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thedensworld · 1 month ago

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Marry A Rich Man | J. Ww

Genre: suggestive, angst, fwb au!, smut

Summary: every parent wanted their daughter to marry a rich man, Jeon Wonwoo. However, you are a rich man.

gif from @meowonhao (he's so fine i just physically and mentally can't (/□＼*))

No warn, just read and find it by yourself:)

You rolled your eyes at the mention of Jeon Wonwoo from Jeon Enterprise. His reputation as a notorious womanizer and all-around arrogant businessman was well known, and the thought of meeting him didn’t exactly excite you. So when your mother brought up the idea, you could hardly hide your disinterest.

“But it’s time for you to start thinking about marriage, Y/N. Don’t you know your younger sister has already been proposed to by her boyfriend?” she pressed, her tone a mix of encouragement and frustration.

“Good for her,” you mumbled with a shrug, not even bothering to meet her eyes.

“At least pretend you're interested. Wonwoo is quite the catch these days among the socialites,” your mother added with a resigned sigh, as if she was pleading more for her own sake than yours.

You stood up from the dinner table, glancing at your watch with a practiced smile. "I’m sorry, but I’ve got to run. There’s a business gathering I need to attend," you said, eager to make your exit.

Your father, who had been mostlydj silent, raised an eyebrow. “A business gathering? Will your friend Wonwoo be there? Say hello to him for me.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. "Father, you too?" you asked, feeling cornered.

He shrugged, a faint smile on his lips. “Just say hi. That’s all I’m asking. For me.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle lightly, shaking your head. “Fine. I’ll say hi.” The words came out reluctantly, but a small part of you wondered just what kind of person this infamous Jeon Wonwoo really was.

And here you were, sitting on a plush couch at a party teeming with young businessmen, most of whom had inherited their wealth rather than earned it. You sat alone at a table near where Jeon Wonwoo and his circle of friends lounged, their laughter loud and effortless. You had been invited by Kim Mingyu, the heir to Kim’s Group and the host of tonight’s extravagant affair. Mingyu and Wonwoo had been best friends since high school, along with familiar names like Seokmin and Junhui, who were part of their elite clique.

Jihoon, the doctor and heir to Seoul University Hospital, sat on a couch nearby with a can of Coke in hand, looking out of place among the champagne glasses and whiskey tumblers. “Too many people. My head hurts,” he muttered to you, rubbing his temple.

You chuckled softly. “That’s Mingyu for you. His social connections are endless. I wasn’t even surprised when I saw popular idols mingling here tonight.”

Jihoon nodded in agreement. “He’s a social butterfly. Sometimes I regret being friends with him,” he said with a wry smile, earning a genuine laugh from you. Jihoon had been your classmate in senior high school, and his deadpan humor was something you’d always appreciated.

Just then, Jihoon raised his hand, waving at someone behind you. You turned, and there he was—Jeon Wonwoo, making his way over, leaving Mingyu and the others behind at their table. He looked just as you had expected—sharp and composed, with an air of casual confidence.

“Can’t handle Mingyu?” Jihoon asked with a teasing grin as Wonwoo grabbed a glass of whiskey before settling into the couch across from you.

“Too much energy,” Wonwoo sighed, shaking his head, but his eyes quickly found yours.

“Nice to see you at a casual event for a change,” he said, his tone smooth, as if he were commenting on something extraordinary. You cursed internally, wishing Mingyu wasn’t your cousin and the reason you had to be here.

Jihoon chuckled. “Right? Y/N must be the hardest-working woman in this room. Always too busy building empires.” He leaned back, glancing at you with a teasing glint. “I saw your new building in Singapore last week, by the way. It looked incredible.”

You raised an eyebrow at both of them. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” you asked, feigning offense, though their words had hit a nerve. Sure, you loved your work, but being painted as some workaholic who never had fun wasn’t exactly flattering.

Wonwoo smirked, swirling his whiskey. “It is. Not many people can pull off what you do. I’d say that’s impressive.”

Jihoon nodded, “Agreed. But don’t work too hard, Y/N. Some of us still need you to show up to these parties once in a while.”

You let out a soft laugh, but deep down, their remarks lingered. You were here, weren’t you? Yet somehow, you still felt worlds apart from them.

Jihoon glanced at his phone before letting out a soft sigh. "I should go. My shift starts in half an hour. It was nice seeing both of you here," he said, standing up and stretching slightly. Before leaving, he made a beeline for Mingyu to bid him goodbye.

As Jihoon walked away, Wonwoo turned to you, noticing your subtle discomfort. "Not a fan of parties?" he asked, his voice casual but his eyes sharp, clearly aware of your unease.

You cocked your head slightly, meeting his gaze. "Are you?"

Wonwoo shrugged with a mischievous grin. "I wouldn’t say I am, but Mingyu taught me a lot about how to survive them." He chuckled, the sound deep and warm, leaning a little closer as if sharing a secret.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed but amused by his charm. "I see. The student surpasses the master, perhaps?"

He smirked, eyes glinting with playful interest. "Only in certain things," he said, the subtle flirtation unmistakable in his tone. He let the moment linger, his gaze never leaving yours.

You held his stare, calm and unfazed. "Lucky you, then."

Wonwoo chuckled again, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. "Why don’t we step outside for a bit?" he suggested, leaning in just enough to make it feel intimate. "I know a nice spot nearby. Somewhere quieter."

Intrigued, you glanced at the bustling party around you and nodded. "Lead the way."

He stood up and offered you his arm, which you took with a composed smile. Wonwoo led you out of the party and into the crisp night air. After walking a few blocks through the city’s lively streets, he guided you to an old, tucked-away bookstore. The warm glow from inside spilled onto the sidewalk, and an elderly man at the counter looked up as you entered, his face lighting up in recognition.

"Wonwoo!" the old man greeted with a smile. "Back again?"

Wonwoo nodded, grinning. "Couldn’t stay away for too long, Mr. Han."

The old man gave you a kind look, then returned to his book, leaving you and Wonwoo to browse. "Didn’t think you'd be the type to bring someone here," Mr. Han commented lightly.

Wonwoo chuckled, glancing at you. "Sometimes you just meet the right person."

You let out a soft laugh, strolling through the rows of worn books. "A bookstore at this hour? Unexpected," you remarked, impressed but keeping your composure.

Wonwoo shrugged, his voice low and smooth. "I thought you'd appreciate something different."

He wasn’t wrong. As you wandered through the cozy aisles, the noise of the outside world faded away, and the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional shared glance.

As the clock struck midnight, Mr. Han locked up the bookstore and waved his goodbyes, leaving you and Wonwoo sitting on the bench just outside. The city had quieted down, and the soft glow of streetlights cast a warm, intimate ambiance around you. You had been talking for hours, the conversation flowing effortlessly as Wonwoo, intrigued by the way you thought, kept throwing different topics your way. Each one seemed to reveal a different layer of you, and he couldn't help but be fascinated.

At one point, the topic turned to wealth and power. You leaned back on the bench, crossing your arms. "When you give a rich man a little power, he thinks he rules the world," you stated, your tone casual but sharp. You had just finished explaining how much you despised the typical behavior of wealthy men—playboys who worked hard only to shower their side chicks with luxury.

Wonwoo paused for a moment, considering your words. Then, with a slight smirk, he responded, "I do feel like I rule the world." His voice was smooth, confident. "But I don’t act the way you think."

You chuckled, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "Liar. You’re quite famous for your playboy reputation, Mr. Jeon. You’ve got a habit of having everything—including any woman you want."

Wonwoo was momentarily caught off guard by the nickname, but he quickly composed himself, flashing a teasing smile. "Playboy agenda? That’s news to me."

"But you can’t deny you have everything," you pointed out, tilting your head slightly as you studied him.

He didn’t even hesitate. "You’re right. I do have everything." His tone was laced with confidence, almost as if he was testing you, waiting to see how you would respond.

You narrowed your eyes, your lips curving into a small, knowing smile. "See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Rich men like you think they own the world, when in reality, they don’t."

Wonwoo let out a genuine laugh, leaning in slightly as if to further draw you into the moment. "Alright then, tell me. What don’t I own?" His voice had dropped lower, almost daring you to challenge him.

You shrugged nonchalantly, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Me. You don’t own me."

The air between you shifted, the playful banter charged with a subtle tension. Wonwoo's eyes lingered on yours, his smirk softening as he took in your words. "Yet," he said, his voice teasing but with an edge of something deeper, something bolder.

"You didn’t say my hello to Wonwoo," your father remarked casually as you entered his office the next morning.

You paused mid-step, organizing the files in your hands before glancing over at him. "How do you know?"

Your father sat on the main sofa, picking up one of the files you brought for him to review. "I ran into him yesterday. I asked about you, and he mentioned you didn't pass along my greeting." He looked at you with a knowing smile.

You rolled your eyes lightly, pushing the file toward him, trying to keep your expression neutral. "And what else did he say?"

Your father raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your sudden curiosity. "Why? Did something happen between you two?"

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, but you quickly masked it, waving your hand dismissively. "No, I was just worried he might’ve said something bad. You know me—I’m not exactly known for being polite."

Your father chuckled, seemingly buying your excuse. "True. You’ve always been a bit like a debt collector in business—firm and straightforward. But it works for you. That said, Wonwoo did mention he’d like to see you again."

You nodded slowly, muttering under your breath, "I bet."

"What was that?" your father asked, but you waved it off, diverting the conversation back to the files. You weren’t going to entertain this topic any further, not now.

Later that day, as you continued working, your phone buzzed with a message from Mingyu.

Mingyu: Wonwoo asked for your personal contact. What did I miss?

You stared at the message for a moment, shaking your head in disbelief. The last thing you wanted was to discuss Wonwoo, especially after everything that had happened the night before.

Still, you went about your day as if nothing had changed. You ignored your father’s comments, brushed off Mingyu’s text, and mentally dodged every thought of Jeon Wonwoo. But then, as you drove home, your mother called. Of course, the conversation somehow found its way back to him. Jeon Wonwoo—this man you’d only met at Mingyu’s birthday, yet who seemed to be lingering in everyone’s thoughts.

You sighed as you politely listened to your mother, her voice bubbling with excitement as if Wonwoo were the best thing that had ever happened. Little did she know you had spent the night with him, and now you were trying to figure out what it all meant.

The next morning, you arrived at your office, only to be greeted by an overwhelming sight—buckets of flowers surrounding your desk. You stood there, arms crossed, brows furrowed. The overwhelming scent filled the room, making the normally neat and orderly space feel chaotic.

"Someone’s been sending these non-stop since early this morning," your assistant said, standing beside you. "I don’t think they’ll stop unless you tell them to."

You picked up one of the cards attached to a bouquet, reading the note: I don’t appreciate the way we parted. Let’s meet again and clear up any misunderstandings.

Your eyes narrowed, already knowing who the sender was. You walked briskly to your computer and began typing an email to the flower sender—Jeon Wonwoo himself. You kept the tone professional, telling him to stop flooding your office with flowers and that, perhaps, you could meet again to "clear things up."

You hit send, sitting back in your chair with a sigh. Part of you wondered if you’d regret agreeing to meet him again, but another part—the curious part—was already anticipating it.

Wonwoo waited in the hotel room, his thoughts racing as he paced around. The same room. The same place where everything had begun on Mingyu's birthday night, when you had opened up to him—at least he thought you had. But the next morning, you were gone, leaving behind only a note and a sting to his pride.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He didn't recognize himself lately. Since meeting you, he'd felt... off. Needy, even. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to wanting someone so much that it clouded his mind.

He remembered the note you left: It was nice. You’re experienced in this area. Along with it, you’d left some cash, as if he were some service you had paid for. That stung his ego more than he cared to admit. He should’ve been furious, but instead, all he could think about was craving you again—your skin against his, your presence.

The sound of the door opening snapped him out of his thoughts, and he turned, watching as you casually entered the room. You kicked off your heels without care, tossed your expensive bag onto the couch, and sat down across from him with an air of confidence that was unmistakable.

"You’re late. Thirty minutes," Wonwoo said, his eyes following your every move.

You didn’t even bother with pleasantries. Instead, you massaged your leg, looking at him with a tired yet unfazed expression. "As if you had anything better to do after this," you replied, hitting on the fact that he had canceled all his plans for the evening the moment he received your email this morning.

He didn’t deny it. He had dropped everything, cleared his schedule, just to see you. Maybe to talk, maybe more. He wasn’t hoping for anything to happen tonight, but if it did... well, he wouldn't be complaining.

"So," you said, leaning back into the couch, confidence radiating from you. "What exactly do you want to clear up between us?"

Wonwoo mirrored your posture, uncrossing his legs as he leaned forward. "I don't appreciate you framing me as some playboy," he said, his voice calm but firm. He wasn’t used to being talked about like that, especially not by someone who clearly affected him more than he’d like to admit.

You raised an eyebrow, unbothered by his accusation. "You’re not?" you asked, your tone teasing, as if daring him to deny it.

"I’m a very noble person," he replied, almost defensively. "I don’t mess around with lots of women, if that’s what you were implying."

You chuckled, the sound light and dismissive. "And that bothers you?"

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, it silenced Wonwoo. Did it bother him? It shouldn’t. But coming from you, it did. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe because, deep down, he didn’t want you to see him that way.

"It shouldn’t," he admitted after a beat, his gaze locking onto yours. "But with you, it does."

Your expression softened, just for a second, before you smirked. "Interesting." You leaned forward slightly, meeting his gaze head-on. "So, what are you going to do about it, Mr. Jeon?"

Wonwoo felt his pulse quicken, but he kept his composure. He didn’t know how this conversation would end, but he knew one thing: you had him wrapped around your finger, and you probably knew it too.

Wonwoo didn’t respond right away. It did bother him, more than it should. And he wasn’t sure why. Normally, he wouldn’t care what someone thought of him—especially not someone who seemed so determined to keep their distance. But with you, it was different. He didn’t like the way you saw him, the way you assumed he was just another rich man playing games.

But it wasn’t just that. You challenged him in a way that no one else had. You made him feel things he wasn’t used to feeling, and as much as he hated it, he couldn’t ignore it.

Wonwoo leaned forward, his gaze intense as he closed the distance between you. "I think you like pretending you’re the one in control," he said, his voice low and suggestive. "But I don’t think you mind letting me show you otherwise."

He watched you closely, waiting for a reaction. There was a flicker of something in your eyes—curiosity, maybe even desire—but you masked it quickly, crossing your legs slowly, as if to test his patience.

"Bold assumption, Mr. Jeon," you said, your tone light but your eyes never leaving his. "But I don’t hand over control easily."

Wonwoo’s lips curved into a smile, dark and full of intent. "Who said anything about easy?" He let his hand drift to your knee, his touch deliberate and slow, testing the waters. "I’m just suggesting we explore this... dynamic a little further. See where it takes us."

He moved closer, his voice dropping to a whisper as his breath brushed your ear. "Unless, of course, you’re afraid you might like what you find."

The tension between you thickened, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Wonwoo could feel his pulse quicken, the anticipation coiling inside him like a spring ready to snap. You were playing it cool, but he could tell you were thinking it over. There was something between you that neither of you could deny.

Finally, you leaned back into the couch, crossing your arms with that same infuriating confidence. "You seem so sure of yourself," you mused, your voice teasing. "But I don’t think you know what you’re getting into."

Wonwoo let out a soft chuckle, his hand sliding a little higher up your thigh, the touch now more intimate, more daring. "Then show me," he whispered, his voice thick with desire.

The tension between you was electric now, the pull irresistible. He had no intention of walking away from this without exploring whatever it was that had ignited between you since that first night.

And from the way your gaze darkened as you leaned in slightly, he knew you felt the same.

Wonwoo’s arms tightened gently around your waist, his breath warm against the back of your neck as he whispered, "Stay..." You hesitated for a moment, your mind already on the exit, but the pull of his touch made you pause. There was something about his embrace that felt too inviting, too comfortable to resist.

The familiar warmth of his body pressed against yours, and without thinking, you leaned back into him. His fingers traced lazy circles on your skin, a slow and deliberate motion that sent a subtle shiver down your spine. You weren’t sure what it was that kept bringing you back here—to this very same room, to him—but the connection between the two of you was undeniable. It was never about love, but the chemistry was hard to ignore.

As his lips brushed your shoulder, you could feel the tension in the air, an unspoken invitation in the way his hand lingered on your waist. "I like this," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, as if sharing a secret meant only for the two of you.

As you lay there, the memories of Seungcheol creeped back into your thoughts, despite your best efforts to keep them at bay. Your relationship with him had been all-consuming, something that once filled every corner of your heart and mind. It was hard to think about him without remembering how much he had demanded of you—emotionally, mentally, and even physically.

With Seungcheol, things had started out like a whirlwind. He was intense, driven, and passionate, and for a while, you were swept up in it. You thought that kind of intensity meant love, that his need for you, his constant presence, was a sign of something real and lasting. But slowly, the weight of it all became too much to bear. His passion turned into control, his love into expectations you couldn’t meet, and his presence became suffocating.

There were good times too, of course—moments where he made you feel like you were the only person in the world that mattered to him. But those moments were always fleeting, overshadowed by his demands. He wanted more than you could give, and in the end, you had nothing left to offer him.

The break-up had been brutal. Seungcheol didn’t understand why you were pulling away, and you couldn’t find the words to explain how drained you felt. He had taken so much from you, and by the time you walked away, you weren’t sure if you even knew how to love anymore.

Now, with Wonwoo, he didn’t demand anything from you. He didn’t ask for your heart, your promises, or your future. There was no pressure to be more than you were capable of being. It was a relief, but at the same time, it left you feeling hollow in a way you hadn’t expected.

You glanced over at Wonwoo as he lay beside you, his breathing slow and steady. He was so different from Seungcheol—calm, relaxed, and never overbearing. Yet, there was something about the way you kept coming back to him, something that felt just a little too easy, as though you were using him to fill a space that Seungcheol had left behind.

Maybe you were both just trying to avoid the emptiness, finding comfort in each other because it was simple. But deep down, you wondered if you were really healing or just hiding from the scars Seungcheol had left on you. The thought lingered as you closed your eyes, choosing once again to stay in the moment, avoiding the pain that lay beneath the surface.

"Are you leaving already?" Wonwoo’s voice interrupted your thoughts, his hand resting gently on your arm.

You looked over at him, meeting his eyes. There was a question there, but it wasn’t the kind that demanded an answer. He understood that whatever you had together wasn’t complicated.

You shook your head slightly. "No, I’ll stay a bit longer."

You met Seungcheol again for the first time in five years. He now owned his own advertising label, just like the dream he'd talked about so many years ago. Today, he had come to your father’s company, probably without expecting that he'd be working with you. After all, Seungcheol had never fully believed in your competence back then, so he certainly wouldn’t have expected to see you sitting across from him as one of the company’s directors.

You steeled yourself with every ounce of professionalism you could muster, trying to suppress the erratic pulse that betrayed how unsettled you truly were. During the meeting, when your eyes met briefly across the table, memories flooded back. You were reminded of why you loved him so deeply when you were together. He was charismatic, driven, and had a presence that was still undeniably captivating.

But the love that once shone in his eyes was gone. He had moved on, you'd heard. And it was best for him—best for both of you, perhaps. You forced yourself to focus, nodding to your secretary, silently willing the meeting to end as quickly as possible.

The moment it was over, you gathered your things and hurried out of the meeting room, heading toward your office. Your footsteps quickened with each step, eager to put distance between you and the past. But just as you turned the corner, a familiar hand reached out and caught your arm. It was Seungcheol.

"Hi... How are you? I didn’t expect to see you here," he said, his voice softer than you remembered.

You bit your lip, fighting to keep your composure. "Great..." you replied, pulling your arm away from his gentle grip, the contact sending a wave of emotions you'd tried to bury long ago.

Seungcheol seemed to realize what he'd done and quickly took a step back, giving you space. "I’m sorry," he said, his expression unreadable. "You must be busy. It was... nice to see you again, Y/n."

His words were polite, but there was a weight to them, a shared history that couldn’t be erased. You nodded, offering a brief smile before turning away, your heart racing from the brief encounter. The man who had once held all your love was now just another face from your past—a past that felt closer than it should.

Once the climax hit both you and Wonwoo, you collapsed onto his chest, gasping for air as your body trembled above him. His hands remained firmly on your hips, steadying you while the waves of pleasure slowly subsided. For a moment, neither of you moved, the intensity of the moment still lingering in the air. Wonwoo’s chest rose and fell beneath you as he caught his breath, his fingers gently tracing patterns along your skin.

"It was the best yet," he finally murmured, a small smirk tugging at his lips, his voice low and satisfied. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your cheek as you lay against him, both of you basking in the aftermath of your shared experience.

You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of his words and the undeniable chemistry that always seemed to pull you back to him.

"You should ride me more next time," Wonwoo jested with a playful smirk, but his breath hitched slightly as you pulled away from him, the lingering sensation still sparking through him. He watched as you climbed out of bed without a word, fetching the bathrobe and slipping it over your bare skin.

As you walked to the couch and sat down, your eyes seemed distant, wandering as if lost in thought. There was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there before. Wonwoo propped himself up on his elbows, watching you intently. This wasn’t like you—the usual confident, carefree attitude that had defined your time together seemed to falter for the first time.

"Something on your mind?" he asked, a hint of curiosity mixed with concern in his tone. He couldn’t help but notice the shift, the way you suddenly seemed disconnected. It was the first time he'd seen you like this—guarded, almost as if you were somewhere else entirely.

Wonwoo stood up, slipping into his pants before making his way toward you. He sat beside you, gently cupping your cheeks as his thumb brushed against your skin. He could sense something was weighing on you, something that perhaps had fueled the raw emotion in the way you'd been with him earlier.

