#you know how it is. you cut yourself without looking and then your body is like 'well we dont need to feel that' and you dont notice it

[prettylilyanime]

Our Blessing ♡ Prologue

♡ Pairing: Toji Zenin x reader

♡ Synopsis: in which your ex boyfriend left you with your biggest blessing in life, or- a bundle of a blessing. And he doesn’t even know it.

♡ tags/warnings: 18+, (explicit content in later chapters) angst, and drama, exes to lovers, hidden baby trope, Toji is an asshole (but we love him), Reader just wants to raise Megumi in peace, CEO Toji, possessive Toji, emotionally constipated Toji, Tension, misunderstandings, Flashbacks to past relationship, Heavy themes of abandonment, trust issues, and redemption, baby Megumi is a cutie, Megumi is a mama’s boy, reader works at a flower shop, Hidden Baby Trope

♡ Masterlist ♡ Next

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"Shit!"

The curse slips out before you can stop it as you stumble against the narrow, overstuffed hallway leading to the backroom of your little shop.

The bulky cardboard box in your arms wobbles precariously, the scent of freshly delivered daffodils wafting up as you struggle to keep your balance. For a moment, you fear disaster—flowers crushed, stems snapped, your pride bruised—but you manage to steady yourself just in time.

"Mama, that’s a bad word."

The reprimand is calm, almost casual, but the unimpressed side-eye that follows is devastating.

Seated by the shop’s wide front window, Megumi barely spares you a glance, his small frame bathed in the golden morning light. The sun catches in his dark lashes, making his ever-serious little face all the more heartbreakingly adorable.

You groan, already rubbing a hand down your face. "Damn—Yes, Megumi, I’m sorry." You cut yourself off before another curse can slip out, exhaling as you set the box down with a dull thud. Any more near-disasters like that, and you might actually break a hip.

Some mornings, you wake up feeling twice your age, your body aching from years of hauling flower crates, bending over counters, and chasing after an endlessly curious toddler. The weariness settles into your bones, a quiet reminder of just how much you juggle between running a business and raising a child on your own.

But then you glance at Megumi.

He sits by the shop window, his small fingers tracing absentminded patterns against the glass, bathed in the golden morning light. The soft glow highlights the curve of his cheeks, the thoughtful furrow of his brows as he watches the world outside. Your exhaustion melts just a little. You’d do it all over again—every sleepless night, every aching muscle—without hesitation.

Outside, the city hums with life. A gentle breeze rustles through the trees lining the sidewalk, carrying the scent of fresh flowers and warm pavement.

People stroll past, their neutral expressions softening into fond smiles when they catch sight of Megumi. A few wave through the window, but true to his nature, he merely blinks at them—stoic as ever—before returning to his quiet observations.

"Say, Megumi, what do you want for lunch today, hm?"

He pauses, tilting his head slightly in thought. His emerald-green eyes flick up to meet yours, considering, before he declares with certainty: "Dino nuggets."

You blink. "Dino nuggets? Again? But we just had them yesterday."

"Yeah," he says simply, as if that should be enough to end the discussion.

"Megumi, we can’t eat chicken nuggets every day. That’s not a balanced diet."

He frowns, tiny arms crossing. "I balanced it with fries."

You press your lips together, fighting back a snort. "That’s not how it works, honey. If you eat too many, a stomach bug might get you before bedtime."

He huffs, brows knitting together in frustration. "But dino nuggets make me feel good. And stomach bugs aren’t real."

That does it—you actually snort this time, biting down a laugh. Megumi’s sharp little side-eye nearly makes you lose it again.

"Okay, okay. How about this? We get pizza next door instead." You know it’s not the healthiest swap, but hey, at least it’s better than microwaved dino nuggets… right?

Megumi doesn’t look convinced at first, his small fingers still resting on the window as if debating whether or not this betrayal is worth arguing over. Then, his gaze flickers to you, studying your expression.

"Hmm." He makes a show of thinking before relenting with a dramatic sigh. "Okay… but I want ice cream too."

You shake your head with a chuckle. 

With Megumi’s small hand tucked in yours, you push open the door to your store, the little bell above jingling softly as you step outside.

The late morning air greets you with a mix of warm sunshine and the faint scent of blooming flowers from your storefront display. The city hums around you—distant chatter, the occasional honk of a car horn, the rhythmic click of hurried footsteps on pavement.

Megumi stays close to your side as you walk the short distance next door, his tiny fingers gripping yours like second nature.

The pizzeria is a familiar comfort—Tano’s Pizza, a cozy little hole-in-the-wall with a chalkboard menu propped just outside.

The scent of fresh dough, bubbling cheese, and roasted garlic drifts through the slightly propped-open door, instantly making Megumi's stomach grumble.

You push inside, stepping onto worn wooden floors that creak softly underfoot. The walls are lined with framed newspaper clippings and faded photographs—snapshots of the restaurant through the decades.

At the front, a glass display case showcases bubbling slices fresh from the oven, the cheese still glistening under the heat lamps. Behind the counter stands a young employee, dressed in a slightly oversized apron and adjusting his cap as he notices the two of you walk in.

"Ah, it’s Megumi-kun!" the worker says, his voice light with familiarity. "Back again, huh? You’ve got good taste."

Megumi, naturally, doesn’t respond. He merely stares up at the man, then tilts his head ever so slightly.

The employee chuckles, undeterred. "Still not much of a talker, huh? No worries—let’s see if today’s pizza can win a word out of you."

You smile, ruffling Megumi’s hair. "He’s getting there. Slowly. Anyway, we’ll take two slices—one cheese, one pepperoni."

"And ice cream," Megumi adds, very seriously.

You sigh, shaking your head. "We’ll talk about that later."

The employee grins, already sliding two hot slices onto plates. You guide Megumi toward a corner booth by the window, the worn red leather seats creaking as you both settle in.

He swings his little legs beneath the table, fingers drumming idly against the surface as he watches the worker prepare the slices.

"Mama," he says after a moment, his voice quieter now, thoughtful.

"Hm?" You glance at him, mid-reach for a napkin.

"Pizza is better than dino nuggets."

You pause, blinking. Then, you huff a quiet laugh. "Oh? So all that fuss before was for nothing?"

Some days are exhausting. Some days, you wonder how you manage it all—balancing work, life, and motherhood like you’re walking a tightrope with no safety net.

But moments like this?

They make it all worth it.

The daytime sun streams through the wide windows, casting a soft glow over the checkered tile floor.

You take a sip of your drink, letting yourself relax, just for a moment.

Then the doorbell jingles.

It’s an unremarkable sound, the same chime that’s rung a dozen times since you sat down, but this time, when you naturally glance up, the air in your lungs turns to stone.

Two tall figures stroll in like they own the place. Crisp suits, easy smiles, and voices that haven’t changed a bit.

“God, Suguru, I’m starving,” the white-haired one groans, a hand resting lazily on his stomach as they walk toward the counter.

Satoru and Suguru.

Two ghosts from your past, standing just a few feet away, like time hadn’t torn a canyon between you.

It’s been five years. Five years since they dropped you as easily as an old habit. Five years since they picked a side that was never yours to begin with.

They were always Toji’s friends first, you knew that, but still—being discarded so effortlessly after your breakup stung in a way you’d never admit out loud.

Megumi notices the shift immediately.

“Mama? What’s wrong?” His voice is quiet, but his brows pinch, his little body instinctively leaning against yours. Then, as if sensing something deeper, he scoots closer, resting his head against your side. His small hand clutches your shirt.

You want to curse the gods for making Megumi such an incredibly perceptive child, but at the same time, you want to thank them for giving you the sweetest boy imaginable.

No, really—you could start crying at the way his tiny fingers grip your shirt, like he already knows you need the comfort more than he does.

You clear your throat, ducking your head as if looking away will make them disappear. “Nothing, honey,” you murmur, smoothing a hand over his hair. “Just thought I recognized someone.”

A white lie. A harmless one. But your pulse won’t settle, and your fingers curl against the tabletop.

Because you don’t just recognize them. You know them.

You remember the unanswered calls, the ignored texts—the way they never once gave you a way to reach Toji when you needed him most. They didn’t know you were pregnant, sure. But even now, after all these years, the resentment bubbles up like something toxic in your chest.

And worst of all? If they see Megumi, they’ll know.

It wouldn’t take a genius to put the pieces together.

The kid is practically a carbon copy of his father—God, if you hadn’t been in the delivery room, you might’ve thought Toji had just spawned him into existence himself.

Your anxiety spikes as your mind races ahead, spiraling through every worst-case scenario.

Those striking emerald eyes you love so much? They’re just a smaller, rounder version of the ones you used to get lost in years ago.

And their smiles—though rare—mirror each other’s perfectly, down to the sharp curve of their lips.Maybe, just maybe, Megumi inherited your nose.

It’s a weak thought, flimsy and desperate. Because deep down, you know that in a few years, as he grows, his resemblance to Toji will only become more undeniable.

You swallow hard and exhale through your nose, forcing yourself to stay calm.

You just have to get through this meal. Get Megumi home. And pray that today isn’t the day the past comes knocking.

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To be continued, after the completion of Blooming Hearts !

[angelsfat3]

ⓘㅤ 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 ⠀⠀( 从我脑子里滚出去！)

𝓢ummary “ ✉. No matter how much you brag about moving on, it all ends up in his bed.

⠀،،⠀Genre. ’ Exes with benefits (secretly lovers), drama, au, mlm, suggestive.

( 𝒄/𝒘. )───Curses, Soobin being a tease, blackmail, nothing more.

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The first sign that something was wrong was the cold.

Not an unbearable cold, but that creeping sensation on your skin when something feels out of place. You shifted slightly, feeling the sheets slide over your body… too soft for your liking. That’s when the discomfort settled in your chest.

You opened your eyes sluggishly, blinking a few times before the room became familiar.

Fuck. Not again.

Your body tensed instantly. The space, the bed, the faint scent of expensive cologne mixed with fabric softener—everything confirmed what your brain was trying to deny. You were naked.

You bolted upright, yanking the sheets to cover yourself, and at that precise moment, you heard his voice.

“You woke up earlier today. Good morning, prince.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

Slowly, you turned your head, as if that could delay the inevitable. And there he was. Sitting in front of his computer, fingers moving with practiced precision over the keyboard, his eyes fixed on the screen, fully engrossed in his League of Legends match—as if you weren’t there, naked in his bed.

“Shut up,” you muttered through clenched teeth, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks.

Soobin didn’t bother looking at you, but a smug smile crept onto his face before he answered in that relaxed, condescending tone.

“What? Still not used to this?” he teased, leaning back slightly in his chair without pausing his game. “We’ve been doing this for… what? Almost 6 months now?”

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

Of course, you weren’t used to it. Because this wasn’t supposed to keep happening. Because you were supposed to hate him.

And yet, there you were, naked in his bed again.

And worst of all? As if it wouldn’t happen again soon.

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The class started like any other. The murmurs of your classmates faded the moment the professor began speaking, and you found yourself glued to your notes, trying to keep up with the lesson, but your mind kept betraying you.

The sound of his voice faded as your eyes nervously moved over your notes, seeking refuge in them, but your thoughts kept returning to one thing.

That damn bed. The way Soobin had looked at you the night before, his eyes shining in the dim light, his soft but determined voice whispering things that cut through to your bones.

Those damn memories kept coming back, and no matter how much you tried to ignore them, you couldn’t. The echo of the previous night replayed over and over in your head, like a movie you couldn’t stop.

“You know what you do to me, right?” The words still echoed in your mind as if you were hearing them in that very moment, his warm breath against your neck as his hands traced your skin, as if you were his in some way that made you want to hate him even more.

“You can’t resist. Neither can I... just look at you, I could fuck you on my desk or your favorite spot, my couch.”

The memory of his lips brushing yours, the moment when, despite everything you hated about him, you couldn’t help but respond. The faint taste of his mouth, that feeling of belonging in his world even though you swore you never would. You flushed just thinking about it, the heat rising to your cheeks.

Shit.

“Come on, [...]” his words rang in your mind as you saw him lean over you, his lips crashing onto yours with that irritating need.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it...”

His hands touched your skin, the same skin that now burned under the fabric of the shirt you hastily put on that morning.

You gripped the pen tightly as you tried to focus on something, anything, to shut out those thoughts. But Soobin wouldn’t let you. You wouldn’t let yourself.

“Are you nervous, my angel?” His voice had been soft, almost mocking, when, amidst everything, he pushed you onto the bed with that challenging look. There was something about his presence that drove you crazy.

Just remembering it... Shit. He was already tightening his pants.

“Fuck!” you thought, biting the inside of your cheek. It couldn’t be that, despite everything you did, you had let him touch you, let him kiss you, as if that was so easy for him.

You stole a quick glance in his direction. He was focused on the professor, completely ignoring you, as always, taking notes with that annoying perfection that made you furious. But that wasn’t what kept you tense.

It was the memory of the way he looked at you last night, how his eyes had glinted as he said:

“You say you hate me, but only I can have you like this.”

Your face burned, your cheeks and ears radiating heat. For a moment, you felt like everyone in the room could notice, that they could see what Soobin had made you feel.

What the hell was wrong with you? Why did you keep falling for his game?

But then.

“[...]” the professor called your name, pulling you out of your tangle of thoughts and snapping you back to reality with a mocking smile.

For a moment, you felt worse than dead, suddenly sweating cold. You were never a fan of being the center of attention, ironically, in class. But when everyone’s eyes turned to you, you felt the heat flood your face again, that damn embarrassment.

“What do you think of the narrative style of this author?” the professor asked, glancing at his watch impatiently.

You had gotten so lost in the memories of the previous night that you didn’t even know what he was talking about. As always, pretending didn’t even help anymore.

You shrugged with fake indifference, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

“Well, I don’t know... I guess it’s fine.” you murmured, trying to hide the discomfort you felt in every inch of your body.

The professor raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting more, but when it became obvious you weren’t going to say anything, he just clicked his tongue and moved on with the lesson.

A quiet sigh of relief escaped your lips as you slumped into your seat, avoiding the curious glances from a few classmates. But there was one in particular that you could feel more than all the others.

Soobin.

You didn’t need to turn around to know he was watching you. You could feel it—that damn weight of his gaze pressing into you, as if he were enjoying your obvious distraction.

Slowly, you shifted your gaze toward where he sat a few rows ahead, entirely focused on his notes, his pen gliding smoothly across the page with that usual calm expression—like nothing in the world could shake him.

Like he wasn’t thinking about what he did to you last night.

But then, just when you thought maybe it was all in your head, you saw it.

He smiled.

Not the polite smile he used with professors or his teammates. It was a smirk, barely noticeable, but it was there. Like he knew exactly what was on your mind. Like he knew you were watching him.

Your body tensed.

“Aren’t you going to look at me through the mirror?”

The memory of his voice hit you again, a persistent echo you couldn’t shake.

“Did I tell you I’m a fan of how tight you get? No matter how many times…”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to shake those images from your head. His mouth tracing over your skin, his fingers pressing exactly where they knew you’d tremble. His low laugh when he watched you lose control.

“Say it. Say you need me.”

“Ugh…” you murmured, rubbing your face with both hands.

“Something to share with the class, [...]? You seem more distracted than usual,” the professor asked in a bored tone, prompting a few chuckles from the class.

“Uh…” Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

Soobin shifted in his seat, and for a moment, you thought he was going to ignore it. But instead, he raised his hand.

“Professor, I think [...] would much rather discuss… a different kind of narrative,” he said, not even looking at you, his voice laced with amusement.

The muffled laughter from your classmates made you want to disappear.

Soobin. Fucking Soobin.

If it weren’t for the fact that you knew you’d end up in his bed again, you would’ve sworn you were going to kill him.

Classes went on as usual, but you could barely focus. The way Soobin had made that comment without even looking at you was eating you alive. You knew he’d done it on purpose, just to watch you burn with embarrassment in front of everyone.

And the worst part? It had worked. You’d spent half the class making up a story on the spot.

The moment the bell rang, signaling the end of class, you grabbed your things in a hurry, trying to leave before anyone could stop you. But of course, luck was never on your side.

"Run faster next time, bunny."

Soobin’s voice came from right behind you, relaxed and teasing, that infuriatingly smug tone making you want to turn around and punch him in the face… or do something worse.

You spun on your heels, slamming your locker shut.

“Does ruining my life amuse you?”

Soobin shrugged with a grin.

“Not my fault you can’t stop thinking about me.”

Your jaw clenched. Of course he knew. Of course he’d noticed. Because no matter what, Soobin always found a way to get under your skin.

“Screw you, asshole,” you muttered, turning to leave.

“Oh yeah? You didn’t say that last night.”

Your step faltered for just a second, but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing you react. You kept walking, feeling his gaze burn into your back until you turned the corner.

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During lunch, you sat with your friends, trying to distract yourself with any conversation that wasn’t about him. And for a moment, it almost worked.

Until he walked into the cafeteria.

You didn’t need to look to know he was there. It was automatic at this point.

As always, his uniform shirt was perfectly in place, the sleeves rolled up just enough to his elbows, his hair slightly tousled in a way that seemed effortless—but you knew better. Soobin never did anything without intent.

And, of course, the first thing he did was look at you.

A brief exchange of glances. A split second where your breath caught in your throat, until he smiled—that infuriatingly smug expression that drove you insane.

You forced yourself to look away, focusing on the food on your tray as if you actually cared about it. But you knew he was still there.

Talking with his friends. Laughing with that voice that, damn it, was already imprinted in your head. And worse? Ignoring you. Or at least, that’s what you thought.

Because that’s what he did. He got in your head, played with you, then acted like you were nothing.

Your fork stabbed into your food harder than necessary.

“You good?” one of your friends asked, noticing your attitude.

You forced a smile.

“Yeah, totally. Just… really hungry. I could eat a whole cow.”

A fake smile settled on your lips as you took a big bite of your chicken salad. Conversation flowed as usual within your group—some joking around, others gossiping.

“…So, what’s up with Soobin?” one of your friends asked out of nowhere, just as you were about to take another bite.

You nearly choked.

“What’s up? Nothing. That idiot is still the same egotistical asshole as always,” you replied with obvious indifference, poking at your food without interest.

“Still at war, or have you signed a peace treaty, Donald Duck?” another one joked, earning a few laughs from the table.

You scoffed.

“Peace? Please. You can’t reason with Soobin. He always has to prove he’s better. At everything. Literally.”

Your friends nodded in agreement, giving you the perfect motivation to continue.

“He always has to be the smartest, the tallest, the best at everything. But if we talk about how he was as a boyfriend… that ‘perfect guy’ reputation of his kinda falls apart.”

“Damn, that bad?” one of them asked, laughing.

“You guys have no idea,” you sighed dramatically, propping your elbow on the table. “Soobin loved bragging about all kinds of shit, but there was one thing that always killed the mood whenever he and I…”

You stopped yourself mid-sentence, realizing all eyes were now locked on you with curiosity.

“When you what?” one of them asked with a teasing grin.

“Nothing, nothing,” you rushed to say, stuffing food into your mouth to make it seem like you hadn’t almost revealed way more than necessary.

But your friends were already too invested.

“Oh, come on, you started it. How was he in… ‘everything’?” one of them teased, wiggling their eyebrows.

“Probably talking about how he wasn’t exactly 12 inch—” another left the sentence hanging, smirking mischievously.

“Hey!” you protested, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “Enough already. I don’t care to talk about Soobin like that. All I’m saying is that he was annoying, arrogant, and a total fucking asshole.”

“Oh, but you were all over him. Almost got his initial tattooed, even.”

You did. Lower back, to the left.

“Youthful mistake,” you said quickly, raising your hands in mock surrender.

“So you don’t miss him? Not even a little…?” one of them sang, though something about their tone felt off. They kept glancing over your shoulder.

“Please, I’d rather miss the shit I took this morning than him.”

You really should’ve shut up when you had the chance. Poor dumbass.

“I’m flattered.”

The voice behind you made time freeze for a second. It was like your entire body tensed at once.

Slowly, you turned, already feeling panic rising in your chest, only to find Soobin standing right next to the table, arms crossed, one brow raised.

His expression was neutral, but his eyes—his goddamn eyes—held that glint of amusement that told you he’d heard enough.

“Soobin…” you said, forcing a smile. “How… how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.” His voice was calm.

Your friends exchanged looks—some entertained, others waiting for the inevitable drama.

Soobin tilted his head, scanning you with that infuriating gaze that always seemed to see more than you wanted to show. Up and down, completely shameless.

