#i wanted to read but he kept talking so i needed something that i can still focus on while listening to him

[jeongin-lvr]

hi hru? i hope you're ok 💓

i saw that your requests were open so if its ok, id like to request a fic with husband!taehyun. the plot is up to you, cause i love your fics and how you perfectly balanced a soft smut. tysm if you read this request. and take your sweet time, no rush! (:

hi cutie pie im so okay :P and tysm ur so sweet genuinely love getting asks like this ☹️ cw. trad-leaning relationship, breeding kink.

trad husband! taehyun that begs you to carry his babies— literally begs. he practically loses his mind whenever you tell him to cum inside. everything about it is so intimate, so erotic. his favorite place to cum is right in your gushing pussy, as deep as he can go. taehyun tends to let out soft breaths and groans but when he cums inside of you is borderline pornographic breathy moans. high pitched but brief; every time he does it you savor it. cumming as he tells you how pretty you’ll look full of his babies, how you’re gonna be a perfect mama and how he’s gonna be so good to you both. you really don’t need convincing anymore, simply letting him make his claim in you whenever he got pent up. if hubby wants a baby give him a baby <3

trad husband! taehyun who lets you cock warm him as soon as he comes home from work. you’re sure he’s had a rough day from the bags under his eyes and the messiness of his usually well kept hair, so you offer him something he can’t refuse. when you sit on his lap with his cock buried to the hilt inside you, your fingers intertwine in his hair, combing the styling mousse out and kissing his jaw as he rants about a long day. being a business man has his downsides and as a good wife you’re always willing to listen!

trad husband! taehyun that buys you gifts— jewelry, lingerie, dresses, anything —just to fuck you in it. that new pearl necklace and earrings set he got? he wants to watch the precious jewel bounce as you ride his dick. that new floral patterned dress is perfect for easy access so of course he takes advantage of it; bending you over the kitchen counter mid-dinner prep and using you as he pleases. he buys you new panties and asks you to model them for him, knowing damn well it’d be much more than that. if he’s gonna spend money on you (gladly) he’s also gonna get a tiny bit of payment back. even buys new lipstick or mascara for you just to kiss it off, or make you cry on his cock.

trad husband! taehyun who never cums before you. sex feels unfinished when it’s just him cumming, so if he finds himself getting too close to the edge he’ll pull out, opting to play with your clit, teasing you by rubbing just his leaky, red tip along your folds. he doesn’t tell you he’s on the brink of explosion, too focused on dragging you along with him. it’s honestly not hard at all to get you there, though. a few whispers of praise into your ear, breathy and hot, already get you going for him. taehyun has a fetish for your pleasure; honestly, he can’t cum happily if you haven’t yet. he’s so sweet about it too, “c’mon, my pretty wife, give me what I want. you’re close aren’t you? love when you cum on my dick, baby, so give it to me.” you swear you go brain dead when he does this.

trad husband! taehyun who eats you out from behind while you talk about your day. it could be mundane as “I cleaned the house today” to random gossip about your friends or neighbors or whatever. taehyun, honestly, isn’t listening wholly. he’s too busy burying his nose against your throbbing clit and scissoring you open with his slender fingers, wedding band rubbing against your folds. he holds your hips down, enjoying the stutter in your voice when you get close to cumming even though you’re in the middle of your story. he mutters into your core “that’s nice, sweetie” and “yeah, babe.” you’re too blissed out to realize he hasn’t heard a single thing you said this whole time.

trad husband! taehyun who’s favorite version of you is when you wear his big white button ups and nothing else. draping over your smaller frame like curtains to a window; dripping just below your hips. it makes him so hard; blood rushing to his cock the moment he sees you like this. when you have no panties underneath and raise your arms, revealing the soft flesh of your ass his mind short circuits. he can’t help but want to fuck you in any and every position in his button downs.

if this is absolute garbage I’m so sorry I’m so deep into a writers block

[rafayelxsylusho]

the jealous fic series is sooo good! can’t wait for the sylus one

I almost forgot about my man. Thanks for reminding me!

Hope you like it!!

How the LADS men fu€k jealousy out of you.

TW: SMUT

***There is a quote from a book that some of you have probably read before, I just really wanted to use it in one of sylus fics😊😊***

Sylus 🐦‍⬛

You had been looking forward to surprising Sylus at home, craving some much needed alone time with him after recent missions that kept you apart. However, once you got to his place you found the house quiet and empty. No sign of Sylus anywhere. A flicker of concern began to rise in your chest as you wandered the halls, calling out his name, but only the echo of your own voice greeted you.

You found Luke and Kieran in the study, engaged in their usual antics, lounging on the plush leather sofas, having a lively discussion that ended abruptly when they noticed you.

"Look Kieran, our favorite hunter came to visit," Luke drawled. "Here to see the boss man, y/n?"

Kieran sat up and offered you a genuine smile. "Boss isn't here at the moment," he explained "He's been called away to attend a rather important auction tonight."

"Auction?" you asked, frowning. "What auction?"

Luke leaned in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "The big one. The one everyone's talking about. The one boss has been prepping for all week."

You try to recall any mention of an important auction Sylus had spoken of, but as much as you rack your brain you come up empty. It's not like him to keep something like this a secret from you. A flicker of concern crosses your face as you wonder why he wouldn't have mentioned it to you directly.

"So, when will he be back?" you asked, trying to sound casual even as you felt a flutter of disappointment at his absence.

Kieran shrugged. "Hard to say. These things can go on for hours. Days even. Depends on how stubborn the other bidders are."

Luke snorted. "And how determined Sylus is to win."

You find yourself waiting for Sylus to return home from the mysterious auction. The hours tick by, and to pass the time, you decide to engage in some friendly competition with Luke and Kieran. The three of you spend the next couple of hours engrossed in a highspeed, adrenaline pumping videogame.

In between races, you raid the well stocked kitchen, returning with an array of tasty treats and Sylus' prized collection of gourmet chocolates.

As the night wears on you can't help but glance at the clock more frequently, wondering what's keeping Sylus. A regular auction should have ended by now, and while he is known for his meticulous attention to business dealings, this delay is starting to feel a bit longer than usual.

You decide to reach out to Sylus. You pull out your phone and dial his his private number, the one reserved for emergencies and urgent matters. After a few rings, his deep, smooth voice fills your ear.

"Y/n, what is it?" his tone unusually distracted. It's clear that he's in the midst of something important, his words clipped and hurried. The sound of muffled voices and distant commotion can be heard in the background, hinting at a crowded and chaotic environment.

"Hey, I'm at your place with Luke and Kieran," you explain, trying to keep your own voice casual despite the unease you feel. "I've been waiting for you to come home. Is everything alright?"

There's a pause, and you can almost hear the gears turning in Sylus' mind as he considers his response. "Yes, everything's fine," he says at last "This auction... it's taking longer than expected. Complications arose with a few of the other attendees." He sighs, and you can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose, a telltale sign of his exasperation and stress. "I'm doing what I can to wrap things up, but it may be a while."

Your heart skips a beat as you hear a woman's voice, a stranger's melodic tone. The woman's words are muffled, but her term of endearment "Sylus darling" rings out crystal clear through the phone speaker.

You stiffen, gripping the phone tighter as a flurry of unwelcome thoughts and emotions wash over you. A cold, sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach, and you suddenly feel like an intruder in the intimate moment.

"I apologize, kitten, but I must go," Sylus says abruptly, his voice tight and strained. "I'll deal with this and be home as soon as I can. Wait for me" With that, he ends the call, leaving you staring at your phone in stunned disbelief.

"Shit, was that Ira?" Luke asks looking at Kieran.

Your head snaps up as Luke's question hangs in the air, a sense of confusion etched on your face. Kieran, noticing your expression, quickly elbows Luke to silence him, shooting him a warning glare.

"Shh, don't be an idiot," Kieran hisses under his breath, though not quiet enough that you don't hear him. "You shouldn't go around throwing around names like that without knowing for sure."

Kieran clears his throat, his expression turning somber as he sees the confusion and hurt in your eyes. "Ira is just an old business partner of Sylus," he explains carefully, choosing his words with deliberate precision. "They have a history together, but it's all about work. Nothing more.

Unable to shake the sense of unease in your gut, you eventually make your way upstairs to Sylus' bedroom, hoping to find some sense of comfort and familiarity in the space that has become so closely associated with the man you've come to love so deeply. You curl up on the plush, king-sized bed, inhaling the faint scent of Sylus' cologne that still lingers on the silken sheets. As exhaustion finally overtakes you, you drift off to a fitful sleep, your dreams fragmented images of Sylus and the unknown woman, their figures intertwined in ways that make your heart ache with a painful, jealous fervor.

When you awaken sometime later, the first light of dawn just beginning to peek through the curtains, you reach out instinctively for Sylus, only to find the space beside you cold and empty. You check your phone, hoping for a message or a call, but there is nothing.

You know you can't stay here, not like this, not with the way your mind is racing. The feelings inside you threaten to consume you, jealousy, anger, and a deep, abiding fear of losing the man you love.

As you zip up your backpack, the weight of your decision to leave Sylus' place feels both heavy and necessary. You take a deep breath and make your way back to your apartment.

Once inside the familiar confines of your own space the memory of Tara's camping invitation surfaces, and you realize that the solitude of the city may be more than you can bear in your current state of mind. Without hesitation, you pull out your phone and dial Tara's number, praying that she hasn't already made other plans or filled the available spots on her trip. She answers on the second ring, her voice bright and cheerful.

"Hey, Tara," you say, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. "I know I already declined the camping trip, but... I've changed my mind. If the offer still stands, I'd love to join you and the team this weekend."

There's a brief pause on the other end of the line, and you can almost hear the surprise and delight in Tara's voice as she responds. "Of course, y/n! You're more than welcome to join us. I'm so glad you changed your mind," she says warmly, her words a balm to your battered soul. You thank Tara profusely, already feeling a weight lift from your shoulders at the prospect of escaping the city and the thoughts on your mind.

During the trip Tara and the rest of the team were wonderful hosts, ensuring that you were kept busy and distracted with hikes, campfire stories, and hearty meals. As the night of the trip wears on you lose yourself in the simple joys of the outdoors, the smell of pine needles and woodsmoke, the distant hooting of an owl, the warmth of your friends gathered around the flickering fire. Slowly but surely, the tightness in your chest begins to ease, and the painful thoughts of Sylus and the mysterious woman start to recede.

By the time the weekend draws to a close, you feel a sense of calm wash over you, the fresh air and company of your friends having done wonders to clear your head. The feelings of jealousy are still there, lingering in the back of your mind, but they no longer threaten to consume you as they once did.

As you step into your apartment in the late afternoon, the familiar scent of home envelops you, offering a sense of comfort and security that you desperately crave. The weight of the weekend's emotions and the long journey back to the city have left you exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Without hesitation, you make your way to the bathroom, eager to wash away the grime and weariness of the past couple of days. As the hot water cascades over your skin, you let out a sigh, allowing the steam to fill your lungs and cleanse your mind.

You linger in the shower for longer than necessary, the heat of the water soothing your aching muscles and helping to melt away the lingering tension that has taken up residence in your body. By the time you step out, your skin is pink and tingling, and a sense of renewed energy courses through your veins.

As you towel yourself dry, you remember the need to charge your phone, which had died during the camping trip due to the lack of a reliable power source. You pad out of the bathroom, leaving a trail of damp footprints on the hardwood floor as you make your way to your backpack. Fishing out your phone from the depths of the bag, you plug it in and watch as the screen flickers to life, the dim glow illuminating your face, the phone chimes and you take a deep breath before unlocking the screen. The anticipation of seeing Sylus' name among the list of notifications makes your heart race in your chest, a mix of hope and dread swirling within you.

As the messages load, you scan the list of senders, your eyes widening as you realize that there is not a single one from Sylus among them. You set your phone down on the kitchen counter, the glow of the screen illuminating the darkened room as you rummage through the cabinets for a glass. The house feels strangely quiet, a stark contrast to the lively chatter and laughter that filled the campsite just hours before. As you fill your glass with cool, refreshing water and take a long sip, you can't help but let your mind wander back to the memory of Sylus' curt goodbye and the sound of that woman's voice, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth that even the cold water can't wash away.

You set the glass down with a heavy sigh, your reflection staring back at you from the darkened window above the sink. In the dim light, you can see the weariness etched into the lines of your face, the shadows beneath your eyes a testament to the restless nights, and just as you're about to turn away from the window, a sudden movement outside catches your eye. You lean closer, peering out into the darkness, and your heart leaps into your throat as you see a tall, familiar figure standing beneath the dim glow of the streetlamp.

It's Sylus.

He stands motionless, his dark silhouette unmistakable even at this distance. He seems to be looking directly at your window, though you're not sure if he can actually see you through the darkness and the reflection on the glass. You take a tentative step back from the window, lots of questions race through your mind. What is Sylus doing here? How long has he been waiting? You freeze at the sound of a knock, your heart leaping into your throat as a wave of panic and adrenaline surges through your body. The knock comes again, more insistent this time, the sound of Sylus' fist against the wood unmistakable.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic pounding of your heart as you make your way towards the door. You pause for a moment, your hand on the doorknob, and take one last steadying breath before turning the knob and pulling the door open.

"Sylus," you say, your voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. "What are you doing here?"

Even in the dim light of the hallway, you can see the intensity of his gaze, the crimson eyes that seem to pierce right through you, seeing straight into your very soul. He's dressed in a dark shirt and pants, his hair slightly disheveled, as if he's been running his hands through it in agitation.

"Hello kitten" Sylus murmurs, "how was your trip?"

"It was fine," you say shortly. "How did you know I went on a trip?"

Your mind races as you wonder how Sylus could possibly know about your last-minute decision to join Tara and the others for the weekend. You didn't mention it to anyone. So how did he find out?

Sylus leans against the doorframe, his broad shoulders filling the space. He looks tired, you notice, the lines around his eyes a little deeper than usual. But there's a intensity to his gaze, a fierce focus that makes your heart skip a beat.

"I have my ways," he says, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips "The real question is, why did you leave without telling me?" His voice is low and smooth, but there's an undercurrent of frustration beneath the calm exterior. 

"Come in," you say softly, stepping back to allow him entry. As Sylus steps into your apartment, you can't help but feel a shiver run down your spine, his broad shoulders brushing against the doorframe as he moves past you.

Sylus turns to face you, his crimson eyes searching yours in the dim light cast by the single lamp you left on before your trip. He looks different in the low light, softer somehow, the harsh angles of his face gentled by the shadows. But there's still a intensity to his gaze, a fierce determination that makes your heart race in your chest.

You stand there, clutching the towel tightly around your body. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words and the weight of the emotions that have been building for days.

"Well? Are you going to invite me to sit down, or are we going to stand here all night?" There's a undercurrent of impatience in his voice, a frustration that belies the casual tone.

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry, and gesture towards the couch. "Of course, please, make yourself comfortable," you say, the words sound too formal to your own ears.

You turn to head to your bedroom, suddenly feeling the chill of the air on your damp skin beneath the thin towel "I'm going to change," you say over your shoulder, not looking back at him as you make your way to your bedroom.

You gasp as you feel Sylus' strong hand grab the back of your neck, his fingers curling around the damp skin and pulling you gently but firmly towards him. The sudden contact sends a jolt of electricity through your body, your heart stuttering in your chest as you find your back pressed against the firm wall of his chest.

"Sylus," you breathe out "what are you doing?"

His other hand comes to rest on your hip, his long fingers splaying across the curve of your waist, holding you firmly in place. You can feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of the towel, the warmth seeping into your flesh and making your pulse race.

Sylus leans down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below your ear as he speaks, his voice a low murmur. "I couldn't let you walk away without getting an answer first," he says, his breath hot against your skin. "Tell me, kitten, why did you leave without telling me? There's a undercurrent of emotion in his voice, a frustration that he can't quite hide. His grip on your neck tightens slightly, not enough to cause pain, but enough to make it clear that he has no intention of letting you go until he gets the answers he wants. You can feel the tension radiating off him, the coiled energy of a man on the brink of losing control. It both frightens and exhilarates you, the power he holds in his hands, the way he can make you feel with a single touch.

"Sylus, please," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly as you try to pull away from him. "Not like this. I can't think straight when you touch me like this."

Sylus chuckles darkly, a low, rumbling sound that you can feel vibrating through his chest pressed against your back. His fingers tighten briefly on your hip before releasing you, only to trail slowly up the curve of your side, his touch feather light and teasing. "Like what, kitten?" he murmurs in your ear. "I haven't even touched you yet, not the way I want to. Not the way you need me to."

His hand reaches the side of your breast, his fingers grazing the swell of it through the damp towel. You can feel your nipple tightening in response, betraying your body's desire for his touch.

"Tell me why you left, y/n," Sylus demands, his voice hardening with impatience. "And don't lie to me."

You take a shaky breath, Sylus' proximity and touch making it hard to focus on anything else. "I...I needed some time to myself," you admit "To clear my head and think things through."

Sylus' hand stills on your breast, his fingers curling possessively around the soft mound. "Think things through about what?" he asks, a hint of something dark and dangerous lurking beneath the smooth surface of his voice.

You swallow hard, knowing you can't avoid the conversation any longer. "About us," you confess, the words falling from your lips "About what this...thing is between us. I didn't know how to handle it, so I left."

His lips brush against your shoulder, the ghost of a kiss that makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. You can feel the heat of his breath, the dampness of his tongue as he traces the curve of your collarbone. "Tell me, kitten," he breathes against your skin, "is this what you needed to escape from? Me, touching you like this? Wanting you like this?"

His hand slides down your arm, his fingers intertwining with yours. He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

"Because if it is, I can make it so much worse. Or so much better," Sylus promises darkly "All you have to do is say the word, sweetie."

"Who is she, sy?" You whisper, words barely audible but you know he heard you. Sylus' teeth graze the sensitive skin of your neck, his lips curling into a smirk against your flesh. He knows exactly what you're asking, but he's in no hurry to answer, not when he has you like this bare, breathless, and at his mercy.

His tongue flicks out, tasting the salt of your skin, the dampness of the water that clings to you. "You know, for someone who needed to clear their head, you seem awfully focused on her." Sylus' hand slides down to your waist, his fingers splaying possessively over your stomach. The evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against your backside as he holds you close.

"Ira is someone I knew from my past. We were discussing a mutual investment opportunity. Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about."

"Is that so?" you ask, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

Sylus chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. He nips at your neck again, a little harder this time, sending a jolt of sensation straight down your spine.

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, kitten," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin as he speaks. "But I must admit, it's...intriguing. Seeing this side of you, the side that wants to claw and scratch and mark what's hers."

Sylus spins you around to face him, his hands gripping your hips tightly. With a sharp tug, he yanks the towel down, baring your breasts to the cool air of the apartment. Your nipples pebble instantly, peaks tightening under the sudden exposure and the intensity of Sylus' gaze. His hands slide up your ribcage, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts, teasing the sensitive skin. You can feel the calluses on his fingers, the evidence of his power and strength, the way he could take you and claim you and make you his. His hands still on your breasts, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he holds you in place. His gaze snaps up to meet yours, his crimson eyes blazing with an intensity that steals your breath away. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough, filled with raw emotion.

"What makes you think I could ever look at another woman the way I look at you?" Sylus asks "Do you have any idea what it's like, y/n, to be consumed by someone, to have them under your skin, in your blood, in every fucking beat of your heart?"

He leans in closer, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with your own. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the power and the hunger that he keeps leashed, barely contained. Sylus' eyes flash with a mix of anger and pain, his grip on your breasts tightening almost uncomfortably. His voice drops to a low, fervent whisper "I've waited lifetimes for you, kitten, dreaming of the day I could hold you again, touch you again, make you mine again."

His thumb brushes over your nipple roughly, sending a jolt of sensation through you. "And this is what I get in return? You, running from me, doubting me?" Sylus' voice rises, the anger and the hurt bleeding through every word. His eyes darken with a predatory gleam, a smirk spreading across his face as he sees the fear and excitement in your eyes. His lips brush against your ear as he speaks, his voice a low, sinful purr. "Go ahead, kitten. Run. See how far you get before I catch you." Sylus' hand slides down to your ass, squeezing the flesh roughly. "Run, If I catch you, I fuck you"

The dark promise in his voice sends a thrill of fear and anticipation down your spine. Acting on instinct, you wrench yourself out of his grasp and turn to run, your bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor as you race up the stairs to your bedroom. You can hear Sylus' footsteps behind you, his long strides eating up the distance between you. Your heart pounds in your chest, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you reach the top of the stairs. You don't look back, you don't dare to see if he's close.

Just as you think you're about to reach the safety of your bedroom, you feel Sylus' Evol envelop you. An unseen force lifts you off your feet, strong and unyielding, pulling you back towards him. You let out a startled yelp, your hands grasping at the empty air as you're lifted higher, your bare breasts bouncing slightly with the movement.

"Sylus!" you cry out, a mix of fear and excitement lacing your voice. You're suspended in mid-air, towel no longer wrapped over the lower half of your body, your legs kicking futilely as you try to find purchase on the carpeted stairs.

"Did I say you could run that far, kitten?" Sylus' voice comes from behind you, dark and amused. You feel his presence looming over you, the heat of his body, the power radiating off him in waves. "I told you, I'd catch you. And now, I'm going to claim my prize."

Sylus' hands grip your bare thighs, his fingers sinking into your soft flesh as he hoists you over his shoulder. He carries you effortlessly, as if you weigh nothing at all, his steps never faltering as he walks towards your bedroom. You find yourself staring at his back, the broad expanse of his shoulders, the way his shirt stretches taut over the muscles beneath.

When he reaches your room, he kicks the door open, the wood slamming against the wall with a bang. He carries you inside and with a few more strides, he reaches the bed and tosses you onto it, your naked body bouncing on the mattress. You land on your back, your breasts heaving as you catch your breath. Sylus looms over you, his crimson eyes glinting in the low light, a smile playing on his lips. He takes in the sight of you, sprawled out and bare before him.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, your heart pounding as you watch Sylus remove his clothing. He starts with his tie, yanking it off and tossing it carelessly to the side. His fingers move to his shirt buttons next, undoing them one by one with deliberate slowness, as if he's savoring the anticipation of revealing what lies beneath. As he shrugs off his shirt, your breath catches in your throat. The dim light from the hallway casts shadows across the planes of his chest, highlighting the defined muscles, the sculpted abs, the V that disappears into his pants. You remember how his skin feels beneath your fingertips, the heat of his body pressed against yours, and your core clenches with sudden, desperate need. His hands move to his belt next, undoing the buckle with a sharp tug. The leather slips from his pants, falling to the floor with a soft thud. He undoes his fly slowly, inch by inch, until finally, he's shoving his pants and boxers down his long legs. He kicks them off to the side.

Sylus stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at you with a predatory gleam in his eyes. "You've seen me like this before," he says softly, his voice rough with desire. "But I don't think you've ever really seen me. Not like I want you to see me." He crawls over you, his large frame covering your smaller one as he settles his hips between your thighs, the hard length of him pressing against your core. His hands come up to frame your face, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones, tilting your chin up to force you to meet his intense gaze.

"You should know very well that I adore you," Sylus murmurs, his voice low with emotion. "There is no love purer than mine" His crimson eyes search yours, the intensity of his feeling burning into your very soul. "But right now," he continues, his voice dropping an octave, turning dark and dangerous. "Right now, I'm going to fuck you like I hate you." His grip on your face tightens, his fingers digging into your skin.

Before you can process it he's thrusting forward, burying himself deep inside your tight, wet heat. A scream tears from his throat as he hilts himself fully, his heavy balls slapping against your ass. "FUCK!" Sylus roars, his voice echoing off the walls of your bedroom. At the same time, a scream of pleasure and surprise rips from your own throat, your back arching off the bed, "SYLUS!" you cry out, your voice breaking on a moan as he stretches you, fills you, completes you in a way that feels so right and so perfect.

