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goxjo · 6 months ago

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𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 ⋮ 𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐲𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢

↪︎ bridesmaid series ∘ haikyuu mlist ∘ general mlist

In which you find no way out of the most absurd wedding tradition of all time — the garter toss

pairing. groomsman! sakusa kiyoomi x bridesmaid! reader

warnings. no pronouns, f anatomy! reader, peer pressure, biting, soft dom! sakusa, he calls you pretty a lot, he uses the pet name ‘baby’, light choking, he wears a condom but discards it later on, handjob, slight humiliation, slight corruption, deepthroating, slight gagging, fingering, cunnilingus, mentions of alcohol, edging, slight praise kink, overstimulation, creampie, aftercare!!!! I love him this is a lot I know

word count. 6.1k

an. this is one of my fav fics that I’ve ever written, speaking as an omi girlie myself ;; this is also rewritten & reposted <3

꒰ 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢 — 𝟏��+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 ꒱

“Flower girls, please save the petals for when you walk down the aisle. And please, behave,” the coordinator says with hints of sweetness in his voice. He dusts off a few petals that got on his sleeves from a playful dispute between the little girls. Later, he requests for the older (and the more collected) bunch — the bridesmaids and the groomsmen — to be in their places in exactly five minutes.

You don’t really know much of the people here, save for a few bridesmaids and the bride herself, all of whom you’ve been friends with ever since high school. A few minutes ago, at the very brief orientation for the entourage, you stiffened when they announced who you’re getting paired with — a tall man with black wavy hair swept to one side, two prominent moles on the right side of his forehead, dark piercing eyes, and the rest of his face hidden behind a mask. Not that you’re complaining or anything, he just seems like he didn’t want to be there.

The coordinator darts his eyes back and forth from his clipboard onto the pairs falling in line but fixes his gaze on your partner who’s about an arm’s length away from you.

“Kiyoomi-san, please take it off just for the ceremony.”

Your partner gives his offender a sinister look, furrowing his brows before ultimately giving in — taking a deep sigh as he hooks his fingers on the loops of his mask.

Your head subconsciously draws back upon seeing his whole face, eyes fluttering, completely taken by how soft the entirety of his face looks regardless of the spiteful demeanor he gave off.

Mesmerized, you watch him slowly glance from the ground up as he folds his mask, keeping it deep in one of his pockets. As soon as your eyes locked, he cocks a brow, and the realization kicks in that you have just been caught ogling him.

Immediately, you look away, attempting to brush off your embarrassment now that you’re minutes away from walking down the aisle.

Shit. Please look away, please—

Promptly, you check to see if he’s still looking. And yes, he is, in fact, staring at you intently. He takes a few steps towards you, slowly closing the gap between the two of you.

“Sorry, I was just… did you want something—”

“Hold still.”

He inches closer to you, inspecting your face, and you can feel his warm breath brushing over your cheek. He raises his hand and as soon as you feel his fingers running through your hair, you can't help but jolt backwards in response.

“I said hold still,” he commands.

Your mouth opens agape and you feel a soft pinch at the top of your head. Pretty soon he’s waving a stray petal in front of your face.

He falls back in line, letting go of the petal to drop on the red carpet, and you, on the other hand, are frozen in place, not having moved an inch from where he left you.

You realize that you may have overreacted but your heart is pumping nonetheless.

“____, Kiyoomi, you’re up next!” the coordinator announces, and snapping you out of your daze is Kiyoomi offering his arm for you to take.

…

If there’s one thing at a wedding that the guests enjoy more than the bride and groom themselves, that would be the garter toss. Roaring cheers are heard from all corners of the reception hall and phones are whipped out, taking every good angle of the bride and groom in the middle of the dance floor. Obviously, no one is missing a shot of this momentous occasion. You can even tell by the expressions of the hotel staff that they aren’t immune to the appeal of the lewd tradition.

In reality, the ordeal actually goes by quickly. But from both the viewer and the participant’s perspective, it somehow feels menacingly slow. You suppose it’s due to the thrill of having someone consent to get borderline felt up on center stage as a groomsman sticks his head under their skirt, all while crappy overused stripper music plays in the background.

You have to admit, it’s quite the craze… until you consider the possibility that it’s you who gets to do it after all. “All single women to the center of the dancefloor. Bridesmaids, no exceptions!” the host announces, pertaining to you in particular upon seeing your hesitation.

To slim those chances, you stand as far back as possible. That, and so as to not get caught up with the horde of bachelorettes aching for their turn to play wifey. Your friend, the bride, takes one good look at you lot before spotting you at the rear, locking eyes with you, smirking.

You know that devilish look. Oh, don’t you dare.

And with a good throw, the bouquet flies past the mob of hopeful brides-to-be. They attempt their hardest to reach for it but to no avail, now only able to merely follow it with their eyes. A dozen heads turn to look at your figure and reality slaps them on the face all at once, the glimmer of hope leaving their eyes hollow upon seeing the bouquet already within your grasp.

Fuck.

…

Let’s just get this over with. Holy shit, can I do this…

You squirm in your seat, fiddling with the smooth lace wrapped around the bouquet on your lap, mentally debating whether to just say you’re not up for it, but your friends will never let you hear the last of it if you decide to sit this one out.

When you hear the swarm of bachelors bark in defeat, you look for the hand that holds the garter and your eyes widen in shock when you realize who it belongs to.

Although he doesn’t appear to be as miserable as you, not even his mask could hide that it irks him to be on the receiving end of all this attention. How he even ended up being included in the roster of bachelors, you do not know.

You’re being pulled by two of your friends towards the center stage. And just when you think things couldn't possibly get worse—

“What do you say we kick things up a notch?” The DJ riles up the crowd and two seconds later, one of the guests is yelling out, “use your teeth!” Pretty soon, the entire reception hall is echoing that same request.

“USE YOUR TEETH! USE YOUR TEETH! USE YOUR TEETH!”

At this point, you’re not even sure how to react anymore but it concerns you how Kiyoomi’s face just shifted from peeved to aggravated — and you couldn't tell if it’s because of you or the crowd.

“You’re wasting your time, he’s never gonna say yes to that,” one of the groomsmen with light brown hair and round eyebrows answers in your entourage partner’s stead, snatching the garter from Kiyoomi’s hand.

There’s pressure from the audience but you try your hand at reassuring the onlookers. “It’s okay, we can just pick again. Plus, I honestly don’t think he’s up for it.”

You hear him snicker. Did I say something wrong? Shifting your gaze to him, you see that he has already taken off his mask.

“Get on the chair, sweetie.”

You could feel your heart drop in your chest at his behest.

He loosens his own tie. “Let me borrow that for a sec,” he says, turning to the one who took the garment from him.

The crowd whistles. But so far, with how fast-paced the events are unfolding, that’s really the least of your concerns.

He kneels down on one knee and sneaks back a look at you before hooking a finger underneath your dress — lifting it a little and letting it hang on your knees to grant him a better view. You lower your head, trying to hide the redness of your cheeks after being slightly exposed for everyone to see.

He grabs your leg and your breath hitches at the sudden touch of his cold fingertips on your calves. He stretches the garter wide, letting you keep your shoe as he places the garment loose around your ankle. He brings your leg up higher, near his face this time, securing the ivory band between his teeth.

The rhythm of your pulse drowns out whatever music and cheers that could be heard within this very large hall. You’re on the edge of your seat, hands on either side of the chair for your own support, providing him better access for when he gets to spaces that are… tighter.

The brushing sensation of the lace tickles you as he swiftly drags the garter along your shin. He hooks a hand behind your other leg, subconsciously squeezing it when he struggles a little at your knee.

Once more, he slides a finger underneath the hems of your dress. He takes one look at you as if to ask for permission, and you nod at him — prodding him to go on. At that, he slowly lifts the chiffon garment, burying himself underneath it, and you couldn’t stop your shivers from locking your muscles in tight.

Undeniably, you feel your insides coil at his now-dangerous proximity to your private area. You feel the garter hugging your skin tighter when it reaches your upper thigh before it slaps your skin in his release, causing a bolt of heat to shoot down your center.

Abruptly, you feel a sharp sting when something sunk into the soft skin of your thigh as quickly as it left. Your eyes widen for a brief moment, making you bring a hand up to your mouth.

Did he just…

At that he gets out of your dress, standing on his feet. The groom and the bachelors applaud but he seems unaffected by them.

He extends his hand out to you, making you release what breath you didn’t realize you were holding — your eyes dead fixed on each other as he helps you out of your seat.

You’ve since tuned out any noise from the people around you, especially now that you’re distracted by the new, tingling sensation of soft lace rubbing and tickling between your thighs.

The bride comes up to you, hugging you and screaming at you, overjoyed as if whatever the fuck just happened calls for an even bigger celebration than her own wedding. You look for your partner, only to be met with his back as he heads for the exit. That becomes his cue to take his leave, nowhere to be found for the rest of the evening.

…

In the later hours, you barely speak (or rather, barely respond properly) to other people. You’re tipsy from what little amount of wine and cocktails you had drunk and so far, you only seem interested in learning about Sakusa Kiyoomi — how he’s a professional volleyball player for one of Japan’s top leagues and is without a doubt one of the best you’ll ever see in the country.

Your friends even warn you about him being too frank and too clean, but who on earth would complain about the latter? But the thing that you still can’t wrap your head around is the fact that he rarely ever shows interest in just anyone. “He must’ve really liked you, or else he never would have agreed to that,” one of his friends tells you — some words you’re trying to not get too hyped about.

The last of all the absurd wedding traditions is where the groom carries his bride to their room, and you all take that as your signal to leave as well. It’s pretty late but you still haven’t gotten over your high from earlier. And with this place being the same hotel where most guests are checked in, you silently hope to at least bump into him again, checking at every turn as you make your way to your hotel room. But again, he’s nowhere to be seen, and you’re dead set on denying your futile longing if anyone asks.

Feeling uneasy, you get out of your clothes, leaving them and your other belongings on the floor of your bathroom, and find yourself soaking in a warm bath. You’re frustrated — half due to feeling you have unfinished business and half due to the possibility that you’re romanticizing your little encounter more than you should.

The warm bath should’ve helped by now, but the knotting feeling in the pit of your stomach is only welling up inside you. Resting your head on the edge of the tub, you close your eyes, repeating the moments over and over in your head, with each account of the memory almost as potent as when you had experienced it hours ago.

Finishing up in your late-night bath, your attention is called to the sound of your phone receiving a text.

…

Text message from unknown

Today 2:00 AM

:Are you still up?

:I hope you don’t mind. I had Komori ask for your number from the bride.

Komori? You had your guess — or hopes up, more likely. But no way, it couldn’t be.

Who’s this?:

Text message from unknown

Today 2:01 AM

:It’s Kiyoomi. Can I come over?

——

Three hours. It has been nearly three hours since you last saw him.

A dim, ambient yellow emanates from the two lamps on your nightstands, one on either side of the bed, your only sources of light. You sit on the edge of your bed, restless, mindlessly tapping the heel of your foot to the floor, taking deep breaths as your anticipation wells up in your chest.

Five minutes. That was how long it took for you to come up with an answer.

You have done your part in reminding yourself that you just met the man today. You’re blatantly aware that that important bit of information holds him against your better judgment. Even so, you’re meek to dismiss the biggest warning signs over the slightest doubts that… Maybe he means well? I don’t even know what he wants. But what could he possibly want at 2 in the morning?

And as for you, well, what could you possibly want dressing up like that?

…

Twenty minutes. It had been twenty minutes since you replied to his text with your hotel room number.

Clad only in the hotel-provided bathrobe that covers you only up to your thighs, you clump the blue linen fabric in your balled fist, further exposing your thighs, unarmed with the first thing to do or say once he gets here — once he sees how you chose to present yourself.

The suspense is killing you. Your own imagination running amok causes you to put a hand in between your crossed legs. Breaths, labored. Your bottom lip, red and plump from your constant, thoughtless nibbling. And worst of all, your own velvet walls, twitching.

Maybe this is a bad idea, you realize, prompting you to get up and throw on some pants, underwear, anything. Except you’re brought to a halt when…

2:30 AM — it was what it said on the digital clock on your nightstand when you heard three full knocks coming from the other side of the door.

Your body makes an involuntary turn towards the door, striding slowly as you tighten the belt of your robe, a minor sting lacing around your stomach. You can feel blood rushing to your cheeks, heart pulsating when your hand makes contact with the cold doorknob.

After having heard no follow-up nor signal from the other side of the door, you would have believed that your senses fooled you the first time you heard knocking. Would have, if it weren’t for the tall man in a gray hoodie and black sweatpants standing in front of you. It doesn’t surprise you that even in the later hours, his pretty face is still concealed behind a mask.

“It’s you,” you say, partly as a greeting and partly to convince yourself he’s real.

His eyes trail your form from up to down, black orbs deep as night studying you torturously slow. You don’t know what it’s for but you find it safer to assume that it’s judgment coming from him, making you fiddle with your hair, looking away as you’re suddenly conscious of how you look.

“It’s me. Aren’t you gonna let me in, ___?” he inquires, tone as monotonous as ever but you don’t miss the smirk in his voice at his mention of your name. The very first time you hear your name roll off his tongue, it knocks the breath out of your lungs and sends you to a near-cardiac arrest.

You take a step back before turning your back to him, leading the way to your bedroom.

Keeping a clear head proves to be quite the task. You’re careful not to let him detect any nervousness from you but you know that to be a lost cause when the mere sound of the door closing shut behind him causes you to flinch, not to mention the hairs that prickle all over your body when he suddenly runs the back of his fingers along your spine.

You gulp, crossing your arms tight around your chest, covering yourself up a little bit as you gather the courage to even turn around.

Looking at him over your shoulder, you pick up that he’s also somewhat keeping a distance from you. Like he’s waiting for something from you, a signal perhaps? Your lips subconsciously part in your musing but you’re unable to mutter a single word.

Raising a brow at you, he asks, “you’ve got questions?” sounding more like a fact than a query.

“Well, you— uhm… you disappeared all of a sudden…” you mumble, fiddling with your fingers as you turn to face him entirely.

“And?”

Scratching the back of your neck, you reluctantly ask, “I don’t know, I guess I just— where had you gone off to? And… Why did you come over?”

The first time his eyes leave your form, he cranes his head back, hands digging into the pockets of his hoodie as he thinks of an answer. When he doesn’t say anything, you add, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you—”

“No one’s ever gotten me to be in that kind of position,” he responds and your heart drops over your presumption of where this conversation might lead to.

“Making me go down on my knees and stick my head underneath your skirt like that,” he adds, eyes staring daggers into yours again.

“I didn’t mean for it to… if you’re asking me to apologize then—”

“I’m asking you,” he cuts you off, taking a few steps closer to you, “to be good for me like you were earlier, and then we’ll call it even.”

Your breath hitches as you subconsciously draw one hand to a fist, balling the hems of your robe, feeling a pool of heat growing in your core before you nod your head twice in agreement to his terms.

His figure towers over yours as he tilts your chin up with a finger, “Not like that, ___. I want you to say it.”

“…I’ll be good for you, Kiyoomi.”

Soon, his hands are moving to the bands of his mask but before he could tug on them, you interrupt him. “Wait—” you pause, your eyelashes fluttering, making him cock a brow in response. “Allow me?”

At that, he relaxes his stance, letting you do as you please. One side of his face is golden where the light touches, dark brown where it doesn’t. And for the third time today, you’re rewarded with his soft, captivating features that he tends to deprive others of in his aversion to dirt.

You try to brush off the thought but it’s so hard to dismiss the fact that he’s so good looking. You know you’re never going to get enough of him.

He pulls you in slowly, ridiculously big arms wrapping around you, his touch embedded with a bit of care in contrast to his daggers for words. He presses your tits and stomach flat against his taut stomach as he holds you by the small of your back.

The feeling of need for your mouth to be occupied grows but you wait for him patiently. Even now, his eyes study you, looking as if he has something to say.

“Fuck it,” he cusses after what seemed like a debate in his head. “You’re so pretty.”

If you thought his features looked soft, his lips definitely felt much softer. His kisses are heavy with need, betraying what composure he let on earlier.

You roam your hands across his biceps that feel hard to the touch, hands finding solace on his broad shoulders, melting into his hold as you find the taste of his mouth finer, and far more intoxicating, than the liquors you indulged in today.

He trails a hand lower to grab your ass, unintentionally pulling on the skirt of your robe. You moan into the kiss upon the brush of a cold breeze past your slightly exposed bottom.

He’s the first to pull away and you whine at the abrupt separation.

“Lie down.” He runs his fingers through his locks while he tries to catch his breath, eyes half-lidded, pupils dilated, his signature bass deeper than usual. Before you could submit to his request, he places a soft, wet kiss on your cheek, surprising you by pulling on the strings of your robe.

“Kiyoomi!” you whine in your shock, hands automatically crossing over your exposed chest but he pays no mind to it. Instead, he begins to trail kisses from the crook of your neck up to your jaw.

“Mm,” you purr when he hits a sweet spot on your neck, making him attack that same spot repeatedly and oh so tenderly. Your head cranes back to grant him more access to your neck, your own body betraying your resistance earlier.

Your legs feel like jello at this point with every ounce of defiance leaving your body from how good he peppers your skin with his kisses. Kiyoomi knows what you want, and makes sure you know what he wants.

He kisses the lobe of your ear once, hot breath fanning your ear as he whispers, “You don’t need to hide from me. And weren’t you the one who promised to be good for me?” He kisses your temple. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you let your robe drop to the floor, doing as you’re told. His eyes explore your body, exposed skin burning underneath his half-lidded gaze. Kiyoomi’s cold fingertips caress your side, calluses leaving a faint trail where he touches. You look away in embarrassment but his hand is quick to capture your jaw, thumb and middle finger digging into your cheeks.

“Eyes on me.” His hand wraps loosely around your neck, thumb stroking your throat, making you swallow a lump of saliva in your submission. Next, he reaches for your breast, placing your nipple in between two fingers as he fondles your tit.

There’s a certain tenderness with the way he handles you. A softness in his touch, in stark contrast to his rough demeanor. Big man that knows just how delicate you are compared to him, like you’re something that needs to be treated with utmost care, that if he’s not careful enough, he just might break you.

“Lie down.” Eyes still fixed on his, you lie down and he mirrors you, towering over you as you prop your elbows on the bed, your knees drawn together, pressing against his stomach.

“Whenever you’re rea–hha!” You let out a gasp when he pulls you by your thighs closer to the edge of the bed, granting him easy access to your entrance. He gets down on his knees, face dangerously close to your cunt. “Keep still, I want to try something.”

“What are you—”

Kiyoomi parts your knees abruptly, eliciting a whimper from you. “Kiyoomi, please,” you whine, he looks at you briefly before turning back to your cunt. He releases a breathy grunt upon seeing your pussy so wet and puffy, clenching before him. Warm breath wafts across your folds before he takes a whiff. “Lavender, huh? Were you preparing?”

Your knees attempt to contract upon his inquiry, but he pins your legs down on both sides.

“This is embarrassing, Kiyoomi.”

“Omi. And I’m sure it is. Who would have guessed that sweet, harmless ___ would lie down in bed, spread wide open for me?” he teases, running his thumb along your slippery slit, making you bite down on your lower lip, eyes rolling back when he starts to rub slow circles on your clit. “Sweet ___, drenched in your own juices, when I haven’t even gotten to half of what I plan to do to you.”

“Ff-fuuuck,” your moans drag out, betraying your own words. “O-omi–mm,” you coo, humming when he inserts two fingers inside you easily, slowly fucking your hole. Your hips buck in a poor attempt to ride his hand, arching when he flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue. “Hm?” he asks before slowly swiping his tongue side to side, alternating between sucking and playing with your clit, and he realizes just how vocal you can get with your purring now filling the room.

“Ha—Omi, I need—hm,” your words are coming out incoherent with how good Kiyoomi’s tongue feels on your clit, but it’s not quite enough. “Fuuuck, fuck me, Omi, please, fuck,” you whisper and it feels like a prayer on your lips, starting to feel your orgasm building up. But right when your hole begins to spasm, Kiyoomi pulls his tongue back, fucking you with a third digit, and you wince at the slight tear.

“What is it, ___?” seeing the smirk plastered on his face causes your entire face to burn up, and at this point, you realize that he’s insistent on making you last out.

“I want to see you too, please.”

…

As if Kiyoomi eating you out isn’t enough to push you over the edge, watching him strip out of his clothes is a whole experience in itself. He’s built as you would expect a professional athlete, but seeing all of him, bare, in the flesh sends your core throbbing in excitement. And though the thought of him being big shouldn’t come as a surprise, you’re forced to inhale air through gritted teeth upon seeing what he packs beneath his trousers — long, girthy, and veiny — fully erect with the tip glinting with precum. Oh he’s big, alright.

His curls drop to his forehead when he looks down, rolling a condom over his hard shaft. He doesn’t need to look at you to know you’ve been practically eye-fucking him. “It’s rude to stare, pretty (nickname),” he says with sarcasm hinted in his voice. Even after seeing each other naked, after letting him taste you, you still feel the need to look away, flustered from just his words.