“So, I was a shitty boyfriend, huh?” he murmured, lips curling into that smirk that made your blood boil. “That’s… interesting… ’cause last night, you didn’t seem so regretful about scratching up my back for hours.”

Silence. Absolute silence.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

Soobin leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just for you.

“You should be more careful with what you say, [...]. Wouldn’t want certain pictures of us getting out,” he paused, chuckling under his breath, “—moaning my name like the desperate little bitch you are.”

And just like that, he straightened up with irritating ease, as if he hadn’t just sent your heart into overdrive and your cheeks into flames, before walking off with that same infuriating grace.

Your friends erupted into chaos—questions, shouts, disbelief.

And you? Well.

You wanted to fucking die.

You didn’t think. You just reacted.

Jumping to your feet, you ignored your friends’ stares and bolted after Soobin. You spotted him walking casually down the hallway, that damn relaxed posture of his making it seem like he hadn’t just ruined your entire existence.

“Soobin!” you shouted, picking up your pace.

He didn’t even flinch, just kept strolling toward his locker.

“Soobin, for fuck’s sake, I’m talking to you!”

When you caught up to him, you grabbed his arm forcefully, yanking him to a stop.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you snapped, chest rising and falling from the rush. “How the hell could you say that in front of everyone?”

Soobin let out a low grunt, rolling his eyes like he couldn’t be more annoyed.

“Are we really doing this here?” he muttered, not even looking at you.

“Yes, right fucking here! Because I need you to explain what the hell was going through your—”

You never finished your sentence.

Because in a move so fast you barely saw it coming, Soobin grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you forward, rough and unyielding.

A startled gasp left your lips as he shoved you into an empty classroom, locking the door behind him with a sharp click.

Your back hit the wall, and Soobin stood right in front of you, eyes burning with something dark, something dangerous.

“Do you have any idea how fucking irritating you are?” he murmured, voice low and almost raspy.

Your heart was pounding.

“I…” You swallowed hard, trying to regain your composure. “T-That still doesn’t justify what you did!”

Soobin let out a dry laugh, placing a hand on the wall beside your head, effectively caging you in.

“Oh, come on,” he whispered, leaning in slightly. “Drop the act. You and I both know that no matter how much shit you talk about me, you’ll always end up on your knees for me.”

Your breath hitched.

“That’s a lie.”

Soobin arched a brow, clearly entertained.

“Oh yeah? Then tell me you don’t think about me all the damn time. Look me in the eyes and say you didn’t beg me last night to fuck you until you—”

Your hand flew up, slapping over his mouth before he could finish, heat flooding your face.

“Shut up,” you hissed through clenched teeth.

He stared at you for a second, then bit down lightly on your palm—just enough to make you pull away with a sharp inhale.

“You’re a fucking idiot. You never change,” you whispered.

Soobin smirked.

“And you still love me like that.”

The air between you turned heavy, thick with tension. His gaze dropped to your lips, and you—stupid, reckless, weak—did the same with his.

No. Not again.

You needed to get the hell out of here before this happened again.

But then, Soobin leaned in even closer…

The air between you grew thick, heavy with something both of you refused to acknowledge—but always ended up surrendering to.

And then, Soobin just snapped.

His lips crashed against yours, rough and unyielding, without warning, without hesitation. A wild, desperate kiss, like he was trying to consume you whole.

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up. Your hands clung to his shirt, and the moment his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, you didn’t think twice before hooking your legs around his hips.

Soobin groaned into your mouth, pressing you against the wall as he deepened the kiss, his tongue claiming you with raw hunger. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard, the burn in your stomach growing unbearable.

You had no idea how long it lasted, but when you finally broke apart, both of you were gasping for air, lips swollen, eyes dark with want.

Soobin rested his forehead against yours, a smug smirk tugging at his lips.

“A quickie right here?” he murmured, still breathless. “Then I’ll take you out to a fancy dinner. My treat, I swear.”

It took your brain a second to register his words. And when it did, your face burned.

“A quickie here? Are you a caveman or what?” you managed to say, though your voice wavered.

Soobin chuckled, amused by your reaction.

“I’m just saying we could save some time.”

Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

You knew you had two choices. Push him away and walk out before things spiraled even further… or give in, like you always did.

And, well, you both knew which one you’d choose.

“Fine,” you muttered, starting to slide off his waist. “But you better not squeeze my ass too hard—I’ll be sore for hours, and we still have class.”

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⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ݁⠀⠀،،⠀⠀메모 ! ㅤ⸻ㅤ I just had to do a story after and while listening to Love Hangover, even if they don't give off the same vibes.

+ All photo credits to: 📍︐⠀

⠀𝒊. ⠀─⠀ All credits to @angelsfat3 / @foschiamara⠀𝄒

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[wandascrush]

The fisherman’s tale

Part 7 of my DIWK series! Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x f!reader, Wanda Maximoff x f!reader, Avengers x f!reader

Warnings: angst, drugging, mistrust, lies, prison, anxiety mentions, despair

A/N: Should I make these chapters longer? Tysm for the love on this series! (Sorry for any typos btw, edited this very late at night)

tag: @casquinhaa @esposadejoyhuerta

Your throat tightens like a noose, squeezing the air from your lungs until breathing feels like something you have to earn. The room shrinks, the walls pressing in, colder and darker than they were just moments ago. You can’t stop staring at Wanda’s hands—trembling, like the journal burned her, like you might burn her. 

And maybe you already have.

   Natasha’s eyes find yours—sharp, searching, unforgiving—and there’s no refuge in them. No mercy. Just betrayal. Real and raw, cutting through the air like shattered glass under bare feet. You want to move, to do something. But your body won’t cooperate. You’re frozen—pinned by their gaze, by the weight of everything that’s gone to shit.

  You try to swallow, but the lump in your throat is immovable, thick with guilt and shame and something dangerously close to fear. Not the kind you’re used to—the kind you can fight through with clenched fists and adrenaline—but the kind that turns your stomach and makes your knees weak. 

Your fingers curl into trembling fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms, like maybe pain will pull you back to reality. But nothing can ground you now. Not when Natasha’s eyes are glistening with tears she refuses to let fall with a quivering chin. Natasha Romanoff doesn’t cry—not in front of you. Not now.

You part your lips, desperate to say something, anything that could hold back the tidal wave you see rising in her chest. But what could you possibly say?

“Please…” Your voice is hoarse, unfamiliar. “It’s not… it’s not what you think. You guys know me. You’re my team-”

The words taste hollow, pathetic. They fall between you like glass, cracking on impact. “Natasha, you know me.”

Stark breaks the silence. Bitterness seeps through his words. “We’re not your team- and you’re not a damn Avenger.” 

You can feel your heartbeat in your throat, pounding against your ribs like it’s trying to break free, trying to outrun this moment. Everything you sacrificed. The danger you were put in. The mental exhaustion you faced. For this? For rejection? For pain? For rage? For Fury to bail on you when you need him most? 

Without a word, the team moved silently out of your room one by one. It’s like they were communicating telepathically. Wanda glanced back at you before walking out, “Gonna bring you some water. Then we’ll figure out what’s next.”

It felt like hours while you sat holed up in your room, hearing mumbling and arguing from the living room. When Wanda came back she had a black hoodie on and red, damp eyes, with a small glass of water in her hand. She sat next to you on your bed, silently handing it to you. 

“Please Wanda you have to let me explain,” when you reached for her hand she flinched, moving back like you were a disease. 

“Just drink, Y/N.” She sniffled.

“Maximoff-,” as you brought the glass to your lips, brown eyes watching you, you saw how she winced at the nickname. 

After taking a few sips you started to feel a little better, until something funny happened. When you looked up at your best friend, she was looking back at you with a pitiful gaze. The world before you started to swirl and suddenly your body felt extremely heavy. In an instant you could no longer keep yourself upright. 

That’s when you realized- Wanda Maximoff had drugged you. She laid your limp form down on the bed, taking the glass and handcuffing your wrists together. You were too weak to protest. 

“Wh…where are you taking,” it took all of your strength to continue speaking, “me?” The last word fell short on your lips. 

Green eyes peered down at you, “Where you belong.” 

The last thing you saw was a black bag going over your head.

   When you awoke, the sterile scent and dim lighting told you all you needed to know. The Raft. Your heart sank- this was the worst outcome, you were sure of it. Drugged, imprisoned, and alone. And where the fuck was Nick Fury? 

  The days blurred together, each one an endless cycle of isolation, cold mush food, and regret. The faces of those you cared for haunted your thoughts, etched into your memory. And the one who put you up to this, who said if it ever got too dangerous he’d pull you out? Yeah, he was nowhere to be found. The Avengers seemed to forget you with a snap of their fingers. The small tv kept in the corner of the  lunch room played newscasts over and over again about your “disappearance” from the Avengers and the “ongoing search” for you. 

The mighty heroes held a press conference, and as always, Tony was the first to go up and speak. His suit was dark navy, signature sunglasses on. 

“It is with great distress that we officially announce the disappearance of Agent Y/N L/N-  Avenger, former highest rank SHIELD operative, special intel spy,  and beloved member of our family. These are never before seen circumstances, and we’d appreciate New Yorkers help with any outstanding  information. The U.S. government is conducting a country wide and international investigation at this moment,” Tony stepped back from the mic, ignoring the buzzing questions from countless reporters.

The Black Widow, dressed in her typical unitard, stepped up to the mic somberly, “Agent, wherever you are- know that we will not rest until you’re found. You’re a hero- the world needs you, the world misses you.” 

You’d been a dedicated shield agent practically since highschool, and recently a dedicated Avenger,  sworn to protect society at the highest level.  No matter the cost. But now, here you were. Living with the dirtiest of fucking criminals while your colleagues played martyr. And your girlfriend called you “Agent.”

The Raft was always cold at night. The kind of cold that seeped into your bones and wrapped itself around your chest, leaving you breathless. You had spent weeks in that cell, staring at the same blank walls, hearing the same distant echoes of guards’ boots and the occasional sound of a far-off door sliding open. Time became meaningless.

 Most nights, you didn’t sleep. How could you? Tonight was no different, except for the faint, rhythmic tapping you suddenly noticed from the far end of the hall. It was quiet at first, like a whisper against the cold metal walls, but it grew louder, more deliberate.

Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap.

You sat up on your cot, the thin blanket slipping from your shoulders. A rat scurried by your cell. “Hello?” you called out tentatively, your voice hoarse from disuse.

No response. Just the tapping. You strained to listen, your eyes narrowing as you tried to discern its source. Then came the smallest hint of a voice—a low murmur, barely above a whisper. It sent a shiver down your spine, not because it was menacing, but because it was deliberate. Purposeful.

“Awake, are we?”

The voice was calm, almost amused. You whipped your head toward the source, squinting through the dim light. A shadow moved in the cell across from yours, just out of reach of the weak, flickering light. All this time you forced it had been empty. You couldn’t see much—just the faint outline of someone seated, elbows resting on their knees.

“Yea, kind of hard to sleep while your tap dancing over there.”

A small chuckle sounded. 

“Who are you?” Your voice was steadier now.

“That’s the wrong question,” the voice replied smoothly, its tone laced with something you couldn’t quite place. “The better question is: do you want out?”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. Weeks of isolation, of pain, of being treated like the enemy—those words hit you like a lightning bolt. “Out?” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

The shadow leaned forward slightly, just enough for you to catch the faint glint of eyes. “You’ve been here long enough to know you don’t belong. And yet… here you are. Doesn’t that burn you up inside?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The silence spoke for you.

“Thought so,” the figure said, leaning back into the shadows. “They’ll be changing shifts soon. When they do, there’ll be a window. Small, but enough.”

“Enough for what?” you demanded, stepping closer to the bars. They were cold around your fingers. 

“For us to leave,” the voice said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Every instinct screamed that this could be a trap, some cruel game designed to test your loyalty—or your desperation. But something about the way this person spoke, their calm certainty, made you hesitate.

“Why would you help me?” you asked finally, your voice low.

A faint chuckle echoed through the hall. “Let’s just say I have a soft spot for people who’ve been screwed over. And you? You’ve been screwed over royally.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling around the cold metal bars. “And why should I trust you?”

“Trust me?” the shadow repeated, amusement lacing their tone. “You shouldn’t. But if you stay here, you’ll rot. Or worse, they’ll come back for you and finish what they started. Your choice.”

Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, and the figure melted further into the darkness of their cell. You backed away from the bars, your pulse pounding as a pair of guards passed by without so much as a glance in your direction.

When the footsteps faded, the voice returned, softer this time. “When the shift changes, be ready. I’ll handle the rest.”

The shift change came like clockwork, and with it, the faint hum of the security systems momentarily rebooting. You sat on the edge of your cot, every muscle in your body tense. The voice hadn’t spoken again, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d imagined it. But then, a faint click echoed through the hall, followed by a low, sharp whistle.

Your cell door slid open with a soft hiss.

You shot to your feet, your heart racing as you stared at the open doorway. Across the hall, the shadow moved again, stepping out of their cell with the same eerie calm. They were taller than you expected, their face obscured by a hood and the dim light.

“C’mon,” the voice said, gesturing for you to follow.

You hesitated for a split second before stepping out, your bare feet hitting the cold metal floor. The figure moved swiftly but silently, their movements precise and deliberate. You followed close behind, your mind spinning as they led you through a maze of corridors, each turn more disorienting than the last.

“Who are you?” you whispered again, your voice barely audible.

“Someone who doesn’t like seeing people thrown away,” they replied cryptically, not breaking stride.

They bypassed security cameras and guards with an ease that made your skin crawl. Whoever this person was, they weren’t just skilled—they were practiced. A professional.

When you reached the final door, the figure stopped, pulling something from their sleeve—a small device that emitted a faint, high-pitched beep. The door clicked open, revealing the night sky beyond. Cold air rushed in, biting against your skin, but it felt like freedom.

“This is where we part ways,” the voice said, stepping aside to let you through.

You turned to face them, your chest heaving as adrenaline coursed through you. “You’re just letting me go?”

The figure nodded. “Your fight isn’t here anymore. Go finish it.”

You hesitated, searching their shadowed face for any clue, any fragment of their identity. But they didn’t move, didn’t speak further, and the darkness seemed to swallow them whole.

“Thank you,” you said finally, your voice strong.

They inclined their head slightly, giving you a gracious nod. 

Just as you were walking into the night, parting ways with the figure, it stopped, turning to you, “Funny, isn’t it? Saving the world, one betrayal at a time. When the Avengers come for you, and trust me they will, don’t let them fool you into thinking you were the only one to fall out of line.”

”You won’t tell me who you are, will you?”

“I’m what you’d call an ally.” 

And with that you two separated, the door hissing shut behind you. When you turned to look back, the figure was gone, leaving only the question that would haunt you for years to come: Who were they?

You swam for miles in choppy water before finding an old fisherman’s boat, climbing aboard and playing the part of a stranded swimmer.  

“Young lady, what are you doing all the way out here? No, no this won’t do, can’t have you dying on my boat,”  The old man shuffled back and forth, getting water and crackers to replenish you.  You collapsed onto the deck, muscles screaming and legs numb. 

  You thanked him with a silent nod, barely able to lift a cracker to your mouth after you quite literally swam for your life. It took three hours to get back to shore, and every now and then the man gave you a curious glance. 

After awhile, he broke the silence, “Has anyone ever told you that you look like- oh what’s her name, that Avenger girl?” his old hands pinched the bridge of his nose, “Oh c’mon now, of course I’m forgetting.” 

Silence. You ate a few more crackers and rubbed salt water out of your tired eyes. 

“Oh! Y/N something, you know who I mean!” the fisherman looked back to you 

“Oh yeah, all the time,” you croaked, taking another swig of water, “it’s uncanny really.” 

By the time you got to shore, relief ran through your veins like a drug. As you prepared to get off, he stopped you, catching your arm, “You take care of yourself, eh? Whatever you’re running from…don’t let it catch you.” 

You froze.

“It won’t.” You gave him a small smile of appreciation before hitting solid ground. 

There were only three goals in mind: Find a phone, call Natasha, clear your name. 

In that order. 

[obito-in-disguise]

Reader's cursed technique is slowly killing them won the poll. So without further ado, I present to you:

| The price of power |

Featuring- Suguru Geto, Fushiguro Toji, Ryomen Sukuna, Kamo Choso, Nanami Kento, and Satoru Gojo.

Ryomen Sukuna

At first, you try your best to hide it from Sukuna. You already know how he despises your life as a sorcerer, the very thing he loathes above all else.

You can’t even fathom the storm that will erupt when he discovers it’s not just your choice but your death sentence.

But alas, you’re only human. Bound to slip up.

You return from a mission one day, pale as a ghost, barely able to keep your feet moving. A sickening weight presses against your chest, your limbs sluggish. The world spins violently. Before you know it, you collapse to your knees, hacking up blood, your body betraying you.

Sukuna watches from the corner of the room, arms folded over his broad chest, a glint of barely constrained fury in his crimson eyes. He doesn't move to help. Of course, he wouldn’t. This was your punishment for being foolish enough to put your life on the line.

The room falls into tense silence until his voice cuts through it.

"You are never to use that technique again."

Your head snaps up, heart racing. "How…?"

He scoffs, stepping closer. "Did you seriously think I wouldn’t notice? I can see your life force depleting with every breath you take." His eyes darken with contempt. "I stayed out of it, thinking maybe, just maybe, you had an ounce of common sense. But it’s clear I was wrong."

"You don't understand, Ryo-"

"Be quiet." His voice booms like a thunderclap, sharp enough to make you flinch. He exhales harshly, forcing himself to regain control. "I've let you play the hero long enough. Running around as a jujutsu sorcerer? That ends today."

A part of him almost felt guilty, knowing that the only reason you clung so fiercely to your role as a sorcerer, fighting at the cost of your life, was because you were trying to atone for something that wasn't even your sin. It was his.

You futilely hoped your heroic actions would be enough to balance the weight of his transgressions, somehow blot out his sins. For every sin he committed, you'd supplant with twice as much good deeds.

And that infuriated him more than anything else.

"You can't just ask me to do that!" Your voice cracks with desperation. This was your life. Your identity.

"I can, and I will." His words are final. He grips your arm, helping you up, but you shove him away with trembling hands.

"You don't own me!"

He freezes for a moment, then tilts his head slightly, an impassive look washing over his face. "Very well, then. You’ve left me with no choice."

His voice drops into something more sinister. "Return to that place, and I’ll personally inform them that their highly esteemed sorcerer has been frolicking with the King of Curses."

Your blood runs cold. You know who you’re dealing with. You know the lengths Sukuna will go to get what he wants. His cruelty knows no bounds.

"You wouldn’t," you whisper, shaking your head in denial.

He leans closer, eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. "Try me."

Tears sting your eyes, but Sukuna remains unmoved. He pulls you into his arms despite your resistance, petting your hair with a gentleness that makes you want to tear yourself away from him and collapse all over again.

"This is for your own good" he mutters, voice almost tender.

Your life as a sorcerer is officially over.

As much as you want to hate him, resent him for his cruelty and selfishness, you can’t ignore the part of you that feels the faintest twinge of relief.

Twisted as it is, this is Sukuna's way of keeping you alive. His own brand of protection, drenched in menace and obsession.

When you look up at him, he tilts his head in response, his expression unreadable. And you know, no matter how warped it may be, this is love, as monstrous as the man who holds you.

Suguru Geto

Suguru believes this is some sort of divine punishment from the universe. Every night, haunted by dreams of past sorcerers lost to the system, he’s convinced that everyone he loves is destined to suffer at the hands of jujutsu society.

And so, with a heavy heart and a resolve forged in despair, he decides to strike back.

To do something about this God-awful system that drains every ounce of worth from its people until nothing remains.

One cold, rain-soaked night, when the world seemed as broken as his own heart, he acted. You were at your weakest, a moment when doubt and exhaustion blurred your senses. Before you could protest, he grabbed you and vanished into the storm.

Soon after, he emerges as a whirlwind of rebellion. The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons marks his war against jujutsu society, declaring that every act of violence, every sacrifice, was done in your name.

"Suguru, what the hell are you doing?" you yell, fists pounding against his chest when you realize what he's done "You made me a defect! I'm branded a traitor now!"

He grabs you, his eyes wild, glazed over with something akin to madness. "I did it to save you" he insists, his voice unwavering. "Don't you see? If you stay with them, they'll keep sending you on missions until you’re dead!"

The air seems to still as your mind races back to memories of simpler days, quiet moments shared in the soft glow of a setting sun, laughter echoing in corridors that once felt like home. You recall a time when every scar told a story of bravery rather than betrayal.