For a moment, he stays still, buried deep inside you, his heart pounding against your chest, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. Then he starts to move, withdrawing until just the tip of his cock remains inside you, only to slam back in with a powerful thrust. "Oh god, Sylus!" you cry out, your voice hitching and breaking as he drives into you again and again. Your nails rake down his back, leaving red welts in their wake as you cling to him, your body rocking with the force of his thrusts.

Sylus feels your legs wrap tightly around his waist, your ankles locking at the small of his back. With an approving growl, he sits back on his knees, bringing you up with him. His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he changes the angle of his thrusts, now driving up into you from below. "Fuck, just like that," Sylus grunts, his voice filled with lust. "Hold onto me, kitten. Wrap those pretty legs around me tighter." His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as he pulls you down onto his cock, meeting his upward thrusts with a force that steals your breath away

You can feel every thick, hard inch of him as he fills and stretches you, your inner walls clenching and fluttering around his length. The new position allows him to go even deeper, his cock kissing your cervix with every powerful thrust. You throw your head back, a silent scream of ecstasy on your lips as the pleasure builds and builds inside you. Sylus knows your body intimately, understands what buttons to push, what touches will send you flying. And right now, he's determined to draw this out, to make this last as long as possible. He wants to feel you come undone around him again and again, wants to hear you scream his name until your voice is hoarse and raw. So he restrains himself, ignoring the desperate pleas of your body as your hips buck and writhe against his, seeking more friction, more stimulation.

He keeps his hands on your hips, holding you, preventing you from chasing your pleasure. His hands avoid your throbbing clit, his lips and teeth avoid your aching nipples, even as they map your neck, your collarbone, the sensitive skin behind your ears.

"Please, Sylus," you whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair, your nails scraping his scalp. "Please, I need..." You can't even finish the sentence, too lost in sensation, too desperate for release.

"I know," Sylus murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "I know exactly what you need, kitten. But I'm not going to give it to you. Not yet." He punctuates his words with a sharp thrust, a twist of his hips that has you seeing stars. "You're going to come on my cock when I say you can come on my cock," Sylus commands, his voice low and dangerous. "And not a moment before."

Sylus uses all his strength to drag your hips down his length with brutal force. Your body is no longer your own as he manhandles you, using you for his pleasure. Each powerful thrust drives the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping, your tits bouncing wildly with every slam of his hips against yours.

"Fuck, your cunt feels incredible," Sylus growls, his eyes wild and fevered as he watches your body jolt and quake with his relentless pounding. "So fucking tight and wet and perfect. Made to take my cock". Your mind starts to go hazy, your thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm as he fucks you.

"Sylus!" you scream, your voice raw and broken as he rails into you. "Sylus, please, I can't...I can't..." But your protests only seem to spur him on, his thrusts growing harder, faster, more demanding.

Sylus leans in, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh at the top of your breast, marking you. He bites down hard enough to make you cry out, the mix of pain and pleasure short circuiting your brain for a moment. As he releases your skin, he laves the reddened mark with his tongue, soothing the sting.

"Do you want some help, kitten?" Sylus murmurs, his voice a low against your skin. He rolls his hips, grinding his pelvis against your aching clit, giving you a momentary respite from the relentless pounding. He waits for your response, his eyes glinting with a dark, knowing amusement. "Yes? No? Maybe so?" His tone is playful, taunting, as if he knows exactly what your answer will be. He reaches in between your bodies, his fingers find and circle your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure, pushing you to the very edge of ecstasy. Your hips buck wildly against his hand, seeking more, craving more.

"Yes, Sylus," you manage to gasp out, your voice ragged and breathless." Please..please..please.." Your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving crescent shaped marks in his skin.

 "That's my good girl," he purrs, rewarding your submission with a hard thrust. "Now, come for me, kitten. Come all over my cock. Let go, y/n . Give yourself to me completely."

With that command, Sylus leans down and drags the flat of his tongue over your nipple, the wet heat sending a shock of pleasure through your body. At the same time, his fingers find your clit, pinching the sensitive nub between them, rolling it, tugging on it, giving you the direct stimulation you've been aching for. The dual sensation is too much for you to withstand. Your body seizes up, back arching in a semicircle, as a intense orgasm crashes over you. "SYLUS!" you scream, your voice echoing off the walls, as wave after wave of ecstasy radiates out from your core, consuming you entirely. Sylus buries himself deep inside you once again, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he also finds his release. "Fuck, y/n , fuuuuuck!" his hot seed erupting from his cock and painting your insides. You can feel every twitch, every spurt of his thick come as he fills you up. Sylus' hips jerk and stutter, grinding against yours as he rides out the waves of his intense climax, pushing his seed deeper with every movement.

He collapses on top of you, his muscular frame blanketing your smaller one, pinning you to the mattress. He's still buried deep inside your fluttering, over sensitive heat, his softening cock plugging you up, trapping his seed inside you. His breath comes in harsh, ragged gasps as he rests his forehead against yours, his crimson eyes glazed and unfocused as he comes down from his intense high. Sylus takes a moment to marvel at the utterly debauched picture you make, hair mussed, skin flushed and slick with sweat, your bodies still joined intimately.

"I can adapt to any location and call it home, as long as I'm willing" Sylus murmurs, his voice low and intimate "but now I have a condition" His eyes bore into yours, the crimson depths swirling with unreadable emotions. "If you are not there then I'm not interested. "This," he gestures vaguely at the bedroom, but you know he means more than just the physical space, "means nothing without you in it."

Sylus' hand slides down to rest over your racing heart, feeling it beat against his palm. "You are my home, kitten. My haven. The one constant I crave." His voice drops to a fervent whisper, heavy with unspoken emotion. "So that condition is you must be there. Always. Or I will not settle for anything less."

[dellamortethelesser]

The Wigmaker Job

Notes and Thoughts - Part 3

pt1 | pt2 | pt3 | pt4 | pt5

DISCLAIMER: These posts I'm doing are my own analyses and are done with the intentional eye to examine the relationship between Lucanis and Illario. I try to source all my assertions from what the text is giving me. This is not Lucanis critical nor should it be taken as such.

Going to be a shorter post today because I have things to do this morning!

Starting off strong in the next scene with me… loving on the fashion notes <3 So glad to know that we get stiletto heels clicking against cobblestone. Surely hoping that no magister twists their ankle and falls and breaks their fucking neck because their shoe got caught in a gap!

Also, velveteen is in? Someone who knows fabrics weigh in and tell me if that would be an appropriate material for the climate.

"So the Wigmaker. Tell me about him." / "He's weird." ← Lucanis goes on to say that he 'finds the moment before a job crucial for focus, but Illario was never one for comfortable silence'. To me, that beggars the explanation that the following passage is Illario goading him a bit.

I: "Specifics, cousin. No one hires us to kill normal people." L: "I gave you a dossier." I: "Yes, but I want your assessment." L: "I wrote it. It is my assessment." I: "Humor me." L: "You'll see soon enough."

There was a little bit of debate in my previous post about whether or not Illario actually read Lucanis's dossier. I don't think that the text supports that interpretation, but everyone is allowed to interpret what they want.

I'll argue that Illario has read the dossier: throughout the story up until this point, Illario has made comments about the job that implies he has SOME understanding of what they are doing—even going out of his way to make arrangements with a tailor so that he can be prepared for the part of the contract that Lucanis asked him to help with.

He knows that they need to be in Minrathous, at a party, facing a 'premiere wigmaker', and aware of the fact that they're up against Venatori. He knew they needed to be at a mansion and all of this comes up previous to this point when asking about Lucanis's assessment.

Additionally, asking for more clarification on something that someone else wrote is actually normal when the plan has clearly changed several times. Illario has increasingly expressed confusion on how the navigation is being handled, and, when asking for more information, is specifically asking after the Wigmaker himself, not the entire plan.

Also, the narrator is telling us that Lucanis prefers to be quiet while Illario likes to talk. It was pointed out to the me that this is close third POV, so why would the narrator bring that difference up, and not reference the idea that Illario has a tendency to not read documents?

(A few paragraphs later, while balancing on the rooftops, it's stated that 'At least Illario was too busy concentrating to ask questions'.) ← I wonder why he'd need to ask so many… I'm not trying to be snarky, but I am trying to make a point and using the text to support it. This also is NOT Lucanis crit and I'm worried some people are interpreting it as such.

The commentary from Lucanis about the previous Minrathous parties is insane btw. Retching vases? Acrobats? An orgy? No wonder they kept us in Dock Town in VG… (shakes fist)

First mention of Lucanis's sensitivity toward the Veil. "The backs of his eyeballs itched like he hadn't blinked in days". I think he says this primarily about blood magic at some point in VG? Which tracks and keeps up with WMJ.

"Something's wrong." / "Yeah. We're up here, away from the fun." ← insane of illario to say this i'm sorry. bro there are blood mages down there.

L: "Focus." I: "I am." L: "On the job." I: "To be fair, you never told me the plan."

You guys get it at this point. (That last sentence loops back up to my previous point… Illario has read the dossier. He knows the contract. He does NOT know how Lucanis is going to HANDLE it beyond what he's been asked to do re: getting Lucanis inside).

Lucanis shrugged. "Find Ambrose. Slit his throat." "Sounds complicated." "It will be. The Veil's thin here. Thinner than I expected."

Illario seems pretty fine with this explanation so I am not going to keep dragging it out. I do like how in-tune Lucanis seems to be with his abilities! I wish we could've seen more of that in VG; iirc he doesn't comment on the state of the Veil or magic very often?

This is the part of the story where we get to see their back-and-forth and how Illario is a bit of a rake! Which I personally enjoy. I love a manwhore (*said affectionately). Sorry.

"Plenty of time for some good, old-fashioned debauch—" I think he's funny. And maybe a bit distracted.

The narrator describes Ambrose as 'of average height and build' which is a description that pisses me off when fanfic does it and published works are not immune to my ire. What the hell is 'average'. That's so subjective.

The rest of the description is nice, though: hawkish gold eyes and a jaw that could break teeth. ← I know I said this was a breakdown of the brothercousin dynamic but I need to weigh in on other things sometimes. <3 Heart.

"They're never what you envision, are they?" Illario noted. "What did you expect?" "Hair, for one. Maybe a funny little dog." That got a chuckle out of Lucanis, if only briefly.

Stop being funny!!! I do like this banter back and forth because this feels like it's the least… leaden with underlying, complicated dynamics? I like it a lot and it feels natural for them.

Making notes on the fashion of the guard-captain. 'She wore an emerald gown with a high-waisted, low-tiered skirt and a fitted tulle bodice studded with champagne-colored crystals. Metallic body paint shimmered on her exposed arms and legs'. ← Fascinating.

It sounds like it might be a reference to the women's fashion from the Tevinter concept art. Bit gaudy.

Also it's described as silk-brocade. AGAIN PEOPLE WHO KNOW FABRICS WEIGH IN.

[shrek meme] she's not even wearing velveteen.

Lucanis "I need those keys" Dellamorte and Illario "your wish is my command, cousin" Dellamorte you will always be famous to me. Also it says that Illario 'flipped forward' which . why are we doing all that

Quotes are either paraphrased or taken directly from The Wigmaker Job, written by Courtney Woods.

[umi-adxhira]

ᝰ.ᐟ SERENITY | 023

FANDOM: TWTPTFLOB

WARNINGS: Swearing

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Yall this chapter is so fucking short I'm sorry guys

Also spoiler for the chapter: I actually did find the manhwa from a Jeremy edit. It was actually a good one but I said in the chapter it was cringy because most of those manhwa type edits usually are

I was already on board with reading it because I loved Jeremy but then I saw a Dion version and I was like YESSSSSS

This is the link to the edit btw 💜

◄ PREVIOUS CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ►

It has been a few days since you were imprisoned in Dion’s room. The walls were suffocating at first, pristine and cold, an extension of the man who kept you here. Yet, despite the gilded cage, the days melted into something less oppressive. Every day, he would bring your food and stay in the room with you, his silent presence filling the space. He never left unless he had a mission, and even then, he would return late at night, his cold fingers finding your waist, his arms caging you in the gentlest way as he held you in your sleep. He so wants me.

Tonight is no different.

You stretch lazily on the bed, the only comfort in this strange place, and shift under the weight of his gaze. Dion, sitting across from you, eyes you with his usual piercing stare - cool and calculating, yet somehow indulgent.

“I need to pee,” you announce, shifting your foot in its restrained position.

Dion narrows his eyes slightly. “You went an hour ago.”

“Yeah, but I drank a lot of water because the chicken was dry.” You huff, folding your arms across your chest. “I fucking hate these historical manhwa foods. They look so good and amazing drawn out but they’re so bland it’s almost disgusting,”

His lips twitch, almost amused at your sudden use of vulgar language, but he lets out a slow sigh before raising a hand. The soft hum of magic fills the air, and the chain around your ankle releases with an almost reluctant click.

“Go,” he mutters.

You don’t waste a second. Scrambling off the bed, you rush into the bathroom and slam the door behind you, reveling in the brief illusion of freedom.

Once you return, you plop onto the bed without a care. Dion reaches for your ankle, his touch gentle despite his usual cold demeanor. His thumb ghosts over the faint dent left by the chain, and before you can react, he presses a soft kiss there, lingering for just a second too long.

Your heart stutters.

Then, without a word, he secures the chain back in place. You tuck yourself under the covers, burrowing into the warmth of his bed even though the sun is still visible beyond the curtains. Dion sits next to you, his presence an unshakable force.

“Can I see Roxana?” you ask hesitantly. “It’s been a while, and I’m kind of lonely.”

His reaction is immediate. A sharp glance, a flicker of something dark in his gaze. “Am I not enough?” The jealousy in his voice is quiet but potent, his words carrying a weight you’re not sure you can bear.

You sigh, offering a small, reassuring smile. “You are. It’s just… you’re not much of a talker. And I feel like talking.”

Dion considers this for a moment before responding. “Then talk. I’ll listen.”

You brighten at the invitation, shifting so you can face him fully. “Are you sure?! Okay! So, back in school, there was this one time-”

And just like that, you dive into the absurdities of your world. You tell him everything, sparing no detail, from catching two boys shagging in the bathroom to a teacher slapping a girl for being, in her words, "too stupid." You recount the chaos of the fire alarms being pulled five days in a row, forcing everyone to shiver in the cold while waiting for the teachers to finally let you back inside.

Dion listens intently, his fingers absentmindedly tracing small circles against your waist, a subtle touch grounding you both in the moment. He cares little for the words unfamiliar to him, rather the way your eyes sparkle in a way he’s never seen before when you talk about your home world.

Then, you shift topics. “Oh, how I even found the manhwa in the first place! So basically,” He raises a brow, intrigued. “I found it on TikTok. Someone made this super cringy 2022 edit of a character from it. I thought the whole thing would be just as bad, so I checked it out ironically. But then, it became my favorite novel. I was reading the final chapters when… well, I ended up here.”

Dion’s gaze sharpens. “Which character was it?”

You hesitate before admitting, “Jeremy. Timeskip Jeremy, specifically.” Dion goes eerily quiet. The silence stretches between you, unnatural and heavy. You continue talking, but the more you ramble, the more you realize - Dion hasn’t said a word. Hasn’t moved. Hasn’t even blinked. A chill runs down your spine. You poke his chest lightly. Nothing. His stare is distant, something unreadable lurking beneath it. You nudge him again, harder this time, accompanied by a whine. “Dion, hellooo? Are you seriously giving me the silent treatment?” you pout. “It was just an edit, you weirdo.”

Still, he says nothing. But then, his fingers flex against your waist, tightening ever so slightly before finally relaxing. He exhales, slow and controlled, before fixing you with a gaze so piercing it makes you shiver.

“Do you like Jeremy more than you like me?” His voice is dangerously soft, yet there’s an unmistakable tension beneath it.

You blink, startled by his sudden possessiveness. Then, before you can overthink it, you lean forward and press a quick peck to his cheek.

“No,” you say softly. “I already told you before - you’re my favorite character. And you still are.”

His grip relaxes, though his hand remains on you, tracing idle patterns against your skin. The room is quiet for a while, the weight of unspoken emotions settling between you.

Then, Dion breaks the silence.

“What does 'shagging' mean?”

You choke on air, whipping around to face him. He looks utterly serious, his head tilted slightly as he waits for your response.

A slow smirk tugs at his lips when he sees your flustered expression. You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Oh my god, Dion.”

He chuckles lowly, his breath ghosting over your ear as he leans in. His fingers find your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “You turn red so easily,” he murmurs, voice teasing. “It’s quite cute.” Your heartbeat hammers against your ribs. Dion shifts, pressing closer until you’re caged between him and the bed. His fingers trail along your jaw, his eyes dark with something unreadable. “If you keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs, “I might just have to do something about it.”

TAGLIST: @evaxmisu, @00hellohello00, @welpthisisboring, @hsrvl264, @flyingpansaurus

[boucurls]

Curly hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch for hours. The TV played some rerun he wasn’t watching, the volume too low to distract from the thoughts running laps in his head. The apartment was a mess—empty beer bottles, clothes scattered around like they were dropped mid-motion and forgotten. He could clean it up. He could make things look normal again.

But he didn’t.

Because Ponyboy wasn’t here to see it.

Curly ran a hand down his face, staring at the ceiling. The place had never felt so empty, not even before Pony moved in. Because back then, Curly didn’t know what it was like to have someone fill every corner of his life without even trying.

He closed his eyes, but that just made it worse.

Because in the dark, it was easy to see Pony again.

-

“You’re gonna be late, Curly,” Pony teased, standing in front of their closet, shirtless, holding up two different flannels. “Which one?”

“They’re both ugly,” Curly said from the bed, watching him with an arm thrown over his eyes. “Why d’you even care what you wear to class?”

Pony rolled his eyes. “Forget it. I’m picking this one.” He pulled the fabric over his head, the muscles in his back shifting, the movement so familiar that Curly barely thought about it anymore.

Except—he did.

-

He thought about it now.

About how he used to sit back and watch Pony change, used to steal quick glances and pretend he wasn’t affected. And now, Pony was changing for someone else.

Somebody new.

Somebody different.

Somebody like him.

Curly sat up abruptly, rubbing his hands together like that’d stop the restlessness crawling under his skin. He glanced at the pile of laundry by the door—the same pile that’d been growing for weeks.

He should clean it up.

He could clean it up.

But what was the point? Pony wasn’t coming home to wrinkle his nose at it.

-

“Curly, you don’t have to wait up for me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Curly had muttered, stretched out on the couch, legs over Pony’s lap. “I’ll go to bed soon.”

Pony just laughed, shaking his head. “You never do.”

Curly had let his eyes slip shut, let himself pretend for a second that they were just like this forever—lazy, close, together.

-

Curly groaned, pushing himself up off the couch. He needed to move.

He grabbed his keys and jacket, stepping over the mess without looking at it. The cold hit him as soon as he stepped outside, but he didn’t care. He just kept walking, hands stuffed in his pockets, aimless.

And then, without meaning to, he ended up by the old bookstore Pony used to drag him into.

The light was on inside.

And through the window, Curly saw him.

Ponyboy.

Sitting at a table, a book open in front of him, but he wasn’t reading. He was laughing, talking to some guy across from him.

Somebody else.

Curly swallowed hard, stepping back into the shadows. He could go inside. He could say something. He could.

Instead, he turned around and walked away.

Back in the apartment, Curly sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall.

“I can move on,” he muttered under his breath.

But the words felt empty.

Because no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise—

He didn’t want to.

[cowchickenbeefpork]

god I need to rewatch the wolf man (1941) again I take breaks while watching films often which is a bad habit I need to break I need to stop treating movies like they’re books this film was fantastic I just finished it and like it’s so fucking good. One of my favorite films. Made me wanna cry. Love the themes of isolation and how no one believed Larry’s illness he was either seen as being ridiculous or being inherently cruel deep down in his heart or even just the mere assertion he was insane and needed to get treatment for psychosis when that was not what he was facing in his struggles. He knew he was harmful to others he knew what was happening to him but no one took his word for it. No one truly believed except the mother of a son who lived and died as a werewolf. To know what is wrong with you and try to isolate, try to ensure everyone else is safe after finally acknowledging that is something you are going through, and for everyone else to never understand it is heartbreaking. He did nothing to deserve this fate. No one truly deserves being treated like this, being neglected like this.

I also kinda interpreted how Larry’s father reacted to his son behaving like this as him knowing that the asylums won’t help, you know? This is a recurring issue in their family, something that has sprung up again and again, family members with the same illness, the same curse. I feel like they have at least tried to institutionalize them before at least once, and realized how horrendous they treated them in it. He doesn’t want his son to go through that, he wants his son to just push through this “delusion” and make it through when he cannot. His father basically has to convince himself that his son can push through if he tries hard enough, because that itself feels like it is the only cure for something like this. He doesn’t want his son to become a husk, he doesn’t know how to help his little boy. His own attempts to help him by trying to make him snap out of it only pushes them further off the edge, leading to his death by the hands of his own father at the end of the film.

[desi-yearning]

Got asked if I'm straight today and I just deflected the question sigh people here are homophobic and call each other gay/lesbian as a joke/accusation/insult

[goblin-enjoyer]

I swear why are half the things i like/fandoms im in made of mostly younger people while the other half are mostly older people? what are the zoggin odds with that?

How it feels being 20 in a fandom with a bunch of 30-40 somethings.

VS how it feels being 20 in a fandom with a bunch of 14-17 somethings.

like am do i just have extremely odd luck with things i like or is this just what being 20 is like?

[anotheruntitledsong]

i did like the hidden palace but (SPOILER if anyone hasn't read it?) i'm genuinely so annoyed at how Arbeely is handled like... I wish i could be sad but i'm just fucking irritated. I was overly invested in him and that's def why but i just feel like they did him dirty

[itsalwaysdark]

i wish there was a way for me to likeee. semi change this one thingin this one mod. but 1 im not a modder 2 i feel like thats disrespectful. i just want sort of an inbetween between the game and this mod but that is not a thing that exist... sigh

[zyafics]

CAN YOU PLEASE, PLEASE ON MY KNEES WRITE ABOUT BITCHY!READER X RAFE AND IT'S SMUT?? I FEEL LIKE YOU'LL DO IT JUSTICE!!! thank you

you literally read my mind because i was just thinking of this prompt that works so well with bitchy!reader!! hope you'll enjoy <3 (if it’s bad, look away!!)

WHATEVER SHE WANTS | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Blurb) | x Bitchy!Kook!Female Reader

Content — 18+, power/dominance play, p in v, doggy style, orgasm denial, and dirty talks

Word Count — 2.2K

lıllılı Whatever She Wants by Bryson Tiller

You always wanted Rafe.

It's your right. Since you were a child, you demanded the best in everything—toys, clothes, boyfriends. They had to be perfect. Had to be yours. And yes, it may come off a little superficial but who cares? It's what you deserve, and it'll be hell if you don't get it.

Since the first look, when you caught Rafe lounging on a chair with his friends, tipping the rim of his beer onto his lips, while his eyes scanned over the room in an attractive lazy way, you knew you had to have him. It didn't help that you were competitive, and Rafe garnered attention with women. They flocked to him and begged for a minute of his time. It became a game to you, and that heightened your need.

Everything was calculated. The makeup you wore, the outfits you curated, the glances. You always timed your arrivals—when you knew Rafe would be watching the door—and marked your exits. You knew exactly what to wear—dresses that tantalizing exposes your ass, but only as a preview—and the cosmetic style he liked. Rafe's the type of man who believes he wants a bare-faced woman, but truly, he wants something natural that enhances your features.