He aligns himself at your entrance, laughing through his nose at your adorable flushed state. He tilts your chin to look at him, your blown-out irises meeting his black ones. “I told you to look at me, didn’t I?”

“I-I am. Please, Omi.”

He crouches down to your level, muscles crunching and contracting with every movement, hands propping beside you, trapping you as he captures your lips gingerly. Your stomach locks in tight with the light slap of his dick on top of it. Your fingers instinctively wrap around it making him grunt into the deepening kiss. He bucks into your hand, hard cock slippery from the condom but he suddenly pulls out with dissatisfaction all over his face.

“Fuck it. I want to feel all of you,” he says as he impatiently discards the condom. Not a second later, he recaptures your mouth and your hand forms a ring once again around his dick. His cock feels warmer to the touch, slick with his own precum. Kiyoomi clearly finds it better this way, humming into the kiss as he lets you pump his dick.

Next thing you know, he’s on his feet, him in all his 6 '4 might, towering over you. You sit up and you find your face levelled with his cock. Through thick lashes you look up at him, jerking his shaft wet as you prop your free hand on his hip.

He welcomes that look on you. If he isn’t, he wouldn’t be sweeping your hair behind your ear. The corner of his lip upturns as if he wishes to entertain the thought you just had.

You really just want to please him.

Eyes looking up at him, you slide the expanse of your tongue up and down across his shaft, mirroring how he ate you out earlier, tip of your tongue flicking at his foreskin.

“Hm,” he huffs out, head craning back, cussing and grunting from how good your tongue feels.

“I want to make you feel good, Omi,” you say, with a glint of bashfulness in your voice.

With steady breaths, you try to take as much of him as you can, but you’re only able to take in not even half of his cock when you feel a slight gag behind your throat. You take a deep breath through your nose to control your reflex. “Fuuuck,” Kiyoomi groans, cock feeling tight around your throat and to say your own pussy is drenched is an understatement. You know just how much you’ve been making a mess as you grind on the sheets.

With tears beginning to prickle your eyes, you bob your head, hand pumping his dick as an extension of your mouth. Kiyoomi’s hand caresses the side of your face while you fill yourself up with his cock. His abs begin to flex even harder in front of you in an attempt to prevent himself from fucking your throat. He knows you just wouldn’t be able to take it.

The second he feels his cock throb he pulls out of you.

“Stop,” he says it more to himself really, unwilling to finish in your mouth. “Sorry, we made a little mess.” He uses his thumb to wipe off the mix of precum and drool that dripped to the side of your face. His expression, both stoic and yet oh, so endearing. You suppose it’s part of his allure, him coming off ominous even as he peppers you with tenderness.

“You really are lovely, ___, and I’m going to cum in you, not your mouth,” he tells you so matter-of-factly, to which you can only nod in obedience.

He pushes you by your chest gently, making you lie down and wrap your legs around his waist. And without warning, he thrusts all of his cock inside you, making you scream both in pleasure and pain, your own wetness allowing him to slide into you with ease but it doesn’t help with the stretch. It’s not an exaggeration to say he’s the biggest you’ve ever had. And his pace is unforgiving, orienting you with the stamina of a professional athlete.

“O-omi,” you cry out, eyes rolling back as you clutch onto his biceps. His length leaves your walls almost as soon as he pounds balls deep into you. Moments later, your pain turns purely into pleasure, finding yourself smiling in your own euphoric high the more he thrusts into you, hitting your sweet spot.

“If only you could see how pretty you look when you’re being so good to me, taking my cock like that.” He rests his forehead on top of yours, his dark eyes hooded and boring into you, planting soft and sloppy kisses in between sentences.

“Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop–” Your brain is rewired by his cock with every roll of his hips. Every new detail of him is a new engraving in your memory, and every memory of him is an experience – from the sight of his soft curls beginning to stick slick to his forehead, the feeling of his biceps contracting beneath your palms, the clashing sounds of your moans against his grunts and shallow breathing, to every wet slap of his hips on your cunt.

You can’t get enough of him. The obscene thought of fucking a man you had just met and know so little of should have scared you. But it is, without a doubt, bringing you over the edge, making your walls knot at the very fact.

You start to feel tears well up in your eyes when he hooks your legs around his arms, and you become a teary-eyed, whining mess at the ample friction on both your clit and your g-spot.

“You’re even prettier when folded, fuck.” His mouth is on yours once again, tongue so familiar with your own at this point. He props himself up higher as he wantonly jerks his hips to brush over your clit. “Cum for me, baby.”

“Omi!” arching into him, you crane your head back as you let out a high-pitched cry of his name, your walls fluttering as you come undone around his cock, nails burying crescents into his skin, and you swear you hear Kiyoomi utter a curse under his breath.

And he doesn’t stop fucking you. He keeps a steady rhythm, coaxing the buildup of your second orgasm seconds after your first.

“I-I want to make you feel good too, Omi, please,” you chirp, utterly intent on committing to your promise.

“You do feel good, baby.” You try with all your might to answer but your walls are too busy coiling as he fucks you through your second high. “You don’t know how good your tight pussy feels around my cock.” The corners of his mouth turn upwards, and albeit only slightly, the sight of it is a high in itself.

Before you know it, he’s able to prop himself up with one hand on a side plank, roughly rubbing circles on your clit with his fingers, and you’re losing your mind over how he keeps hitting your g-spot while he teases your sensitive bud. Your erratic heartbeat all but fills your chest when you notice his pace has gotten uneven, his breath, shaky.

“Omi, I’m-I’m—” He takes one full thrust in you, releasing the loudest groan he’s had tonight. His cock twitches inside of you, stuffing you full of his hot cum, preventing you from finishing your sentence when you reach your own high at the same time as his. His propelled hand doesn’t falter even when he’s on the brink of collapse from his own orgasm, and you can tell he’s avoiding crushing you with his form.

He pants, slowly pulling out of you, and flops as he rests his head on top of your stomach, the both of you taking a second to catch your breaths.

He plants a kiss on your stomach before he leaves you briefly, heading towards the bathroom. You close your eyes for a bit, devoid of strength to worry about him leaving you. You jolt up when you suddenly feel a towel on your cunt.

“Hold still,” he tells you for the second or third time today, finding him cleaning up the cum that’s beginning to drip out of your pussy. And at this point, you’ve lost count of the number of times he has taken you by surprise.

Once done, he makes his way back to the bathroom to dispose of the used towel properly, making you chuckle at how even when he’s exhausted to the brim, his own tendencies never leave him.

Finally, he sits down and takes the space beside you. Still catching his breath with his back slightly hunched, he stares forward at nothing.

You, on the other hand, know better by now than to probe him, and so you wait for him to speak his mind.

“No lie. I really thought you were the prettiest earlier,” he confesses all of a sudden and you almost feel your eyes popping out of their sockets. “Still do.”

“What… happens now?” Truth be told, you really didn’t want to bring it up, but the question has since welled up in your stomach even before he fucked all rhyme and reason out of your brain.

“I wanna try something else,” he utters, “something where I get to wake up next to you in the morning.” And you realize you were worried for nothing.

Smiling to yourself, you respond, “I’d like that.”

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa smut #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #tw corruption #[ ! ] bridesmaid series #[ ! ] something borrowed #!love letters #!sakusa #꩜— interstellar communications #!haikyuu

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redcherrykook · 3 months ago

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──𐙚 romance novel - biker!rich!JK x bookworm!reader request

────୨ৎ────

content: esth. relationship, book shopping date, fluff, bike rides with Jk, smut freaky ngl (she reads a smut scene, he recreates it for her meanwhile), fingering, tits play, clit play, kinda cum play, slight begging, praise

────୨ৎ────

"Ooh look at this one bunny!"

jungkook giggles, patting your flowy hair onces again, his arm moves to wrap around your shoulders

He had heard this sentence about a thousand times now, never getting tired of it

"Hmm.. interesting"

How could he? Seeing your eyes glimmer and light up upon viewing the pretty covers, the little hums and gasps you let out, flipping the book around to read the synopsis

"I think this is the last one" your fingers tap the cover, putting it inside the full basket your boyfriend is carrying with his other arm

He smiles, rubbing your cheek with his thumb, "sure? We have time sweetheart, take it" nodding his chin up to gesture to the fantasy asile,

For the past two weeks, all he's seen you read is fantasy

Wheather it be acotar or the cruel prince series, the countless stories of fae, dragons and heir's float around on the pages, register in your brain and flow out as retelings for Jungkook to listen to

He'd be listening to twenty minute voice messages of your charged rambles, finding it absolutely adorable how worked up you get over fictional storylines

Ever since passing your bar exam, he had promised to take you book shopping, promised to buy you whatever books you wanted

"But- there's already so much in here, its so expensive kook" you pout, squeezing his arm while roaming over the fantasy section with your eyes,

"I can pay for it baby. You know money is the least of my worry, come on, i want to treat my smart girl" his sweet but stern tone of voice is enough to make you fold, kissing his cheek and happily walking towards the huge shelves,

"Cute" he mutters under his breath, following closely behind you

A few special editions of pre owened books and a whole new series in addition later, the total came out to what would be a month's rent for you, and a little nick for your boyfriends bank account

"Give me that sweetheart, I'll store it" his gloved hands wrap around the heavy, large totebags, two of them filled to the brink

Knowing that was gonna be the outcome, his attached storage comparted was handy, presecured on the black harley davidson.

"All done" he says, locking it after managing to stuff the bags inside

You give him a thumbs up, already having pulled your pink- hello kitty themed helmet over your head, comically contrasting the rest of your outfit

He had gotten you that helmet as well, back when he first acquired his license and could start taking you with him on his rides

"My place?" his head turns a bit over his shoulder, revving the engine

You nod, arms sneaking around his firm torso and locking your hands tightly

He takes off, driving the way back to his nice suburban apartment, the wind speeding with your sides, blowing a refreshing breeze

"Whatcha reading honeybun?" After watching you read the past 45 minutes, your boyfriend spent his gaming and making popcon, peacefully watching you doze off into a world he wasn't a part of

he can't take it anymore, the smell of your sweet floral scent clouding his room, the little groans you let out will flipping through the pages, it's too much to soley bear witness to

So he teases you, nudging your side with his elbow

You giggle in return, squeezing his round cheeks while he keeps munching on the snack set on the bedside table

"Fantasy, bunny. Just about some fae wars again" you reply in a low hum, scanning over the words on the paper

With a dramatic sigh, his head rests on your lap to catch your attention, his pretty, dark brown locks falling over to the side, framing the sharp contures of his jaw beautifully

You take a second to stroke his face, appreciating the eyebrow piercing he had gotten recently, as well as the small metal ring on his bottom lip. Your favorite feature, his brown doe eyes, contently shutting

His sweet bunny smile slowly spreads on the honey toned face of his,

"Attention please, i need your attention baby" he says, turning his head sideways to kiss the inside of your hand

"Hmm.. but it's so interesting right now kook. Five minutes okay?" the butterflies in your stomach roar at his actions, however, the intense rivalry in the book is enough to keep your eyes locked back on the words

Suddendly, a tatted hand rips away the book, written ink disappearing from your eyesight and into your boyfriends golden hands

"more interesting than me huh? Let's see what my little princess reads about"

he's sat upright now, scanning over the page you last left off, nodding, seemingly satisfied before flipping through the pages

Your eyes widen at that, well aware of the dirty secret this innocent fantasy book witholds,

Explicit scenes are thickly spread between the plot of what looks to be a regular story

Panicking, you climb into his lap, reaching to take the book off him when you notice his smirk softly spreading, clearly having stumbled on something he shouldn't have seen

His arm extends upward, making sure you won't be able to get the book off of him,

With a almost predatory gaze, his cocky smile also looks down to you, licking over the corner of his lip, grazing the small metal decoration

"That's what's keeping my girl from spending time with me hm?"

he chuckles lowly, stroking over your thighs with his free hand

"Kook stoppp!" you whine, still propped up on your knees and on his lap, both arms up and fumbling to get the book back down,

Your cheeks have been covered in a pink hue and with the way your chest bounces at your desperate attempts, jungkook simply can't help it

He pushes you down on his bed, taking your wrists with one of his hands and pinning them together above your head

The atmosphere shifts, clearly asserting the dominance to him as he hovers over you like you're his prey, completely helpless at his mercy

You let out a soft moan when his eyes find your again,

"Listen to me sweetheart. We're gonna spend some time together now. Since you so badly wanna read, read it out for me. Tell me what you dream 'bout yea?"

Your eyes widen and for a split second, he sees the look on your face turn from excitment to worry,

Immediately he lets go of your wrists, wrapping both his arms around your figure, his lips ghosting over the skin of your neck

" m'sorry baby, I didn't sound so nice there did i? You can always say no. I'm not judging you sweetheart, i promise" sweetly, the air shifts again into something more comfortable, soft pads of your fingers colliding with the strands of his hair,

"Thank you kook.. i think it would be fun.." you admit, the need in your voice becoming almost too much to withstand, he lets you know how much he wants you by sucking on the skin of your neck, kissing his way back up to your jaw

Once satisfied, he reaches for the almost abandoned book, handing it to you with a kiss to your forhead

"Go on sweetheart"

You swallow, quietly reading the first lines aloud to him,

"he pushes the thin fabric of her flimsy top upwards to reveal her swollen chest, caged in his favorite colored bra. Mercilessly, they get groped at by his eager hands, hungry for a taste of her skin on his"

Jungkook's hands move exactly like you had told him to, pushing your comfortable sweater upwards and groping the soft swell of your breast in his large plams, groaning softly when he brushes over your nipples,

Relishing the touch of your skin, he can't help but nudge the bra down a bit, getting a better feel of you

He loves watching your face twist slightly in pleasure, he loves hearing your breathy little whimpers

"keep going baby, you feel so good" he encourages, drawing meaningless patterns on your stomach and it sends waves of pleasure straight to your core

You take a small breath, trying your best to focus on the instructions in front of you

"..without waiting another second, his hands tug down her bottoms, leaving her in just her panties. Effortlessly, he brushes against her clit, rubbing the fabric to it before pulling the thong to the side to admire the wetness he created"

your moans increasingly become louder, feeling the pad of his thumb press small cricles into your covered clit before pushing to fingers under the string, letting the cold air hit your pussy

Jungkook takes a second to lick his lips and sigh, enamored with the sight of your glistening cunt, the bulge in his pants is starting to strain painfully

"He keeps his eyes on hers, monotering the way they roll back when he slides two digits into her hole, twisting them so his thumb still presses into the needy bud, begging for stimulation"

That's it, that's what makes you shudder, letting the book fall off to the side, your knees buckling and hands gripping at Jungkook's firm shoulders

He smiles, brushing his lips over yours,

His long digits feel so good inside you, he doesn't move them yet, only moving his thumb softly, rubbing it up and down on your clit,

"That good?" he asks, licking over your bottom lip slowly

A whine of approval leaves your lips as you crash them on his, engulfing him in a deep, passionate kiss that makes him moan into it

The attempt at making him start pleasuring you doesn't work, still only letting them sit inside your warmth,

"You know what i want sweetheart" he mutters, slolwy sliding his tongue inside your mouth before withdrawing, met with your little whimpers once more

"come on, be a good girl, beg for me baby"

"Please kook" you whine, one hand now sliding down from his shoulder to his thigh, turning your fingers inward on the muscle,

He hums, directing his kisses back to your neck, licking over the skin delicately

"You can do better pretty, i know you can"

Another frustrated whine leaves your lips,

"Please kook, please fuck me with your fingers, please bunny make me cream on them. Please, i need it"

"Good girl, so good for me" he praises, giving you no room to breath or build up- almost brutally fast in the way he fucks his fingers into you, sucking on the softness of your neck

His thumb hits your clit with every push, harder, faster, each time

You're whimpering, moaning messily and trying to hold on to every little thing you can grasp with sweaty, trembling hands

He meets your moans, groaning, finding your lips and kissing you with such need and intensity, you want him, want him even while having him

"kook gonna cum" you whimper into his mouth, clenching around the slender fingers that create quelching noises when fucking into your cunt, the friction of his thumb making it impossible to hold on any longer

"That's so good baby, my sweet girl, come for me" his kisses focus on the side of your jaw, tongue darting out while slowing down the pace, he had felt you shake and release on him, that deep moan you let out being enough to know you came undone

You're panting, weakly laying slumped forward against him. Ecstacy rushing rough your body, his fingers still burried deep, while his other hand accompanies the sweet kisses on your head, threaded through your silky strands

"Awh... so cute, look at that" the sound of his deep and affectionate words catch you off guard, looking down to where his eyes are focused on

He draws his fingers out, taking a string of your arousal with him before directing them back to your sensitivity

Your grip on his tightens once more , whining out the sound of his name

"Mhh.. i know, i know sweetheart" he coos, his fingers working to spread your cum all over your folds and rubbing it into your clit,

With a quick kiss to your lips, he tells you to open

"Here.. good girl" he mumbles, watching your eyes fall and your lips wrap around his fingers, pushed into the warmth of your mouth

You moan when tasting your own arousal on him, tongue twirling between his fingers to lapp up every drop

He takes them out when he's satisfied, tangling his hands into your hair

"Wanna take a bath pretty?" you nod, giggling when he starts placing little kisses all over your face, wrapping his arms around you as he hoists you up, getting ready to run you a well deserved bath

"Thank you kook" you tell him, cupping his face into your hands, he squeezes the flesh of your bare ass in return, kissing the tip of your nose with a small laugh

"I promised to make your dreams come true. Unfortunately i don't have a Dragon. Not yet at least, if you wanna fuck one, you know where to look for something in that size"

You kick his butt with your heel, rolling your eyes at his middle school joke,

"You're ridiculous", he sets you down on the bathroom counter, running the water and filling it with bubble solution,

"You love me" he says, taking his shirt off,

Biting your lip softly, you reach for his defined figure,

"I do. I love you"

his hands with your waist under the sweater, pulling you closer into him,

"I love you too sweetheart"

#redcherrykook #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x you

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frankotalk · 1 year ago

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squidward voice i have GOT to make a reki/nemu doujin

#i just think . theyre so good. you know how much i treasure shared past event/important figure/trauma dynamics...#and obv nemu doesnt have the whole sin guilt going on like reki does but i want to know more about how she feels about kuramori's ascention #i really want to explore them kind of grieving together and then not really talking about it again until things get really bad for reki #if im feeling crazy enough i might actually make it pretty long and explore how their dynamic changes immediately after her death #to like when the rest of the cast start hatching then to when rakka is born and the series starts #and end it with the conclusion of the anime #i was just thinking of purely setting it during a mid point between kuramoris death and the start of the anime but hmmmmmm....#wouldn't it be so cute if nemu helped reki dye her wings. for a little bit or something. or maybe she relapses or something #sighs deeply . make. the content. u want to see in this world. ok bye im going to thumbnail this

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gojonanami · 9 months ago

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❝ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐖 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐒 (𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐈'𝐌 𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆) ❞

❝ PROF. GETO IS SO HOT AND NOW HE’S A DEPARTMENT HEAD !! ❞

✧ pairing: professor!geto x f!reader (part four of the prof geto series)

✧ summary: you and suguru enter a new phase in your relationship— long distance. the two of you work hard to keep your relationship alive and well — but what happens when distance and work starts to weigh on your time together?

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut , fluff, but also angst depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader is a grad student, but age is vague, long distance relationship, phone sex, shower sex, fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, amateur's take on moral philsophy and ethics, yuta appears *gasp*, fanart found on pinterest (if anyone knows the og artist, pls let me know)

✧ wc: 14,288 | part one | part two | part three

“Baby,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “c’mon, you have to wake up, we can’t be late,” your boyfriend groans, pulling the covers over his head, and you giggle, gently tugging at the comforter held taut over his head.

“No,” he’s murmuring, as you roll your eyes, “a few more minutes,”

“A few minutes for you will turn into a few hours,” you chuckle, as your fingers finally find the inside of the comforter.

And you’re finally able to pull it off, Suguru’s long locks askew as his pretty obsidian eyes flutter half open, and your lips curl.

How did you get so lucky?

Your fingers run over his cheek, before you press a kiss to his forehead, “C’mon Mr. Department Head, you’re going to be late at this rate — you have to get the keys to your new apartment today and you have a meeting with the staff too,”

Suguru groans, his lips in a rare pout — mornings were truly his most vulnerable times, “Does it have to be today?” He draws close to you, burying his face in your neck, and your fingers slowly rake through his locks, gently easing the knots that formed in the night.

“Unfortunately yes,” you murmur, your fingers tucking a few locks behind his ear, “but I’ll be visiting you in two weeks, it will pass by quick,” it did feel like forever — but you knew it wouldn’t be. The summer would end one way or another and now he was leaving for Kyoto — officially three weeks before classes start, “and we’ll be spending the whole week together — we can explore a little more than we got to before,”

“I know,” he still is surely unconvinced, moving back to look up at you with certifiably the cutest purse of his lips, his warm hand finding your cheek, “but then why does every minute without you feel so much longer?”

Your lips find his in a lazy kiss, your hand sliding to the nape of his neck, his soft locks brushing against your knuckles, “But that will make the minutes we do spend together that much more special, right?”