"That wasn’t your choice to make! I love being a sorcerer-" you begin, but your words are swallowed by the storm of your emotions.

"Why should your love for these people spell the end of your life!" he yells out, gripping your shoulders as though trying to shake sense into you, eyes pleading with you.

For a long, agonizing moment, your anger falters under the weight of his vulnerability. You watch him shake with emotion, watch the man you love unravelling before your eyes.

With everything Suguru had been through, you were surprised he didn't crack sooner. Haibara's death, Riko's murder, falling behind Satoru, you'd wondered how he seemed to stomach it all, but it was clear as day to you now. Suguru was not well.

He cups your face, his touch both tender and resolute. "Hate me if you want, but at least you'll be alive" a reassurance meant more for himself than for you.

For the next few months, he keeps you as a prisoner of love. Isolated and weakened, your mind becomes fertile ground for his manipulative truths.

He presents the scars left by the system, scars not only etched into your body but twisted deep into his soul. The memory of every lost friend and every bitter injustice converges in his words, painting the jujutsu world as the real enemy.

Slowly, insidiously, his beliefs begin to seep into your consciousness. The line between your thoughts and his conditioning blurs until you find yourself wondering:

'maybe the world wouldn't be such a bad place without those damned monkeys'

Fushiguro Toji

"Are you scared?" Toji’s voice is low, steady, but there's a dangerous edge to it. He tosses his gun up and down in his hand as he waits for you to respond.

Your throat tightens. What's the point in lying now? You already have one foot in the grave. "Yes."

"Those bastards" he says, pushing himself off the wall. "They did this to you."

The rage that flickers across his face is immediate and terrifying, but he immediately reels himself in.

They made you scared.

You grab his arm before he can move. "Being a sorcerer is where my heart is. It's not their fault."

His jaw tightens, teeth grinding audibly. "The hell it isn’t." He yanks his arm free with a force that nearly topples you. "You're not dying for these people."

"And I'm not quitting!" you snap back, desperate "If I'm going to die anyway, isn't it better I die doing what I love? for the people I love?"

Without a word, Toji turns on his heel and disappears into the night.

Something flickers in his eyes, something raw and guttural. His expression falters, not in anger, but in something far more devastating; heartbreak, pity.

Watching you plead to sacrifice yourself for people who never gave a damn was unbearable.

You don’t know how long you wait. Each second stretches like an eternity, gnawing at your nerves. And when Toji finally returns, the world as you know it has already shattered. The jujutsu headquarters is left in ruins, higher ups dead.

His shirt is torn, skin slick with blood, some his, most not. The stench of iron clings to him, thick and nauseating.

Your heart races. "Toji...What did you do?" you demand, voice trembling.

Toji wipes blood from the corner of his mouth, gaze cold and unrepentant as he begins to take off his bloodied clothes. "I handled it."

"You, you killed them? how could you! they were good people" The words falter on your tongue, disbelief mingling with horror.

He steps closer, towering over you, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you. "You're not well, listen to yourself! They were killing you slow!"

He pauses, his grip loosening, and his expression darkens. "You think I care what they were? Sorcerers, civilians, it’s all the same bullshit. They use people, grind 'em down, and toss 'em out when they're empty. I’ve seen it over and over, and you’re just the latest offering on their altar of self-righteousness."

His voice grows quieter, more resolute, tinged with a harsh philosophy born of survival. "The strong eat the weak. That’s the truth of this world. You can dress it up with loyalty and love, but at the end of the day, it’s kill or be killed."

Toji tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You wanna die a noble sorcerer? Fine. But I’m not gonna stand by and watch it happen."

The sheer weight of his actions crashes over you, several people were dead because of you. You can't stop yourself when you whisper "You're a monster"

His lips curl into a sadistic smile. "If keeping you alive makes me a monster, I’ll wear the title proudly doll."

Nanami Kento

Nanami is a man who lives by control. The jujutsu world is chaotic, but he navigates it with precision and discipline. Until the day they return your body.

The mission was supposed to be simple. But when your cursed energy surged one last time, your body gave out. The autopsy is clear; years of strain from your technique had broken you down from the inside out.

Nanami listens in silence, face blank. He barely hears the words, an incessant ringing pounding in his ears. His eyes are glued to your face.

It was the most peaceful he had ever seen you. You looked like you were simply sleeping, finally free of the burdens of being a sorcerer.

He abruptly walks away without a word, unable to bear the gruesome details of your departure any longer. Gojo tries to stop him, but Nanami doesn’t even glance back.

He doesn't cry. He doesn't yell.

Grief claws at his chest, desperate to break free, but he just can’t process it. Instead, he stares blankly at the letter Gojo had managed to press into his hand. He reads it over and over, willing a miracle, willing all of this to be some twisted joke.

'Kento,

I know you'd hate this letter, but I needed to tell you that I was happy. Being with you made all the pain worth it. Every single second of it.

I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave you like this. You have every right to hate me, I understand.

But I just wanted you to know that being with you were some of the best moments of my life, you made it all worth it.

You reminded me that there’s beauty in a world filled with curses.

I love you Kento, please take care of yourself.'

He slides down to the floor, hands gripping his hair. He wants to resent you, to hate you for leaving him so selfishly, but he can't. All his hatred and resentment are reserved for the system that chewed you up and spit you out.

Nanami Kento wasn't the type to die on missions. He was the type to survive no matter what.

But when he stands before Mahito that day in Shibuya, he finally understands. He sees what made you put your life on the line, the hope for the younger generation, the fleeting chance to make a difference.

So he closes his eyes and welcomes his demise, smiling as memories of you fill his mind for the last time. You were everything to him, and you always would be, even in death.

Gojo Satoru

You'd become something of Gojo's emotional support person. It took him years to open up to you, but when he finally did, he opened the floodgates.

So you felt terrible, terrible that you were wronging him by not telling him the true cost of your cursed technique, the very price of your life.

Each innocent, unaware smile he sent your way was like a dagger to your heart. Yet you were too afraid to tell him, so you tested the waters instead.

"Hey, Satoru… what would you do if something were to happen to me?" you ask gently, unable to make eye contact as you lie on his bed, your fingers absentmindedly toying with the sheets.

"What?" he replies, his tone light, but only for a moment.

"Like if my cursed technique was killing me…" you cringe as the words tumble out unchecked, so much for testing the waters.

In that instant, Satoru's stomach sinks. The moment you reveal what your technique is doing to your body, it's as if the very ground beneath him shatters.

He laughs at first, a hollow, forced sound as he desperately tries to maintain levity. "You're joking, right? that's ridiculous. We'll fix it. I'll fix it."

But when you shake your head gently, his heart plummets.

"I tried everything, Satoru…" you murmur, the admission hanging heavy in the air.

And that’s when you see a side of Satoru Gojo you’ve never seen before. His entire being stiffens with resolve as he rises from the bed, his playful personality shifting to something cold.

"Then you'll just have to never use that technique again" he declares.

You get up as well, hoping he was joking. "Satoru, that's not realistic" you argue, trying to meet his intense gaze. "What kind of sorcerer would I be without my technique?"

"Then I guess you don't have to worry about being a sorcerer anymore"

"That's ridiculous! I dedicated my whole life to this!" you exclaim, shock and desperation mingling in your voice.

Satoru simply smiles, a sickeningly sweet smile that quickly turns menacing as his tone hardens. "There's no point in fighting, Y/n. I have the higher-ups in my palm. If you don't quit, I'll do it for you."

He swallows, gazing at you with a pained expression, his demeanour desperate. "My mind is made up, Y/n, you’re not dying. Not now, not ever."

You stare at him in shock. Did he just threaten you? A part of you wants to lash out, but you stop yourself.

Behind his threats, you see a man desperate to save someone he loves. A man tired of being the strongest, of being unable to save the people he cares about.

Kamo Choso

When Choso loved, he loved fiercely.

His dedication and loyalty to the ones he loved knew no bounds, and you were no exception.

As you lay there, slipping away in his arms, he could feel his world crumbling. "No." he says, voice trembling "You're not leaving me."

"Choso…" you whisper, reaching for him weakly. "I'm sorry."

But he can't. He refuses to accept it. His love for you, his grief, warps into something monstrous. The raw emotion burns through him, uncontrolled. Without even realizing it, he curses you as your last breath escapes.

When you awaken, everything is different. Your body is no longer your own. It's ethereal, consumed by cursed energy that has become embedded in the very fabric of your being. You’re not human anymore. You’ve become a curse.

You both stare at each other in stunned silence, horror painting both of your faces. The weight of what he’s done, the horror of what you’ve become, sinks in.

"I... I didn’t mean to-" Choso’s voice cracks, guilt flooding his words.

"I just wanted to keep you with me" he chokes out in panic, not knowing what to do. His fingers shaking as he grips you tighter. "I didn’t know-"

Before he can finish his sentence, you burst into uncontrollable tears. You’ve become the very thing you’ve fought against your whole life. The very thing that has caused so much pain to others.

And when your friends and colleagues see you, they’ll be horrified by what you’ve become.

Without thinking, he pulls you into a hug, half-expecting you to shove him away, knowing that he’s the one responsible for this. He did this to you. But you don’t pull away.

Choso is all you have now. The only one who sees you as you still are, not as the monster the world will now see you as.

As Choso holds you, he can't stop the sick feeling of satisfaction that blooms up in his chest. He'd never let you know but he was relieved.

He knew your time together was always going to be limited, you were human and he was a curse.

Not anymore.

Now you were going to be with him.

Forever and ever.

Well that was creepy.

Tiny taglist: @catlover19282

feel free to check out more of my jjk fics and other stories!

[mrsnancywheeler]

half return // finnick odair x reader

1.3k words

masterlist

summary: the capitol has its way of digging its claws in so deep that you're no longer even sure where it ends and you being. finnick tries to reassure you, even though you struggle to let him in.

warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, reader is an unreliable narrator, mentally unwell, and emotionally shut off, victor!reader, allusions to things doing with the games themselves, pre-established relationship, no use of y/n, unedited and short, just a treat so I can really get back into writing finnick

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The Capitol had a way of taking everything for you. Where you were supposed to find comfort in being in your District, even after the years that had passed, it still didn’t feel like it had before. It was almost like a rebirth, but not in a way that felt refreshing. It was more like a baptism of sludge, it made you slow, and tired, like tearing your skin off your bones. That wasn’t the life you’d been promised. No, the Capitol made winning their Games seem so illustrious, so alluring, with a big house where the roof never caved, enough food for a while for everyone in your district to go without starving, and all the fame someone from a District could ever dream of having. All of that was true, but what was the cost? After all this time it still felt like your sanity had slipped down the drain, and you didn’t even know who you were anymore.

That’s exactly how you felt as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Letting the thoughts consume you as the feeling of zoning out of reality into the dissonance of your own thoughts made your face distort itself. Maybe, you thought, this distorted version of yourself was closer to who you really were inside than any picture. Those too closely resembled who you once were, who you were supposed to be. Oh, the things you would do to have that life back.

“Everything okay in here?” Finnick’s voice cut through your thoughts, broke the illusion of the mirror, and startled you back into the even sadder reality.

“Hmmm?” You glanced at him, eyes wide, like you hadn’t quite heard him, although the words really just hadn’t fully registered in your brain yet, “Yeah, everythings good, everything is fine.”

You offer a halfhearted smile that’s trying its best to be so real, he deserves real. You know that, after all he’s been through, all he’s done for you, even just for putting up with you, and yet the days creep in where you can’t give him that. All you can do is try and fake it until you make it. Almost like you’d had to do in the Games, but now it was to stop the attention. You didn’t need him anymore worried, scared about you spiralling, you were, but he didn’t need to know that. He deserved to have a partner, that’s what he signed up for, not to deal with another person’s emotional baggage and trauma. That’s at the very least the excuse you gave yourself in order to make lying about it feel okay.

“You’ve been brushing your teeth for at least 10 minutes.” He’s smirking, chuckling a little, pushing himself further into the bathroom from where he was leaning in the doorway.

“Just really getting in there. I really can’t help it if I have better dental hygiene then most, it’s just a burden I have to carry.” You look away, rubbing your neck, before adjusting your eyes back into the mirror. God, you’re a mess. Life is a mess. You used to dream of no longer being a child, of the freedom that would come with it, and now as you look in the mirror you resent younger you for that wish. Growing old has not been a blessing, and that makes the fact that you fought so hard for it even more tragic.

Finnick’s arms are around you, arm crossing your body, holding onto your other shoulder, he’s pulling you into him. Face pressed to yours, it’s meant to be comforting, and you hate to admit to yourself that it is. You want to push this down, not let him comfort you for it. “What’s going on?” His voice is so soothing, he smells like the ocean, and it draws you in. Yet you must resists in some capacity.

“Finnick-” You turn your face away and after a second you feel him start to pull away. You can hear him trying to suppress his sigh, feel the way his shoulders slightly slump, and suddenly your blood is running with guilt. He wants to be there for you, to help, you know that even if you want to shield yourself from that type of support. However, the idea of disappointing, of hurting the man you love by hiding those parts of yourself, makes the pit in your stomach so much heavier. You really can’t help but fold to him. “Come with me.” You’re turning your face back to his.

His eyebrows furrow together, “Where? What’re you talking about, sweetheart?” One of his thumbs is rubbing circles onto your skin that make you want to melt into him, to cry, but you haven’t let yourself cry in at least a year. You won’t let yourself start now.

“My house, my old house, I wanna go see it.”

If he was anyone else you would’ve expected him to say something about the fact you were both currently in your pajamas, or how late it was, but he’s Finnick, your Finnick, and so all he does for a second is look into your eyes as if he’s seeing into the depths of your soul that you desperately don’t want him to see. “Okay.” He nods, and is pressing a kiss to your forehead before letting you go. You can’t help but miss and crave his touch the moment it’s gone.

It’s even later into the night by the time you’ve both gotten dressed again and are leaving the gilded cage of Victors Village. You don’t care though. This is the first time you’ve let Finnick come with you on one of these escapades, usually you make them in the middle of the day anyways, but you’re letting him in on this little thing you do for yourself. The opening on who you were, what your life was before the Capitol came and sunk its teeth in, draining you of all that you used to be, all you thought you were. The two of you walk in silence, but it’s not one of awkwardness or stagnation, no, it’s just exactly what it needs to be. You can hear the ocean hitting the rocks and the shore, feel the wind, smell the salt air, and in the smallest amount it can it brings a sliver of unwanted comfort.

Then you’re there. The old, dilapidated house, roof caving in on itself, moss growing up its walls. No one has moved in since you and your family moved out of it, it’s like a reminder that one of the Victors came from it, what even the poorest citizen could come out of through the Games. In reality though, there was no point in buying a house like this, it was basically begging to crash in on itself, and then the owner would be paying more to repair the house then they’d spent to purchase it. So, here it sat. Dead lawn, broken fence, and a childhood’s worth of dreams.

“Every time I expect it to make me feel like me again or something, I know it’s stupid, but I just can’t help it. And everytime it does absolutely nothing, but I can’t stop coming back.” You’ve never told anyone that before, why you crawl back to the ruins of your childhood, of life before. Searching desperately for comfort, for understanding of who you are, only for it never to be found. “I just want it to tell me who I am.”

“It’s not stupid.” Finnick means what he says, so earnestly, and though you’ve told yourself you won’t cry. That you can’t let yourself do that anymore, something about that small reassurance has the tears slipping out once again, and once you’ve started you can’t stop. You’re trying to cover your face, hide it in the moonlight, suppress the way sobs make your body shake, but you can’t. Not from him, never from him. He’s holding you before you’ve even fully devolved. “Whatever you need to help you, you do. Okay? It doesn’t get any easier, I can’t lie to you about that, but if you really don’t think you know who you are, then just ask. I know exactly who you are, even if you think I don’t, I see every side of you."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Thank you so much for reading, sorry it's so short, kind of using this as a jumping off point to get back into writing Finnick fics. As always likes, comments, reblogs, and asks are much appreciated. Love you all so much 💋

[reverieblondie]

Domming Raphael, slowly teasing him and building him up and up, asking him in a whisper if it feels good, telling him to hold back letting himself tip over that edge, not relenting and cooing that he's doing so good for you so surely he can hold on for just a bit longer, making him ask/tell you what he wants (maybe making him say 'please'), then finally telling him to cum for you and praising him as he starts to come down from that high.

.... A year later... and I finally got the right inspiration for this... enjoy.

18+ under the cut, smut smut smut!

Teasing a Devil

You owe Haarlep big time for this… 

To be fair, though, you didn't think they would be able to pull this off… but you should know never to doubt Haarlep… or their ability to get Raphael in compromising positions…

Your mouth is still agape as you watch Haarlep sauntering away from a rope-bound Raphael, his hands tied behind the chair, his legs tied to the chair legs, forcing his legs to spread. A bar gauge is held in his mouth as his glowing eyes watch you two… Haarlep looks pleased with themselves. 

Finally, as you point to the bound devil, you can muster a few words: "He is…"

"Harmless for the most part, maybe a little irritated, but he is all yours…" Haarlep leans down, placing their hand on your shoulder. "And some words of advice? He likes it rough mouse…" 

Your eyes don't leave Raphaels. A shiver rips through your body at the taunting implication. Raphael's body is unable to move right now, but his eyes shine as he lifts an eyebrow at your staring. Even without words, he still challenges you… 

As soon as Harrlep leaves the room with a click of the heavy doors, you slowly walk over to him. You two are alone now; he is all yours for the taking. Raphael's chest heaves up and down as you circle around him. Then, when you dare to touch him by dragging your fingertips across his sweat-laced skin, you see that slight shiver of anticipation rush over him. 

With him right where you want him, you finish your circling and finish by staring at his bare lap. All of him is on display for you, straining hard and leaking… you dare to lip your lips for the sudden craving washing over you; in an urge to satiate yourself enough to keep teasing him, you crawl upon his lap and sit there, letting your body tease his cock. A growl vibrates from behind his gage, only fueling you more.

"Raphael, I'm surprised Haarlep managed to shut you up…" You taught as you dragged your hands down his hair-roughened chest, Raphael rolled his eyes, but there was something about how he leaned his body into your touch. He's as desperate for you as you are for him.

You move your hand down past his abdomen to his drooling length. As soon as you touch him, tracing over the thick veins of his cock, his breathing gets shallower, and he rolls his head back, relishing in your careful touch. Then you let go, and Raphael's eyes blazed at you.

You smile calmly at him as you get up from his lap; if looks could kill, you would have been dropped dead, though when you begin slowly stripping yourself in front of him, his expression moves into something much more docile and hungry. 

Raphael's eyes roam over your body then, to his delight, you lean over his bound body, palming his cock again, but this time much more viciously. And right as you feel his breath get ragged and his cock throb, you stop again. Raphael growls and lashes against his bindings, only making you chuckle more as you sit yourself back on his lap. 

Your wet cunt is pressing to his length, and the sheer heat of him is enticing enough to make you want to fold and sink into your depths, but you're taunting him; you must hold off. After calming yourself, you lean into his ear, "If you want something, Raphael… you need to only ask…" 

You lick against his ear and start teasing the tip of his cock again, pushing it through your slick folds. Making sure to keep all your movements slow as you tease his thick head to your quivering entrance, holding yourself back from letting him preach and stretch you open. The feel of his veins against your smooth skin makes you grind your hips faster, your moaning only getting more reverent.  

Raphael slowly starts to lose himself once more, so you take the chance to push him further, allowing him to grind his hips back against your bare sex. Carefully, you undo the gage around his lips, smiling as you finally hear his velvet voice groan. 

Unable to hold yourself back anymore, you angle your hips to sink down onto his girth. He wants to moan your name as your velvet cunt clenches on his cock, but you're quick to pause him by placing your fingers on his lips... you want to hear something else..

"Tell me how it feels..." you command as you move your hand away, staring into his lust-filled eyes. 

His voice is hoarse, and all he can manage is a whisper, "F- Feels good...

"Good... You're being so good for me, Raphael... my sweet devil. Just hold on a bit longer... for me..." you rest your hands on his thighs as you angle your hips to push him in deeper, moving in and out and moaning like a whore as you take your fill of him… Raphael is in awe of you losing yourself to him, diving his cock deeper and deeper into your needy cunt, your tits bouncing with every push; he feels himself salivating. 

 "Mouse..." his voice sounds like a warning, but you're having too much fun~ 

 "What do you want, Raphael?"