You came with friends. You left alone. You drank enough to loosen your nerves and danced with the crowd, but not enough to make a fool of yourself. You knew your tolerance and knew Rafe didn't like a messy girl.

At least, in public.

You caught his gaze a couple of times, flashing a flirtatious smile over your shoulders, but never lingered longer than three seconds. Rafe can't know how easy he can have you, because Rafe, like most boys, loves a chase. You're not easy, you're spoiled. He had to come to you.

And he did.

Rafe tried to introduce himself on several occasions. On those nights when you're leaving early—as planned—Rafe would cut to the door to pay a parting remark. "You're leaving so soon?" he would ask, "Alone? Again?" He would add. You always told him it was because no one caught your eye, and Rafe took that as a personal challenge. He would then try to tell you his name, as if he were different, to which you nod—detached—as if it didn't matter.

It drove him insane.

Because you didn't offer the same courtesy. You kept him guessing. He had to finally ask around to learn your name, which he would use to tease you the next time he saw you. And he did. And you laughed. But you acted like you didn't care. Like all the trouble he went through didn't prove a thing. That's when Rafe knew he needed you.

Tonight's no different. Just as you're about to leave, Rafe catches you with another smooth pick-up line. You just giggle. He studies how your eyes crinkle with amusement, the curve of your lips painted in his favorite shade of lipstick, and the lithe tilt of your head to the side as you ask him with your gaze, is that the best you got?

It isn't. But Rafe's determined to get further with you tonight. He continues to talk, asking about which men disappointed you and the reasons for your constant disappearances from these parties. And, for once, you're answering his questions with little resistance. Perhaps, it's because of the amount of cheap wines you consumed, or maybe you—for once—are tired of the games and want it to come to a fruitful end. Because when Rafe finally asks to take you home, you don't say no.

The walk to his truck is brisk. His arm wrapped around your waist, directing your path, while his fingers trail over the backless cut of your dress, producing a buzzing feeling beneath your skin. He's whispering something in your ear, but all of it is incomprehensible as you revel in the feeling of his touch and his touch alone. The feeling of your game coming to a conclusion.

And, just as you're about to reach the car, Rafe slams you into the side of the vehicle with a searing kiss.

His mouth catches yours and everything feels perfect. As if the buildup leading to this precise moment had been worth it, and every needy emotion rises to the top. His hand travels down the length of your body, to your hips, pulling you closer, and needing to eliminate all the space and wait you made him do.

Rafe's movements are swift and controlled. One of his hands props open the backdoor of his car, pushing you inside, and laying you against his leather seats. All without breaking the kiss.

"You don't know how long I wanted this, wanted you," Rafe blubbers between wet kisses. "Seeing you at every party, in these tiny dresses, not being able to touch," he rasps, bundling the hem of your dress into a tight fist. "Tell me you wear them for me."

"And if I did?" You say with a moan, tipping your head back to grant him access to your neck. "Did you like them?"

"Of course I did," he murmurs against the curve of your neck, the vibration of his words sending heat straight to your core. "You dressing up for me like my own perfect doll."

You want to retort that it's him who's in the palm of your hand, but Rafe sucks on a sensitive spot, causing your eyes to roll back and a whimper to escape your lips instead. He grabs your wrists with one hand, throwing them over his shoulder as he pulls you flush against his chest.

"So pretty, so fucking untouchable," Rafe kisses down the length of your throat, his fingers collecting the spaghetti straps of your dress before sliding it down the slope of your shoulders. "I'm going to fuck you so good."

His words snap you out of your haze. And while Rafe continues to expose more of your body, lamenting each reveal of flesh with a kiss, you withdraw enough to grab his attention.

"You're not fucking me in a car."

"What?" Rafe breaths, unable to snap out of the trace you had him in. Delirious with want, his mind warped around the idea of you being so close to attainable, that all rational manners left his system. He tries to kiss you again, to resume the moment, but you pull enough to send him a deadly glare, pouty and spoiled.

"Rafe, take me somewhere nice or we're not fucking at all."

He can't believe what he's hearing. He can't believe he's contemplating it. But Rafe doesn't understand that you have it all planned out to result in a perfect moment. You won't let it be disrupted just because Rafe can't drive the extra mile to take you somewhere nice. You'd rather leave him with blue balls.

"Are you serious?" He asks slowly, his eyes drawn to your swollen lips, the little pout, and the desperation to have them back on his. Sure, Rafe's had girls who wanted something more than a casual fling. He had them ask him for a better spot, but he never obliged. He never cared. But you're different. He wants you, and it's been a hell of a chase to get you here. He'll be damned if he lets it slip away because of a pretentious standard.

"Does it look like I'm joking?" You cross your arms over your chest, pushing your breasts further up. He nearly groans at the sight. "We're not having sex here."

"The nearest place has to be at least a fifteen-minute drive," Rafe argues. And it makes you upset, brows pinched together. "We can just—"

"I don't care," you snap. "Take me somewhere nice or I'm leaving."

You're serious. He sees it on your face. Rafe can't risk that, despite wanting to protest, because he knows he if he messes this up, he won't have another chance. Swearing under his breath, he drags himself out of the backseat and into the driver's side, pulling the car out of the parking lot.

Dangerously, Rafe speeds down the road, while you're sitting in the backseat with a self-satisfied demeanor, fixing your makeup through the rearview mirror. Occasionally, Rafe spares a glance through the same reflection, connecting with your gaze, and while there's subtle bitterness coiled in his chest, he recognizes the bigger prize at hand.

And what he can do with it.

Because, despite your bratty attitude, Rafe is a person who wants control. You want perfection. You two can have both.

That's how you find yourself in a newly-booked penthouse suite at one of the bougie hotels in Kildare, your head digging into the soft comforter of the bed, your ass in the air, as Rafe drills into you from behind.

When you reached the room, everything moved frantically. Rafe slammed you against the nearest wall to kiss you again—needing your lips, needing your taste—while his hands roamed over your dress and pulled down your cleavage, revealing your tits. Your hands wandered down his pants, unbuttoning them hurriedly, needily, and he assisted you by pulling them off alongside his boxers. His cock was big, slightly red with a pearly bead of pre-cum that rolls off the tip. And you could tell by the look on Rafe's face that he wanted you to suck it.

But you told him, "I don't do blowjobs."

So fucking pretentious.

It didn't matter. He hauled you over to the king-sized bed and pushed you onto the mattress. You landed with a soft thump, while Rafe hauled you up to your ass, pushing up your dress, until it became nothing but a bundle around your waist. His movements were urgent, and he wanted—no, needed—to be inside you because a bratty girl was going to be a great fuck.

And he was right.

You're perfect. The way you wrap around him, the way he sinks inside you. He doesn't know if it's because of the delirium of wanting you so desperately, of chasing you for so long—but he never had better pussy. And it doesn't help that your moans are sweet, breathy, and loud—begging him to go faster.

"Such a pretentious brat," Rafe grabs your throat, hauling you upwards till your spine rest on his chest, airway constricted by his harsh grip. "Making me wait this fucking long."

"R—Rafe," you mewl, eyes rolling to the back of your skull at the way he's angling his cock deep into your cervix, bullying the sensitive spot over and over again until you're seeing stars.

"Had to get the princess treatment, did you?" He murmurs hotly into your ear, nibbling a spot on your neck as you rest the back of your head on his shoulder. His thrusts grow more erratic. "Had to make me earn you, didn't you?"

"You weren't going to fuck me in a car," you persist, and despite how cockdrunk you became, and how much of an attitude you're willing to sacrifice to feel good, you were still adamant about receiving what you deemed enough. He respected that. "I'm not one of your whores."

"But I'm fucking you like my own personal slut. Is that any better?" He bites the lobe of your ear, and his other hand wanders up to grab a handful of your breast, squeezing the fat before rolling your perked nipple between his fingers. You moan louder. "What does that make you?"

You can't seem to answer him, can't seem to find your senses. The words Rafe uses are vulgar, but there’s still no regrets about this entire thing. Rafe wanted you so badly, that he was willing to spend hundreds of dollars on a hotel he probably won't even stay the night in. All because you demanded it.

You win.

"Shut up," you stammer, your stomach tightening. "Shut up and just fuck me, Rafe."

Rafe grins. The hand playing with your tits slips between your thighs to assist, finding your clit easily as he rubs it with his thumb in sync with his thrusts. Breathy moans escape you as you arch into his palm, while he pistons deeper inside of you, bottoming out.

"You sound so pretty, doll," Rafe murmurs against your heated skin, "Come on, take my fucking cock."

Everything’s so dirty. The way he handles you, the way your wetness drips down your thighs, the way his words breathe onto your skin and tighten your core. But you love it. You do, but you're not willing to give in so easily. No matter how good it feels. No matter how much he feels like a prize.

"You don't deserve me." You whisper with a mewl, body tightening with the familiar wave of your undoing.

Yet, Rafe merely grins.

"But you're sucking in my cock like you need me," Rafe taunts, pleasure coursing through his body at the way your walls grip him in a vice. The way your words spark challenge and invitation. He knows, despite your spoiled attitude and pretentious demands, he'll do anything to get another chance like this. "Now, behave like a good girl or you're not coming tonight."

IMPORTANT: if you want to follow my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

tagging @starkeysprincess bc she saw it first <3

[sol-flo]

i'm going to destroy this damn phone

- the boss avoider

[that-sarcastic-writer]

A Touch of Madness

Logan Howlett X girlfriend!reader

Summary: Logan comes to you after being away, and all he wants is your touch, and he knows just how to get on your good side. This is just porn without plot.

Takes place in the same universe as Too Sweet but can be read as standalone

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), fingering, couch sex, soft rough sex, Logan talks you through it, the claws make an appearance (I have a thing for his claws okay), Logan is obsessed with his girl, fluffy relationship, established relationship

WC: 3.9k

A/N: how did I make this longer than too sweet when it was supposed to be a Drabble. Hello idk how to write short shit. But like hello yall are so awesome? I appreciate all the love yall have given my first Logan fic. I also have an older Logan fic in the works but that one has plot so it’ll be a minute before its out. For now here this <3

He couldn’t take it anymore. You were driving him mad. It’s not like he deserved your anger. Not fully anyway. It wasn’t his fault he was gone this long. He had been thinking about you all week, about your soft lips, about the warmth of your thighs, about your sweet moans only for his ears to hear. And all he wanted was to pull you into his arms and take you, over and over, until you begged him to stop. 

But no. 

You were being childish. That’s what he called it anyway. 

“Sweet girl,” he called after you, like a puppy following close behind you as you strided around your apartment. He knew you were doing it on purpose, the excuse of having to do chores so you could elongate his torture. The way you so innocently looked back at him made him clench his jaw. “C’mon.” 

“Don’t sweet girl me, Logan. I told you, I’m busy.” You sassed him, huffing as you kept walking, finding the most insignificant of chores to waste your time with. He rolled his eyes at you, eyebrows furrowed into this perpetual gaze of annoyance. 

The truth was, you were aching for him, your thighs warm and your skin tingling solely at the thought of him taking you to do as he pleased. But, if there was something in this world you could be, it was petty. And if you had to suffer a whole week without him, he could suffer for an hour, even if it was also at your expense. Truly, you almost enjoyed the annoyance in his face, the sharpness in his voice, him damn near groaning behind you every time you evaded him under the excuse of needing to get some dumb chore done. 

“You’re killin’ me here, sugar.” He actually groaned this time, his jaw set. You stopped in your tracks and turned your head to look at him, shooting him a pointed look. “I said I was sorry.”

“Serves you right. And I don’t care if you’re sorry. You haven’t called me in a week.” Your words were sharp with bitterness and it dawned on him. That was why you were upset. A slight bit of humor tugged at the corner of his lips and he breathed out a laugh. You stared at him with blank eyes, you weren’t laughing. 

“C’mon, is that seriously why you’re upset? You know I was out of the state.” He tried to reason with you. Charles had entrusted him and Storm with finding a certain mutant that was causing havoc, three states over. And Logan had very much underestimated how long this would take them. So here he was, after a whole week away, damn near begging you to let him touch you. “It wasn’t like I wanted to go anyway.”

No, he would much rather be with his sweet girl, one that was being particularly difficult and making him suffer when all he wanted to do was hold you, to feel the warmth of your soft skin. 

He stepped into your personal space, his intoxicating scent almost making you give in. You counted to five in your head, eyes closed to remind yourself that you were, indeed, angry at him. 

“So? You got a phone, don’t you? You could’ve called me.” You huffed, eyebrows furrowed and lips pulled into a small pout, Logan had to hold back the urge to laugh at you. “You can’t disappear for a week and expect to come here and do as you please.” 

You shot him a sharp glare, he just stared at you, eyebrows raised in surprise at your sudden shot of confidence. His sweet girl was talking back to him? Giving him attitude? He tilted his head at you, almost as if to dare you to walk away from him.  

There was a bit of malice in your eyes as you gave him one last look before you walked away, thinking of what other useless chore you could add to continue his torture. But Logan had other thoughts in his head. If you weren’t going to behave, he would happily put you in your place. 

“Hey, c’mere or I’m gonna bring you here myself.” He called after you, the strings of his sanity hanging on by a thread, just waiting for you to tug at the last strand. He knew you too well. You turned your head, eyes big in feign innocence and you tilted your head at him in defiance. 

“Make me then.” The words left your mouth before you could think them through. In hindsight you should have known better, but you also wanted to see just what could happen if you pushed him hard enough. You saw the way his eyes flashed with malice, he stared you down, and in that moment you remembered just how small you were compared to him. “Oh fuck.” 

Your heart pounded in your chest as adrenaline rushed through you, but it wasn’t like you could go outrun him, especially not in your tiny apartment. He caught you, though he did purposely chase you into your living room, simply because he wanted to get you going, pumped with adrenaline. You squealed as he wrapped his arms around your torso and pulled you against his chest. His sharp canines nipped at that one spot on your neck that had you whimpering. 

“You goin’ somewhere, sugar?” He husked, his lips hot on your cheek. You couldn’t help but sigh in contentment, eyes closed. God, you missed him. 

“Mhm, still mad at you.” You mumbled, barely hanging on to your silly grudge. A chuckle rumbled in Logan’s chest. 

“That’s alright. I don’t need you to be happy with me to do what I want to do.” He inhaled, breathing your sweet scent, and he spoke as he threw you over his shoulder. “Just need you to look pretty while I do it.” 

You weren’t complaining about your position, you were in fact, bursting into giggles as he effortlessly carried you to the couch, though your giggles turned into another squeal when he smacked his hand flat against your ass. Logan had a grin on his lips as he tossed you on the couch, wasting no time in spreading your legs apart to settle between them.

He leaned down, gripping the armrest above your head, caging you in as he leaned down. He brushed his nose against yours, sighing softly.

“Don’t be such a brat. Kiss me.” The words rumbled in his chest with a groan, his primal needs overcoming his senses. He didn’t have to tell you twice. You laced your fingers in his hair, pulling into a hard and heated kiss.

His tongue slipped inside your mouth as he shrugged off his flannel, tossing it somewhere on the floor, his belt soon following the same fate. You tried to sit up against the armrest, but you quickly realized Logan had other plans deep in his perverted mind. With a hold of your ankle he dragged you down on the couch, your back flat on the surface as you looked up at him with big eyes.

“Stay just like that, pretty.” He spoke, pressing another heated kiss to your mouth before tugging off your sweatpants, followed by your panties. He tossed them somewhere over his shoulder, somewhere you would have to run around searching for later. But you couldn’t give a fuck about that. All you could focus on was the heat forming between your legs as Logan settled between them.

His eyes met with yours one last time before he was diving in between your warm thighs. His tongue licked long stripes from your hole up to your clit, circling around the sensitive nerve before going back down. Over and over until your soft gasps and sighs of pleasure turned into moans. His large hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open to do as he pleased. One leg hung over the back of the couch and the other was thrown over his shoulder, and he effortlessly held you down as he shoved his tongue into your cunt. He was like an animal, insatiable as he took you on his tongue.

“Oh fuck. Shit—Logan—” Your eyes rolled back, lips parted as you whined. You gripped the back of the couch, soft twitches taking over you each time his nose brushed your clit.

It was no secret that Logan found pleasure in giving you yours, and he ate you like it. Grunts and hums rumbled in his chest as his tongue found your clit again, and he reveled in the particularly high pitched cry you let out when he slipped two fingers into your wet core. 

“Needed to taste you so fuckin’ bad. I thought about it all week.” He spat into your clit, groaning at the way your tight walls squeezed his fingers. He could only imagine what you would do when it was his cock stretching your walls. 

“Yes, yes, yes.” You chanted, fingers lacing in his hair as he lapped at your clit. You wished you could hold your pleasure, rivet in it for just a little bit longer, but the way he curled his fingers against your most sensitive spot, the way his tongue was so relentless on your swollen clit, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Oh my—”

Your words never left your throat, chest pounding with sheer adrenaline as your release coated his face and fingers. It was sudden, it left you breathless as your thighs twitched with aftershock. Your eyes were wide and glossy in shock as you shuddered with the remnants of your orgasm. It wasn’t until you pathetically attempted to drag yourself away that Logan stopped. You were shaking, gasping softly when he pulled his fingers from you, but you all but cried when he licked at your wet pussy, getting a taste of you.

“Logan, please I can’t—” Your voice was shaky as you tried to move away from his face, he chuckled at you, pressing his face against your inner thigh before he crawled up to your face.

“‘Is okay. You did good.” He kissed your lips, his large hands holding your face as he let you taste yourself on his tongue. You moaned, clenching around nothing already in anticipation of him filling you. “You wanna stop?”

“No, no, no! Need you, please!” You were quick to protest, wrapping your legs around his waist to prevent him from going anywhere. You couldn’t really stop him from doing anything, but he found it endearing that you tried. He bumped his nose against yours, lips pulled up into a tiny smile.

“Need me where, hm?” He opened his eyes to look at you, and truly how he didn’t bend you over the nearest flat surface the second he saw you was beyond his comprehension. You looked so perfect like this, underneath him, clinging to him. His sweet girl. He didn’t know what it was about you, but from the moment he met you he was done for. You drove him absolutely mad and now he just couldn’t get enough of you.

“Inside me, Logan. Please.” You sighed out, face flushed with embarrassment. He smoothed out the frown lines on your forehead with a tiny kiss. A sweet gesture in comparison to what he was about to do to you.

In one swift motion he had you bent over the armrest, with your ass to him and your chest flat against the armrest. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip as you glanced over your shoulder to watch as he pulled off his white tank top. Your glazed eyes fawned over each perfect muscle in his body, taking particular interest in the veins that popped in his arm when he flexed them as he ridded himself of his jeans. How you ended up with a man so incredibly hot, you had no idea, but you were thanking the Gods for that.

“I need to be inside you, too.” He rasped into your ear, groaning in ecstasy as he sank himself into your needy cunt. Your jaw fell open he filled you, inch by inch. He pulled your t-shirt over your head, instantly attaching his lips to your shoulder as he rutted his hips against your ass. 

His pace was grueling from the start, grip tight on your hips, sure to leave bruises in the morning. A little reminder of his intoxicating presence. You braced yourself on the armrest, sounds of pleasure leaving your lips almost instantly. He pressed his forehead against your cheek, the thick hairs on his chest leaving a tingling sensation across your back as he held you flush against his chest. Heavy breaths filled your ears as you so desperately reached to touch him, any of him. Your trembling fingers found the sound of his face and he leaned his head to capture your parted lips into a messy kiss. He swallowed your sweet sounds as the sting of his cock had you squeezing the life out of him.

“This what you needed, hm? Maybe I should fuck sweet pussy more often? Give it more attention?” He grunted the words in your ears, lips pressed against your cheek as a sheen layer of sweat began to coat your soft skin. You whimpered and nodded weakly, your cunt clenching him with excitement. He smirked softly, his hand coming up to lace through your hair. “Yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweet girl?”

Logan held your face down as his hips drilled into you, each delicious drag of his cock bringing you closer and closer to your sweet release. God, you needed it. All you could do was moan in response.

“Y-yes! God, yes. Please Logan.” You whined out shamelessly, eyes rolled back into your head. Logan hummed, the sound rumbling in his chest as he pressed his lips to your temple, the gentle gesture ironic considering just what he was doing to you. He said nothing as he sneaked his free hand to the front of your body, rough fingers rubbing harsh circles on your sensitive clit. Your jaw fell open, your hand flying to grip his wrist. Your thighs clenched around his hand, whining as his cock  brushed that one spot that had you seeing white. “Logan—”

Your voice was a warning, but he welcomed it. He flicked his wrist without mercy as he rolled his hips, his words only encouraging you to fall apart for him.

“Come for me, pretty girl. You can do that, can’t you? I know you want to.” He let go of your hair to turn your head to meet his eager lips. He happily swallowed the pathetic sounds that left your mouth as he flicked at your clit, his cock hitting so impossibly deep you were left trembling as your release seeped around him. 

Logan held you down on his cock, his thumb playing with your clit until you were gasping and your nails dug into the skin of his wrist. He kissed along your jaw as his hips stilled for just a second, your body still shaking underneath him.

“You okay?” He asked softly, grabbing your face to look at him. You looked at him with hooded eyes and nodded weakly, barely lifting yourself off the couch.

“Yeah. ‘m okay.” 

Logan tilted his head at you, an eyebrow raised with amusement as he leaned down to leave a kiss to your sweaty forehead.

“Perfect.”

He grabbed your hips, pulling out his cock to manhandle you onto your back before he was sinking himself into you again. Your slick walls welcomed him perfectly, like this was the only place he belonged, but he wasn’t complaining. If he could die, he would die happily buried deep in your cunt.

“Oh, God, Logan.” You gasped, thighs twitching as you looked down to find where his thick cock is filling you, splitting you open over and over. Your jaw fell open as you watched him grab one of your ankles and he held it up by his shoulder, spreading you open for him to dig himself deeper and deeper within you tight walls. 

“Look at me, baby.” He groaned, chest heavy as a thin layer of sweat covered his muscled body. You did your best to comply, you looked up, eyes blurry with tears of pleasure as he damn near folded your body in half. Your knees were pressed against your chest as he leaned down to brush his nose against yours. “Yes, there she is. My pretty girl. I missed you.” 

You couldn’t help but moan at his words, and also at the sting of his cock rapidly bringing you to your third release. The way he brought your legs to his shoulders, he sunk himself so deep within your walls you swore you felt him in your stomach. It felt so good you wanted to cry.

“Missed you too, Logan.” You brought your lips up to his, eyebrows furrowed into an expression of pure arousal as you gripped his hair, clinging to him for dear life.

Your release was quick and sudden, hitting you without a warning the second Logan pressed his thumb to your swollen clit. You were just so sensitive, tears staining your cheeks as you sobbed. You clutched on to his large bicep as you spilled around his cock. The way your tight walls squeeze him made him groan, eyebrows furrowed as he focused on chasing his own release while fucking you through your own.

“Look at you, you’re just so good for me. Fuck it, I’ll just take you with me next time.” Groans fell freely from his soft lips as he braced himself on the back of the couch with one hand, and the other held the armrest above your head. He leaned down to press his forehead against yours as your sweet praises and chants of his name filled his ears. 

The sound that rumbled in Logan’s chest was animalistic, a deep growl as he coated your insides with his hot release. The metallic sound of sharp claws filled your ears once more as his claws unsheathed themselves from his knuckles, one on the back of the couch and the other just above your head, again. You gasped his name with a soft laugh, though you would be lying if you said it didn’t drive you feral when his claws accidentally came out. You brought a hand to his face as he pulled his claws out of your couch, the sharp metal once again hiding themselves within his knuckles with a sound. He held himself up on his forearm as his head fell to your neck.