He hums, pressing his forehead against yours, “how are you so positive about this?” And you sigh, your nose bumping against his, as you press a chaste kiss to his lips again.

“Because it’s the only way I can not completely break down,” you sigh, and his arms wrap around you, pulling you back into his embrace, your head resting on his chest, heart thudding nearly right under your ear, “what time do you have to leave?”

He glances at his phone, “not for another two hours,” and you curl up, fingers sliding against his smooth skin.

“Then a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt,” you murmur.

And you’d take any minute that you could get with him, especially now.

~~~

“Do you have everything?” Suguru never knew quite how much you could fuss over him, until the last few days. You seemed to obsess over every detail — his credentials, his electronics, his clothes — it’s as if you wanted everything squared away — and you simply couldn’t focus on anything else.

Because, you probably didn’t want to.

“I do, I have everything — I have things I didn’t need that you put in the car,” you pout as he chuckles, and he can’t help but lean in and kiss the pout from your lips, “I’ll be okay, I’ll call you as soon as I get there,” he murmurs, “can you pack yourself up and get in the car? Then I’ll really have everything I need,”

You blink rapidly, as if to ward off tears, as you can’t quite meet his gaze, “I wish I could,” you murmur, as your arms wrap around him, and his do the same, pulling you into a tight hug, “how am I going to survive the next two weeks without you?”

“It’s just two weeks right? Like you said it will pass by quick—“

You shake your head, “I just said that to make you feel better,” you look up at him, glassy eyed, “I changed my mind, stay here,” you whine, and he laughs, running his fingers through your hair.

“Think it’s a little late for that sweetheart,” he sighs, his fingers sliding under your chin, “after all, you packed up the rest of my things into my car, so unless I’m living out of it—“

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter, as you rub your eyes, and he pulls your hands away gently, kissing your tears away, “I’ll miss you so much,”

“Not as much as me,” and you lean up to kiss him, a sweet kiss that only leaves him aching for more. Why was it the more he had of you — the more he always needed? He knew these first two weeks would be the hardest, but honestly, he’s not sure if it would ever get easier.

Because he needs you. Always.

“Ah wait,” you smile, reaching into your pocket, “you forgot one thing—” and you pull out a key, and he tilts his head, “it’s a key to my place,”

And he blinks, “You don’t—”

“I want to,” you kiss him again, even softer somehow, “please take it,” so he does, as you place the piece of metal into his palm, “plus, it’s practical, if I’m not around, you can let yourself in,”

“Make myself comfortable?” his lips quirk.

“Very comfortable,” you press your forehead to his again, “Go,” you murmur, you pull away reluctantly, his body already mourning the loss of your touch, your fingers still intertwined, “otherwise, I’ll just block your car with my body to get you to stay,”

He rolls his eyes, smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, “I’d like to see that,” he presses his forehead to yours, “promise you’ll stop me from ever accepting a job that makes me be away from you for any amount of time again?”

“Now that’s a promise I’ll keep,” you squeeze his fingers one last time, “I think it’s what’s owed to us isn’t it?”

He knows he would never be able to repay what he owes you for everything you’ve done for him — how happy you’ve made him—

“It is,” he smiles, one last kiss to your lips, as he slips into the driver’s seat before he can change his mind.

—But he would try.

~~~

When you go back to your apartment — it feels far too empty. Even though Suguru didn’t live with you — it felt as if he had made a place for himself here, and he had, but he had left it. For now, you remind yourself. His place would be here for him, when he came back.

But it turned out two weeks was a lot of time to kill when you still hadn’t started classes — your days filled with nothing but time for you to spend. None of your friends from class had made it back yet either — so you were stuck trying to find things to do. Suguru was busier than expected — dragged to meeting after meeting and showed off more than a show dog to the department’s professors, alumni, and donors. Suguru often fell asleep on the phone with you, his soft snores filling your ears, as you fell asleep along with him.

And you couldn’t help but wonder if all semester would be like this — especially once his classes started. You understood — you did — this is what you signed up for and it was far from Suguru’s fault. But you couldn’t help but miss him. And that wasn’t surprising — but what was surprising was how much you missed him.

Your bed was bought for one, but now it felt empty with only you occupying it — a cold barren front without your usual refuge in his arms. And the days weren’t bad — you found things to keep you busy — but the evenings and weekends that you usually had spent with Suguru dragged like a child dragged their feet at the grocery store — reluctantly and without patience.

So maybe you needed to do the same that you’d do for a restless child — a distraction.

“Do you know of any organizations I could join?” You had asked Suguru on one of your video call dinner dates — and he hummed thoughtfully as he picked up soba noodles between his chopsticks, “I just feel like I need something to fill my time,”

“The semester hasn’t even started and you’re already thinking about other things to do?” He raises an eyebrow, and you suppress a giggle at the sight of a bit of the soup that remained on the side of his chin. The very same you wished that you could thumb away for him, “my favorite student is as ambitious as always,”

“Your girlfriend is even more so,” you roll your eyes, as you gesture to your own face to signal, and he wipes his, “c’mon, I know my favorite professor must have something to recommend. I know how he looooves to give me suggestions,”

And he snorts, setting his chopsticks down on his bowl as he finishes his meal, “Then I suggest you think about joining the student government — they have a specific section for graduate students and professors, it would be a good opportunity for you to branch out, and put the philosophy department’s brightest on the map,”

Your lips curl at the compliment, “you think I’m the brightest?”

“I was talking about myself,” and you roll your eyes, as he smirks at you, as he picks up his phone and his dishes to clean up, “I think it would be perfect. Why don’t you speak to Yaga about it? He was trying to goad me into recommending some students,”

“So this really is self-serving, huh?” the water of the sink runs in the background, as you do the same, placing your dishes in the sink — tomorrow’s problem — as you washed your hands, “what would I even know about student government anyway?”

“Philosophy has a lot to do with governance, you know that — Cicero, Plato, Aquinas, Machiavelli—“

“Saving the most benevolent philosopher for last,” and you can hear him chuckle, as the water squeaks shut, and he picks up his phone, a smile playing on his lips, “do you think I could help?”

“I think you can do anything, sweetheart, except get a 100% in my class,” and you gape at him, as he laughs, and your heart aches for that sound, more than you thought was possible, “you should do it, what’s stopping you?”

And you bite your lip — yes, you wanted to be busier, but you didn’t want to be too busy for this. To spend time with Suguru — no matter how little it was. But you knew it would be good for you — for both of you. The last thing you wanted was to be needy — even if this week was proving that you were needier than you thought you were.

“Nothing I guess,” you sigh, as you make your way to your bedroom, “I’ll email Professor Yaga in the morning,”

“Good,” Suguru is sat on his bed as well now, his phone propped up, “and your boyfriend has another suggestion,” and you raise an eyebrow, “I suggest my favorite student brings my favorite t-shirt with them when they come to visit me,”

You gasp in mock shock, “You gave this shirt to me,”

“No, I asked you where it was and you said you packed it already, but I see you pilfered it away when I wasn’t looking,” he tilts his head, “now take it off,”

“Professor, that’s not a proper way for a department head to speak to a student,” you still let the shirt ride up as you lean back against your pillows, “have you not gotten your ethics training yet about appropriate behavior?”

“That’s interesting, you didn’t seem to mind last night when you asked me to send you a very improper picture of my lower half fresh out of the shower,” and you can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips, but your expression grows more serious.

“So it’s all about quid pro quo, Professor?” you sigh exaggeratedly, before pulling the shirt off, “I’ll take it off, but how about if you let me keep it, I’ll give you something else?”

God, you know that look in his eye, and you just wished he could do what he wanted — his fingers would find your waist and your back, pulling you quick and eager into his lap — his hard-on pressing through the thin material of his sweatpants he wore around the apartment.

“And what would that be?” And the shirt finally up and over, a soft gasp leaving his lips at the sight of your bare body, only your shorts left on. You smile.

“Me, of course,” and he’s adjusting his phone, face up, a small groan leaving his lips, “sir?”

“Is that all you’re offering, sweetheart?” and you hear the slight shuffle of fabric, “because that shirt is quite special to me,”

You roll your eyes, a smile tugs at your lips as you see him come back into focus with his phone in hand, his eyes drifting from your eyes to your chest and back, “Is it?”

“If you remove your clothes, I’ll forgive this small transgression,” and his other hand is out of sight, no doubt stroking himself, though you were no better, fingers toying with your cunt through your drenched panties.

“I think that price might be too high, Professor— you might have to give me something in return,” you smile, toying with the elastic of your shorts, and he bites his lip, gaze heavy even through the screen of your phone.

“And what do you want, princess?”

“I thought it was obvious,” as you slip off your shorts, propping up your phone on the pillow designated usually for him, nothing else underneath, “I want you.”

“Fuck,” he’s hissing, as you can hear the distinct sound of the squelch of his hand running up and down his cock, “sweetheart, do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

And your fingers are teasing your wet folds, imagining it was his own, his thick fingers sinking into one by one, he’d fill you so much better than you do — “show me, Suguru,” He does, flipping the camera to show his erection — flushed red and pretty — beads of pre-cum dripping from the tip, “all this just for me?” And your fingers push past your entrance, a gasp leaving your lips, “my fingers aren’t enough for me, Sugu—“

“show me now, let me tell you how to fuck yourself,” and you’re nodding, hand shaking as you flip the camera around to show your fingers notched inside, gleaming with your pre, dripping down your knuckles, “move,” and you do, slowly at first, and his hand moves too, starting to fuck his fist, “faster, curl your fingers just like I would,” and you do, a whine leaving your lips, “good girl,” he grunts.

The sounds of both of your pants and moans fill your ears, your eyes fluttering open to watch him touch himself, “Tease the tip for me, baby,” you murmur, fucking yourself deeper, when you see him thumb his slit, “wish I could taste you, suck you off, until you’re cumming down my—“

“Princess—“ you know he’s close by the way his dick twitches in his fingers and the way his lips moan your name, “add another finger,” and you do — fuck, the stretch is nothing like his cock, but you can almost imagine it is, “I’m sure you’ve gotten tight without me to fuck you — have you been touching yourself when I’m not around?” You bite your lip, your hesitation was all the answer he needed, “what do you think about?”

“Think about you,” you’re fucking close too, your fingers drenched in your own precum, “think about you coming back, about you kissing me at the door before pinning me against it,” And he’s groaning, the sounds of his hand pumping his cock ringing in your ears, you can’t hang on— “Suguru—please—“

“Be a good girl, and cum for me, sweetheart,” and you do, your toes curling and eyes squeezing shut as you do, phone slipping from your fingers, as you hear him groan too, the distinct sound of his cum splattering against his sheets.

You both come down from your highs, pulling your fingers from your cunt, grabbing tissues from your bedside table to wipe off your hands.

“Sugu?” You pick up your phone, and your boyfriend does the same, his cheeks flushed a gorgeous red, slightly more rumpled than before. And you can’t help but wish you could lean over and kiss him as you would, running your fingers through his hair, “I miss you,”

He sighs, gaze filled with affection and longing, “I miss you too, so much — you have no idea, princess,” as you tug his shirt back on, and you lie back, turning on your side, “just one more week,”

“I’m counting the days,” you murmur

“I’m counting the seconds,” and you snort, his lips curled in the damned smile that dragged you into his mess.

“Always have to one up me don’t you?” you bury your nose in the fabric of the shirt, the scent still very distinctly him.

“It is my job after all,” and you smile, “I love you,”

“I love you too,” but you know where this is going — as it always did almost every weekday night.

“I should hang up — I have to clean up and—“

“Review for meetings before bed, I know,” you finish and he raises an eyebrow, “very predictable, Professor Geto,”

“I’ll work on that — watch, I’ll surprise you,” and you chuckle, but you can’t help but frown, “what is it?” and you shake your head, “sweetheart,” and you know he won’t let it go.

“Just call me after you’re done, before bed, okay?” you sit up, glancing at your shorts on the floor, shifting uncomfortably with the wetness between your thighs, “I have to change my shorts and my sheets,”

“You’re welcome,” and you roll your eyes, his lips curled in a small smile reserved just for you, “love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too,” the call ends, and you’re left looking at your lock screen, a sigh caught in your throat.

Just one more week.

~~~

You stood before the door of one of the university's conference rooms — on one of the floors you did not tend to frequent. You spent most of your time in the classrooms if not the library — but you had attended a few meetings up here for one reason or another. But this was the first time you were walking into a room in quite a long time that you didn’t know anyone.

The student government met once before the semester started — a getting to know you forum for new members, such as yourself. There was no real formal election process for your position as senator — as long as other students were not vying for the position. And luckily for you, no other philosophy graduate student had chosen to volunteer for this entirely optional and unpaid position — a mystery really.

But the nerves still remained — though there was nothing more to do than enter. So you did — opening the door and finding the room filled with quite a few faces, but none of them familiar. You took a seat in a relatively empty section, but adjacent to enough faces, an empty seat on either side of you. The people around you chatted, while you pulled a notebook and pen out — your phone face down on the table, before you grab it and shoot Suguru a quick text.

You: in my first student government meeting! wish me luck!!

The meeting started without much formalities — a simple round table introduction that had you close to going last, but you had a chance to learn more about the other graduate students — most of them were students representing different departments, as you were, while there was also the traditional roles of president, vice president, secretary, and treasurer.

Eyes slid to you now, the president gesturing to you, her name escaping you, “And our newest member,”

They finally turned to you as you waved to the group, introducing yourself by name, “I’m a graduate student in the philosophy department, I’m a third year in the program, and I heard about the group from my department head—”

“Professor Geto?” one of the girls piped up, a literature graduate student who you didn’t recognize, but you were sure had taken Suguru’s class or at least had heard about him.

You shook your head, forcing a polite smile on your lips, “Professor Yaga actually told me about it,” she nods, and the president claps her hands together.

“Alright, this meeting is just to mingle and get to know each other, so please enjoy the refreshments and food provided,” and her eyes flicker down, “I think we’re only missing one person from the group—”

And the door bursts open, “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to run late—” a student with dark black hair that rested past his chin, bangs that framed his face on either side, and a small smile on his lips.

“Students keep you again, Yuta?” the president asks, and the dark haired boy known as Yuta slipped into the room, and took a seat beside you, sighing with a nod, as he set down his things, “good timing, you can help our newest member get acclimated,”

His eyes flicker to you, a smile pulling at his lips, “I’d be happy to,” and the group begins to get up to grab food and refreshments, as Yuta offers you his hand, “I’m Yuta Okkotsu, it’s nice to meet you.”

~~~~

“I hope you stay a part of the organization,” your eyes snap up at Yuta’s words — a curious look on his face, “you just seemed a little overwhelmed in there,” he tilts his head, as the two of you walk towards the metro station, “I may be wrong, but—”

“No I was,” for someone who looked so…innocent, he was really observant — his dark eyes felt like they could pierce right through you — even if he wouldn’t let them do so, “it was a lot — I’ve never been a part of a formal structure like this so it was just a lot—”

“It’s not as formal as you think — the proceedings do drag on but Maki, the president, tends to skip the formalities for the most part — she’s as bored of them as you are,” he chuckles, his fingers adjusting the strap of his backpack slung loosely over one shoulder, “usually the meetings don’t take very long — the events mostly take up our time when it comes to planning and organizing, but we hold a couple in conjunction with other organizations so that helps take the load off,” he explains, “we also organize issues important to the students to present to the president of the university quarterly, so we tend to have more meetings around that time, but we schedule the meetings after midterms, and after finals, so it doesn’t interfere with studying,” and then he catches himself, rubbing the back of his neck, “sorry, I’m going on and on, I should have just asked you if you had questions instead,”

“No, it was really helpful, Yuta,” you smile, “you’re very thorough,” and you don’t notice how a faint flush appears across his cheeks.

“I was new last year to the organization, and I remember being really overwhelmed — the professor I usually T.A. for roped me into it, he’s been away on research for the last year or so, but I stayed apart of it, because,” he shrugged, a smile on his lips, “I made some really good friends, and I hope you do too,”

You pull out your phone, no reply from Suguru, a small sigh on your lips — it’s fine, he’s busy, “Good friends are exactly what I need right now I think,” you check the time — Suguru wouldn’t be out of meetings for dinner at this rate, “do you want to grab dinner? I know a good ramen spot not far from here,”

“Sounds great,” and you led the way, not noticing the way Yuta’s eyes lingered on you a second too long, before he started to follow you, keeping pace beside you.

A week would pass by quick.

~~~

“What time will you be here?” Suguru asked, as you had him on your laptop this time on video call to watch you pack for the couple days you were spending with him before the semester started.

“I’m taking the 8:00 AM train, so I’ll get there probably by 10:15, so like two hours,” you weren’t sure how much to pack — you didn’t want to do a ton of laundry right before classes started, but you weren’t sure what you wanted to wear, “can you come here pack for me and go back?”

He snorts, “I’ll be right over, but at that point, wouldn’t it be more conducive for me to just stay with you?”

“But I want to come see you,” you pout, and he shrugs, as his eyes flicker up from his work.

“Then you’re going have to pack,” and you give a heavy sigh, continuing to choose what clothes to take. Your phone goes off and it’s a text from Yuta;

Yuta: hey! are you free next week to get dinner after the meeting? But this time I’m choosing the restaurant :)

You pick up your phone and text back: if it’s that chapati place you mentioned, I’m down — otherwise, you’ll have to deal with my severe disappointment

Yuta: I’ll have to leave you in suspense then

You snort, tossing your phone down, as your eyes go back to the screen to find Suguru smiling at you, “What?”

“Just enjoying the view,” and your cheeks burn, as you roll your eyes.

“Shut up,” you mumble, rolling up a shirt in a hurry in a manner that definitely doesn’t qualify as folding, “what view? Me in an oversized t-shirt and shorts?”

“Exactly, with that pretty smile on your lips? Best thing on anytime,” he replies, and you bite back that same smile he complimented — but it’s the one reserved for him.

“You dork,” you mutter, “don’t say cute things or I’ll take the last train tonight to see you sooner,”

“I’d never make you do that so I’ll stop, for now,” he sighs, resting his cheek on his palm, his gaze growing a little more heady, “but tomorrow? I’ll be sure to tell you every single thing I love about you,”

And your lips curl, as you sigh, “I love you, but you should get some rest and I should finish packing and do the same,”

He gives a small smile, “Yes, ma’am, I’ll see you tomorrow, pretty girl,”

“I’ll be the one running into your arms,”

“Undoubtedly very late,”

“What was that? The sound of me missing my train tomorrow?” And he laughs, as you cross your arms, head held far too high, “that’s right. I’m holding myself hostage,”

“Well if you’re both hostage and hostage negotiator, tell both of you that I’ll bring you your favorite drink and buy you the breakfast of your choice,” and you peek at him, “coming around?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, you better have the ransom ready,” you let a smile escape your lips, “I love you,”

“I love you too, I’ll see you tomorrow,” and he hangs up after, and you sigh — tomorrow, finally.

You’ll see him again — you just hoped these few days didn’t pass by quickly.

~~~

Suguru waited at the station for you, your preferred hot beverage in hand, along with your requested pastry, both in hand as he waited. He opted to have his hair up in a bun due to the weather, a slight wind that carried the warning of fall in the crisp air that morning. But not whenever a snowstorm could have kept him from you that morning — it had been far too many days and nights spent without you by his side while spending them instead in stuffy rooms filled with colleagues and donors.

But now — and he sees people pour from the platform, a throng of harried travelers looking to get to their next destination, and among them all, he spots you — with the red suitcase you insisted made it easier to find amongst the others (it didn’t).

And he’s approaching you, slipping past others, and your eyes find his, your lips in a grin at the sight of him, as you find your way into his arms in a moment — suitcase clattering to the floor probably to the other travelers’ dismay. But he grabbed the handle and turned it upright in a moment, before his arm curled back around you.

“Hi,” you whisper, and he could have stood there forever — it had felt like forever since he had held you. His palm cupped your cheek, a thumb brushing back and forth against the length of it.

“You always know how to make an entrance sweetheart,” he murmurs, forehead pressed to yours, as your fingers intertwine slowly but surely — as if they hadn’t parted, “but I wouldn’t have it any other way,”

“Uh-huh, don’t act like I forgot about the ransom I’m owed,” and he’s rolling his eyes, as he takes your luggage, wrapping an arm around you, “where is it?”

“In the car, how about we stop by my apartment, drop off your things, rest for a bit and then we can grab breakfast, as promised?” You smile, leaning into his side, wrapping your arms around his middle. He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“As long as it’s with you.”

~~~

“You made breakfast for me?” you gasp, as he had set the table with all the breakfast staples — “i thought we were going to ‘grab breakfast?’”

Suguru wipes his hands, as he brings over two pairs of clean chopsticks and sits beside you, “Well I thought you might be tired from the train ride so I thought we could have breakfast in and relax before going out before lunch,”

You take the chopsticks from him, fingers brushing as you do, leaning into his side, “It’s not fair being this perfect,” you murmur, your head against his shoulder, nose brushing against the soft fabric of his t-shirt and his skin, “when are you going to show me your flaws?”

“I think I’ve shown plenty of those the last few months with how things have went before we even began dating,” his lips brush against your forehead, “now I just want to treasure you — as much as I can,”

“Me too,” you lean up and meet his lips in a soft kiss that steals the logic from your head and the air from your lungs — and only leaves his touch behind, “Suguru…” and you want to admit to him how hard it’s been without him, how much harder it's been than what you expected — and how you worried about how hard would it get during the semester, when you both were busy? “I really missed you,” you bury your face in the crook of his neck, and you speak before he can get even a syllable out, “but I’m so glad we’re together now,”

He didn’t need to know — he would only feel bad. You could handle it—

“Me too,” his gaze is soft, as he pulls back to find your lips in another achingly gentle kiss.

For him.

