#sakuverse jonah | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yoursinisforgiven · 1 month ago

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PORNST☆R ──

pairing: jonah x reader (bartender)

cw: smut, afab reader, usage of the pet name ‘good girl’ and usage of the pronoun her once, pubic sex, vaginal fingering, oral (female receiving), breeding (with intentions of pregnancy), making of pornography, bondage, usage of sex toys.

you are responsible for your own media consumption.

Jonah had always known you were attractive—more than that, the two of you were attractive together.

A perfect match, some would say. The kind of couple that made people double-take, not just because of looks but because of how effortlessly you moved around each other, an easy rhythm that translated even through a screen.

At first, it was nothing more than passing mentions in his stream chat. Casual curiosities.

username: where’s ____? username: why isn’t ____ there, are they okay?

Fans had caught glimpses of you before—heard your voice in passing, seen the way you leaned against Jonah when exhaustion weighed heavy from a long bar shift. Some even went as far as making edits after subscriber Q&As, splicing together stolen moments: your tired smirk as you rested your head on his shoulder, his absentminded fingers threading through your hair, the way he always glanced at you when you spoke, like the rest of the world had gone quiet.

And then, of course, there were the others.

username: he’s too good for ____. username: they don’t deserve him. username: wish he’d break up already. username: how much you wanna bet their cheating?

Jonah saw those comments sometimes, tucked between waves of donations and praise, jealousy and possessiveness veiled in thinly disguised concern. His lips would press into a firm line, jaw tight, but he never entertained them. His fans didn’t own him. Certainly not. And more importantly, they didn’t own you. So he let it roll off his back, the way he’d been trained to after years online. If it didn’t bother you, it sure as hell wouldn’t bother him.

It was innocent. At least, at first.

Tonight was like any other. The apartment was dimly lit, the only real source of light coming from his monitor, the glow of neon icons casting a soft blue sheen across his desk. An empty energy drink can sat to the side, condensation pooling in a ring beneath it, forgotten. The faint scent of microwave popcorn lingered in the air from earlier, mixed with the comfortable, familiar notes of your body lotion—the one you used after showering, the one he always associated with the way you felt pressed against him at night.

Jonah had built a reputation for his late-night streams. A comfort for insomniacs, international viewers, and night owls who thrived in the early hours.

Meanwhile, you were in the living room, curled up on the couch despite his half-hearted attempts to convince you to stay in bed with him while he streamed.

“Falling asleep on live would be so embarrassing,” you muttered, dragging a few pillows from the bed, your voice tinged with exhaustion.

Jonah had only laughed, shaking his head as he tinkered with his mic. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. You do drool a ton.”

The pillow you launched at his head was swift and unmerciful.

“Ow!” he yelped, overly dramatic even as laughter spilled from his lips. You only leaned in, pressing a lazy kiss to his cheek before disappearing into the living room, leaving behind the faint scent of your shampoo—something warm and slightly sweet, lingering long after you were gone.

That had been two hours ago.

Now, with Friends reruns playing in the background—ads and all—he figured you’d long since dozed off, likely curled into yourself, one arm tucked beneath your head, the other resting over your stomach. Your phone was probably still in your hand, screen dimmed but not yet locked, a half-written text or an unread notification left abandoned.

Jonah was deep into Elden Ring, locked in a brutal fight with a dragon that had already killed him more times than he cared to admit. His chat was thriving off his frustration, spamming skull emojis and ‘LMAOOO’ every time he let out a groan of defeat. His jaw clenched as he dodged one final attack, landing a clean, calculated strike.

The beast collapsed. Victory.

He barely had time to enjoy the moment before a donation alert popped up on-screen.

The text-to-speech bot read it aloud:

username donated $30 “u and ____ should totally do onlyfans.”

Jonah blinked.

For a beat, there was only the low hum of the game’s background music, the faint cadence of laughter from the sitcom playing in the next room. The thunk of his water bottle as he set it down. The soft whir of his PC fans.

Then, his chat exploded.

username: YO?? username: LMAOOOOOO username: BRO ANSWER THE QUESTION username: CLIPPED username: DON’T IGNORE IT, JONAH

His lips parted slightly, caught between amusement and disbelief. His fingers stilled on the keyboard.

“Oh, we’re just saying things now, huh?” He leaned back in his chair, dragging a hand down his face, feigning exasperation as his chat continued flooding the screen with reactions.

But the thought had already planted itself.