"To fuck my cum into your womb... Fuck... make you full of it...". your grip tightens with his growling voice; though you want what he does, you want something before that, something always so sweet…

"Ask please, Raphael~"

"What!" His sharp voice makes you stop your pace and look at him with a raised eyebrow at his brat tone. 

Raphael whimpers before he leans forward and desperately kisses your sweaty skin, licking at your perked nipples, "Please... my darling... Please mouse.. pl-please" 

You look down at his fiery eyes, soft and heavy for you; now he gives one more trembling plea; you start to move your hips again and run your fingers through his damp locks, "Cum for me then, my sweet, fill me..." 

He all but chants your name as both of your paces quickens, your hips slamming his cock in you faster and faster, your clit rubbing on his pubes, your every slam making you crave it more and more. Rapheals thighs and covered in your release, the base of his cock filthy, but both of you refuse to stop till the sound of a shaky whimper lets you know he's finally reaching his high. It's hot… so much hotter than Harrlep had warned you about… but hells if it is not bliss. 

You rub his cheek and coo softly as he comes down from numbing high. You gently run your hands down his body, relishing in how he so easily shivers from your touch. Raphael waits patiently as you undo his bindings, and once he is finally free, he instantly wraps his arms around you tightly. You might have found it suffocating if you didn't love being so full of him. Somehow, you two manage to get to his bed. Raphael curls you into his warm body, making you listen to the rhythmic beating of his heart. 

Seriously, you have to find time to thank Haarlep.

[idkfitememate]

Hear me out but horse!creator finding out where kaeya live and just flopping on his bed and just falling asleep. I don’t know how they fit, he problem has the princess wooden bed polls on his bed frame if anything. But just horse!creator back on the bed hooves up Towards the ceiling, with kaeya coming back for patrol or to drunk and needed a nap maybe diluc has to bring him back home and they just see a horse on the bed snoozing away.

Ps I feel out of spite if not just to mess with kaeya that horse!creator likes to be with diluc

-🐎anon



Neigh

My House Now

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : Diluc & Kaeya x Horse!Reader

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. :

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : Crack & Crack

“What the…” Those were the only words that could leave Diluc’s lips.

Before him you lay in Kaeya’s bed, completely covering the spread, hooves in the air and mouth wide open allowing your demonic snores to fill the room.

Diluc huffed, adjusting Kaeya Om his shoulder while continuing to stare at you to try and make sense of the situation. While thinking, you shifted, rolling over to face the duo with a loud thump. The readheads eyes traveled to the bluehead who hiccuped in his sleep - terrifying and should’ve woken him up but didn’t so that was concerning - then to you, who snored away and twitched lightly.

For a moment, Diluc heavily considered just tossing his brother overtop your body and calling it a night - as it was cutting into his… nightly activities.

Deciding to find some mercy in his heart, Diluc gently set his brother down propped up against the bed, then walked over and started to gently shake your… shoulders??? He had no clue anymore but was a little too done to care.

After light shakes didn’t work, he moved to harsher shakes, then full on throttling, he may have even gave you a little tap whos to say.

Eventually after a few solid minutes of shaking Diluc gave a reluctant sigh, rising off the bed and making his way to pick up his brother. Once safe in his arms he turned around, only to be met with your silent, standing form behind him.

He jumped, shock clumsily hidden after a moment which led to you both staring each other down. Diluc analyzed you in the silence, noting your barely visible breathing and somehow scarily sharp eyes despite just waking up. He was again shocked when you started to walk, floorboards creaking under your weight while you shoved yourself behind him, angry curses and muttered whispered under his breath.

Once settled fully behind him - and be for r he could fully react - you grabbed the man by his scruff in your teeth. He flinched hard, immediately moving to fight back against you. You snort as you start to push him out of the room, the awkward position causing him to stumble over his own feet as you led him out.

A few long, torturous minutes later you came to the front room. You stop pushing Diluc, allowing him to take a moment to breathe. Before he could complain you snatched Kaeya out of his arms and toss him onto the couch with minimal effort.

Diluc was at the point where he couldn’t even be shocked anymore.

Then, you walked back over and gripped his collar in your teeth, and threw him out the front door.

Diluc stared at the door, looked at his hands, and simply walked off.

“I don’t have time to deal with this…”

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍨🍮🍩୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

Kaeya woke to sun in his face and crusty and sweaty clothes clinging to his back. Something else he noticed was the smell.

The smell of eggs and breakfast.

Wicked hangover pounding in his head, the Captain walked into the kitchen to find you standing with a pan with frying eggs.

Without looking at him you plate the eggs, revealing a wide spread of foods. You snorted at his jaw dropped expression and walked over to him, hooves clicking across the floor. When you reached Kaeya you placed a hoof under his chin and closed it, the squeezing beside him and out of the kitchen leaving him to his breakfast.

“What… the fuck..?”

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : I feel like Horse!Creator Reader is deadass just. The horse from Tangled. You know which one.

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Stand By Me (Part 3)

You knew it was coming.

Your mother wasn’t the type to let things go. The silence—the control she was losing over you—was like a lit fuse, and you knew it was only a matter of time before it blew.

Marshall knew it, too.

He never said it outright, but he stayed a little closer, held you a little longer, kept his phone on him more than usual, like he was waiting for the moment she finally snapped.

And when she did?

It was worse than you ever could have imagined.

---

It happened on a Sunday.

You had just started to feel okay again—just started to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could move forward without the weight of your mother’s words dragging you down.

Then your phone rang.

You stared at the screen, dread settling heavy in your gut.

Mom calling.

You almost let it go to voicemail. But something told you that if you didn’t pick up, she wouldn’t stop. That she’d just keep calling, keep finding ways to push herself back into your life.

So you answered.

And from the second you said hello, it was a mistake.

“Oh, so you do still know how to pick up the phone,” she snapped. No greeting. No warmth.

You swallowed. “Mom—”

“No, don’t start,” she cut you off. “I have sat here for weeks wondering what the hell I did to deserve this. You ignoring me? Treating me like I’m some kind of villain?”

Your grip on the phone tightened. “Mom, I’m not—”

“Shut up!” she screamed, her voice cracking through the line.

You flinched.

Marshall, who had been in the kitchen, immediately looked up, his expression hardening.

“I gave you everything!” your mother raged. “And this is how you repay me? By cutting me off? By choosing him over your own family?”

Your heart pounded. “This isn’t about Marshall—”

“Bullshit! He did this to you! He poisoned you against me!”

Marshall was watching now, his entire body tense, his fists clenched. He couldn’t hear her words, but he didn’t need to. He could see the way they were hitting you like knives, the way you were curling in on yourself.

And that was enough.

Before you could stop him, he was next to you, pressing the speaker button.

“If you got somethin’ to say about me,” he said, his voice calm but deadly, “say it to my face.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then—

“You piece of shit,” your mother spat. “You ruined her. You took her from me.”

Marshall scoffed. “Nah, lady. You did that all on your own.”

Her breath hitched. “How dare you—”

“I dare ’cause someone had to tell you the truth,” he cut her off. “You don’t get to treat her like garbage and still expect her to come runnin’ back. You don’t get to guilt her into keepin’ you in her life.”

You swallowed hard, gripping Marshall’s hand like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“You know what your problem is?” Marshall continued. “You thought you could break her down so much that she’d never leave. But guess what? She did. And she ain’t comin’ back.”

The line was so quiet you almost thought she had hung up.

Then, in a low, venomous voice, she hissed, “She will. When you get tired of her. When you finally throw her away like you do with everyone else.”

Marshall’s jaw clenched, his entire body going rigid. You could feel the anger radiating off of him, the way his breathing deepened.

But before he could say anything, you spoke.

“No,” you said softly, but firmly. “He won’t.”

Your mother let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, honey, wake up. He’s Eminem. He’s not built to love anyone. He’s just playing house with you until he gets bored.”

You felt Marshall flinch beside you.

And maybe, once, you would have believed her. Maybe, once, her words would have sent you spiraling, had you questioning everything.

But not anymore.

Not after everything he had done to prove otherwise.

“He loves me,” you said simply. “And he treats me better than you ever have.”

Your mother sucked in a breath, like you had physically struck her.

And for the first time, you felt free.

She could rage, she could insult you, she could twist the knife all she wanted—but she couldn’t control you anymore.

You had made your choice.

And it wasn’t her.

“Don’t call me again,” you said, voice steady. Then, without waiting for a response, you ended the call.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Marshall was still staring at the phone, like he half-expected it to ring again.

You let out a shaky breath, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

“You okay?” His voice was rough, edged with anger he hadn’t been able to unleash.

You exhaled, dropping your hands. “Yeah.” And then, quieter, “I think I really am.”

He studied you for a long moment, like he was making sure you weren’t just saying that. Then, finally, he sighed and pulled you into his arms, holding you so tight it knocked the breath out of you.

“I got you,” he murmured. “Always.”

And you believed him.

For the first time, you really, truly believed him.

[thatonesonicfanfictionwriter]

shadow x reader idea

What If reader works for black doom without knowing his connections to shadow and shadow finds out with leads to a fight of misunderstanding

(Btw reader works for black doom to get the chance to kill bad people)

“Betrayal Where it Hurts Most”

Pairing: Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader

Requested: Yes (by an anon).

Description: You didn’t want to work for Black Doom. But it was like a symbiotic relationship; you killed bad people, and the Black Arms were fed. But a certain hedgehog wasn’t very happy about that fact.

Notes: Ough, more angst-ish stuff…Guess that means I’m doing a good job each time I write it, though, if you guys keep requesting it! Hope you enjoy!

(Reader will be gender-neutral.)

(Not proof-read/beta-read.)

– – – – – – – – – – – –

This was supposed to be an easy job.

Go in, kill the murderer, get out.

That was your life at this point.

Well…at least in secret.

You didn’t want anyone to find out.

But life was never fair, was it?

As you reach the destination point, the body in hand, you drop it off. Luckily, not a drop of blood is on you, just the way you (and your boss) likes it.

“AH, WELCOME BACK, MORTAL,” your boss, Black Doom, says. “NO ONE FOLLOWED YOU HERE, CORRECT?”

“Correct. I’m the only one here,” you say.

“PERFECT,” he says. “KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK. I’LL INFORM YOU WHEN ANOTHER MISSION ARRIVES.”

Black Doom takes the body with one of his hands and he disappears with it.

You let out a sigh.

“You’re doing this to survive, [Name],” you mutter to yourself. “Getting to kill bad people is just a plus.”

You turn around to head home, only to find a familiar black-and-red hedgehog staring at you, a pissed off expression on his face, adorned by a scowl.

“Care to explain, [Name]?” Shadow asks, venom in his voice.

“Look, Shadow, I-” you start.

“Oh, I’d love to hear why you’re working with the one who wants nothing more than to destroy this world and keep me as his mindless servant,” Shadow spats, cutting you off. “You better have a good explanation.”

“Him and I have…an agreement,” you mutter. “I complete missions, specifically killing evil people, for him, and he doesn’t kill me.”

“And how long have you been doing this?” he asks.

“About a year now,” you tell him. “He showed up out of nowhere, nearly killed me, and then decided to spare me, so now I work for him.”

Shadow lets out a sigh.

“I wish you would have told me sooner,” Shadow says. “Look. I’m still upset at you-”

“Rightfully so,” you say.

“Let me finish,” Shadow says. “I’m still upset at you, but I can help you. You won’t have to do his bidding any longer. Not on my watch.”

“Thank you, Shadow,” you mutter. “I don’t deserve your kindness.”

“Yet you’re getting it anyway,” Shadow says.

You were grateful he was in your life.

[witchygagirlwrites]

Greg "Mouse" Gerwitz x Reader

Part 2 of Dynasty

Can a broken heart still beat?

Warnings: Character death, depression, drug use, suicide, reading of a suicide note, true love not letting death get in the way? Idk where this came from, no wait I do! blame @desimarie12

Mouse sat in the chair next to your bed, eyes never leaving your face. The solid sound of the machine helping your lungs push air through your body was the only sound in the room. Every moment that ticked by and you clung to life was a moment he managed to draw a breath. Twenty four hours, that was what the doctor told them. You were closing in on eighteen hours and still holding on. 

The door cracked open and he didn’t have to look up to know it was Erin and Jay. They hadn’t left the hospital either but they’d stayed in the waiting room throughout the night until visiting hours rolled back into effect or well until Sergeant Benson called in a favor and suddenly it didn’t matter if the three of them were all in your room or not as long as they stayed out of the way. “She’s still holding on man” Jay spoke softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

He nodded slowly “Holding on is a lot different than waking up Jay. She’s strong, she’s so damn strong but what if her body can’t handle this?” even simply giving voice to the thought was enough to force another round of tears from his eyes, they slid silently down his face. Erin stepped up next to him, slipping her hand down in his and squeezing it gently “If there’s any way for her to find her way back to you she will. She loves you so much” 

He squeezed her hand back, wishing he could offer her some word of comfort. You would want him to, that was your best friend but any word fell flat on his lips. He didn’t blame her by no means, he would never do that simply because he knew you. If an innocent person was in danger around you, especially a kid? Nothing would’ve stopped you from saving them. Even at the expense of yourself.  “This isn’t your fault Erin” he whispered, his voice shaking slightly and he could hear her inhale sharply before she said “I called her to this task force Mouse” 

He cut his eyes up at her and saw tears sliding down her face “Don’t mourn her yet Erin, please. I can’t…I can’t handle that” she nodded, wiping at her eyes “I’m sorry” and turned to walk out. Jay looked back at him then at the door “I’ll go check on her. If you need anything man, just yell.I’ll be right outside” 

Mouse listened to Jay leave and thought to himself, how would Jay ever give him what he needed? What he needed was for you to wake up. For those beautiful eyes to be looking back at him, that smile you had anytime you were hurt and trying to hide it plastered on your face and you joking about the fact that you wanted a vacation to New York City but maybe not like this. That was what he needed.  

He leaned up to let his hand brush against yours, fingers curling around yours “Baby, I don’t know if you can hear me but I’m here. Jay’s here too and Erin. The moment Erin called me and Jay got on a plane. I haven’t left your side. I’m not leaving your side. You are everything to me, you hear me? Everything. So I really need you to wake up. Whatever you want is yours. Every argument the rest of our lives you’ve now won before they ever start. You want to steal my coffee every day? It’s yours. Hog the blankets? Please take em. Have the water so hot in the shower I swear it’s gonna scald us both? It’ll be fine, we know plenty of good doctors. I just need you to wake up..Please baby wake up” he could feel the tears flowing down his face but he didn’t care you were still holding on for something, he was praying for the first time in his life that the something was him.He was praying that you were fighting to come back to him. He couldn’t do this without you. He didn’t want to.

When the twenty four hour mark hit, doctors swarmed your room. It seemed like you shocked most of the hospital by making it that long. Mouse stood back with Erin and Jay watching as the doctors went over your injuries with each other, talking about running more tests and further treatments.

“What now?” Jay asked, breaking their conversation because so far he’d been the one out the three of them to talk to the medical team the most. He had no choice but to hold it together, for Mouse and Erin both. “Detective Halstead, we’re doing everything we can for her” the doctor assured them but about that time your hand twitched.

“She moved,” Mouse whispered and stepped forward. The doctors all turned towards you but to Mouse’s horror you started to seize, he could see red stains start to seep through the bandages covering your body and something started coming out of the tube down your throat “Get them out of here” the doctor told Jay nodded towards Mouse and Erin. 

“Fuck you, I’m not leaving her” Mouse fought, struggling against Jay who was trying to grab his arm. He’d promised you he wouldn’t leave your side. “Officer Gerwitz you don’t want to see this” a nurse assured him, grabbing his other arm he turned to look at her and saw the tears in her eyes and this time when his legs went out from under him no one was there to catch him. His knees buckled and he hit the floor on them, watching as the doctors and nurses moved around your bed.

He was helpless to move, hell he couldn’t form a thought as he watched them shock your body, it jolting off the bed. “Greg, come on man. Don’t be in here for this” Jay tried, choking back a sob as his wide eyes landed on the bed as well. “I’m not leaving her” he whispered, even as the movements of the medical team ceased and they called the words that stopped his own heart beating in his chest “Time of death one eleven p.m.”

Mouse sat on the front pew of the church in his dress uniform, staring at your casket that was covered in the CPD flag. The unit was sitting around him, Erin was on his left side and Jay was on his right. He could’ve cared less. He was alone. You were gone.

He gripped his dogtags in his hand, the ring he’d never given you now rested on the chain. He had planned to slip it on your finger the moment you got home from New York. He’d never dreamt you getting home would’ve been in a body bag. The little girl you’d saved, Clarissa. She’d gotten her parents to fly her out for the funeral. She’d spoken with his blessing. 

She’d hugged him and told him she was so sorry you were gone. He’d tried to act like anything she said mattered, Erin had given him a small nod so maybe it had seemed like it did to him. He was glad the little girl was safe, that much was true. These niceties, the apologies they wouldn’t bring you back. They wouldn’t fix the gaping hole in his chest. They wouldn’t give him a reason to get up every day.

Hank stood at the front of the church and nodded to the unit. They would carry you out to the hearse then carry you to your grave. The last time Mouse would have you in his arms in any way would be helping to carry you to your grave. They’d wanted him to not help but what kind of man would he be if he couldn’t carry the woman he loved to the end? 

He stood with his team, positioning his cover on his head, tears streaming down his face as they all took their positions on your casket. Him and Erin were in front. They lifted you up and walked as one out of the church. Nothing had ever felt heavier than the weight of that casket, knowing it carried you inside.

_________________

At the cemetery they spoke of you. How you lived, how you loved. How you died being a hero. Mouse stood to the side, blue eyes glued to the light grey casket. One by one those of your unit were allowed to place a photo or something inside. Erin placed a photo of you, her and Nadia. Jay put his lucky keychain, Adam put a coin Makayla had asked him to give you, Kim had a stuffed animal from their niece. Kevin had three red roses. One from him, one from his brother and one from his sister.

When Hank looked over at him he walked over to the casket, footsteps slowing when he got near it. The dress Erin and your aunt picked looked exactly like something you’d wear and the funeral home had done a good job. You almost looked like you were asleep. Almost. He laid the dogtags across your chest “I’m sorry you never got this ring. I’m sorry I never made you my wife. I love you and always will” he whispered then slowly closed the casket, staring at your face until the last moment possible.

Mouse sat on the bed, photos of you scattered around him. Your smiling face looking back at him from every one. Your pillow still vaguely smelled of your shampoo, your coffee mug was still in the strainer, the last load of laundry you’d asked him to get out of the dryer and he’d forgotten still sat in the machine. The candle you loved sat half burnt next to the bed, the movie you and him planned to finish when you got home was still saved on the dvr.

He tried. He tried for weeks, he tried. The pain was ripping him apart more and more every day. He found a new dealer, it was fairly easy.  He was high more days than sober now. The very thing you’d always feared, he’d gone back to his old ways but who was there to care? He’d lost the only reason he had for breathing, the very air in his lungs. He clicked his laptop, watching the video of you and him Jay had taken at the halloween party a few months before. You were laughing, arms around his waist and looking at him like he was the most important thing “Forever and a day Gerwitz?”  just hearing your voice over the video made tears hit his eyes as he heard his own voice reply “Forever and a day love”

He stared at the bottle in his hand. It was enough, he’d made sure of it. He couldn’t do this anymore. He had to be with you. The pain was too much. He’d considered just using his gun but he knew Jay would find him and he couldn’t do that to him. This way he’d just go to sleep and wouldn’t wake up. A lot less for Jay to find.

He sat the envelope with Jay’s name on the laptop and opened the bottle along with the bourbon. He’d see you again and the pain would stop. That was all that mattered.

Jay walked slowly into the apartment, calling Mouse’s name out. He knew something was wrong but he hadn’t expected what awaited him either.

______________________

Jay and Erin sat together between yours and Mouse’s graves. Hank had pulled some strings, his death had been ruled a heart attack so he’d gotten a proper CPD burial and they’d made sure it was right next to you where he belonged. Hank had even footed the bill for your headstones to read “Loving Husband” and “Loving Wife” ; it was only suitable. Not even death stopped the love you two had for each other.