~~~~

“This weekend is supposed to be for you, why are you shopping for me?” Suguru says yet again as you peruse another homegoods store, looking for something to decorate what you claimed were the “barren landscape” of his apartment, “we should do something you want to,”

“This is something I want to do,” as you inspect a globe with the same scrutiny you’d apply to a Aristotelian text — brow furrowed in thought as if this knick knack would give you some unintelligible insight on metaphysics (it did not), “you’re going to be living there for a while, I want you to have an apartment that doesn’t look like a serial killer resides there,”

“Why does it look like that?”

“Because it doesn’t look lived in,” you pick up a set of matching bookends, “these things make your house look lived in and feel welcoming,” and then you put the bookends down thoughtfully, “although we should start with more basic things, like frames and a full length mirror,”

“Well if I look like a serial killer, you don’t have to worry about anyone who comes over, because they will think I’m a murderer and feel very unwelcome,” and you laugh, intertwining your fingers with him, “I don’t care about other people — I care about you, so will this make you happy?”

You nod, “Because I want you to feel happy here, and that will make me happy,”

And he wants to say the only thing that would make him really happy would be if you lived here with him — to wake up beside you each morning, to come home to you each evening, and fall asleep beside you — but he couldn’t say that. It would almost be cruel to say something that wasn’t possible right now. But it would be — it would be possible.

“Okay, let’s find some things,” his arm curls around your waist, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “but remember, you do love this serial killer,”

“That’s only because I’m far too wonderful to murder,” and he rolls his eyes, as the two of you continue to shop, and he watches you continue to pick up and examine things — and he can’t help but wonder if this is what it would be like when you both shop for your place together. And he bites back a smile.

Only a few more months — and you could be together. It wasn’t forever.

That’s what he kept telling himself.

~~~~

“You said no work while I was here,” you were doing your best pout if only to change his mind, but he was unrelenting, his shoulders slumped in resignation, and his lips in a purse at his desk in his bedroom, “Suguruuuuu,” you’re officially whining, and you know it’s not his fault, but you have such little time with him, you don’t want a minute to be wasted.

“I know, sweetheart, but Yaga wants to speak about the semester starting, and I didn’t have much of a choice—” you sigh, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, burying your face in the crook of his neck, lips pressing kisses to the hollow of his throat, “princess—” he groans.

“I want to get in my cuddles before,” and your teeth graze the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and he sucks in air between his teeth, “how long is your meeting?”

“About half an hour,” and you hum, kissing his lips, languid and slow, your fingers threading his lengthy tresses, “it’s about to start—” and you’re kneeling down in front of his chair, as the video call starts to go off, as you look up at him between his knees, “sweetheart—” he’s hissing, wide eyes, as you undo his belt and the zipper of his pants.

“Then let’s not waste any time,” you grin, toying with the waistband of his boxers, “pick up the call.”

And you thought he would kick you out from underneath, nudging you away, and you would relent if he really didn’t want this — but he doesn’t. He swallows thickly, Adam's apple bobbing as he picks up the call, placing his earbuds in his ear.

“Hi Professor Yaga,” Suguru says, and you’re almost surprised how normal he sounds with you between his legs, but Yaga can’t see the way his muscles tense when your fingers spring his already half hard cock free, “Yes, we do have a couple things to cover. No, I don’t mind starting,”

Well if he insists, you’d start too.

Your fingers slowly stroke him to fully erect, pre-cum dripping over your fingers as you do, your eyes flickering up to see his expression still perfectly normally, the only telltale sign being the way his fingers white knuckled the armrest just out of sight. His cock was so unfairly pretty — a deep red at the tip with a slight curve that had your thighs pressing together at the thought of it sinking into you. Your lips press a kiss to the tip and he wavers mid sentence, as you smirk against his cock, as your mouth parts to suck him off.

And it seems like Yaga is the one speaking now, as he seemingly mutes himself, resting his chin against his hand, covering his mouth with his fingers, “Fuck, sweetheart,” he swears under his breath, as your tongue traces along one of his veins, sucking at the tip, as your fingers drift to toy with his balls.

The tip of your tongue flicks against his weeping slit, bobbing your head along the length, as a hand of his drifts down to thread in your locks, nails digging into your scalp.

“S-sorry, what was that?” he seemingly unmuted himself at a question, and you’re sucking even harder, nose brushing against his pubes as his tip brushes against your throat, “N-no, I’m fine, sorry, I’m not feeling well,”

You suck one more time, and he’s gone, as he barely can mutes himself and turns off his camera, groaning, as he spills down your throat, as you swallow it, his head thrown back against the headrest of his chair. And he’s panting, as he looks down at you, half lidded and lost in pleasure, gaze darkening as he watches you pull away, a string of spit and cum connecting you to his softening cock, as you adjust his boxers and clothes.

“What happened to Yaga?” and his glance tells you he certainly does not care — chest heaving, as he runs his fingers through his hair.

“Disconnected after I went silent — I’ll tell him my internet went out,” and you’re slowly rising out from between his legs, and his fingers find your waist, tugging you close, “you really are a bad influence,” and his lips find yours, your fingers cupping his cheek.

“I told you I didn’t want to waste time,” you grin, and in one smooth motion, he’s dragging you into his bed, giggling leaving your lips as he showers you with kisses, “Suguru!” you yelp as you fall backwards into his plush bed, and he’s tugging off your shorts and panties with ease, folding your legs up, one of them brushing against his shoulder, as he kisses your inner thigh, a smile against your heated skin.

“My turn.”

~~~~

“How did this week go so quickly?” you sigh, burying your face in his chest on Friday night, knowing you have to get on a train tomorrow morning, “it’s not fair, it’s not enough time,” you murmur, tracing circles on his skin, “and now I don’t get to see you for a month,”

“I know, I don’t want you to go,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “but it will pass by quick — you’ll be busy with classes and I’ll be busy with work — it won’t be as bad as we think,” And you don’t want to admit your fears to him — it would make it all too real, as if they would emerge from the syllables your lips spoke into a new reality before you — and you couldn’t take that risk, no matter how illogical it was.

“I know, I just can’t imagine spending this much time apart,” you glance at him, “don’t know what I did without you before, I don’t even remember what I spent my time doing,”

“Revising the essays I made you write?” and you pinch his cheek, and he’s laughing, “sorry, couldn’t resist making that joke,”

“Yeah, I recall you couldn’t resist me either,” and his fingers drag lazily over your cheek, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear.

“Well, who really could resist you?” he sighs, content seemingly in just the act of touching you, “I tried and failed — and I am a master at resisting temptation,”

“A paragon of morality truly,” and he snorts, as you kiss his neck sweetly, ghosting over the places you had left marks, “though there was definitely nothing moral about what we just did,”

Your lips find his again, a lazy kiss that grows slowly with more heat the more your lips meet again and again and again — until he’s parting, “It’s just a month,” he says as if he can sense your anxiety, “I’ll come see you, I promise,”

“So if you don’t come, I can summon Immanuel Kant to scold you for not fulfilling your promise?” and he laughs.

“A scolding from you would be far more effective, but Kant is able to come if he can make it — death’s a worse commute than to Tokyo,”

“Who says?” you mumble, pressing your forehead to his, “you’ll take me to the station?”

“Of course,” and you have only one request.

“Don’t come inside ok?” his brow furrows, but you softly smooth it with the back of your knuckles, “Otherwise, I’ll end up crying — and I rather not subject you or the passengers near me to that,” and he chuckles, a frown still on his lips.

“Are you sure?”

It wasn’t just the crying — you knew if he walked you to your train, you’d want to make him come with you or let yourself stay — and you couldn’t do that, not to either of you. This was temporary — it wouldn’t be forever—

“I’m sure.” you kiss his lips again, rolling over so you were on top, your bodies brushing against each other with the familiar heat you’d miss when you were back home again.

—so why did it feel like forever?

~~~

“You promised me a better meal and this place nearly burned my taste buds off,” you grumble, as the two of you stand outside the restaurant, rain pounding against the awning as it starts to come down, the spicy food from the chapati place doing little to keep you warm now against the frigid wind of the autumn carrying the promise of being drenched with it.

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad,” Yuta chuckles, holding a hand out for the rain, “now at least the spice will help on the way home,”

“The only good thing about this place is that it's close to my apartment. I have a ton of work to do already — and it’s only the first week of classes,” you sigh, pulling out your umbrella, and glancing at him, hands still empty and unmoving. You hold up your umbrella, waving it, “Did you not bring one?” as you pull out your phone to check the weather reports.

“I didn’t know there was rain in the report for today,” he sighs, waving you off, “go ahead, I’ll wait for it to let up or find a convenience store nearby— I just need to make it back to the station—”

“Trains are down because of the storm,” you raise an eyebrow, as you glance at him, “come on, you can stay at my place,”

He’s shaking his head, holding his hands up, “No, I don’t want to—”

You tilt your head, glancing around at the clearing street and the distant rumble of thunder, “So are you going to camp out here outside this restaurant for the night or?” and he’s chewing his lip, as you chuckle, “it’s not far, we can share the umbrella, and hopefully we won’t get completely soaked,”

“Well, we’re not completely soaked,” you close the door behind you both, dripping water onto your floor, as you sigh, “hold on I’ll grab towels,” and you do, coming back quickly so you both can dry off.

And you notice the damage done to his clothes are far worse than yours, completely soaked through, the towel doing little to help aside from stopping the water from forming a larger puddle near your entryway.

“You held the umbrella mostly to my side, didn’t you?” And he pauses, his hesitation the answer you needed, as you sigh — “you’re more of a martyr than you need to be,”

“Well, I want to help my friends,” he gives a small smile.

“Even at the detriment of yourself?” And he shrugs.

“I can handle it,” and you shake your head, as you head to your closet pull out a fresh towel and clothes — but not your own.

“Go change,” and he glances at the clothes, hesitates, but takes them, as he frowns, “it’s fine, Yuta, go shower and change,” you show him where the bathroom is, and how to turn on the water.

You head to your bedroom to change and dry off, grabbing a fresh t-shirt and shorts — chewing on your lips — you had to give Yuta some of Suguru’s clothes you had stolen — your clothes wouldn’t exactly fit him properly. But you pouted, now you couldn’t sleep in Suguru’s shirt tonight, and you sighed, it was just as well — you had to wash the shirt so now it didn’t smell like him now.

You come out into the living room, hopping onto your couch and flipping on the TV, looking for something to watch. And then you hear the bathroom door, glancing behind you, “Done?”

“Yeah, thank you again for this,” he shifts in place, steam escaping from the bathroom behind him, his bangs still a little damp and cheeks flushed with a tinge of pink along his cheekbones, “what are you doing?”

“Just looking for something to watch,” and he comes over, sitting on the other side of the couch, “do you have any preference?”

He shakes his head, “No, not really,” and you choose a random movie to put on, a cheesy rom-com that had just come out on a streaming service, “is that what you like to watch?”

You shrug, running your fingers through your hair, “I like watching bad movies — it’s something I do usually while I do my work — the genius is, I don’t have to pay attention to follow the storyline,” and your eyes still on the TV, you don’t notice how his eyes linger on your face, a smile pulling on his lips, “now look at this, it’s the classic ‘guy likes girl, but girl is too dense to notice,” you shake your head, “does that even happen in real life?”

And Yuta parts his lips to reply when your phone rings, and you grab your phone — a video call — Suguru’s name flashing on your screen, and you can’t bite back the smile on your lips, “Hold on, I have to take this — just make yourself comfortable, I’ll be in the bedroom,”

You head into your bedroom, shutting the door behind you, as you pick up the call, “Hey stranger,” you smile as his face comes into view, glasses perched on his nose, as he grins back at you, “I miss you,”

“I miss you too,” he rests his face against his hand, “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to talk much — there have been a lot of issues popping up because its the first week — a lot of department requests from professors and students alike,”

“Mr. Bigshot Department Head has forgotten about his girlfriend, huh?” you mock pout, and he shakes his head, a longing gaze that makes your breath stutter in your chest.

“I could never forget you — how can I when all I dream about is you?” and you bite your lip, cheeks burning, “did I make you smile?”

“Shut up,” and he laughs, and then you hear a noise from the living room, a clatter that catches your attention.

“What was that?”

You wave him off, “It was just my friend, he’s staying over because of the rain — he’s in the living room,”

And he pauses for a moment, expression unreadable, “Which friend?”

“His name is Yuta — I met him during my first student government meeting — he’s kind of showing me the ropes,” and he nods, his silence palpable, gaze downwards and then it dawns on you, “Are you jealous?”

And his eyes flicker up, “Sweetheart—”

“Oh my god you are, that’s so cute,” you smile, as you delight in the slight dusting of pink that settles over his cheeks — he’s far too pretty for his own good, and your voice softens, “you have nothing to worry about, Suguru — I love you, no one else can even compete,”

He sighs, and you wish you could kiss him, “I know, I know — I’m just,” his brow furrows, his lips stuck in a frown, “I just miss you,”

“Then come over,” you tease, and he gives a small smile.

“You have company,” he reminds you, and you sigh, glancing at the door, “you should go back,”

“I’ll work on inventing an instant teleportation device,” a forced laugh leaves his lips, “Suguru, are you sure—”

He shakes his head, “I’m fine, really, just call me before bed if you have time okay?”

“Yeah of course, I love you,” a genuine smile gracing his lips.

“I love you too,” and you hang up, heading back out to find Yuta watching TV, “sorry about that,”

“It’s fine, is everything okay?” he glances at you, tilting his head, “nothing wrong?”

You shake your head, sitting down beside him, grabbing a cushion to place in your arms, “It was just my boyfriend — he usually calls me around this time,”

Yuta gives a slight nod, “Oh, is he away this weekend?”

“No, we’re long distance — he lives in Kyoto,” you explain, sighing, leaning back on the couch, “that’s why I took the call, otherwise, I would have called whoever back,”

“You don’t have to do that — you should be allowed to do whatever you need to. It’s your home,” and you smile, shaking your head before you toss the pillow at him, “w-what?”

“You’re important too, Yuta — you’re my friend and a guest — I’m not going to just leave you out here by yourself without saying anything,” you hold your hand out, “can I have the remote?” And he passes it to you, fingers brushing, as you flip through more movies and TV, “are you tired at all?”

His gaze stays straight ahead, as he shakes his head, “No, not yet,” and you’re choosing a movie to watch, his fingers clasped over each other — the warmth of your touch still lingering.

And you had no idea that his heart was aching at the thought of you being taken — much like the very someone who had taken you.

~~~

“I understand, Suguru, really I do,” and you did — you always did — but this time, it was a little hard to swallow.

It had been weeks since the two of you had seen each other, not over a screen. It was already a month and half into the new semester — and each time he was supposed to visit you, something or another came up — a faculty event, a staff meeting, grading to do, and god knows what else.

And you could bear it the other times — it wasn’t his fault. He had work to do. He had things he had to take care of with little choice in the matter. And you couldn’t always come to Kyoto either — not with your program in full gear and events for the student government around the corner.

No it wasn’t his fault — but it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt — especially with what he was missing.

“I really tried to get time off — and I probably still can make it, but I might run late—“ Suguru’s sighing on the phone, and you know his brow is knit together — mind desperately trying to grasp at a solution, as if he thought hard enough one would emerge that he hadn’t considered.

Your footsteps pause, as you bite back your own sigh, trying to keep your tone light. “It’s okay, really — we can celebrate my birthday the next time—“

“It’s not okay, sweetheart,” he cuts you off, “I’m really going to try to make it. I’ll get my work done, or put it off—“

“I don’t want you jeopardizing work—“

“I’ll be fine, Princess — I want to be with you,” he says so softly that your refusals all but melt, “really, I do,”

You bite your lip, as you continue to make your way, weaving between the students herding towards their next classes, “Okay I just don’t want you stressing out or worrying—“

“I’ll be fine, just, make any plans you want to, okay? I don’t know what time I’ll get there on Saturday, but I’ll be there, okay?”

“You really don’t—“ you’re outside the room for your meeting, leaning against the wall.

“Sweetheart,” he warns, and your lips curl, fully submitting to his whims.

“You really don’t — know what time you’re getting here?” You nailed that — apparently not by his chuckle over the line, as you hear the tapping of his laptop as he checks train times.

He pauses, a rustling of papers, and a sigh, “I’m not sure, but once I’m on my way, I’ll let you know, okay?”

“Okay, that’s fine,” you give a half hearted smile despite the fact no one would see it, “I’m outside my student government meeting, but I’ll talk to you tonight?”

“Of course, good luck with your meeting, and I’ll call you around 8:00 PM?” And the two of you hang up and you’re left with disappointment hanging mid air — like a mystery waiting to be solved, wondering if you’ll be satisfied or saddened.

“What’s wrong?” your gaze snaps up to find Yuta, who offers a small smile, “are you disappointed that our meeting never starts on time? Because you should give up on that now,” you roll your eyes, as he holds the door open for you, and you step past him.

“It’s nothing,” you set your things down, sitting, as he takes his own seat beside you.

“It doesn’t seem like nothing,” Yuta tilts his head, leaning on his arm, a hint of concern across his features in his slightly furrowed brow and pursed lips, “you don’t have to talk about it — but if you want to, I’m here,”

You lean back in your chair, “It’s just my boyfriend — he’s been really busy with work so we haven’t been able to see each other, and now…” your gaze fixes itself to the table in front of you, taking in the faint scratches on the laminate wood, a sigh caught in the back of your throat, “he’s not sure if he’ll make it this weekend for my birthday, he said he would try his best,” and you shake your head, “and I know it’s a little…childish, but—”

“It’s not childish,” he gently cuts you off, “it’s understandable to want to spend your birthday with the person you love,” he leans forward to meet your eyes, “how about this? We can hang out on your birthday until your boyfriend comes down, because I’m sure he will,”

“How do you know?” and other people begin to file into the room, as he offers you a small smile.

“Who would ever keep you waiting?”

~~~~

“You don’t usually call at this time,” you yawn, rolling over in bed, as you hear Suguru rustle on the other end too — it was already late and you had already buried yourself under your comforter, scrolling on your phone before bed (even though you knew very well that you shouldn’t).

“Sorry did I wake you, sweetheart?” and you hum.

“What do I get if you did?” he laughs, his voice making your heart flutter in two seconds flat, “my sleep comes at a very high price, Professor,”

“Oh I know, I’ve paid that price several times, and you have willingly given it to me as well,” your lips curling, you knew he was lying on his back as he always did before bed, arm under his head as he looked up at his ceiling, “what’s the price this time?”

“Video call me,” and he does in an instant, his face popping up on your screen, lips quirked upwards at the sight of your face, glasses perched on his nose.

“Such an easy price this time,” and you yawn, turning over in bed onto your side, hiding your pout in your pillow — god, you wished he was beside you right now.

“The late hour’s making me soft,” you say, a strand of black falling in front of his face, and you only wish you could reach over and run your fingers through his silky strands, “did you need something?”

“I need someone,” and you snort.

“Well, you have me, congratulations,” you turn over onto your back, “now what do you plan to do with me?”

He smiles that same smile that had stolen your heart from the start, “Treasure you? Kiss you? Love you?” and your lips curl again, “apparently get a poodle and a dozen cats with you,”

“That’s a guarantee,” and he smiles.

“If it will make you happy, then yes it is,” you purse your lips, “what?”

“What’s gotten into you?” And his eyes seem to flicker elsewhere for a moment, “Suguru?”

His lips form a full smile, “Happy birthday, princess,” and you blink, glancing at the clock and realizing it was midnight now, “each and every day with you in my life has been the happiest I have ever been and ever hoped to be. I spent my life searching for the meaning of life — but I didn’t find it, until I met you,” his voice is soft as tears burn at the corner of your eyes, “I don’t know what it is that I’m owed — but I don’t know what I did to deserve you,”

“I love you,” you whisper, “I wish I could hold you,” your fingers caress the screen, as if your touch could teach through it, and he presses a kiss to his hand.

“I love you too — and I promise I’ll hold you soon,” he lays back on his bed, “you’ll be sick of me soon enough,”

“Never,” you settle onto your pillow, “will you stay on the phone with me until I fall asleep?”

He only smiles, “Anything for you.”

~~~

Anything but being able to be here by lunch or dinner at this rate. You checked your phone — only to find his last message — “I’m almost done. I’ll let you know when I leave for the station,”

But it had been over two hours and there had been no update — even after you had texted him twice to ask where he was. You were caught between worry and disappointment — anxiety pricking at your skin, enough to annoy but not enough to pierce through to full panic. And disappointment felt like a weight that hovered above your heart, close enough to feel, but not enough to hit yet.