Like a spark, it lingered.

Jonah’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips as his mind flickered to you—the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, the way your body molded against his so seamlessly, the teasing glint in your eyes whenever you indulged the occasional flirty comment from chat.

Jonah exhaled, chuckling softly as he refocused on the game.

Still, the idea remained.

──

Jonah stirred awake to the feeling of movement beside him. He barely registered the warmth of your body shifting away, the bed dipping as you attempted to slip out unnoticed. His first instinct was to reach out, fingers curling gently around your wrist before his brain could fully catch up.

“…Where you goin’?” His voice was thick with sleep, gravelly and slightly muffled against the pillow. He blinked sluggishly, lifting his head just enough to see your silhouette against the morning light seeping through the curtains.

You turned to him, the faintest smile tugging at your lips as you gently pried his fingers away. “Work,” you murmured, voice still soft from sleep.

Jonah scrubbed a hand over his face, blinking away the blurriness in his vision as he glanced toward the nightstand. The red glow of the digital clock flashed back at him.

8:24 AM.

A groan slipped past his lips. Maybe—just maybe—he should start cutting down on the late-night streams. The thought of getting up anytime before noon felt like actual hell, and yet here you were, already dressed and ready to take on a grueling shift at the bar.

Still, as much as he wanted to grumble about it, he wasn’t quite ready to let you go just yet.

The mattress dipped again as you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, muttering a quiet, “I’ll see you later.” But before you could straighten up completely, Jonah caught your chin between his fingers, tilting your face back toward him.

He kissed you properly then—deep, slow, lips warm from sleep. His thumb brushed idly along your jawline, savoring the way you melted into it, however brief.

When you finally pulled away, you exhaled a soft chuckle, smoothing a hand over his messy hair. “Go back to sleep, Jonah.”

He only hummed in response, lazily watching as you grabbed your keys and slipped out the bedroom door. The faint jingle of them, followed by the quiet click of the front door shutting behind you, was the last sound he heard before the apartment settled into silence.

Jonah lay there for a few more minutes, caught between sleep and reality, his body reluctant to fully wake up. But his mind wasn’t as kind. As soon as he turned over, reaching for his phone on the charger, the sheer amount of notifications waiting for him made his stomach drop.

The bright screen illuminated the dark room, nearly blinding him. Instagram. Twitter. TikTok. Twitch. His lock screen was flooded.

Confused, he squinted at the dozens—no, hundreds—of messages, likes, retweets, reposts, and tagged clips from last night’s stream. His DMs were a nightmare. His requests folder? Completely overwhelmed.

And then he saw the recurring theme.

Screenshots. Out-of-context clips. Tweets bordering on actual thirst traps—fan edits of the way he’d reacted to that single, off-handed comment.

It was everywhere.

His chat’s explosion, his flustered half-laugh, the way he’d wet his lips right before dodging the question—all of it dissected, analyzed, and turned into content overnight. People were straight-up writing essays about it.

username: bro the way he paused 😭 HE THOUGHT ABOUT IT. username: Look me in the eyes and tell me they wouldn’t make BANK. username: i would pay my rent twice over if they did. username: Y’all… the way he leaned back and laughed ?? that was NOT a no.

Jonah groaned, flopping back against the pillows.

Dragging himself up, he scrolled mindlessly, watching the absolute chaos unfold in real-time. People were even bribing him. Actually bribing him.

Direct Message Request: ”$200 donation if u just consider it.” “Jonah if you make an OF I will literally pay off your student loans.” “i got $500 right now bro no questions asked.”

He had to laugh. Had to.

Running a hand through his already messy hair, he opened his camera, snapping a quick, disheveled selfie. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, lips slightly parted, a vague expression of exhaustion and disbelief on his face. He barely even checked the angle before posting it to his story with a caption:

“y’all need to be stopped.”

Not a yes.

Not a no, either.

Within seconds, his phone buzzed with replies.

Jonah dragged himself out of bed, still scrolling as he made his way to the kitchen.

──

The house was eerily quiet when you stepped inside, the kind of silence that made you double-check if you had actually unlocked the door or just walked into someone else’s place by accident. The morning chill still clung to your skin, lingering like an unwelcome guest as you kicked the door shut behind you.

Jonah’s car was parked outside—so you knew he was home—but something about the stillness felt off. Usually, even if he was holed up in his gaming room, there’d be some kind of noise. A YouTube video playing, music humming from his speakers, the occasional loud thunk of him bumping into furniture like he had no spatial awareness whatsoever.