“I’ll pay for it.” He muttered a chuckle into your neck, leaving a soft kiss to your jaw. You laughed, draping a hand over your forehead, breathing in deeply as you felt your mixed releases seep around his cock and drip onto the couch. He should just buy you a new couch, he thought.

“Wanna buy me a new body while you’re at it?” You teased him, already sensing you would have bruises and your thighs would ache for days.

“Did I hurt you?” Concern filled his voice as he lifted his head to scan your face for any discomfort as his hand came up to graze the thigh draped over his waist. You scrunched up your nose at him and shook your head.

“Of course not hun. Don’t be silly.” You traced your fingers over his face and gave him a lopsided smile.

“I did miss you, for the record.” 

You pressed a kiss to his lips. “I missed you too Logan.”

“Lemme clean you up sugar.” He sneaked a kiss to your cheek as he untangled himself from you, much to your protest.

You whined at the emptiness he left you as he stood up. Though you did quite enjoy the sight of his perfect ass he walked off to find something to clean his mess with. When he came back, he had a small towel and he cleaned you without protest, he left warm kisses on your face as you talked to him about your day. He ultimately tossed the towel aside and slipped on his boxers, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of his still hard cock, but you needed a break. You didn’t let him leave though, reaching to grab his wrist with soft eyes

“Wanna watch a movie? I miss watching movies with you.” You mumbled, voice soft as you looked at him with pleading eyes. He laughed softly at you, you made it sound like you hadn’t seen him in a month.

But, how could he ever say no to his sweet girl?

“Mhm, put on somethin’ .” He gently moved you so that he was lying behind you on the couch, his big arms wrapped around you as he held you against his chest. Though you were still completely naked, you paid no mind to it. It actually felt kinda nice to be so close to him and feel the warmth of his body in such an intimate way.

He covered you both with the throw blanket you always kept over the couch for days exactly like this, for those days you wanted to feel warm and close with him on the couch. He ignored the three holes where stuffing was coming out of the ripped fabric as he pulled the soft blanket up to your chest and as you happily settled in his arms, clicking away at the TV. He would buy you a new couch, just as he bought you new pillows, and new blankets. And anything you asked him to, really.

Logan wasn’t used to domestic, the soft touches, cuddling, but he liked doing it with you. He craved it actually, probably just as much as he craved the sex.

“Next time you’re away that long, just give me a call? Please? So that I’m not worried sick thinking you died.” You finally said, the whole reason for such intense feelings merely an hour ago finally surfacing. He laughed softly at how ridiculous you sounded. He technically can’t die, he thought.

“I wouldn’t.. I can’t…Y’know what? You’re right. I’m still getting used to this whole having a girl thing. But I'll do better, yeah? Don’t need you to be mad, sugar.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, settling his face on your neck as he attempted to pay attention to whatever horror movie you decided to watch today. “But if you’re gonna let me fuck you like that when you’re mad, get mad more often.” 

“Logan.” You scolded him, nudging his ribs softly as a warm blush coated your cheeks, knowing you wouldn’t hurt him, but it still made him chuckle. 

He had to admit, he lasted way longer than he did last time. He lasted almost halfway through the movie before the feeling of his cock sitting hot and heavy in his boxers became apparent to him again. He inhaled your scent softly, his lips ghosting over your neck as he rolled his hips softly against your ass. And while you did try to protest, whining that you wanted to get through one movie with him, the sting of his cock was better than any movie in this world. The credits rolled, the soundtrack now drowned out by the sound of your sweet moans. Logan would be damned if he let you leave the warmth of his body for even just one second tonight. Or maybe ever. 

[wriokitty]

if you hold me without hurting me (you’ll be the first who ever did) — ft. sylus

synopsis: sylus is too causal with accepting pain. you don’t like seeing him hurt, so the best solution you can come up with is seeing him in pleasure

❤︎ word count: 2.4k words — it’s a miracle i kept it this short

❤︎ before you read: female hunter reader ; mature content. not suitable for minors ; not an established relationship but implied romantic connection. idk it’s complicated LOL ; injured sylus ; described blood and injuries ; evol inhibitors to make his injuries a bit more serious ; not proof read : hand jobs ; banter ; that’s pretty much it just wanted to write him cumming

❤︎ comments: i am posting this 3 mins before i need to leave for work this man has me hustling before my hustle rip

The safe house is quiet. Not including the sounds of Sylus’s low, pained grunts as you dress his wounds, it’s quiet. You’re quiet, and it’s unsettling—on a typical day, you’re more than half the noise.

(In a good way, of course. Sylus is not a liar by any means, and saying he doesn’t like the constant sound of your voice as you talk would be a ridiculously big lie. He values the truth in things.)

It means you’re brooding. Sulky, petulant brooding. He’ll just have to fix that, he thinks—and soon, too.

“I’ll have to trouble you a bit longer, sweetheart,” he murmurs, breaking the silence as he glances at his arm.

You glance up and stare at the damage: a stab wound to his abdomen, a gash on his arm, and ugly, unwelcome bruises littering across soft, slightly tanned skin.

You frown. It borders on a scowl. He watches as you carefully stitch the wound closed on his lower belly with precise fingers. (Faintly, his mind registers that you’re good at this. Too good at this. He doesn’t like the implications of that—not for his own case and especially not for yours.)

“Does it hurt?” You mumble, finally.

Sylus is not a liar by any means, so he hums, titling your chin up and forcing you to pause. “Yes,” he says truthfully. You’d never guess he was in pain just by the look on his face—but there are always signs if you look close enough.

Sticky, sweaty skin. Deep, labored breaths. Slumped posture that’s so far from his usual tall, towering stance. He looks just a bit tired, too. Like sleeping (something he rarely does enough to be considered healthy) would be his ideal course of action right now.

You frown at his admission. “I told you not to get so close,” you huff, “you never wait for me.”

He chuckles. Deep, slow. Every time Sylus laughs, you’re reminded how powerful he is. How even through the sound of his amusement alone, he sounds important. Wealthy, too, if you’re being honest—he laughs like the rich. But that’s always amused you more than it’s impressed.

“You seem rather distraught, love. Dare I say….you’re concerned?”

“You’re too smart to act this stupid,” you spit.

He grins. It’s large, wide, and all too smug for someone who’s under your hands as you mend back torn skin. Gently, he hums, “so the kitten bears her fangs. How cute.”

Your mood is getting increasingly worse. Sylus knows that—but sometimes, he’s a little selfish. Pushing you harder, cornering you against the wall with smart words and sly teasing is the only way to make you open up sometimes.

And, well, Sylus is no liar. He can’t say he hates getting under your skin entirely—it makes you look at him. And he likes your attention. But more than that, he likes knowing you care.

“You don’t think I’m capable,” you accuse, narrowing your eyes.

“And when did I say that, Miss Hunter?”

“You don’t have to say it, I just know. Otherwise, you’d listen when I tell you to wait,” comes your agitated reply.

Sylus does not wait for you. He jumps into a fight without letting you step foot onto the battlefield. Most times, it’s a minor form of irritation on your end when you’re itching to get in a good few hits. Sometimes, like now, it makes your emotions saturated in every form of distress.

Anger. Sadness. Regret. Panic. All of it simmers and simmers until you feel you’re overflowing with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

He pays the price today—one sloppy dodge of a blade, and it impales his lower abdomen with precision, lacing him with something. Something that evidently is rather good at repressing his evol—he can’t fight nearly as well let alone heal.

You can’t help but feel useless. More than anything, under appreciated. Maybe, if he’d waited just a moment so you could have covered him, then maybe your night would end with less blood on your hands and less pain on his.

“You’re also too bright to act this dim,” he says lowly, voice just a bit tight with pain. You tighten his stitches, and he doesn’t even grimace despite the clearly unpleasant sensation.

“Do tell me,” you glare, “just what am I being dim about?”

“If you think I don’t recognize your capabilities,” he drawls, studying the knife that once tore through his flesh slowly. It’ll be analyzed at the base. You’re certain he’ll figure out just what the blade was laced with and trace it back to its origins soon enough. He sets it down and meets your eyes—deep, rich crimson bleeding into your gaze. “Then maybe you’re not as good at seeing the bigger picture as I thought.”

“That you’re a smug bastard who likes to prove you’re better on your own?”

“That I care about you,” he says plainly. “I can handle it. It’s better you than me.”

“You could have died,” you hiss, “if I wasn’t there—”

“I’d have lived either way,” he says smugly. “Killing me is a rather difficult thing to do. Inflicting pain, on the other hand….well, at least it keeps things interesting.”

Your face drops. Not because he’s wrong, but because he’s so right. You can injure him all you want, but he heals fast enough that he’s here to stay. Like an annoying thorn that keeps pricking you as you pick roses. Like a weed that just keeps growing back the more you tear them from the ground. He comes back. Annoying as he is, he comes back. And you don’t mind that so much—you think you might even need it that way.

But it always hurts. He bleeds red just like any other person. Grimaces here and there despite how accustomed he is to the agony. Somewhere along the line, his pain became yours.

And you can’t help but be hyper aware of how much you despise it.

“I hate when you’re hurt,” you whisper.

“I’ll live,” he soothes, cupping your cheek and swiping a stray tear with a large, callused thumb. You shiver, pouting slightly at the words. “I’ve had worse.”

“But you still feel the pain.”

“Can anyone really avoid that, sweetie?” He raises an amused brow.

Before he can open his mouth to add more, you lean closer, careful not to hurt his wound as you press against his chest and bury your head into his neck, pressing a light kiss to the skin.

His breath hitches, and you think you’ve finally gotten through that thick, stubborn front of his.

“If it hurts,” you murmur, “then I can make it feel good.”

He shivers—barely, of course. But he shivers. It’s a small win. “Oh?” He asks carefully, his good arm curling around your waist to keep you in place. “And how so?”

You press a lingering kiss to his jaw. Your lips are not strangers to Sylus. They know him as well as he knows them too, but you’ve always danced along the edge of more than friends and less than lovers. One second, you think you’ve crossed over the line with graceful steps, the next you fall ten steps back.

Right now, you think you don’t care. Line be damned and whether you’re just friends or lovers, you couldn’t be more unbothered.

“I don’t like when people touch you,” you admit, “not at all. But especially not so….rough.”

“Mmh, jealous are we? Don’t worry, you’re the only one I willingly let touch me,” he grins. You roll your eyes, watching as he shuffles back to lean against the couch and relax.

“I should be the only one who touches you,” you say with an air of petulance.

“Yes, yes,” he agrees, placating your mood, “then show me something more gentle,” he whispers.

You smile. It’s the first one of the night, lips curling against the shell of his ear as you breathe, “oh I intend to.”

Just like that, your hand trails up his thigh, carefully tracing along the inner edge of his leg before your palm roams over his crotch. There’s a bulge forming as if on command. Your ego boosts just a little—for all his strength and endurance, one brief, mere little touch from you forces his body to react against his will.

“Is this really where you should be putting in all your effort?” His breath hitches, and the tips of his ears flush a pretty, soft little pink, “my arm still has an open wound, you know.”

“You’ve had worse,” you repeat his words back to him, “but let me show you better.”

It’s quick work, unblocking his belt and unzipping him just enough to gently pull out his half-hard cock. You glance down, smiling at the small bead of pre cum that leaks from the tip, forming a kind little opportunity for you to watch him squirm as your thumb grazes his cockhead to collect it.

You smear it along his length as you slowly stroke him to full hardness, and he offers you a shaky little huffed out, “fuck,” under his breath.

“Does that hurt, too?” You hum, nose pressing into his jaw as you kiss his neck.

“No,” he sighs, melting into you, “no it feels so good. Don’t stop.”

“Do you see how nice it is when you just trust me?” You scold, “now apply this to the battlefield, too.”

He chuckles deeply at that, closing his eyes and fighting the urge to fuck his hips into your fist—his stitches are still fragile enough that he doesn’t want to risk tearing them. Instead, he has to trust that you’ll give him what he needs, all on your own.

“I’d rather get hurt and be spoiled like this,” he mumbles, “than risk anything happing to you. Seems like a better option if you ask me.”

“So stubborn,” you click your teeth.

Sylus is not a liar. You know that. If he says you’re capable, then you believe him—and if he says that he’d rather take the brunt of injuries and the pain that comes with them just to finish a fight before you can be involved, you know it’s not a lie. But you don’t always like the truth. You don’t like knowing he uses himself as a shield of sorts for you, as some wall between you and pain or maybe even death just because he can. Just because he heals. Just because he thinks he should.

You don’t always like the truth. Sometimes, you’d rather live in a lie.

So you tell yourself he thinks you’re less than him. That you’re lacking and beneath his approval and you have something to prove—so your hand tightens around his thick, reddened cock and you stroke fast. Quick and to the point.

Enough to have him groaning with an arm instinctively moving to cover his eyes as he throws his head back—only he hisses, feeling the stinging tug on his gash as he moves.

You hum, guiding his arm back down as you cup his cheek and murmur, “careful now. You’re hurt—I wonder whose fault that is.”

He rolls his eyes at the comment—but one swipe of your thumb through his slit has them rolling back in pleasure before he can glare at you. “You’re rather smug today,” he huffs, “do you like seeing me defenseless, sweetheart?”

“Not for the reasons you might think,” you say sweetly, grinning as you peck his cheek. Right where you cut him the first time you met. Right where you think you’ll always have to soothe so he knows you didn’t mean it.

Not anymore, at least.

“You’re far from the innocent kitten you seem to be,” he grins, huffing out a soft laugh as it tapers off into a light, breathy moan.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes.”

“Enough to make you forget the pain?”

“Oh yes,” he grins. Suddenly, a wave of red wraps around your hand and forces your grip to tighten. “I’ve forgotten I was injured at all.”

His evol, you realize—it’s back.

You stare at the gash on his arm—crimson on crimson as the flurry of his power replaces the blood, leaving behind soft, healthy skin. Not a scar left behind. Not a trace of pain. Not even a faint line of where torn flesh mended together and became new.

He’s had worse, you remember. And he comes back from it every damn time.

Still, you think—you’re going to give him better.

“I don’t want you hurting because of me,” you breathe, leaning into his chest and pressing your weight against him without worry, now. Your hand fists his shirt as his arms wrap around you and keep you close.

Your hand glides along his girth between your bodies, working him up slowly, slowly, slowly until it all feels like it’ll come crashing down all at once. His breath hitches as he lets out a light groan of your name.

It sounds pretty on his tongue. You’re more determined to pull nicer sounds from him, too, so you kiss under his ear lobe, sucking gently on the skin and feeling him let out a soft, labored gasp.

“Will you spoil me like this every time I’m hurt?” Sylus breathes.

You scowl and hiss, “no. Absolutely not. Then you’ll just get hurt more.”

He smiles smugly at the retort, biting his lip as you squeeze your fist around him tighter. “A smart little kitten, aren’t you? Sharpening your claws.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You like me enough to worry. I think that says enough.”

“Asshole,” you glare.

He’s shameless, you think. Because the insult brings him to the edge, his mouth falling open to a beautiful face of bliss, body quivering under you in soft tremors of pleasure. Sylus is beautiful. Dark, rough around the edges, and uncut stone with sharp corners. Beautiful enough to want, dangerous enough to slice your fingers if you don’t know how to touch him properly.

You admire him as he spills into your hands, his lips desperately searching yours as he leans closer and pulls you into a kiss, heavy breaths pouring into your mouth as he gives himself to you.

“Good,” he pants, “you…you make me feel so good.”

“That’s what I’m supposed to be here for,” you murmur, “so you don’t have to feel pain.”

You stroke him through his orgasm, until he’s soft and pliant and limp under your touch. Gently, you stroke his cheek with a thumb as you cup his face. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes.

“As capable as you are,” he says quietly, “I like the idea of you spending your energy in other fields of expertise. Sue me.”

“I should,” you purse your lips. “Sue you for all you’re worth.”

“It’ll be worth the troubles,” he says smugly, “you’ll get quite the sum if you manage to.”

And he’s not a liar, either—so you scoff at his smug, truth-telling grin before giving his curved lips a small peck.

Girl . Idk

[girlygguk]

LIE WITH YOU ⋆ JJK

in which jungkook doesn't realize what he has until he just about loses it.

pairing grumpy!jk x sunshine!(f)reader

genre angst, fluff, roommates au, college au

word count 8.4k

content jk 20 | yn 20, grumpy & troubled jk, soft & overthinking oc, quiet mutual pining, jk outbursts at oc, trouble in roommate paradise, oc turns to her ex to cope, jk turns to substances to cope, marijuana and alcohol consumption, oc is grabbed roughly by a male w/o consent, fight scene, jk beats the shit out of a guy, angsty moments, cute moments, sweet ending

author's note so this is my attempt at the grumpy x sunshine trope and my way of hopefully making up for flopping at drabble night 😭 this could def do w/ a part two, so that option is open for expressions of interest heh.. 🙂‍↕️ love you 💋

beta read by my girlfriend & god's sweetest angel, @lovieku

Jungkook groaned as sunlight crept through the blinds, slicing into the darkness of his room. The familiar clinking of dishes and your humming drifted from the kitchen, grating on his nerves like nails on a fucking chalkboard. He rolled over with a heavy sigh, pulling his pillow over his head, but it did nothing to block you out.

“Wake up, Jungkookie!” your chipper voice rang out. “We’re going to be late! I made your coffee!”

He clenched his jaw, muttering a curse into the mattress as he dragged himself upright. You were always like this—too cheerful, too energetic in the mornings. He never understood how anyone could function with so much fucking energy at this hour, let alone be so damn happy about it. His body moved on autopilot as he trudged into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

You handed him a steaming mug, that same bright smile plastered on your face—the one that seemed to melt everyone else’s hearts. And, yeah, maybe his too on some days. But not today.

"Here you go, Kookie," you said sweetly, placing the cup in his hands. "Figured you’d need an extra shot. I know you were up late last night."

Jungkook muttered a barely audible "thanks," taking the mug as he plopped down on the bar stool, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. His mood was sour, patience wearing thin, and though you kept talking, going on about some assignment or weekend plans, his focus blurred. All he could feel was the irritation bubbling up inside of him.

And then you said it. The one phrase that tipped him right over the edge.

“You better get dressed, Kookie,” you hummed, sipping from your own drink. “It’s a beautiful day! Let's start walking so we can get some of the sunshine—"

“Can you just not for one second?” he snapped, slamming the mug down on the counter, the clank of ceramic echoing in your little flat. “Every morning, Y/N. Every fucking morning, you’re just so jolly and merry. Like, it’s annoying. I can’t take it.”

The silence that followed was instant and suffocating.

Your smile faltered, the usual brightness in your eyes dimming as his words settled over you. Jungkook watched your expression shift into shock and confusion, then into something smaller and quieter. Your shoulders slumped slightly, and without a word, you turned away, focusing on the dishes like you could disappear into them.

Jungkook cursed under his breath when he saw the hurt in your posture, his stomach twisting. He wanted to apologize, to take it back, but he didn't know how. So instead, he pushed off the stool and retreated to his room, the sound of his footsteps heavy as he left you all alone in the kitchen.

The atmosphere in your last class of the day was painfully different from the usual. You sat next to Jungkook, but the banter, the jokes, and the teasing nudges were nowhere to be found. Instead, you kept to yourself, eyes glued to your notebook, only speaking when the professor called on you. And even then, your voice was so much quieter than usual.

Jungkook kept glancing at you, each look tightening the knot of guilt in his chest. He never meant to hurt you. It wasn’t your fault—none of it was. The stress from his deadlines, the sleepless nights, the pressure from work, it was all too much, and he took it out on you. But that wasn’t fair. You had shorter deadlines, longer nights, and two fucking jobs. You never complained. You still smiled. Still hummed in the mornings. Still looked at him like he could do no wrong.

But now, you barely looked at him at all.

When class finally ended, Jungkook reached out to grab his things, intending to walk home with you, just like you always did on Fridays. But when he turned, you were already halfway out the door, your bag slung over your shoulder, disappearing before he could even catch up.

His heart sank right to his ass.

For the first time in months, you didn’t walk home together. No light footsteps beside him, no playful nudges, no laughter bubbling up between the two of you as you made your way through the streets. There were no silly word games that you always roped him into, the ones he pretended to hate but secretly looked forward to. Without you, everything felt… quiet.

Jungkook shoved his hands into his pockets, the weight of your absence gnawing at him much more than he expected. He trudged back to the apartment alone, grumbling under his breath the entire way.

Jungkook sat on the couch, phone in his hand, staring grumpily at the “seen” message on his last text. He had sent it over an hour ago.

Hey👋 Where r u? Did u still wanna get takeout for dinner?

He glanced over at the cold takeout sitting on the counter, your orange chicken untouched. His own meal was getting cold too, but he didn’t care. The apartment was far too quiet without you there, and the empty seat beside him felt heavier than usual.

He swallowed harshly, flicking through shows on the TV, finally landing on Fire Guardians. It was your thing—watching together every Friday night, a tradition of sorts. But he couldn’t bring himself to press play without you. It wouldn’t feel right.

It had been two years since you and Jungkook moved in together. You came into his life through Jimin, the first person Jungkook met at uni. And if Jimin was a ray of sunshine, you made him look like a grumpy, moody cloud. Well… like him.

Living with you had turned out to be this strange, quiet sort of heaven, though you always acted like he’d done you this huge favor by letting you move in. As if he didn’t look forward to coming home every day just to see you.

When you first moved in, the two of you tried to rotate cooking duties. He remembered you sitting there, waiting for him to tell you your cooking was awful—which, yeah, it absolutely was—but he never said a thing. You called him sweet that day, and he could still remember how those words sounded coming out of your mouth. How they made him feel. No one had ever called him that before.

Now, he did most of the cooking, while you handled the cleaning. And on the nights he was too tired, you’d order takeout. It was domestic. Stupid. Amazing.

The apartment complex wasn’t anything special, just cheaper than dorms and close to campus. That was the whole deal—you guys were saving for something better, something bigger. You were studying to be an elementary school teacher, and he knew you were going to be the fucking best. Meanwhile, Jungkook was racking up his hours and experience as an apprentice at Modify, a tattoo parlor in the city.

The plan was simple. You’d both graduate, find a nice place close to the school you land a job at, and he’d find a parlor nearby. Easy.

Jungkook had never been good at making friends—he knew that. He could count the people in his circle on one hand and still have fingers left. It wasn’t a mystery to him why that was. People didn’t get close because he didn’t let them. He knew the way he came accross; closed off, intimidating. But somehow you managed to slip right past all of that. 

You, however, were the complete fucking opposite. Everyone knew you. Everyone loved you. It didn’t matter where you were, whether it was in class or working at the cafe, people just naturally gravitated toward you. You had this way of making everyone feel welcome, included. You were bubbly, outgoing, could strike up a conversation with anybody. 

Jungkook had seen it a million times—how you could light up a room just by walking in. How you could talk to anyone, about anything, and leave them feeling like they’d known you forever.

But despite all of that, despite the swarm of friends, classmates that circled around you like moths to a flame, you always found your way back to him.

Jungkook didn’t understand it, not at first. You had everyone, you could be anywhere. But somehow, no matter where you went or who was pulling for your attention, you always came back to him. Even if it was just the two of you sitting quietly on the couch, sharing space without needing to fill it with words, you chose him.

He noticed it most when he’d get home late from the parlor. Sometimes he’d come through the door, expecting you to be out with friends, but you’d be there. Always. Maybe sitting cross-legged in his hoodie, scrolling through your phone or reading some article for school. Or curled up in a fluffy blanket, waiting for him to come home so you could say goodnight to him properly before finally crashing out on your own bed.