"You look so beautiful like this," he whispered, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your lips. His eyes searched yours after the kiss, waiting for you to speak, to tell him what was really going on.

After a pause, you finally mumbled, "I realize... I'm changing so much." Your voice was soft, almost unsure.

Wonwoo didn’t say anything, letting the silence stretch as he waited for you to continue. He knew there was more you needed to say.

"I'm so different from who I used to be," you confessed, your words almost a whisper. "I used to be so... pure. So used to being taken care of. I was needy, clingy. I didn’t understand things. And now... I don't like how I’ve become, like I’ve had to figure everything out on my own."

Wonwoo let out a sigh, his eyes never leaving yours. "Is it about us? Is that what's bothering you?"

You hesitated before answering, "One of them."

His grip on your face softened, his touch reassuring as he waited for you to unravel more of what was inside you. The rawness in your voice, the vulnerability, was something new between the two of you, and he wanted to understand.

"I've never done this with anyone..." you confessed quietly, your eyes dropping for a moment. "It’s amazing to be with you, Wonwoo. But I feel so hollow afterward. I feel... really bad. That’s why I always leave."

Wonwoo took your hand gently, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. "Because you don’t want to show me this side of you?" he asked softly, his voice calm but full of understanding. You took a deep breath, nodding in response.

"Are you going to let me go, Wonwoo? Like everyone else?" you asked, your voice filled with uncertainty.

Wonwoo shook his head firmly, his gaze steady on yours. "I’m not going anywhere, even if you ask me to. I’m stubborn like that, Y/n."

Relief washed over you as you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. "Thanks," you whispered, feeling a weight lift off your chest.

Wonwoo tossed his keys onto the counter, his thoughts still swirling. He leaned against the kitchen island, trying to shake the feeling that had settled in his chest since you’d opened up to him. The more he thought about it, the more it nagged at him.

He had always been good at keeping things casual, knowing the boundaries of a no-strings relationship. But something about the way you looked at him tonight—the way you confessed how hollow you felt—stirred something deeper inside him. He didn't like seeing you in pain. He didn't like that you were dealing with it alone.

But what could he do? He wasn’t supposed to care this much. You two were just... enjoying each other, right? No commitments, no expectations.

Yet, for the first time, he felt something beyond that, a pull he hadn’t anticipated. He wanted to be more than just your distraction, more than just someone to pass the time with. But at the same time, he knew crossing that line could complicate everything.

“Damn it,” Wonwoo muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He couldn’t deny the truth anymore: he wanted to be there for you, to be the person you leaned on. But would you let him? And more importantly, was he even ready to be that person?

Just as his mind raced, his phone buzzed with an incoming call. His mother's name flashed across the screen, and he answered on the second ring, grateful for the distraction.

Their conversation flowed easily, as it always did, catching up on life, work, and updates on the family. But when she shifted to more personal matters, his stomach tightened.

"Every mother wants their daughter to meet you, Wonwoo. I had no idea my son was that popular." Her voice was filled with pride and a hint of amusement.

Wonwoo chuckled, deflecting with a light jest. “You raised an amazing man, mother.”

Her laugh came through the phone, warm and familiar. “Maybe it's time you meet one of them. A dinner wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

He paused, the suggestion hanging in the air. It was simple enough, really—meet someone new, go through the motions. And yet, it felt like a heavier decision than it should have been.

Maybe she was right. Maybe meeting someone else, taking a step back from you, would give him the clarity he needed. Maybe that was what he should do—slowly distance himself from this complicated entanglement.

But as he sat there, phone still pressed to his ear, something inside him hesitated.

Your presence was impossible for Wonwoo to ignore. You sat just a few tables away, speaking comfortably with a man whose face he vaguely recognized but couldn’t place. In front of him sat Sung Yubin, a girl his mother had been eager for him to meet.

“Is the food to your liking?” Yubin asked, her voice cutting through his thoughts. Wonwoo quickly shifted his gaze from your table back to her, realizing only then that he had stopped chewing his steak, distracted by your presence.

“It’s great. Please, help yourself,” he responded politely, though his attention wandered back to you again. He tensed when he caught you looking back at him, though you quickly resumed your conversation with the man sitting across from you.

“I’m glad we could have dinner,” Yubin continued, unaware of his distraction. “The school lunch today was weird, so I ended up skipping it.” She was a senior nursing student, and while her conversation topics should have interested him, Wonwoo found himself nodding absently to her remarks. She wasn’t exactly his type—always rolling her eyes at the waitstaff and focusing more on trivial complaints.

After the meal, Wonwoo excused himself, claiming he had another engagement when Yubin hinted at wanting him to drive her home. Though a flicker of disappointment crossed her face, she seemed satisfied when he hailed a cab for her. As she left, Wonwoo felt a wave of relief wash over him.

Then, just as he was about to leave, he spotted you stepping out of the restaurant with the man from earlier. A third person, a woman, approached, and after a brief handshake, the man walked away with her, leaving you standing alone.

A small smile tugged at Wonwoo’s lips as your eyes met his again.

“I thought you were on a date,” Wonwoo teased, stepping closer to you.

“Because yours was?” you shot back with a smirk, fully aware that you were right.

He chuckled, “Wanna grab a beer?”

You hesitated only for a second before nodding, a quiet acknowledgment that whatever was between you two wasn’t over just yet.

“Who was that girl?” you asked as soon as you were seated at the bar, curiosity lacing your voice.

“Someone my mother wanted me to meet,” Wonwoo replied casually, his eyes scanning the menu. He raised his hand to order an expensive bottle of liquor for the both of you.

“I thought we were just going to grab a beer?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at his choice.

Wonwoo shook his head with a small grin. “Gotta treat you to something good.”

“Oh, trying to show off that you’re rich?” you joked, and he nodded proudly.

“That’s my favorite thing to do around you,” he bantered back, making you chuckle.

When the drinks arrived, you both clinked glasses in an unspoken toast. Wonwoo took a sip of his drink, his gaze fixed on your reaction. He watched as you took a sip, your face lighting up with satisfaction, and a sense of relief washed over him. He’d made the right choice.

“So, that guy you were with earlier... do I know him?” Wonwoo asked, steering the conversation back.

“He’s Choi Seungcheol,” you said, a name that clicked in Wonwoo’s mind.

“From Ads Coups, right?” Wonwoo asked, recalling the name from some big industry moves. You nodded.

“Business dinner? Or a friend?” he pressed further.

You hesitated, and for a moment, it seemed like you were debating whether to tell him the truth. But then you took a breath and said it.

“Both.”

Wonwoo’s expression didn’t change. He sat quietly for a moment, absorbing what you said, before you finally added the last piece.

“An ex.”

“I see…” Wonwoo nodded, acknowledging your words with a calmness that surprised even him. He didn’t press further, but the air between you suddenly felt a little heavier, a little more complicated than it had just moments before.

“Almost married him,” you confessed, a hint of irony in your voice. “But here I am… still being pampered by my mom to find someone.”

Wonwoo chuckled softly, leaning back in his seat. “Don’t worry, you’re not alone in that.”

“At least you’re a good son,” you pointed out. “You actually meet the people your mom suggests. Meanwhile, I reject every single offer mine throws at me.”

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Tell me one name. Just one, that your mom wanted you to meet.”

Without missing a beat, you looked at him and said, “You.”

Wonwoo blinked, caught off guard. “Me?” he asked, incredulous.

You nodded, a smirk playing on your lips. “My mom, my dad. They’re big fans of yours.”

He grinned, clearly amused. “Well, I feel honored,” he said with mock pride.

“So, why’d you reject me?” he teased, leaning in slightly. “I mean, why reject the offer?”

You shrugged casually. “Same reason I reject all of them. I don’t see the point in meeting people just because my mom wants me to. Even if they’re rich. I’m rich too.”

Wonwoo smiled and raised his glass toward you. “Here’s to rich men,” he said, with a playful glint in his eyes, including both of you in the toast.

You laughed, clinking your glass against his. “To rich men,” you echoed with a grin, the shared joke lightening the mood as you both enjoyed the comfortable banter.

Wonwoo looked at you in surprise. You want him to stay?

Just like the other day, the two of you had returned to the same hotel room, indulging in each other’s company. Wonwoo was about to fetch his pants, thinking you’d want to leave as usual. But this time, you surprised him.

“Hm... stay,” you mumbled, eyes closed. Wonwoo didn’t hesitate; he slipped back into bed, pulling your bare body close to him.

As you relaxed into his warmth, you murmured, “Wanna go on a trip with me?”

Wonwoo glanced down at you, curious. “When?”

“Earliest flight today. I want to go to Tokyo.” Your voice was soft, almost sleepy, but the spontaneity in your words caught him off guard. You sounded ridiculous, but he couldn’t help but smile. Without a second thought, he grabbed his phone and texted his secretary to book the earliest flight to Tokyo for two.

“Let’s sleep. We still have a few hours,” he whispered, gently lulling you into rest.

The next morning, after landing in Tokyo, Wonwoo asked as you both walked out of the airport, “You’re okay with taking a sudden day off like this?”

“Using my my-dad-owns-the-company card for the first time won’t hurt anybody,” you replied with a casual shrug.

Wonwoo chuckled, amused by your carefree attitude. “So, where do you want to go after this?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you leaned into his chest, your arms wrapping around his waist as the cab drove you to the hotel.

“Let’s see,” you finally murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wonwoo smiled to himself, feeling your comfortable presence against him. He liked this—being with you like this, without overthinking or complicating things. Just living in the moment.

"Yeah," he thought to himself, "I really like this."

Wonwoo watched you, eyebrows furrowed, as you spoke to your mother on the phone. He found the interaction between the two of you amusing, and a small smile tugged at his lips.

"At my office?" you said, trying to keep your tone calm as your mother inquired about your whereabouts.

"Don't lie to me. I'm at your office," your mother shot back, and Wonwoo stifled a laugh as you closed your eyes in frustration.

"I'm in Tokyo for business," you finally admitted with a sigh.

"And you didn’t bring Chan with you?" your mother asked, referring to your secretary still at the office.

"I like being by myself," you replied, your tone measured. "Besides, Chan has things to handle for me back home."

"That’s why you need to start meeting men. How about Jeon Wonwoo? I mentioned him before," your mother insisted.

Wonwoo’s ears perked up at the sound of his name, and he raised an eyebrow, curious.

"I’ll think about it," you said, trying to end the conversation without drawing it out.

As soon as you hung up, Wonwoo, still intrigued, asked, "What was that all about?"

You casually took a sip of your coffee. "Just my mom trying to set me up with you."

A smirk spread across Wonwoo’s face. "I wish she knew what we’ve already done in bed—"

"Shut up!" You quickly covered his mouth before he could finish, your eyes wide with embarrassment.

Wonwoo leaned closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. "Why? Embarrassed to let anyone know how wild you were in the bedroom?"

Without missing a beat, you grabbed a spoonful of cheesecake and shoved it into his mouth to silence him, and he chuckled as he chewed, eyes twinkling with mischief.

You had spent the entire day together, enjoying the sights and sounds of Tokyo before deciding to fly back to Seoul the next morning. Wonwoo had taken you to all the places you’d been wanting to visit—arcades, restaurants, cafes, and even a clothing shop you had your eye on. By the time you both returned to the hotel, you collapsed on the bed, exhausted but satisfied.

When Wonwoo stepped out of the bathroom, towel around his neck, he chuckled at the sight of you still sprawled out in the same position he left you.

"Go take a shower, you stink," he teased, playfully slapping your leg, making you groan as you slowly got up.

"I'm so happy but so tired. Tired but happy," you said, smiling through the exhaustion as you made your way into the bathroom.

After you’d showered and freshened up, you stepped out to find Wonwoo waiting for you at the table, a spread of food laid out.

"I ordered something," he said, motioning toward the dishes with a proud smile. "Figured you’d need some fuel after today."

Your stomach growled in response, and you sat down with a grateful sigh. "You always know exactly what I need."

Wonwoo chuckled, "Of course. Gotta keep you happy, even when you're tired."

You shared a quiet meal together, the comfortable silence between you speaking volumes as you savored both the food and the company.

"Jeon Wonwoo," you called his name softly, pulling his attention away from his phone.

He shifted his gaze to you, curious. "What’s on your mind?"

"Don’t you feel like I’m using you?" you asked, your tone surprisingly serious.

Wonwoo furrowed his brows in confusion. "What do you mean?"

You shrugged, trying to downplay the growing unease in your chest. "Because I only call you when I need you."

Wonwoo's expression softened, and he shook his head. "No, you're not using me. We’re both busy, me with my work, you with yours. That’s just how life is."

You looked down at your plate, not entirely convinced. "But don’t you feel like... like I'm taking advantage of you? Your ego—doesn’t it bother you?"

He paused, setting his utensil down carefully as he studied you. "Where's this coming from?" he asked gently.

You sighed. "I’ve just been thinking. Men are always talking about pride and ego. Doesn't it hurt yours?"

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as he considered your words. "Is that why you've built up your own walls? To feel equal to men?" he asked thoughtfully.

"In business? Absolutely," you admitted. "It’s a constant power struggle, and I have to keep up."

He nodded, understanding. Then he smiled softly. "You know, my ego did take a hit when you left me cash that day. But today? Nah, I don’t feel anything but happy being with you. I’m not keeping score, Y/N."

You looked up at him, surprised. "Happy?"

"Yeah," he continued, leaning forward a little. "Being with you—it doesn’t feel like a game of who has more power. I’m just enjoying your company. So, no, I don’t feel used."

You smiled, finally letting yourself relax. "Thanks, Wonwoo."

He chuckled and raised his glass. "You overthink too much, you know that?"

As you clinked glasses with him, a thought crossed your mind. "What if... I told you I wasn’t looking for anything serious right now?"

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow but remained calm. "I’d say that’s fine. We don’t have to define anything right now. We can just be, you know?"

You nodded, comforted by his nonchalance. "That sounds... nice."

After a brief silence, Wonwoo leaned in again with a playful smirk. "But if you ever decide to make it serious, just know—I’ll still beat you in Mario Kart."

You laughed, the heaviness of the conversation finally lifting. "You wish."

For the rest of the night, the conversation stayed light, the tension between you fading away as easily as it had come.

Seungcheol had been everything to you when you first started. As an intern, you admired his dedication, his leadership, and the way he always seemed to know exactly what to do. He wasn’t just your manager; he became your mentor, teaching you the ropes in a way no one else had. You were eager to learn, even though you weren’t perfect—stumbling over presentations, sometimes missing the mark—but Seungcheol never made you feel small. Not at first.

He didn’t know who you really were. To him, you were just another intern, eager to climb the corporate ladder. It felt refreshing, in a way, to be seen for your efforts and not your last name. You soaked up everything he taught you, from strategic planning to how to carry yourself in high-stakes meetings. You admired him not just for his professional skills, but for the way he treated you—gently, yet firm when it came to work.

When he asked you out, it felt like everything was falling into place. You were growing in your career, and you had someone who believed in you by your side. Seungcheol was passionate about his own dreams too, talking endlessly about wanting to start his own advertisement company one day. You supported him, proud to see the ambition that had first drawn you to him. But then, things shifted.

After he resigned to pursue his dreams, something changed. He wanted you to leave the company and join him, to take a risk and build something together. But your responsibilities weighed on you, the expectations from your family were unavoidable. When you declined, Seungcheol didn’t take it well. He started subtly belittling your choice, acting as though staying in the company made you less bold, less ambitious.

The truth about your identity eventually came out, and that’s when the real cracks appeared. When Seungcheol found out you were the company heir, his pride took a hit. Your paychecks started outpacing his, your name held weight he could never match, and that, more than anything, stung him. He stopped seeing you as his equal, and instead, he saw you as a threat. He began making snide comments about your success, about how it wasn’t "earned" the way his was, how you had everything handed to you.

Your relationship with Seungcheol had changed you in ways you didn’t fully understand until much later. As the dynamic shifted, as his resentment grew, it left scars that ran deeper than you’d realized. You had loved him, truly, and for a while, you believed he loved you too. But the more success you found, the more he became a different person, someone who couldn't bear to see you surpass him.

It was like watching a man fall apart, piece by piece, under the weight of his own pride. He’d lash out, not always with words, but with the smallest gestures—a disapproving look, a dismissive comment. He stopped celebrating your wins, and instead, they seemed to remind him of his own perceived failures. The man you admired for his passion became someone who resented you for the very things that once made him proud. He had wanted you to be successful, but only as long as it didn’t eclipse him.

And you learned a painful truth from that relationship: that love, or at least the kind you’d experienced, was fragile. Men, as strong as they appeared when they were on top, could crumble when they felt they were losing control. It wasn’t just Seungcheol—it was the way he embodied this belief that men were only themselves when they were successful. When they stumbled, when they struggled, their pride and ego became brittle, breaking at the slightest challenge.

That relationship didn’t just end—it left you with a sense of distrust, of wariness. You’d given your heart to someone who couldn’t handle it when you started to grow beyond the version of yourself he was comfortable with. And that made you build walls, whether you intended to or not. You found yourself questioning every man’s intentions, wondering if they would also resent you when things didn’t go their way.

Seungcheol had stolen your capability to love freely. He’d left you with the belief that love was conditional, that it came with terms and conditions tied to power and success. Men, in your experience, wanted to be the center, to be the ones in control. And when they weren’t, they withered. They became smaller versions of themselves, unable to accept that you could be strong, capable, and successful without it taking anything away from them.

You stopped letting people in the way you once had. Sure, you dated, but it was different. Detached. You kept your guard up, unwilling to allow anyone the power to diminish you again. Every time you met someone, there was that lingering thought—what happens when they see the full extent of who I am? Will they shrink? Will they pull away like Seungcheol did?

Seungcheol hadn’t just hurt you—he’d left you with an image of men that was hard to shake. The ones who thrived when things were easy, but couldn’t handle the weight of your success. Men who were all pride and ego, fragile when the world stopped revolving around them. You didn’t want to think like that, but it was all you knew now.

"Your meeting with Jeon Wonwoo will be on Saturday. Make sure you actually come. And also, get dressed properly this time!" Your mother’s voice rang out as she adjusted her pearl necklace, her tone leaving no room for argument.

You stared at her, incredulous. "I haven't even said yes yet," you shot back, folding your arms defensively.

But your mother merely smiled, clearly pleased with herself. "I met his mother at a gathering yesterday. We talked for quite a while, and she mentioned the last girl he met wasn't his type. I showed her your picture, and she said you might be exactly what he’s looking for."

"But Wonwoo and Y/n are friends," your father interjected, his voice calm but firm from the other end of the dining room.

"I know," your mother replied smoothly, waving her hand as if the detail was inconsequential. "But that doesn’t matter. The impression we make on his mother is what's important."

Your brow furrowed, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. "What’s wrong with me exactly? I’m fine. I’m a great woman," you retorted, trying to keep your cool.

Your mother sighed dramatically, setting down her tea cup with a delicate clink. "I just wish I had raised you to be a more polite and less...brash woman." She shrugged, as though the issue was that simple.

"Polite?" You raised an eyebrow, sarcasm creeping into your voice. "I say please and thank you. What more do you want?"

Your father chuckled softly from behind his newspaper, causing your mother to give him a quick, disapproving glance. He always found humor in your back-and-forths.

Your mother’s words hung in the air, sharp yet laced with a familiar disappointment. You could sense her frustration, but it only made you roll your eyes in response.

“Y/N, dear, you are a great woman. But sometimes I wonder if you care about your future at all.” She sighed again, leaning back in her chair. “I’m not asking for much—just meet him. Wonwoo’s a good man, and you two already know each other. It wouldn’t hurt to see if there’s something more there.”

You crossed your arms, still feeling the weight of her expectations pressing down on you. “Wonwoo and I are friends. I don’t need you playing matchmaker with someone I already know.”

Your mother gave you a pointed look, as if she had already rehearsed her response to every argument you could throw her way. “Wonwoo’s mother agrees that it’s worth a shot. Besides, friendships can turn into something more. You’ll never know unless you try.”

Your father cleared his throat. “Maybe we should let Y/N make her own decisions about this. She’s capable of knowing what’s best for her.”

Your mother didn’t relent. “I just want the best for you. Wonwoo is successful, respectful, and comes from a good family. That’s a strong foundation, isn’t it?”

“Fine, I’ll go,” you finally said, more out of a desire to end the conversation than genuine interest. “But I’m not promising anything.”

Your mother beamed, already envisioning some grand future for you and Wonwoo. “That’s all I ask.”

As you excused yourself from the table, you couldn’t help but think about Wonwoo and how bizarre it would be to approach him under these new terms. Would he know about the setup? Or would this just be another awkward encounter orchestrated by your families? Either way, it was bound to be interesting.

Your walls clenched tightly around Wonwoo as he thrust into you with raw passion, each stroke pushing you closer to the edge. Your nails dug into his back, leaving streaks of red as he found just the right spot over and over again. Moans spilled from your lips, growing louder with each movement as his pace quickened.

"What do you think our moms would say if they knew what we're doing right now instead of having that proper dinner?" Wonwoo's voice was a breathless whisper against your ear, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips as his rhythm deepened.

You could hardly think, let alone speak, but somehow you managed to find the breath to reply, "They'd be thrilled... their kids are trying to give them grandkids." You shot back, your voice hitching with every thrust.

Your words clearly hit him harder than you anticipated. Wonwoo's cock twitched inside you, the mere thought of you carrying his child driving him wild in ways he hadn’t expected. His eyes darkened with lust, and his pace became even more relentless, the idea of you pregnant with his baby stirring something primal within him.

"Do you want that?" Wonwoo growled, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as his hips snapped against yours, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. "Tell me. Do you want it?"