You frowned, setting the small bag of groceries onto the kitchen island before calling out, “Jonah?”

A beat of silence.

Then, almost instantly, his voice rang out from the bedroom. “In here!”

You huffed, kicking off your shoes near the door before making your way down the hall. The scent of faint cologne and warm linen greeted you as you stepped into the room, but your attention was immediately drawn to Jonah—still in his sleep clothes, slouched in his gaming chair, scrolling on his phone.

His posture was lazy, one leg propped up against the desk, the other foot dragging slightly against the floor as he absently spun himself a few inches side to side. His hair was a mess, sticking up in places like he’d run his hands through it a dozen times, and his expression—furrowed brows, lips slightly jutted into a small pout—made it obvious he was deep in thought.

You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms. “You look like you just found out your favorite restaurant shut down.”

Jonah barely looked up, but you caught the slight twitch of his lips, like he wanted to smirk but was too preoccupied. Instead, he turned his phone screen toward you, thumb hovering over a particularly bold tweet.

You squint at the words on his phone, furrowing your brows as your brain takes a second to process the tweet. The sheer audacity of it—someone casually offering thousands of dollars like they were placing a bid on an auction—makes you snort before you can help yourself.

Shaking your head, you plop onto the bed, phone already in hand as you scroll through your own feed. “I’ve seen that one,” you murmur, half-distracted.

Jonah’s chair creaks as he spins to fully face you, his expression shifting from mild disbelief to outright shock. “You’ve seen it?!”

You glance up briefly, catching the way his brows shoot up, mouth slightly agape. His reaction pulls an amused smirk from you as you scroll with practiced ease, fingers tapping against the screen. “Do you think I live under a rock? Plus, you’re trending.”

Jonah leans back in his chair, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “I’m trending?” He scoffs, then corrects himself, “We’re trending. The internet has officially lost its mind.”

He swipes through his notifications, the blue glow of his phone casting shadows on his face. His feed is a war zone—clips from last night’s stream, edits of the two of you, and endless, endless debate threads. Some fans are losing their minds at the idea, while others are calling it a marketing goldmine. There’s even a few suggestive art pieces that make him pause and blink a few times before hurriedly scrolling past them.

Your own feed isn’t much better. Your name, alongside Jonah’s, is attached to countless tweets, some joking, some… not so joking. One particularly bold post catches your eye:

username: At this point, Jonah and his partner dropping an OF is a public service. We deserve this.

You stifle a laugh, tilting your screen toward him. “The people have spoken.”

Jonah squints at it before groaning, rubbing his temples dramatically. “Jesus Christ.”

But the thing is—he isn’t exactly against it. The idea has been sitting in the back of his mind since last night, taking root every time he let his thoughts wander. It wasn’t just about the money—though the sheer amount people were throwing around was insane—it was the intrigue. The possibility.

Because, objectively speaking, you were hot. He was hot. Together? It made sense why people were frothing at the mouth.

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head with an amused huff. “You’re handling this way too well.”

You shrug, setting your phone down beside you. “I think it’s hilarious. Besides…” Your gaze flickers up to meet his, something unreadable passing behind your eyes before your lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk. “It’s not like the idea completely sucks.”

Jonah stills. Just for a second.

Then, a slow grin spreads across his face, all lazy amusement and mischief. He tilts his head, studying you, considering.

“…Oh?”

The tone of his voice—low, dripping with amusement and something darker—sends a shiver down your spine. Heat rushes to your face, blooming deep in your chest and settling like a weight in your stomach.

You don’t think. You react.

Your hand shoots out, grabbing the nearest pillow, and before you can even process it, you’re hurling it straight at him.

Jonah’s laughter rings out, rich and unbothered—because unlike last time, he’s ready. He catches the pillow effortlessly, gripping it in one hand like he’d been expecting it.

He smirks, shaking his head as he tosses the pillow aside. “We seriously have to break this little habit of yours, babe.”

There’s something in the way he says it—smooth like honey, rich with amusement, but laced with something firmer. Something that makes your stomach twist and heat bloom beneath your skin.

You roll onto your side, feigning nonchalance, propping your head up with one hand. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you murmur, deliberately avoiding the eye contact Jonah so clearly demands.

Jonah snorts, dragging a hand through his already-messy hair as he leans forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees. “Right. Because you definitely don’t have a history of launching shit at me every time you get flustered.”