Maybe it was just your thing. Maybe you made everyone feel like they mattered, like they were important. But there was something different about the way you looked at him. The way you lit up when he came home, no matter how late or tired he was. The way you’d call him at the most random times just to ask what he wanted for dinner, if he needed anything.

It wasn’t the same with anyone else.

Or… at least he hoped it wasn’t.

Just as Jungkook was about to send another text, the door creaked open. His head snapped up, maybe a little too eagerly.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice soft, cautious.

You offered him a small smile, one that didn’t reach your eyes, before heading toward your room. That was not your smile. Nowhere near it.

God, he's such an asshole.

“Angel, um, wait, please,” he called out, pushing himself off the couch. His tone shifted, softer now. Vulnerable. “I’m sorry. About this morning. I was just—”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off, turning back to him with a polite, small smile. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Jungkook. Um, I’m actually going out tonight, so…”

You trailed off, your eyes flickering past him toward the untouched takeout on the counter. His heart dropped at the sight of your lip gloss smudged slightly on your bottom lip, the way your eyes barely lingered on him, how you used his full name instead of your usual nickname.

“Oh,” he mumbled, his throat tightening. “Okay. To Tae’s party?”

You nodded quietly, turning back toward your room. Jungkook swallowed, trying to steady his voice.

“I thought we weren’t going to that tonight?” He couldn't stop the disappointment from bleeding through his words. “The new episode of Fire Guardians is out…”

“You can watch it without me,” you said softly, disappearing into your room before he could even think of a response.

Jungkook stood there, staring at the door as it clicked shut.

Watch it without you? As fucking if. He would never.

But then again… he was also “never going to snap at you,” right?

He swallowed hard, running a hand through his hair, jaw clenched so tight it almost hurt. He lingered by your door for a moment. Then, with a low groan, he turned on his heel and made his way back to his room to get ready for Taehyung's party.

The soft sound of IU playing from your phone on the other side of the wall made his fist clench around the shirt in his drawer. That was your sad music.

God, he could fucking spew.

“Kook!” Taehyung greeted with his big, toothy grin, pulling Jungkook into a bro hug. “Good to see you, man! Thought you weren’t coming tonight?”

Jungkook shrugged, forcing a smile for his friend before glancing around the packed floor of Taehyung’s penthouse. The Kims were loaded, and this wasn’t even the most extravagant party Tae had thrown, but it still must have cost a few grand. Jungkook barely registered the lavish surroundings, his mind very much elsewhere.

“Change of plans,” Jungkook muttered, eyes scanning the crowd. “Have you seen—”

“Y/N?” Taehyung finished for him, a knowing laugh escaping as he shoved an unopened beer into Jungkook’s hand. He pointed toward the living room. “Yeah, man, she’s over there, with, uh…”

Jungkook didn’t hear much after that. His gaze locked on you sitting on the couch, leaning against Jisung. Your ex-boyfriend.

Taehyung must’ve seen the way Jungkook’s expression shifted because he didn’t say anything else, just threw an arm around the younger boy's shoulders and steered him toward the lounge.

As they got closer, you glanced up, blinking in surprise when you saw Jungkook. Your body stiffened slightly, and you sat up a little from where you had been resting against Jisung. Your ex, who had been mid-conversation with his friend Minho, glanced down at you when he sensed the change in your demeanour.

“You good, babe?” he asked quietly.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched. He dropped onto the free couch next to Taehyung, twisting the cap off his beer with more force than necessary, eyes narrowing as he stared into nothing.

You nodded at Jisung as you ignored the pet name, but the discomfort in your chest was not as easy to push aside.

You knew how much Jungkook disliked Jisung. He had been there when you were a sobbing mess after Jisung broke up with you, picking up the pieces when you couldn’t even function. And now here you were, sitting under Jisung’s arm like nothing had happened. You couldn’t stop the guilt from swirling in your stomach, couldn’t stop imagining what Jungkook must be thinking.

But you tried not to dwell on it too long. After all, you were just an annoyance to him, right? He didn't explicitly say it, but you know you. Always hovering, always seeking him out, always needing something. Maybe you were doing him a favor by being here with Jisung. If you got back together with him like he had been begging you to, maybe you’d finally give Jungkook the space he seemed to need. Maybe you wouldn’t be so clingy anymore. Maybe, eventually, you’d move in with Jisung, and Jungkook wouldn’t have to deal with you at all.

Jungkook’s gaze, however, was already dragging over your outfit. That little black skirt—the one that always made your ass look so fucking good. Enough of your thighs were showing that he could easily imagine sinking his teeth into the soft, warm flesh. His head tilted a little as his eyes trailed up to the slightly cropped flowery top you wore, rising just enough to reveal a sliver of your stomach. Jungkook watched Jisung’s fingers trace mindlessly at the strip of bare skin, and his grip tightened around the beer bottle as he took a long drink, forcing his gaze to shift to the floor.

It was infuriating. He didn’t know who he was fucking angier at. You, for sitting there with Jisung like it was fucking nothing, or himself, for caring about something that shouldn’t even be his problem.

Your eyes met his for just a second, and for a brief moment, Jungkook saw the sadness there. He wanted to go over, to ask if you were really okay, but instead, he looked away, taking another swig from his beer. You pressed yourself further into Jisung’s side, retreating into your own hurt.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched tighter, his knuckles white as they gripped the neck of the bottle. And when Taehyung leaned over, blunt in hand, Jungkook didn’t hesitate. He pulled the beer away from his mouth and slipped the blunt between his lips, inhaling deeply. The familiar burn settled in his chest, a sensation he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the movement, saw the smoke curling around him, and your heart dropped.

He had been doing so well. He was eighty four days clean. It wasn’t that you had a problem with him smoking—you didn’t, but you knew what it meant to him to stop. His family’s long, dark history with addiction weighed heavily on him, and he had promised himself he wouldn’t let the cycle continue.

“Jungkook,” you said, your voice barely audible over the music. You tried to sit up, but Jisung’s arm was draped heavily over you, pinning you in place. “Jisung, I need to sit up, please.”

You tapped his arm, but he barely reacted, too engrossed in his conversation with Minho.

Jungkook didn’t even look in your direction. He took another long drag before the first hit had even settled, his expression cold and distant. Then he grabbed another blunt and lighter from beside Taehyung, stood silently, and headed for the door.

You didn’t think. You just moved, shoving Jisung’s arm off and muttering a quick apology when he shot you a confused look. You adjusted your skirt when it had risen as you stood and hurried after Jungkook.

“Jungkook, wait, can you slow down, please?” you called, your voice straining over the music while you weaved through the crowd. For a moment, you thought he hadn’t heard you, but then he slowed, just enough for you to catch up. He didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge you, but he held the door open as you slipped outside.

The cold night air hit you both as you walked down the stone steps in silence, the sound of the party fading behind you. When you reached the bottom and sat down, Jungkook followed suit, blunt still dangling between his fingers, the end of it flickering weakly. He puffed at it, reigniting the embers before taking another drag. He gave a low sniffle, his tinnitus acting up like it always did when he smoked.

After a long pause, you reached for the blunt, but Jungkook pulled it away, rolling his eyes as he did.

Your hand fell limply back into your lap, frowning as he took another slow hit, his eyes fixed on the empty street ahead.

“So, you can break your three-month sobriety, but I can’t have one smoke?” you asked with furrowed brows.

“Yep,” he replied, exhaling away from your face.

Your eyes narrowed at him before you mumbled, “that doesn’t seem fair."

“That sucks.” He shrugged, finishing off the blunt before stubbing it out under his shoe. Without hesitation, he started lighting the next one.

You bit down hard on your lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Why are you being such a jerk?” Your voice trembled slightly, and you turned away before he could see the tears welling in your eyes. “Are you really that sick of me?”

Jungkook froze, lighter still sparked in his hand. His grip tightened, the flame flickering out during the long pause. His body went rigid as your words sank in before he slowly turned to look at you.

You were sitting there, lips pressed to the side in that way you did when you were trying not to cry, and he wanted to punch himself in the fucking face.

God, he was such an asshole.

All he had done today was hurt you, push you away, and now here you were, thinking that you were a burden, that he was sick of you. 

He wasn’t sick of you.

Far fucking from it.

But how was he supposed to say that? How was he supposed to admit that the thought of losing you terrified him more than anything? That seeing you with Jisung tonight had ripped him apart. That he couldn’t stand how easily you seemed to be slipping away, falling back into old patterns that didn’t include him. That all he wanted was to take you home, put you in one of his hoodies, curl up on the couch, and watch the new episode of Fire fucking Guardians together. Eat the rest of your orange chicken because you always insisted on getting a large even though you never finished it.

But he couldn’t say any of that.

So he didn’t.

Instead, he sparked the second blunt, raising it to his lips for a long, angry drag. The silence between you stretched heavily and painful. Then he saw it—the tears finally spilling over, running freely down your cheeks.

You pulled your phone from your skirt and started swiping through the Uber app. The glow of the screen lit your face as you sniffled quietly, your fingers trembling as you clicked to confirm the ride.

Jungkook frowned, pulling the stick from his mouth, the smoke lingering in the air between you. “Y/N, please don’t cry,” he said lowly. “And don’t get an Uber… I’ll walk you home.”

“That’s okay,” you replied shakily, wiping quickly over your eyes. “I don’t want to burden you more than I already have.”

You sniffled again, the sound breaking through the quiet as you stood up. “Um, I’m just going to grab some things and stay at Jimin’s tonight. Give you some space.” You paused, hand trembling as you ran it under your eyes, trying to pull yourself together. “If you’re… reconsidering us living together, just let me know. I’ll apply for a dorm next semester and—”

“What?” His eyes were wide, voice sharp as he stood up. “No. Don’t-don’t fucking do that. I don’t- I’m not—” He huffed, frustration and panic mingling as the weed fogged his thoughts, making it harder for him to convey what he wanted to say.

God, he was so fucking stupid!

He hastily threw the blunt to the side, the sparks fading as it hit the ground. He closed the distance between you in two steps, hand reaching out as if he could somehow stop you from slipping away.

“Y/N, please don’t leave. I don’t know what I’d do if you moved out. Just—please.”

You looked away, the embarrassment of crying making it harder to speak. “Well, something’s changed, Kookie,” you said shakily. “I thought I just caught you at the wrong time this morning, and I know I can be a lot sometimes, but… I don’t want to stay if you’re unhappy.” Your gaze dropped to the ground as you fought to keep steady. “I don’t want this turning into resentment. I can’t have you hating me. I-I can’t.”

Jungkook’s heart shattered at the sight of you—shoulders hunched, lip trembling as you tried so hard to hide your tears. He clenched his fists, hating himself for being the reason you were standing there thinking he was unhappy. That he could ever hate you.

You took a shaky breath, running a hand through your hair as you tried to calm yourself. “I’m going to go get Taehyung so he can stay with you. You haven’t smoked in a while and your tolerance is low,” you said quietly, turning to climb back up the steps into the house.

Jungkook didn’t move. He just stood there, heart cracking, feet rooted to the ground as he watched you walk away.

Five minutes later, you were almost back at the front door, a bottle of water for Jungkook in hand. You had spoken with Taehyung, asking him to keep an eye on Jungkook for you since you were heading home. He could tell something was wrong—he'd never seen you look this sad before, and it clearly worried him. But instead of pressing you for details, he simply nodded and promised to hang with Jungkook and make sure he got home safe.

Jisung’s voice cut through your thoughts as he walked up to you. “Hey, babe, is everything okay? I made you a drink and couldn’t find you… come back to the lounge?”

You glanced up at him, swallowing back a grimace. Going back to the couch with him was the last thing you wanted right now. At that realization, guilt twisted sudden and deep in your gut. You knew you were using him, even if it hadn’t been conscious at first. But after just finally letting yourself cry for the first time today, the reason for your actions had become crystal clear.

Jisung had been surprised when you texted him after your last class, finally agreeing to meet up after months of declining his advances. You’d gone to his dorm, made out a little, but when he tried to take it further, you’d pulled away and claimed you weren’t feeling well. You had agreed to come to the party tonight, thinking maybe it would help. That maybe it would ease the ache in your chest from feeling like such a burden to the one person who mattered most to you.

What Jungkook said this morning wasn’t horrible. If anything, it was true. You were too chipper in the mornings. But you had never gotten the sense it bothered him before. If you had, you would’ve toned it down. You thought he was okay with your personality. You thought he liked it. He said he did… He was probably just lying to spare your feelings.

God, you were such an idiot.

“I’m really sorry, Jisung, I just don’t feel well tonight. Could we try another night? I’ll text you later. I just—I need to lay down for a bit.”

You watched as Jisung’s grip tightened around the glass in his hand, his expression shifting from something concerned and hopeful to something much darker.

“Do you ever get tired, Y/N?”

The question threw you. You fidgeted with the water bottle in your hands, blinking. “I- uh- what do you mean?”

“Do you ever get tired of leading guys on?” he sneered, his eyes dragging over you in a way that made your skin crawl. “Pretending you’re gonna give it up, only to leave them hanging while you run back to your depressed-ass boy toy?”

For a second, you couldn’t believe what you’d just heard. That someone you had been in a relationship with, that you had cried over losing, could say something so horrible.

“E-excuse me?” Your voice trembled slightly, but the anger flared hotter than the hurt. “First of all, I don’t lead anyone on. And second of all, Jungkook isn’t—” You stepped closer, defensiveness spiking in your gut. “Don’t talk about him like that. You don’t know anything about him.”

Jisung let out a cruel, mocking laugh, shaking his head. “Please. It’s pathetic, Y/N. The way you follow him around, waiting for him to give a shit. You really think he’s gonna be there for you? That he wants you the way you want him? Wake the fuck up.”

“Fuck you,” you spat, stepping back, the bottle trembling in your grip. Your heart pounded as you turned to leave, but Jisung’s hand shot out, grabbing your arm and pulling you back into him.

“Don’t walk away from me.”

“Let go, Jisung.” You yanked your arm, panic crawling up your spine as his grip tightened, his fingers digging into your skin.

“I’m doing you a favor,” he snarled. “You think that fucking degenerate could offer you more than I can?” He scoffed, his breath hot against your face. “Oh, please.”

Anger surged through you so hot it was blinding. Your palms pressed against his chest, and with all the strength you could muster, you shoved him so hard it even shocked yourself. Jisung stumbled back, his shoulder hitting the front door with a loud thud, and for a second, he looked startled. But then his expression darkened even further as he stepped toward you again.

You were about to throw the water bottle at him and make a run for it when the door suddenly swung open. Jungkook appeared, his eyes scanning the commotion that he heard through the door, finally landing on the sight of Jisung towering over you.

He didn’t think. He just moved.

Before you could say anything, Jungkook was lunging at Jisung, but Taehyung rushed in behind him, grabbing the back of his shirt before he could make contact.

“Kook, don’t—”

In his attempt to dodge your best friend, Jisung stumbled, his shoulder slamming into yours. Your footing slipped, and you landed hard on the floor, ass-first. A few girls who had been dancing nearby rushed over when they saw you fall.

“Y/N! Are you okay?” one of them asked, her voice full of concern as she grabbed your arm to help you up. She gasped as you winced, pulling her hand away and seeing the red marks forming on your skin. "Oh my god—"

“I’m okay,” you said quickly, shaking your head even as your voice wavered slightly. “I’m fine, really, Eunji. Thank you.”

Jungkook was there in an instant, shaking off Taehyung’s grip as he dropped to his knees beside you. His hands hovered over your thighs before settling there as his eyes scanned your face.

“Are you o—” His voice faltered, cut off as his gaze dropped to your arm, the bruises standing out starkly against your skin. His entire expression shifted, his worry morphing into something darker, something furious.

He didn’t speak, didn’t even blink before he was on his feet, turning back to Jisung with murder written all over his face.

Your phone buzzed in your hand, the Uber notification flashing across the screen

Before he could storm off, you grabbed his hand. “Jungkook, my Uber’s here,” you pleaded. "Please, let's just go. Please."

You could feel the tension in his body, every muscle coiled and ready to explode. But when you tugged at his hand again, his eyes finally met yours. For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze flicking between you and Jisung, who stood there with that smug, unbothered look that only fueled Jungkook's rage further. But after what felt like forever, he nodded stiffly and helped you to your feet, intertwining his fingers with yours as he led you toward the door.

Just as you reached the threshold, Jisung’s laugh echoed behind you.

“Yeah, go run after your little bitch, Jeon,” he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “I get it, bro. I’d be all over that too. Tightest pussy on campus, huh?”

Welp.

Jungkook broke from your grip instantly and swung around so fast you almost didn't catch it. His fist connected with Jisung’s jaw before anyone could stop him, sending him crashing straight to the floor. 

But he didn’t stop. Jungkook dropped to his knees, landing punch after punch, his knuckles splitting as they collided with Jisung’s face, the sound of bone crunching under the force of his blows.

You stood frozen, your breath caught in your throat as you stared at Jungkook straddling your ex-boyfriend's waist, fists reeling back before surging forward again and again and again.

“Shit, Kook! That’s enough, man. You’re gonna fucking kill him.” Taehyung was back, rushing in with a few others, grabbing Jungkook by the arms and trying to pull him away. It took at least three of them to drag him off Jisung.

Jisung was still on the floor, groaning in pain, blood coating his mouth, face already beginning to swell. You just stared, unable to look away, the image of his bloodied, battered face searing itself into your mind. Your stomach twisted violently as bile rose in your throat. Damn it. You were going to be sick all over the Kims’ ten thousand dollar rug.

Jungkook was panting, his chest heaving with the adrenaline and rage still coursing through him. But when his eyes landed on you, all the fight drained from his body. His heart dropped as he saw the look on your face.

You looked so fucking terrified.

“Y/N, fuck,” he whispered, his voice raw as he broke away from Taehyung's grip. He took a slow, hesitant step toward you. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. Please don’t cry. Don’t—please.”

But, of course, you were already crying, hot tears slipping down your cheeks uncontrollably. You shook your head, your voice barely audible through the sobs that wracked your chest. “C-can we please go now?”

He nodded quickly. “Of course,” he said softly, surprised you still wanted to leave with him, as he reached out to take your hand. “C’mon.”

The two of you slipped out of the house, pausing to apologize to Taehyung on your way out. Tae just shook his head, the worry in his eyes masked by a small, comforting smile. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, his voice gentle as he wrapped you in a hug. “Just get home safe. I’ve got a couple of the boys cleaning up Jisung. I’ll get an Uber to send his ass home soon.”

Your heart sank as you thought about what this might cost Jungkook—charges, money, a mark on his record that could follow him for years. It made you feel sick just thinking about it.

Jungkook must have seen the panic starting to take root in your expression because he gently squeezed your hand, pulling you toward the waiting Uber before you could spiral further into your thoughts.

“I don’t care about any of it,” he muttered under his breath as you climbed into the back seat. “Jisung’s a dirty piece of shit. He had it coming.”

He helped you settle in before climbing in beside you. As soon as the car started moving, the weight of everything hit you all at once. You leaned into Jungkook’s shoulder, your body shaking with quiet sobs as you clutched his hand in your lap. The sight of his bloody knuckles made your chest ache even more.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

Jungkook wrapped his free arm around you, pulling you closer. His mouth pressed gently against the top of your head, and you felt his warm breath against your hair as he whispered, “Don’t apologize.” His lips brushed softly against you. “None of this is your fault. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“This-this is your tattooing hand,” you whimpered, your tears slipping down your cheeks as you gently cradled his hand. “God, Kookie… I’m so sor—”

“Stop,” he cut in softly but firmly, pulling his hand away from your view before you could spiral further. “It's not your fault, and I don’t care about my hand.” He made sure not to get any blood on you as he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you snug against his chest. His face nuzzled into your hair, his hold on you tightening as you sniffled and leaned deeper into his warmth, your arms instinctively curling around his waist.

The rest of the ride passed in silence, the weight of the night pressing down on both of you, but Jungkook kept you close, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your side as he held you.

When the car finally pulled up outside your apartment, you quietly pulled out your phone, making sure to tip the Uber driver 50% before you hopped out. You apologized profusely for being late, your voice soft and exhausted.

The driver barely acknowledged you, grumbling something under his breath that made Jungkook’s jaw clench in irritation. He opened his mouth, ready to snap back, but before he could, you reached back into the car and tugged him out by the hand.

“Give him one star,” Jungkook grumbled as the two of you made your way up the steps to your apartment complex.

For the first time all day, a small laugh escaped your lips. It was quiet, tired, and caught even you by surprise, but it was there. And it was enough to make Jungkook’s heart swell in his chest.

God, he missed that sound so much.

The apartment was quiet when you both finally stepped inside, closing the door on the loud night behind you. For a few moments, neither of you said anything. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, just tired. 

“Do you need to talk, Kookie?” you asked softly.

Jungkook nodded, leaning against the counter, eyes on you as you toed off your boots and lined them up neatly by the door. You straightened his Adidas that had been knocked over, placing them neatly beside your shoes.

“Later,” he muttered, pushing himself off the counter and heading for the fridge. “Needa eat before I pass out.”

You let out a soft laugh, your shoulders relaxing as you watched him pull out the takeout containers. He hadn’t touched his food earlier, and a frown crept back upon your face. You wondered if he’d even eaten anything at all during the day. Your schedules were different most of the week, except Fridays, when you had the same last class. Normally, you'd text him about what you'd eaten and check in with each other, but today had been different. You hadn’t even responded to his text this afternoon.

Jungkook glanced at you from the corner of his eye, a small smile playing on his lips as he noticed you eyeing the food. He had the same thought—wondering if you had eaten today. Without saying anything, he warmed up both bowls in the microwave, letting the quiet fill the space between you.

As the microwave hummed, you stepped closer, gently taking his right hand in yours. The blood had dried, but his knuckles were bruising, and your chest tightened at the sight. Silent, you led him over to the sink, carefully washing the dried blood from his hand. Jungkook didn’t argue or pull away, just stood quietly as you ran the warm water over his skin.

Once the food was ready, he grabbed both containers while you grabbed some forks and napkins and followed him to the couch. You both sat down, pulling the throw blanket over your laps as you settled in.

“We’ll wait until tomorrow to watch Fire Guardians, yeah?” Jungkook mumbled between bites. “Didn’t wanna watch it without you.”

You paused, your hand hovering over the remote as his words sank in. Your eyes lit up a little, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Okay. Thank you,” you said softly, warmth spreading through your chest at the thought of him waiting for you.

You flicked through Disney Plus, finally settling on Grey’s Anatomy. You’d both seen it a hundred times, but it felt comforting in the moment, something familiar. As you sat there picking at your food and letting the soft murmur of the show fill the background, everything felt a little more normal. The chaos of the night faded, replaced with the quiet comfort of home.

Jungkook ate quietly beside you, and every time your eyes met, he offered a small, reassuring smile, as if to say, we’ll be fine. You believed him.

Once the food was gone, you snapped back into practical mode. “Okay, let’s go,” you said, grabbing his hand gently and pulling him up from the couch.

Jungkook huffed but didn’t resist as you led him to the bathroom. “I’m too tired for this,” he huffed, dragging his feet like a child. “Can we sleep, please? Do this tomorrow?”

“You’ll live, Kookie,” you mused, rolling your eyes. “Gotta patch you up before we sleep.”

He sighed, slumping down onto the toilet seat like a sulking kid, but he didn’t fight you. You stood between his legs, grabbing one of your hairties and pulling your hair into a pony before gently cradling his hand as you began to wash the cuts and bruises once more.

He could tell you were being extra careful not to hurt him, the warm water turning pink as it rinsed away the grime, but Jungkook barely noticed. He just watched you, his eyes following every movement as you worked. The scent of your soft perfume, the feel of your gentle, smaller hands on his, the way your brow furrowed cutely as you concentrated.