You didn’t want to feel this. It wasn’t his fault. You knew that he was trying — and you didn’t resent him in the least for it. But that didn’t mean you wanted him here any less — especially after it had been almost two months without seeing each other.

And a knock at your door made your eyes snap over, as you tripped over yourself to get to the door, “Who is it?”

“It’s me—“ but it wasn’t Suguru — it was Yuta. And you opened the door, a small smile on your lips, as Yuta stood in a black sweater tucked into dark gray jeans, and a deep maroon jacket pulled over it, “happy birthday,”

“Oh, thanks—“ and you blink, “oh my god, we had plans I’m sorry — I forgot,” you groan, and he leans sideways to take a look at your apartment, spotting the blanket on your couch and a pillow.

“Did I interrupt your date with your couch?” you roll your eyes.

“You did actually, it was a good one too—“ he cuts you off with a look, “I don’t know if I really want to go out. I was thinking I’d just—“

“What? Sit here and become one with your couch?” he raises an eyebrow.

You pout, “Yuta, I don’t know. I think I rather stay home—“

And that’s what you had done all day — Suguru had checked in here and there — trying desperately to finish up work to make it for some part of your birthday but hadn’t checked in for two hours now. You were sure he was going to be on his way soon — but that didn’t make waiting any less depressing. Your phone even had sighed at you as you checked your messages for the millionth time to find no new ones — low battery life only taunting you in return.

“That’s what you’ve done all day — I’m sure your boyfriend would want you to go out and have fun—“ he crosses his arms in front of your doorway, “come on, we can just go watch a movie, no big deal — we can have some fun and kill a few hours, okay?”

And you stare at your phone again, before locking it — “let’s go,”

~~~~

Finally, Suguru sat down right as the train began to roll forward — he had barely made it. The meetings stacked up the day before had put far behind on his grading — he nearly couldn’t make it.

Not if he hadn’t stayed up until 3:00 AM.

He checked his phone — he should make it by 5:00 PM, which should leave plenty of time for dinner and he checked his bag for your gift — it was just what you wanted — a necklace you had pointed out to him, a dragon with multi-colored gems. He laid against the seat, his forehead leaning against the cool glass.

God, he missed you.

It had been too long. Since he had even seen your face not through his phone screen and heard your voice whisper in his ear not through his cellphone. But that’s all he saw and heard of you lately.

He didn’t know the department would be this much of a mess when he took over. The last department head was truly enjoying his retirement months before it began. It was enough he had his department head duties but to teach two classes on top of that was enough for work to pile up until it was untenable. And he was unavailable.

How many times had he fallen asleep on the phone with you? How many times had he canceled plans to come see you? How many times had he missed dates?

And how many more would there be?

He knew you said everything was fine, he knew you understood his circumstance, he knew it wouldn’t be forever — but still — he wrung his fingers in his lap — why did it feel like it already had been forever? Since he had seen you smile, seen you laugh, held your hand, kissed your lips — it felt as if you were disappearing from his grasp.

But he wouldn’t let it happen — he couldn’t.

~~~

“Please turn your cellphone off and place it in these bags before entering the movie,” the ticket attendant told you and Yuta as he handed you both your tickets for something called, Human Earthworm 4, handing you both phone pouches.

You knit your brow together, “But—”

“This is an early screening of the movie, so the staff has been told that all persons seeing this movie today must lock their phones in these pouches before entering the theater,” the attendant explains, gesturing to the cardboard cutout of the movie with a sign that said ‘early screening’ in bold letters, “otherwise you could exchange your tickets for a different movie,” you purse your lips — you had been looking forward to seeing this movie, especially early. And Yuta had even bought the tickets ahead of time after hearing you talk about it at one of the student government meetings.

Yuta’s eyes slide to you, “We can see another—”

“It’s fine,” you shake your head, giving a small smile, “Let me just send a quick text,” you step away for a moment, texting Suguru — I’m going into a movie, I have to turn off my phone. Let me know when you’re on the train.

You lock your phone with a sigh, placing it in the bag — either way, he hadn’t texted, so you were sure he wasn’t on the train yet. And you weren’t sure if he would even make it. It was fine — you glanced at Yuta, walking over to the movie theater — it really was.

Because it wouldn’t be forever.

~~~~

The screech of the train jerks Suguru awake, his eyes burning, as he glances out the window — the sun beginning to give up the sky already, starting its descent. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand as he checks the time — fuck, it had been an hour already. He leans back, glancing through his notifications and he sees a text from you.

Fuck, he had forgotten to respond to your messages earlier. He was a mess trying to get to the station, a flurry of papers, caffeine, and adrenaline — and he had spotted your messages before he left the office, only to make a mental note to reply once he was on the train. Where that note had been left in the recesses of his mind he could only guess.

He types: I’m so sorry, sweetheart — in my rush to get here, I didn’t let you know — I’m on the train already—

And then he pauses, he could surprise you — at your apartment. You’d be home after about an hour it seemed by the time he got to your place — it was perfect. He could pick up your cake (the one he had pre-ordered) and set everything up just in time — and then he could take you out for the dinner he had promised you.

He deletes the text, rewriting it — I’m so sorry sweetheart. I just finished work. I should be there by 7:00 PM. I love you. I’ll see you soon, birthday girl.

He sends the message, a smile on his lips — maybe there was something special he could do today, as he watches the train continue on its way.

He only hoped it would work out in his favor.

~~~

“It was perfect — the metaphor? Did you not see the metaphor?” Yuta nodding along to your rant as the two of you make it back to your apartment, “I know it seems like a dumb movie but if you read between the lines—” and you glance at Yuta, who continues to nod, and you stare, “you hated the movie, didn’t you?”

“No, no, I didn’t—” and then you raise an eyebrow, “it was really bad — have you seen good movies before?”

You laugh, shaking your head, “There’s no accounting for taste,”

“Clearly,” he replies, and you push him playfully, crossing your arms, as he grins back at you, “well, I’m glad you enjoyed it, that’s the important part,”

“And you got to bully me about my movie taste so that’s a lovely end to the evening,” he snorts, as the two of you make it outside your apartment door, “thanks for dragging me out — it was really nice,” you dig in your bag for your keys, “it was fun,”

“I’m glad I could help — I hope I made your day a little better,”

“You already do that by just being you, Yuta,” you pull your keys out, your phone slipping out with it — “shoot,” you kneel down and Yuta does too, fingers brushing as you pick it up — as your phone springs back to life, “shit, I guess i forgot to turn it back on,” as you rise, beginning to unlock your door as your texts start to come through — and you blink, right as you turn the knob, slowly reading the first message as you open the door only spotting Suguru’s back through the crack in the door.

Fuck. And you quickly shut the door.

“You okay?” Your eyes flicker up, forcing a small smile, as Yuta tilts his head.

“Yeah, sorry — my boyfriend is inside I think,” your mind in a dizzying panic, “I should go talk to him, alone,” you shift from foot to foot, looking incredibly awkward — but it seems to work, as Yuta nods.

“Right, of course, I”ll go,” he bites his lip, “let me know if you need anything ok?” And he’s gone, as you turn back around, taking a beat, before you open the door.

“Surprise?” you say, and Suguru is holding a cake with lit candles, lights dimmed, a small smile on his lips.

“I think that’s supposed to be my line,” he frowns at the expression on your face, “what’s—” and you shake your head, walking over.

“We’ll talk about that later,” you stand in front of him and your cake, “All I want to focus on is you and my cake,” and your lips curl, “and I believe I’m owed a song?”

“Happy birthday to you,” he sings softly, jawline illuminated by the low light of the candle, “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, my dear sweetheart,” and you bite back a grin, “Happy birthday to you,” he holds the cake up a little higher, “make a wish,”

You hum, “I don’t know what to wish for,” you blow out your candles, before taking the cake from his hands and placing it down before slipping into his arms, “I have everything I want right here.”

~~~

Suguru had almost gotten it right. Almost.

“Yuta almost saw you earlier,” you admit, “he didn’t, I realized before and made an excuse but,” you sigh, as the two of you sit on the couch, your fork toying with your slice of cake, “it was close,”

Close. Close to revealing your relationship. Lose to jeopardizing your future. Close to ruining your friendship. It was far too close — or was he far too close to you?

His brow knit together, “I’m sorry — I shouldn’t have let myself in and I should have texted earlier—“

“It’s not your fault, Suguru, it’s fine,” you offer a smile, “I don’t even mind if Yuta knows — he’s a good friend,”

“But still—“ you drag a finger through frosting and place a dollop on his nose, “sweetheart—“

“Let’s not focus on that right now. This is the first time I got to see you in weeks,” you lean over and lick the frosting from the tip of his nose, a warmth spreading across his face from your touch, “I want to enjoy the rest of my birthday with my boyfriend, okay?”

But he still couldn’t bring himself to pull away — not now.

“You’re right,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips — it had been far too long since he had felt the soft press of your lips against his own. He could taste the frosting, the sickly sweetness didn’t begin to compare to your taste, and how much he had ached for it.

But it also didn’t stop him from dragging a finger dipped in frosting across your cheek.

“Suguru!” You gape at him, looking utterly too adorable with your pout and the frosting across your cheek, “on my birthday too?”

“Well, you’re so sweet, I wanted to see if it was possible for you to be even sweeter,” and he leans over licking the frosting from your cheek, “looks like it’s not possible—“ and you swallow his sentence with a kiss, as your plate and fork clatter as you set it down on your coffee table, climbing into his lap, your knees on either side, “our reservation — we’ll be late,” even so his hands drag down to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“I think I want dessert first,” you murmur, before finding his lips in a kiss again.

It’s hours later, and you’re fast asleep beside him, your face buried against the crook of his neck, as Suguru runs his fingers through your hair. But he can’t sleep. Not when he keeps thinking about what you said.

You didn’t deserve this. To spend days waiting for your boyfriend to be free, to spend your time wondering when he would be able to call you, to spend your time stressed out at the idea of getting caught. A relationship should be easier, it should be fun — but you haven’t had either since he had to move.

His fingers brushes against the curve of your cheek and then tracing the chain of the necklace, thumbing the dragon charm. He loves you — he loves you, but was it enough when you deserved so much more? How many more things would he miss because of work? How many more things would you hide because you didn’t want him to feel guilty? How many more times would he let you?

He had felt you slipping from his fingers these last few weeks — he presses a kiss to your forehead — but he had never considered whether he should let you go.

Until now.

~~~

Can we call tonight? I miss you.

Suguru glances at his phone, students already filed in and sitting, the quiet chatter before class began. It had been like this for a week. He locked his phone, tucking it away in his pockets.

“If you all will sit and settle down, we’ll begin today’s lecture,” he says to the class, “we’re going to continue our discussion from last class on Scanlon — we’ll start with any questions left from our conversation,”

Several hands fly up, and he chooses one to speak, “I had a question,”

He blinks, spotting you amongst his students, “What are you—“

“Professor, you haven’t let me ask my question,” you pout, as you lean against the desk, arms crossed, “I need to understand the material to pass, don’t I?”

All replies get stuck in his throat — as words fail him, as they always did with you. He’s only able to nod. And you smile, lips curling wide.

“Scanlon posits the question “what do we owe to each other?’ But there is no one answer — we are meant to figure that on our own,” you lean back in your chair, “and I believe I’m owed at least a text back,”

The students’ quiet murmurings and piercing stares drawing heat up his neck, and you were the one who lit the match, flames licking at your heels.

“Sweetheart—“

“Do you get to call me that after how you’ve treated me?” you scoff, as you slide from your chair onto your feet, “no visit in weeks, barely any phone calls, and once we even got on the phone, you would fall asleep. Have you asked how I’ve been? How have I dealt with all of this? Do you even know how my semester is going?”

His mouth is a desert, and his words have all but deserted him — as he fumbles for any syllables he could grasp onto, but finds none. Because he has no excuses to be made.

You walk down the stairs of the lecture hall, as the slow steps you take ring in his ears, “do you know what I’m risking? My reputation, my career, my future — for what? For you? I know my answer to what I want in life. I know my answer is you — can you say the same?”

And the class is gone — and it’s only the two of you.

“I’d do anything for you, I’m sorry, I haven’t been able to. I—“ his voice breaks, and your hand finds his cheek, forcing his gaze to meet yours.

“Except let me go, apparently.”

RING. RING. RING.

His eyes flutter open, a breath caught in his throat, as he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, before reaching blindly for his phone. He glanced at the screen now, turning off the alarm, spotting a text from you at the top.

Morning Sugu — I miss you <3, can we call tonight?

And he stares at your message before locking his screen and placing his phone down and turning around.

He needed to talk to you.

~~~~

“You’ve checked your phone like for the millionth and one time,” your eyes find Yuta’s as the two of you continue to put up flyers for the student government hosted dinner later in the week, “what’s going on?”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” and he stares at you, “what?” And then you sigh, “my boyfriend — it just feels like he’s been avoiding me, and I don’t know why,”

“Have you asked him why?” He holds a flier and tapes it a bulletin board outside, and you shake your head, “maybe you should try,”

“I want to, I just never get a chance to — he’s been so busy with work and I haven’t—“ and you sigh — it had been over a week since you and Suguru had even spoken on the phone, much less even video called, “I feel like something’s wrong — something is bothering him,” your voice falters, as you swallow your emotions, a sigh on your lips, “I don’t know,”

Yuta takes a pause, stealing a glance at you, before he turns to look, “You’ll only know if you ask — and the longer you wait, the harder it will be to be honest,” he glances away, “trust me,”

You crumple the flier in your hand, squeezing, “I’m just scared of the answer,” you admit. It had been so difficult to get to this point — tears roll down your cheeks — to see Suguru slip away because of this would be too much.

“I know,” Yuta says softly, as he gently places his hand on your shoulder, “but you still need it regardless,”

And then you hear a voice call your name, and you wipe your tears hurriedly as Yuta pulls his hand away, your gaze snapping over to see Professor Yaga and—

Suguru?

~~~

“Look who’s here for a meeting,” Yaga says, clapping a hand to Suguru’s shoulder, “did you hear that Professor Geto had become department head of the Kyoto sister university?”

And Suguru knew you very well had — but you hadn’t heard he’d come here for a meeting. To be fair, he didn’t know until this morning — but to be even more fair, he had plenty of time to tell you. But he didn’t — because he was hoping he wouldn’t see you, not like this.

“I did,” you force a smile, “it’s good to see you, Professor Geto, how have you been?”

You’re a natural at acting as if nothing is the matter — but he’s become a master at seeing right through it. He spotted the way your fingers wiped away your tears, your red rimmed eyes, and the plastered on smile that was nearly pulling into a frown. He resisted the urge to purse his lips — he had wondered for a split second what had made you cry? Until he saw the flicker of a glare in your gaze, and he knew he was the reason.

And it was yet another reason he needed to end this.

And this — Suguru’s eyes flicker between you and your friend — was the friend he assumed was Yuta, his brow knit in confusion, “I’ve been well — it’s good to see you, I hope the semester has gone well for you?”

You shrug, your expression unreadable, “Well enough, you know how the semester goes — it’s very busy around this time. Easy for things to slip through the cracks,” and he forces his gaze to not waver.

“Very true, it’s important to keep on top of things,”

“Especially the important things,” you give both him and Professor Yaga a stiff smile, “It’s good to see you both, but we have more flyers to hang up for the event coming up later this week,” you take Yuta’s hand, “if you’ll excuse us,” and the two of you disappear off around the corner.

“It was good to see her, wasn’t it?” Professor Yaga says, a smile on his lips, “she’s come a long way after your class — she was already an excellent student, but now, I see even brighter things on her horizon,” as he continues to walk down the hallway in the opposite direction, and Suguru spares a single glance over his shoulder, before pulling out his phone and texting you:

Can we talk later? I’ll let you know where.

“It was.”

~~~~

“Old habits die hard?” you sat on Suguru’s old desk as he walked in, your arms crossed in front of you. And Suguru tilts his head, closing the door behind him.

“Did something happen in this room?” and you roll your eyes, as he steps forward, “ah, yes, you’re referring to your grades right?”

“Yes, my grades — I’m still upset about that 99,” but the playfulness all but dies on your lips as he draws close, your eyes unable to meet his gaze, as if you would see some truth you weren’t ready to uncover, “Suguru, what’s going on?”

“Sweetheart—”

“You’ve been distant since my birthday, avoiding calling me, you barely text me — and today, you didn’t even tell me you were in Tokyo,” your voice breaks — even if you had thought what you wanted to say to him a million times today — it didn’t make it any easier, “are you upset with me?”

“No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he’s shaking his head, as he cups your cheeks, “you didn’t do anything except be completely wonderful,” he swallows, voice catching, as he seems to struggle with his words, “and that’s why I have to let you go,”

The sentence repeats in your mind over and over — and you still can’t make sense of it. No, no, it didn’t make sense. Why would he want to break up?

One word was all you could manage to respond with — “What?”

“Sweetheart, you deserve someone who can be there for you, someone who will be there with you when you need them, who will call you, prioritize you, give you all of their energy — and with this distance—”

“We can make it work—” and you know you’re crying now, tears rolling down his knuckles, filling the chasm he’s making between the two of you.

He’s running his fingers through his hair, “You’re making this work — I’m trying too but I haven’t been able to visit you, I haven’t been able to see you or talk to you properly in weeks—”

“It’s not forever, it won’t be like this. I’m almost done with my degree, I can move down to Kyoto—”

“And I don’t want you to limit your options because of me and my career,” he cuts you off gently, as his thumb rubs back and forth, wiping your tears away, “you have such a wonderful future ahead of you — whether you decide to pursue a Ph.D. or a lecturer position or whatever else — I want you to make that decision without my presence being a factor—”

“But—” and he’s pressing his lips to you softly, it’s gentle and sweet — his hands holding you as if you would break apart in his fingers before him, as his lips finally part yours “Suguru, I know what I’m doing—”

“I know, but so do I,” he murmurs, as he begins to step away from you, his warmth leaving your body, “if it’s easier for you to hate me, hate me — if it’s easier to be indifferent, be indifferent — I just can’t hold you back, sweetheart. I can’t do that to you — whether it’s professionally or personally,”

“Suguru, you’re not letting me have a say in this,” and he takes your hands, lacing your fingers together, “I want this, I know it’s been hard, but don’t you want this too?”

“I do — I love you, but that’s why I can’t do that to you. I want you to be happy—”

“Even if it comes at the cost of your own happiness?” you scoff, “Are you subscribing to utilitarianism? Are you okay being a happiness pump?” Your fingers try to find purchase on his cheek, but he pulls away, hands falling away from yours.

“I am, if it means you’re happy, then I am,” Suguru whispers, glancing away from him, “it’s not worth the risk,”

Your words are quiet, as you swallow your tears, and you force your voice to be steady, “You’re making this about me — when it’s about you too,” you brush past him, “I didn’t expect you to be a coward, Suguru, but I suppose, I got the answer I deserve.”

And the door shuts behind you, tears burning as you walk off — and you know that he wouldn’t follow.

But you still hoped he would.

~~~

Suguru stands by the window, watching students file in and out of the building.

It was the right thing to do. That’s what he kept telling himself — over and over and over. But if it was so right, then why did he feel wrong? Wrong for breaking your heart. Wrong for letting you wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. He spent his time debating amongst others what right and wrong really was, but he always knew there would never be an answer.

And then he spots you leaving the building, before you bump into someone who stops you, your head down, but it doesn’t work, as the person pulls you into a hug. And he knew who it was — it was that student from earlier — Yuta. He had seen the way he looked at you — the same softness that Suguru had recognized because he saw it in himself.

He knew you deserved better, just because you were his answer —- he watched you sink into Yuta’s arms — doesn’t mean he was yours.

✧ a/n: ahhh the anticipated fourth part!! there’s gonna be one more part of the main series and then it’s onto extra credit fics :). Don’t worry it will be a happy ending!! I promise!

✧ taglist: @hatsunemitskislobotomy , @difficultdomains , @diogodxlot t, @that-goth-bisexual , @dazailover1900 0, @aliyalala , @ashhlsstuff , @blue041803 , @mwtsxri , @bblgumfairy , @sukunasleftkneecap , @xo-evangeline , @fiannee , @teatreeoilll , @chalametet , @ryukaver , @d1gitalbathh , @saga3ious , @seventhcinema , @satosugucide , @your-l0nely-star , @sokkasmoon , @deegausserr , @hyookka , @oggsyy , @littlebitb , @higuchislut , @ti-mame , @itoshisins , @cerene-dipity , @onionsoop , @sinlillith , @izzythenaive , @lalacute03 , @rxndou , @c-themoon , @xxrag-d0llxx , @hqtoge , @sugarxlumps , @hopeluna , @actualdeemon , @enchantedpendant , @serendididy , @soulstealercat , @neuviloved , @simply-a-s1mp , @satorusmochis , @maddietries ,

#sab [mlist]#sab series [prof suguru]#suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x you #suguru geto fanfiction #jjk smut #Jjk fanfiction #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto x reader #geto suguru smut

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mingtinys · 8 months ago

Text

" you should rest "

pairing : choi seungcheol x gn!reader

"13 ways to say "i love you" with seventeen"

warnings : language

word count : 0.5 k

a/n : super super excited to be doing this little mini-series starting off with seungcheol !!