You purse your lips, narrowing your eyes at him. “Maybe if you weren’t such a menace, I wouldn’t have to resort to violence.”

Jonah lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah? And what exactly am I doing to deserve such abuse?”

You huff, turning your face away in a weak attempt to ignore him, but you can feel his gaze lingering on you. Can hear the smug amusement in his voice, thick with the kind of self-satisfaction that makes your pulse stutter.

It’s infuriating.

But also… annoyingly attractive.

His chair creaks slightly as he leans in, just enough for his presence to feel heavier. Closer. His voice drops, teasing but deliberate, the deep cadence of it sending a ripple of heat through you.

“Oh, c’mon,” he murmurs. “Don’t get all shy on me now.”

Your stomach clenches.

He tilts his head, eyes flicking over your face, reading every micro-expression like he’s mapping out all the ways he can toy with you. His smirk lingers, widening just a fraction.

“I thought you said the idea didn’t completely suck.”

Before you can react, he moves.

Suddenly, you’re on your back, the mattress dipping beneath you as Jonah’s weight pins you down. His hands brace on either side of you, his body close enough to steal the air from your lungs.

Your breath hitches.

You can’t avoid it this time—the intensity in his eyes, the way they gleam with something both playful and wicked as they lock onto yours. Your throat goes dry, and you swallow hard, fingers curling into the sheets beneath you.

The silence stretches, charged and heavy, and Jonah’s smirk only deepens.

He knows.

Knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

And worse?

He’s enjoying every second of it.

Sure, here’s a revised version with the requested changes:

The air between you is thick with tension, crackling with an electric charge that sends shivers down your spine. Jonah’s gaze is locked on yours, and suddenly, you’re painfully aware of every inch of space between you. His breath, soft yet deliberate, brushes against your skin, and the warmth of it makes your heart pound. You swallow, your throat dry, and try to steady yourself, but it’s impossible when everything inside you is coiling tight, anticipation building.

You try to push the thought away—the one that’s been nagging at you all morning, ever since you saw the clip from last night. It’s been hovering in the back of your mind, a slow, persistent burn. But now, with Jonah so close, everything feels different. The idea isn’t just lingering anymore—it’s starting to root itself deep within you, growing stronger by the second.

Without thinking, you reach up, your hands curling around his neck, pulling him toward you. His hands slide to your waist, firm and possessive, and you feel the heat of his body press into yours. You can’t help the breathless gasp that escapes your lips as his hips shift against yours, the movement sending a rush of heat straight through you.

“I… I wanna try,” you murmur softly, your voice barely a whisper as you press your lips to the side of his neck. The words are more than just a confession—they’re a promise, the beginning of something new. Something thrilling.

Jonah pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his breath coming in shallow pants, lips curving into a knowing smile. “Yeah?” he breathes out, the word heavy with a mix of desire and curiosity, as if he’s waiting for confirmation.

Without missing a beat, you nod, the words that follow slipping from your lips almost effortlessly. “Let’s practice now.”

His smirk deepens, a spark of mischief flickering in his eyes. His hands move quickly, pulling his shirt over his head with a practiced ease, exposing his toned chest. You watch him, your breath hitching at the sight, unable to tear your gaze away.

Jonah reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone with a smooth motion, his fingers quickly unlocking the screen. A flicker of realization crosses your mind just before he holds it up, aiming it toward you both. The sudden thought of being recorded sends a rush of heat to your cheeks, but it only heightens the thrill coursing through you.

“Don’t worry, babe,” he mutters, his voice low and husky as his eyes flick back to yours, “I’ve got you”.

Before you can respond, Jonah’s hands are on you again, more urgent this time. His grip tightens, and you feel him grope you roughly through your shirt, the pressure of his touch sending a wave of heat rushing through you. His phone records the moment, his free hand still working to tug at your shirt, fingers brushing against your skin as they travel lower. You can’t help but moan softly, your body already betraying you as it responds to him instinctively.

The room feels smaller now, the world outside irrelevant as you’re consumed by the heat of his touch and the camera capturing it all.

──

username [top fan ★] tipped $50! : edge her pls <3

The moment Jonah echoes the notification, your body reacts on instinct, thrashing against the red rope securing your wrists to the headboard. The bindings bite into your skin with each desperate movement, but you barely register the sting—too caught up in the rush of anticipation.