The feeling of his cock hitting that sweet spot over and over again had your mind spinning, your body trembling as the orgasm started to build in your core. You could barely hold yourself together, your breath coming in shallow gasps. "Fuck, Wonwoo... Don’t you dare... I'm so close... I'm cumming!" you managed to cry out, your body tightening around him.

Wonwoo’s grip on your hips tightened as he groaned against your neck. "I got you, baby," he whispered, and with a few more deep, powerful thrusts, you both tumbled over the edge together, the pleasure washing over you in waves that left you breathless and shaking.

He stayed inside you for a moment longer, riding out the high, his forehead pressed against yours as you both panted heavily. The air between you was thick with the afterglow, the heat of your bodies mingling together in the quiet aftermath.

"My mother said she wants to see me with a woman like you," Wonwoo said softly during aftercare, his gentle hands carefully wiping your body clean with a warm towel.

You leaned against his shoulder, too tired to sit up straight, and replied, "Everyone wants their son to be with a woman like me." Your voice was teasing, lightening the mood in the quiet aftermath.

Wonwoo chuckled, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Sure, you're an amazing woman—with amazing tits," he added with a playful grin.

You laughed at his words, playfully slapping his arm in mock indignation. He scooped you up effortlessly and carried you from the bathroom to the bed, tucking you under the soft duvet with a tender smile. After quickly cleaning himself, he joined you, sinking into the warmth beside you.

"Have you ever imagined the two of us together? Like officially together?" You asked, your eyes fluttering open to meet his, curiosity shining in your gaze. Your hand instinctively found its way to his arm, linking with him as if seeking reassurance.

"Every time happiness comes to me while I'm with you," Wonwoo replied, his voice low and sincere, "I always think about how wonderful it would be to share that happiness with you forever."

You turned to face him, your surprise evident in your wide eyes. "Okay, that was deeper than I expected."

He pulled you closer, his lips brushing softly against your forehead in a sweet gesture. "I told you I'm a romantic man."

"You are," you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as warmth blossomed in your chest.

As you nestled against him, a thought crossed your mind, and you mumbled, “What if we made this official? You know, like really official?”

Wonwoo’s eyes widened in surprise, and a grin broke across his face, lighting up his features. “Are you serious?” he asked, his excitement palpable. “You’re not just saying that?”

You felt a rush of warmth at his reaction and nodded, your heart racing. “Yeah, I mean… why not? We get along so well, and I like being with you. I think we could make a real go of it.”

His smile grew even wider, and he pulled you closer, almost lifting you off the bed with enthusiasm. “This is amazing! I’ve been hoping you’d say something like that. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

You chuckled softly, caught up in his excitement. “Really? I thought you had a whole parade of girls wanting to date you.”

“Maybe, but none of them are you,” he said, his voice serious now, making your heart flutter. “You’re special, Y/N. You make me happier than I ever expected.”

You smiled, feeling a mix of shyness and elation. “So, are we officially together then?”

“Absolutely!” Wonwoo exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with joy. “I can’t believe this is happening. You have no idea how happy this makes me.” He leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, tender kiss, sealing the promise of your new relationship.

As he pulled back, he looked deep into your eyes. “I’m going to make you so happy, I swear. No more casual—it’s all in from here on out.” His excitement was contagious, and you felt a thrill of anticipation for what the future might hold for the two of you.

You walked with confidence in a beautiful dress that hugged your figure perfectly. Wonwoo’s hand rested comfortably around your waist as he strolled beside you, flashing charming smiles to everyone you both passed. You couldn’t help but feel proud of each other, relishing the chance to show off your blossoming relationship.

“Look at this power couple!” your mother exclaimed, her voice brimming with delight. You rolled your eyes playfully at her statement, knowing how thrilled she was about your relationship with Wonwoo after the so-called first meeting she had arranged a year ago. Now, you were here with him as his girlfriend at the company’s anniversary party.

“Good evening, Mrs. Ji. You look beautiful as always,” Wonwoo greeted your mother, bowing politely to both of your parents.

“Wonwoo, how are you? I hope Y/N isn’t being a pain in the ass, is she?” your father asked with a teasing tone, treating him differently now that he was your boyfriend.

“In no way could an amazing woman like me be a pain in the ass,” you mumbled loud enough for them to hear, a smirk on your face. Wonwoo chuckled at the light banter you shared with your parents before excusing himself to meet his friend, Kim Mingyu, who also happened to be your cousin.

“So, how’s the plan for tonight?” Mingyu asked Wonwoo, raising an eyebrow knowingly as he referred to his friend’s intentions to propose.

“I’m so nervous I could die,” Wonwoo confessed, running a hand through his hair, his expression a mix of excitement and anxiety.

Mingyu laughed, clearly amused by the new layer of vulnerability that Wonwoo was showing. “Don’t worry, she’ll appreciate everything you do,” he reassured, clapping Wonwoo on the back.

“I hope so,” Wonwoo replied, glancing over at you with a soft smile. The anticipation was palpable, and you could feel the excitement in the air. With each passing moment, you were both drawing closer to an unforgettable evening that could change everything.

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dksfml · 29 days ago

Text

off my face - yjw

pairing: jungwon x reader genre: soulmate au, mega FLUFF word count: 6.6k summary: in a world where each person has a soulmate mark indicating where they will be touched by their soulmate for the first time, there’s jungwon—the soccer team captain you’d like to be ruined by forever—who has no soulmate mark at all. what does that make you, someone whose mark has changed color because of him? author's note: finally!! here's your most awaited blond jungwon fic that i skipped sleep for<3333 inspired by this amazing prompt my friend sent me.

One touch and you got me stoned. Higher than I've ever known. You call the shots and I follow. Sunrise, but the night still young. No words, but we speak in tongues. If you let me, I might say too much.

You sat near the front row, posture perfect, eyes narrowed as Professor Min’s lecture on ancient mythology took a surprising turn. Today’s topic wasn’t just history—it was soulmate lore, the mysterious marks everyone was born with, and the myths that surrounded them. The professor’s calm, seasoned voice filled the room, but the air buzzed with barely contained excitement. Everyone was alert, even the usual back-row whisperers, captivated by the promise of something rare: a sanctioned discussion about their most private marks.

“These soulmate marks,” Professor Min began, his gaze sweeping the room with a faint smile, “are said to be the final traces of a bond forged in a past life. Legends tell us that in each lifetime, we may be separated from our soulmates, lost to distance or circumstance. But the marks,” he gestured to his own faintly darkened palm, “are said to be the soul’s way of leaving a trail—a reminder.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Everyone had a mark, a small patch of inky darkness, as distinct as fingerprints, mapped out on their bodies. Some had them on their palms or fingertips, waiting for the day a handshake or brush of fingers would light up that mark with color. Others had them in more curious places, whispering of fated touches in the most unlikely moments.

"The legend says," Professor Min continued, "that these marks were painted by one’s soulmate in a past life, a vow made in hopes to meet again, to find each other across time."

You clenched your pen a little tighter, the faint tickle of wonder battling the urge to keep your expression blank and unfeeling. You’d always kept your interest in soulmate marks private. They seemed so full of mystery, and the idea of your soulmate waiting for you somewhere was oddly… reassuring. You glanced down, conscious of the mark behind your knee, hidden like a strange secret that even you could barely understand. What kind of first touch would even reach there? The thought was both amusing and baffling, and you stifled a wry smile.

Around you, other students leaned in to chat, loud enough that their conversations blended into a steady hum. Your classmate Arin nudged her friend, laughing as she displayed the faint mark on her palm. “I’ve been dying to know who’ll shake my hand one day,” she whispered excitedly, her eyes glimmering with hope.

But your gaze drifted just beyond Arin, landing instead on a familiar figure lounging in the middle row with his legs stretched out, looking every bit like he was born to disrupt things without lifting a finger. Jungwon. Handsome in a way that seemed almost unfair, with striking, dark eyes framed by lashes that cast subtle shadows on his cheeks, and hair the color of midnight that fell in soft, tousled waves. He had this effortless, magnetic presence that drew people toward him, like he knew he didn’t need to try.

As captain of the soccer team and one of the most well-known faces on campus, Jungwon somehow managed to look both sharp and relaxed, as if the attention his looks or reputation brought him meant nothing. You’d been crushing on him since last year, an avid fan always present at his games, cheering him on like a lovesick fool. Whenever he scored a goal, you felt your heart leap, and you couldn’t help but unleash your inner fangirl, your excitement spilling over as you screamed his name. Right now, he seemed half-listening to his friends, a hint of a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he leaned back, eyes drifting up to the ceiling before refocusing on his friends. It was that easygoing confidence that made him impossible not to notice—and, for you, impossible not to think about.

It was a boy from his friend group, Jay, who interrupted the class chatter by slapping a hand down on the table and teasing, “Come on, Won. You don’t have a soulmate mark, my foot. No one gets off that easy.” The comment was light-hearted but loaded, and more than a few students turned to look.

To your surprise, Jungwon didn’t react with one of his usual witty comebacks or careless shrugs. Instead, he just rubbed the back of his neck, a hint of something almost vulnerable flashing across his face. “No, really,” he insisted, almost apologetically. “I don’t have one. I checked a million times as a kid.”

Your pen paused mid-note, and a slight, irrational disappointment prickled in your chest. It was hard to believe, especially about someone like Jungwon, whose very presence seemed destined to leave a mark on others. Soulmate marks might be rare, but someone like him not having one? It felt impossible, like a missing piece that no one noticed until it was too late.

For a fleeting moment, you wondered if maybe he just hadn’t found it yet. After all, some people only discovered their mark when it finally turned to color. Sometimes it wasn’t a visible spot on the skin but something far subtler—a shadow in the hue of their lips that would only brighten after a first kiss, or a darkness lingering in an eye, invisible until the gentle touch of someone wiping away their tears brought it to life. The thought sent a strange warmth to your cheeks as you glanced back toward him, wondering if Jungwon’s missing mark was just waiting for the right person to unlock it.

Still, he looked surprisingly honest, a faint hint of sadness clouding his otherwise bright gaze. For someone so magnetic, it was as if he was caught drifting in space, without any tether connecting him to anyone at all.

“Alright, alright,” Jay relented, raising his hands in surrender but laughing all the same. “Guess someone’s too cool to be fated to anyone, huh?”

The professor’s voice cut back in, and you forced yourself to refocus, though your mind lingered on Jungwon’s quiet expression and the flicker of something in his eyes, something both resigned and deeply private. Could he really be alone in a world where everyone else was bound to someone?

“Imagine having your mark on your knuckles,” Arin whispered beside you with a grin, oblivious to the moment that had just passed. “You’d probably knock your soulmate out before you even realized they were ‘the one’!”

Another round of laughter scattered through the room, like a shared inside joke. The air felt charged, as if everyone were suddenly curious about each other’s marks, glancing around with new eyes. You let out a small sigh, tapping your pen against your notebook with a faint smile. As much as you tried to keep up the class president, model-student act, the idea of soulmates fascinated you in a way you’d never quite admit.

When the bell finally rang, the room filled with that familiar end-of-class chaos. You started packing up, keeping your head down—until you noticed Jungwon slinging his bag over his shoulder, looking effortlessly put-together, as usual. He laughed at something his friend said, his expression relaxed, his dark eyes flickering with amusement. But you couldn’t help catching the faintest flicker of something else in his gaze as he glanced at his friends—like a momentary, unguarded look that felt… wistful?

Okay, maybe that was just you being overly imaginative.

You let out a little huff as you slung your own bag over your shoulder, shaking off the strange pity you’d felt moments before. So what if Jungwon didn’t have a mark? You barely even knew him. Well, you kind of knew him, but from a distance—and with way more daydreams than you’d like to admit. Still, it was silly to wonder about him, right? With your head full of these thoughts, you walked out into the hallway, lost in a world where maybe, just maybe, he was wondering about you, too.

And as you brushed past a group of friends, laughing and shoving each other, your hand slipped over the back of your knee, where your own mark was hidden—quiet, waiting, and as mysterious as ever.

The sky was an endless blue, stretching wide over the school field as your class spilled out onto the grass for PE. With the teacher conveniently on vacation, today’s instructions were simple: enjoy the free time. Most of your classmates took to the field, breaking off into little clusters for a lazy game of soccer, light stretches, or simple gossip sessions by the bleachers.

As class president, you took it upon yourself to ensure no one went too far or caused trouble. Your duty, as you saw it, was to survey your classmates from a slight distance, keeping an eye out with the calm, serious gaze you’d carefully perfected. Yet even from the sidelines, your eyes found themselves drifting toward a familiar figure on the field, drawn to him like magnets.

Jungwon was at the center of the field with his friends, casual and relaxed, but his every move carried an elegance that made your pulse skip. He was laughing at something his friend said, his eyes crinkling as he kicked the soccer ball back and forth, the glint of a confident smirk tugging at his lips. His ease on the field was mesmerizing, a mixture of strength and grace that made it hard to look away.

You reminded yourself to focus, scanning the field to check on the other groups. But before you could pull your attention back entirely, a voice called out, and you saw Jungwon pivot to chase the soccer ball—only for it to ricochet off his foot, headed directly toward you with alarming speed.

In the split second it took you to react, you felt a sharp thud against the back of your knees. The impact sent you stumbling forward, knees buckling beneath you as you tumbled to the ground. Pain flared up where the ball had struck, but it was drowned out by the shock of it all.

“Oh no—are you okay?” Jungwon’s voice was breathless with concern, his steps hurried as he reached you. You barely had a chance to process his arrival before he knelt beside you, face flushed and clearly panicked. His hand hovered awkwardly as if afraid to touch you, his usual calm replaced with something far more vulnerable.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to— Are you hurt?” he stammered, his voice unusually soft. He reached out gently, his hands carefully brushing against your arm as he tried to help you up. “Can you stand?”

Your mind struggled to catch up to the moment, and it took everything you had to keep your stoic demeanor intact. Jungwon was close, closer than he’d ever been, and the intensity of his worried gaze was unexpectedly disarming. Even as pain pulsed through your knee, you couldn’t help but stare, captivated by how intensely he focused on you, as if everything else in the world had fallen away.

“I’m fine, really,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. But as soon as you tried to stand, pain shot up your leg.

Jungwon’s expression shifted to one of determination, and before you could protest, he slid one arm under your knees and lifted you up, his other arm around your shoulders. The world tilted as he held you in a firm, steady grip, his face barely inches from yours. “We’re getting you to the nurse. No arguments.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned by his closeness, by the warmth radiating from him. “Oh—okay.” The words left your mouth almost on instinct, your brain still catching up with the fact that Jungwon was carrying you, his focus set entirely on you. His hands brushed your arm as he adjusted his grip, and you felt a strange warmth bloom under your skin, something unfamiliar and electric.

The walk to the nurse’s office was quiet, but you couldn’t ignore the way his gaze flickered to you, the gentleness in his expression as he murmured, “Sorry again. I’d never forgive myself if I hurt the class president.”

Your lips parted, searching for something to say, but the way he looked at you—soft, maybe even a bit shy—left you wordless. All you could do was nod, your heart pounding louder with each step as you held onto the feeling of his arms around you, wondering if he could hear it too.

It wasn’t until you glanced down that you noticed it—a faint shift of color beneath your knee where the ball had struck. The mark, once hidden and dark, now radiated a subtle but unmistakable bright yellow hue, soft and warm against your skin.

You froze, eyes wide, as the realization settled in. Jungwon was still mumbling apologies, unaware of the discovery you’d just made. Only he could have caused the mark to change; he was the only one who had touched that spot. The idea left you breathless, your mind scrambling to make sense of it all.

In the clinic, the nurse examined your knee with a quick, professional assessment. “You’ll be fine,” she declared, sending you off with an ice pack and a faint smile. But your thoughts were still racing, tangled up in the startling realization that Jungwon might actually be your soulmate.

The whole walk back to class, you replayed the moment in your mind, trying to make sense of it. Maybe it was a coincidence. Perhaps someone had brushed the back of your knee at some other time, and you simply hadn’t noticed. But deep down, you knew the truth—the mark had only changed when Jungwon touched you.

And when you returned to class, he was there, hovering near the door with a worried frown. He looked up as you approached, eyes bright with relief.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a slight smile breaking through the concern etched into his features. “I was worried about you.”

Your heart skipped as you nodded, doing your best to keep your voice steady. “I’m fine. Just… a bit shaken up, that’s all.” You felt the weight of the new secret pressing down on you, but you forced yourself to smile.

Jungwon’s shoulders relaxed, and he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck in that effortlessly charming way of his. “I’m glad. I’ll be more careful with my aim next time.”

You smiled back, feeling the weight of the mark’s new color, of the quiet truth only you knew. As Jungwon returned to his seat, your gaze drifted to the back of your knee, where the mark lay hidden under the fabric of your clothes, now touched by color—by him.

In the days following the incident on the field, the world seemed to shift around you, humming with an energy you couldn’t quite shake. The back of your knee, where Jungwon’s touch had changed your soulmate mark to a soft, distinct yellow color, was a constant reminder of the possibility that your crush—Jungwon, the ever-handsome and kind soccer captain—might be something even more significant than you’d ever dared to imagine.

“How’s your knee?” he asked, his voice warm and tinged with that familiar gentleness that made your heart stutter.

“Oh, it’s fine, really!” You waved it off, attempting to tuck your leg further under your desk, hoping he wouldn’t notice the faint new color to the mark that still lingered behind your knee.

Jungwon didn’t seem to buy it. “Are you sure?” he asked, his brows furrowing as he leaned down, intent on seeing for himself. Before he could get a closer look, you tugged your skirt down a little farther, hiding the mark as best as you could.

“I’m sure, really,” you insisted, trying to keep your tone casual. “It’s just a little sore, nothing to worry about.”

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze lingering on you, unreadable. Then he nodded, standing up with a quiet, sheepish smile. “Alright. I’ll trust you, but only if you promise to let me know if it starts hurting again.”

You managed a nod, clutching your books a little tighter to keep your hands steady. “I promise,” you said, hoping he didn’t notice the flicker of nerves in your eyes.

Your third shared class of the week was English, and just as the teacher assigned the day’s group work, the class began to shift into pairs. Coincidentally (or so you told yourself), the seating arrangement placed Jungwon near you that day.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft as he approached. He offered you one of his signature, heart-stopping smiles. “Mind if we pair up? I mean…if you’re okay with it.”

With an effort to keep your expression neutral, you nodded. “Sure,” you replied, your voice steady even though your heart was anything but.

Settling at a table near the window, you both pulled out your notebooks. The task was straightforward—analyzing a poem about soulmates. You caught a breath at the irony, and Jungwon, seemingly unfazed, began reading the passage aloud. His voice, low and calm, wove through the words as you listened, though your mind kept wandering to his every movement, the way his eyes flickered thoughtfully over the page, how his fingers held the pencil lightly but with intention.

“What do you think?” he asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You cleared your throat, willing your focus back to the assignment. “I think…well, it’s romantic. But it’s also kind of tragic, right? There’s always this sense of waiting—like, what if they don’t meet?”

Jungwon’s gaze flickered up, lingering on your face a little longer than necessary. “Yeah, that’s true,” he agreed, his voice thoughtful. “The idea that you’re waiting your whole life for just one person…it’s a lot of pressure.”

He paused, eyes settling on you, as if searching for something beneath the calm exterior you held so tightly. “Do you… believe in it? Soulmates, I mean?”

Caught off guard, you looked down, your fingers tracing invisible patterns on the edge of your notebook. You thought of your parents, of their own lovely story about finding each other through their marks, and how you’d grown up with those tales of destiny. And now, here you were, sitting with the very boy who might be your own fated match.

“I think,” you began slowly, “that I want to believe in it. My parents…they have one of those classic stories. It’s hard not to believe in soulmates when you’ve heard stories like that all your life.”

He nodded, listening intently. “I get that. I guess…sometimes I wonder what it would be like. But it’s hard to picture when you don’t…you know, have any marks yourself.”

The quiet sadness in his tone took you by surprise. You’d never considered what it might be like to go through life without a soulmate mark, to feel like something intrinsic was missing, a feeling that destiny had passed you by. Suddenly, your thoughts flickered back to the legends the elders told—how markless people were said to carry the weight of unrequited love from a past life, doomed to wander without a soulmate to mark them in this one. The idea hung heavy in the air, mingling with your sympathy for him.

“Maybe it doesn’t matter, then,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “Maybe people without marks find their person too, in other ways.” You couldn’t help but think that perhaps Jungwon was one of those souls, burdened by a love that never came to fruition.

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. Jungwon seemed lost in thought, his gaze drifting out the window as he considered your words. And just then, a strange sense of comfort washed over you, knowing that even if he was unaware of it, you shared a connection that went beyond what either of you could see.

“Maybe,” he said finally, and then he flashed you a lopsided grin. “Well, even if soulmates are real, maybe it’s a good thing I’m mark-free. I don’t think I’d want someone to find out I was their soulmate because I hit them with a soccer ball.”

His laughter rang out, and you couldn’t help but join him, but beneath the mirth, your heart clenched. You wanted to tell him everything—to reveal the secret that could bridge the chasm between you. But as the words formed on your lips, fear gripped you. What if you were wrong? What if he truly didn’t have a soulmate mark, and this moment of connection was just a fleeting illusion?

So you swallowed hard, plastering a smile on your face that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Well, let’s just keep that between us, then,” you replied, hoping to mask the anxiety swirling inside you.

Inside, the truth weighed heavy, a secret that felt more like a burden than a bond. Keeping it hidden seemed safer, easier—even if it left you feeling like a ghost, drifting alongside him but never truly reaching out. The thought of him being one of those markless souls—the ones who carried the pain of a love never realized—made you ache. You didn’t want him to feel that emptiness, and yet, here you were, hiding a truth that might shatter the fragile connection you shared.