“Have you read his letter yet?” she asked and he shook his head and fished it out then held it out to her “Here, you do it” she took it then cleared her throat: 

Jay, I’m sorry that I know you’ll be the one to find me. I wished there was someone else but we both know with her gone there isn’t. I’ve tried man, I really have. I can’t continue to live in a world she’s not in. She was always the air in my lungs and every day without her I suffocate more and more.When I met her I found my reason to keep going and the day I lost her I lost that reason. If there’s a life after this I will find her in it and love her it it, if there isn’t at least the pain will stop. Please don’t hold onto guilt over me and don’t let Erin hold onto guilt over her. We both knew our best friends loved us. Be happy man, if you find love don’t wait for anything. See you in the next life brother, Mouse

They were both crying by the time Erin was through reading. Jay slipped an arm around her and pulled her over onto his shoulder “I just hope they’re together” she whispered. “Me too” he replied, the wind catching their words as it blew past your graves maybe carrying that message on.

One moment Mouse was swallowing a handful of pills and not fighting against the urge to close his eyes, the next he was laying on a patch of grass. Grass? How did he get outside? “Wake up Greg” he heard your voice and felt your hand on his face and for a moment thought he was hallucinating, the pills hadn’t worked. They’d just caused this.

He felt the air move around him then your other hand went to the opposite side of his face and he heard your light laughter “I swear if you don’t open those gorgeous blue eyes Gerwitz” he slowly opened his eyes and you were kneeled in front of him, real as day. Your hair was in a braid like you always wore it during summer, you were wearing a light blue shirt with cut off shorts and sneakers. You looked happy and healthy.

“Sweetheart? Is that really you?”  you nodded, tears shining in your eyes “It’s really me Greg” he pulled you into his arms and you laughed, letting him wrap both arms around you. “How? Baby, where are we? What happened?” when he rolled so he was holding his weight on his arms and you were under him in the grass you smiled sadly up at him, running your fingers up into his hair and he closed his eyes, feeling tears threaten at feeling your touch “Why are you here so soon? You had so much life left” you whispered and he opened his eyes, looking down at you. 

His girl. Whole and here with him. Wherever here was, it didn’t matter. He had you in his arms. “No I didn’t love. My life ended the day you left” you smiled “I love you Greg” then pulled him down to you. The moment your lips met his both of you let tears slip free. When you pulled away from his lips he leaned his forehead against yours “I love you so much” you grinned “Forever and a day Gerwitz?” he nodded “Forever and a day baby” 

[bitegore]

ok while finding out i was bleeding all over the goddamn place earlier by wiping my hands on a white towel and smearing blood all over them was Fucking Annoying, i can't lie, bloodstained white towel kinda goes off. dried blood is a nice color

[sttoru]

𝝑𝑒 SYNOPSIS. sukuna is shameless—not caring if anyone were to ever catch him righteously claiming ownership over his favorite concubine in the garden.

wc. 1.5k-ish

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. smut, pwp. exhibitionism. size difference. dumbification \\ objectification. has two c.ocks. hair pulling. use of spit (yeah ik i wouldnt write for it but its sukuna). breeding themes. overstimulation. reader gets called ‘little girl, slut’. sukuna’s a menace and loves to create drama between his concubines

“shut up. i don’t care if they’re here or not,” sukuna grunts, tightening his grip on your fleshy thighs as his lower cock slams in and out your sloppy cunt without much thought. the sound of pruning shears cutting off branches is easily overwhelmed by the lewd noises of skin slapping against skin.

you feel sorry for those servants who’re just doing their job tending to the garden. none of them dare to look your way. they’re sweating, eyes solely focused on the branches they’re cutting, acting like they are not hearing the sinful moans and grunts in the distance. if they look, they’re dead. that much is known.

everything is blurry to you. all you can manage to do is let out a string of pleasure filled whines. your body is easily overpowered and held up against the harsh wood of the nearby wall. your thighs are spread in an awfully painful way, your knees up to your chest. quite literally folded in half.

“i said eyes on me, y’ fuckin’ slut,” sukuna barks. he does not have the patience today. you breaking the intense eye contact with him only worsens his mood. one of his veiny hands tug at your hair. the others hold you up—not allowing you to even think of getting back on your feet until your tight cunt is done milking him for what he’s worth.

you gasp and sukuna takes the chance to grab your jaw with yet another free hand. “open y’r mouth,” his hips do not still for even a second. they roll and ground against yours, the surrounding skin near his pelvis stained with your wet juices. he could smell it. just as nasty and dirty as he wants it to be.

you part your lips and keep them like that, not wanting to piss sukuna off even more. he grins at the sight of your red tongue instinctively rolling out like the obedient little girl you are. he spits right into your mouth, “swallow.”

you do so without second thought. the warm liquid trickles down your throat. sukuna watches in satisfaction, drilling into you until your insides are complete mush. you’re drooling over yourself already—clearly having lost control over your rationality.

you sniffle and try to hold onto sukuna’s biceps. your small fingers curl around the shape of them, nails digging into his flesh. every time you think sukuna’s finally letting up, he only increases his inhuman pace. “my l-lord, ‘s too much,” you cry out. your body could only handle so much pleasure before it’d break down. your pussy is convulsing around his girthy cock, feeling his other sliding back and forth over your sensitive clit.

the king of curses shuts you up with a hiss. his bottom set of eyes is focused on the impressive scene of your tiny pussy swallowing his cock so easily. he’s feeling proud of the fact that he’s molded you into the perfect concubine for him and his carnal pleasure.

sukuna has fucked you silly enough times to know how to get you under his spell. his fingers brush over your hard nipples, grabbing the squishy flesh of your tits as they bounce with each of his thrusts. he leans his head down towards yours. his rough, raspy voice makes your body heat up, “no, no. it’s never too much for my little girl, right? she can easily take ‘nother load f’me.”

your breath hitches and sukuna realises it worked. he knows just what to say to manipulate you into giving in. so he can fuck you senseless for how long he wants. you’re a sucker for the fact that he calls you his. that’s what you are—you’re his woman. only his and no one else’s. the claim of ownership makes your pussy clench.

“y-yes, my lord. i can take another, i can,” you breathe out, head swaying from side to side, not mentally able anymore to keep up with sukuna’s intense libido. yet, your body is still active, squeezing around sukuna’s dick as he promised you more of his precious cum.

the king of curses snickers, amused by just how fast you gave in. “that’s what i thought, hah,” he’s realised that his hold on you knows no bounds. you’re his little toy. the only one he wants to ravish these days. and the only one worth of carrying his seed.

you’re still thinking about the way he’s called you ‘his little girl’. it’s driving you closer to the edge. you start to get louder, completely ignoring your inner thoughts that begged you to have some decorum; to try and hide the fact that you’re getting slutted out in the courtyard.

there’s not much hiding it anyway since the servants have a clear understanding of what’s going on behind them. “mghh, please—please need more!” you mewl and sukuna listens. his red eyes darken with desire as you get into it. he loves to experience that lust driven side of yours. a complete opposite to your usual formal and shy self.

“louder, c’mon. let them know i’m fucking you good,” sukuna sneers, enjoying the mind games he is playing with you. you’re too cockdrunk to even notice. the them in his sentence refers to his other concubines. he knows that you’re secretly craving to get revenge on them and show them just how well you get dicked down by him every single day.

unlike them, who rarely get graced by his touch. that is, when you’re unavailable.

you do as told and increase the volume of your erotic moans, letting everyone around the estate know what you’re getting up to. not like anyone could interfere. sukuna wouldn’t dare let them live a second after.

“that’s it, yeah,” the sorcerer grunts and rams his length repeatedly into you, cursing at the way you’re gripping him so tightly. you’re so dripping wet that he slips out of you for a second. he moves his hips, angling them better to slam back inside of you.

however, you’re one step ahead. your shaky hand reaches down between your legs and you quickly guide his tip to your entrance, urging him to push between your moist folds again. “nasty fuckin’ girl,” sukuna scoffs at your desperation, though secretly thrives off it. he switches cocks and shoves the upper one into your cunt.

you gasp. you’re so used to him to the point that you could sense the difference between his dicks. the upper one has more veins and is a tad bit girthier. you hiccup and nearly choke on your own moans and spit from the change of pace and dicks. “ngh, ‘tis so deep, my lord—” you whine loudly and your hands move to hold your breasts, stopping them from painfully jiggling around in every direction.

sukuna hums in content as he continues his rough thrusts. he can feel his balls twitch and clench, ready to shoot his sperm all up in your womb like you deserve. though, he doesn’t want to end this moment too quickly. he wants to extend it.

“c’mere,” sukuna grumbles and stops pounding your poor, aching cunt. he stills his dick inside you and allows you to cling onto his tall stature, lifting you away from the wall. he silently urges you to wrap your legs around his waist so he could carry you.

the robes of your kimono get left behind on the patch of grass near the wall of the main house. there’s a few droplets of white liquid that’s stained the grass, right where sukuna and you were standing at seconds ago.

you don’t think about anything anymore as you babble about how full you felt with his cock all the way in you. the fat tip brushes against your cervix with each step sukuna takes towards his next destination.

“keep talkin’ to me, doll. tell me how good it feels to take my cock,” he grins smugly as he carries your little body like a trophy into the main building—not paying mind to any maids who he passes by. they’re shocked by the sight of their lady in such a state, though are only able to bow at the two of you.

sukuna finally stops in front of the dinner table. the same table you always have dinner at with him and his other women. he places your back against the surface, big hands holding you down by your hips. “there we go,” he coos mockingly, seeing how you’re completely fucked out, yet still needing more of him.

the king of curses has his own twisted reasons of bringing you here. looking outside of the window, you notice how the sun is starting to set. that’s also the moment you realise his hidden motive.

the other concubines will sooner or later gather at the dining hall to eat supper. they’d expect a peaceful meal, though instead, they’ll be greeted by the sight of their dear lord screwing his favorite. it’ll be a painful blow to them.

which is exactly what the ruthless man wants to achieve.

sukuna licks his lips and all of his eyes focus on you solely, “gonna enjoy my dinner a bit earlier t’day, yeah?”

CR. STTORU 2024

[simpjaes]

SWEET LITTLE MONEY MAKER. ― S.JY

When your best friend quite literally gifts you an entire man, you realize that you’re in no place to pretend that you don’t love it.  or the one where you’re very much an “i don’t need a man” type of person, and Jake shows you that you do, in fact, need a man….him, you specifically need him. Only because he needs you. 

MDNI! reblogs help writers, so please show your support through a reblog! PAIRING ― stripper!sim jaeyun x rich!afab reader

WORDCOUNT― 13.6k

CONTENT―  he’s a switch and desperately wants to be ur sugar baby, you’re a boring rich bitch who has no interest at first, masturbation, reader is kind of power-hungry, jake chokes her NOTE ― if you’ve read this before, specifically for jeno, hi. that was written by me back in 2022 except now it’s way better and not an absolute trash-fire. enjoy! not proof read kind of.

nsfw tags under cut::

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

NSFW TAGS― jake is a stripper so obv dancing and stripping, HE’S VERY SWITCH BUT MOSTLY SUBBY HERE, hand job, masturbation, choking without permission, finger fucking, making out, protected sex omg GASP, slight nipple play, riding, lil bit of stomach bulge, sensitive cock continues to get fucked lmfao

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It was a gift, or rather, he was the gift.

A downpayment of six hundred dollars told you enough about the man. It’s obvious he offers his services to lonely, sad, rich women who have no one else to spend their money on. A parasite, a leech, is what he is. Yet, still, your best friend has been taunting you with the idea for months in an attempt to have you give the guy a try.

She had apparently heard of the infamous Jake through various means. All rich women, all lonely and unsatisfied women. Which, to you only seems like a fucking insult to be taunted with the very idea of hiring this man. What is she implying? That you’re lonely and unsatisfied? Please.

Some best friend. Then again, she has since experienced Jake herself, and now her taunting feels more like…promises. 

“He’s so clean, toned, and oh god–” She had paused with a flush across her cheeks as she thought back to the heated night. “The way he moves, shit, he teases so much. I could have died right then and there if he were to–” 

The expression of disinterest on your face did not halt her doting, nor did the blatant grimace you eventually shot at her. Genuinely, you cannot take her seriously. Already you know too much about her, which is nice and all, but you could do without the details of her little stripper friend and how “wet” he left her. 

“I even heard that sometimes he even gives special treatments with his services…” She had rolled her eyes after she said that, almost looking offended. “Not that I'd know or anything, he took my cash and left when our session was up.” 

You recall knowing exactly what that “treatment” probably entailed, and the reason your best friend didn’t get it was likely due to the fact that she’s, well, not that rich. You’d assume such an expensive man wouldn’t give special treatments to women who wouldn’t end up being repeat customers anyway. Or, maybe, he just wasn’t trying to drain her dry. 

And even with all of the information being dangled in front of your face, practically force fed to you, the image should be more delicious than the century-old wine you have every night at dinner– for the entire duration of her doting compliments of Jake, you are simply not fucking interested. There’s other things to do in life, more to worry about than getting your body excited for someone who will never finish the job. 

Last week was when your bestie told you all about her single night with him. In fact, her entire visit was just her speaking of him, of how great he is, of how alluring he is. Arguably, you see that she’s a bit obsessed. Does it make you curious? Maybe a little bit, but not enough to actually give him a go yourself. And so, after that visit, you watched her leave with a menacing, evil little glint in her eye. You ignored it, as per usual considering she’s always up to something, unaware that the visit she lends to you today is not a complimentary marketing campaign of a male stripper, no, it’s a fucking ambush. 

When she appeared at your doorstep, she said nothing. She didn’t even look you in the eye, actually. Weird.  She did, however, have an envelope in her hand and you were almost offended at how she threw it at you and trotted away without a single greeting or goodbye. No afternoon lunch over champagne, no gossip, no advertising. Just an envelope. 

Suspicious.

Upon opening said envelope, you find that your bitch of a best friend dropped that six hundred dollar down payment, likely in an attempt to force you out of being the stick in the mud that you always are. There’s a note. Your name in bold letters, a date, a time, and a signature of none other than “Jake Sim” with a fucking website on the back. 

Shortly after huffing and rolling your eyes, about two seconds from tossing her six hundred dollars in the trash, you feel your phone ping to show your best friend texting you. 

Best Friend: I paid for it, you just have to tip him. a lot. tip him a lot. You: why the fuck would you buy a stripper for me?

Best Friend: you need it, trust me. 

So, now here you are waiting for that knock on your door and wondering why you even tried to look nice for some dude that’s about to swing his meat in your face. Appearance, reputation, whatever. Fucking unbelievable, you think, that there’s a stripper out there that only does private parties and your own best friend thinks you need it? You could have any dick you want, why the fuck should you have to pay just to look? 

He’s going to be expecting more than just you here, alone in your house. Surely, he won’t be expecting to waltz into someone’s home all oiled up only to find one very disinterested woman. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

To your dismay, Jake has apparently already been warned of you. Your best friend probably told him that you’re a nightmare, too difficult to fluster or gain an interest from. The first words out of his mouth when you opened your door was “She said you’d give me that look.”

Still, even so, your best friend wasn’t lying to him. You played the part of yourself all too well as you watched him saunter into your home as if he owned the place. You’re impressed actually, with the way he doesn’t seem to feel out of place in such a lavish room. He looks…comfortable here as he scopes out his stage for the night, like he belongs. 

“Big place, looked smaller on the outside.” He says casually, filling the silence in the room since you make no attempt yourself to greet him. 

You watch as he tosses his bag beside your living room couch and eyes the spacious area just in front of the large fireplace. His eyes flick to the windows, to the walls, counting the outlets and looking for shelves with space. 

“The smaller the better, sometimes it feels too big in here for just me.” You finally speak, admitting a small weakness of yours almost immediately. You are lonely, despite never wanting to admit it. And you watch as he shrugs, now crouching to grab wires from his bag. 

“Oh yeah?” He glances at you. “Must get lonely. What a good friend to purchase me to help you with that.”

You bite the inside of your cheek at that, noting his calm and cool tone as he talks his business. The little smirk at the corner of his lips is charming, but it’s all for show. He’s just a pretty man, that’s all he’s got going for him and you guess you can respect the hustle. 

“This was not my doing.” You cross your arms, pretending to be unimpressed. 

“Yeah, yeah–” He waves you off as he begins to set up, making space for small lights to set the mood, looking to see if you have a sound system he can use. “I already know that you’re new to this.” He’s still calm, still collected.

“Lucky for you, first-timers are my favorite to entertain.” He smirks again, now looking directly at you as he, now, fluffs some of your couch pillows. 

Your curiosity spikes again only for a moment. You really did think that the initial meeting would be different, less casual. You half expected him to waltz in cock swinging. Wasn’t he, like, supposed to pretend to be a cop or something? You know, show up and press play on a magical stereo that didn’t exist beforehand and start vibrating on you? 

Instead, he’s just setting up…fully clothed in a ratty sweater with jeans that hug his thighs. He doesn’t appear at all to be a man that gets paid to take his clothes off. It makes you wonder. Makes you want to ask questions. Then again, you still have no interest in learning about him considering you already know exactly what he will be doing soon enough. 

“You’re good with the mood lighting, yeah? Or do you prefer the morgue lighting?” His eyes shoot up to the bright white lights on your ceiling as he goes for his laptop now, presumably to connect it to your very obvious sound system.

You only take slight offense to his comment on your living room lighting, considering you have a control panel that can make them way less blinding, but– he’s right. And now you’re a little insecure that you prefer such a drab color in your home. You make your way to the wall, clicking the buttons on the panel just to prove you have warm lighting too, and that you can adjust the brightness. 

“Ah, perfect.” Jake hums from across the room, eyes focused on his laptop screen before glancing to you and your extravagant light switch. “A little lower.” He guides you, knowing exactly which lighting accentuates his toned body the best when paired with his own little LED colored lights. 

You turn the knob slightly, wondering just how good he must be at dancing in houses like this one. 

“Little more.” He smiles

You dim the lighting more, looking at him and his relaxed posture. 

“Right there.” He finishes in a more gentle tone, eyes focusing back on his laptop as he prepares not only the playlist but the mood lighting from his end too. Red. Lots of red.

And you just watch, his voice ringing in your ears as you try to pretend that your best friend wasn’t right. Even with just this casual set up…he’s…goddamn, he’s alluring. In that ratty old sweater, with his messy hair and pretty smile. 

Stunning. 

This motherfucker is stunning. 

“Go and sit–” Jake says now, nodding to your couch as he places his laptop down, presumably done with the set up. “Just tell me where I can get myself ready and I’ll be back out shortly.” 

You point towards the guest bathroom as you take your seat on the couch, unsure as to why your hands feel so clammy. And by the time he rounds the corner and you can hear the bathroom door shut, you attempt to make yourself comfortable. 

And goddammit, no matter how many times you’ve napped here on this plush and soft surface, you can’t find the comfort here right now. The curiosity of why you’re okay with this burns in your gut despite knowing exactly why. Despite the fact that your best friend can always see straight through you and know exactly what you are. 

At the end of the day though, why the curiosity exists isn’t what matters. It’s the curiosity itself. You want to know how much money Jake makes doing this, if he likes doing it, how he got started, what he does to advertise himself in a way to only find women like you, and many other things. Countless things. He’s hot as hell, actually, and how he’s come to do this kind of work is either one of two things. One being that he’s using what the Gods gave him to the fullest. Two, being that he had no other choice. 

If he’s going to be paid to give you attention, the least you can hope is that he does it because he enjoys it, not because he has to do it. And if it does end up being because he has to do it, then perhaps his tip would be even larger than what you’d give for the ladder. 

You’re uncomfortable. 

The fact looming that you genuinely could go out and find a man at any given moment, yet here you are with a man forced upon you because you simply won’t do it. The implications of this man being here, why he’s here, how he ended up in this situation. 

You’ve never been one to care, so why start now? 

“You overthink too much.” Your best friend had said to you once, twice, hundreds of times during your friendship.  Maybe she’s right, maybe you should just enjoy the show without feeling entitled to a slutty man’s life story.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake remains in the bathroom for a good thirty or so minutes, each of them passing like a nightmare in your head. Back and forth your brain goes, from not wanting to be in this situation to fighting yourself for being such a fucking bore. A very, very attractive man is primping himself for you to look at, he’s going to come out and do his best to turn you on, the least you can do is let yourself enjoy something for once. Enjoy him. Gawk and fawn over him. After all, at least you know there’s no promise to be had after he leaves. 

No missed calls, no blocked numbers. This is business. 

Fucking thankfully, the moment he comes out of your bathroom your mind has adjusted itself into the correct state of mind for this. A torturous adventure of thoughts, but you made it nonetheless. You actually can’t even look away from him now that he’s revealed himself, even when you tried. He isn’t dressed in anything that looks tacky or cheap. Hell, he doesn’t even look sexual. He just looks…

Expensive. 