Jonah lets out a breathy chuckle at your reaction, his amusement laced with something darker. He moves in closer, his warm breath ghosting over your cheek as his hand wraps around your throat—not applying pressure yet, just resting there. A silent warning. Be careful.

It’s been less than three months since you both started recording, and already, you and Jonah had blown up. The anonymity of it all only added to the allure—neither of you had shown your faces, but that hadn’t stopped speculation. There were entire threads dedicated to uncovering your true identities, theories running rampant. Jonah only fueled the fire when, during a livestream, he had accidentally left his monitor on, revealing a tab open to your OnlyFans link.

At his ‘realization,’ he’d scrambled to close it, feigning embarrassment—but the damage was done. Subscriptions skyrocketed.

Of course, it wasn’t just the mystery that kept people hooked. It was the sheer filth of your content—from outrageous toys to public sex—drew subscribers in like moths to a flame. And the money? It poured in by the thousands, every new request more depraved than the last.

Now, though, none of that matters. Your mind is clouded with a desperate, aching need—so consumed by the unbearable heat coursing through your veins that any thoughts of speculation, subscriptions, or teasing hints at your identities are long forgotten. All that exists is the relentless pulse between your legs and the cruel denial your fans seem to revel in.

Jonah, still fully clothed, shifts beside you, his presence only adding to the frustration curling tight in your stomach. He brings the bullet vibrator back to your clit, pressing it against you with just enough pressure to make you jolt. The sound that escapes you is raw, involuntary—exactly what he wanted. He groans at the sight, at the way your arousal is pooling beneath you, glistening under the dim lighting.

With a wet kiss planted to your tear stained cheek, he leans down, positioning himself perfectly within the camera’s view. His colorful, freshly dyed hair—one of the only real clues to his identity—stands out against your skin as he lowers his mouth, deliberately slow, dragging the anticipation until you’re trembling. Then, almost obnoxiously, he licks a broad stripe through your slick folds, moaning shamelessly into you, letting the audience hear just how much he’s savoring the moment.

Jonah’s tongue worked relentlessly, each flick and stroke sending sharp jolts of pleasure through your body. He groaned into you, the vibrations making your thighs tremble as he lapped at your slick heat with a hunger that bordered on feral. His mouth sealed over your core, sucking greedily, his tongue delving deep before dragging up to swirl over your clit, over and over again, until your legs threatened to give out beneath the relentless pleasure.

“Fuck, you taste incredible,” he groaned, voice thick with arousal. He pulled back just enough for you to see the glistening mess he’d made of himself—his lips, chin, even the tips of his fingers shining with your arousal. The sight alone sent another wave of heat surging through you.

Then, without warning, he dove back in, sealing his mouth over you with even more desperation, as if he couldn’t get enough. His tongue plunged deep, moving with slow, deliberate strokes that left you breathless, only to switch to rapid, messy flicks that had you thrashing in his hold. His fingers dug into your thighs, spreading you open wider, keeping you exposed—for himself, for the camera, for everyone watching.

Your body jerked as you tried to grind against his mouth, chasing the peak that hovered just out of reach. But just as the pressure in your core tightened, Jonah pulled away, leaving you trembling on the edge. Your slick still coated his lips as he looked up at you, his expression dark with amusement.

“Beg them to let you cum,” he ordered, his voice rough, teasing. The words made your stomach flip, your breath catching in your throat.

Before you could answer, he was back on you, his tongue pressing inside again, curling and stroking in ways that made your mind go blank. The wet, obscene sounds filled the room, echoing through the speakers of everyone watching, but Jonah didn’t care. He was lost in the moment, lost in you.

You swallowed hard, your voice shaky as you tried to obey. “Please…” The word barely came out, choked by the pleasure wracking your body.

Jonah smirked against your skin, finally dropping the vibrator to the bed, his fingers replaced the toy, pressing against your clit in tight, fast circles, rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves in a way that had your legs trembling uncontrollably. At the same time, he sucked at your entrance, drawing more of your arousal into his mouth with every deep pull.

It was messy, overwhelming, completely consuming. The heat, the wetness, the way your body responded helplessly to every touch—everything blurred together in a haze of pleasure that had you spiraling closer and closer to the edge.

username [top fan ★] tipped $500! : just a little longer please, their doing so well

Jonah pulls away, his lips still slick with evidence of just how close you were. He sits up slightly, shifting so that his face remains out of the camera’s frame, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. With a smirk, he reads the message aloud, his voice dripping with amusement.