When you finished cleaning his hand, you pulled out the pack of bright pink band-aids from the drawer and started sticking them all over his knuckles. It was almost comical—his large hand covered in far too many tiny pink band-aids. You stepped back, chuckling at the sight.

“There. All patched up,” you said with a little snort. “Just until we go to the hospital tomorrow, Kookie... Ah, gosh, that’s so sad…”

Jungkook blinked down at his hand, then back up at you, his lips twitching. “S’ok,” he muttered, leaning forward to rest his head against your stomach. He exhaled softly, his warm breath tickling your skin as he murmured, “Tired.”

Your fingers automatically slipped into his hair, gently combing through the messy strands as you cradled his head against you. “I know,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “Skincare, then sleep. C'mon.”

Jungkook groaned but stood up, letting you guide him to the sink. You both brushed your teeth, standing side by side, barely fitting into the small frame of the mirror of your tiny bathroom. Jungkook was taller than the vanity entirely, so his face wasn't visible in the reflection when he stood up straight. You always found that oddly cute.

When it came time to wash your faces, you pumped some of your cleanser onto your hand and offered him some. He took it, following your lead as you both washed up in silence.

As you rinsed off the soap, Jungkook’s gaze lingered on your face—peaceful, serene. Despite everything that had happened tonight, this was the most normal he’d felt all day.

He was in a trance when the words slipped out. "You're pretty."

Your hand froze mid-motion, towel now pressed to your cheek as you blinked in surprise. The corners of his mouth lifted into a soft smile at the startled look in your big eyes, and before you could say anything, he took the towel from your hands. He dried his own face before standing there, waiting for you to continue with the next step of your routine.

Your brows furrowed slightly as you processed his words, that stupid flutter in your stomach returning. Why did he say things like that if he didn’t mean them? Did he mean them?

You recovered quickly, blinking away your thoughts as you offered him a little smile, poking his stomach gently. "You're pretty too, Kookie."

Jungkook let out a quiet laugh, leaning into the counter as you grabbed your moisturizer. You pumped a bit into your hand, holding it out toward him like you always did, waiting for him to extend his hand. But instead, he simply tilted his head as he closed his eyes.

"Can you do it, please? M'tired..."

Your mouth parted in shock before you shook your head with a soft laugh. “You’re such a baby,” you teased, but yet without hesitation… your hands reached up to smooth the moisturizer over his face.

Your fingers were gentle as they glided across his skin, and Jungkook hummed in contentment, leaning into your touch. His skin was cool under your warm fingertips as you worked the moisturizer into his cheeks, his forehead, and along the line of his jaw. When his face shifted slightly beneath your hands, you gave his cheeks a playful squeeze.

"Stop moving," you mumbled softly.

His face relaxed, and you found yourself lingering on the task longer than necessary. But when you noticed that you hadn’t covered his nose properly, you whispered, “wait,” before grabbing a bit more moisturizer. You gently rubbed it into his pretty nose, your touch tender and focused.

When you were finally done, you pulled back and admired your work, a satisfied smile playing on your lips. Without thinking, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. "All done."

Jungkook’s breath hitched slightly, his throat tightening at the feeling of your lips on his skin. He swallowed hard, the touch of your kiss lingering more than it should’ve. It wasn’t unusual for you two to cuddle or exchange small kisses, usually on the forehead or the cheek. He doesn't know why the kiss on his nose felt so… intimate.

Slowly, he blinked his eyes open, watching as you moved back toward the mirror, completely unaware of the effect you had on him.

He stayed still, his eyes following every movement as you massaged the last bit of moisturizer into your own skin, your face illuminated softly under the bathroom light. A comfortable silence settled between you before he broke it.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

You looked over at him with the prettiest smile—the real one, not the small, fake smiles you’d been giving him all day. His heart felt full. “Of course, Kookie. I like doing your skincare. You should let me do it more often.”

You don’t need my permission to touch my face whenever you want, he thought. But in reality, said nothing of the sort.

“For everything, I mean,” Jungkook clarified, watching the way your expression shifted slightly, a confused pout forming as you washed your hands. “For dealing with my moods, for always being there for me, for being my best friend, for—”

You spun toward him so quickly, water droplets splashing from your hands. You gawked at him in surprise, and for a moment, panic fluttered in his chest. Had he said something wrong? He hadn’t meant to upset you—

“You consider me your best friend?” you gasped, voice small as tears welled up in your eyes.

Jungkook froze. “Uh, I just—I mean, yeah, well—”

“Oh, Kookie,” you sniffled, closing the distance between you in two little steps, your arms wrapping around his waist. You pressed yourself against him, and it wasn't long before he leaned down, resting his mouth against your head, his hand rubbing soothingly at the nape of your neck. “You’ve never said that before. I’m so happy.”

“Oh,” he mumbled. “Sorry. I thought you knew.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, chin resting on his chest, your eyes still glossy but now with the brightest smile on your face. “Of course I knew, you treat me so well,” you said, your voice gentle. “I just didn’t want to say it out loud in case I scared you off or something...” You let out a small chuckle, your fingers gently squeezing his sides. “You’re my best friend too. I love you.”

Jungkook’s throat tightened. “I love you more,” he whispered as he glanced down at your face—your gorgeous, soft, perfect fucking face. His hand slid up to press your face back against his chest before he did something stupid.

His lips rested back on your hair, and he stayed there for a quiet moment, just taking in the warmth of you. 

Oh, fuck it.

“You love me more than Jimin?”

You giggled into his shirt, your fingers squeezing around his waist teasingly. “I love you more than anyone in the world. Surely you know that.”

His heart soared at your words, bottom lip rolling between his teeth.

He couldn't help himself, okay... "And you're going to live with me forever?"

You glanced back up at him, confused at first, but then smiling at his almost shy question. He pulled back just enough to see your face properly, his thumb gently brushing away the lingering tear tracks from your puffy cheeks. He even swiped under your nose, ridding the moisture there too.

“If you still want me to,” you answered quietly, your voice soft and full of uncertainty.

Jungkook’s chest tightened at the doubt in your tone. How could you even question that? How could the most beautiful, sweet, intelligent girl he's ever met in his life ever feel unwanted?

Hmm… maybe because you made her feel like that, you fucking idiot—

Jungkook cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on your cheeks. “I was in such a bad mood this morning, Y/N. I’m so sorry I took it out on you—”

But you shook your head, your hand rubbing up and down one of his arms soothingly. “You’re stressed, I understand now—”

He huffed, his brows pulling together in frustration. “Don’t do that. Don’t make excuses for me being an asshole. You always do that.”

Your lips formed a little pout, and his heart ached at how easily you forgave him. “I did not fucking mean anything of that shit. You are not annoying. You are not too cheerful. You are fucking perfect,” he said, his voice full of raw honesty. “I’m the one who’s fucking impossible in the mornings, but you never say anything… I just—”

Jungkook sighed, brushing his thumb over your cheek again, as if reassuring himself that you were still there. “It will never happen again, Y/N, I promise. If I’m ever in a mood like that again, I’ll just stay in my room and lock the door so I don’t do anything to upset you.” He shrugged, eyes tracing over your face. “Simple.”

A small laugh bubbled from your lips as you reached up to hold his wrists gently. “You’re so ridiculous, Kookie.”

After finishing up in the bathroom, you and Jungkook made your way to your rooms to change into pajamas. You slipped into your usual sleep shorts and t-shirt, rubbing at your tired eyes as you padded back into the hallway to say goodnight to your best friend.

Jungkook appeared from his room at the same time, wearing loose sweats and a black tee, his hair still damp from washing up. He lingered in the doorway for a moment, his hand gripping the frame as he hesitated before speaking.

“Uh… can I… can I sleep in your room tonight?” His voice was soft, so shy and your heart clenched. What a cutie.

“Yes,” you beamed, grabbing his non-bandaged hand and tugging him with you into your room.

You crawled under your blanket as Jungkook slid in beside you, his larger frame making the bed dip as he settled in, pulling the covers up over you both. You curled up next to him, your head sinking into the pillow as your eyes adjusted to the dim light, tracing the faint lines of his pretty face.

“Goodnight, Kookie,” you mumbled, your voice heavy with sleep as your eyes fluttered closed.

There was a quiet shuffling beside you, the bed shifting slightly before his soft voice broke the silence. “Goodnight, angel.”

You barely registered the brush of his lips against the top of your head before you were fully drifting, his warmth lulling you into a peaceful sleep.

Jungkook lay there for a moment longer, his head sinking into your pillow as he exhaled deeply. The smell of you enveloped him, and for the first time all day, he felt his body relax completely, slipping into the easiest sleep he’s had in weeks.

perm taglist: @elinaki92 @parapiop7 @photogenius-530 @vantaebearr @crazy-eight17 @aalisiyahxstar @lovieku @apobangpogirlyyy @jungkookmyoneandonlybaby @whoa-jo @kooeuphoria @junecat18 @fr0ggieth1nk @joonwater @myjungkookthighs @nikidream24 @whothefuckisthishoe @4noirre @gaebestie @lllucere @kissyfacekoo @rpwprpwprpwprw @granataepfelchen @yoonstaar @dutifullybeautifulperson @leire-mia @nemelkawar @scorpiochiq @jaebae420 @epsilonx1 @babigriin @nen-nyy @cuntessaiii @wobblewobble822 @alessioayla @angeljmnie @cherryontop33 @nikkinikj @jenniebyrubies @morosisxx @dna-black-and-blue @kimjennie @sabrina6272827 @mila-williamsblog @thexmns-blog @canarystwin @rjsmochii @futuristicenemychaos @lizzikoo

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𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐫𝐲

pairing: yandere satoru gojo x chubby reader

summary: at the beginning gojo made your life hell when he first sees you because you won't give him attention. then it all changes, he just hated seeing you cry and he'll use all his resources and power to love you and spoil you

word count: 14.7k words

a/n: okay okay! i'm back! with something incredibly longer compared to every other oneshot i've written. i started this before gojo's birthday but it just kept getting longer and longer, then came the holidays and then i got ill too but it's finally finished, yay! i hope you all enjoy this and of course like always make sure you read the warnings before reading x

content warnings: gojo is a yandere!! friends to lovers, hints of stalking, gojo manipulates everyone, mentions of breeding, fingering, rough unprotective sex, cumming inside, gojo calls her 'silly girl' in his head and thinks she thinks to much (kind of like 'you don't need to think or make decisions or earn money because i can do that for you'), dirty talk, dumbification, objectification(?), submissive reader, dominant gojo, petnames: princess, sweetheart, (good girl) (if i've missed anything please let me know because it's very possible with 14.7k words - mdni / 18+

everyone flocks to satoru gojo, girls and guys alike, they want his attention, if only for a second, and want to be noticed by him. he's the beating heart to every social situation, with an ability to draw every single eye in the room on him, feeding off the spotlight and admiration. whatever he wants he gets it, he has since he was a young child so why are you being so difficult?

there's not many who he considers his equal, if he had to pick out one it would be his best friend from childhood suguru geto, two families telling their children to talk to the other in hopes to form more connections. gojo remembers to this day being five years old dressed up in a suit that was too stuffy for any five year old to wear, taken to a party with his parents. everywhere he looked there were elites and politicians, anyone and everyone with power. he remembers the nudge his mother gave him towards suguru's direction, telling her son to make friends. others at the university are lesser than him, but they're entertaining for a short duration, before he gets bored of them and tosses them away for someone else, that is.

then there's the nobodies, the lowest of the low. uninteresting in every way possible with nothing to offer him, nothing to pique his interest and in terms of satoru gojo you're a typical nobody but even the nobodies look his way when they think people won't notice. even the really shy ones or the stubborn ones who always say how much they despise how everyone adores him will momentarily glimpse in his direction when they think no one's looking.

but you... you look right past him, and it pisses him off. do you think you're better than him? even people in long term relationships eyes drift to him, most would break up with their partner for just one night with him. this 'most' mainly means all, everyone wants a chance to be with the man whose sexual escapades are spoken about frequently in such a high regard.

it's not like you don't know about his existence, you do, but you want to keep yourself to yourself. even your closest friends talk about the famous satoru gojo but he gives you the shivers for some reason. you've never spoken to him and you don't intend to, even if it's everyone's dream, it's not yours, something's just not quite right about him. you live in completely different worlds, different universes, and you prefer to dream about things more realistic, maybe dragons and flying saucers on occasion but never satoru gojo. not only is associating with him unrealistic but just the thought of him makes you shudder. he's too cocky, too self-assured, too arrogant, too loud, too... attractive, it doesn't seem right that someone would look that good. it's like he's hypnotised everyone bar you.

first it's irritation when he notices your behaviour, it's clear when you're acting the complete opposite to everyone, then it's anger when he sees you pay attention to someone that isn't him. something must be wrong with you if you're laughing at a joke that he didn't make, a joke told by another nobody, not just a nobody but someone a year younger. his actions are fuelled by his anger and his annoyance towards you. he makes sure every friend and acquaintance you have stops talking to you, it's easy really. all those so called 'friends' leave you alone after 'overhearing' hushed voices talk about how gojo's more likely to talk to someone when they're not friends with someone who's like you. it was easy to orchestrate it, all he needed was two girls who constantly fawn over him, perfect for doing his bidding.

"gojo never talks to yumehara, even though she tries so hard."

"yeah, it's because she's friends with moriyama. associating with someone like her is a no-go."

"moriyama?"

"yeah, you know that girl in class a, the one who thinks she's better than everyone and doesn't care about gojo."

you now sit by yourself and walk the corridors alone- easy. if he was more sympathetic towards you he'd almost feel bad that all of your friends would stop talking to you so readily.

next was your grades. the gojo family funds the university meaning that he had much more power than the average person, even more than people who also come from wealthy families. professors know it's in their best interest not to get on the bad side of the heir of the gojo family, not just for the university's sake but for themselves as well. one wrong move and they'll be fired, blacklisted throughout town unable to get a job. one wrong move and the university could lose all their funding. he wields more power than the headmaster.

you already get average grades, typically b's and occasionally c's but if he plays his cards right he knows he can lower those c's another extra grade down to an f and he knows just who to start with. professor iura: a man in his mid-thirties who's respected by all and he knows you like him. he's been told you try extra hard in his class, taking double the amount of notes in his lectures than you ordinarily do. he knows getting an f in his class first would be more hurtful than over all the other classes.

"professor iura don't you think the girl who wrote the paper on-" he stops mid sentence, what did you write about again?- "something so boring it hasn't even sunk in. i remember everyone else's but not hers." he only remembers his own and there was never any reason to see what a nobody like you wrote about.

the professor's eyebrows furrow before quickly schooling his expression back to impassive. satoru has used his influence before but iura's never heard about him using it as payback for whichever poor soul's caught his ire. "who is it?" iura thought you deserved an a this time, it's disappointing that he'll have to give you an f.

all these things start stacking up and you feel like the universe is against you, you don't understand your sudden drop in grades or why your friends won't talk to you. you do your best to put on a brave face but you feel alone, you have no one to turn to, you don't understand why everyone gives you the cold shoulder and why they pretend you don't exist, your facial expression dropping when someone ignores you for the umpteenth time. you don't understand how your water always seems to spill in your bag all over your things even though you swear you've put on the lid securely, screwing the lid on the bottle so tightly your hands suffer the consequence, almost raw, from how tight you've tried to make it. you can't afford to buy another textbook and you don't have enough time to rewrite your essay.

you don't understand how things go missing every time you look away. you glance to the window when you see a falling leaf, burnt orange and crimson red litter the floor outside. autumn is so beautiful, a season of harvest and abundance but it's a reminder to you that nothing lasts forever, leaves fall and people leave. people talk about how autumn is maturing but omits the melancholy idea that it's just growing old, that burnt oranges and crimson reds are just rotting on the ground. your whole world is rotting with every second, the universe has it out for you and by the time you look back into the room your pen is missing.

gojo takes pleasure from seeing your face at these times, that puzzled look and biting your lip in frustration as you've lost another pen or that pout when your friend ignores you, he thinks it looks pretty on you. not that he'd ever admit that of course.

his pleasure twists though, into a new emotion- a darker emotion. you got another f and you look... sad... distraught. satoru enjoys seeing your pout when something goes wrong for you, he thinks it's pretty but he's watching you like a hawk right now, he can't take his eyes off you, he can tell you're trying desperately to hold it all together but you can't stop your eyes from welling up, it's impossible to stop your waterline brimming with tears, overflowing like a broken tap, hot tears running down your face, you attempt to quickly wipe your tears away with the back of your sleeve in hopes that nobody has seen but it's too late for that. he thought he would take pleasure in seeing you cry but instead it's pure rage. even though he's the one that's convinced all of your professors to give you f's, all he feels is fury for them making you cry. he doesn't want you to cry, he wants to keep you safe, wants to make you all his.

in the following weeks professors leave the university without announcing it to students. leaving studies and classes in a limbo for awhile. not just the professor who made you cry is gone but also iura and several others.

with that limbo period came more group projects to fill in the space of the lack of lectures. a 'little' push from satoru to higher ups and you were paired up together, leaving you no choice to spend time together and have your first conversation with each other. at this point he needed to be near you. you sit across from each other after class and you introduce yourself to each other, even though you both know who the other is, you didn't expect him to know you and he acts like he doesn't. "oh i know you, i really liked your last paper. you got an f, right? i can't believe that, it was the best one." after all your friends avoiding you and all those f's getting validation makes you shyly smile, your cheeks feel warm and you're starting to understand why people like him.

things start to change after that. your f's go back to normal and people are kinder, with everything going back to normal satoru makes sure you're still alone though, makes sure your friends continue not to talk to you. he's the only one that's allowed to do that. your friends still don't spend time with you, instead gojo does and honestly you don't mind that change, you appreciate that change, you don't know what happened with your friends but you like how gojo doesn't dismiss your emotions and opinions like they used to do.

you previously had that inkling that something was wrong with him but his easygoing smiles and playful words make you enjoy your time with him and his once overconfidence that you always used to observe which once bothered you now makes your heartbeat go crazy in your chest, like marching drums hammering away against your ribcage.

satoru notices this change in you and he takes advantage of it. this change doesn't make him lose interest in you, maybe if you were someone else it would but not with you, if anything it makes him more interested because he learns more and more without you, some with your consent and knowledge others without it. he thinks you look so cute when you smile and he loves hearing you laugh. he never really liked music but he's listened to all those music and songs you share to the world like the ones you love that you play in cars and talk to people about them, plus the more secret ones hidden in your likes and private playlists. he loves the things you do that you don't realise you're doing, the soft sighs you make when you put on a warm coat when it's cold or the hums when you drink a hot drink. how you bite your pen when you're deep in thought and linger by the door before leaving the house and locking up, mentally checking you have everything you need with you. the little moans you make when you eat something that you love, at those times satoru has to restrain himself from kissing you. he loves it all. he loves you.

you see each other whenever possible and if you can't you'll be texting, he'll send you emoji's at the end of messages that you don't understand the context to and will send you selfies and photos of cats he's seen while around town.

after the first few times at the library you tend to see each other at café because they're more relaxed and you can talk as loud as you want to. he starts paying for your lunch whenever you're together, you always used to insist to pay yourself but after the first few times you relented, he could buy you breakfast, lunch and dinner everyday for the rest of your life yet it still wouldn't make a dent in his wallet. not only does he buy you lunch now but it's much more extravagant then you could afford for yourself.

you're walking together past a store front window and gojo sees something that catches his eye, stopping where he is and pulling on your sleeve to stop you too. "look at this!"

your eyes scan the window not knowing what he's talking about, all of them are designer clothes but none of them are men's. "what are we looking at gojo?"

he grins and points to a blouse, "that would look so good on you, you'd look so cute!" 'doubtful' you think. you scoff, that is a cute blouse but no way. "hey, what was that for? it's true." he insists.

"i don't even need to go in there to see that it's way out of my price range, plus designer brands like that never have my size anyway."

"you didn't say you didn't like it."

"me liking or not liking it isn't the point."

you carry on the rest of your day like it didn't happen and you forget about the whole thing. gojo doesn't.

all of gojo's fans start to get jealous of you, it's been over three months, the limbo period is over and new people have been hired, group projects are finished but you still spend all your days together. his previous relationships have been no more than eye candy only lasting a couple weeks yet you don't even seem to be dating so why is he always smiling when you talk and is walking you everywhere. they can't comprehend it, you're a nobody.

satoru loses it one day. you've gone to hand in your library book, it's overdue and you had forgotten about it, you needed it for when you and gojo were working together but you forgot all about it. gojo's waiting outside for you, you know the librarian likes you more so you've told him it's better if you go on your own, he knows that isn't true but as long as the librarian is kind to you he won't intervene. 'if the librarian knows what's good for her she'll let it go and not upset you.'

someone gojo vaguely recognises as a cheerleader who suguru slept with a few times spots him and goes over to him, leaning against him and pushing her breasts up against him. it disgusts him. "what are you doing here gojo? don't tell me that friend of yours is making you wait for her." she says in a sickly sweet voice and his eye twitches. he doesn't reply, she should get the idea and leave. "if i were her i'd never do that. why don't you come hang out with me? me and my friends are having a party later we'd love it if you'd come. normally i wouldn't come up to you so boldly but i think i'd be able to show you a good time, not like that girl you're always spending time with, you're so out of her league." she runs her hand along his arm but he grabs it tightly making her wince.

"don't ever fucking talk about her again," gojo responds coldly. he squeezes tighter and she yelps. he lets go of arm and pushes her away, almost in revulsion that he touched her. she stumbles and leans against the wall, looking shocked. at that time you push open the door with a relieved look on your face. satoru ignores the girl, acting like she doesn't exist, he smiles brightly at you. "everything okay?"

"yeah, she was surprisingly very understanding," you return his smile and shut the door behind you. when you shut the door you see the girl leaning against the wall staring at gojo and you wonder why. you've seen lots of gojo's fans but none of them have looked at him like that. you turn your attention back to gojo, not really wanting to engage with the girl if you can help it, you've never seen her before but you can tell that she's someone who would make your life hell if you knew each other as teenagers. "is everything okay?" you ask him, vaguely gesturing to her.

he grins and strolls towards you lifting up his sunglasses and lifting up your chin to look at him, forcing you to make eye contact and in doing so you get flustered and frazzled. gojo would sometimes put his arm over your shoulder when your walking together or grab hold of you quickly from behind unexpectedly, making you jump but this is the first time it's ever been so intimate. it's also rare for you to see gojo without his sunglasses on. "everything's fine." he grins and pats your head jokingly making you glare and pout. he snickers as he sees your reaction and lets go of your chin, slinging his arm over your shoulder.

"alright, if you say so, but for lunch i'm getting extra for that, i'm not some pet." you grumble and walk off together. satoru's mind flashes with images with you on your knees, 'i think she'd make a good pet. maybe i should buy her a collar.' he snickers again and you look at him with a raised eyebrow, "what's so funny?"

"nothing," he smirks. as you walk away he turns back around to look at the girl still standing there paralysed and glares hard at the girl. normally people would be swooning when they see his bright blue eyes like the clearest spring days but not right now, they'd all be wrong, his eyes aren't clear like any warm day they're frozen over and icy, with flecks of white and all that girl feels is despair and dread. he looks at her so cruelly, it makes her unable to move- frozen in place.

you haven't seen gojo for the last few days, it's the longest you've gone without seeing him since you became friends. even if you've both been busy previously gojo makes sure to have seen you, even if it's only for a minute, but you've both been too busy. gojo has had basketball practise in the day and in the night his family demands his attendance whilst discussing family affairs and you on the other hand have been busy studying, wanting to make sure you don't get any f's again. you don't realise you won't though, everything could be incoherent with each other word being spelled terribly and you'd never get an f again, gojo's made sure of that. he won't let anyone make you cry again.

you rhythmically tap your fingers, fidgeting on the table where your laptop and textbooks are, 'i want to see him.' satoru's scored another goal, this time a three point line goal, normally he goes for slam dunks but as long as he's the one scoring it doesn't really bother him. he's got a big game coming up and you're going to be there, you're going for him, you've never been to any of the games before, not having any real interest in the sport but now your friend is the star player so you're not going to miss any games. he'll score every single point his team makes so your eyes have no option but to focus on him and after the match you'll compliment him. the coach asks him something but it's all white noise to him, 'i miss her.'

you get a text on the fourth day of not seeing him and when you read the message you smile so wide your face becomes sore. 'the last few days have been so long without you! i know we normally go out for lunch but do you want to go for dinner?'

you don't hesitate responding, 'i'd love too!'