Perhaps it was better this way. Better to hold onto your heartache in silence than risk shattering the bond you had built, no matter how tenuous it felt. As you returned to the assignment, the bittersweet taste of longing lingered on your tongue, mixing with the thrill of possibility, leaving you torn between the hope of what could be and the fear of what might never come to pass.

Finally, during your biology class, your teacher assigned a laboratory cleaning rotation. By the luck of the draw—or maybe a twist of fate—you found yourself paired with Jungwon. It was supposed to be a simple task, but as the two of you gathered supplies and began tidying up the classroom after hours, you felt the weight of every quiet moment.

Jungwon appeared beside you as you straightened a stack of textbooks, arms full of markers and erasers. His casual, laid-back attitude only heightened the quiet thrill that being near him sparked in you. As he handed you an eraser, your fingers brushed slightly, and you pulled back quickly, heart racing.

"Are you always this… serious?" Jungwon teased, his lips curving into a half-smile. "I mean, you don’t have to look like we’re cleaning the whole school."

You rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile. “It’s just how I work. I take tasks seriously.”

He nodded, still smiling. “You’re impressive, you know. It’s like…you’re always so composed, like nothing rattles you.”

Caught off guard by his observation, you froze momentarily, not sure how to respond. Behind your serious exterior, you were anything but composed—especially around him. Before you could answer, he turned away to tidy the bookshelves, leaving you wondering if he’d picked up on the effect he had on you.

After a while, Jungwon returned to the task at hand, dusting off a few of the windowsills. It was quiet for a few minutes, the sounds of your combined effort filling the room. You both worked in sync, a silent rhythm that had developed without either of you realizing it. And then, with an abruptness that caught you off guard, he spoke again.

“Hey,” he said, hesitating. “I know this might be a weird question, but… where’s your soulmate mark?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with implications you weren’t ready to unravel. Your heart thudded as you carefully set down the books you’d been holding, gathering your thoughts.

You felt a flush creep up your cheeks. "Um, it's… it's on my knee," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The intimacy of the moment made you shy, and you instinctively shifted your weight, the hem of your skirt falling to cover your knee even more.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, curiosity glimmering in his eyes. “Oh? Is it… already in color?”

You hesitated for a brief moment, weighing your words. “Uh, yeah,” you replied, biting your lip. “It changed a while ago. But it’s not a big deal.” You left out the part about him possibly being your soulmate, feeling the weight of that truth settle heavily in the air between you.

His expression shifted slightly, disappointment flashing across his features before he masked it with a casual smile. “That’s cool,” he said, his voice a bit quieter now. “I guess… it must be nice to have that certainty.”

“Yeah,” you said, trying to keep the mood light despite the sudden heaviness in your chest. “I mean, it’s comforting, I suppose.”

But beneath your words, a sense of longing stirred. You noticed how his gaze faltered for a moment, and it struck you then how much he had hoped for something different. He had seemed eager, maybe even hopeful, and the realization stung a little.

Jungwon cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled over you both. “So, um… did you see the last soccer game?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. “I think we really need to work on our defense.”

His attempt at lightheartedness felt slightly forced, and you could see a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Still, it was nice to see him trying to shake off the heaviness from moments before.

“Yeah, I caught a bit of it,” you replied, grateful for the shift in focus. “You guys played well, though a couple of those goals were pretty close calls.”

He chuckled, the tension easing just a little. “Yeah, I think I almost gave our coach a heart attack with that last-minute save,” he said, grinning. It was an infectious smile, and you found yourself smiling back despite the weight still resting in the back of your mind.

The annual school festival arrived faster than expected, and the campus buzzed with activity and excitement. Classrooms were transformed into themed booths, hallways were draped with handmade decorations, and students wore colorful festival shirts and badges, their faces bright with paint and laughter. You found yourself stationed at the face-painting booth, brush in hand, ready to tackle the endless line of eager students.

You’d always enjoyed events like these—participating in the festival offered you a rare chance to relax and feel connected to your classmates outside of the usual seriousness you maintained as class president. Here, you were just another student, painting stars, hearts, and stripes on familiar faces.

“Hey, what’s up? Need a painter?” your friend Taeyoung called out to the next group approaching your booth. You followed his gaze and felt your heart skip when you recognized Jungwon and his friends heading your way, laughing and jostling each other. He wore a loose festival shirt with sleeves rolled up, a casual look that somehow made him even more handsome. You quickly glanced down, suddenly hyper-aware of your paintbrushes and the paper towels you clutched a little too tightly.

The booth was busy, and with most of your fellow painters occupied, it didn’t take long for Taeyoung to pair Jungwon with you. “Hey, Y/N, looks like you’ve got a VIP customer! Captain Jungwon wants to be a canvas today,” he said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he nudged Jungwon playfully.

Jungwon chuckled, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—an eagerness mixed with a hint of shyness. “Yeah, I guess I’m in your hands now,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “No pressure, right?”

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure as your heart raced. “Uh, right! No pressure at all,” you replied, your voice a little too bright. “What do you have in mind?”

You forced yourself to meet Jungwon’s eyes, fighting back the nervous excitement bubbling in your chest. “So… what would you like?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Jungwon’s usual confident smile softened a little, and he seemed slightly hesitant, rubbing the back of his neck, a gesture that made your stomach flutter. “Maybe a couple of stars on my cheeks? And… maybe a small cat on my forehead?”

You stifled a laugh at his request, realizing that behind his composed demeanor, he had a playful side you hadn’t seen before. “A star and a cat. Got it,” you whispered, dipping your brush into white paint. You reached out carefully to steady his face, tilting it slightly toward the light. Your fingers lightly touched his cheek, and you couldn’t ignore the spark that jolted through you at the contact.

Jungwon closed his eyes briefly, letting out a small breath. You tried to ignore the slight flush you felt creeping up your neck, focusing on drawing a perfect star on his left cheek. You painted in silence, but every so often, he’d open his eyes and glance at you, making your heart race each time.

With one cheek finished, you moved to the other side. He leaned in closer, giving you the perfect angle. The space between you seemed to shrink with every second, the sounds of the bustling festival fading into a distant hum. You were hyper-aware of everything—the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth radiating from him, and how your fingers gently brushed his skin. When you finished with the stars, you pulled back slightly to look at your work, meeting his gaze as you did.

“They look good,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual.

You swallowed, breaking eye contact to reach for a new brush and dip it in black paint. “Now for the cat,” you said, trying to stay calm. “Hold still.”

You carefully moved to part his hair at the center of his forehead. As your fingers brushed through his bangs, you froze, your eyes widening as you saw something strange—a small patch of his dark hair was shifting, lightening to a soft honey-blonde under your touch.

“Um… Jungwon,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath as you stared at the transformed lock of hair falling against his forehead. “Your hair…”

“What about it?” He turned to you with a hint of confusion, glancing up as if trying to catch a glimpse of the change. “Did I mess it up?”

You shook your head, the words tangling in your throat as disbelief washed over you. “It’s… it’s changing color.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard, then brushed his fingers through the area you’d touched. His movements stilled, the warmth in his expression fading, replaced by something deeper—something unreadable. The air thickened around you, a heavy silence filled with unspoken questions.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly, his gaze searching yours as if trying to decode the truth hidden beneath your surprise.

You nodded slowly, your heart racing. “Yeah, I… I thought it was just the paint at first, but… it’s definitely not.”

The realization hung in the air, electric and palpable, igniting a spark of tension that sent shivers down your spine. Jungwon’s fingers gently traced the newly lightened strands of hair, his expression a mix of wonder and trepidation. You could feel your pulse quicken, an exhilarating rush flooding through you as you grasped the meaning behind this strange phenomenon.

Time seemed to stretch in that moment, each heartbeat echoing like a drum in your chest. Here he was, the boy you’d admired from afar, unexpectedly transformed before your eyes. Jungwon—the one who had unwittingly painted your world in vibrant colors, now literally changing right in front of you.

Suddenly, self-consciousness washed over you like a cold wave. You averted your gaze, stepping back instinctively. “I—I should go finish with the others. They’re probably waiting for me…” Your voice wavered, betraying the rush of emotions threatening to spill over.

Before you could dwell on it, a paint container wobbled on the edge of the table, knocking into your elbow. In your panic, you stumbled, sending brushes and colors sprawling over yourself. “Oh no!” you yelped, scrambling to clean up the mess.

“Y/N, wait!” Jungwon exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise. He stepped closer, his hand closing around yours, halting your frantic movements. “Stop. Just breathe.”

His grip was steadying, grounding you amidst the chaos of your racing thoughts. “Let’s find somewhere quiet, okay? You need to clean up.” His voice held a calmness that contrasted sharply with the storm inside you.

You felt a rush of warmth at his concern, but your mind spun with confusion. “But… the booth—”

“Trust me,” he said, his gaze unwavering, a silent promise passing between you. “Just for a moment. Let’s talk.”

With a nod, you allowed him to guide you away from the festival’s noise, your heart racing not just from the moment, but from the undeniable connection building between you. The thrill of discovery was tempered by the anxiety of what it all meant, and yet, in Jungwon’s presence, you felt something shift—something new and exciting, just waiting to be explored.

He led you through a quieter section of the campus, where the walls were lined with colorful murals painted by students, the air filled with the faint scent of paint and creativity. The laughter and chatter from the festival faded into the background, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves overhead and the distant sound of music drifting from the booths.

As you turned a corner, Jungwon paused, the air around you suddenly thick with anticipation. He glanced around, ensuring you were alone, then leaned against the cool brick wall, his posture relaxed yet focused. His gaze locked onto yours, intensity radiating from him. “My hair… it’s slowly turning blond. Isn’t this what soulmate marks are supposed to be like?”

His words hung in the air, electrifying the space between you. You felt the weight of the moment press down, your heart racing like a wild drum in your chest. “Right… your soulmate mark,” you stammered, the tremor in your voice betraying the chaos inside. “I didn’t want to say anything because I thought it might just be a coincidence, but now… it's all starting to make sense.”

Jungwon stepped closer, the seriousness in his expression deepening. “You mean you knew?” His voice was low, the edge of urgency evident. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

The air crackled with tension, and you felt your pulse quicken. “I didn’t know it was you! I thought—” you cut yourself off, frustration bubbling within you. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship or make things awkward. You’ve been my crush longer than you’ve been a friend. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep things from being awkward with you, especially when my mark changed?”

Jungwon’s expression shifted, vulnerability breaking through his confidence. “Your mark... is it.… when did it change? Am I—was it before… or after we met?” His voice was tight, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air.

You took a deep breath, feeling the memories rush back. “The day you carried me to the nurse’s office, you idiot.”

He blinked, taken aback by your response. “Wait… that day? But I thought...”

His expression softened slightly, the intensity in his eyes shifting as he took a step closer. You held your breath as he knelt down, his fingers hovering over your soulmate mark. The moment felt electric, a mix of vulnerability and anticipation coursing through you.

“Can I…?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, giving him permission to touch it. As his fingers brushed against your skin, a shiver ran down your spine. Jungwon chuckled softly, the sound breaking some of the tension between you. “Can you believe this? It feels just like yesterday when I accidentally hit my crush with a soccer ball at her knees,” he said, shaking his head with a bemused smile. “The same crush I’ve wanted to approach since 10th grade but was always too afraid to mess up, especially with how she glares at boys.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the image of a younger Jungwon fumbling with his words as he tried to impress you suddenly vivid in your mind. “I didn’t mean to scare you off,” you admitted, your heart swelling with warmth. “I thought you were just… confident, you know?”

He shrugged, a hint of shyness creeping back into his demeanor. “I try to be. But it’s hard when you’re crushing on someone who’s out of your league.”

“Out of my league?” you repeated, incredulous. “Jungwon, you’re the captain of the soccer team! Everyone looks up to you.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m not nervous around you,” he replied, his gaze locking onto yours, sincerity pouring from his words. “It’s different with you. You make me want to be better.”

The air between you thickened with unspoken emotions, each heartbeat echoing the connection that had always been there, waiting to be acknowledged. You both stood on the edge of something monumental, the laughter of the festival fading away, leaving only the two of you and the promise of what lay ahead.

The next day, Jungwon strolled confidently down the hallway, his head of hair transformed into a stunning honeyed blonde that turned heads with every step. The shift was striking—bold, noticeable, and oddly fitting—making it seem as though he had always intended to embrace this change. Whispers and awestruck glances followed him like a gentle wave, yet beneath that cool exterior, you could see the spark of mischief in his eyes, especially when they met yours.

“Wow, he really went all out,” Arin murmured beside you, her voice a mix of surprise and admiration. “He must’ve bleached the whole thing. I didn’t think Jungwon had that in him.”

You nodded, trying to maintain your composure while your heart raced. “Yeah… surprising, isn’t it?” you replied, though a smile betrayed your nonchalance as you watched him navigate the crowd like he owned the place.

Unaware of the true significance of his transformation, your classmates continued their commentary. “Looks good on him, though,” one girl remarked, her tone infused with genuine admiration. “Like he was meant to have it all along.”

Jungwon seemed completely unfazed by the attention, wearing his new look with a blend of pride and ease, as if his blonde hair was a badge of honor that only you understood. It was a mark that connected the two of you in ways that no one else could fathom—an intimate secret wrapped in boldness.

As the hallway thinned out, he lingered by his locker, his casual demeanor slipping just a bit as he caught your gaze from across the hall. He lifted a hand, brushing back his hair with an effortless charm that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach—a subtle nod to the secret you shared.

You walked over, your heart pounding just a little faster than usual. “It suits you,” you said, keeping your voice low, the air between you thick with unspoken words.

His eyes softened, gratitude shimmering in their depths. “Good to know,” he murmured, his tone low but filled with warmth. “After all, it’s your fault it looks this good.”

A faint blush crept up your cheeks at his words, and before you could respond, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice even more as he added, “And don’t worry. The secret’s safe.”

In that crowded hallway, with laughter and footsteps echoing around you, it felt like you and Jungwon were enveloped in your own little world. His blonde hair, like a silent vow, was a reminder of what only the two of you understood: a hidden connection, pulsing with promise and anticipation, waiting to be explored.

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joonieskinks · 6 months ago

Text

Simon “please will you be my fake girlfriend” Riley

Simon couldn’t be happier for John. Finally, he’s met a woman whose head over heels for him, who will stick around during the hard times. The man deserves this, deserves her. It’s about time they got married after all.

Today is his wedding day, and Simon was actually delighted to receive an invite. Although he had to dress up a bit for the event and all, he didn’t mind. It was for one of his greatest friends, and the energy in the room was so positive, so supportive. He can honestly say he felt happy to be here.

That was until he spotted eager mamas eyeing him at the reception, no doubt coming over to set him up with their daughters. Nope- he was not having that whatsoever. He went into full panic mode, trying to avoid their eyes, their presence that was ever closing in on him. Simon turned straight around and made his way to the bar where he found you.

“Gosh, how long does it take to find white wine-?” You complain under your breath before the handsome stranger from the corner of your eye interrupts you.

“Pleasewillyoubemyfakegirlfriend?” The rather tall man asks frantically as your eyes finally meet. Yours, rather confused, and his, rather desperate.

“Uh- sure?” You laugh nervously as you sip your wine that just arrived.

“Great- M’ Simon, I’m from England, I work in the military, we’ve been together six months, ‘right love?.” He explains rather quickly, eyes darting back and forth between you and the mamas rapidly approaching.

But you get the message.

“You can call me that “love” of yours, I work for the government if you should know and you have to act like you want me for this to work, Simon.” You pull him down by his tie to whisper in his ear.

“If you want them to stay away, touch me.” You kiss his cheek and pull away, performing with a laugh.

It disarms Simon how effortless you make this seem, how quick witted you are - this mysterious yet willing woman at the bar. You’ve truly peaked his interest and he’s so grateful. So yea, absolutely he will touch you, a gorgeous woman in this gorgeous dress.

Simon takes you by the waist, pulling you to his body, whispering back how beautiful you look. It makes you blush, looking back at him rather surprised. He’s equally surprised by his own bold actions, but he plays it off good enough and smiles. Glancing at your pink cheeks with a “good” as you’re both interrupted.

“Simon, darling! There you are!” One woman says.

“I’ve been looking for you! May I present my daughter, Bridgette. She’s a nurse in London as a matter of fact.” Another states proudly.

“I’m terribly sorry, mam”, you interrupt, turning towards Simon and tidying up his tie. Your fingers brushing up against his chest, his throat, it gives him shivers. Any excuse to touch him really was your thought process-

“But I’m afraid he’s already spoken for. As of six months ago tonight, actually. Isn’t that right, darling?.” A proud smile on your face, and Simon just thinks you’re absolutely hypnotizing. Tongue in cheek, yes, but he already wants it to be real, to be yours. He just hopes you’ll say yes to dinner after this, and that you actually didn’t accompany anyone here.

“Yea, this is my girlfriend…” he starts, completely blanking.

My God, he didn’t even know your name, and yet he’s utterly entranced. Talk about a backwards way to start off a relationship.

“Y/N,” you stick out a hand to the mama and her nurse daughter, but they just painfully smile, clearly trying to decline “politely”. With that, they mutter an excuse and walk away, already sniffing for the next eligible bachelor around this evening.

“Well. That’s that then. You’re very welcome, boyfriend dearest.” You tease, bringing your wine glass back up to your lips, admiring his features. He really is a handsome man, it surprises you he doesn’t have anyone special in his life.

“Thank you for your help, Y/N.” He says your name on purpose, he wants to test it out on his tongue. He finds he rather likes it. You do as well.

“Can I get you another drink? On me…” Simon shyly asks, leaning against the bar.

“If it means you’ll stay and have one with me, then yes.” You flirt, waiting for his reaction. Alas, a blush appears on his cheeks. It makes you smile, a big, gorgeous man like this- yet he’s rather timid. It’s sweet really.

“It’s nice to meet you Simon, formally.” You stick out your hand for him to shake. His eyes meet your own and he smiles before taking it. Your hands are so soft, he wants to touch you always if it’s like this.

“Likewise, love.”

You two spent the rest of the night together, by the bar chatting, walking through the gardens getting to know one another, he asked you to dance. Hell, even Price and his new bride thought you two were together by the end of the night.

It took an official date or two, but eventually you were.

Who knows, maybe you two would be the next to get hitched. Simon certainly hopes so.

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muntitled · 1 year ago

Note

COULD U DO MATTHEO X F READER DURING HER OVULATION WEEK AND SHES SUPER NEEDY AND HORNY? (Pls I’m ovulating and craving ur fics so bad babe😭🙏🧎🏼‍♀️)

I love how feral this is lmfao -

𝐍𝐨 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐬 | 𝐌.𝐑.

Mattheo Riddle x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, Dark Fic, Violence, Language, Mention of drugs and alcohol, Slight fluff, Public Affections, Possessiveness, Smut (+18), Dirty Talk, Touch starvation, Fingering, Humping, Grinding, Whining, Sub/Dom Undertones, Blood Kink, Fighting Kink?, Squirting, Major Degradation, Praise Kink, Breeding Kink, Slight Humiliation Kink

The night is deep, and the dungeon is dim as a few sunken eyes peer curiously at you while you make your way through the crowd. Seeing you emerge from within the walls of your private dorm room was a rare and curious sight for everyone involved. It was especially rare for you to embed yourself amongst your fellow pupils shenanigans, seeing yourself as above such baseless devilment.

You were not here for them.

You were scanning the crowd for him because an unfamiliar warmth had been festering inside your stomach and it had propelled your feet forward, until you reached the very centre of the Slytherin soiree commencing in the common room.

Your core is still aching with the after affects of your fingers as you manoeuvre your way through the party. You were touching yourself under satin sheets only moments ago-spurred on by the imaginings of his bloodied fingers slipping inside you, stabbing your cunt until you mewled like a useless whore and he affirmed you as such. His recklessness and delinquency cracked something vital in your brain and you felt yourself get wetter as you pushed through the crowd. You needed him to touch you, your body practically burned for him to absolutely ruin you, and you set out to do just that.

Although you had turned down a concoction of Firewhiskey from an already inebriated Ravenclaw student, your stomach burns with the anticipation of seeing him.

Feeling him.

Smelling his near constant fragrance of Firewhiskey along his lips. You were never clingy but you wished for nothing more than to be in the presence of your insufferable and clingy boyfriend.

A month into your courtship, and you had failed to bring up how much of his habits bypass all sensibilities in your brain. If only he knew how much his recklessness brought about an unmistakable moisture in between your thighs. That,coupled with his bruised and bloody knuckles, spurred on your need, especially during this time of the month.

It had been easy to maintain your composure throughout the rest of the month, effortless, even. Detachment and independence was a by-product of your personality, showing up in the way you shied away from Mattheo's public affections and always appearing uninterested in any of his verbal charms.

One such occasion; you had found him taking up purchase on your bed after an incredibly tiresome day as a Slytherin prefect.

"Make yourself scarce, Riddle. I'm not in the mood," He, of course, was delighted in your indifference- truthfully, he basked in it. Mattheo was somewhat of a masochist, craving the attention of someone so emotionally detached. The very second he noticed how unaffected you appeared with his shenanigans. He might as well have transfigured into a mermaid, because he was hooked.

"How easy you are to repel my affections," He said, letting a bandaged hand fall on his chest as he lay supine like a starfish on your Satin sheets, "How swiftly you deny my companionship-"

"Dont you have any orphans to torture?"

You mourn the past you... how indifferent she had been.

How utterly in control!

The bed dipped as he slithered closer, letting a hand rest on your shoulders as he began to knead the tense muscle there.

"Don't I get a 'How was your day, Riddle?' How did you sleep, Riddle? How did you acquire these bruises, Riddle, and I hope you looked hot doing it, Riddle" it was then that you glanced at the hand on your shoulder. Busted knuckles bred bloodied and broken skin. Riddle's hand was a smorgasbord of cuts and bruises that disappeared up his black, cotton sleeve shirt. You ignored the useless warmth knotting in your core as you continued to undo your shoelaces.