At the sound of it, your entire body tenses. A broken sob rips from your throat, the unbearable need clawing at you, unraveling you completely. Tears spill down your flushed cheeks, frustration and desperation bleeding into one another until you can’t think of anything except the aching, throbbing pleasure that has nowhere to go. Your wrists tug uselessly against the ropes, your body trembling beneath him, helpless and needy.

Jonah watches you, his expression dark, greedy. He drags his fingers down your inner thigh, slow and deliberate, watching the way you twitch at even the faintest touch. He lets out a soft, breathy chuckle, tilting his head as he studies you, as if deciding just how much longer he’s willing to drag this out.

“You heard them, babe,” he murmurs, his voice thick with mock sympathy. His fingers return to your soaked heat, teasing just enough to make you jolt. “A little longer.”

The words send a fresh wave of desperation crashing over you, your body betraying you as it responds to his every movement. And the worst part? You know Jonah loves this—the way you crumble for him, the way the camera captures every raw, unfiltered reaction for the audience to devour.

And so, he takes his time. Because he knows you’ll break for him all over again.

──

Muffled whimpers and ragged breaths fill the cramped dressing room, the heat between you unbearable. Jonah’s body is pressed tightly against yours, his movements relentless as he drives into you from behind. His hand clamps firmly over your mouth, silencing your cries, while his other hand works in slow, torturous circles against your aching clit. The slick, messy sounds of your bodies moving together fill the space, obscene and unrelenting.

You barely manage to glance back at him over your shoulder, your gaze glassy, pleading—for mercy, for more, for anything that might ease the overwhelming pressure building inside you. But Jonah’s expression is nothing but pure amusement, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. He lives for this—the way you tremble, the way your body betrays you, completely at his mercy.

Then, a sharp knock on the door shatters the moment. Your breath catches in your throat, panic cutting through the haze of pleasure.

“Is everything alright, ma’am?” comes the attendant’s polite voice, muffled through the door.

Jonah stills for only a second before his grin widens. His hand slips from your mouth, trailing down to your throat as he leans in, his breath hot against your ear.

“Go on,” he murmurs, voice dripping with wicked delight.

You swallow hard, struggling to steady your voice. “Y-Yeah!” you manage, forcing the words past your trembling lips. “The shirt is just… a bit tighter than I thought.”

The silence stretches for a moment before the attendant responds, oblivious. “Oh! No worries, I’ll grab another size for you.”

Jonah chuckles low in his throat, pressing a teasing kiss to the corner of your jaw. His fingers tighten on your throat for just a second—a silent warning, a reminder of just how little control you have in this moment.

“Good girl,” he purrs, his hand slipping lower again, fingers pressing rougher, deeper. He doesn’t give you time to recover, doesn’t let you ease down from the fear that had spiked your adrenaline. Instead, he picks up his pace, the wet, messy friction making you gasp.

Then, he lifts his phone just enough to capture your reflection in the dressing room mirror, the red light blinking. “Now,” he whispers against your cheek, his voice dark with amusement, “look into the camera and cum before the nice saleslady comes back.”

──

Perhaps one of the most requested streams—one that kept subscribers coming back, tipping exorbitant amounts—were the ‘breeding’ nights. Hours upon hours of Jonah filling you over and over again, relentless and insatiable. The chat scrolled by at an impossible speed, messages begging him to keep going, to push you past your limits, to make sure everyone watching knew exactly who you belonged to.

“You’d look so good stuffed full of me,” Jonah mumbled, his voice thick and slurred, lost in the pleasure, in the sight of you spread beneath him. He was wrecked—completely gone, pussy-drunk and desperate, rolling his hips into yours with a slow, punishing grind.

He kept you pinned, pressed deep into the mattress in a cruel mating press, his weight keeping you from moving even an inch. His breath was hot against your skin, the grip on your thighs firm enough to leave marks. The chat was a blur of encouragement and filthy requests, but for once, Jonah didn’t even glance at it. His focus was solely on you—the way your body clenched around him, the way you trembled, overstimulated and desperate.

When he finally spilled inside you, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he held you there, grinding lazily, making sure every last drop stayed buried deep. The camera captured it all—the way you gasped, the way his muscles tensed as he emptied himself inside you once again.

Only when he was satisfied did he finally pull out, spreading you open for the camera’s view, watching his release spill from your swollen, sensitive entrance. A low, satisfied hum left his lips as he pushed it back in with two fingers, slow and deliberate.