You're rudely awoken from your slumber by the slamming of brakes and Seungcheol throwing curses at the car in front of him. Your seat belt stops your momentum, though you can't say the same about your poor suitcases and bags in the back seat that tumble forward with a violent thud.

"Fucking idiot," he mutters, then looks over to you with a complete change of expression. "Are you okay?" He's still got his arm extended over your chest like a mother.

"I'm okay, are you?"

"Yeah," he sighs, letting his arm drop from its protective position in favor of resting his hand on your inner thigh. He squeezes ever so lightly in an attempt to ground himself. "Asshole cut me off and then slammed his brakes. I'm sorry to wake you."

You hum, reaching out to brush back his bangs from his eyes. A fond smile lights up his features at the gesture. "S'okay. How much longer do we have left?"

"About an hour or so."

An hour!?

"Cheol!" You scold, shuffling to sit up in your seat. "You were supposed to wake me up an hour ago to switch off!"

If there was only an hour left that meant he'd been driving for nearly three already. You only meant to nap during his half of the drive to your parents' house then you would finish the rest so he could get some sleep. You even made him promise about three times over to wake you up, but it seems that went unheard.

He just shrugs and steals a glance at you, that signature pout playing at his lips. "I don't mind. Besides, you've seemed stressed lately, I figured you could use the extra rest."

Admittedly, the extra shut-eye was pretty nice. But still, you wish he would've woken you. "I appreciate it, but I'll feel guilty if you take the whole drive. Pull over and we'll switch off for the last bit."

Stubborn as always, Seungcheol shakes his head. "I'll take care of everything, you should rest." There's honestly no arguing with him over stuff like this. So you just sigh and grumble about conquering the trip back on your own to make up for it. Seungcheol just chuckles at your dissent. "You're too cute."

You curl up in your seat once more, turning so you can admire glare at your boyfriend who's a little too happy with himself. He notices, and the way his lips crack into a smile is irritatingly adorable. Seungcheol reaches his arm to the back, fishing out his coat that had been buried under your multitude of travel bags. Placing it over your legs, he steals another lingering glance.

"You're not forgiven yet, I'm still mad at you." It's probably the least threading sentence you've ever uttered in your life. Your voice sounds whiney, even to you, and that really makes Seungcheol laugh.

"I know, baby. Sweet dreams."

2K notes · View notes

ctrlhope · 8 months ago

Text

Butterfly (m)

synopsis: he’s been watching you. waiting, stalking his prey. waiting for you to tangle your pretty little wings into his web. chasing you. hunting you. making you play his games until you realise the truth that lies behind your eyes.

j.jungkook x f.reader

୧ ‧₊˚┊: wc: 3.6k

୧ ‧₊˚┊: genre: yandere, serial killer au, college au, dark content

୧ ‧₊˚┊: content: yandere!killer!jk, dubcon, predator / prey, manipulation, fear play, mask kink, slight sub space, slight knife play, strangers to lovers, “public” sex, drug use (alcohol), mentions of blood / injury, threats, allusions to kidnapping, dom!jk, fingering, rough sex, he’s mean but still sweet, obsessed!soft!jk at the end <33

୧ ‧₊˚┊: notes: found this in my drafts back from halloween and i never posted it! so here you go, to hold you over until my long fics are done <33 halloween fic in april lmaooo

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni -> dark content

Bum. Bum. Bum.

Your heartbeat is in your ears, pulse racing. It was too loud. Everything is too loud. It’s all you can hear. It’s all you can think about as your heels dig into the harsh forest floor. Your shoes long since been abandoned, mud caking your feet as you try to run. Tries to escape from the demon that had set his sights on you.

Him.

Fuck. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. It really wasn’t. It was just supposed to be a fun halloween party! You didn’t really even know if you wanted to go to it or not. But your friends convinced you with the promise of free drinks and guys that were ‘cute enough’ for some random frat.

What they failed to mention? The simple fact that house was in the middle of nowhere. On one side a lake, the other a massive forest.

Like a pretty little trap meant to catch girls like you. Web tangled in the trees just watching for the prettiest butterfly to find its way into. To be caught in the den of monsters that lined every wall of the ancient house.

You were already disturbed when your friend's pretty jeep turned off the main roads, trailing through the woods. Realising just how distant from the rest of society you would be. How every bump of the car sent your little heart into a deeper flutter of anxiety.

Still, you kept your mouth shut. You didn’t want to ruin the night— for yourself or your friends. You trust them. They promised it would be fun. Plus! Their boyfriends were going to be there! So nothing would go wrong!

Yeah. It really wasn't their fault that a lunatic set his sights on you. Wasn’t their fault you started dancing with a man in a mask. Let him lead you to the backyard for a smoke, dumbly followed him deeper into the woods to see his favourite spot. Let him stuff his fingers into your little hole without even seeing his face, knowing his name.

Nah, you did all that on your own. Just a little kitten being led to the slaughter house.

“Okay babydoll…” He breathes into your ear, pumping two fingers deep inside of your cunt. Skirt that was barely covering anything pushed too far up your hips, showing the whole forest just how tight your walls cling to his fingers. How wet you are. How desperate you are for more.

“We’re gonna play a game, yeah?” You’re hardly able to respond, consciousness laced with toxins from earlier that night. Flush to your cheeks evidence enough of just how much you drank— the series of events that led you to this exact moment.

One he had been planning for awhile.

He smiles, throat letting out a low, almost nonexistent laugh. Slowly circling your clit with his thumb, almost mocking the way your back arches. Finding amusement in the way your fingers cling to his arm as his thrusts continue all to slow.

You’re needy, too needy. He knows that well enough. Can tell with the way your hips start to rock, start to squirm. The way your body starts to get bratty on him while your mind is too far in the clouds to realise the position you’ve found yourself in.

You’re cute. Too cute for him to take another second of this. Too cute for him to hold back anymore.

Wouldn’t want you getting too bratty on him anyway, would he? Then his personal treat, the slice of cake he's been waiting weeks to cut into will have to turn into a punishment. Ruin all the fun he’s worked so hard to prepare.

“‘Gonna need you to run into the woods. Fast and as far as you can…” He groans under his breath, the mere thought sending blood straight to his cock, filling his mind with nothing but pictures of you dirty on the forest floor, “And you gotta do your best to stay away from me yeah? Cause if I catch you… I gotta kill you and I wouldn't wanna have to do that… You’re too pretty to kill, you know?”

Fuck. What the fuck is wrong with him? What is he even talking about?

You try to process– try to understand the words that run off his tongue. But it's unfair, everything is stacked against you as he slides the mask off his face. Gives you a first look at his deep brown eyes. Lets you see how gorgeous he is for the very first time.

He didn’t even give you a chance to recover before he started counting down from 30. Doesn’t even move his hand away from your dripping cunt until 20– the expression on your face just pathetic. So close yet so far from the finish line.

Your race was nowhere close to its end. He’d make sure of it.

It wasn’t until his hand found your hip, gently tapping against the skin that your brain even had the chance to attempt processing his words. Figure out the exact meaning behind them while his lips continued to count down with each syllable.

Such pretty pink lips. Maybe he would let you kiss them if you tried hard enough. If you lean up just right maybe he would–

Wait. Wait. What’s happening? What did he say to you?

Your eyes glance down to your thighs, vision dazed as you try to figure out the object that suddenly pokes at your flesh. The sharp tip grazing your soft skin as you take in the metal; polished to perfection. The deep black handle resting securely in his palm, holding himself back.

Your eyes widen, familiarity cresting your features.

Shit. Shit!

You don’t even think about grabbing your own knife until 15, hand quickly reaching for your hip where you keep it tucked away. Too bad he had already taken it, knew the tool you always carried with you well.

Shit, his own personal little Nancy, huh? Perfect for him.

Survival instincts had to take over for you, forcing your feet to the ground. Urging your skirt down as low as it could possibly go as your legs take off in a direction you hope is the house.

Everything is all too much, it’s not enough. Every little sound is getting to you, making you feel like you’re going crazy. Making you feel like none of your senses can be trusted. Like nothing can be trusted except for the adrenaline pumping through your veins.

The woods– everything looks the same. You can't distinguish one thing from the next but you know you hear something getting closer. Too close.

If his words meant anything you need to keep fighting, keep trying to live. Even as pain stabs into your toes, sticks break under your feet. Even as you’re stabbed by bushes.

It was like the forest itself was out to get you. Like whatever beast behind it is your real enemy in all of this.

Maybe you can pretend it, maybe in your alcohol-addled brain that’s a little easier to manage than the man running behind you. The one with hunger in his heart that only your soul can satiate.

You try, you really do. But your legs can only move so fast. Can only take so much abuse before they start to slow. Lungs can only inhale so much air before they want to collapse.

Too bad he’s done this before. He can run.

And just as you start to be able to see the lights from the tree line, just as hope starts to fill your little heart, you’re forced into the dirt. Two arms wrap around you from behind, tackling your frame to the ground.

Your back presses against his chest as he keeps you there, his face right next to your ear as he pants. Breathe heavy in your ear, hearing the way it cracks every once and awhile as he tries to catch his breath. Lips almost on your ear while he keeps you there. Keeps you trapped under him.

Everything is starting to conflict in your pretty little head, body telling you to get away. Try to get him off. Wriggle your hand— anything out to try and fight back. Try and get away before he keeps his promise from before.

Yet, with every movement, every slight twist of your spine or kick of your legs under his heavy frame he only presses tighter, deeper against you. Presses his cock against your barely covered cunt. Makes you feel every inch of him that he plans to stuff inside. Make you unable to breathe while the rocks dig into your skin.

You put up a good fight, you really do. Better than anyone else. It’s too bad everything is going just a little bit haywire behind your eyes. The world starting to feel like a burden as you try to push away the arousal rushing to your gut.

Shit, you should be scared. Should be petrified of the psycho that took you into the woods, the psycho that threatened to kill you no more than ten minutes before. One that had a knife pressed to your skin and a scythe around your heart. But the chemicals in your brain are mixing into something that you can’t comprehend, can’t describe.

Everything feels like too much, he feels like too much and you have no clue what to do. Head completely gone to mush.

It’s almost easier that way.

“Almost got away, doll. But don’t worry. I’ve got you now.” His voice is rough, harsh as he tries to catch his breath. Teeth clamping against the crest of your ear, hips rolling against your cunt without a care in the world. Especially not for the state of your head. Not for the little world you find yourself slipping away into.

Too many extreme emotions happening will do that to you, won't they? Make you so confused that you’ll just take whatever you can manage. Even if that means plunging his blade into your pretty little heart or fucking you until your pussy wouldn’t even consider another filling it.

He prefers the latter. Too pretty for the former, huh?

He can feel the shift in your frame– one of extreme discomfort, entirely tense to one of a docile little pet put on display. The shift behind your eyes as everything becomes too much, little too difficult to understand. As you slip away just enough to make any feelings of pleasure elevate to new extremes. Let fear spur you on.

The only thoughts in your head are ones filled with him. The way it should be. Exactly should be.

Your hips move again, their last attempt to break free from his spell. Their last attempt to try and get away from the maniac. Yet it does nothing more than press his cock harder against your ass, the mock of a grind against the surface that leaves a pretty little mewl spilling from your lips. A grunt catching in his own.

Wow, you actually surprised him.

“Shit, not patient at all huh?” He smiles, lip quirking as he removes his body from you. Removes the only warmth provided in this hell.

You won't run. Not if you know what's good for you.

He doubts you do– led you right into his arms tonight. But that's okay. He can take over for you. Take over everything.

Hands grip your hips, pull you back against him. Let you imagine how sweet he could fuck you if you just behave. The soft rocking of hips against your own, the gentle way he moves compared to the way he holds you heavy on your mind.

You can’t help the moan that spills past your lips. The way your back arches to meet him better. No one could blame poor little you. No one could blame your mind turning off for just a little bit. Not when he has you. Not with the rough texture of his pants pushing against your cunt. Not with the ruined orgasm of before.

Arousal makes your panties stick uncomfortable to your skin. A disturbing wet patch forming against his own pants where you meet. A flutter erupting in your gut at the way he groans. Way he moves you with such ease.

He really could kill you if he wanted to.

You’re not sure if the realisation scares you or spurs you on.

It scares you more to know that it's the latter.

“I’m not either.” He huffs, air thick with fog, “Been too patient for you. Too fucking patient.”

He grunts, pushing your hips back. Back arching even farther against the forest floor. It almost hurts, it’s almost painful. Not that that really matters. Nothing matters when he grips the flesh of your ass, pulls the cheeks apart. Gets a good look at the mess he’s made of you. Can see clearly how wrecked his little girl is.

Pretty panties sticking against your cunt, thighs wobbly from all the effort of tonight. Shit, if he just hooks his finger under them, pulls them to the side he’ll get to see you all. Get to see your puffy lips, fluttering little hole. Get to fuck himself inside while you just lie there and take it. Get so drunk on his cock you might just fall in love.

Shit, maybe you already have, huh?

Good.

He forces your underwear to the side, stares in awe at the way your slick sticks to them. Imagines how pretty they’d look stuffed with his cum. How you’d tumble around the house, not letting a drop spill just for him.

Because you would know it’s what he wants.

“All of this for me?” He smiles, rubbing his thumb through your folds. Collecting your essence, spreading it around all messy just how he likes. How he knows you’ll like soon enough.

You can only whimper, clutch the ground as your head spins. Tries to catch up with every little minstration he makes. Tries to figure out what exactly is happening. What words he’s saying. How to get him to stop, if you want him to stop.

A shiver runs down your spine. You don’t think you do.

You’re not sure of anything anymore. Only the sound of a zipper running down, the shuffle of pants forced off hips. The hard head of a cock running against your folds like it owns them. Like it was made for them.

The stretch as he forces himself inside. The way it burns, stings with effort. The short, forceful movements as he fucks himself inside. Makes home in your cunt for no one else but him. Makes you unable to think of a soul other than him. Ruin you for all other men that come after.

God he must be big– how fucking big? You have no clue. You wish you could see. Look into those pretty, crazed eyes. Focus on the little mole under his lip as the pain turns into pleasure. Morphs something dark in your brain to like it, to take it just like a good girl. Make you crave him more than anything else.

But instead you stare at the dirt. Hands clutching at the surface as he fucks himself inside. Deeper and deeper with each slow calculating thrust. Fucks you full of whatever twisted definition of love he possess. Makes you see the light, the exact shimmer in his eyes. See that this is the only way to truly live.

“Shit, baby,” His voice is low, deeper than before as his hips finally meet your own. Finally fills you with nothing else other than him. “Been waiting too fucking long for this. Had to make me wait, huh? Fuck.”

His voice harsh, grip bruising as he tries to hold himself back. One last measly reprise he’ll allow you. One last second he’ll give you before he makes you completely dumb. Makes you see what he knows you need to.

“I-I don’t~” You whimper, though the words fall on deaf ears. Not that it mattered anyway, you didn’t even know what you were trying to say. Didn’t know anything except for the way your walls clamp around his cock. Body begging for him, urging him to start and never stop.

He sighs, dramatic, “Little slut, huh baby?”

A harsh thrust punctuates his words, jolting your body forward as you cry. Impatience, ecstasy? He isn’t sure which. Only can notice the way your fingers clench and unclench in the dirt. The way your pussy flutters around him.

“Aww…” He soothes, hips dragging out of your cunt before slowly thrusting back in. The pace slow, antagonising, “Poor thing is having a hard time…” His hips quicken a hair, pretty sounds falling from your lips at the movement.

“Gotta tell me what you need, baby. I can make it all happen then.” A low kiss is placed against your shoulder, the world crumbling around you.

You break.

“Please…” Your voice is soft, too soft, but he hears it. Feels himself cracking as you beg, feels himself lose his mind entirely.

Beg for him. Want him.

His hips suddenly snap, fucking himself into your cunt with force you never thought a human could possibly manage. Fast, hard. Pumping his cock into you to search for his own pleasure. His own release. Forcing you to take it, take all of him while you try to keep up. Try to find your own pleasure in the tangle of limbs.

You hate how easily you do. Or maybe you love it.

“God, fuck.” He can’t suppress his own moans, the feeling of your pussy wrapping so tight around him, squeezing him for all he’s worth is too much. Fills his head with even more nonsense about love. About destiny.

His hips would never even consider stopping. You feel too good. Feel too tight around his cock, feel like he should never stop fucking you. Keep you there forever.

“So perfect. So perfect for me,” His breath is harsh, his heart racing as your little sounds only spur him on. Let him know just how good you feel. Just how far you’ve fallen. Just how much farther you’re willing to drown in all things Jungkook.

“P-Please!” You whine, hips arching further. Moving him into the perfect position to scrape against your g-spot with every rough pound of his hips. No clue what you’re pleading for. No clue what you want other than him.

Don’t even know his name. Nothing other than how incessantly you crave him.

“Fucking brat.” He cusses, eyes pinching into a glare as you somehow clamp down tighter. Walls pulling him back in on every thrust. Milking him for everything he’s worth. Making sure you both know your place in this. Know your place after it, too.

“God, been waiting for this haven’t you?” He groans, hips stuttering. He’s too close, “Been waiting for me to fuck you like the pretty doll you are? Make me take everything from you?”

You can only manage a whine in response, cunt fluttering around him. Obsessing in his praise.

Maybe his words are true. Maybe he’s known the exact type of person you are since the moment he first saw you. Maybe he’s right. This is where you’re meant to be. Meant to be with him.

“Shit, yeah. I fucking knew it.” His voice cracks, “Call you a minx but we both know that isn’t true. Just don’t know how to think until you’re stuck on the end of a cock.”

His thrusts somehow pick up speed. Fuck you harder, deeper. He’s sure he could place his hand over your tummy, feel himself fucking you. Shit.

“My cock.” He growls, voice heavy in your ears.

You can't take it anymore. Can’t take another second of it. Nerves tied tight into knots explode, white dotting the corner of your vision as you moan for no one else other than him. Pleasure courses through your veins, pussy pulling him as he falls apart alongside you. A tsunami pulling you under, making it hard to breathe. Making you feel dead and alive at the same time.

Maybe the forest gods were the ones tormenting you. Making you feel better than you had ever thought possible before. Allowing you to see the light of the stars dancing in the sky, so far above the clouds with his cock still pressed so deep inside. Floating through the air as your orgasm runs through you.

He’s no better. A shell of a man as he slowly fucks him cum deeper into your cunt. As deep as you’ll allow. Marking you. Claiming you. Making sure you know your place, even as you finally collapse onto the floor. Finally come back to reality. Poor body too spent to focus on anything else.

It’s okay though, you don’t have to worry. Not about a thing.

He’ll take care of you. Fix you up nice and pretty for your next lesson. Take you away to his apartment, make you fall in love for real. Keep you there, with him, just like you’re meant to be.

Make all of the sick sides you try to hide come out to play. Make you realise you’re just like him.

He wouldn’t kill you. Ever. Even if he had killed the others, none of them matter. He’s been waiting for someone like you for so long. Itching to bring you home. And finally, finally you had fallen into his trap. His perfect little butterfly, caught in the web. Ready to be corrupted by the vicious spider. Ready for your wings to be clipped.

“Mine.”

2K notes · View notes

hoseoksluna · 8 months ago

Text

STEAM | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: smut

word count: 9.2k

summary: one video call awakens your neediness for two cocks.

playlist: steam / pinterest board: steam

warnings: female masturbation, mentions of shower sex, praise kink, toying with the idea of polyamory, a hint of voyeurism, oc rly goes through it and faces mental battles, fear, intoxication, punishment, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, choking, cum eating, manhandling, degradation, provocation, mutual masturbation, rough & raw sex, brief oral sex (f. receiving), pet names

note: IT'S FINALLY HEREEEEEE SKFDSFLSFJ, okay so—let me introduce to you a new yoongi series featuring JUNGKOOK oh my god. i am SO EXCITED about this and i wanna apologize for my insane ideas in advance... i'm so sorry, guys. nevertheless, i hope you like this as much as i do, i literally went mad writing this and i smoked so many cigarettes i lost count. please, let me kNOW UR FAVORITE PARTS CUZ I HAVE SO MANY AND I WANNA TALK ABOUT THEM. oh fuck, guys. ENJOY READING SDKFJSD. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

side note: btw, the playlist i made is literally perfect and depicts the fic wonderfully. you can listen while you read! <3

The scent of mangoes finds its way up your nostrils, heating your senses through its balmy touch as you rub the body butter over the damp skin of your arms. Fingers graze along your décolletage, tucking in the fragrance for your boyfriend to breathe in when he comes home. He’s out for the night—said something about his friend finishing his military service, so the whole group was going out to celebrate it. Yoongi was so frantic in his excitement, hastily putting on the first outfit that sparked his eye. Didn’t even touch his hair, only sprayed a mist of his sandalwood and tangerine-tinged perfume. Grabbed his phone, keys, wallet. Barely kissed you goodbye before he fled out of the door.

He didn’t even ask you if you wanted to come along.