"I needn't ask you because I know you were in the centre of yet another degenerate fight," you had said, burying all the feelings of need amongst your usual, scholarly distractions.

"You love it"

"I hate it actually. It makes me question my affiliation with you.

"You say that princess, but you secretly love it"

You did love it, and right now, distracting yourself is not an option. You watch with bated breath as the object of your affections walks into the Slytherin common rooms. There are plenty of bodies swaying in the dungeons illuminated by various Ravenclaws who have casted Lumos

You see Riddle across the room, head thrown back while he nursed a cup of Firewhiskey. When his head comes back, he sees you too, he raises his cup and he pushes himself off the wall to lessen the distance between you. Your legs certainly achieve a quicker gait as you push past the swaying bodies and soon enough you're bombarded by firewhiskey, with an undercurrent of sweat and leather.

The second you’re close, Riddle lowers his cup on the desk, already having his explanations ready for the impending combat. "If you think I'm gonna let you take my freedom away again, you’re fucking crazy. I'm barely buzzed and I'm getting drunk, or high by the end of this night and there's nothing you-" But your fist is already digging into the softness of his button up shirt and your lips are open as you force them onto his.

Right there, in the open.

Mattheo is naturally stunned, possibly discombobulated.

Had he really gotten higher than he thought?

Did that fucking Hufflepuff make him a stepped on joint?

Frankly, he couldn't care less, and as the shock of it all wore down, and he could feel you begin to slip away, Mattheo slithers his battered hand around your waist and pulls you impossibly close. He smirks into the kiss, as he brings his hand up, fingers gliding across your collarbone, while the other hand lingers around your waist.

"What happened to your hand?" It is a question that threatens to burst the bubble established between the two of you. Why would you ask him this? Why would you bring him back to the events of earlier today when you were so prettily malleable in his hands right now?

"Nothing,"

"Matt..." You say, clouding your words with innuendo, which has him looking up at you with furrowed brows.

"Nott," Is all he says before he buries himself in the crook of your neck. His proximity awakens something animalistic inside of you, it pushes you to the depths of your lascivious desires and has you melting right there on the dance floor. All around you, fellow Slytherins continue to sway to the beat, letting the thrum of the enchanted muggle music speak for them. You throw your head back, gasping at the overwhelming need pooling in your core as Riddle begins to send reckless kisses down your collarbone, all while you imagine beating another guy silly. You blame your cycle. You blame your body. You blame every single hormone responsible for allowing you to emit such a wanton moan so openly in the very centre of a crowd.

"Who do I have to kill in order to get this reaction out of you everyday?" Mattheo is panting, with his hazel eyes dilated (whether from pleasure or substance, you might never know). Who do I have to curse in order to get you to be this slutty for me every single day?" His breathing is shallow and audible, even through all the noise. Mattheo's mind is foggy and the party guests are reduced to a memory. The only image he's able to conjure up is his lips between your wet folds - his tongue eager to find the source of your need while you moaned above him and kneaded your own breasts in a slutty haze.

"I need you, Mattheo," it was fucking infuriating to admit but the wetness has completely soaked through your underwear and a fresh scar is present in the corner of Mattheo's eye. There's a slight red smudge under his nose, and his knuckles are red and angry at the best of your neck, cradling your head close to his.

"Say that again-"

"What? No, I will not fucking-"

Mattheo's grip on your neck immediately unhooks and he detangles your limbs but before he ventures any furthers you're pulling him down to you and with your lips to Mattheo's greedy ears you angrily mutter, "I fucking need you. I need you really badly,"

He stares in your desperate, dark eyes with wonder and awe before letting your wrist be enclosed by his iron grip. Soon, you're being dragged through a Slytherin party with a boy adjusting the front lf his pants and barking orders at the drunken strangers to move before they fucking died.

Just as you succeed in cutting through the crowd a voice stops both of you in your tracks.

"I'm going to fucking kill you, Riddle," the voice booms from over the thumping bass of whatever muggle music was enchanted over the dungeon. Mattheo's gaze cuts away from you, but before he turns completely away, a slow Cheshire cat grin curls at the ends of his lips.

"That threat has grown so unimaginably tedious after years of overuse, Theo but I can't do this right now-" His sentence has already been cut short by an audible blow to his lower jaw. Theo Nott blocked your path towards the darkened hallway, leading to your dorm room and you're left wholly unsatisfied as Mattheo is sent barreling backwards. He lets go of your hand, stopping to wipe the wetness at the corners of his lips and checking to see if it's blood. It is. And something scratches inside of you.

The Prefect inside you wants to intervene but an even darker part of you tells you not to.

Theo is livid, and his wide chest rises and falls as he descends on Mattheo,

"Why the fuck am I being told by Draco of all people, that I can't play Keeper because I'm stuck in the hospital wing-"

"Theo, I really don't have the time for this-" Mattheo begins, but Theo cuts him short,

"Are you trying to steal my fucking place, Riddle?"

Mattheo's voice is leveled as he raises his fingers and says, "Okay, first off, yeah, I am. Obviously I'm trying to take your place. You're a shit Keeper and secondly, I've got somewhere to be," Theo's barreling towards Mattheo once more.

A silly, borderline maniacal smirk explodes on Riddle's face before he makes the shotgun decision to charge and lands a punch at Theo's jaw, allowing for the taller boy to stagger backwards. Your shoulders jump, and you flinch at the sickening sound as you watch with a wide gaze as Mattheo nurses his hurt hand. Theo is a raging bull, but Draco appears from the crowd, with a firm grip on Theo's shoulder. A stern, quiet reprimand.

At the exact same moment, Mattheo's hand finds yours and he smirks as he stalks past Nott, wiping away at his chin as he leads you towards your dorm.

The quietness within is almost jarring compared to the noise out there and as soon as the door closes, Mattheo's lips descend on your neck, "I know, I know," He sighs heavily, as he brings his hand up to your shoulder, "I’m sorry. I just hope I haven't ruined the vibe-"

"I want your fingers inside me, Riddle." He stills at your quiet command, and you leave him standing by the door as you pad over to your bed. "I don't know why, but I just need you, okay? And my own fingers aren't quite doing the trick and I keep thinking about how fucking crazy you are and-", You sigh as you sit at the foot of the bed. Lifting the skirt of your dress, Mattheo watches in the dimness of your room as you venture your fingers under your dress and hook them into your panties. He walks towards you, propelling the wings of the butterflies in your stomach.

All he says is, "Which hand?" He doesn't know why he asks, but he does and his voice is barely above a whisper as he hopes you pick the right answer. His cock twitches in his underwear at the thought of seeing his blood on your skin.

Mattheo stops in between your legs, causing the fabric of the dress to rise while a breeze drifts over your soaked pussy. You bend forward and reach for his bloodied hand.

"I want your fingers inside me,"

Mattheo's resolve immediately snaps and his hands grip tightly at your hips, pushing you backwards and exposing your wet core to him.

"You're fucking dripping through the sheets like a slut- you're a fucking slut,"

Excitement. It rushes through you like a wave of magma at the neediness in his own voice.

Matheo rushes to rid both of you of the excess fabric, casting Evansco, until all he can see is your warm, glistening skin.

"Oh my fuck-" Mattheo's voice cracks as he stares down at your aching cunt, his fingers almost instinctively rubbing over the wetness.

"Touch your breasts," He commands, "I wanna see you do it,"

Your eyes pierce into his dark ones as you bring a shaky hand up towards your puckered nipples. The smallest brush elicits a violent streak of pleasure which would have occupied your entire mind were it not for Mattheo's long fingers already stabbing into your dripping cunt.

"Fuck, you're so wet," He whines, unconsciously burying his hips into the sheets at the foot of your bed as he watches. He is utterly transfixed by his middle and ring finger disappearing into your cunt. Every time they sink deeper your mind gets filled with images of Riddle's unrest and violence. You're utterly wrecked with the thought of his bloodied fingers being inside you, touching the most private parts of you.

"Pick up the pace, Riddle,"

"Shut the fuck up," He mumbles as he takes his time in exploring the very depths of you. Your voice soars to higher octaves as you feel your first orgasm cresting quite literally against your will. How utterly embarrassing, to cum so quickly.

"You're fucking squeezing my fingers- fuck-" You're desperately humping at his hand, hoping your hips might achieve the feat of sinking his fingers further into you. "You're humping my hand so fucking well." His cock aches as he continues to grind it into the sheets, in tandem with your swollen cunt taking his fingers.

"Are you seriously going to cum so soon? Are you that desperate to get fucked-" Your cunt spasms around his fingers and you're moaning as you squeeze your sensitive breasts, already soaring to the heights of your orgasm. Your screams rival the music outside but Riddle never tells you to keep quiet, instead he watches with hungry eyes as your body melts into its orgasm.

"Look at what the fuck you've done," Mattheo's words have you slowly coming back to earth, but not quite... his voice is heavy with lust as you raise yourself by your elbows. Your stomach sinks as you watch Mattheo, he's frozen in front of you, with his head lowered and his gaze on his palm.

"I-I'm sorry-" Your sheets were soaked with your release, leaving a visible damp spot. You squirted everywhere.

"You're gonna do that on my cock," before you can comprehend your words Mattheo already has his cock positioned at your wet folds.

"I'm going to fucking cum inside you and you're going to take it, yeah?" The serious shadow in his darkened eyes hold no room for negotiation, you'd never seen Mattheo quite this serious because seriousness just didn't run in his bloodstream. However, he's utterly ruined by your neediness, needing to take advantage of your compliance before it slipped through his fingers.

"Oh my fuck- Mattheo!"He pulls your hips towards the edge of the bed and his cock forces itself through your folds, until Mattheo is quite literally fucking you with reckless abandon.

"Matt- I can't-'' You're still riding on the sensitivity of your previous high and you think Mattheo could be a little mindful of this but his goal, it seems, is to leave you overstimulated.

"You can," he mumbles, with his eyes squeezing shut before he quickly opens them, wanting to see every emotion flowing over your face.

"You're a slut but you're not a useless slut, are you?" You tits bounce with every movement of Mattheo's hips, and you're shaking your head despite the fog. Your cunt is squeezing the life out of his cock and you feel him pushing at a very sensitive part of you.

Your head is buried in the pillows as your back arches and you swallow him deeper.

Mattheo bends forward, his hips quickening into a needy, restless rut as his teeth sink into the skin around your nipples.

"FUCK-" The pain bleeds into pleasure which streams into your next orgasm. Riddle moans around your skin, suckling at your nipple while he fucked you like he is as touch starved as you are.

"I'm cumming, Matt-" The fact that you're still able to form words is a complete and utter mystery because, not a second later, you're exploding around his cock. A gushing, clear liquid rushes through you while your lips chant his name like a prayer.

"I'm going to fucking breed you, baby- oh fuck, you're so pretty squirting around my cock-" the cracks in his voice; the desperation laced on every word has him cumming inside you, pushing his hips with every spurt of warmth.

You're still shuddering when Mattheo slumps over you. You're both huffing and puffing and basking in each other's release with his cock still very much inside you. "You're getting a contraception potion from Madame Pomfrey tomorrow," you can do nothing except nod as your satisfaction settles.

"I'll come with you," He says.

#mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle #mattheo x y/n #mattheo x you #hp fanfcition #hp fanfic #hp smut #harry potter x reader #harry potter smut #harry potter fanfic #mattheo riddle x black!reader #x reader

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alygator77 · 1 month ago

Text

❥ masked affairs—sold to desire

℘pairing. au dom rich! satoru x fem! reader

℘summary. it's a lavish charity masquerade, and you find yourself under satoru gojo’s spell once again. tonight, he’s playing a dangerous game—a discreet, remote-controlled toy designed to tease and torment you—hula beads. as the night unfolds, you walk the fine line between obedience and defiance, but testing him could be your undoing—satoru is unforgiving, and he holds the key to your pleasure.

℘tags/warnings. nsfw 18+, smut, fluff, established relationship, billionaire satoru, reader is rich too, satoru controls/dominates you with a sex toy during a charity auction, jealous/possessive satoru, public foreplay, public sex, lots of worship and praise, penetration, creampie.

℘wc. 15.1k

℘a/n. happy spooky season ya'll 👻 this oneshot is heavily inspired by fifty shades darker. check out the mood board here. the song for this fic is 'infinity' by james young, listen here. enjoy 💕

In a room full of masks, you’ve perfected the art of wearing one—long before you ever stepped into Satoru Gojo’s world.

The lace mask lying on your vanity is almost like a second skin to you now. After all, you’ve spent years working in your profession, hiding behind smiles and carefully measured words. It’s a flawless poise required of someone in your line of work—the PR world demanded it—dealing with the rich and powerful, controlling the narrative, making sure their perfect, untouchable image remains intact.

A skill you’ve long since mastered.

And as the soft hum of the city buzzes outside your penthouse window, with the glow of the skyline filtering through the room—it serves as a quiet reminder of how far you’ve come, and where you are now.

Standing at the top.

But the weight of that truth has never really faded, has it? You—entrenched in this world—one that always demands more than it gives.

A faint smile tugs at your lips as you lift the mask from the vanity, turning it over between your fingers. Ironic, really, that someone who has built a career on managing the chaos of others, controlling every detail, would find herself unraveling in ways she hadn’t expected.

Unraveled by him.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the quiet creak of the door, and you glance up at the mirror just in time to see him lean against the doorframe.

Satoru Gojo.

It had been two years since that fateful night—the night you met him at the very same event you are both to attend, yet again. But when he had first walked into that ballroom two years ago, confident and untouchable, you hadn’t been impressed… at first—and why would you be? Men like him, with their money and their charm, were a dime a dozen in your world. You knew exactly how to handle them.

But not Satoru Gojo.

And tonight, he looked every bit his part—a presence so magnetic, so effortless—dressed in a sleek black tuxedo, tailored perfectly to his tall, athletic frame. His white hair falling in its usual tousled disarray, yet somehow, even that looks intentional—perfectly imperfect, just like him.

Ah, but it’s his eyes—those striking, icy blue eyes—that always manage to captivate you immediately. And this time, as his gaze sweeps over you slowly, you catch sight of the predatory glimmer underneath, lingering on every curve as he drinks in the sight of you.

There is a weight to his gaze, and oh, you revel in it. That’s the thing—you know exactly how to unravel him, just as easily as he can unravel you.

Taking your time, you set the lace mask down carefully—knowing full well that his eyes haven’t left you for a second, and you smooth your gown, feeling the delicate, luxurious material slide under your fingers.

The dress was a statement—sophisticated with a touch of allure. The deep sapphire-blue fabric, silky and shimmering in the dim light, hugs your curves with a neckline plunging just low enough to tease. It features a high slit running up one leg, adding a sensual edge but still maintaining an air of elegance.

And you know—oh, you know—that every detail of it is driving him crazy.

His breath catches as he finally speaks, pushing himself off the doorframe. “Wow. You’re going to make it impossible for anyone else to concentrate tonight.”

You smirk, turning just enough to catch his eyes fully.

“Good. I didn’t plan on letting anyone else have your attention tonight.”

“Mmm, funny,” he muses, stepping toward you with slow, deliberate strides.

His hands slowly slide down your arms—a touch so feather-light, it sends a shiver of anticipation through you as he leans in, his breath is warm against your ear. “Especially considering it’s been two years since you walked into that gala and made me work for your attention.”

“Work?” you chuckle softly and tilt your head slightly. “I think you enjoyed the chase more than you’re willing to admit.”

Pulling himself closer to you—you feel his lips brush softly against your neck, underlined with a low growl.

“Oh, I enjoyed it,” his voice deepens with each word. “But catching you...” he places a lingering kiss just beneath your ear. “That was my real reward.”

You inhale as his warm breath fans your skin, and you desperately try not to give away just how much your body is already responding to him.

Why? Because you love making him chase you—even to this day.

“Is that so?” you challenge.

“Mhm,” he hums.

Exhaling again, you feel his hands slide lower, resting just above the curve of your hips as his lips trail down the side of your neck, placing slow, deliberate kisses.

“You still seem a little worked up for someone who’s already caught me.” You keep your voice measured—your growing desire masked underneath a teasing edge.

He chuckles darkly.

“Can you blame me?”

Before you can respond, his words are punctuated with a slow, deliberate press of his hips, and you gasp softly as you feel the unmistakable erection pressing into your backside. Biting your lip, you suppress a moan as the sensation sends a rush of heat straight to your core.

“You feel that, don’t you?” rolling his hips, he sounds so desperate, and it’s impossible to ignore. “That’s what you do to me.”

“You’re awfully needy tonight,” you whisper, breathily.

He drops his head, placing a tender kiss on your shoulder—trailing up to the shell of your ear where you are met with a deep chuckle.

“Needy?” a shiver rakes down your spine as his voice dips lower—darker, more dangerous. “Oh, sweetheart… you haven’t seen needy yet.”

His hand slides from your waist with an agonizing slowness until it rests on the curve of your hip, and you feel his fingers trace the edge of your dress—teasingly close to the slit exposing your thigh—a touch so light is makes you shiver with anticipation.

“I’ve got something for you,” he murmurs, meeting your gaze in the vanity mirror.

Your eyes widen as you feel something cool and smooth brush against your bare thigh—small, sleek, unmistakable.

Hula beads.

Well, fuck—what a menace. With him holding the remote, you know he’ll have full control over your pleasure—completely discreet and utterly torturous.

“Just a little gift to keep things… exciting,” he grins. “I know these events can be so… mundane for you.”

Your mouth goes dry as you hold his gaze, already sensing where this was going.

“Satoru—”

“Two years,” he interrupts, dark and commanding now. “Two years since you walked into my life, and I decided I wasn’t going to let you go.” His eyes lock onto yours in the mirror, and for a moment, all you can do is stare back at his reflection, captivated by his intensity.

Slowly, his expression softens—his thumb brushing tenderly over your skin.

“Tonight’s special, love,” he says affectionately. Leaning in closer, his lips brush against your ear, and before you can react, he captures your earlobe gently between his teeth. “I want you to feel that baby.”

A gasp escapes your lips. He knows how to get under your skin—how to make every inch of you burn with need. His dominance, wrapped in tenderness—the perfect combination that drives you wild.

“I want you to wear these for me tonight.”

The heat between your thighs intensifies at his words. Swallowing hard, you nod slowly. Finally managing to speak, barely a whisper.

“Okay.”

Satoru’s smirk deepens, his eyes darkening with satisfaction as his grip on your waist tightens.

“Good. Now bend over the dresser.”

The command in his voice is unmistakable, and it sends a thrill straight to your core, making your legs tremble slightly as you obey. Slowly, you lean forward, your palms resting on the cool surface of the dresser.

“So obedient,” his hands glide up your hips, bunching the fabric of your dress around your waist. “Such a good girl for me.”

His praise makes your breath hitch, and you bite your lip as his hands move lower, spreading your thighs slightly—positioning you just the way he wants you.

Satoru’s fingers hook into the delicate fabric of your lace panties, tugging them down your legs in one smooth, possessive motion. As you brace yourself against the dresser, his touch drifts lower, tracing the sensitive skin of your thighs before circling back up—brushing softly around the curve of your ass. But your body aches for more, and finally, your entrance welcomes the light, deliberate pressure of his digit.

It's not enough though.

Fucking hell. The anticipation is coiling tight in your stomach—you were already growing wet. He was always like this—making you wait, making you want him even more.

“Satoru,” you plea, barely above a whisper.

Pausing for a moment, he chuckles—then, he allows his fingers to brush over you again, this time with a little more pressure. He lets out a low hum of approval as he feels the undeniable heat between your legs.

“Well, look at that,” he murmurs, full of satisfaction as his fingers trace over your slickness. “You’re already soaked, aren’t you?”

Your body trembles and the heat intensifies further as he acknowledges your arousal.

“I was going to prep you,” his voice drips with amusement as he pushes deeper—two fingers curling in—just enough to make you gasp. “But… I don’t think that’s necessary anymore, do you?”

He pulls his fingers out—leaving you aching and breathless. You let out a disappointed whine, your body protesting against the sudden loss of contact.

You wanted him. Now.

The desire burning throughout you is almost unbearable, and he knows it—he was going to make this night torture for you.

He chuckles again—a hand sliding up your spine, tracing the curve of your back as he leans in closer to press a tender kiss on your shoulder.

“Needy girl. I’m not done with you yet. Stay still.”

Your breath hitches, and before you can respond, you feel something cool and smooth press against your entrance—the unmistakable touch of the Hula Beads.

“Let’s make this night memorable, hmm?”

He slowly, deliberately, pushes it inside you.

Unable to suppress the soft moan that escapes your lips, he doesn’t stop until the beads are seated deep within you. The sensation is foreign, but undeniably arousing as your core clenches around them—a fullness that builds between your thighs, making your knees tremble.

You’re already aching for more, and he hasn’t even turned them on yet.

Satoru pauses for a moment, letting you breathe as he admires you—a small, knowing smirk tugging upon his lips. With careful precision, he hooks his fingers into the delicate fabric of your panties and pulls them back up.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, smoothing your dress back down. “Now, stand up.”

Standing upright feels like a challenge—your legs tremble slightly as you push yourself up from the dresser, adjusting to the pressure inside you. He steps behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him.

“You’re going to behave tonight, aren’t you?” His free hand reaches up, fingers gently brushing through your hair, caressing you as his eyes lock with yours in the mirror—a comfort and a reminder of the control he holds. “I’ll know exactly what’s going on inside you, and no one else will have a clue. But you’ll behave for me, won’t you, sweetheart?”

