing  grounding him. 

“Hmm. Completely ruined—like my coat was.”

You groaned, your fingers absentmindedly playing with his hair. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

He lifts his head and greets you with a smug grin, “No. I’d be annoying you with that forever.”

Forever, huh?