You didn’t mind, though—you’re only in the early stages of your relationship. It hasn’t even been half a year since you’ve started dating. And you figure he deserves a night out with his closest friends because you’ve been attached to the hip since the beginning. Funnily enough, you no longer live at your own place. Somehow, you’ve settled in Yoongi’s apartment, never setting foot outside, save for your walks, grocery shopping, the few dates with your friends and work. There wasn’t any conversation about it; you just mostly spend your free time with your boyfriend.

And all you do is fuck, eat and watch movies.

The last time Yoongi took you out was during the first two months you’d been getting to know him. The realization of how long it’s been sends a trail of chills down your arms and you rub it away.

But because you’ve been spending all your time together, you’re glad to have a moment to yourself—glad to be able to take a long hot shower, to do your hair and skincare. Perhaps, you’ll even have time to do your nails and that energizes you, propels you to spread the body butter further down the rest of your body. It is your rose garden, these night times reserved for your hot showers. The place you go to—your hideaway from the pressure and nerves of life that the steam loosens and soothes, especially when you let your sultry playlist echo through the mightiness of Yoongi’s bathroom, your favorite singer’s voice reaching your veins like the growing stems of those roses; pretty, pink and so feminine. Yes, Yoongi’s therapy sessions and thick length might have been a great help, the best in fact, but there’s something about letting yourself be burned off of all that’s been weighing you down and watching it trickle down the drain that is just so satisfying.

It was all that you were once used to. That is, until you met Yoongi.

Showers with him are something else.

Something you never thought you could ever have the blessing to encounter. Showers with Yoongi are intense, so out of pocket that you find yourself thinking about them fondly whenever you’re alone with your thoughts. There, beneath the downpour of the warm water, he lets you see the other side of his ever unyielding stern façade. While holding you, he would make you laugh, then make you moan and break that sound with each hard plunge of his cock. Hair slicked back, smirk adorning that delicious wet mouth, causing him to look like a Mafioso bent on absolutely ruining you. He would tell you the most insane story he heard from his friend, then talk you through the build-up of your orgasm while continuing to the point of that story—seamlessly waving through, never losing tempo. “Then, he went up to his hyung to ask him about what he did—yes, just like that, honey, take it. I know you’re almost there, just listen.” You would come all over his cock, sprinkling him with your essence, right there at the end of his story and like a hungry man, he’d get on his knees and eat you up, muttering how good you are and how well you did along with each swipe of his tongue. Your lungs would heave due to the overstimulation, your legs would tremble, unable to stand and he’d gather you into his arms, fold you like paper into the crooks of his body and let his thick duvet drape over you. He’d fall asleep first, breathing in the scent of your shampoo, snoring softly behind you while spooning you, never letting go of his deathly grip around you. And while you would breathe in the haze of lilac sprayed on his pillows, you’d become aware of the drowsy rhythm of his heartbeat, the lift and fall of his chest against your back, the snug heat of his body and it would lull you to sleep.

That has become your new version of hot long showers.

And if it isn’t this, then it’s Yoongi letting you quickly wash yourself before he’d steal you away, dragging you into this bed, only to carry you back there an hour later.

You speculate he has a serious, adorable case of attachment issues.

That is why you enjoy your exceptional alone shower all the more—you haven’t had it in so long. Only this time, it’s quite different.

You feel him everywhere.

You feel him in the drift of your hand down your tummy because you recollect the way he likes to pepper kisses there on his way to eat you out. You feel him when you round your palms across your backside because you know he particularly likes to leave traces of saliva when he presses open-mouthed kisses there. His love for you circulates in your bloodstream, mingling with the little love you have for yourself, making it bigger, turning it into a turbulent rush of liquid. You sense it tapping beneath your skin, asking for more of your body just like Yoongi does, always begging, begging for more—for more skin to kiss and lick, for more sensitive parts of you to find and nibble on.

Your hands sense the ghost of him even when your fingers slip past your mound and realize that the film of your memories dampened your cunt. You hear the words of praise he’d utter into your ear at the discovery and you sigh at your tender touch.

That’s a good girl. Messy for me.

The rotund case of your body butter remains opened, forgotten. You suddenly have better things to do—like give your body the self-care, the self-love it deserves.

It’s a part of the solo girl's night.

A mewl comes out of your mouth at the first round of circles on your clit. Furrowing your brows at the pleasure, you prop your free hand on the edge of the bathroom counter, riding the pads of your fingers. And then, just like Yoongi taught you, you take your digits away, edging yourself, taking them elsewhere. You cry out at the contact of your wet fingertips on your stiff nipple and you pinch the nub, a spasm of delight coursing through your sensitiveness.

You imagine Yoongi standing behind you. Not touching you, merely guiding you, telling you when to stop, when to pick up the pace—when to fill your hole. Watching you in the mirror, hands in his pockets, having a perfect view of your slick-caked folds, of your clit swollen and asking for his tongue. Determined to make you lose your mind by teasing you, letting you only slap your pussy once you’re close. Your essence drips out of you at that thought, making a mess on the floor and you plug it in with your finger, fucking yourself steadily, inflamed by how slippery your heat is, how easy it is to slip the digit inside. Hot flashes close over your body, pearls of perspiration kissing the crook of your neck. You fuck yourself faster and—

A sudden ring of your phone jolts you. And the picture of your boyfriend, half dressed, with the early morning sunlight leaking over the scars and tattoo on his shoulder, crammed inside your screen, greets you.

You pant hard, your finger still inside of you. Delirious.

He must be on his way home. You don’t even know what time it is.

Leaning forward, you hide your breasts behind your forearm and you swipe your finger to accept his video call.

Blurry Yoongi. The night sky, starlit and alive, behind him. A shoal of silhouettes, some lanky and some buff, all short-haired and all as woozy-lidded as you. The picture smooths into a crystal clear view and there you see your boyfriend, the nocturnal breeze brushing his ebony hair back. Not just him, however, but another male craning his neck to regard you fully.

His eyes flicking from your neck to the smallest of your exposed décolletage, a smirk blossoming on his face like your imaginary roses.

Yoongi slaps his phone face down. You withdraw your finger from your heat, a cacophony of giggles, whiny cries and the exclamations of his name emitting out of your mouth.

He is not, in fact, on his way home.

It is a warning, his low and strict call of your name back and, heeding it, you take your phone into your hands, so he’s only able to see your deeply flushed face. Device back in his hand, he’s not looking at you at all. As a matter of fact, he’s shooting daggers fueled with deadly nightshade at his friend, grumbling something that you can’t quite make out amidst the chaos and bustle of the outing. The shoal of the rest of his friends and strangers disappear out of the perspective, as if threatened by the cold energy.

You wish you knew what he’s saying to him. Even your pussy aches to hear it. The principle of him scolding his friend for looking at you at your most private moment scorches you and you’re red, flattered and majestically horny.

Yoongi turns his head to see if you’re well-behaved and you beam at him, the pulse on your clit intensifying, forcing you to say, “come home, Yoongi.”

He chuckles, aware of the reason behind your words, pretends he isn’t. “What were you doing, baby?”

The growth of your grin doesn’t falter. You show him the sheen of your wet finger in the ivory bathroom light, the glint, the stickiness as you push your index finger to your middle and pull away, your arousal on full, filthy display.

He curses under his breath. Doesn’t give a fuck that his friend sits beside him and adjusts in his seat. Bites his lip briefly. “Stick it in your mouth for me.”

Doesn’t say the words that so very often follow after in that sentence. Taste yourself.

Why he doesn’t step aside to take this video call eludes you, but something about you being watched by two pairs of eyes excites you. Enough for you to do as he says. Perhaps it’s due to the fact you don’t know the male sitting beside him and Yoongi is letting him keep his sight glued to the screen.

Two sharp inhales of breath. Not one of yours. Yoongi readies his hook to feignedly lash out at his friend and you press your thighs together to alleviate yourself of the unbearable feeling between your legs. Confidence, a bad, bad version of confidence suffuses you whole, turning you into a person gone mad by lust. You swirl your tongue around your digit, the tanginess of your taste causing your eyes to narrow, the principle of driving not just one, but two men mad just the same intoxicates you, as if you were there among them, drinking.

A pair of round eyes peek at the corner of the screen. Soft, naive, so terribly innocent. A dash of sobriety washes over you, owed to those brownish effervescent orbs, a sprinkle shame pooling low in your core. A reality check. You sense some kind of stability of that reality beneath those eyelashes of his, the stability that whispers—is this the right thing to do?

It’s not rough, it’s not stern, it’s not Yoongi coded—it’s anything but. Gentleness is what you detect, free of any prejudice.

You sigh. Millions of thoughts about how you could toy with them pass through your mind, but you decide against them, the stability a pillar that blends into your spine, helping it unbend. You can’t do this; you can’t do this to Yoongi and you need to keep your dignity intact in some way, despite the fact that every fiber of your body compels you to do the opposite. You distract yourself by screwing the lid of your body butter back on.

“Good girl,” Yoongi coos, causing you to whisk your eyes to the screen in perhaps disbelief, shame or your still pending arousal—you’re not sure. How can you be a good girl when you let another man see something so lewd? How can your boyfriend validate something like that? “One more beer and I’ll be home. Wait for me on the bed. As you are.”

Naked.

Heat rushes to your cheeks, to the surface of every part of your skin, dragging away small ounces of shame. You curse, mentally, running a hand down your face. Yoongi downs his drink without taking his gaze off of you, watching your reaction, adds once he swallows, “and don’t touch yourself.”

And with that, he hangs up.

The harsh comprehension of what the fuck just happened envelops you in a confining embrace, the precipitately increasing weight of shame now a burden on your shoulders that you just can’t shake off, even when you slink your arms through sleeves of your silky robe and welcome in the summer breeze coming to caress your face on the balcony—even when you burst your lighter to a flame and light up your cigarette, inhaling the smoke that you hoped would rid you of its such uncomfortable hold around you.

You licked your cum clean under the gape of a guy you don’t know in front of your boyfriend.

His friend heard the order. Don’t touch yourself. Yoongi didn’t whisper it. Didn’t camouflage his words in any way. Uttered them straight and bare, allowing his friend to hear them, despite the fact he almost fought him then and there for sneaking one glance at your moderately naked form.

Question marks hover in your mind and the pulse on your clit cries, seemingly knowing the answer.

Did Yoongi like it as much as you did, the aspect of having an audience?

The wetness in your heat dribbles out, staining your thighs. You squeeze them together, the drag of your cigarette hard and long, expecting to feel your nerves burn off. You gain no such thing—no relief, no lifting of the burden, just constricting tangles in your tummy, zippy spasms of butterflies going mad, mad, mad.

Perhaps Yoongi didn’t like it at first until he perceived the auspicious debauched look on your face. Saw the way you didn’t hesitate to oblige him when he told you to stick your finger in your mouth. And perhaps the fact that you didn’t express any signal of discomfort was the key to unfastening the leash on his possessiveness over you.

What have you done? What have you so selfishly and disgustingly done?

You hang your head in your hands, the white smoke intertwining with the burden on your shoulders and pressing down harder on you.

That’s why he let his friend hear the command. Don’t touch yourself. He saw the way you indulged in it, and that awakened his liking for it.

Yoongi lied when he said he’d have one more beer.

By the time you hear the thunder of his voice, all the roses in your garden have wilted, leaving faded, withered petals in its wake—leaving a path of your internal battle all around the apartment for Yoongi to follow. You’ve paced, your bare feet stepping on them. Tried to untangle yourself from the incarceration of your mind by chain-smoking, but to no avail. The only change that took place in your body was the decline of your shame, for you couldn’t help but imagine what could have happened, had you let free rein to your desire—had those round eyes never looked at you with such purity. You figured there wasn’t anything bad about letting your imagination be colored like that, and so you sat on your boyfriend’s couch, cigarette switched to a coconut-flavored vape, and dreamed.

You dreamed about those two men being of service to you, right here on the same couch, where they would lay you down and make you squirt over and over again, betting between each other who could make you come the fastest, counting down your orgasms until the number was a mere blur to you.

The throb on your clit heightened to heavenly levels and when you emerged from your dream, you found yourself being able to breathe—your momentary disappearance tricking your shame into leaving. It was difficult for you not to touch yourself and you opted to adhere to Yoongi’s wish, not risking to feel worse than you already had.

The war ended, undeterred by the fact you never expected it to.

Loud swear words roar in Korean. You rise to your feet to open the front door for Yoongi and you discover that he’s not alone at all.

The same pair of round eyes, the cause of all the ruckus you just departed from, meet yours, hauling you back there with a force. Your mouth falls agape and before you can react any further, Yoongi stumbles into you. You almost topple over, realizing you didn’t care to steal a glance at the state of him, but the male grabs a hold of Yoongi’s jacket and pulls him back. You wish you had tumbled over and the floor had opened up and swallowed you whole. It would have been less embarrassing than to be stuck in this situation. You want to run, you want to scream—

“He’s drunk out of his own mind,” the male says, his voice deep like the warm wind before a tumultuous storm, fitting just right with the thunder of Yoongi’s intonation, his gaze wandering over the entirety of your shock-stricken face, taking it in; giving you the same attention that fucked you up hours ago. Yoongi begins to mumble something you can’t momentarily focus on, his hands grasping your waist, lips latching onto your neck. No, you cannot for the life of you focus because the man steals you all over again and you hate how easy it is for him to do that, when you’re far from being available. “Don’t ask what made him drink this much.”

Did Yoongi get drunk because he let his friend in on your most intimate moment?

Humiliated, turned on and angry altogether, a concoction that simply worsens everything, you draw back from your boyfriend. You want to beat at his chest with your fists just to have some sort of relief from blaming him—because if you blame yourself, only doom consumes you. Why did he call you? Or, essentially, why didn’t he step away to take that damned video call?

“Thanks for walking him home,” you say eventually, your voice smooth, despite the violence of your feelings, despite wanting to say something else entirely. Your first words to him and, wholeheartedly—despite it all, you hope they aren’t last, even if that possibly makes you a despicable person.

Yoongi’s friend nods. Chews his bottom lip and lowers his gaze to the ground for a split second. You wonder if he feels the need to remove himself from this uncomfortable situation as much as you do because you can’t read anything in that paleness of his countenance. Not a hint of any emotion whatsoever, just blandness of expression, slightly dimmed by the few thick strands of black hair that have fallen from his disheveled, pushed back mullet. As if they did fight after all, perhaps on the way home, or wrestled if Yoongi was being difficult.

You don’t realize you and the male are just staring at each other until Yoongi places his hand on your cheek, brushing back a wisp of your tresses. Only then do your eyes flick to Yoongi’s and you finally notice him, the gloss in his hooded irises searching and searching for you, the rosy blush on his cheeks, dry parted mouth and the dart of his tongue as he wets it, softening the flecks that have been created there.

This is it. If you are focused on him, all things are made right—all things that have been stained get purified and dreams get turned into dust. This is the man you’ve fallen for, who puts you before himself and has done so every day since the moment he made you his. You can’t let anyone else get in the way of the home that your relationship has become, you can’t let your feelings flee—

“For the record,” Yoongi’s friend starts, hand massaging circles on the nape of his neck, the leather of his jacket tight around his arm. Your heart jumps and beats against your chest ferociously. “I didn’t see anything, if that helps you sleep better tonight.”

It’s such a fat lie and you’re about to shake your head, but then he looks at you with such sincere regret that, ultimately, you choose to believe him. Just to keep your peace of mind unscarred.

Yoongi tightens his hold around your waist, which grounds you, and a small part of you begins to bloom in healing, disseminating little by little across your whole body.

A healer with big, round eyes. A good man.

With a swing, Yoongi closes the door but you don’t hear the click. No, the light spills in from the hallway. Your hands reach for the doorknob but Yoongi blocks them and wraps them around his waist while swaying on his feet. He traces the shell of your ear with his lips, his alcohol-reeking breath wafting over you, and softly, you whine his name. Shuffling beyond the door, feet never entirely moving—the male is still standing outside and he hears as Yoongi hums at your call, as the sound grows into a groan at the feeling of being alone with you at last, at the feeling of all that makes you feminine under his hands. He hears your gasp as Yoongi pushes your chest flush to his body, kisses you harshly and cups your bare pussy. Hears the smack of your mouths, the pop once he withdraws, the squelch of your wetness. Hears as Yoongi murmurs, “you been horny, baby? Wet for me, hm?”

It’s those words that make him shut the door for you.

You made Yoongi drink a lot of water.

And while he downed the glasses, you ordered him Thai food from his phone, which he now devours. You had wanted to change out of your flimsy robe into your plush pajamas, but Yoongi stopped you with a tight grip on your shoulder and with the nastiest puppy eyes he could manage, considering his plastered state, he begged you not to. Informed you that he wanted to fuck you in your little robe and you told him that if he wanted that, he needed to get sober.

He’s your boyfriend and you trust him, but you don’t feel comfortable having sex with him while he’s wasted and you’re not. It’s a dangerous territory you don’t ever want to cross.

So, now he eats as quietly as a mouse, feeding you every other bite with his chopsticks, meanwhile you’re jittering your leg with your arms crossed across your chest, mind full of the male who walked him home. Of the way he pulled you under and resurfaced with you soon after. Of the calm peace you feel all over the perimeter of your mind that peculiarly stresses you out. Of what would happen if you voiced your little dream to Yoongi, especially.

Was it out of the question or would he consider it?

Your leg jitters harder.

You want to tell him, badly. Seeing his friend in real life changed fucking everything. If you hadn’t, you would’ve forgotten about it in the days to come. Yoongi would’ve fucked it out of you in most probability. But those eyes… those eyes got under your skin.

“Stop fidgeting,” Yoongi scolds with his mouth full of food, no hint of slurring. The hot meal and hydration worked a miracle. “You’re making me nervous.”

He picks up two cut pieces of chicken with his chopsticks and stuffs your mouth, adding a few pieces of vegetables as you’re chewing. Watches you swallow it, noticing how your eyes are focused on nothing in particular on the other side of the room. Tucking his utensils under his palm, he places his hand on your thigh, halting your restless motion.

You still won’t look at him. Too lost in the overthinking maze, debating whether you should speak or remain quiet about your desire. A strong part of you fears his reaction and the other half is horrified at the possibility of being turned down—

Yoongi takes his hand away. Props it on his cheek.

“I can see your pussy from here,” he says, licking his lips. “You’ve shaved?”

You breathe a soft laugh, turning your head to face him, covering yourself with the small fabric. Dark, but tender eyes, void of any glossiness, awake and stirred—amused. Cheeks awash with color. Lips puffy, a dark tinge of red coating them. A sturdy fist on his cheek, the milky jawline underneath. That messy hair, the slicked-back look ruined by the constant rake of his fingers through them, now falling to the side from the middle. That slender body, clad in the night from head to toe—legs outstretched under the table. So fine, so delicious. A beautiful strong man—all yours. Why do you want another one?

You slide your leg across his thighs and Yoongi slouches in his seat, discarding his chopsticks.

“I shaved everything,” you respond, cocking your brow at him—a sly invitation for him to feel its smoothness.

And he does. Runs his hand up and down your skin. Goes as far as lifting your other leg onto his lap, cradling them both, thumb caressing your calf. The movement causes your robe to expose you again and, cursing the fabric, you go to cover yourself, but Yoongi stops you.

“Don’t bother,” he mutters. “I wanna look at it.”

You raise your brows altogether, looking up at him. “You wanna look at her?”

Yoongi smirks. That dangerous tug of one corner of his mouth to the side. Your death, your undoing, the root of your submission to him. “I want to have her at my disposal.”

You gulp and Yoongi catches it, chuckling. Drifts his hand down your calf, to your heel, to the middle of your foot up to your toes. He plays with your pinky. You note the fact he changed the pronoun after you did.

Your arousal returns at full speed.

“Did that make you wet?” Low, low is his voice—you feel it prodding at your core, thrumming vehemently.

You blossom like your roses, thoughts put to the side.

“I’ve been wet this entire time,” you say, zeroing in your gaze on the flick of dimness that whirls past his eyes. “For hours.”

He makes a sound of pitiful nature. “Poor baby.” Furrows his brows and juts his bottom lip out, making you weak. Lets his hand roam on your thigh. “So you listened? You didn’t touch yourself?”

You merely nod your head quickly. You were too distressed to give your body the pleasure it sought. Too busy flaring your lungs with the burn of smoke. And you respected his wish enough to keep your hands to yourself.

Yoongi coos. “Good girl.”

A flashback—your lips wrapping around your slick-coated finger, Yoongi praising you and… another pair of eyes watching. Chills spread across your arms, your stomach flipping. Thankfully, your shame is kept at bay. It relieves you.

“Can I feel how wet you are?”

A sweet, devious smile. “If you can manage to get to her.”

You press your thighs tightly together. Yoongi looks at you as if you’ve greatly offended him and alas, he turns your chair so you face him head-on. Forces your thighs apart without any strain at all—and there you feel it, the embarrassment of fucking with him, once your pussy is at complete disposal to him just like he wanted.

“If your pussy wasn’t so pretty, I’d make you regret your words,” he purrs, eyes fixed on your drenched flesh, hands pushing your thighs back until your knees are at level with your shoulders, folds parting with the movement, revealing more of you. Yoongi wets his mouth with his tongue.