Jake genuinely looks like this is a place where he belongs. He smells like he belongs here, walks and murmurs like it too. 

You feel yourself physically react to him in his blazer and dress pants. Business is what got you to where you are today, but never have you found the attire sexy in any way until now. The suit looks much like what your team would wear day to day in the office. Always all those shy men coming into your office, stuttering through their questions and need for approvals. Jake isn’t stuttering in his suit though, he’s standing confidently at his laptop as if he hasn’t even noticed you staring yet. 

One look from him though is all he needed. Choosing this attire for someone like you is sure to mix both business and pleasure. It was a gamble of course, to bring your work home for you, but he does have the slight hope that you’ll never look at a man in a suit the same way again after this. 

And goddamn the way his abs were glistening in the dim lighting before he had turned away from you. His blazer was partially open revealing nothing but skin when he walked into the room, and you honestly wonder if he even needed to do that. He could be fully clothed at this point and you think the room would still feel hotter than usual given your mind-state. 

The way his belt held his pants on his hips was enough to have you thinking, looking as if it’s begging to be unbuckled just so the sound of it could fill your ears. The way the blazer widens his shoulders much more than the sweater from before. He looks bigger right now, both physically and in aura. 

The scent of him wafted off of him in an even prettier way when paired with his image. He smells like a sweet type of musk, something you’d be interested in drinking alongside your dinner on special occasions. And under the assumption that the scent is why his abs are fucking glistening– fucking body oil. He uses body oil for this.

His hair rustles about when he turns to face you again, this time with the bass of whatever song he’s playing accentuating each step towards you. So…the talking is done then? Your cheeks heat up at how quickly he starts his session with you, even without a single roll of his body. Already, you could eat him alive, the smirk on his face leading your eyes straight to him. 

Trailing down, down down. To his neck, that small glimpse of exposed chest, to the even more exposed lower abdomen section. His belt.

“Good?” He asks, leaning over you and placing his hands on either side of your head as he grips the couch.

You can’t look up at him, eyes training on his chest that you can now fully see through his single buttoned blazer. That same sweet musk assaulting your lungs. 

Watching you from up here, Jake can tell you’re going to be fun to play with. A woman with such a harsh exterior now melting at the mere image of him when he’s got the right lights on him. To be fair, he really was warned and prepared by your friend, which didn’t seem the type to afford him on more than one occasion.

He thought it was nice that she paid for another session, shocking him to learn that it wasn’t for herself at all. What a wonderful friend, and what a bitch you’d be to have turned him away. 

Finally, you nod to him, still eyeing his body in a shameful show of how much you genuinely did need this. What’s so bad about paying to look? Especially when the man is Jake, and he’s presenting himself like this.

“Rule number one.” Jake smiles, swaying in front of you as his grip tightens against the couch, wanting you to feel trapped and hopefully mesmerized by him, “I only accept bills of twenty, fifty, and one hundred. If you toss a fucking dollar, I’m leaving.” 

That’s clearly not an issue you could fathom having, despite your internal protests. You only carry bigger bills anyway so you nod to him, quickly forgetting he even shared that ridiculous rule that would never apply to you by means of watching his hips swirl rather than sway. You see the heaviness in his pants, and you wonder if he gets himself hard for these little shows. 

You fear looking up at his face now too, because you know he’s staring down at you, watching your every breath, every move. 

“Rule number two,” He lends down now, lowering his voice and blowing against your ear in a short breath. “Don’t touch me without being invited, or without asking.”

Now, that’s a rule that applies to you only because you immediately want to defy it. There’s a knee jerk reaction almost that makes you want to reach out, to grip his flexing body and pull it closer. You wanted to feel how slick his skin is with that wonderfully scented oil. You wanted the scent on your fingers for later, you wanted to feel how warm he must be. 

He doesn’t wait for your nod this time though, already noticing a familiar look on your face that he gets from most, if not all, of his clients. This is why he’s so in demand, after all. If he plays hard to get, sometimes he gets more out of his sessions. Sometimes he even gets a repeat client. 

“And rule number three–” He continues, this time pulling back and positioning his face in front of yours. This rule appears to be an important one, the rule where you need to look at his face rather than his body. As if it needs to be heard. “I won’t touch you unless you ask– or beg.” 

What you’re not realizing at this moment is that rule number three isn’t something he often speaks of. Sometimes, very rarely, Jake is in a mood when he goes out on a job. Condoms are always with him, just in case, but he never intends to use them or utter rule number three until meeting said client. They pay to look at him, not to touch him, however…if they pique his interest he surely offers the third rule. 

And if a client never hears of it, they know that even if they ask to touch, he would never. Even if they want him to touch, he wouldn’t touch anywhere too pleasurable. 

Meaning, you were right to assume what he was doing in your bathroom for so long. His hand felt better than usual against his length for the split second he had of tucking it into the most attractive position. He knew instantly that tonight was one of those nights, and you were to be a point of his own desire too. He played with himself for a bit, allowing himself to get half hard before coming out of the bathroom.

The way you looked at him finished the job, allowing his cock to grow to full attention at the mere sight of you fawning over him in silent discomfort. So– yeah, the third rule being for you was a given. 

And when you swallow around a lump in your throat and look dead into his eyes, he thinks you know exactly what he means too. You’re lucky his cock is acting up, hell, he’s lucky it’s acting up. Look at you, fuck. Those tired eyes look ignited, and what luck the two of you have to have ever known your best friend. 

“Deal?” He finally says, tilting his head cutely and waiting for you to nod. And you do nod, just as he suspected you would. Slowly, before glancing down at his body again. 

He knows now that it’s time to start moving. Really moving.

“Is the song okay?” He asks, now pulling back and bracing himself against the back of your couch with all of his strength. “It was picked specifically for you.”

You’re not entirely what he means by that, but you assume your friend must have told him what she thinks you’d like. 

“It’s fine.” You say, glancing away from his direct eye contact and suddenly feeling like a love-struck puppy in the way you feel so incredibly fucking shy because of him.

Jake notes that you didn’t ask what he meant by the song, but he doesn’t push. He’s better at talking with his body anyway. So, he begins to focus. Opting to start slowly and work his way up, specifically to work you up. 

He steps back and away from the couch, centering himself in your living room as he closes his eyes and stretches his arms up to loosen his body a little more. Most of his clients love to see the way his muscles move as he stretches, and he suspects you’re of the same mind. 

This entire playlist is chosen for clients like you. The ones he intends to let see all of him if they so wish to. The music is slow, the bass is strong, and each beat runs through the body in a way that makes him shiver. He can move as if he’s fucking you even from across the room without so much as a touch, and he knows you’ll realize it.

He’s at his best too, when this sort of thing happens to him. The eye contact is more intense, his hips are more pointed for a reason other than payment, and arguably he feels he’s most attractive like this too. Considering the countless times he’s been paid to dance and expose himself to women he’d never even look at twice, it always hits differently when a client is just his type. 

And when he looks at you through the start of his dance, you appear to be painfully stiff against that soft couch. He smirks, a small chuckle rumbling from his chest. If only you knew how lucky you are, knowing his clients would be on their knees for a chance to experience him like this. 

The fact that it’s your first time doing this…he’d be smart to not pull this shit on you. He’s never tried this with a new client, after all but–fuck, just look at you.

Jake’s hips move on their own for the most part, he doesn’t have to think much when he’s getting into it. He easily dances along to the music for you, as if it’s second nature to him despite not yet removing any clothing. It’s the build-up for him now, and he thinks it may be that for you too. Of course, if he leaves your house tonight with a large tip in his pocket and a hard, untouched cock, that’s fine too, though not preferable. 

You watch him the same way he watches you, after all, the electricity for this to play out is there. It’s rare that he can feel goosebumps raise on his skin by a mere look from a woman that looks far too powerful despite sitting there helpless. He’s making you helpless, the dim lighting of this room accentuating his body is making you helpless. 

And truly, you find yourself understanding with each shadow on his stomach as to why he’s so favored in the groups of lonely women. Arguably, you’re shocked your best friend decided to share him.

As the song begins to fade, Jake readjusts himself. He watches you during the brief silence, a sort of fondness in his eyes making you wonder if he’s looking at you or if he does this for everyone. It feels intimate with the way his eyes slowly scan your body in the quiet room. As if the silence doesn’t need to be filled with anything other than eye contact.

For him though, a woman has never met his eye between songs. Typically, their eyes are glued to his chest, cock, hands, and neck– never his eyes. They’re muttering, moaning, or shouting for him to hurry up, that the clock is ticking and they want to see more. But not you. Even as the next song plays, your eyes stay focused on his until he looks away and starts closing the distance. He skews his body now, allowing you to see him in profile. 

In some ways, you have him feeling a bit flustered in the way you keep meeting his eye despite his body making a show for you. He’s never had to act with his face more than he has with you, even as he drops to his knees during a particular part in the song, thrusting his hips forward in an attempt to make you imagine yourself bent over on the floor in front of him. 

He glances to his side, and still you’re searching his face.

He, now, looks back down for a moment, finding himself trying to guide yours somewhere else. He knows his job is to be looked at, to be seen, but this is far too seen for his liking. Thankfully, your eyes do follow his, and you gasp at the way he moves. 

Your mouth falls open, gripping the hem of your dress as you imagine exactly what he intended.

The fact that this is your first time, Jake realizes this is new ground for him too. Typically, he speaks with his body and it appears now, he needs to portray some form of sexuality to you with his eyes. Like the roles are switched, he has to do to you what you’re supposed to be doing to him.

This is new, but warranted. Easy, even, for him to do it because he does want you.

You watch him intently, not fully realizing that you’re barely watching him fuck the air in front of him. Yeah, you see that too, but your eyes always go back to his and now, his own gaze is meeting yours. His gaze is searching your body, watching you move in reaction. From the way your fingers grip at the clothes he’d like to see on the floor later, to the way you slightly rub your legs together in a way that is almost too easy to miss. This alone is enough for him as his eyes burn their gaze into you. Much like you’re supposed to be doing to him.

He’s supposed to be able to look at you and know exactly what you’re thinking. So be it, the least he can do is let you know what he’s thinking. 

Jake’s dance is more intentional now when he leans back on his arms, throwing his head back but keeping his head turned towards you. He tries to show you specifically what he would do to you. That bulge in his pants is large and blatant as he thrusts forward and back to the music. You glance to it, offering the same jittery reactions of arousal. 

And this is when he allows his blazer to slide off of his shoulders, reaching to unbutton that single clasp for it to go sliding to the floor. He continues his movements through it, watching your eyes move to his arms and the strength used to hold himself up, his skin more and more visible to you. You do try to keep eye contact but…well, the way his abs flex when he presses forward, going concave with each inhale of those sensual lips that constantly smirk at you. 

It’s a shame, really, to know that the bulge in his pants will remain there, unseen. 

With his blazer now pooled at his wrists, he regains his focus. He wants you so badly by this point that it’s driving him crazy how hard he’s having to work for it. You’re supposed to be feeling this way, not him. Even if he can see that his routine is causing a reaction from you, he’s practically masturbating himself against the inseam of his pants just to get you to say something to him. 

Meaning, he needs to work harder. The current song is soon to be replaced with another, his favorite to dance to, his favorite to fuck to. And to be fair, by the time this playlist gets to this song on this specific playlist, usually his clients are already shaking under him. Not you though, you’re holding yourself back and he can fucking see it.

He ignores the fact that it’s technically not time for him to move on to his next set of dancing, mostly because he almost never has to get to this part, he leaves his blazer on your floor as he positions himself back on his knees, turning towards you this time and looking you straight in the eyes. The fact that he’s hard and horny is enough to amplify the way he’s looking at you, confidence so high that he’s fine with being seen in any way you want.

He’s slow when he does it, crawling a few steps closer to you. You watch the way his shoulders move in the light, his eyes rounded and cheeky, his hair falling in front of them with a charming movement. It’s not intentional when you rub your legs together at the image yet again, very much wanting to spread them the closer he gets to you. 

You can’t help but think he looks smaller on his hands and knees, eyes looking up at you as if he could eat you whole. You do wonder if your face reads the same for him, with the nervousness hitting you off and on. 

“You’re hot when you look down at me like that.” Jake mutters out of nowhere under the veil of his music, stopping in place in front of you, planting himself right at your feet. “I’d like to touch you, is that okay?”

Nevermind the fact that Jake has never actually had to ask to touch a client before, he really can’t help it at this point. His cock is aching in his pants and he isn’t quite ready to wait an entire playlist worth of songs just to put his clothes back on and leave the door with pain between his legs. He very much wants to fuck something right now, preferably someone.

You.

On the other hand, he’s pleased to see how fucking fast you accept his request. Yes, he can touch you. Fuck, you want him to touch you.

And the whole idea that this is just him doing his job is so far in the back of your mind right now that you almost forget that he probably does this to most of the women he’s paid to entertain. Quite frankly, you don’t give a fuck. You can pretend that he only does this for you, you can live in a fantasy just for a night. 

Jake lends you a smile as the current song finally fades out, the silence back except this time, you’re not looking into his eyes when you nod. 

He’s slow when he places his hand on your knees, rubbing up, up, up until he’s able to lift himself and hover over you. He intentionally pushes your dress up your thighs, solely because he wanted to see you rub them together in full, shameless view for him. He wants to know what his body does for you. What it does to you. 

And he stands, hovering over you for a moment with his hands glued to your thighs before he stares down at them. You just do as he expected, you rub your legs together, you look anywhere but at his eyes now, your hands grip the couch beneath you.

“I’m going to get on top of you,” Jake says now, dipping his head into your line of sight and forcing eye contact again, now gripping the back of the couch rather than your thighs, Just as he did when all of this started. “Would you like that?”

“Do you do this for all of your clients?” You suddenly ask with a smaller voice than you gave him upon opening your door. You breathe in sharply when he moves instead of answering your question immediately. 

He spreads his legs, propping himself right on your lap, facing towards you, letting you feel the warmth of his chest radiating near your face. 

“What kind of answer are you looking for?” He laughs fondly, grabbing your hands and placing them on his chest. “You should touch me, by the way.” He foregoes his own rule with that one, not wanting to wait any longer for you to maybe ask him yourself. “Just pull away if you don’t want to.” He adds, guiding your hands over his chest and down his abdomen.

“You didn’t answer my question–” You interrupt him, feeling the warmth pool and drip into your panties. “It’s a yes or no question.”

He chuckles sweetly, stopping your hands at his abs and holding them there. 

“No,” he admits, moving his focus to the music now that he’s got your hands on him. “I don’t do this for all  of my clients.” 

Jake isn’t sure why he does it, but now he can’t bring himself to look at you. The eye contact feels more intimate than it should with you asking him such a question and demanding an answer. Even as he swirls his hips, feeling his clothed cock rub up and against you every few seconds, it feels almost too intimate. 

“Oh, yeah?” You nervously chuckle back, feeling his muscles move beneath your hand as he thrusts his hips forward. 

“You know,” He mutters, guiding your hands a bit lower despite his own confusion at how much he’s enjoying this moment with you. You feel the cold metal of his belt buckle against your palm and you think he’s going to stop there, like maybe this is just something he does to amp up the show or something, but no. He drags your hand down further until you feel the warmth of his cock under his pants..  

Your pulse quickens as your ears start to ring. Your eyes avoid where your hand is right now, taking in a deep breath and looking up at him with question. He’s not looking back though, instead, his head is dropped and he’s staring at his pathetic bulge against your hand. He’s dancing into it, against it.

“I’ve never gotten this hard over a client that doesn’t want me.” He admits shamefully in a pathetic little laugh, bucking against your palm again to the beat of the song. “I can’t tell if I’m doing my job well enough.”

You feel shocked at that. A client that doesn’t want him? Is he fucking insane?! Then again, you need to be honest with yourself sometimes. You’ve tried to appear as uninterested as possible until he started crawling to you. There is clear attraction, obvious needs swirling in the air right now. You force yourself now to look at your hand with the hefty bulge rubbing desperately against it. The sheer size of him is something entirely different from what you were expecting out of him. This feels forbidden.

Wrong, even, But goddamn. The man is masquerading his dance solely so he can fuck against your right now. Maybe you should show some interest. 

“You’re doing well, Jake,” You finally mutter to him, the first compliment you’ve given since he got here. 

“Yeah?’ He sighs out, relieved as his hips press harder into your palm. Arguably, he’s not even dancing at this point, just trying to get off. “How well?”

Yeah, he’s a little desperate at this point for you to do something on your own. It’s so out of character for him to do all of this just to…well, get off.

“Show me,” He raises his brows, now removing his hands from yours and running them up his chest. His hips continue to move on you, and he watches you as you hold your hand in place. “Come on, the buckle is right there–” he nearly pleads. “You don’t have to be shy.”

Like a book, the two of you read the other at this moment. You’re not a woman of many words and he seems to understand that now, taking your single compliment and running with it. You do as he says, unbuckling his belt and now, sliding your hands up his body to meet his. 

“There you go,” He stresses through another relieved sigh. Leaving your hands where they are against his chest and sliding the belt from his loops on his own. He tosses the belt behind him, relishing in that lost look in your eye.

You clearly have no fucking idea what you’re doing, but you seem to like it. And god, does he fucking love it. Especially when he motions his head back down, forcing your hands back to where they belong and helping you unbutton his pants. 

“Take it out, go on.” He says in a rush, “I’m asking you to do it.”

To be fair, you’re going to do it despite the nervousness in your gut. It’s been so long since you’ve touched a man, and even longer since you wanted to. You could half argue that you feel like you’re about to lose your virginity right now despite all those hook-ups in college. Still, you don’t even nod at him when you do it. Carefully tugging his pants down and watching the weight of his cock do the rest of the work for you. 

His legs spread wider as he points it up at you, a lewd scene, one that feels both disgustingly sexy and very, very, straight forward. You’ve never been like this with any other person. Or rather, no one has ever blatantly shown themselves like this to you. 

And still, Jake just looks at you. So much eye contact becoming more and more comfortable as he learns what you seem to like. He can feel the air in your apartment against the head of his cock, the cool air rushing past his shaft and causing him to shiver with a very quiet moan. He still only looks at you during this moment, wondering why you’ve let your hands fall to his thighs. Then he sees a new look in your eyes.

Are you…waiting to be told what to do? 

For some reason, he keeps forgetting that you’ve never had a stripper in your home before, let alone been seduced by one. Honestly though, he assumed you’d catch on by the point his cock was out. This isn’t for show anymore, he wants you. 

“Touch me?” He asks gently, reaching back down to your hands and urging you to grab his cock. “You don’t even have to move, I can do the rest–” He chokes out a groan mid-sentence as he feels you grasp him in your fist.

Such a silent woman beneath him. He can only read you in specific moments, this one not at all being one of them. You’re hesitant but willing, perhaps? You leave him questioning himself and his own motives, still wondering if that compliment you gave him was genuine or just part of your own little show. 

Yet still, you’re gripping him tightly and allow him to focus his hopes. Dancing beautifully into that little circle your hand creates for him. The best part is that when or if he ever actually dances to this song, it’s when he’s blatantly fucking someone. So the movements come naturally, just as they would if your legs were buckling and your pussy was spread open on him. So, basically, this dance is nothing short of fucking your fist, pretending to keep up an act that he so wishes you’d see through. 

He keeps his face intense, moving his shoulders and arms as if it’s easy for him to turn the tables and position you to where your legs are on his shoulders and he’s rubbing his cock against your, hopefully, soaked panties.  

It’s a struggle though, to not moan out in desperation when you tighten your grip on him. He watches your pupils blow out, and can see the way you’d now probably ask him to do just that. To put it on you, to shove it in you. And so, he slows his hips a bit and catches his breath, staring down at you in wait. 

“You’re really expecting me to get off all on my own?” He finally says in an exasperated breath to your stillness and silence. He really is, trying to act as though he can’t see the look in your eyes and how it’s changed since he started dancing. “Baby, don’t you want it?” He adds, now waiting to see if you’ll move your hand away from him.

You don’t though, to his surprise, you actually start moving your hand on him. You’re jerking him off, staring up at him like you want it, squeezing the head of his cock before dragging those pretty fingers back down. 

Instantly his eyes roll back. “Fuck, that’s good,” He compliments your hand, shaking a bit and shivering at the fact that you really just did that. “Can I stop pretending that I’m still dancing for you now?”  

You find it in yourself to chuckle now, nodding with a confident sort of smile. It hit you fairly quickly, actually, as you watched him chase his pleasure all by himself. He’s so hard, and so incredibly thick in your hand, you’d be stupid to say it didn’t turn you on. It’s that fact that you’ve barely said anything to him and he’s begging you to look at him, to watch him, to touch him. All of your nervousness slowly disappeared because it was being replaced with power. 