“I’ll try…” you respond, breathy, but teasing—a spark of defiance in your tone, knowing full well what his reaction might be.

Satoru’s smirk deepens, his grip on your waist tightening for just a second.

“Try?” he repeats, full of amusement. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re already testing me, and we haven’t even left the room yet.”

His warning sends a shiver through you as you hold his gaze with a playful challenge—but then, he pecks your cheek and steps back. Straightening his jacket, he adjusts his bowtie as if nothing unusual has happened between you. It’s a movement so smooth and controlled, an epitome of poise—but the smirk on his lips and the glint in his eyes tell you that he’s anything but composed on the inside.

Oh, he’s playing with you… and he’s loving every second of it.

“Behave,” he casts you a sideways glance, accompanied with a wink, full of mischief. “Because I’m going to have so much fun with you tonight, princess.”

❥

“Ah, there they are!” a familiar voice rings from behind, and you turn just in time to see Shoko approaching—her mischievous smile tugging at her lips, the lace mask adorning her face barely concealing that sparkle in her eyes. “y/n, Satoru—you two certainly know how to make an entrance.”

Before you can respond, she pulls you into a warm embrace—the scent of her perfume faint and comforting as you relax into her familiar touch.

“Gosh, it’s been too long,” she murmurs before stepping back to look you over with an approving nod. “You look incredible.”

Satoru jumps in—his arm slipping slightly around your waist, pulling you closer as he leans in with a low chuckle.

“Doesn’t she?” His voice is rich with affectionate pride, and his fingers lightly trace circles on your hip absentmindedly. “It’s almost unfair, isn’t it?”

The warmth of his words lingers in the air, and you can’t help but feel the flutter of butterflies in your chest as his gaze holds yours with an intensity.

Shoko’s dramatic groan breaks the spell. She rolls her eyes with exaggerated flair—crossing her arms over her chest as a playful grin tugs at her lips.

“Ugh, you two are too cute together—it’s almost sickening.”

You let out a soft laugh, glancing sideways at Satoru with a knowing smirk.

“Mmm... well, we try.”

Satoru’s smirk only widens as he holds you even tighter.

“Do we?” he teases. “I wasn’t aware we were being watched.”

Shoko rolls her eyes again, clearly unimpressed with his feigned ignorance.

“Oh, please,” she drawls sarcastically, lightly flicking a hand toward the both of you. “It’s hard not to notice when you two waltz in looking like you own the place.”

You can’t help but grin in response, shaking your head at her comment.

“Oh, come on. Says the woman who makes even casual elegance look like high fashion.”

Shoko’s smirk grows as she readjusts the shawl draped elegantly around her shoulders—her burgundy gown hugging her figure perfectly—each detail carefully chosen. She straightens up, standing a little taller as she takes in your compliment.

“Mmm…what can I say? Guess I’m a natural,” she adds with a playful wink.

Before anyone can add anything further, Suguru’s smooth voice cuts in from behind, joining the conversation as he steps up beside her.

“You’re always so modest, aren’t you, Shoko?”

His calm presence and easygoing smile blend seamlessly in the group—almost as natural as the way he drapes an arm casually over Shoko’s shoulders, while his other hand pushes back a few stray tousles of his long raven hair.

As his gaze shifts toward Satoru for a moment, a playful spark flickers in his eyes.

“But… let’s not downplay the real showstopper,” Suguru’s attention slides over to you, lingering with an appreciative glance. “y/n,” he murmurs, “you’re absolutely breathtaking tonight.”

You can’t help but blush lightly—feeling the warmth and sincerity of his compliment. You manage a soft smile.

“Aww, thanks… you’re too kind, Suguru.”

Suddenly the atmosphere shifts—Satoru’s arm tightens around your waist, and the low, unamused hum that rumbles through his chest makes his feelings on the exchange very clear.

“Kind, hm?” His gaze slides from you to Suguru, narrowing with a protective edge. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

Suguru’s grin widens, clearly savoring the reaction he’s drawing out from his friend. There’s a certain satisfaction in the way his lips curl upward—knowing full well the tension he’s provoking.

“What?” He tilts his head to the side, feigning innocence. “I’m just calling it like I see it. And believe me, everyone’s seeing it tonight. y/n’s drawing the most attention.”

For a moment, the air between the two men thickens, and Satoru’s hand tightens ever so slightly around you.

“Mhm… she always does.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained with Satoru’s reaction, and without missing a beat, he saunters over—casually draping an arm over Satoru’s shoulders—a gesture that both diffuses and provokes in the same motion. Pulling his friend in slightly, he shakes him playfully with an unwavering grin.

“Oh yes, of course,” Suguru replies smoothly. “I mean, some people just have that natural charm. I’m sure half the room is probably wondering ‘who is that stunning woman on your arm.’”

Ah… the familiar dynamic between them is at play. It’s almost like clockwork—the way Suguru knows how to needle Satoru without truly ruffling his feathers. Their friendship has always been this way—filled with teasing, and light jabs—but under it all, there’s a solid foundation of trust.

Suguru is his best friend, after all.

Rolling his eyes, the grin tugging at the corners of Satoru’s lips betray him. He shrugs Suguru’s arm off his shoulders—giving him a light shove.

“Yeah, well... they can wonder all they want,” Satoru quips, casual but pointed. He shifts, and before you can react, he takes your hand, guiding you toward him in one fluid motion. Holding you close, he presses a tender kiss to your temple—the warmth of his lips sending a flutter of butterflies through your chest. “Doesn’t change the fact that she’s with me,” he murmurs.

Suguru leans back slightly, clearly amused by how things are playing out, and his smirk widens—he can’t resist throwing in one last comment.

“Ahh… but if you’re not careful… someone might just steal her away.”

The words hang in the air, and for a brief second, everything feels charged—like a storm on the horizon. You can feel Satoru’s body tense ever so slightly, his fingers tightening on your waist. Suguru’s teasing is nothing unusual, but tonight... tonight it feels different. The thought of testing Satoru right now seems almost… dangerous.

Maybe it’s the setting, the way you’re dressed, or maybe it’s the fact that you both know he’s holding more than just your hand tonight.

The remote.

Fucking hell…Suguru may think he’s getting under Satoru’s skin, but you know better. Tonight is not the night to test Satoru’s patience.

Before the tension can build further, Shoko, ever the master of diffusing, steps in with a smirk and a light nudge to Suguru’s side.

“Well, it’s good to see nothing’s changed,” she remarks, full of playful exasperation. “Still managing to get under his skin, I see.”

Suguru chuckles, his smile widening as he throws his hands up in mock surrender. “It’s a gift,” he says with an exaggerated shrug.

Satoru’s grip on your waist loosens, the tension that had been simmering, melting away like snow under the sun from Shoko’s well-timed comment.

Oh, Shoko. You could kiss her right now—tonight, of all nights, you really needed that—needed her.

Satoru hums in response, the sound low and laced with mock approval as his gaze flickers between Suguru and you—his lips curving into a teasing smile.

“If by gift, you mean an annoyance, then sure,” he murmurs.

“Eh. Same thing,” Suguru shrugs, smiling—not phased in the slightest by Satoru’s retort.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head in mock disapproval at the two of them.

“You two are impossible…” you murmur.

Before anyone can say more, a gentleman in a sharp suit approaches Satoru—tapping him lightly on the shoulder.

“Mr. Gojo, I believe the event coordinator needs a word with you about the auction details.”

Satoru’s eyes flicker briefly with irritation at the interruption, but ever the charmer, he covers it with a polite smile.

“Of course,” he responds smoothly. Before stepping away, he turns to you—lifting your hand gently into his own. His lips brush against your knuckles in a tender, lingering kiss, sending a soft warmth radiating through your chest. “I’ll be back in just a moment, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

You manage a smile as you watch him walk away, and as soon as Satoru is out of earshot, Shoko leans in closer to you—her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Sooo, how are things really?” her eyes gleam with playful curiosity. “Satoru keeping you on your toes?”

Well… that’s one way to put it—if only she knew half of it. You take a small breath, glancing briefly at Satoru as he moves across the room.

“Yeah…” a soft, fond smile spreads across your face. “You could say that…”

“Well,” she chuckles, patting your arm gently, “I’ll give you this—two years with Satoru? You deserve a medal,” she teases. “I can’t believe it’s been that long. Seems like just yesterday we were all at this gala, two years ago. Remember?”

“How could I forget?” you murmur, your voice dropping slightly as you recall that night, still so vivid. “It was... intense.”

Shoko grins, her eyes bright with recollection.

“Intense?” She shakes her head. “You two practically set the room on fire. The way he looked at you that night? I swear… I thought the whole world was going to stop spinning.”

Her words bring a slight flush to your cheeks, and you can’t help but smile at the memory.

“And now, look at you…” Shoko continues, her tone softening with affection. “Two years in, and he’s still completely wrapped around your finger.”

You bite your lip, feeling a warmth flutter in your chest.

“Well…he’s persistent, I’ll give him that,” you admit, your fingers absentmindedly twisting the ring on your hand—a gesture you do without thinking.

Ah…but it’s not the ring you want it to be.

Shoko notices the subtle movement, her eyes flicking to your hand before she gives you a knowing smirk.

“Oh, please,” she teases, flicking a hand toward you with a playful roll of her eyes. “Persistent? The man’s practically obsessed. Not that I blame him, of course.” She gestures to your gown—the fabric shimmering under the soft lights. “Seriously. You do look stunning, as always.”

You chuckle softly at her compliment—shaking your head. “Thanks, Sho.”

From the side, Suguru, who had been quietly watching the exchange, finally steps forward, his smile soft and genuine.

“Man… two years already, huh?” he remarks, rich with sincerity—his gaze shifting between you and where Satoru had gone. “You and Satoru... I never would’ve guessed it back then, but now? It just makes sense.”

You tilt your head slightly, genuinely intrigued by his words. “What do you mean?” you ask, meeting his gaze.

Suguru chuckles, a warm, low sound.

“I mean… you balance him out. He needs someone like you—someone who can handle him and keep him grounded. You keep him on his toes, but you also... well, you make him better.”

His words catch you off guard—you feel your heart swell and a faint blush paint your cheeks.

“I never thought about it like that,” you admit, offering him a soft smile.

“Well, it’s true,” Suguru replies, his smile widening as he casually shoves his hands in his pockets. “Look, I know he’s not the easiest guy to deal with, but with you? He’s found someone worth changing for.”

You blink, his words sinking in, and you feel the weight of the compliment settle in your chest. It’s not often people see beyond the surface of Satoru and his larger-than-life persona, but Suguru always had a way of getting to the heart of things.

“Thanks, Suguru. That... that means a lot.”

Shoko, sensing the tender turn of the conversation, steps back in with her usual playful demeanor—her smirk returning in full force.

“Alright, alright,” she interjects with a mock sigh, “Enough of this heart-to-heart. I’m off to find a drink before this turns into a therapy session,” she jokes, giving your arm a light squeeze before she starts sauntering off toward the bar.

You and Suguru are left standing there as you watch her go—his head shaking slightly with amusement.

“She’s always like that…” he murmurs, half to himself.

You’re about to respond, to make some lighthearted comment in return, when the world around you suddenly shifts—tilts, really, in a way that sends a jolt of warmth radiating through your core. It’s subtle, barely noticeable at first, but your body betrays you—stiffening as a wave of unexpected pleasure coils low in your stomach. Your breath catches, and before you can even process what’s happening, a soft gasp slips past your lips.

Oh, no. No, no, no. Not now.

Suguru, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice the sudden change in your demeanor—he continues talking, oblivious to the soft hum of the Hula beads that have sprung to life inside you. But you know. You know exactly what’s happening.

Satoru.

The soft, torturous vibrations pulse through you, teasing, building in intensity just enough to make your legs wobble slightly. It’s maddening—the way the beads twist and hum with perfect, controlled precision, sending sharp, undeniable shocks of pleasure through your core—the kind that makes your knees want to give out if you’re not careful.

You swallow hard, desperately trying to maintain your composure, nodding along to whatever Suguru is saying. God… what is he even saying? His words are little more than background noise to the mounting pressure building inside of you.

Fucking Satoru.

You’ve been left alone for all of two minutes, and he’s already playing with you. Already reminding you who’s in control tonight.

Your pulse races as you glance around the room, frantically searching for him—and there he is, across the room, casually speaking with someone. His white hair catches the soft light, making him stand out even in the crowd, and his gaze is focused on the conversation—until it’s not. His eyes flick over to you, locking with yours in a way that feels like a tether between you both.

And then he smirks.

The kind of smirk that says he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Your chest tightens as the vibrations inside you shift—deeper, more intense—and you have to bite your lip to suppress a whimper. You want to scream, to curse him from across the room, but you can’t. Not with Suguru standing right here.

“y/n?” Suguru asks softly, concerned. “You alright?”

Oh God…are you obvious?

You swallow hard, nodding quickly. “Y-yeah,” you stammer, clearing your throat. “Just… the room’s a bit, erm… warm.”

Warm? That’s the best you could come up with?

Suguru raises an eyebrow, clearly sensing that something’s off, but too kind to push it. Instead, he gives you a soft, reassuring smile—his hand coming to rest gently on your arm. It’s a simple touch that would normally be comforting, but right now, it only heightens your awareness of the relentless pulses inside you—and Satoru’s own relentlessness.

Because then, without warning, the Hula beads kick up in intensity.

The sudden surge of vibration hits you like a shockwave, and you nearly double over from the sensation as it reaches your clit. Your knees almost give out, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to gasp aloud. The vibrations aren’t just subtle anymore; they’re deep, insistent, pushing you closer and closer to the edge with each agonizing pulse.

Fuck.

Your breath hitches, and you have to dig your nails into your palms to keep yourself grounded. The wet heat building inside you feels like it’s going to explode. You glance back at Satoru—catching sight of his unwavering gaze—and in that brief, charged moment, he mouths the words to you slowly, deliberately:

You’re mine.

Your cunt drips. Oh God… he’s doing this because of Suguru—reminding you that no matter who you’re talking to, no matter who you’re with, you belong to him.

A flush of heat spreads through your cheeks, and you quickly turn your attention back to Suguru, hoping to hide the storm brewing inside of you. He continues speaking, but you barely hear him. Every nerve in your body is too focused on the pulsing hum—on the way your body reacts involuntarily to every shift in vibration.

Oh, Shoko—you could strangle her.

If she hadn’t left you alone with Suguru, maybe you wouldn’t be standing here on the brink of losing control, struggling to keep your legs from buckling under the pressure of the relentless pleasure surging through you.

Your gaze snaps to Satoru, and for a brief, charged moment, he meets your eyes. His hand slips into his pocket, his expression infuriatingly smug, as if to say, Remember who’s in control.

The vibrations surge even more—your entire body tensing. It’s too much.

You’re so close—too close. Your pussy quivers as you teeter on the edge of release, and all you can do is bite your lip to stifle the whimper that’s threatening to escape.

But just as the pressure coils and the pleasure peaks—right when you’re about to fall over the precipice—everything stops. The vibrations cease entirely, leaving you trembling and breathless—your body screaming for a release that’s been snatched away.

You blink in shock—your legs weak as your slick drips down your thigh—the sudden loss of sensation leaving you reeling.

Ready to shoot Satoru a glare, the moment you look in his direction you barely register the fact that he’s already moving towards you and Suguru with long purposeful strides—and in seconds, he’s standing beside you.

“So sorry to interrupt,” his hand slips around your waist—pulling you flush against him as his thumb brushes lightly over your hip. “But I think I’ll be stealing her away now.”

Suguru chuckles, unaware of the game Satoru’s been playing—or just how close you came to unraveling right in front of him.

“Tch… already?” he tilts his head, grin widening. “We barely had a chance to catch up.”

Satoru doesn’t miss a beat, his gaze flicking from Suguru to you—eyes dark with intent.

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll all have time for that later…” his tone is casual, but there’s a hidden edge beneath the surface, and when his eyes meet yours, there’s a dangerous glint—a silent promise that makes your breath hitch and a shiver run down your spine. “Right now,I need her,” he smirks.

Suguru raises an eyebrow, his gaze sweeping over you—lingering a moment too long as if noticing the flush of your cheeks, the way you’re clinging to Satoru’s arm a little more tightly than usual.

With a theatrical sigh, he shoves his hands into his pockets.

“Guess I’ll go find Shoko then, so I don’t have to be the third wheel.” As he takes a step back, he gives you one last playful glance. “But don’t hog her all night, Satoru,” he warns teasingly even as he steps away. “I expect to get at least one dance later.”

Satoru chuckles dismissively—his focus already shifting entirely to you as Suguru fades out of existence. “Yeah, right… not happening,” he mutters under his breath.

The moment Suguru’s out of earshot, Satoru tightens his grip on your waist, pulling your body flush against his. A slow smirk tugs at his lips the moment you feel the unmistakable evidence of his arousal—his cock, hard and unyielding, pressing into you.

“You looked like you were about to fall apart back there, sweetheart,” his lips brush your ear as he tenderly trails his fingers through your hair. “Tell me… you were so close, weren’t you?”

Your breath stutters as his hand slides slowly, possessively down your back. The heat of his touch seeps through the fabric of your dress, making your body shudder as he lingers just above the curve of your hips. Your cunt aches for the release he denied you.

“Satoru…you’re... so unfair.”

“Unfair?” he chuckles, pulling back slightly and running his thumb tenderly across your lower lip—watching your breath hitch at his touch. “Oh, princess… if only you knew…” His voice drops lower—lips ghosting over yours as he whispers, “I want to drag you away and show you just how unfair I can be.”

You bite your lip, stifling a moan—the heat pooling between your legs. Your hand instinctively rests against his chest, fingers brushing the smooth fabric of his tuxedo—feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat mirroring your own. Your lips part as you take in a shaky breath.

“Take me somewhere right now… I don’t care where, just… please don’t make me wait any longer.”

Your voice is breathless, desperate, and the moment the words leave your lips, you see the shift in his expression—his cock twitches in his pants and his eyes darken with raw desire. He clenches his jaw and breathes sharply through his nose, almost as if he’s trying to regain control. As he lowers his forehead against yours, you feel his hand drop from your hair to grip your hips possessively.

“Fuck...” he growls softly, “You have no idea how hard you have me. Every time you look at me like that...” he exhales, his fingers pressing harder into you as his gaze drops to your lips. “…I just want to take you right here.”

His touch slides lower, fingers trailing over the curve of your hip before they begin to glide back up, slipping teasingly over the small of your back. It’s an innocent enough motion to anyone watching—but the way his fingers linger, the way his body presses into yours, it sends a tingling wave of heat to your pussy.

“If we weren’t in public right now…” his voice rumbles against your skin as he nuzzles into the delicate curve of your neck, “I’d have you on your knees, begging for me. I’d make you scream my name so loud, the only thing you’d be able to think about is how much you fucking need me.”

Your knees nearly give way at the intensity of his words, but his strong arm tightens around you, steadying you. You whine as his fingers rise up to weave through your hair again, tugging gently as his other hand returns to your waist, trailing down slowly before gripping your hip again.

“Mmm… but not yet,” he whispers, dripping with control. “Not here.”

You let out a soft, frustrated groan, leaning into his chest, craving more—craving him. His infuriating smirk brushes against your skin, and he hums in amusement. He pulls you back to look at you, his hand coming up the tenderly cup your cheek.

“Come now,” he murmurs affectionately, “You’ll behave for me, won’t you, sweetheart?”

You exhale heavily, rolling your eyes despite the tight knot of desire twisting inside you.

“Yes...” you mumble.

His eyebrow arches as he leans in, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes… I’ll behave,” you huff in frustration.

A slow, satisfied smirk tugs at Satoru’s lips as he pulls back. He caresses your hair once more and presses a gentle, lingering kiss to your temple.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmurs, the words wrapping around you like a promise. “Because if you don’t… I’ll fucking ruin you later.”

Oh, you know he will—and you’ll love every second of it.

❥

The night was going smoothly. The opulent charity gala had everything: fine champagne, crystal chandeliers, and the hum of soft conversation drifting through the ballroom. Satoru had barely left your side, his hand lingering on your waist, warm and magnetic—making you feel like the queen of the event, and every glance from the elite in attendance told you the same thing.

Together, you were commanding the room.

But then… she walked in.

Mei-Mei.

Her entrance was nothing short of dramatic—icy beauty wrapped in a form-fitting, silk gown that shimmered with every step and clung to her every curve. Heads turned, conversations quieted, and the air in the ballroom seemed to shift as she sauntered through the crowd with effortless grace.

Mei-Mei was made for these kinds of events. She exuded money, and it wasn’t just in her attire; it was in her entire demeanor—the confidence of someone who wouldn’t hesitate to buy anything she desired—including people. And more than anything, that’s exactly what she wanted to project.

Her sharp, catlike eyes scan the room slowly, as if weighing its worth, and you can instantly feel the moment her gaze lands on you—and on Satoru.

Once upon a time, long before you entered his life, Mei-Mei had been Satoru’s girlfriend. And her interest in him? Well… it had never been about love.

No, Mei-Mei was a woman who measured people by their value—their status, their influence, and most importantly, their wealth. Satoru had checked all the boxes—he was power personified, and she loved the way that power elevated her—until she overplayed her hand and Satoru had walked away.

The façade had cracked—once Satoru had realized what she was truly after, how she valued his bank account more than anything else, he was through. He had never spoken much about their prior relationship, but you’ve heard enough through whispers in social circles.

But Mei-Mei? She’d never forgiven him for it—he had stolen away the life she had always dreamed for herself.

Now, as her eyes flick over you and Satoru, you catch sight of the challenge forming behind her sharpened smile as she immediately changes her course.

You can feel Satoru’s arm instinctively tighten around your waist, his body leaning slightly into yours—he’s noticed her too. You glance up at him, offering a soft smile—your silent way of telling him, you’re fine.