'i'll pick you up an hour before our reservations, i've brought you something.'

'reservations? did you plan tonight? and what's this about buying me something? you already pay for my lunch.'

'i've pulled some strings xoxo see you tonight.' you scowl when you read that he's blatantly ignored your comment about buying you something and if he's went out his way to pull some strings for this meal it must be more than a fast food drive-thru or the equivalent. you didn't really expect him to take you somewhere where you can eat in your car or it's acceptable to wear a three day old top and a hoodie that is a little too small but for him to go to the effort of pulling strings this must be a sophisticated place.

half an hour later you hear your phone again, multiple messages being sent one after another, five buzzes. 'shit.' 'I FORGOT' 'i forgot to send a time!' 'i'll see you at 6.' 'pretend this never happened.' you cover your face with your phone and giggle.

by six you're ready, it's taken you longer to get ready then you'd like to admit but you wanted to look pretty, it would be embarrassing to underdress. compared to gojo anything you or any 'normal' person would wear looks cheap in comparison to all his designer clothes but you spent hours making sure it would be suitable.

it's ten past six when you hear a knock on the door. opening it you see gojo in all his glory, his attractiveness on full display and his wealthiness showing, wearing an all black giorgio armani suit with a white shirt underneath, his sunglasses look different than normal, fancier, you think you can make out a ray-ban logo. he's wearing a rolex watch which is more than double your monthly rent. his hair looks shorter than the last time you saw him, he must of had a haircut in the last few days. it's obvious the way your eyes linger on him, checking him out and gojo grins as you unknowingly fuel his pride and ego.

"awe, you look so cute princess," gojo says playfully, smirking. princess- the first time he had called you that you malfunctioned, your eyes had widened and you forgot to breath. no one else has ever called you a term of endearment before and you didn't expect your friend, satoru gojo, to be saying it. you didn't ask why he called you it, why would you? it made your fingertips tingle and the inside of your chest to warm up. "can i come in?" you nod your head and move to the side to give him enough room to come in and close the door after him. "you really do look beautiful," he says gently, you don't think you've ever heard him speak so tenderly before.

"you look good too gojo, you always do but- but tonight as well," you tell him, bashfully smiling. he grins and his eyes gleam with glee at the genuine compliment. he loves when you compliment him, it feels different than the vapid ones others offer him, even if you compliment him with only a few words it means a greater deal.

behind his back he's carrying a sleek black box with a scarlet red chiffon ribbon wrapped around it in a bow containing his gift to you, your eyes narrow when he hands it too you, although your voice is soft and quiet when you say, "it's not my birthday gojo, why are you buying me things? you don't have to do that," your voice gets quieter with each word spoken.

gojo takes your hand in his and places the box in your hand. "i can buy you things because i can. i have enough money and i want to spend it on you," he tells you firmly and your stomach flutters with butterflies but you don't know why, his hand is awfully soft maybe that's why your heart is racing or maybe it's because he spoke to you firmly like there's no room for arguments. gojo cups your cheek with his unoccupied hand and strokes it, your whole body melts at the action, "just open it 'kay?"

you nod your head and hum, relenting- just like you did when he began paying for your lunch. you delicately unwrap the bow, not wanting to ruin the box, and open it, you didn't know what to expect, you could of been given a hundred guesses and a hundred days to guess what he brought you and you still would have no clue. you pause as you open up the lid, your heart skips a beat and it's almost as if the air was stolen from your lungs like deflated balloons as you breathlessly say, "satoru! what's this?" inside the box is the blouse you were looking at all those weeks ago, the one you said was too expensive, the one you said would never fit.

'satoru' it's the first time you've ever called him by his given name and it sounds so angelic coming from your lips that he's forgotten to breathe, everything pausing and not moving. "do you like it?" he finally asks.

you nod your head in an almost daze, you're in awe that he'd really give you something so beautiful, that he would go out of his way to buy it. "i- i don't deserve this gojo."

he steps closer to you, "uh uh, what's with calling me gojo again?"

your eyes widen as you realise that only a second ago you called him by his given name, "oh! i'm so sorry! i was just in shock, i didn't mean to call you that gojo," you ramble.

he smoothed out the wrinkles of his forehead rubbing it with his fingers, which is currently caused because he finds your lack of awareness disconcerting. "that isn't what i meant princess, i want you to call me satoru. i want to give this to you."

"oh... okay," you're quiet and you've pressed your lips together to stop yourself from smiling. it won't be hard to start calling him satoru, you already call him satoru in your head. after a long pause of you trying to put your thoughts all together you start speaking again, "are you sure about this satoru? this is bound to be expensive, right? it's- it's ralph lauren isn't it? isn't this too expensive too be spending on me." gojo has to hide a smirk at that, 'has she forgotten how rich i am?' "and, and i don't want you to think that i want to spend time with you because you have money or anything!" 'ah she's adorable, i could just cancel our reservations and have her on her knees the whole night to say thank you for the blouse... i couldn't do that though, not right now... if i don't see her in that blouse in the next five minutes i'll go insane.'

"of course i'm sure about this princess, i know you'd never spend time with me for clothes from ralph lauren." he resists the urge to pull you in by your waist and kiss you, he doesn't want to overwhelm you, not at this moment.

you take the blouse out of the gift box and hold it out in front of you, there's a twinkle in your doe eyes as you look at it in wonder, knowing that this is yours, whispering, "pretty," it's barely audible. "wait, i didn't think this store went up to my size? did you go to a different store? and... how do you know my size." you ask him confused.

"i have my ways," he answers and winks at you, you scoff at the wink and narrow your eyes.

"seriously satoru," you press him. 'ah she could ask me anything and i'll tell her if she keeps calling me satoru.' "actually i know you know my size from when you've seen my coats and jumpers lying around but-" 'oh yeah... that's totally how i know...' "- how did you get it in my size?"

"annoyingly they don't actually make that particular blouse in your size... how ridiculous is that, sadly i don't have enough money and connections to make them ruined and bankrupt." he says nonchalantly, casually waving his arm around. you bark out a laugh thinking that he was joking. he wasn't. if even one article of clothing isn't made in your size it should only be fair for the brand to lose all their money and reputation, no matter what the brand is.

"hold up how do i have this if it doesn't come in my size?" you cock your head to the side quizzically and for the second time gojo thinks about buying you a collar, maybe with a matching lead...

he grins and flicks his eyes back and forth between your face and the blouse you're holding up. "obviously i got it custom made,"

"that's- that's obvious?!" you splutter and he laughs.

"obviously." he reiterates, enjoying your reaction- dumbstruck and lips parted in near disbelief.

"it'll take us thirty minutes to get to the restaurant princess and our reservations in about forty minutes." he lets you know and you snap out of your stupor.

"i'll just get my bag."

"hang on!" satoru rushes out before you can leave to get your bag. "you look beautiful right now princess but don't you want to see how that blouse looks on you?" you shift your weight from side to side, heat rising to your cheeks. 'do i really have time to get changed? i spent so long choosing this outfit too.' before you can say something gojo stops you, not wanting to give you an opportunity to say no or think to hard about it. he wants you to do it, you don't have to have an opinion on the matter, leave that him. sometimes you can't be trusted when it comes to these things. "come on princess, i'm the one who brought you it. just wear it, please. i want to make sure it fits properly."

you yield, "okay let me go get changed."

satoru smirks, 'good girl.'

as you come back out of the bedroom adrenaline bursts through his veins. you twirl around, pausing when you circle back round to gojo and picking up the hem of your skirt playfully with one hand and doing a half curtsy, it's such a happy coincidence that the blouse pairs so well with the skirt you're already wearing, "how do i look?" 'beautiful, stunning, breathtaking, ethereal.'

"perfect," he replies dreamily and you giggle, thinking he isn't being serious and is exaggerating.

"i'm serious satoru," you tell him, it was meant to sound firm and like you won't back down until you get an answer but it just turned out sounding a little whiny.

gojo smirks and leisurely saunters to you, stopping when coming up close in front of you, "you look truly beautiful sweetheart." 'sweetheart' he's never called you that before. you don't know if your heart can keep taking it all. satoru's your friend, your close friend, but at times like this it's hard to remember that.

you bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling- admittedly unsuccessfully. the corners of your mouth still quirk up and your round cheeks become more predominate. you fight the desire to cover your face with your hands in embarrassment, instead opting to twiddle your fingers. "sh-should we get going?"

satoru grins at you, "sure thing."

the whole drive you're both stealing looks at each other when you can get away with it while making small talk and satoru's not letting you know where you're going saying that it's a surprise. whenever there's a red light gojo takes his time to admire you and as you step outside into the night you're astonished at the restaurant in front of you. satoru's handing his car keys to a valet to park his car but you're distracted from that, finally knowing where you're eating tonight. you know this place, well you know of this place. never in a million years would you have thought you'd be dining here, it's so lavish that the cutlery is more expensive than buying a house that's already furnished. "are you okay princess?" you snap out of your daze and nod your head. "alright then, let's go inside."

you follow closely behind gojo, nervous as you enter, you don't think you've ever felt more out of place. satoru doesn't even give his name, the man at the desk recognises him straight away, "ah mr. gojo if you'd follow me." the man leads you upstairs and you hear him asking satoru questions but all that's going through your mind is 'please don't trip, please don't trip.' you're quite accident prone and falling down these stairs would be too much to handle. he takes you all the way to the fourth floor and near the window where you can see the city lights shining below. "here you are."

when the man leaves satoru pulls out a chair for you and you're startled by the gesture. you take your seat and he takes his. "you're more gentlemanly then i expected you to be satoru, pulling out my chair for me," you pause for a second mulling your thoughts over before adding, "or is that normal etiquette?"

"i'm very chivalrous, i'll have you know," he replies pouting and you raise an eyebrow at how fake his answer sounded. he throws his hands up with a smirk, "well, i'm not always chivalrous but if a pretty lady is in front of me than i can become very courteous." you chuckle, trying not to hone in the pretty part for your own sanity.

you glance at the table and worry because satoru might know proper etiquette but you don't. you know the general rules and ideas but why are there two knives and forks next to your plate and a spoon as well? why are there two glasses, a wine one and a normal one? why does the napkin look fancy? does that mean it's just for decoration, what if you need it? you're worried that you'll leave smudges in places where there shouldn't be and what if the table cloth rips? maybe this was a mistake...

"hey," satoru says softly catching your attention, when you look back up at him you see his smirk has turned into a frown and you don't think you've seen that expression on his face before, it doesn't fit right. he's taken off his sunglasses and placed them down, hanging them out of his suit pocket. his striking baby blue eyes glinting when the chandelier droplets move in the light. his snowy white hair looking soft and subdued under the glow of the light and the wavering flame of the candle. "sweetheart, whatever you're thinking right now isn't true."

"how did y-"

he cuts you off before you can finish asking. "because i know you and i know that look on your face, that overthinking look, i can see all those unnecessary cogs turning in your brain."

"i just..." you look away from him, not wanting to look into his eyes any longer knowing you'll crumble but gojo's not allowing that. with how long his arms are it's not difficult reaching over the table to you, placing his fingers below your chin and tilting your head around to look at him.

"just what? sweetheart." satoru presses you.

bunching up your skirt into tight fists you take a shaky breath and try again, "i'm worried i don't belong here. this is a really lovely place satoru and i just... what if i embarrass you? i'm not like you, i don't know when to do certain things or say specific things, i don't know why the table is placed like it is or any of it," after the words stop spewing out your mouth you take another breath, this time not shaky and deep. you look relieved to get it out.

'silly girl.' "do you really think i'd get embarrassed because of you sweetheart? nothing you could do would make me embarrassed. i'm lucky that you're with me right now. i don't care if you don't know all the rules and you shouldn't either, all that matters is that we're here together and we get to finally see each other after some hectic few days," gojo tells you earnestly, his body close to the edge of the table, leaning forward further near you, his voice low and intimate, like what he's saying is a complete secret for your ears only. the days were hectic and finally you're getting to see each other. those tedious meetings with his family and hours of basketball that seemed to stretch on and on but finally- you're together again.

your shoulders sag, you weren't even aware that your plush figure had tensed up in the first place. when satoru saw how you relaxed your posture he picks up one of the menus, "everything okay now?" he asks you, his eyes soft as they gaze at you.

"yeah, i think so." you lick your lips, wetting them after getting dry, the intense spike of emotions throwing your body threw a little bit of a loop, dry lips, moist eyes, with shaky fingers.

gojo grins and leans back on his chair, seeming more casual than a minute ago and hands you a menu. "what are you thinking about getting? i might go for the lobster."

you're browsing the menu but when you hear him you put it down momentarily to reply, "oh please, like you care about the lobster, you just want dessert," you say grinning wide.

gojo gasps and places his hands on his chest in mock offence. "dessert? i think you mean desserts." you laugh, eyes crinkling in amusement. "i want you to enjoy this meal just as much as i'm planning to, that's why i intend to get the lobster, i don't want you to feel like you have to rush while eating just because i want dessert and i don't want you to even think about a silly thing like money." 'so he's ordering one of the biggest and expensive dishes? ...that does sound like satoru actually.' although you would be none the wiser about the prices of these meals, it's one of those high-end restaurants that doesn't have the prices on the menu, satoru must have been here often enough to know how much the lobster costs compared to other dishes.

"i don't know what to do about drinks, i hear they've got a fine collection of wines, maybe we should order a couple bottles? do you like wine?" he already knows the answer to that but you don't know that. "they've also got a wide selection of spirits and non-alcoholic drinks too, i believe."

you both order what you want, making idle conversation while waiting.

by the time your food arrives satoru has tried to convince you that you should've ordered a bigger meal, you're content with your choice in the end though and it's not the most surprising that when your food does arrive there's also a side dish for you to which you didn't order.

"i didn't order this satoru," you raise an eyebrow.

gojo smirks, "i know you didn't, but i did. i didn't want you to be hungry and we haven't had lunch together in days have you been eating properly?"

"are you suggesting that because i'm eating food in my price bracket instead of yours that it's not good enough? the food you pay for is definitely better but poor people food taste good too."

he chuckles and smiles at you fondly before replying, "that's not what i'm saying and you know i'm not. I am however asking have you been eating three meals a day?" you wince. "i thought not."

"i've been busy with studies, i didn't have time to eat three meals a day every single day," you try to justify.

"that's exactly what i mean. i won't take any excuses though, you shouldn't have skipped any meals." satoru lightly scowls you but don't take it too seriously, you should have though. 'silly girl, she really can't look after herself properly. it's a good thing i'm here to keep an eye on her. she just can't be trusted on her own.'

you pout at his reasoning, it's not often that gojo reprimands you or anyone you've seen for that matter. knowing that you don't have a leg to stand on you keep quiet.

when you eat the first bite of your food you hum blissfully, so close to being a moan and it's music to satoru's ears, 'god she's adorable.' he doesn't even realise that he isn't eating until you noticed that he's unmoving. "satoru are you okay? you're not eating."

"i'm fine sweetheart just thinking about something," he responds with a smile.

"okay- if you're sure but make sure you eat soon or it'll get cold."

"yes ma'am," satoru gives you a cheeky smile and picks up his fork.

your face heats up in embarrassment and you lose any composure that you previously had. you avert you eyes and focus on the tablecloth, suddenly finding it very interesting, focusing on the material. you never knew being called something would make you feel so strange, it was the complete opposite to gojo calling you princess or sweetheart.

even though satoru picked up his fork and began eating he didn't take his eyes off you at the corner of his eye, he wanted to see your reaction to that name. he wanted to test how docile you are, his theory that you are submissive and it seems he was right, although even if he wasn't and his theory was proven wrong he'd just mold you into what he wants. 'of course she's so perfect that i don't need to change her, she's such a good girl.'

quickly ma'am leaves your head with the more delicious food you have but you can't help some negative thoughts enter your mind. everything starts to feel too good to be true, the twinkling lights and the flickering of the candle on the table, the scenery and the ambience, the delectable food and the amazing beverages, the dream company with someone who you care so very much about, you wouldn't want to be anywhere else and... it just all feels too good to be true.

'how many girls does gojo come here with? they knew who he was without giving his name. i know i'm not his girlfriend. it's not like i'm jealous it's just- i want this so bad to be special. am i one in a long line?' you have to ask, you have to know. if you're not special you need to know.

"satoru-" you start by getting his attention.

he looks up at you and sees the pensive look on your face, he puts his cutlery down and ceases eating, directing all his attention to you, "yes princess?"

"can i ask you something?" you ask, hesitant and more meekly now you have his attention.

"of course you can princess," he smiles and waits for you to ask whatever it is. he truly doesn't know what it could be right now.

"am i special? i mean- wait- not special. i mean do you take lots of girls here? they seemed to know your name already so do you? i know we're friends so it wouldn't be the same as you taking other girls here but do you take lots of girls here?"

he doesn't even try to stop the smirk that creeps onto his face, you're jealous and what's even better do you even know that you're jealous. satoru can barely contain his excitement.

not once have you brought up other girls, not once. you've never asked if it's true that he doesn't date anyone for longer than a month or that he's gone through half the school. you've never asked about the crude gossip about how big his dick is and how he's the best anyone has ever had even though he knows you've definitely heard those rumours. but right now? right now your words hint of jealously and insecurity.

satoru tells the truth as he replies simply "i haven't brought any girls here." gojo dangles the small piece of information in front of you, it isn't a question of if you'll take it and ask further questions he knows you will but he wants to hear you ask for more, it thrills him.

"you-you dont?" you ask for more explanation.

he grins, "nope," he pops the 'p'. "i go here with my family and on occasion suguru but only sometimes with suguru because it can be kind of intimate with two people," he explains and you giggle at the thought of the two of them sitting across from each other here. he carries on his explanation, "i would never go here with other girls, of course you're special," he tells you honestly and your lips part, hanging onto every word spoken.

'i'm special.' you press your lips together but the corners of your mouth still manage to lift up into a small smile. your brain then fully catches up with everything he said and your heart beats erratically, just now satoru said a dinner here between two people is intimate, he didn't word it in that exact way but if a dinner for two with suguru is intimate, a dinner for two with you might be considered intimate too. overall you're pleased with the answer you were given, gojo thinks your special and he doesn't take other girls here.

you eat the rest of your dinner without incident, enjoying every single mouthful and letting gojo know that it's tasty, thanking him. when you order dessert it's no surprise that satoru goes a bit overboard nearly buying the whole dessert menu, not that you would ever complain about a thing like that, the more time you've spent with gojo the more of a sweet tooth you've become yourself.

satoru doesn't attempt to hide the bill, he enjoys the look on your face when you see the amount in the corner of your eye. for him the money is trivial sum but to you it's shockingly high. he gets a power trip when he sees your eyes widen at the money.

"do you want to come back to mine?" satoru asks you while you leave the restaurant and you agree not thinking anything of it. he's been to yours before but you've never been to his. you don't think there's anything behind his question, you don't even consider he's suggesting something and gojo's well aware that you don't realise.

you don't speak much on your way back, you're leaning against the window and watching the city lights, it's starting to drizzle and you feel at ease in your current company, your eyes fluttering, slightly drowsily, as you hear the rain. gojo taps his fingers on the steering wheel and smiles thinking about how adorable you look right now.

the journey back to satoru's could've taken ten minutes to an hour for all you know as your mind wanders and your eyelids get heavy. when you arrive and he parks up and you get out of the car, you shiver a bit as the cold air hits you, giving you a shock and getting rid of any lingering tiredness and satoru walks around the car to be next to you. he pouts as he bends down to look at you, his sunglasses still in his jacket pocket, "pretty ladies aren't just supposed to have their chair pulled out for them, they're meant to have doors open for them too."

you giggle and bump against him, "flattery will get you nowhere mister." it does. luckily you'll be able to blame your flushed face due to the bitterly cold if gojo questions you on it.

"let's get inside sweetheart, it's cold." 'sweetheart' something else you can luckily blame on the weather. you're not expecting satoru to randomly touch your face though so you think you're going to be okay.

you follow him inside and the size of his place is a large as you thought it would be, you're learning to expect everything he owns is extravagant. the interior however is something you take note of, you've only entered one room but it seems barren. the walls are drab, painted slate grey and off white with only the bare necessaries of furniture and nothing more. devoid of any human presence. you're not even sure if he's lived here long and when he looks at you he can see those unnecessary cogs turning in your head again. "is something on your mind princess?"

"um-" you don't really know if you should bring it up but your curiosity gets the better of you. "have you lived here long?"

"a couple of years," satoru leans against the wall and smirks.

"i just- there's not a lot of stuff in here, it looks like you still have unpacking to do."

he pushes himself off the wall and goes over to you, "do you think i should get more stuff? like cushions for the the sofa and posters on the wall?" you feel gojo's breath against your skin as he leans down to talk in your ear quietly, it's so intimate, your mind draws a blank finding it hard to think with him so close to you. satoru is playful and he's teasing and you've heard rumours that he's a flirt but he's never been this close to you before, you've never been able to smell his cologne and been this close to feel his warm breath against your neck. "maybe we should go shopping together and you could help me pick out some stuff?" you're holding your breath, not being able to breathe anymore. "or maybe it would be better if you just stayed here and brought your stuff along? you do always complain about your rent being high."

you take a sharp intake of air and move a step away from him so you can look back at him in the eye. mentally shaking your head to forgot about his remark. 'did gojo just say about me being his roommate? i'd get to see him everyday... wait... i'd have to hear him all the time when he brings home girls and does he even clean after himself properly?'

"did you have too much to drink tonight satoru? you know you shouldn't drink and drive," you reply with light tone, reminding yourself not to think too hard about the situation, almost being successful in your mission.

satoru just watches you and smirks as he sees you try to ignore his comment. "anyway i don't think you need a roommate." 'roommate? yeah i don't need one of those...'

"and for all i know you might steal my food from the fridge and not wash up the dishes. plus i always forget my towel when i shower." you say the last sentence flippantly, but satoru's mind fills with thoughts of you... 'walking out of the shower into the living room with a small towel on, barely covering your body, body damp with water dripping down your neck, onto your shoulders down to the valley of your breasts...' he's getting hard just imagining it.

"are you okay satoru? you're a bit red." you question and the topic of conversation changes.

satoru moves back away from you, "i'm okay princess, probably thirsty. do you want a drink?" he's glad of this change, he'd like to tease you more but there'd be a real chance you'd see his erection, he could probably tease you about it if you'd notice it but he doesn't think you're ready yet. he wants to make sure you're relaxed and comfortable. you've got a long night ahead of you.

"sure."

following him into the kitchen you take a seat on one of the kitchen counter stools. "what would you like to drink?"

not wanting to ask for something he might not have or cause a fuss you respond with, "whatever you're having is good with me."