Now, that, you’re used to. You know what power feels like in all aspects of the working world, but never at home. Never when sex is involved. You’re always expected to play the part of a desperate woman in need of love, and that’s just not you. No, you’re a powerful woman with nerves that could kill you. And the way Jake parallels your working world, it’s almost too perfect. You’re used to men being beneath you, begging for your money, giving you all of their attention, apologizing for normal human errors. 

Jake isn’t exactly begging you for money, but he’s still begging for your hands. 

“No.” You finally say, relishing in the shock on Jake’s face. “Keep dancing, it’s what you’re being paid to do.”

His eyes fall a bit now as he nods his head. You almost feel his cock falter at the same time at your response, but you move your hand a bit faster. You grip a bit tighter, urging him to do whatever it is that’s on his mind. You want to see if he will actually do as he’s told now, considering you’re the one with the money to bring him back here. 

It’s endearing how he does his best, and honestly, his best probably far surpasses some of the most notable dancers on the market if you had any idea of how they were. It’s just a bit hard to continue this act for him when you’re gripping his cock in such a beautiful way. 

“You’re–” He pauses to hold in a moan, feeling the way you drag your hand in time with his dance. “You’re not going to ask me to touch you?” He finally adds, meeker than before, far less confidence. 

In fact, he’s hiding his face.

You smile in response, looking up at him with dark and wide pupils as you swallow each movement his body makes for you. Your ears are still ringing, unable to comprehend the music blasting in your sound system. Your focus is solely on him, your hands are on him, your confidence is because of him. 

The answer to that question should be a given, after all, shouldn’t he be well aware considering this little stunt he pulled that actions truly speak louder than words?

“No wonder she liked you so much.” You start, now loosening your grip on him just to see the way his hips frantically chase the warmth of your palm.

“Wait–” He asks slightly out of breath, cheeks flushed and bashful. “You really thought, I let her get me off like this?” 

It almost pisses him off that you’d say that to him, then again, it’s not like you knew that this specific instance is rare and reserved for very few clients. 

“You couldn’t even look at me properly thirty minutes ago, now you think you can make assumptions?” He argues, pushing away from you.

Your response is skewing an eyebrow at him, watching him fight for control as he pulls his hips back and shuffles off of you and onto his feet. You glance down at his cock and the way it stands painfully erect, twitching at the sudden lack of friction. 

“Is it wrong to assume when you very clearly want me to make you cum?” 

He stills himself, a blank expression turning to that of a devilish smile, eyes narrowing at you as he leans over you. 

“Are you suggesting that you’ll get me off?”

You smile, spreading your legs a bit and feeling the stickiness drip through your panties now. 

“She did tell me that some clients have gotten special treatment from you,” You mock him slightly, watching his eyes glue themselves to your thighs. You make a show to spread your legs a bit for him. “I also know that she was no such client.”

A small moment of silence as he devours you with his eyes, seemingly interested in the attitude you have towards him now.

“I also didn’t imagine your clients would be the ones getting you off.” 

Honestly, it’s like he hit the fucking jackpot with you. Challenging him, mocking him with his cock out in front of you. If you so much as wiggled your cunt in front of him, he would instantly be back on his knees, letting you soak his face in whatever way you please. 

“Normally they’d be jumping at the chance, you though–” Jake very nearly growls at you with a deepened voice. “You look like you’re the one who needs to get off, if anything to get that snarky grin off your face.”

“Go on then, dance.”

It’s almost like a game now, he feels. You know he’s trying to seduce you and it seems you’re enjoying the fact that you haven’t let him yet. He knows that you intend to let him, so yeah, fuck yeah, he’s going to play along. 

He raises a brow at you as he steps back once more, trying to ignore the fact that his cock is aching to be touched again. You still want your show? Good. He’ll fucking give you a show.

Jake does as he’s told, finally kicking his pants off in full and keeping his eyes on you the entire time. He watches the way your legs spread when he rubs his hands down his naked chest, straight down to his cock where he only briefly tugs at himself. He can almost see under your dress as you continue to spread your legs more and more, but the lighting is far too dim to see what his act is doing to you just yet.

When he saunters behind you, dipping his head by your neck and whispering the dirtiest part of the song into your ear, he can see your sharp intake of air, and he watches the way your breasts move with each breath he forces out of you, and the way your nipples perk through the fabric.

So, he stays here behind you with his hips pressed to the back of your couch, ghosting his hands over your neck, moving down your arms, and then to your chest. He doesn’t touch, because you still haven't asked yet, but he knows hovering alone is enough. It’s like he can feel the electricity beneath his fingers somehow reaching your skin. 

  And he continues to sing against your ear, leaning further forward to plant his hands on your thighs again, mostly because he’s already been given permission to touch you there. 

“More,” He gently demands between lyrics. “Spread them all the way.”

Jake watches for a moment from behind you, pressing his cock against the back of the couch the moment he sees your legs stretch open, your dress hiking up past your waist, enough now that he can at least see a glimpse of the skin closest to your pussy. 

“Ask me to touch you.” He pleads against your ear, trailing his fingers up your thighs enough to where he would need you to tell him to stop otherwise. “Just tell me you want it.” 

It’s silent save for the music playing, and his cock is aching so badly by this point that each time he rubs against the couch he’s almost breaking down to fucking beg you to let him touch you. That alone could make him cum, but god, you’re so good at playing hard to get even if it’s blatantly obvious that he’s already got you. 

You’re fucking playing with him, and he can’t decide if he loves it or hates it. 

Your silence is so damning to his dripping cock, and his skin feels so hot right now that he’s almost forgotten that he was paid to be doing anything that’s not this. 

“No.” You playfully respond, dangling yourself just out of reach. You breathe in deep though, knowing you can’t keep denying him for much longer with the way his hands are rubbing at you. “I like it better when you’re the one asking for it.” You lean your head back and rest it against the cushions of the couch, and he instantly moves from your neck to look down at you. 

Oh. 

“Cute.” He says, having no issue at all to be the one to ask, beg, plead, or cry. Whatever it takes to get a feel of you at this point. It’s just…new to him.

Another long moment of eye contact has him trailing his hands higher than before, almost to the point that there’s no skin on your thighs to touch that doesn’t involve your panty line. 

“May I?” He asks, leaning down a bit closer so that his face is mere inches from yours. “Will you take my fingers?” 

You could mistake this distance as something that should not be crossed between the two of you. Barely hearing his question at this moment, the only thing you want to do is to kiss him, and it hit you so fucking fast that you almost forgot he’s doing anything you ask of him. 

“Come again?” You smile, blinking up at him. 

He breathes in, seemingly frustrated.

“My fingers. Take them.” He says rather than asking this time, already moving his hands to trace up your panties and feeling the wetness seep through onto his fingertips. “You’re already dripping–baby,” He stops to moan at it, amazed by how fucking soaked you are. “I can imagine they’d slide right in.” 

Typically, you wouldn’t allow anyone to call you that. “Baby.” but coming from his mouth, it sounds fitting. It sounds seductive, sexy. It has your stomach in knots, actually, your hips bouncing up just slightly at his words with the pet name attached. Finally, you let him. Finally, you grind yourself against his fingers. 

“I’ll make you feel so good–” He groans at your movements, loving how desperate you suddenly appear despite pretending you weren’t going to work for your own pleasure. He continues to trace his fingers up and down just to feel the mess of you, the one that he created, and the one that he intends to make messier. 

“Moving your hips isn’t the answer though, baby.”

You swear he can read your mind, there’s no fucking way he would say it like that without knowing how you just internally admitted to liking it. 

“Yes,” You let out shortly, darting your eyes away from him. “I’ll take them.”

That breathy laugh he releases sounds sweet, almost dripping like syrup when he lays his head beside your neck. His soft singing picks back up as he listens to you now more than the music, his fingers continuously ghosting where he promised to put them, not yet moving your panties. 

Paired with it, his abdomen stays tense as he humps against your couch, his muscles locking up at the pleasure running through him in this position. Your hips lightly chase his fingers, up when his fingers move down, and he can’t help the shy smile that spreads across his lips. It’s one you don’t see, but the constant shift in your personality is something that keeps him on edge. Keeps him wanting more, to know more, to see and feel more of you. 

And when he finally reaches around you with his other hand, pulling your panties to the side and exposing your pussy, he watches you take over for him and push them down instead, offering far more than he anticipated. He watches as you kick them off your ankles almost elegantly, as if you could do this job of dancing better than he can.

“Eager?” He teases, knowing you won’t respond to that. And you don’t. It pleases him to know that at least by now, he can kind of read you. Yet, still, there’s nothing more at this moment that would please him more than getting to see you in full. To wander back around this couch and get a real good, close up look at what he’s doing to you. 

“You’re so wet right now.” He groans, knowing that you were soaked before and only hoping you’re dripping more and more for him now. His cock is weeping as much as he’d like for you to be, chasing any amount of friction he could have. And he can see his fingers slip and slide through your slick into places he wasn’t even attempting to touch just yet solely because of how wet you are. 

“You held out for so long,” He coos now with a soft breath against your neck, feeling your cheek nuzzle against his flexing arm. “Look at that,” Two of his fingers tease at your hole before– “they slipped right in.”

Your breathing is labored by this point, feeling him play with you as if he has all the time in the world to fuck with your head. Which is…nice. No rushing despite the time limit on his session, proving time and time again that you’re getting more than others get from him. Lucky you, that you can moan out without shame for him. 

And you do, grabbing his hand and practically fucking yourself with his fingers. That takes him by surprise as the warmth and sheer tightness envelopes his digits. You are excruciatingly sexy to him, he doesn’t even attempt to stop you.

In fact, he doesn’t even hold back now, meeting each chase of your hips with the force of his fingers plunging into you deeply, with full intention. He scissors them open, feeling your hole stretch around them beautifully enough to fit in a third. And god, you’re so fucking wet. He can hear the slapping of his soaked fingers inside of you pushing more and more of that arousal out. 

He moans blatantly against your ear now, easing you into talking back to you. 

“Bet you could take cock so well–” He murmurs, feeling you shiver against his grasp. “How long has it been? Hm?”

He’s talking to you, yes, but hyping himself up at the same time. The scent of your hair forcing a slight obsession with you in his mind. The way you feel, look, smell, move when you’re just inches from him like this. He knows you won’t respond to a goddamn thing he says too, but it doesn’t matter too much to him at this point. Because now, you’re whimpering.

Such a confident, well respected woman…fucking whimpering.

“What was that?” He asks playfully, running his other hand up your body until he gets to your neck. “Has it been that long?”

And for the first time, you were going to answer. For the first time, he doesn’t leave room for you to answer. Instead, you feel his palm resting flush against your neck, now pressing in and practically holding you down by the neck as he fucks his fingers into you faster. 

Painfully faster.

“Cry for me again,” He encourages you, wincing as his own hips frantically chase the back of your couch. “You’re allowed, come on, do it again.”

And because he’s working for it, because he’s doing so fucking well, you let out another choked moan. His hand straining your neck so tightly that any sound coming out sounds strained and desperate, even the sound of yourself right now ignites a fire inside of you. You can feel that grasp tighten each time his fingers fuck into you with a painful jab, his palm placed so perfectly that you can feel your clit being rubbed each time he pulls his hand back.

It’s…overwhelming.

“Yes, fuck- again.” He groans, bucking his hips forward and frantically lifting his head from your shoulder, all so he can look down at you. He’s heard you, now he wants to fucking see how desperate you are when you cry out. 

When you open your eyes again, wincing every few seconds at both the pleasure and pain of his desperate hands, all you can see is his face. All you can feel are those same long fingers threatening more and more cries from your chest. He’s hitting spots inside of you that haven't been touched in a long time. Feeling it now almost burns, even with the cold metal of that single ring on his finger against your neck. 

And when he tightens that hand on your neck once more, not only do you cry out, but he matches you with his own stuttered gasp. You strain to keep your eyes on him through this moment, watching the way his teeth appear to scrape at his bottom lip when the sound of you envelopes his ears. So, you do it again, and again, and again. 

His fingers only continue their aggressive assault inside of you, his palms still hitting your clit, and that other hand around your throat…honestly? You could fucking sing songs to him at this moment if he so wished it. 

“You’re shaking.” He comments, eyes flicking to your body. “Can you even breathe right now?”

His smile looks so fucking mean, knowing full well that you can’t breathe and only tightening his hand harder against your throat. Nevermind the fact that you never discussed this type of thing with him, fucking wasn’t even in the agenda. But now? Fuck it. You do like it. Maybe you even love it. The way you’re moaning for him is all either of you need to know. 

This time though, when you moan out and it’s sounding particularly raspy, he releases his hand from your throat and instantly leans down to your lips. He’s a bit shocked that you immediately strain your neck to kiss him. What he was going to do was degrade you. Now though, he’s just tasting the way you’re so desperate to kiss him. As if you’re wanting this to be real, to be intimate. 

Arguably, your idea was better than his own because now he can’t bring himself to degrade you. In fact, he was stupid to even consider such a fucking thing. Despite never kissing his clients, things with you have already lasted far longer than he’d normally allow. Things have already surpassed the intimacy level he allows too, even with the very few lucky women who get to touch him. He’s never asked for it, and he’s never gotten this much of his own pleasure out of finger fucking them. Not once has he ever fucked himself against a couch to hold himself back for a woman either. 

Maybe just this once, he can want it to be real too. Even if he leaves with a pocket full of cash, the fantasy right now is enough for him to accept it as is. If you want him to kiss you, he will fucking kiss you.

His pupils grow as his eyes close, slowing his fingers unintentionally as he focuses on your lips and tongue. Even his body against your couch relaxes and his hips slow to that of a sensual thrust forward, one that offers a long and painful drag against his already raw and reddened cock. You kiss him back better than he’s even been kissed before, and falling into it was terrifyingly easy. 

His brain nearly short circuits at the softness of it, allowing his hands to move on their own accord, cupping your jaw with one hand and emptying your pussy to rub your clit with the other. He’s intentionally deepening the kiss far past his own comfort level.

But he is comfortable, and that’s precisely what’s uncomfortable about it. 

“You can take it–” Jake mutters between kisses, more focused on your lips than the words he spilling to you. “You want more, right?” He continues, only now pulling back in a breath and waiting for you to adjust your eyes on his. 

Immediately, when you open your eyes they widen at him. Goddamn, was he this sexy before? Did he even look this into you when he was on your lap fucking your fist? Out of all of his begging, this…this right here. Are you really about to fuck a stripper? The man you were so against meeting just this morning? The man who has $600 in his bank account from your lovely, fucking adored and beautiful best friend? 

The man that you’re probably going to give the entirety of the contents in your purse to the moment he packs up and moves on as if this never happened?

Yes.

“I want more–” You say to him, blinking at his pretty eyes and intentionally rubbing your clit against his fingers, mostly because it appears as if he’s stopped functioning all together.

And before you can even blink, his fingers are pulled away and his presence is gone. You lift your head to watch him, cock still erect and heavy against his thigh as he goes directly to his bag. As if he knew it was going to happen, as if this was his plan before he even met you, he pulls out a condom and slips it on without so much as a sigh of relief.

After all, he does have to take precautions to be fucking an absolute stranger like this.

“Oh.” You huff in disappointment, not entirely meaning for him to hear it. 

He raises his eyes to you as he pulls at the end of the condom, offering plenty of space for whatever release he intends to have soon, but his eyes don’t seem concerned nor bothered. 

“What? You want it raw?” He asks playfully, wiggling his eyebrows briefly before making his way back to you. “That’ll require a bit more discussion, you know.”

Discussion that neither of you are willing to have solely because your pussy is throbbing and his cock appears to be more pathetic than it already was being strangled in that thin layer of latex. And without another word, allowing both of you to put that to rest for now, he’s right back over you, lifting your dress up and off of you. 

“Fuck.” He breathes out as your tits falls from their perfect place within the dress. The sopping wet couch beneath you only soaking up more of your slick as his words force more out of you. God, you feel so wanted. 

You keep your arms lifted to help him ease the dress entirely off of you, leaving you bare beneath him as he instantly goes to grab both tits, pressing them together before flicking both nipples with the tips of his fingers. 

Your body jolts at the sensation, feeling it run through you and swell your clit more than it already was. The ache is worse, your hole is pulsing, yearning, wanting to be filled. Still though, he takes his precious expensive time, leaning down and sucking one erect nub into his mouth and flicking it all the same with his tongue. 

“Right here?” He mouths from around your tit, eyes closed and tongue still focused elsewhere. “You want to be fucked here?” He mumbles again, realizing that his question will likely go unanswered. It’s very likely that he is going to fuck you right here, on your living room couch. Asking you such a thing was stupid, borderline cringe-worthy. 

To his surprise though, you lend him a small “no.” as you lace your fingers in his hair, pushing his lips to your other nipple just to feel the warmth of his tongue.

“No?” He questions, blinking up at you from your chest before biting gently around the sensitive bud against his mouth. “Where then?” 

To his dismay, your smile is still beautiful but the way you close your legs and sit yourself up from the slouched, relaxed position you were in disappoints him. Mostly because he’s now forced to stand up too, and even more so because he has to keep his head dipped in order to keep his mouth on that perfect nipple of yours. 

His disappointment fades as you hold his head there, feeling your legs almost buckle against him when he moans around it, sending vibrations through your chest. You remain gentle though, wobbling on your legs and shuffling forward, allowing him to continue his antics. Slowly but surely, you turn him around and back him up against the couch.

Only now, when you push him back and his teeth graze your sensitive nub do you realize that he’s so, so much needier than you expected. Even with his begging, his little disappointed sound didn’t go unnoticed. His brows are still furrowed now, not even paying attention to the fact that you’ve just shoved him down so that you can be the one straddling him. It’s cute, actually. Noticing how he was so intimidating when he came into your house, walking with confidence, dancing with intention, finger fucking you and choking you as if he had a right to do it…only to now look at him and the way he’s melting.

The way he’s needy, borderline puppy-like to be near you.

His eyebrows shoot up from that little face of disappointment though, when you pull yourself from his mouth and instead plant yourself right on his lap, letting your pussy lips envelope the underside of his cock as you grind up immediately.

It’s the first slippery touch his cock has felt all night and honestly? He’s been on edge this entire time. You grind so fucking beautifully, and it’s a first for him to realize that he’s entirely speechless.

You’ve rendered him incapable of speaking. 

“You’re cute, I don’t think you realize that.” You comment, gliding against his cock and watching his hands reach out to grip your waist, “Really cute.”

He doesn’t falter at your compliments, instead he just melts into it even more. His cheeks are permanently blushed as he leans forward to try and get your tits in his face again, and all you can do is grip his hair and let him. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt the head of a cock bumping your clit, and you’d never forgive yourself for not letting yourself have this kind of fun more often. 

And Jake just gets whinier. His cock pulses and twitches to be inside of you all the while despite the discomfort of that latex layer likely needing to be replaced already. Still, his hands keep moving your waist, pushing and pulling you faster against him until– ah.

You angle yourself perfectly when he slides your upwards again. All you had to do was perk your ass out and wait for him to push you back down. Finally, he slides in without fully realizing that’s what was going to happen, and goddamn the sound he makes, fuck.

“Mmfuck,” He winces, digging his nails into your hips at the speed of which he bottomed out. The breath is knocked out of him and all you can do is stare down. Look at him now, so docile and sweet like he wasn’t fucking your livingroom floor prior to this. 

And the grip of you on him, so strong. The slide was so easy, so fast, that he genuinely is seeing stars at how good you feel wrapped around him. The velvet walls inside of you pulsing, pushing and squeezing his cock all over. He can’t help the sounds he makes, grunting and feeling that grip you have in his hair intensify his pleasure. 

Both of you now let out a long winded breathy groan at the sensation of your body adjusting to his, in all fairness, you had to grip onto something and his hair just so happened to be the best thing at the moment. He seems to love it though, so when you finally regain your senses of being absolutely fucking full, you pull at it again, tilting his head back so that you can see the expanse of his neck and the way it moves when he swallows. 

“Bounce.” He croaks out at you, eyes glistening with pure fucking hope that you will. 

And, well…when you feel his length pulse in place inside of you, you do exactly as he asked. You bounce, taking his full, thick cock each and every time. Not allowing a single inch of it to be neglected. All he can do in response is squint, trying to keep his eyes open through each breathy groan of praise and encouragement. He does lose himself entirely to the feeling of euphoria and the pain of how harshly you keep his head tilted back. 