She’s not going to rattle you. Not tonight.

Her heels click in rhythmic precision against the marble floor as she approaches, and once she finally reaches you, her lips curl into a smile—sharp and precise—designed to appear friendly but lacking any warmth.

“Ah, y/n, dear,” she began, smooth as silk but dripping with condescension. “You look... cute tonight.” Her gaze flicks to Satoru for a fraction of a second before landing back on you. “I suppose Satoru always did have a thing for... simplicity.”

Oh… she wants to play?

Fine. You meet her eyes without hesitation—your unwavering smile poised and steady.

“Simplicity?” you echo, letting a carefree laugh slip through. “Oh, darling… simplicity is what makes elegance effortless. I suppose that’s a skill not everyone can master, hmm?”

For just a fraction of a second, you see it—her mask slips. Her smile falters, her jaw tightens, and her eyes narrow just a little too much. It’s quick, but you catch it.

Got her.

But Mei-Mei doesn’t like being outmaneuvered. Especially not by you.

Her eyes flick away from yours, turning to Satoru with a renewed smile—wider, as if trying to reclaim control. But you see through the charm; there’s bitterness behind it.

“Well,” she continues, voice dripping with false nostalgia, “Satoru and I were quite the power couple once, weren’t we?” her gaze flicks back to you. “I’m sure he hasn’t forgotten.”

As her voice drops, like a private whisper shared between ex-lovers, you feel Satoru tense beside you. His grip on you tightens as though he’s silently urging you to ignore her. But nah—you aren’t about to back down. Not tonight.

Letting your hand trail slowly down the front of Satoru’s tux, your fingertips graze the fabric teasingly as you glance up at him, offering a soft, playful smile. His eyes soften immediately, and he pulls you a little closer.

“Mmm… but memories have a funny way of fading when you’ve found something far more fulfilling.”

Satoru responds immediately, his gaze melting into yours, the tension in his shoulders easing as his fingers squeeze your waist slightly—a silent declaration of where his loyalties lie. Your voice is sweet, affectionate, and though your words are for Satoru, they’re aimed squarely at Mei-Mei.

You catch sight of her reaction in the corner of your eye—the way her fingers clench around her designer clutch a bit too tightly—a crack of frustration leaking through her forced smile.

“You know,” she starts again, this time more pointed, “men like Satoru tend to... wander. He’s incapable of settling down, so I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I were you.”

The jab hangs in the air, and you feel Satoru stiffen beside you. He’s clearly irritated now, but it’s not her words that bother you—it’s the audacity.

How dare she throw shade at him?

Your eyebrow arches, and a light, almost dismissive laugh escapes your lips. The sound slices through her words, gentle but cutting.

“Oh, Mei-Mei…” you coo, her name slipping off your tongue with a mix of sweetness and pity. “You see, some men wander when they’re searching for something they don’t have. But when they’ve found what they truly want? They stay.”

Your words hit her like a slap disguised as a caress, and you see the moment it lands—underneath the lacy mask resting on the bridge of her nose, her eyes flash, and her smile tightens. Despite her best efforts, she tries to remain composed.

“I suppose we’ll see how long that lasts.”

You smile serenely, unbothered, and tilt your head slightly, like you’re humoring a child.

“Yes, well. Satoru’s never been one to settle for anything less than what he deserves. I suppose that’s why he left you.”

The subtle shift in her demeanor tells you everything you need to know.

You’ve won.

The frustration beneath her surface bubbles to the top, and it’s barely hidden behind the sharp scoff that escapes her lips. Her exit is quick, muttering some vague excuse before turning on her heel and sauntering away with stiff shoulders. Ahh… her movements are a bit too rigid for someone who’s pretending not to care.

Your heart swells pridefully with the satisfaction of standing your ground as you watch her go—not just for yourself, but for Satoru too. Your Satoru.

You feel his grip on you tighten the moment Mei-Mei disappears from view, and before you can even process what’s happening, he's pulling you flush against him—his body warm, firm, and incredibly close.

The heat radiating from him feels almost electrifying, and his breath ghosts against the shell of your ear.

“Fuck… do you have any idea how hot that was?”

You bite your lip—the victory was sweet, but the fire in his words make it even sweeter. A wave of heat spreads through your core.

“You were incredible,” he murmurs, lips brushing your neck. “God you’re perfect… so fucking perfect.”

His praise stokes the fire that’s already building within you, and you’re keenly aware of every inch of him pressed firmly on your hip—his cock twitching against you.

“Yeah…?” you grin, snaking your arms around his neck and brushing your fingers through his hair. “Do I finally get my reward?”

A low chuckle rumbles through his chest, and he pulls back just enough to hover his lips over yours, teasingly close.

“Oh, sweetheart... you deserve so much more than a reward. I want to take you apart, piece by fucking piece.”

The intensity of his gaze and the hunger in his voice sends your mind spinning and your cunt dripping, but just as your lips part, ready to respond, the moment is shattered.

“Oi, lovebirds!” Shoko’s teasing voice cuts through the haze of desire, her playful smirk and a raised eyebrow unmistakable as she approaches with Suguru right behind her. “Auction’s about to start. Unless you two plan on putting on a show for the whole room?”

Satoru lets out a frustrated growl, his forehead pressing against yours as he takes a slow, steadying breath. His grip on your waist lingers for a moment before he reluctantly loosens his hold.

“Perfect fucking timing,” he mutters under his breath, casting a mock glare at Shoko and Suguru.

“Save it for later, Satoru,” Suguru chimes in with a chuckle, reveling in his annoyance. “There’ll be plenty of time for you two to... ‘catch up,’ after the auction, right?”

Satoru rolls his eyes but can’t help the grin that tugs at the corner of his mouth. Leaning down, he places a lingering kiss upon your lips.

“Later, kay?” he murmurs, “This is far from over.”

❥

The atmosphere in the room shifts as the auction begins—the hum of conversation fading to a soft murmur. A dim glow washes over the ballroom, casting a warm light that bounces off the crystal chandeliers and reflects in the glasses scattered across the elegantly decorated tables. You sit comfortably beside Satoru, feeling the warmth of his hand resting casually on your thigh beneath the table—his thumb rubbing lazy circles against your skin.

There’s a soft hum of anticipation as the auctioneer takes the stage, microphone in hand—his voice cutting through the ambient noise with practiced ease.

“And now, for our first item for the evening,” the auctioneer announces with an air of ceremony. “We have something truly special—a limited-edition necklace from the Gojo Jewelry Collection. This timeless piece showcases the elegance of infinity, adorned with rare, precious sapphire jewels, designed exclusively for this event.”

Satoru sits up a little straighter, his hand tightening slightly on your thigh. The rest of the room seems to follow his gaze as the spotlight shifts to the display case. And there it is—the necklace.

It gleams under the warm lighting, the infinity pendant catching the rays in a way that makes the jewels shimmer like stars. The design is breathtaking, a perfect balance of boldness and grace, simplicity and luxury.

You’ve always admired Satoru’s designs, but this one feels particularly special. It’s more than just a piece of jewelry; it’s a statement, a testament to his creativity and craftsmanship.

You can’t help but lean in closer to Satoru, admiration bubbling within as the pendant slowly spins on its pedestal, casting tiny flecks of light across the room.

“It’s gorgeous,” you breathe.

Satoru’s lips curve into a self-satisfied smirk, his eyes glinting with pride.

“Mmm, told ya it’d turn some heads,” he murmurs. “Definitely one of my favorites.”

Your gaze sweeps across the room to gauge the crowd’s reaction, and then you see her—Mei-Mei—sitting at one of the prime tables, posture immaculate, her sharp eyes already fixed on the necklace with a look of pure, calculated hunger.

Of course.

Of course, she’d want his necklace—because it’s not just about the necklace itself—it’s the prestige of wearing something tied to Satoru, a statement that she could have something rare, exclusive, and coveted.

“This necklace represents timeless elegance and endless love,” the auctioneer says smoothly, offering a subtle nod toward Satoru. “And, as a limited edition, we are thrilled to offer this piece. It’s truly one of a kind, created exclusively for tonight’s event.”

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow at that.

Oh? Is that what it represents?

Well then—who are you to let Mei-Mei walk away with it? The idea of her winning something tied to Satoru, of her flaunting that connection, fuels a competitive spark in you.

The bidding starts, and unsurprisingly, Mei-Mei is quick to raise her paddle, her face smug with satisfaction as she bids confidently.

“Six thousand!” the auctioneer calls out, voice booming through the ballroom.

Leaning back slightly in your chair, your fingers casually brush over Satoru’s hand on your thigh. He looks at you, his curious gaze meeting yours as you offer him a knowing smirk, and he quirks an eyebrow, clearly intrigued as you lazily raise your paddle.

“Seven thousand,” a soft smile graces your lips.

Satoru’s grip tightens slightly on your thigh, and you feel the low hum of approval rumbling from him. Mei-Mei’s eyes snap toward you, narrowing in disbelief—she clearly hadn’t expected you to join in. But there it is—that flicker of annoyance. Her paddle goes up again, just as you knew it would.

“Ten thousand,” Mei-Mei counters.

The auctioneer nods in her direction. “Ten thousand! Do I hear twelve?”

Without missing a beat, you lift your paddle once more, your smile growing. “Twelve thousand.”

Satoru’s eyes glitter with amusement as he watches the subtle tension building between you and Mei-Mei. His hand slides a little higher on your thigh, fingers pressing with a bit more intent as he leans in—breath warm against your ear.

“Fuck… this is seriously turning me on way more than it should…” he mutters. “You’re going to make her lose her mind.”

You bite back a grin. “Mmm, well, that’s the plan.”

The bidding continues, but now Mei-Mei hesitates, the confidence in her posture starting to falter.

“Fifteen thousand,” you say smoothly, your paddle already raised.

Mei-Mei’s lips press together into a thin line. Her eyes flash with frustration as she debates whether to push higher. After a tense moment, she raises her paddle again, but her voice lacks its earlier bravado.

“Sixteen thousand,” a hint of uncertainty creeps into her tone.

You don’t even flinch.

“Twenty thousand.”

Satoru’s fingers tighten on your thigh again, his breath hitching slightly as he leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“God, you’re so damn hot when you’re like this,” he growls, shifting slightly in his seat from his growing erection.

Your heart races with satisfaction as your eyes lock on Mei-Mei’s once more, daring her to keep going. But the resolve in her eyes wavers. Slowly, with a barely concealed pout, she lowers her paddle.

“Twenty thousand, going once… going twice… sold to the lovely lady in the elegant gown!” The auctioneer’s gavel comes down with a decisive crack, and the room erupts into polite applause.

As the ripple of applause moves throughout the room, it’s Mei-Mei’s sour expression that you relish in most. Ah, victory feels sweet.

You lean back in your chair, turning to Satoru with a playful, victorious smile.

“Well… that was fun.”

He’s practically beaming, eyes dark with pride and something more as his hand slips up your thigh—teasingly close to your core now.

“I swear to God… I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the rest of this auction without pulling you into the nearest empty room and fucking you.”

His words make your pussy drip, but before you can respond, the auctioneer’s voice booms once again, drawing your attention back to the stage.

“And now, we have something special for the next event. This is one of our unique auction segments—where attendees have the chance to bid for a dance with one of our lovely participants. All the proceeds will go to tonight’s charity, of course.”

There’s a murmur of interest from the crowd, a few amused chuckles as people begin to sit up a little straighter. You, however, remain mostly unbothered, still riding the high from outbidding Mei-Mei— and the arousal of Satoru’s fingers caressing your thigh underneath the table.

But then, something pulls your attention back to the stage—a faint thread of confusion beginning to weave through your thoughts as you hear the list of names being read out.

Did you… just hear your name? Wait… what?

You whip your head toward Satoru—and his expression mirrors your confusion, eyebrows raising slightly. But before you can fully register what’s happening, you catch sight of Suguru across the table—grin wide, eyes glinting with mischief.

Oh no…

Your mind scrambles, replaying the events of earlier in the night. Suguru had been chatting with you, something about the auction—while you were busy being thoroughly distracted by Satoru's relentless teasing with the Hula beads. The memories blur together, but now you realize…

Oh god… you’d been so focused on the pleasure that you barely even processed Suguru’s words. Did you accidentally agree to this?

Before you can react, the auctioneer is already moving forward, inviting the women participating in the dance auction to step on stage. And there it is—your name again, clear as day, listed among them.

Satoru stiffens beside you, his grip on your thigh tightening as he whips his head toward Suguru. A pointed look flashes across his face, but Suguru, oh, Suguru—he’s practically glowing with amusement. Leaning back in his chair, his arms cross over his chest as if enjoying every second of this unfolding chaos.

“Suguru…” Satoru hisses under his breath. “Was this your doing?”

Suguru shrugs, his smirk widening in response to the clear irritation radiating from Satoru.

“What?” he says with faux innocence. “y/n agreed to it.”

Satoru’s eyes narrow and his grip on you tightens. There’s a moment of tension as you feel him lean in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear as he growls, “…you agreed to this?”

Your mind scrambles for an explanation, but before you can respond, Suguru’s voice cuts in again.

“It’s for charity,” Suguru adds with a playful lilt. “It’ll be fun.”

His words hang in the air like a taunt, and Satoru’s eyes narrow at Suguru—his possessive grip tightening on your plush thigh as his jaw clenches.

“C’mon Satoru. Let’s see how much your girl is worth.”

As the auctioneer repeats your name over the microphone, drawing the crowd’s attention to you, you feel every pair of eyes in the room turning in your direction. Satoru leans in closer—his breath warm against your ear.

“Fine then… I hope you’re ready for this, sweetheart,” he murmurs, the teasing edge in his voice betraying the simmering tension beneath it.

Your stomach flips from the intensity of his gaze, and you hesitate for a moment—glancing between the stage and Satoru. Uh oh… the heat is rolling off him in waves—it’s clear he’s not thrilled with the idea of you being up there for everyone to bid on, but… what is that mischievous glint in his eye?

That’s a bit… unsettling.

Reluctantly, you stand—your heart racing as you smooth down your dress and make your way toward the stage. The spotlight warms your skin, and the auctioneer welcomes you with an enthusiastic gesture. But before you can fully settle into the moment, you feel it—a soft, familiar pulse deep within you.

Fucking hell. Here?

The vibrations start low, teasing, but enough to make your knees wobble slightly as you stand in front of the crowd. You glance down at Satoru, who remains seated, his eyes locked onto you with an almost predatory gleam. His lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk as his fingers tap lightly against his thigh—a silent admission that he’s the one behind the sudden wave of pleasure coursing through your body.

He is cruel—doing this while you’re on stage.

The auctioneer wastes no time, diving right into the event as he begins introducing each woman on stage, one by one. The crowd’s attention is fixed on the participants as the bids for each woman slowly climb higher, some reaching $5,000 before being closed off with a cheerful crack of the auctioneer’s gavel.

But as you stand there—your heart thudding in your chest as you wait for your turn—the vibrations pulsing deep inside you are a constant, teasing reminder of Satoru’s hold over you.

“And now, for our next participant—y/n!” The auctioneer’s voice rings out, and the crowd’s attention immediately shifts to you. A murmur ripples through the ballroom as you stand in the spotlight, trying to maintain your composure—but the slow, torturous vibrations leave you dripping in front of everyone.

You swallow hard as the auctioneer begins at a low price, and before anyone else can react, Satoru’s hand shoots up.

“Five thousand,” he calls out, voice steady, eyes locked on you.

Before you can process it fully, another voice cuts in, smooth and confident—Suguru.

“Seven thousand,” his gaze flickers briefly to Satoru—daring him to up the stakes.

Satoru clenches his jaw, but his gaze never leaves yours. His hand goes up again.

“Ten thousand.”

Your breath hitches—this bidding is escalating so quickly it’s making your head spin, and the relentless vibrations are driving you wild.

Suguru chuckles as he raises his paddle, enjoying every second of this. “Twenty thousand,” he smirks, leaning back in his chair.

The crowd murmurs, a few gasps here and there, but no one dares interrupt this battle of wills between the two men. You bite your lip, feeling the pulse of the beads inside you grow stronger. Fuckfuckfuck… your body reacts involuntarily, and a soft gasp escapes your lips.

Satoru notices immediately and the corner of his lips twitch up slightly. His gaze darkens, and without missing a beat, he raises his paddle once more. “Fifty thousand.”

The room falls silent, and your heart drums in your chest, racing alongside the vibrations tormenting your body. Shifting your weight slightly, your pussy hums in pleasure under the spotlight—struggling to hold yourself together.

Suguru, leans back, arms crossing over his chest as he studies Satoru, clearly impressed by his boldness. Then, just as it looks like he’s about to raise his paddle again, Satoru leans forward and his voice drops even lower.

“One hundred thousand.”

The crowd gasps. The entire ballroom seems to shift—stunned by the sheer audacity of the number.

Raising an eyebrow, Suguru lets out a low amused whistle. Then, with a smirk, he raises his hands in mock surrender, chuckling under his breath. “Well, well, Satoru… looks like you win.”

As Suguru places his paddle down, the grin plastered upon his face makes it painfully obvious –he’s thoroughly enjoyed how far this has gone, and the auctioneer, momentarily speechless, quickly attempts to recover.

“One hundred thousand, going once… going twice…” he slams his gavel down with a sharp crack. “Sold to Mr. Gojo for one hundred thousand dollars!”

The applause that follows feels distant—entirely drowned out by the overwhelming sensations coursing through your wet cunt. This is torture. Your legs are weak, your pulse racing, and Satoru’s eyes are locked on you, burning with intensity.

Leaning back in his chair, a slow possessive smirk spreads across his lips.

He’s told the entire room—and you—that you belong to him.

❥

The applause disappears into background noise as Satoru grabs your hand—a grip that’s firm and relentless. There’s no time for conversation, no time for teasing words—he’s already pulling you away from the auction, weaving through the crowd with purposeful strides.

The way his body is practically humming with urgency, tells you everything—it’s an urgency that matches the pulsing throb still lingering in your clit from his playful torture during the auction.

You stumble slightly to keep up as he moves through the dim lights of the ballroom—everything blurring together as he maneuvers through tables. Once you reach the edge of the room, he guides you into one of the shadowy hallways leading away from the event.

“Satoru…” the moment his name leaves your lips, he shoots a glance back at you, dark and filled with unbridled need.

“Not a fucking word,” his grip tightens on your hand as he pulls you along. “If you say another word…” his breath hitches, “I’ll fuck you right here, against this wall. I don’t care who sees.”

Oh, he’s barely restrained—it’s a hunger that’s been building all night.

Everything fades into the background as he guides you down the empty corridor, and the moment he reaches a single door hidden at the end, he’s shoving it open and dragging you inside.

The room is dimly lit, but he doesn’t give you the time of day to take in your surroundings—no—he’s on you in an instant.

“I can’t fucking wait any longer,” kicking the door shut with his foot, his hands immediately find your waist as he presses you up against the nearest wall. “Fucking finally…” he growls, rolling his erection against you, making you gasp. “Feel that?” his lips brush against your ear as his hands slide lower, gripping your ass tightly. “That’s what you’ve done to me all night.”

“Satoru—” he cuts you off with a bruising kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

Your head spins as his hands rampantly roam your body. He’s desperate for you—grunting as he pins you—the wall against your back, his cock between your legs. His forceful friction makes your body arch, and you can feel his smug smirk curling against your lips as you let out a soft, needy moan.

He pulls away—his lips grazing your jawline as he trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

“Do you know how fucking hard it was for me to sit there,” he accentuates his words with a ruthless thrust, “seeing you squirm, knowing you were soaking wet and no one else could tell?”

His lips crash back into yours, devouring you before he pulls away again.

“…watching you tell Mei-Mei off, knowing you’re mine,” his cock twitches at the memory as he grinds into you again, “fuck when you outbid her…all I could think about was bending you over that damn table to fuck you right in front of her.”

The filthy image he paints in your mind sends a surge of heat through your body, “fuck, that’s so hot…” you let out a breathless moan, your legs trembling as your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. “Need you, now.”

Another bruising kiss follows, his teeth grazing your lower lip, biting down gently before releasing it. He pulls away, and your cunt drips the moment he commands,

“Turn around.”

You oblige—moving on instinct as you spin around. Your palms press flat against the cool wall and your back arches just slightly as you present yourself to him.

Completely at his mercy—exactly how you both want it.

“Fuck, you look so perfect like this."

You hold your breath as his fingers purposefully slide over your ass, and the moment his hands find the hem of your dress, he gathers the fabric in his fists and urgently bunches it up your thighs, allowing the cool air to hit the wet fabric between your legs.

“Look at you,” he coos, tugging the dress up higher. “You’re fucking dripping, baby,” your heat intensifies as his fingers trace an outline on your pussy. “Jesus, you’re fucking soaked… wearing these beads all night… so wet for me.”

As he tugs your drenched panties down in one fell swoop, his fingers trace the slickness of your cunt—curling between the thin string of the Hula beads.

“You took them so well… now let me show you what comes next.”

You shudder as he slowly, torturously starts to remove them—the device dragging against your sensitive core, making your knees tremble. He hums in approval as the last of the Hula beads slip out.

But as you exhale shakily, Satoru doesn’t give you a moment to recover.

“—‘toru!” his hands grip your hips firmly as he forcefully guides to towards a nearby vanity—positioning himself behind you as he pushes you down in front of the mirror.

“You’ve had your fun baby, but now it’s my turn,” as the words leave his lips, you hear the unmistakable clink of his belt buckle, followed by the sound of his zipper sliding down—the urgency is evident in the way his hands work to release himself. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk straight.”

You gasp the moment his free cock presses against your bare skin, and your pussy grows more wet from the sound of him stroking himself, mixed with the shallow breaths escaping his lips.