“Messy little thing,” he murmured, lifting those same fingers to your lips, teasing them just past the edge. Though off-screen, the wet, obscene sounds of you sucking them clean filled the mic, sending the chat into another frenzy.

──

author's note: jonah and bartender our fav cam couple <3

tag list:

@ysawdalawa @rain-soaked-sun @tanksbigtiddiedgf @sdfivhnjrjmcdsn @lil-binuu @colombina-s-arle @xxminxrq @souvlia @meraki-kiera

#zsakuva #sakuverse #zsakuva fandom #jonah x bartender #jonah x reader #zsakuva jonah #jonah zsakuva

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litmot-archived · 7 months ago

Text

Pick Me Up

Jonah x Reader

An interaction with a rude customer leaves you a little rattled.

Warnings: harassment

Working at the bar would not be half as bad if it were not for the small percentage of horrible customers. The majority was alright, some were even memorably polite, but at the end of the day, you always remembered the outright rude ones, making every pleasant customer interaction sink to the back of your mind.

You could still picture the face of the woman who had sneered at you, telling you that the Vodka Martini you had served her was made with cheap Martini — as if you had any control over the beverages your employer chose to supply his establishment with.

You remembered the man who had rolled his eyes at you, clicking his tongue before telling you that you were horriblyorganized because you told him the licorice was out of stock — as if it was your job to walk to the store and get it.

When being served, people often forgot the basic structure of the establishment they were sitting in.

It was normally not the bartender who was responsible for the limited option of drinks at the bar — it was their employer. It was not the waiter’s fault if the portion of the food was insufficient, they were not the ones in the kitchen preparing it.

It was not you who made the prices, but the boss who occasionally helped himself to the tips of his staff. It was not your fault if you were out of every type of whiskey if your boss refused to buy new ones because their prices had skyrocketed.

The only problem was that it was you, interacting with the customers. It was your face they saw. It was you representing the establishment, so naturally, it was you they blamed for every little inconvenience they could think of.

Still, it was alright.

You had learned quickly not to take these things to heart, and it was not an unusual occurrence for you to return home late from one of your shifts, find Jonah still awake, and spill your guts about the trashy customer you had had to deal with that day. He always listened attentively, laughing alongside you at these people’s weird sense of entitlement, and offering commentary on the situation. Together, you often came up with the most hilarious replies to people’s snide comments that had you howling with laughter.

If rude customers were rare in the majority of people you interacted with daily, there was another fraction who was rarer still: the people who made you genuinely uncomfortable.

Every once in a while, maybe every two months or so, a person would fall into that category. Sometimes, they tried flirting with you. Sometimes, they made inappropriate comments. Sometimes, they reached over the counter and gave you a confused look when you sprung back.

Most of the time these people were drunk, having indulged in a little too much alcohol. They tried fighting your decision to stop serving it to them, and only begrudgingly walked out of the bar after you remained stubborn.

Rarer still were the times when someone completely sober was sitting on the stool before you, watching you like a hawk as they tried chatting you up.

“You have a pretty face,” he said, keeping his gaze on you as you prepared his Espresso Martini. He wore a tailored suit with a striped tie and must have bathed in cologne. You could smell its deep scent from the other side of the counter from how exceedingly he had applied it. “You should smile more. You’re too serious.”

You glanced at him. He gave you a smirk. The air of entitlement was strong with this one.

“What is there to smile about when I am pouring vodka into a cocktail shaker?” you retorted, keeping your face carefully blank.

“Maybe it’s the fact that you’re doing it for me, love. Come on, give me a smile.”

Your colleague had just left for a smoke break, so you were alone behind the counter with his increasingly uncomfortable presence before you.

Those gray eyes did not stop boring into you, and your hands began to shake as he continued smiling at you.

“Smile, come on.”

“Sir, I need you to back off,” you said, moving away from him in a faux search for the sugar syrup.

“It’s behind you, darling,” he said, giving you a dazzling smile. “I’ve seen you here a few times. How come you still don’t know where everything is? Am I making you nervous, or are you just that much prettier than you are intelligent?” He chuckled, expecting you to do the same.

You only stared at him, clenching your jaw. Who the fuck did this baster think he was talking to? You opened your mouth to reply, the words dying on your tongue as you caught sight of his watch. It was engraved, the name William Kennedyglaring at you in pretty cursive. How had you not recognized the son of your employer?

You swallowed thickly.