'she's so predictable.' he pours both of you your favourite drink, he knows all your preferences, of course he's stocked up on everything you like. he hands it to you and you smile wide, "this is like my all time favourite drink, i didn't know you liked it too."

in situations like this he switches his answers up from time to time not wanting you to get suspicious. "do you like these too? the amount i get through weekly is crazy." he makes sure to separate things into two categories, things you've told him and things you haven't but he knows anyway. he wouldn't want to mention in conversation about how he remembers that you like these drinks when you've never told so.

satoru likes when he tells you things that subtly suggest, 'look how much we have in common. we like all the same music and drinks!'

he prefers when he tells you he remembers something you told him, you quietly replying to him once about how much it means to you because "no one has ever cared about me to remember something so mundane about me." he swears that he'll remember everything about you, he swore he'd never forget a single thing.

gojo takes his place next to you, sitting on the stool and purposely brushing his hand against your rib, under your breast, and he gets pleasure from seeing you straighten up your back.

you both enjoy your drinks and kick your legs in the air. "i feel bad because you've been driving me around all night. when i go i'll get an uber or cab or something."

gojo frowns, "are you going now?"

"n-no! unless you want me to?" you don't want to overstay your welcome and you have a feeling that if gojo wanted you to go he'd let you know and you want to look around the other rooms if you have a chance, perhaps not his bedroom for privacy reasons but you want to see if his other rooms have plain decoration and if the bathroom has any noteworthy products in, you have always wanted to know how his skin looks so good all the time.

"i'm definitely not telling you to leave princess... in fact why don't you stay the night? you can stay in the spare room. no pressure though. you don't have to but there might not be anywhere you can get a lift because of how late it is and how it's the other side of town adding that all onto it's now pouring down. i'd offer to take you back myself but i'm not a huge fan of driving in the dark, especially if the roads are slippy 'cause to the rain. it's your choice. i'm sure you'll get someone to take you eventually but it might be less effort to stay here and leave tomorrow?"

he knows you don't want to wait forever getting home, he knows you want to take him up on his offer but something is stopping you, he doesn't know what is it for a moment until he figures it. "it's absolutely no bother, i don't mind and i've got clothes that you can wear, i think i wore them to lounge about in on tuesday so i haven't had time to wash them yet but i don't think that's a huge problem. i wear them a lot but they're too big on me, you should fit in them."

that small comment might have upset you more if it came from someone else but you don't think gojo meant it maliciously, you think it came from a good place, however you couldn't help thinking about it, the words 'they're too big on me, you should fit in them' ring around your head, about how you should fit in them. you know that satoru didn't mean anything by that but you've never worn someone else's clothes before so it gives you a bit of anxiety and satoru can see that.

gojo speaks again in an attempt to stop you from other thinking. "if you did want to go i'll give you the money to get a cab but if not you can stay, it's no problem, in fact i would enjoy it." your eyes snap up to look at him and you see a soft smile adorning his face. "we could watch that new film you were telling me about and i don't mean to brag but my shower is amazing, nothing compares, even five star hotels." you crack a smile but your mind still lingers on the clothes. satru can see that still not fully convinced and there's something stopping you, "is this about the clothes?" you shift your eyes away nervously not wanting to admit how you clung to a few words. gojo stops himself from sighing in exasperation. "if you'd feel more comfortable keeping the blouse and skirt on you can, you do look good in them but you shouldn't overthink about wearing my clothes. i know i said they're not clean but i've only worn them once since they've been washed it's not like they're diseased." you giggle and satoru gets less exasperated after hearing you laugh.

"they'll fit you if that's what you're worried about and honestly even if they are a little tight you'd still look good in my shirt, it would just hang onto your hips a bit." your mouth parts, the previous throwaway remark being swiped away like smoke by his hand, instead being replaced by insurance that it will fit and if by the off chance it doesn't then it's not the end of the world. he hopes it doesn't fit.

it quells your mind and you agree to stay. "thank you satoru, i'd appreciate staying, over the hassle of getting home."

he grins at your answer, hands itching to take off your blouse. "do you want a shower now so we can watch that film?"

"sounds good." you follow him into the bathroom and it looks like the living room, crystal clean, newly moved into, the only difference is his electric toothbrush on the side and moisturiser. gojo doesn't leave when he shows you into the room, he doesn't leave when he makes a quick explanation about how the shower works, in fact he didn't tell you at all. instead of telling you he turns the shower on, adjusting the handle to change the temperature to the one you prefer and pressing a button next to the handle, keeping his finger on it for a few seconds before removing it, changing the water pressure. "here you go princess," he grins and turns back to you. you think to yourself about how you could of figured out how to work the shower but you don't vocalise it, you've been in enough showers to know how they work but satoru's one is probably different if he did it himself.

"oh, the shower wash and shampoo is there, i don't know if you want to wash your hair but it's there if you need it. you'll have to use my one." he then leaves, before placing a towel on the sink for you to grab when you get out. he owns all the soaps and scents you use but you can't use them, he doesn't want to share. if he gave you them you'd be suspicious and there would be less for him to use when he misses your smell, groaning in the shower after he gets home from basketball his hands massaging your shampoo into his scalp, one hand in his hair the other fisting his cock. he'll buy you new perfumes and soaps for the holidays, he would never change any of your signature scents but you deserve more expensive products in his eyes.

a part of you still can't help but think about the clothes but when you step into the shower your eyes close and body relaxes, somehow it's the perfect way you like your showers. all of it melts away and as you pick up gojo's shower wash your body heats up inside. you're going to use the same soap as gojo uses and once you recognise how you reacted you shake your head to get away from all those thoughts. everybody at your university would likely have the same reaction as you but you're not just anyone, satoru is your dear friend and he deserves more respect than you just gave him. you don't spend long showering, wanting to not use his soap for a long period and you end up not washing your hair.

you dry yourself but panic as you can't find clothes anywhere, did satoru forget? maybe the plan was for you to put your clothes back on until he's gave you them. opening the door ajar you peek outside, you're planning on seeing if you can hear satoru, asking him about the clothes but before you can you see a shirt on the floor next to the door. picking it up, you close the door quickly and breathe deeply, glad that you noticed the shirt before calling out to gojo.

when you start to slip into the shirt you feel a repeat of the shower, it smells so much like him. you didn't realise when you agreed to this you'd have to be concerned about this but you are and it's making you feel guilty. like you're no better than those girls who throw themselves at him, only based on appearances alone. you put it on as quickly as you can and try to ignore the smell but the entire room is filled with it. it smells different to the soap, it smells more like him, 'his natural scent?' you ponder. it effects you differently than it would his fans though, they'd be filled with thoughts that are less than appropriate, like being pushed into his pillow while he's taking them from behind or not wasting time with getting completely nude but to you they're innocent, the smell is comforting like when he surprises you by suddenly grabbing you from behind or crowding your space as you worked on projects together. it's not the smell of satoru gojo, famous 'womaniser', 'manwhore', 'heartbreaker', with a reputation that would make a nymphomaniac blush, it's the smell of satoru gojo- your gojo. and annoyingly your gojo, your friend, smells really good.

satoru was right about the shirt. because of how tall he is it reached down to your thigh, you were slightly worried about accidentally flashing him but it was long enough not to worry too much about it. he was also right about how it clung to you. even though it clung to you it didn't make you feel uncomfortable, the fabric stretched a tad around your hips and chest but it didn't make you feel uneasy, you doubt satoru would even notice. he, of course, does. and takes great pleasure in it.

you fold up the towel and leave it in the laundry basket. exiting the room you hear satoru and go to him. he hears you near him entering the room and looks up from the sofa, "you okay?"

you smile sweetly and nod your head, "i'm okay, it was a good shower."

he returns your smile, "i'm glad."

satoru doesn't hide his staring as you move to the sofa to sit down next to him. you're so cute and you're so hot all he can do is stare and he's so thankful that you agreed to come to his and stay. he's never let anyone wear his clothes before, it's a boundary that he doesn't cross. his previous relationships weren't allowed to wear his clothes, if it was cold outside and someone didn't bring a coat he wouldn't give them his, he never cared about them that much to do things like that but when you walk in wearing his clothes his heart jumps with joy. he never thought about how much he'd love seeing you wear his shirt, it's not just a shirt it's a statement, you're his, he owns you. it barely covers your thighs and he knows if he gets you to move and bend down, even if only slightly, everything will be on display. his shirt is clinging to your curves and he's practically salivating as your hips look so grabbable.

you're none the wiser of this and when he turns on the film you previously spoken about he was paying more attention to you than the television, every so often shuffling a little bit closer to you. he doesn't wait long, it's been about twenty minutes through the film before he puts his arm around you, he slings his arm around your shoulder when you walk together sometimes so it's not the first time this has happened. this is regular behaviour in your eyes.

forgetting his arm is even around you you become invested in what you're watching, you were right to mention it to gojo, it's exceeded your expectations. you have no reaction to satoru taking his arm off your shoulder and instead placing it on your plush thigh. he has more of a reaction that you do, biting his lip to stop any noises that could come out because you would likely notice if he groaned. after a couple of minutes of his hands being still he starts moving, making small patterns on your skin and stroking you. his hand gets higher, reaching the hem of his shirt before stopping and leaving his hand there.

as the film ends you become more aware of where gojo's hand is resting but you choose not to say anything. you're flustered but you think he's put his hand there absentmindedly while watching the film so you keep quiet.

"did you enjoy the film princess?"

you smile brightly at him and respond, "i did! did you?"

satoru starts making patterns on your skin lightly again. tapping his finger on his chin with his other hand like he's thinking and making a noise, "hmmm i did enjoy it although i was distracted through most of it."

that catches your attention wondering what it was that he was focused on instead. "oh, what was it?"

he smirks, "it's hard to pay attention to anything other than how pretty you look right now."

satoru had called you a pretty lady earlier tonight but this feels more personal, your brain refusing to work and it's exhilarating for him to see it happen.

he cups your cheek in his hand so you're making direct eye contact with each other, he doesn't want to look away from him. "do you want this sweetheart?"

your heart is pounding in your chest like a hummingbirds wings and you worry that satoru can hear it, swallowing before replying, "w-what do you mean?"

he leans closer to you and feel like your body is buzzing, tiny zaps of electricity shooting through your veins at his proximity to you, "do you want me?"

"i-i," you're stuttering over your words and nothing makes sense. do you want him? want him to do what?

"sweetheart do you want me?" he reiterates putting more emphasis on the 'want' and slivering his hand up further along your thigh, inching under your, his, shirt. you wait with bated breath, wondering if he'll go further, wondering if he'll say more.

"satoru are you... are you coming onto me?" you're quiet when you ask, you're unsure, you worry that you're wrong and gojo can't help but laugh.

"obviously i'm coming onto you. i thought that was pretty clear."

"you are?" you're still quiet.

"yeah," he smirks at you however your eyes drift away from him feeling shy but gojo's not having that, he pats your cheek before saying, "look at me princess." you do what he says and make eye contact with him again, "there she is, "he smiles at you and kisses your nose making your whole body heat up, your lips part open in shock and he smirks.

"i'm going to ask again, do you want this?" lowering his voice he continues speaking, "because i want this."

'he wants this. he wants me... but do i want him? everyone wants him. do i want him? if we do this it might never be the same again, we might stop being friends... satoru is really attractive, he's hot, he can get anyone he wants but will this mess everything up... i don't know.'

he can see those unnecessary cogs again, how silly, how useless.

he doesn't wait for you to answer, he's given you time and instead of answering you're thinking, overthinking, not being a good girl at all. instead of waiting any longer he closes the space between you two and slots his mouth against yours, licking your lips in a silent request to open your mouth, you oblige his request without any more thought and just simply do what feels right, do what feels good, and kissing satoru feelings good.

his lips are soft, probably softer than yours but you can't tell with them against each other. imaging the kiss you'd think gojo would kiss someone slowly, languidly. you imagine he wouldn't put a lot of effort or passion in the kiss but it would still be the best kiss anyone has ever had. you never thought he'd be a passionate kisser. you know from rumours that his relationships don't last long, it seems to you that he's never been invested in any of them so what's the point in kissing someone like you can't get enough of them when he's going to move on to the next person in a week, so what's the point of kissing passionately but right now that theory is blown out the window. his movement is rushed, it's hungry, it's unexpected. you didn't think he'd be so greedy. his skilled tongue is against yours and he's completely dominating the kiss. satoru's not even stopping for air and he's not letting you either, he's been waiting for this for so long now and a stupid reason like needing to breathe isn't going to stop him.

satoru's leaving wet kisses down your jaw and pulse point anywhere that's visible he's kissing. leaving little nips in his wake and trying to find a good space for him to start leaving marks and hickeys so everyone will know you're his.

the hand that was holding onto your thigh squeezes gently and a shiver runs down his spine because you feel so soft. he pushes you down on the sofa and he's above you looking down, knocking your thighs open and kneeling between them. he's swears he's never seen a more beautiful sight. you get nervous when you look at him, the way he looks at you tenderly with those vibrant blue eyes, that unbeknownst to you hold so much love for you.

you're gasping at every new sensation gojo's giving you, never having felt like this before as his continues his path up your thigh moving the shirt up along with it and now he's finally touching your plush body he thinks he may be in heaven with a gorgeous goddess with him and the more he moves the shirt up the more he thinks so. both of his hands moving to your hips and pressing his fingers into your skin watching them spill over and it's making him dizzy. never has he felt anyone with your body before and it's driving him crazy. he wants more, he needs more.

satoru brushes his knuckles over your underwear making you whine and he smirks, "feel good princess?"

"uh huh," you reply nodding your head up and down rapidly, head fuzzy and wanting more, wanting him.

"yeah?" he asks smugly. " ' course you do." he taps your hips just above the line of your underwear, "lift up for me sweetheart." you move up so he can pull down your underwear and he pockets them in his jeans saving them for later. he doesn't waste anytime as he unzips his jeans and takes them off, pulling his shirt off after, the only reason of the shirt being off is that he wants you to see how hot he looks and to check him out, he knows he looks good and he wants you to know it too.

he presses two fingers into you and you moan. "i'm going to prepare you sweetheart." it wasn't a question but you nod your head anyway. his slender fingers are longer than yours, reaching placing you can't, he's leisurely taking his time, watching as you squirm, eyes starting to glaze over.

only after four minutes and he's had enough of this leisurely pace fingering though, he just has to have his dick inside you now. he would promise to go slow but he knows he can't promise that. you don't see his dick before he goes into you, if you did you'd say something but instead you feel it. more girth than most and nine inches long thus as he starts to thrust into you you let out a moan that soon fades into a silent scream.

with each inch you feel that it must be it but then there's more, he knows he should've spent more time getting you ready for him but the idea of waiting even a minute longer was torture.

at the same time of being fully inside you, you wince, and satoru places a chaste kiss on your lips. there's a fleeting thought as you wince about how you think his cock has broken you, so far he's in your guts. he keeps his hold on you as he thrusts shallowly a few times testing the waters and playfully pinching your nipple to see your reaction.

you try to speak but the words get caught in your throat and it doesn't take long for gojo to speed up, not even a minute and he's already thrusting hard and fast into you, a creamy white ring already forming at the base of his cock. his pace doesn't falter, in fact it gets more rough as satoru sees your face. it's hard for you to even think, you've never been this full before, you're eyes are glazed over and you've got your mouth open drooling a bit, he thinks you look so adorably dumb. "look at you princess you look so dumb right now, so stupid. you don't even have one thought in your head do you? it's so fucking hot. not thinking or worrying, all that matters is this, you don't need to think i'll do it for you."

satoru lifts up one of your thighs and puts it on his shoulder, at the new position it feels like he's reaching even deeper. you whine so loud that people walking outside would hear. "my cock's making you lose braincells huh?" he grins, tapping your cheek gently to get your attention. you look up at him in a daze and he sniggers. "not a thought behind those eyes."

at the new angle you try to grab hold of his arm but struggle to focus losing grip straight away, squealing, "ah it feels s' good 'toru!"

satoru is pleased that you've spoken something, that you've been able to form an legible sentence, he's even more pleased at how good you sound squealing, knowing that he's the one who's made you sound like that. however more than all of that he's overjoyed that you called him 'toru' it sounds so perfect from your mouth.

"i know, i know, you're so good for me princess, such a good girl." he keeps slamming into you at a brutal pace and he wants you to come undone around him soon before he cums. "hear that princess, your pussy is so wet and sticky for me. she knows what she wants huh," he grins and starts pinching your nipples, watching as your eyes roll back.

he's fucking you so rough that your body is moving up and down on the sofa, jiggling with each thrusts, and as he watches your body bounce he gets closer and closer. he normally lasts so much longer but he can't help it with you, it's impossible for him to keep his regular time when your warm wet walls are wrapping around his cock, when he's inside you.

satoru can't wait any longer removing his hand from your nipple and bringing it to your clit, rubbing harshly as you shriek from the sudden extra stimulation, as you get tighter around him he sucks his teeth so close to cumming, "are you going to cum for me sweetheart?"

you don't say anything, you don't have time to answer him because instead the coil in the stomach that has been winding up for the last half an hour snaps, with the added help of gojo touching your clit, you arch your back, and your eyesight goes fuzzy seeing white dots. you've never had such an intense orgasm before, it drowned out noise and made everything hard to hear, you didn't even know cumming could do that. everyone was right about sex with satoru.

feeling you spasm around him was even for him to finish as well, a few more thrusts into you and he lost it cumming too. if he was a better man he would've pulled out but satoru knew that he would never pull out when it comes to you. he's seen birth control in your bathroom before and when he saw it he frowned, he hopes that you missed it today. either way he's making sure to bury himself in you as deep as he can get hoping that even if you did take birth control today it won't be good enough to stop his intention- his deep desire to breed you. thoughts racing through his head, 'silly girls don't need to go to university they should just stay at home. i've got more than enough money to look after her. she'd look so good, her body even softer than it already is. she'd make such a good mama.' as he comes his body goes taut and he groans loudly saying your name and stilling.

you're both catching your breathe, not speaking for a minute, recovering for the most mindblowing sex both of you have ever had.

he wants to stay where he is but he knows he can't. when he moves you whimper, feeling empty all of a sudden, and it makes his ego rise, "sorry princess, i'm going to get you a towel okay." satoru kisses your forehead before rising and getting a towel from the bathroom, coming back and kneeling, swiping the towel gently over your inner thighs and pussy. kissing your hip and looking back at you, "are you okay?"

you're breathless as you reply, "yeah."

satoru smirks, "that's good."

you cover your face with your hands, timid with the way gojo's focused on you. putting the towel down he holds onto your hands and removes them from your face so he can see you again, smiling at you sweetly and kissing your forehead again.

"satoru what's going to happen now?" you're almost silent, if he wasn't so laser focused on every movement and thing you do he might not have heard.

"we could watch another film but it's getting late."

"no... i mean with us..."

satoru furrows his eyebrows, not understanding the question. "us?"

"yeah i-i mean are we s-still friends?"

"friends?" he looks at you like you've grown an extra head and your stomach sinks, if you knew this would've been the outcome you would've done something differently.

you don't want to lose gojo, you really don't want to lose gojo. you don't want to cry in front of him, you don't want it to get misconstrued and him to think that you're trying to manipulate him or change his mind but the idea of not having satoru in your life is heartbreaking. wait... heartbreaking? however the tears still come and the words get lodged in your throat. you manage to get some words out but it's barely audible with how erratic your breathing is becoming and how you keep swallowing every five seconds. "can i do anything to make us be friends again? i don't want to lose you." you're sniffling and you know you sound needy and probably desperate too but that's not your main focus right now.

"lose me?" he squints and gently wipes the tears from your face. "why would you lose me?" he cups you cheek, "princess how do you feel about me?"

your mouth parts open, you're glad that he's suggesting that you're not going to lose him but that's completely overshadowed with the question he's asked. you stay silent, not moving a muscle, how do you feel about him?

'satoru's my friend, my best friend! so... i feel that he's my friend? did i feel this way about my other friends? i lost my other friends and it was awful, i hated it but if i lost satoru... i think it would be worse than awful. maybe soul crushing is accurate... heartbreaking sounds more accurate. can someone be heartbroken about a friend? can i?'

you can't say anything, you don't know what to say, all your thoughts are muddled and you feel lost. gojo's still cupping your cheek, now stroking it with his thumb. "alright then princess, let me tell you." you don't know how he's going to tell you, you don't even understand yourself. "you don't see me as a friend anymore." he says simply and your eyes widen, and he holds onto your elbow with no force with his other hand to stop you if you try to draw away.

"do you know why i know that princess?" satoru asks you, his voice tethered, borderlining on husky. unsure you shake your head. "because friends don't act like you do. they don't get jealous about the thought of me taking girls out to restaurants, they don't check me out when they think i'm not looking. friends don't make a photo of us together as their lockscreen and wallpaper-"

at that you interrupt him, "you have me on your lockscreen too!" but he puts his fingers to your lips to gesture for you to keep quiet.

"not finished yet sweetheart. friends don't send each other good morning texts as soon as they wake up and they don't memorise my order at cafés we go to. friends don't stare at my lips and compliment my eyes all the time. friends don't look at me longingly. friends don't go to romantic restaurants alone together."

he pauses watching with rapt attention as you look down at your lap, he doesn't make you look up at him this time and waits for your response. when you decide to look back at him you calm your breathing as much as you can, "b-but you do those things too satoru..."

satoru grins brightly, "yeah i do, sooo... that would mean what?" he presses you to answer him.

"do you- do you- am i more than a friend to you satoru?"

"bingo!"

you feel like you're dreaming, nothing feels real. you could never of guessed that gojo feels that way or that you're his type. "is that why we had sex?"

satoru chuckles, not answering but instead replying, "you're so cute!" it makes your face heat up. "do you want me to tell you a secret?" you're nervous and dubious but you nod your head softly. gojo moves even closer than you, "you're more than just my friend princess," he leans closer to your ear and whispers "i love you."

you blink at him- once, twice, three times. you understand now that gojo is more than a friend to you and you recognise it's been this way for a very long time but through all his speech you didn't consider he felt the same. maybe that's why you didn't understand your own feelings, because if gojo acts the same as you do and calls you his friend you never questioned about if you really felt friendship towards him.

how long as satoru known all this and has kept you in the dark? what if he choose not to ever tell you? would you end up in a relationship with someone else only to break their heart when you finally realise that you're in love with satoru. your mouth is dry and you lick your lips swallowing to wet them, your voice still sounds a little hoarse though as you say, "why didn't you tell me?"

"because you'll understand and accept your own feelings and mine. i wanted to tell you but i know you, i knew that you would just deny it and ignore your feelings and it could result in something changing with us and that was the last thing i wanted sweetheart, it would kill me but i knew that it was time. i knew that you'd accept both of our feelings," he asserts and he's so close to you that you can feel his body heat.

you know what he's saying is true but you can't help but pout. "how do you know me better than myself satoru?"

satoru chuckles. well he does spend a great deal of his time loving everything you do...

"plus i couldn't keep it in any longer princess, i swear i was going mad. i would probably have folded soon and tell you," he whines and you giggle.

you take a deep breath and look at him straight in the eye, your whole body feeling fuzzy, "satoru i love you."

'yeah i know.'

gojo grins and wipes his forehead dramatically, "thank god." he holds onto the nape of your neck and pulls you to his lips so he can kiss you hungrily, as he pulls away he asks "do you still want to sleep in the spare room tonight? my room is more comfortable... and there may be some boxes on the bed that i haven't moved."

your eyes widen, "say you're joking 'toru!"

he throws his hands up and grins "well..."

you don't stay mad at him long, you've both confessed your love to each other it's not like you can be annoyed at him, you grin back, "i can't believe you."

"i swear it wasn't planned just a happy coincidence... that i chose not to tell you about... but it's okay because we can just use that room for any of your extra stuff when you move in."

you open your mouth wide in disbelief, "i cannot believe you satoru!"

"aw come on you know you love me!" he chuckles and you glare at him before be pokes your cheek and you start laughing too.

ko-fi <3