Once you catch sight of his reflection in the mirror—cock in hand, eyes dark with lust, jaw clenched with restraint—fuck you know. He was feral.

His weeping tip lines up against your entrance.

“Look at you, trembling already…” he coos, rubbing your combined slick with his dick. “So desperate for it, aren’t you?”

Your head drops down and your legs quiver as he teases your entrance—fucking hell what is he waiting for? It’s maddening. You want to be filled, to finally feel the sweet release you’ve been tortuously denied all night.

Glancing up, you catch sight of his infuriating smirk in the reflection.

“Satoru, please hurry up,” you whine as his cock brushes against your clit.

A low chuckle rumbles from his chest. “Patience princess.”

You can’t wait.

Without his permission, you rock your hips back, and he slides in effortlessly as you take him in with one swift motion. A sharp gasp escapes your lips as his thick cock becomes soaked in your wetness, stretching you full.

Satoru sucks in a sharp breath—his grip on your hips tightening as he struggles to hold back the urge to burst inside you the very moment he bottoms out, right then and there. Your cunt is too fucking good.

"Fucking—wait, wait, wait," he hisses through clenched teeth—his cock twitching and his eyes fluttering shut as he quickly tries to steady himself.

You bite your lip, trembling as you watch his reaction in the mirror—the way he’s flexing…shuddering… oh god. How can you wait?

“Satoru… nngh,” your hips roll against him in slow deliberate motions, “haa—can’t wait anymore.”

His eyes snap open at your words, watching your reflection as his jaw clenches with unbridled restraint. He pursues his lips and exhales through his nose—and in that instant, there’s an immediate shift in him—a moment of pure unadulterated lust.

“Needy little thing…” his grip is, forceful, bruising as he growls, “goddamn it, princess…you couldn’t fucking wait. Fine.”

Oh, you’ve done it now.

Pulling back, he removes his dick just enough to slam forward with a brutal force that makes you cry out in pleasure. You drop your head on the vanity surface, gasping as he buries himself deep inside you.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

He sets a brutal pace, each thrust harder as your pussy stretches around his thick pulsing cock—it’s too much, too perfect. The pleasure courses through your veins like fire as he drives into you with a relentless ferocity, leaving you shaking.

The vanity dresser rattles under his force, and the mirror reflects every delicious second of it—your body arching, your mouth falling open, the glazed-over look in your eyes as he ravishes your cunt. But most of all, the way Satoru watches you fall apart for him—possessive and proud.

His hand moves from your hips, sliding up the curve of your body to grip your chin. You whimper as he shifts deeper, leaning forward and forcing your gaze to peer directly in the mirror.

“C’mon now, look at yourself,” he pants, ragged as his hips slam into you with an unrelenting force. “Look how fucking pretty you look taking me like this.”

The pressure coils tight between your legs and your body hums as the pleasure becomes immeasurable. You don’t even realize how your eyes begin to flutter shut—not until his grip tightens on your chin, directing it forcefully to stare at your own reflection.

“No, no. Don’t you dare look away,” he slips two fingers in your mouth and you whimper at the intrusion. “Want you to see what a good girl you are for me.”

God, your head is spinning—the sight of watching him fuck you was so… erotic.

His lips curve into a slow, dangerous smirk as he takes in the sight of you completely fucked out—desperate, needy, sucking his fingers as you try to keep your eyes open, teetering on the edge of bliss—oh his cock twitches inside you.

“Haa—yesss… that’s my good girl…so fucking pretty. Takin m’ so well.”

The rhythm of his hips becomes erratic, his thrusts harder and deeper, each one sending jolts of ecstasy rippling through you. His breath becomes labored as his chest heaves against your back, and you can tell—yes, you can feel it—you’re both so close. So fucking close.

Each plunge pushes you further toward the edge, and your moans are muffled against his fingers. The coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter until you can hardly breathe.

“This what you wanted?” his fingers slip out of your mouth, a thin string of saliva connecting them before he brings his hand down, wrapping around your throat. “Tell me,” he pants, “say how fucking good I feel inside you.”

“—haa, so good…” you gasp, “’toru I’m—"

Your words are cut off by a shuddering cry as your body spasms, the intense pleasure crashing over you like a violent wave as your orgasm slams into you. Your walls tighten around him, coating his cock with your sweet slick as your body trembles uncontrollably in bliss.

“Fuuuck—that’s it, yes baby… squeeze me just like that,” his grip tightens on your throat as his hips slam into yours with reckless abandon. “So tight… fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” He’s panting, his chest pressed against your back as the wet slaps of skin against skin fills the room.

His pace quickens and the overstimulation pushes you further, prolonging your orgasm. You feel your legs begin the weaken as you can barely hold yourself up against the vanity—his cock relentlessly hitting that spot deep inside you.

“’toru—fuck,” you cry, reeling from your climax, “need you to cum… please—”

His jaw clenches, and his breath shudders as he tries to hold back, but the sight of you, completely undone and begging drives him absolutely wild. With a low deep groan, his hands grip your hips as he rapidly chases his own release.

“God—fuck—anything for you… just for you, baby,” he rasps as the tension coils tight in his gut. “Shit—I’m gonna fill you up… fuck, take it all.”

His cock twitches violently as he buries himself deep with one final, brutal thrust. Your name falls from his lips in breathless broken murmurs as he erupts inside you—warm sticky cum filling you to the brim and painting your walls white.

“Haaa—yess… good girl… good fucking girl,” his hips stutter erratically and his head falls forward, eyes squeezed shut.

You feel his grip on your hip loosen as he finally comes to a stop, and for a moment, neither of you move, and neither of you speak—just the sound of your heavy breathing as his chest rises and falls heavily against your back.

His fingers begin to gently brush against your waist, tracing slow soothing patterns—a touch so tender compared to that relentless grip he held on you just moments before, and a warm shiver shoots through you as you feel his lips brush against your shoulder in a soft, lingering kiss.

“I fucking love you, y’know that?” he murmurs affectionately.

A warmth blooms deep in your chest, spreading outward from his words.

“I love you too,” there is both exhaustion and endearment in your voice as you turn your head slightly to meet his gaze, wearing a grin.

His still heavy-lidded eyes lock onto yours and a lazy, adoring smile spreads across his lips.

“Y’know…” he leans down to press a kiss to the curve of your neck, “I dunno what I did to deserve you but…” he nuzzles into your neck and his arms wrap around you, “I’m never letting you go.”

You lean into his touch and hum pensively, “Good. Cause you’re stuck with me.”

He chuckles softly, holding you close and basking in the moment. Then, he grunts as he lifts himself up—wincing slightly as he finally pulls his spent cock from you. The sensation makes you both involuntarily shudder.

You sigh, leaning forward on the vanity, and with a surprising tenderness, he leans down and uses his handkerchief to begin cleaning you up carefully—wiping away the evidence of your shared pleasure.

But as his fingers brush delicately against your still oversensitive sex, a small whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it. He smirks at the sound and his eyes glint with amusement, clearly pleased by your reaction.

“Sensitive, huh?” he teases, though his touch remains gentle.

Rolling your eyes, you try to hide the smile tugging at your lips by burying your face into your arms—resting against the vanity.

“Well, what’d you expect?” you huff with mock exasperation—breath unsteady as he finishes cleaning you. “After the way you were teasing me all night?”

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest as his fingers linger a moment too long on your inner thighs, grazing dangerously close to where you’re still tender.

“Couldn’t help it,” he murmurs, his voice dropping a register. "You make it impossible to keep my hands off you…"

You suck in a sharp breath and glance back, giving him a playful but pointed look.

"Careful," you warn. "Or we’ll never make it back."

That devilishly charming grin curls upon his lips as his hands slide up and down your legs. “Mmm… well maybe I don’t want to make it back.”

Your breath hitches as his fingertips graze your skin one last time—then, he reaches down for your panties, and you watch through the mirror how he pockets them before finally smoothing down your bunched-up dress.

You glance back and shoot him a look, earning you a wicked grin.

“You’re hopeless…” you mumble, shaking your head as you straighten up, but before you can fully stand, his chest presses against your back, and you feel his strong arms wrap around you, pulling you close.

A soft sigh escapes him as he buries his face in your hair, inhaling your scent deeply.

“It’s not fair... I don’t wanna go back,” he whines. “I just want to hold you… keep you all to myself tonight.”

"We’ll have all night after this," you murmur, turning to kiss his cheek softly. "C’mon… just a little longer and I’m all yours."

He groans, and you try to break the embrace, but suddenly he spins you around and his hands drift to your hips, pulling you even closer against him.

"But I dunno if I can behave for that long…" he whispers, tenderly caressing your cheek. "You say that… but I’m already thinking about sneaking you away again. Can’t help myself."

Stifling a smile, you roll your eyes as you place a hand on his chest, gently pushing him back so you can get a better look at him.

"You're lucky I love you," you say with a mock sigh, reaching up to fix the collar of his shirt and smoothing down the wrinkles in his tux.

He watches you with that same lazy, adoring smile.

"Lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it, princess."

❥

As the gala comes to a close, the party moves to the outside garden, with the warm autumn night wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. The chatter of guests mingles with the soft rustling of the trees, and the leaves have started turning shades of orange and red, but there’s still that lingering hint of summer in the air—a warmth that keeps the chill at bay.

There is a sense of awe in the way that the string lights twinkle above the garden, casting a soft glow over the crowd—and you stand beside Satoru amongst the masses, the warmth of his hand in yours.

But… for some reason there’s a certain energy radiating from him—something… different. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet during this last hour—a muted tension, almost like he’s… distracted?

“Satoru,” you ask softly, giving his hand a little squeeze. “You okay?”

He blinks, pulled out of whatever thoughts were clouding his mind, and turns to you with a soft smile.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” leaning in, his lips peck your temple, “just thinkin’.”

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity bubbling up inside you.

Thinking about what?

But before the words can leave your lips, the auctioneer from earlier approaches you, a bright smile on his face.

“Ah, Miss y/n, there you are,” he begins. “I hope you’ve been enjoying the event this year. I just wanted to personally congratulate you on your win tonight. Here is your necklace—it truly is one-of-a-kind.”

He holds out a sleek black box, and your eyes light up as you take it from him.

“Oh, thank you! I’ve been looking forward to this.”

You accept the box eagerly, your fingers moving quickly to open it, and the moment the necklace comes into view, your eyes widen. The jewels glimmer under the soft glow of the garden lights—with the intricately delicate curves and sparkling stones exuding an elegance that immediately captivates you.

“It’s even more stunning in person,” you breathe out, running your fingers over the smooth, polished metal.

Satoru peers down at the necklace in your hand, his lips curling into a subtle smirk.

“Mmm… well you fought well for it,” he teases lightly.

The auctioneer chuckles, nodding in agreement. “It was quite the bidding war. Congratulations once again, Miss y/n.” With a courteous nod, he steps back into the crowd, leaving you and Satoru alone under the twinkling garden lights.

As you turn to face Satoru, a victorious grin tugs at the corner of your lips. Holding the necklace up, you boast proudly.

“Told ya Mei-Mei didn’t stand a chance”

You’re relieved how the comment seems to make your typical Satoru return—his lips curl into a deep smirk and amusement dances in his bright eyes.

“Oh?” he raises an eyebrow, “You certainly went to war for this, huh?”

“Absolutely,” you playfully huff, lifting your chin proudly. “But, let’s be honest—you did an amazing job designing it. So of course, there was no way I was letting it go. It was all mine from the start.”

He hums softly, and just as quickly as it appeared, his cocky edge easily fades into something more tender. His gaze lingers on you, making your heart skip a beat.

“Yeah well… what can I say?” he tilts his head, “I know my girl’s taste.”

My girl.

You can’t help the gentle smile that breaks across your face, your heart swelling

“You do,” you whisper softly. “I love it.”

For a moment, the world fades away as you hold his gaze—a tenderness swirling in the familiar blue depths of his eyes. Then, he takes a small step closer.

“Here,” he murmurs, taking the necklace from your hand, “let me help you put it on.”

You nod as he moves behind you, and you hold your breath as his fingers delicately brush your skin—gathering your hair to one side. A soft shiver shoots down your spine from his touch, and he lingers while fastening the clasp around the nape of your neck. The cool metal of the necklace settles against you, but it’s the warmth of his hands that hold your attention.

After fastening the clasp with a quiet focus, his breath fans lightly over your ear as he leans in.

“There. It’s perfect.”

You raise your hand, lightly touching the pendant now resting against your collarbone, and turn to face him. His eyes aren’t on the necklace though—they’re entirely on you.

He takes a moment, letting his gaze travel over your face before meeting your own.

“You’re absolutely stunning,” he says softly, “I think it looks even better on you than I imagined.”

Your heart flutters wildly and his fingers tuck a stray lock of your hair gently behind your ear. Leaning in slightly, you melt as he pulls you in for a tender kiss. The warmth of his lips moves slowly, languidly against yours, and your hand comes up to rest against his chest—feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

Just as your lips part, your eyes flicker up to meet his. There is an intensity in his gaze that catches you off guard, making your breath hitch.

Why? Why does it feel like there is something simmering beneath the surface with him tonight?

But before you can sit on that thought any more, the speakers crackle to life, breaking the quiet intimacy and drawing your attention back to the event.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for your incredible generosity tonight!” the announcers voice echoes through the garden. “I’m thrilled to announce that this year’s charity gala has raised an astounding amount—thanks to your support, we’ve reached over two million dollars to benefit our causes!”

Applause erupts from the crowd below, and you turn your head, listening, but your eyes flicker back to Satoru, whose demeanor shifts ever so slightly as he listens. His jaw tightens, and his gaze turns distant for a moment. It's like he’s suddenly lost in thought.

What is up with him tonight?

“And now,” the announcer continues, “to wrap up this wonderful evening, we invite you to stay and enjoy the grand firework show, which will begin in just five minutes. Thank you again for attending, and have a magical night!”

The speakers cut off with a soft crackle, and the garden fills with clapping and cheers. Yet, as you glance at Satoru, he remains in his own world. Just as you’re about to open your mouth, Suguru suddenly swings into view, his arm draping casually over Satoru’s shoulder—oblivious to the lingering tension.

“There you are!” he chimes in with a grin. Satoru clears his throat, and they exchange a quick knowing glance between each other and your brow furrows as a subtle tension begins to crackle between them.

“Mind if I steal Satoru for a quick minute?” he turns, grinning to you—but there’s an undercurrent of something more serious beneath his demeanor.

Okay… is there something going on? Whatever it is, it feels like you’re being left out of the loop.

“Uh, yeah… sure,” you watch them step a few paces away, murmuring quietly to one another—catching glimpses of their expressions. Satoru looks unconventionally nervous as Suguru’s lips move quickly. Unusual…whatever they’re discussing, it’s clearly important to have Satoru on edge.

You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow as you watch the two of them.

What on earth are they plotting now?

After a few moments, they return. Satoru’s still got that charged energy, but there’s a determination in his eyes. Suguru, on the other hand, is grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“What’s going on?” you ask, eyeing them suspiciously.

“Oh, y’know, charity event stuff. Nothing too serious.” Suguru shrugs.

Riiiight… he’s clearly not going to give you any more information.

You narrow your eyes at him but before you can press further, Satoru reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. Suguru, catching the subtle tension, clears his throat and flashes you both a wide grin.

"Well, see you guys around," he says casually, waving flippantly. "I’m gonna grab one last drink before the fireworks start."

As he turns on his heel and walks away, Satoru’s hand gently tugs at yours, pulling you in the opposite direction—away from the crowd, away from the noise.

"C’mon," he murmurs, voice soft, almost hesitant.

You follow him, his hand gently guiding you towards a quiet stairwell that leads up to the venue’s balcony. But just as you approach the stairs, an event organizer steps into your path, clipboard in hand. She looks frazzled, her brow furrowed with stress.

"Oh! Mr. Gojo," she says, breathless, walking right up to the two of you. "Sorry to interrupt, but we’re finalizing some last-minute details regarding the auction earlier, and we really need—"

Before she can finish, Shoko appears seemingly out of nowhere, sliding up beside the woman with a smooth grin.

“Ah, don’t worry about them,” Shoko interrupts flawlessly, throwing an arm around the woman’s shoulders. “I’ve got it handled.”

The event organizer blinks, clearly taken aback, but Shoko doesn’t give her a moment to protest. Instead, she steers the woman gently back toward the crowd, already launching into some topic you can’t hear.

As they walk away, Shoko glances back at Satoru, giving him a subtle nod and mouthing “go” before disappearing into the crowd.

You raise an eyebrow, but before you can process the exchange, Satoru’s lips twitch into a smile as he tugs on your hand, already leading you up the stairs.

“What was that about?” you ask, glancing back down at Shoko’s retreating figure.

“Oh y’know… Shoko being Shoko,” he chuckles with a shrug, but there’s a nervousness to his laugh—something you’ve never heard from him before.

You narrow your eyes playfully, about to ask more, but the view from the top of the balcony cuts off your train of thought—leaving you breathless.

It’s draped in soft, glowing lights, casting a warm amber hue over the garden stretching out below. Elegant vines with autumn-colored leaves weave through the steel railings, and a gentle breeze carries with it the scent of the distant garden flowers—chrysanthemums, marigolds, and asters—a lingering warmth of late summer giving way to autumn.

The night sky sprawls out before you like an infinite canvas—stars twinkling faintly—but it's the stillness and beauty of this shared moment that makes your heart flutter. Then, the first firework shoots up into the air with a soft whistle.

It arcs gracefully against the night sky before erupting into a dazzling cascade of golden sparks, raining down like glittering stardust. You marvel how the garden below transforms into a dreamscape of warm, glowing embers. Then, another follows, this time a burst of deep red. The colors ripple and shimmer, fading into soft blues and purples, mixing like watercolors against the canvas of the night sky.

But as you stand there, entranced by the beauty of the fireworks, you slowly begin to realize that Satoru isn’t watching the sky at all.

He’s watching you.

You shift, turning your attention to him now, and suddenly, you feel strangely nervous at the way he’s looking at you. Your breath hitches as he steps closer, taking your hand into his own. He lifts it to his lips and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“Why aren’t you watching the fireworks?” you murmur.

The sound of the next firework shoots into the sky, cutting the quiet between you and painting the night in a burst of blue. He lowers your hand from his lips and his thumb brushes over your knuckles in a slow, deliberate motion—as if memorizing the feel of you.

“Because they’re not what I want to see tonight.”

The weight of his words makes your heart swell, and the softness in his voice sends a shiver through you—but before you can respond, he reaches into his pocket, and your eyes widen as he pulls out a small velvet box.

Just as he drops to one knee, another firework explodes in the sky behind him, casting a colorful hue of violet and silver over his features.

“y/n…” he smiles steadily, eyes fixed only on you. “I know I mess around a lot, and I don’t always take things as seriously as I should, but this… this is the one thing I’ve never been more sure about in my life.”

Your breath catches as he opens the small velvet box—revealing a ring inside that is nothing short of breathtaking. The centerpiece is a brilliant-cut diamond—flawless, sparkling, and catching the light from the fireworks above—shimmering in a thousand dazzling directions. The diamond is set within a delicate band of platinum, but what makes it truly special is the intricate design surrounding it.

The band curves into an elegant, infinity loop—symbolizing the eternal bond you share. Small diamonds are delicately embedded along the loop, creating a river of light and wrapping around your finger like a never-ending promise. But the Gojo family’s infinity design isn’t just in the band—it’s in the very shape of the setting, which cradles the diamond in a way that feels both secure and limitless, a perfect balance between strength and grace.

It’s more than a ring—it’s a reflection of your love, infinite and unbreakable, meant to last forever.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I’ve loved you from the moment we met, and every day since has been better than the last because you’re by my side. I can’t imagine my life without you, and I don’t want to.”

Your chest tightens and tears begin to well up in your eyes, blurring your vision. As his words sink into your heart, time seems to slow.

“So…” he takes a deep breath, his smile widening, “will you marry me?”

Another firework explodes overhead, filling the sky with shimmering gold and blue, but you barely hear it.

The only thing that matters in this moment is him.

Your tears spill over as you choke out the words, nodding quickly.

“Yes… yes, of course.”

And in that moment, the joy that spreads across his face is radiant—a pure, unfiltered happiness that lights up his entire expression. His hands, normally so steady, tremble ever so slightly as he slips the ring onto your finger.

With the ring in place, Satoru stands, and before you can say a word, he pulls you into his arms—lifting you off your feet and spinning you around in celebration. The sky explodes with bright colors as your shared laughter sings alongside the symphony of lights.

Your face buries into his shoulder as you laugh through the happy tears spilling down your cheeks—overwhelmed by the sheer joy of it all as you cling to him—as if nothing else in the world matters.

“I love you,” you whisper, muffled by his shoulder.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, and his eyes shimmer with emotion. Then, his smile softens, and a thumb comes up to gently brush away a tear still clinging to your cheek.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, “for infinity.”

The words wrap around you like a promise, as real as the ring now on your finger. His lips find yours, and the rest of the world fades away. The fireworks are coming to an end, and while the final bursts fill the sky behind you, painting the horizon in brilliant shades of color—it’s the warmth of Satoru’s arms, his love, and the promise of forever, that truly lights up your world—like none other.

a/n. i feel like i went through all the emotions writing this fic lol! i was in a very smutty mood, but also in a very fluffy mood 🥰 anyways, this was super fun to create—it's not entirely halloween-esque but i guess it kind of is at the same time? 😛 i do wanna thank my amazing friend @strychnynegirl for sparking all the inspiration and helping me with this 💕 she's amazing and this fic wouldn't exist without her. thanks so much for reading ya'll ✨

tags: @fushitoru @lovebittenbyevans @genshingeeksworld @myahfig4

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