He thumbs your gleaming lips back and forth, collecting your essence, mesmerized by them. Looks at you intently.

“It wouldn’t hurt to say sorry, though,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. “Would it?”

You grin at him. “Sorry, Yoongi.”

He rubs your swollen clit in slow circles, still with his bedewed thumb, still with his eyes on you. You choke out a moan at the delight permeating through your being. “That’s not the proper way to apologize, now is it?”

You lean your pelvis into his touch, a natural body reaction unfolding. He disapproves. You scrunch your face. “What should I say?”

Yoongi tuts. “I’m barely touching you and you already forgot your manners?”

The only answer you emit is an uncouth whine.

He shakes his head, putting pressure into his circles for a mere beat of time before he slaps your pussy curtly. A vivid spasm of pleasure fills you and you moan. “Needy girl. Don’t I take care of this pussy enough? What’s this behavior?”

Another whine. A roll of your body, asking for more of his touch. “Spank her again.”

A cock of his brow. Harsh, stern, evil. His hand remains propped on his thigh, shoulders hunched. “I didn’t hear you say please. You wanna be bad? You want me to make you cry?”

You know just how much he’s capable of doing that. You shake your head ‘no’. You want gentleness, the kind you saw in his friend’s eyes—

You flutter your own shut to get rid of that thought. Take a deep breath.

“Spank my pussy again, please.”

Yoongi massages the apex of your thigh, dangerously close to your cunt, squeezing the flesh every once in a while.

“Apologize first.”

“You didn’t tell me how.”

He clicks his tongue and pinches your folds and your clit between his fingers. You cry out, and then Yoongi gets up to his feet, leaning over you, propping his hand on the back of your chair. He begins to swiftly spank your pussy over and over again. You just jump at every contact, moaning, eyes flicked to his, never breaking apart. Taking it, taking it so well that Yoongi kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Then, he grunts. Fingers flat against your clit, he moves them from side to side. Roses, a myriad of them, flood your form with their freshness and dewiness, with their beauty and delectation and you shudder, you scream, you arch your back off of the backrest—

“Say, ‘I’m sorry, Yoongi. I’m such a bad girl that I deserve every spank and I’ll take it until it hurts.”

Flabbergasted and horny beyond measure, your mouth falls agape. Your brain turns into mush, the pleasure paralyzing you, your sounds now loud and obscene, the roses in you flitting, growing and murmuring. Yoongi adds more pressure to your clit and your eyes sink back into your head, his darkness wafting over to you, seeping into your skin—now completely yours.

You repeat after him—word for word. With a simper on your face that causes him to scowl at you, as if you dared to toy with your punishment he bestowed upon you. But then, a tongue prods the inside of his cheek and he laughs, taking a hold of his dominant role and making sure you know. He spanks your clit twice in a row, hands lifting to fondle your nipples.

“Good,” he praises. “You like that, don’t you? Spanks on your pussy?”

You don’t like that softness. Like the personified thunder he is, it is the calm before the storm. It unnerves you, the expectation of what might come next and your disliking of it. Nonetheless, you brim with the craving to have his fingers inside of you. Your hole clenches at that and Yoongi notices, hissing under his breath. The language of the darkness rises on your tongue and you figure that if you let loose, you’ll get your wish fulfilled.

“Yeah, it feels so good—” He pinches your nipples between his knuckles and you mewl, your lashes shaking at the impact, another set of wetness coating your folds. “Please, fuck me with your fi—”

You don’t even get to finish your sentence. Yoongi plunges his middle finger into your heat, cursing at your tightness, at how slippery you are and at the delight of being filled at last, you knit your brows. With his other finger, he traces the outline of your puckered mouth, his breathing hard and ragged.

“I’ll do anything for that pout of yours, fuck, no matter if you deserve it or not,” he utters, slipping the digit inside. Instinctively, you suck on it and only then does Yoongi begin to pump you slowly. “You just need a little roughness to be good, don’t you?”

Dumbly, you nod, swirling your tongue around him, but a faint, silenced part of you begs for the gentleness that you know hides somewhere deep inside his chest, never once unfurled during such intimate times.

You pay it no matter, too fucked out to think.

When he adds a second finger into your heat, he does the same thing with his other hand. Two fingers in your cunt, two fingers in your mouth. And he fucks you with both until you gag and a light flashes in his eyes—then, he withdraws all together, leaning against the table, his bedewed fingers coming to rest at his hardened length in his pants.

Roses, opening. Roses, sighing.

You breathe heavily, needing to finish, needing to have him in your mouth—

“You liked being the center of attention today?” he husks, surveying your whole body, bent in half.

There it is—the storm. Just what you expected. Cold sweat dribbles down your spine. And it is fear, what you feel, even when you refuse to admit it. Stiff, tempered fear that pervades each and every vein on your body, regarding being possibly degraded, being made feel dirty—regarding, even, tasting the dark wine of his wrath.

Such a stark, sudden change.

You don’t want this. You don’t want any of it.

Abruptly, an internal question comes and pokes you in the middle of your forehead.

Will you succumb to it or will you, with the wildly fresh darkness within you, fight against it?

You take a deep breath, and in with the air also follows, with the little rationality you have amidst the sensuality of your lecherous appetite, the decision to take a hold of it all. To take charge. Just like he did.

You shall prioritize yourself. Your feelings, your desires—your roses.

Your choice envelops your fear in bubble wrap. It doesn’t dissipate. And as much as it pains you, you take a mental note of that.

“I did,” you spit out, angered by the fact you’re afraid of your boyfriend, and so you stand your ground. “It made me so fucking needy and I want more.”

The relief that hits you almost causes you to weep and you lower your legs to the ground. Not wanting him to see the film of tears clouding your eyes, you avoid his gaze. Yoongi crosses his arms across his chest and clicks his tongue at you, disapproving.

“Keep your legs where they belong.”

“No.”

A lift of his brow. He crouches down to your level and cradles your face in his hand, forcing you to look at him. And there he sees, under the waterfall of your hair, your emotions at his disposal. Yoongi studies you, frowns at you and you want to sob, you want to go home. Shame slithers towards your spine like a ghost, and although it keeps a distance, you feel its presence prickling your back. You cover your cleavage.

“Why are you crying?” Yoongi asks, a silky murmur, eyes flicking between yours. His fingers don’t caress your skin; they merely hold you firmly, making dents in the skin.

You don’t trust that voice, dismayed by what might lie under.

“Why did you do that to me?” you ask in return, and it’s a blue fire shooting out, engulfing the room in stifling heat. You catch a glimpse of its sparks in the dimness of his eyes, of how he’s momentarily stricken by it before it folds beneath the shadows.

“You want to get fucked by someone else?”

A question for a question.

You swallow down the lump in your throat, caused by your frustration.

Your devotion to him didn’t let you go as far as to imagine being fucked by his friend while Yoongi watched, but the brief flash of it in your mind is enough incentive for the heat to spill into you, mingling with the darkness, turning you candescent, traveling through you until it finds your core—and there, it stays. There, it finds home.

The pulse on your clit returns, filling you with abrupt energy.

There’s something about him coming up with it that makes you unhinged, but you’re so utterly sick of the instability of your feelings. You need it to stop.

“And what if I do?” you retort. “What will you do?”

Truthfulness, at last.

Yoongi takes in a sharp inhale of breath, and that is the only reaction you receive from him. Nothing else on his face flickers; no wrath, no sliver of jealousy, not one thing. You stare at an empty canvas, ready for you to paint on. And you simply decide that you want to start.

You push his hand away from your face. Stand up to your feet. But the hardened look he gives you inclines you to sit back down.

You fight against it.

Untangling the knot on your robe, you let him see your bare femininity. The perkiness of your breasts, the long dip of your stomach that he likes to pepper kisses on. Yes, you’re aiming for his weakness.

And you decide to repeat history.

You reach your hand down, lower and lower while he stares you down, and you collect your glimmering essence. Sinking your finger into your mouth, you make a show of rolling your eyes back and moaning faintly, softly. Your other hand, in the meantime, unbuttons his pants.

The breath Yoongi inhaled hitches in his throat.

“Is this not evidence enough?” you purr, dragging down his zipper. “How else am I supposed to show you?”

You pull his manhood out as you suck on your finger, all while maintaining eye contact. You don’t touch him beyond that. In fact, you withdraw your hand altogether.

And then, you collect your essence again.

This time, you smear it across his bottom lip. Yoongi lets you. Your heart thuds, threatening to jump out of your chest.

“Your actions during the video call told me everything,” you whisper, catching the sliver of wooziness scattering along his narrowed eyes. “And I think you liked it more than me—the thought of sharing me. You can’t hide it. Not when I saw it.”

Yoongi growls. Then, he surprises you.

He parts his lips for you.

And the contact of the pad of your finger with his wet tongue coaxes a string of your dewiness to drip down the side of your thigh. You moan for him. Relieved, fucked up, woozy just the same. Finally, finally, finally.

You’re in charge. And it feels divine.

His length twitches against the fabric of his T-shirt. Long, hard, drooling. Such a delight for you—and so you continue.

“I also think it made you hard. Not just because you called me when I was touching myself, but because your friend was right there beside you,” you purr, your voice a seductive sound of silk—leading him to wrap his lips around your digit. You moan for him, showing him how much you like that. “Isn’t that right, baby?” Your walls clench at the pet name, solely due to the fact that these soft terms of endearment have always been addressed to you, never the other way around. It thrills you. “I’d always be devoted to you, even if he fucked me. I’d look at you the entire time. If that’s what you want. I had a different idea, but yours is just—” you pause, and again you make a show of sighing and rolling your eyes back, “better.”

A straight hit to his core. A glee for you.

But you don’t realize how much you fucked up until Yoongi grips your waist and the hold hurts enough that you wince.

And then—then he manhandles you.

Lifting you and laying you down on the table, Yoongi spreads your legs. Watches you drip, watches as the satiny fabric follows the movement of your limbs and reveals you in all your entirety. He pulls you closer to him with a sharp tug until you collide with the tops of his thighs. Bends over you. Hovers his lips above yours. You expect him to kiss you—he even angles his head and rubs the side of his nose against yours—but he never does.

He only leaves you waiting. Leaves you submitted to your empty expectations, taking charge, taking his control back from you. You shiver in anticipation, reaching for him, however he pins your hands down on either side of you. An angel in a rose garden.

Yoongi chuckles, darkly, his teeth glinting in the yellow light. You fight against his hold, hips rolling against the underside of his length, beckoning him to do something, anything. You merely manage to prolong the thunder of his laughter.

“One cock isn’t enough for her, so baby wants two,” he spits. That smirk, the crinkles around his eyes—he’s enjoying this. The hint of degradation doesn’t reflect what’s swarming inside of him, doesn’t reflect the face of pleasure coursing down his body. You smile and he scoffs. “I have enough friends for you to choose from in case you want more. I think you’d be stellar at taking three cocks. Four, even, huh? Would you have enough then? One in your tight little virgin ass, two in your cunt, one down your throat?”

You gulp, frozen, eyes widening.

Yoongi bites his shiny lips, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. Kisses you once. Begins to rock his hips, his length sliding across your wet fleshiness. The moan that escapes your throat trembles with each delicious motion.

“You watch too much porn, honey,” he coos, giving you tiny kisses on the mouth. “I’d kill anyone who would come near this pussy. And I’d kill Jungkook, too, if he so much as glanced at her.”

So that’s his name. You mewl, knitting your brows. That’s his pretty name. The entirety of your form shivers at the discovery, at the pleasure given to your throbbing clit.

Yoongi pulls back, setting your hands free.

You prop your elbows on the table, pouting. Yoongi grasps his length, spreads his arousal and begins to jerk himself off.

“You’re not fucking Jungkook. You’re mine.” He groans, squeezing his tip; your hole clenches. “Rub your clit.”

Like him, you spread your arousal on your seashell, the arousal long caused by his presence and now the mention of his name—the reason behind your frustration and his, the reason why you’re spread on the dining table, why your boyfriend is hard. You rub your clit from side to side, amused.

“No,” Yoongi disapproves, knowing you do the motion when you want to prolong the build-up. “Circles. Make yourself come.”

You change direction, obeying him. A sly grin blossoms on your lips, dark eyes looking up into his, permeating them, permeating into his soul. You pick up the pace, moaning into your expression of elation.

“Jungkook is such a pretty name,” you provoke and you heighten your sounds in volume and intensity just to piss him off, just to have your way.

A grunt escapes him, matching your pace. He wraps his fingers around your throat and squeezes. You hum.

“A pretty name to moan in my opinion.” A layer of sweat coats your body. Yoongi grasps your jawline firmly and your satisfied laughter inches you closer to your orgasm. You feel the hot flashes, roses surrounding you—its tender petals grazing your feverish skin. You give in, watching Yoongi do the same, his mouth in a tight line, hissing and sizzling, an open fire, an open fire you want to be radiated by, burned whole by. “Just imagine him here, watching us. Oh my god, imagine him knowing he’s the reason why you and I are doing this.”

Yoongi has had enough.

He pushes you down harshly. Fills your hole to the hilt without letting you adjust, observing himself disappearing inside of you and begins to pound you into the table. The sound of skin slapping, the hard and quick strokes, the ravaged grunts he lets out, the fast change—it all takes your breath away, so much that you can’t, in fact, breathe. He grabs your face and makes you look at him. The dead of the night captured in his features, you absorb it, whining like the brat you are onto his mouth, mingling into your noises your approval, your yes’.

Swallowing it, he kisses you, keeping his eyes open. “He could never fuck you like this.”

You laugh. He swallows that, too, moaning. “What if he could?”

He taps you on the cheek, a warning, giving you an exceptionally hard stroke that causes you to scream. He pauses. Does it again. Over and over—and your screams echo across the room, your own soul slipping out of your body. Petals flutter against you and you’re done for, hanging off the edge. You’re close, so terribly close. Your eyesight blurs and Yoongi pulls out entirely and rams into you. Again and again, abusing your cervix.

You moan his name, gone—entirely gone.

“Yes, moan my name like that. Just mine,” he mutters. “Who’s fucking you this good? Who’s gonna make you come?”

He rams into you more rapidly than before. Your senses leave you until all that you know is Yoongi. His name, his scent, the wholeness of the night encompassing him.

“You, Yoongi, you. Fuck, I—”

Yoongi laughs maniacally. “Yes, that’s right. That’s my good girl.”

He rolls his hips, slowing down the coming of your orgasm, owning you. Lets your senses come back to you momentarily. You swallow, your throat dry and you blink, dazed still. Yoongi kisses you, giving you all that he took from you.

“Who’s only capable of fucking you like this, honey, hm?” he asks, his voice tender and sing-song. “My pretty honey, so fucked out. So out of it.”

You whine and you don’t control what comes out of you, your body answering for you. “You, Yoongi. You’re fucking me so—so good. I can’t—fuck. You’re the only one.”

He smiles down at you fondly, kissing your nose, then your lips, parting your mouth and swirling his tongue around yours briefly. Then he withdraws, begins to fuck you again, slowly, reaching to the side for something.

Once you see his phone in his hand, your heart stops. And when he puts the device to his ear, your throat dries up even more. You suddenly become aware of the silence all around, especially in your chest. You can’t breathe, you can’t blink—

Yoongi jackhammers into you, purposefully luring your loud noises out of you. “My girlfriend wants to fuck you.”

You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut, the suddenness, the quickness of pleasure you haven’t yet felt piercing you. Fuck hot flashes and petals, you feel a heavy urge of your orgasm closing down on you.

“She’s so desperate for you, even when I’m fucking the life out of her.”

You flutter your eyes open to see Yoongi surveying you. You scrunch your face—so close, so fucking close—and then he puts the phone to your ear. Breathing, hard, ragged breathing fills all of your senses and you come.

It’s an explosion. Roses bursting, their dew soaking you and Yoongi whole and you exit. You exit out of this situation, this world, this universe while your soul remains here with them. Vibrancy, colors so beautiful and sensations so vivid, ardent and fierce. You don’t know what it is you’re feeling or where you are. That is, until Yoongi’s voice yanks you back to planet Earth, back into this world, this situation—back to them.

“In fact, she just came for you. Squirted.��

You sob. Overstimulated, rhapsodic, but effulgent. Yes, you emit light and glow. You can see it in Yoongi’s softened eyes.

“Think about it. No pressure. Just know she won’t shut up about you. I recall her saying your name would be pretty to moan while she played with her pussy. I think it’s only right you fuck it out of her.”

With that, he hangs up.

You brim with so many emotions that it numbs you. Happy tears flow out of your tear ducts—and happily, endearingly, Yoongi chortles. You don’t even feel humiliation or shame. On the contrary, you’re ready to come again.

Yoongi kisses you and the sounds he slips into your mouth divulge how happy he is about this, how pleased he is with himself.

You pout, burning your eyesight into his. He begins to rut into you.

“What, you’re not even gonna thank me?” he says, grinning, as if he wasn’t fucking you at all, as if you two were still sitting at the dinner table, conversing.

You stammer, head empty, silencing yourself and trying again. “What—what made you change your mind?”

Yoongi places open-mouthed, wet kisses along the bone of your jaw, and there he seals his answer. “I made up my mind the moment you admitted you wanted to be fucked by him, but you wouldn’t shut up about him. I wanted to hear you babble for me. About me. I just had to mess you up to get to that point.”

You mewl, running your hands through his sweat-slicked hair. Like a cat, he perks up to your touch, lifting his head, angling it. He kisses you, deeply. Kisses your relief.

“Where are your manners, hm?” he whispers onto your mouth, giving you hard strokes that erase your vocabulary. You want to make him come and so you push against his thrusts, but to no avail. The intensity won’t allow you.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you murmur, cradling his face, pecking him, giving him the softest eyes you could muster so you can show him how much it means to you.

He approves of your effort on bettering your manners and to reward you, he lifts you up and fucks you in the air. Your breasts bounce against the material of his T-shirt, stimulating you and he alters between jackhammering into you and sliding you up and down on his length. Your pussy squelches around his girth, tightening and Yoongi—

Yoongi loses his mind.

And it’s him who begins to babble when you snap your hips down on him in circles.

“Just like that, honey, oh fuck. So good, so good for me.”

He takes it until his sounds grow in volume and you focus so much on his pleasure that you forget about yours.

But you don’t let him take charge.

“Let me fuck you, please, Yoongi. I wanna make you come.”

Just like you, he’s out of it and because of that, because you asked so nicely, he lets you.

His chest heaves, staccatos of his choked out breaths sail through the room and you can see it on his face that he’s close. Brows furrowed, bottom lip bleeding due to the way he bites hard on it, the way his mouth pops open and his eyes flutter closed.

You hold onto his neck with your dear life.

“Look at me,” you demand and swirl your hips in slow circles around his tip. “I want you to look at me when you come.”

You’re so stunned that he allows you to be in charge, even more when he truly does open his eyes and pierces his gaze into yours.

“I need to pull out,” he breathes, but you shake your head, snapping your hips down on him harshly.

“No, I want your cum in me. And I want it to be inside of me when Jungkook fucks me.”

Yoongi grunts and this is it for him. His cock twitches in you, over and over again and then you feel it—the hot, thick ropes of his cum stuffing you full. You’re so mesmerized by the feeling, by the blissfulness evident on his face, by the smoothness between his brows at last that you can’t even milk him dry. You’re frozen, stupefied by his beauty, by his personal rapture and you want to feel it in unity with him. You kiss him.

It’s him who fucks him cum into you, burying it deep, moaning into your lip lock.

It’s him who lays you down to your original position and briefly, feebly licks the sheen on your spread lips before devouring your clit.

It’s him who gives you the fastest orgasm of your life.

And it’s him who tells you—in the shower—the story of how he almost beat up Jungkook black and blue once he heard him say how pretty you are.

And it’s you who checks up on him.

“You sure you’re okay with this?”

You’re stroking his hair in the bed, the duvet heavy and warm around your body and his, the night overflowing into morning—Yoongi, too.

He’s falling asleep, but still conscious, still here with you, purring.

“I wouldn’t be waking him up in the middle of the night if I wasn’t,” he whispers, opening his eyes to look at you, to see you enveloped in the extra blanket of the dawn’s rosy light—glowing, throwing the sun off of its throne. “Poor guy just got out of the military and you’ve already rocked his world.”

You smile, fondly, thumb caressing his temple. Yoongi hums in appreciation.

“I’m happy for him he’s getting pussy—one that’s mine. Before he enlisted, he spent all his time painting and getting drunk alone,” he pauses in a thought, blinking at the light. “You still want this?”

You nod, settling into his chest. Yoongi pulls you closer, tucking the duvet into the lines of your form, bringing in comfort and sleepiness.

“I’ll make sure you have the time of your life. I’ll be here the whole time, taking care of you,” he promises against your hair and you squeeze him.

“He hasn’t said yes, though. He could turn me down.”

“I’ve seen the way he looked at you. You have nothing to fear. He’ll come to you like a puppy.”

Yoongi sinks the promise onto the plane of your forehead and holds you as you drift to sleep. Happy, relieved, steamed off of all the negative things you went through. It evaporates into the dawn—far, far away from you.

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