“Cat got your tongue, sugar?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Now come on, finish my drink.”

You reached for the sugar syrup, not dignifying him with a response as you did what you were told. What could you do? You needed this job, and although you were sure you could find another one in no time with your experience and qualifications, it was still an inconvenience you would much rather avoid. Telling the son of your boss to fuck off would get you fired, right? You were pretty sure it would, so you bit your tongue.

“You know,” he continued, and you had never wanted anyone to shut up as badly, “now you are just the type of person I would take home. You’re sweeter when you keep your mouth shut, the only thing missing is a smile.” He pulled out his wallet, waving a ten-pound note in front of your face. “Smile if you want a tip,” he said.

You stood frozen, the cocktail shaker in your hands forgotten as you blinked at the scum before you. “I’m in a relationship,” you said tensely, your eyes narrowing in a glare.

“So am I,” he replied, adding five pounds. “Smile.”

“Listen,” you began, losing your patience. Son of your boss or not, this was getting ridiculous. You set aside the cocktail shaker, meeting his gaze coldly. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing here. I’d advise you to stop, or I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“You listen, actually,” he said, placing his elbows on the counter and leaning forward until he was face to face with you, “maybe you don’t know who I am, and I can excuse ignorance. This whole place is going to be mine someday, got that? I could get you fired with a phone call. So how about you give me a pretty smile and serve me that drink I ordered.”

“Sir, I need you to leave this establishment.”

He chuckled, making a show of checking his watch. “I’m going to give you sixty seconds until I—”

Whatever he was about to say got caught in his throat as you opened the cocktail shaker, throwing the contents of his would-be Espresso Martini onto his white dress shirt, staining it irreparably.

He cursed profusely, springing to his feet and staring down the front of his ruined shirt. You had gotten some on his suit jacket as well.

The two women at the table in the far corner snickered loudly, and even the elderly man who liked to read his newspaper with a glass of red wine looked up, raising an eyebrow at the cursing mess before you.

“I’m going to give you sixty seconds to leave before I call the police on you for harassment,” you said, staring him down. “Sir.”

He shot a deathly glare your way, picking up his wallet off the counter. “Just you wait,” he spat, storming out of the bar and leaving a wet trail of footsteps you now needed to clean up.

The added work was worth it though. You wondered what your boss would think when he watched the CCTV. Perhaps he had gotten the angry call already, demanding to fire you immediately.

Your blood was boiling, and you found yourself not caring about his opinion at all. Nobody treated you like this, least of all your boss’ entitled son. Still, his words rang in your ears, and you wondered if his petty scheme of revenge extended beyond an angry phone call to his father. Who knew the connections he had? Who knew how much you had truly pissed him off.

At the end of your shift, you found yourself dreading the thought of walking home alone.

“Hey babe, what’s up?” Jonah’s cheery voice on the other end of the line was an immediate ray of sunshine on this bleak night. “You’re done early.”

“Hi, uh,” you stammered, feeling a little embarrassed. Your anxieties were probably just paranoia anyway. There was no need to inconvenience Jonah with any of this.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, the tone of concern slicing through your heart like a knife. You had not meant to make him worry. “Babe?”

“Nothing’s wrong, just,” you began, shifting your weight and looking around the empty bar. “Today was weird and— and if you’re not busy, could you come get me? I’d rather not make my way home alone.”

“Sure. Where are you?” he asked. You heard the creak of his gaming chair and the shuffling of clothes. “Still at the bar?”

“Yeah,” you replied, glancing at the cocktail shaker.

“Stay there. I’ll be there in approximately fifteen minutes, alright? I’ll smother you in a hug and you’ll tell me all about your day. Sounds good?”

You chuckled, picking up your bag and turning off the lights behind the counter. “I can start walking and we’ll meet halfway.”

“Babe, you don’t need to if you don’t feel like it,” he said. You heard the front door shut. “I’m on my way. If you’d rather we walk together, then that’s fine. There is no need to rush, and honestly, if you tell me today has been weird, I’d rather you wait for me inside.”

“I’m probably overreacting.”

“On the one-in-a-million chance you’re not, I’d rather not test it,” Jonah said, hurriedly making his way down the street. “Do you need me to stay on the line?”

“Nah, I’m fine,” you said, peering through the shut blinds into the darkness outside. “I’ll wait for you.”

“Good. See you in a few minutes, babe. Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

#sakuverse #zsakuva #jonah x reader #jonah

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