He really didn’t think you could get any sexier, honestly, and as far as he’s concerned…if he moves right now he’s going to cum. So, he doesn’t. Instead, he just lazily smiles at you and lets his eyes finally close so that he can fall right back into the state of seeing nothing but stars.

Frustrated, yet incredibly turned on by the way you’ve just completely lost him, you bounce harder, then you sit flush against him, twisting and swirling your hips. Grinding forward back, counting how he moans each time you do something that feels particularly sensitive for him. And you hang onto that, repeating those actions, lifting your ass and sliding back down. Again and again, until your legs shake and your fingers threaten to pull his hair too hard.

“Look at you now,” You half-chuckle out of breath, hearing the wet slaps of skin on skin paired with his blatant and sensual moans drowning out the playlist that has been long forgotten. “You can’t even move.”

All he does is nod his head, that same lazy and cocky smile appears as if to insinuate that you’re damn fucking right he can’t. Like he’s proud of it. And you’re not going to ignore the fact that his hands are still on your waist either, gripping onto you so tightly that you fear he could draw blood if you move the wrong way.

“Keep going, baby–” He somehow manages to say to you. “Don’t stop.”

There it is. This entire time he’s been begging to fuck you, and now he’s finally begging you to fuck him. His voice still sounds like honey, with that impressively hard cock inside of you pulsing so constantly that you could probably feel him in your stomach if you were to press against it. 

“Mhm,” You answer him, promising that you won’t stop through just a half-moan and a long winded intake of air. Honestly? At this very moment, you feel like you’re sitting on a throne. Jake, obviously, being said throne but whatever. The fucking power he’s making you feel is nothing short of alluring. 

And now, as that power goes to your head, you opt to grind rather than bounce for him now. Your hips aren’t as erratic, yet still he tenses up for you, forcing his cock to somehow feel even harder as you fuck it into yourself through lazy drags of your clit against his pelvis. 

If you keep going like this, you could cum in an instant. But before you can even finish that thought, you look down at him on instinct due to his sudden silence. 

His eyes are squeezed shut tightly, and his mouth is open in a silent moan. You can see that he’s not breathing, seemingly holding his breath even after you release his hair. His head lolls back with that same expression, and that’s when you feel his fingernails dig.

“Oh,” You moan, now resuming your grinding much harder now, making a point to bump your clit repeatedly against him. “Fuck, are you cumming right now?”

Still he doesn’t respond, you can only feel his hips stutter under you despite trying to remain entirely still and stiff for you. You know that now is when you need to be chasing, because you’ll be damned if you’re not going to cum with him inside of you. 

You want to be full like this, you want to squeeze him, to play with his sensitive cock even if it starts to soften. He’s too pretty, too fucking pretty when he whimpers. And so, you continue grinding, up until you’re on the brink of your orgasm but not quite there yet. To the point his cock is only half in you with the way you’re angling your clit against him, chasing your own high so aggressively that you barely feel his fingers tightening on you again. 

Jake shoots his head back up, eyes opening as the sensitivity hits him quicker than he would have liked, but you don’t relent. The pain is intense from how hard you’re riding him, but he can see how close you are, the image alone compliments that sensitivity he’s feeling right now. 

He seethes out painful praises to you as your desperate cunt finally reaches orgasm, squeezing against his softening length so tightly that he can’t help but whimper with you. Still, he studies your face through his own winces, shuddering at the way you close your legs around him despite them being forced to stay open in this position. You try to curl into the pleasure, as if you wish you could disappear completely alongside it. 

And god, the way you grip at his arms for leverage as you shake through it. Dare he say…he’s fond of you. It still hurts, but it kind of hurts more when he knows it’s over. Mostly because it feels like he’s been in this room with you for days, knowing that’s not true. Surely he’s stayed longer than your allotted time with him, but you seemed to have given him something worth staying for at least.

When you slump over him, he almost wants to cry from how fucking sensitive he is right now. Thankfully, you seem sensitive too as you wince before he does, remaining as gentle as you can when you reach down to the base of his cock and hold the condom, allowing him to slide out of you at his own pace. 

And then, the playlist comes to an abrupt end at just the wrong moment, because it forces Jake to realize that he hadn’t stayed at all over his paid time frame. Now, all he can hear is the way his breath is entirely too uneven compared to any of his sessions with prior clients like this. He’s breathing much too fondly for you, or rather, not breathing well because of you. He can’t just…go home can he?

“You okay?” You ask to the slight panicked look on his face, seeing how he stares straight up at the ceiling, not blinking, no readable expression. “Jake?”

He shakes himself out of it, eyes slowly moving and blinking to look at you.

“That–” He tries to talk, genuinely, he does. “Um…”

The change in atmosphere almost freaks you out. Isn’t this what he wanted? You saw the way he lost himself there briefly though, you can admit. None of this was even that rough or kinky, so you’re a bit confused as to why he’s acting like this.

Maybe you even feel a bit guilty. Like you’re the problem. So, you silence yourself and lift onto weak legs to stumble and find your dress. You throw it on quickly, hiding your shame that he so wanted to see just fifteen minutes ago. Then, you head for your purse and grab every single bill you have folded neatly inside. 

Just like that, you place the money in his shaking hand and can’t bare to look at him.

“Wha-” He starts, licking his dried lips and sitting up a bit too quickly. “Why are you giving me so much?”

“It’s your tip.” You try to say casually as you clear your throat. “You can shower too, if you’d like.” 

Jake holds his breath, hoping you don’t genuinely think he did all of that for the money. He was already paid to be here, the whole…you know, fucking thing, was his doing. What happened was because he wanted it, and…he still does. Are you truly just strictly back to business like this? You literally just handed him his rent for the month and then some, it kind of amazes him. The audacity. As if he’s never been handed handsome sums of cash from drunken lonely women. You aren’t a woman who needs him, and yet you pay like you did. 

“Shower with me?” He forces himself to ask, because he knows he’ll regret it if he doesn’t. After all, this tip feels like a rejection of what just happened. Hush money, even. 

He doesn’t know what just crept into this room through the fucking silence, but he doesn’t like it. And it seems you don’t either, because you instantly comfort him with a smile and a step forward. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He didn’t intend to spend the night, free of charge no less, but he did. All of that including some embarrassing talk involving the seriousness of how this is not normal for him. 

Surprisingly, you believe him. 

After the shower, the mood had shifted into something that felt natural and less rehearsed. He wasn’t just some stripper you could call over with a downpayment of $600, he was Jake, a man trying to make ends meet in a city far too expensive even for you if you’re being honest. 

Jake, a man wanted by several women. You, on the other hand, feel the need to mend your lonely and stone-cold heart with him, however much that may cost. Not to fall in love, or to fill any type of voice. If anything, you want to be taken care of in specific ways, and you’d like to take care of him in turn. 

So, when he grimaced at your joke, saying that he would practically be your sugar baby and that you’d run off all of his other business out of need to continuously be fucked by him and him alone, you almost stopped pressing the matter.

Because you would run off all his clients solely for keeping him too busy with you to go to them. You would be paying him every time, making damn sure he’s well taken care of and financially stable. 

Jake did notice how you looked disappointed, quickly backtracking his grimace.

“Wait, you’re serious?” 

You nod shyly, blinking at him.

“It’s not like we have to sleep together every time, you won’t even have to dance for me anymore.” You argue, knowing that’s at least a half-lie. “All I ask is that you don’t fuck your other clients if you’re still seeing me, and intending to..you know–”

Jake nods happily, without question even.

“So, what happens if I’m horny and you’re not available then?”

You narrow your eyes at him. 

“Jerk off like a normal person?”

Fair enough.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

man, i forgot how lame this fic is but yknow what? good for me. jake is so fuckin’ fine fr I DON’T EVEN CAREEEEEEEEEEE. pls reblog and leave feedback on my work :D

[acid-ixx]

ch.2: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

read until the end for an author's note.

*"XX/XX/XXXX, entry no. 13.

i hate everything. i hate my family. i hate my father, i hate my brothers, i hate my classmates, i hate alfred, i hate this place, i hate my mom, i hate everyone.

why can't i ever get what i wanted? what do i have to do? i tried so hard to be everything for them, but why do i only amount to nothing? it's been a year, or two, i don't know. it hurts trying to remember when was the last time i saw him. saw, not talk, because he never talks to me, bruce never even looks at me. and i hate myself for trying to get him to look at me.

is he disgusted at me? does he see my mother in me? does he hate me that much? i don't know, i don't want to know, it hurts to know. i don't know why i'm trying anymore, i don't know how longer i can last in this hell. i can feel it, the longer i stay here, the more i lose a part of myself. i don't want to be here.

i don't want to pray anymore.

so if there's any god out there watching over me, then i wish for you to burn, to suffer, to go through the same thing i have been experiencing for years— all for putting me in this place. i would've been fine living in the streets with my mother. i would've been alright providing for our small family, i would've known to never get my hopes high, but you took her away from me!—

i hate you."

"master (name), are you awake? dinner is ready."

you had to shut your diary at the sound of the knock and alfred's voice.

"alfr-"

a cough, hoarse and croaky, cuts you out from calling his name. it was accompanied by uncontrollable sniffles, mucus blocking your nose from breathing properly. your room was dark, save for the lamp that lights up your bedside, where you currently were seated on your bed to write another entry, grip on your pen unknowingly harsh. you didn't even have to look at your reflection from your phone laying beside the diary to know that hiding your tears were fruitless.

salty were the crystalline droplets that streaks your face, but bitter were the emotions that had your heart ache.

you hear a sigh from the other room. before he could muster a reply, you beat him to it.

"i'm not eating dinner, alfred," you hate hearing your voice, sounding so obviously scrathy from the hours of wailing. "at least not with them. i don't want to get out at all."

"then may i at least bring them over to you, master (name)?"

his answer was final, you have no choice on retaliating and starving yourself like you did for the past few days. but it wasn't your fault that you had forgotten your body's needs. it wasn't your fault that your mind blanks itself out on the dinner table. it wasn't your fault that bile quickly crawls up your throat at hearing their voices.

you simply lost your appetite seeing them happy without you.

alfred pennyworth would never play favorite.

it was drilled into his head ever since he had sworn to serve the wayne family and its extended members— he is to serve anyone and everyone, regardless if they respect him or they do not; as long as they do not pose any danger within the manor, then he is to attend to them.

you'd think that in his decades of service for the wayne's - with all the contrasting personalities he had to deal with - he would maintain professional standards and tell everybody in the world, "i, of course, do not favor anyone within the family, i live to serve and that is truth." when in fact, he wouldn't hesistate to admit that he does, in actuality, have a favorite.

and no, it wouldn't be the eldest child, dick grayson, as much as he is alfred's pride and joy, nor would it be the youngest, damian wayne, who had been slowly correcting his mistakes. it wouldn't even be the head of the house, master bruce.

it would be you, (name) wayne, the infamous, yet forgetten child of the wayne family.

it wouldn't be a far fetch for alfred to admit that you weren't like the others. in all of the years that he served the wayne's, you were a contrast of the family.

the first few hours that he had picked you up from the police department upon the news of bruce's secret child, he knew you were more than just a child raised by the brutal streets of gotham.

you pose secrets that speak of the underground.

he remembers your seated form on the stiff chair of the interrogation room, pose unnervingly straight, as if you had solidified yourself against the metal seat. your fingers were the only signs that showed life, twiddling with each other as if it's some form of distraction.

you stared at nothing.

not even at the police as your name was called for pick up.

it took merely a signature of confirmation to dictate the future years of your life.

what's left of your belongings were given to alfred. the police officer, a woman with a kind smile then had to walk across the interrogation table to pat your back, gesturing for you to stand up and follow her and alfred on the way outside of the station, where the car was parked.

you hadn't uttered a word nor snapped out of your dreamlike gaze. not even when you were greeted with a thousand clicks of the cameras, the buzzing crowd that drowns the police station, or the hundreds of voices that yell at you to look at them.

(name) (last name), now formally adopted by bruce wayne, would be (name) wayne. it wouldn't be a shock that your sudden appearance as the child of a scandalous relationship between a prostitute and a billionaire would cause immense reactions. news would be spreading left and right, most of which were negative on your side.

he had to shield you from the crowd of photographers and journalists itching their way to the crowd to get a glance on you.

yet you didn't display any discomfort. you had only sat on the car obediently, fastening your seatbelts robotically and ignoring the lenses that unsettlingly tried to poke through the car windows to take pictures of you.

you were more like batman than you were bruce.

alfred had tried to get you communicate with questions like, "how are you over there, master (name)?" yet you would only mumble unintelligible responses to his questions without any ounce of emotion. he had to look at the rear view mirror to take in your stiff form. again, your eyes were set on nothing, even if they were casted down on the carpeted floorboards of the car.

when he had first met bruce, that child was overflowing with anger and vengeance for his parent's killer, yet you, who refused to explain your mother's disappearance, are devoid of anything.

the silence was defeaning throughout the ride. the only comfort that was provided was the rain that began to patter against the glass windows.

alfred throught you would retain the same behavior the entire day.

yet it was only when you first walked up the steps of the manor did your demeanor change, fingers immediately reaching up to hold the cuffs of his sleeves, pulling it as if you were hesitant to step in.

the first emotion you had shown him was concern, like a switch had flickered you out of your trance. it was the first time in a while that alfred had to do a double take to check if what was happening was real.

"can you... hold my hand?" and it was the first time he had heard you speak, voice unnaturally scratchy from the lack of water. you stared at him with wide, doe eyes that refused to blink, waiting for answers. alfred had to gaze at your entire body to finally notice that you were covered head to toe in sloppy bandages with blood seeping through the grime-filled gauze. your shoes were worn, your clothes were ripped, and other uncovered scars littered your body.

the most conspicuous color on your shirt was crimson red.

yet you do not display pain.

a child, five years of age, had been through more than enough anguish to know how to block their pain out.

you were unlike the rest, truly, you were unwavering of the world's cruelty.

the world does not deserve someone like you.

alfred takes it in himself to always hold your hand after that.

through the mansion doors, inside the kitchen, on your way to school; whenever and wherever, as long as he had time.

even if it were filled with scars and bruises, dirt and grime, he will always hold your hand if it meant guiding you through the darkness of the manor.

you may not consider yourself bruce's child, but you will always be alfred's.

another knock on your door had you snapping out of your trance. time passed by so quickly in the manor. well, it does when you have nothing to do but stare at your diary, draw on your sketchbook or scroll through your phone. yet time would always be the quickest whenever you drown in your own misery.

"come in," you croak out, aware that it would only be alfred who would come by your room. it was long ago since you had given up on awaiting for dick's visits.

a turn of the knob, then the door swings quietly; the hinges creak, you need them oiled sooner. alfred walks in, you notice he holds a tray that contains two cupcakes and a plate of your favorite dish, but you don't notice the small box with a bow hidden skillfully from the back of the tray. from over your seat, you could already smell the aromatic herbs that flutter in the room and see the colorful frosting from both cupcakes; an already lit candle sticking in from one.

the candle at least provides just a split second of light inside your dim room; the moonlight just like your family, absent.

alfred graciously places the tray on your nightstand, on the left of your diary. your room was still too silent.

you could only hear yourself.

"master (name), are you simply going to sit there and stare? or would you rather i spoonfeed you like i had when you had broken your wrist?"

you blink it out again, oblivious to your very own hyperawareness. alfred's still here. you hope that, in the presence of darkness, he wouldn't see just how much of a mess you are. how your hands could barely grip onto anything, hair unwashed, face stained with tears, difficulty breathing through the buildup of mucus, foot tapping up and down erratically— you wished he would pretend to be blind about your suffering for just this once.

"no—" came your sudden reply, "i can- yeah, i can eat by myself."

it's harder to lie to yourself than it is to others.

he looks at you with doubt, it makes you shiver.

despite you wishing for company inside the manor, you could never be used to attention. it would never be normal for someone like you. though, you wish it was. you wish you never hesitated when someone gives you attention.

you hear your mattress creak, there's a dip on your bed. alfred sits beside you, only then did you realize just how quickly you lean into his side, craving for warmth in the solace of your empty room.

everything hurts, it truly does.

you wish you were strong enough to cease the sudden burst of tears when his one hand circles your shoulder and the other holds the cupcake with a candle near your face. and you wish that you weren't so weak in the presence of another, trying to find a semblance of your worth in their attention.

you at least try to stifle your sobs—

"happy birthday, master (name)."

— but you were always weak, yet alfred never seems to mind, patting your back to console you from your wailing.

you blow the fire out with a single promise to yourself, crying a bit more when alfred had given you a gift box, laced with a ribbon of your favorite color.

it was one of the few gifts you would cherish, fondness seeping into the cracks of your heart.

though it wouldn't erase the bitterness that fills your being either way, knowing your family is still downstairs, unaware of the anguish the torment that they have put you through— it's still enough to let you hate alfred a little less.

"alfred?"

it was your meek voice, one that was always drowned out by the sound of the dishes clanking.

"yes, master (name)?" yet alfred could always strain out the sound of anything just to hear your talk. after all, you were a silent kid throughout your childhood.

"—if i move out of this place; would promise you wouldn't forget about me?"

... (name) wayne was full of surpises.

even at the ripe age of seventeen, and in the near fourteen years of raising you, alfred could never predict your words nor your actions.

you had always said things spontaneously, carrying an aura of awkwardness in your tone, reminiscent of someone who had their personal growth (moreover their social life) stunted.

but now, with the way you had said your resolve so confidently, it felt like he was looking at a different version of you; all the more confident and resilient.

except... you were behind him when you had said that - so he wasn't really looking at you - eating the first batch of his cookies whilst he was polishing the dishes with a cloth.

when he had turned around to look at you, though, you were still the socially inept child he knows and love, sitting on the breakfast bar and twirling around the stool as you attempt to not get crumbs everywhere. you were still so young in his eyes.

it's just, the way you had looked at him expectedly like you needed his approval that shocked him. it was always your eyes that had expressed the most emotions, glazing with anticipation for his response.

he knows it when you lie, and right now, you were dead serious in your resolve.

alfred had to relax the crease on his brows before he ages faster than he already is.

"well, master (name)," he continues, turning back to wiping the dishes clean before he could fully face you. "i would fully support you in your... journey, but what warranted you to be suddenly motivated on moving out?"

alfred had finished setting aside the dishes, but he still doesn't look back.

"i mean, i thought i already told you? i have a scholarship for college but it's on the other side of gotham and...

— i kind of don't want to be chauffeured by a limo around the campus everyday, you know? so the next best thing is to get a dorm."

alfred knows it when you lie. and right now, your hesitance tells him everything he needs to know.

you may have proved a point, but that point was an entire lie. with a person name wayne flaunting across a city whilst riding a limousine, you might find yourself into more trouble than anything else.

but he had always been the one to pick you up and drop you off from elementary and halfway through your highschool life— and you never seemed to mind until now.

it doesn't take a genius to know that you had already deviced a full plan of moving out and taken it into action; all you had to do was confront the only man in the manor who had cared about you enough to raise you about your worries.

it wasn't enough to convince him to let you go, though, especially not right after an incident that had occured prior to you highschool life. if he allows you to gain independence in gotham, he wouldn't know how long you would last.

but when he looks back at you again, he couldn't bring it in himself to oppose to your whims. you need a new environment; one that provides you a way to gain independence and, most preferably, social skills. staying cooped up in a manor with barely anybody talking to you does more harm than good.

and being ignored by your own family for almost fourteen years wouldn't be a great way to celebrate your already nearing eighteenth birthday.

alfred doesn't want to admit it, but if he keeps you here any longer, you would never grow up. one person could only do so much.

he whips out a sigh, looking at you with resignation in his eyes. but you know it in yourself that he swears his life on the promise.

"master (name)," he walks over to you, eyes darting at the cookie crumbs that litter around your mouth making a note to scold you on your manner later. he sits directly in front of you, hand patting your head as you merely stare at him expectedly.

"i have raised you for almost fourteen years, it's like you are my very own child. i would never forget you." he takes your hands in his. "but you have to also promise me to stay safe out there, master (name). call me once you're there."

alfred would find a way to get you to come back eventually, even if it meant utilizing your family's neglect, which was primarily the reason why you had moved out on the first place.

he just hopes you wouldn't connect the dots and pin the blame on him once you're back and safe in the manor.

and now, it had only been months since you had gotten away from the manor. he was proud of your development, of your choice and overall, you, but he wouldn't lie and say he doesn't miss you.

he misses hearing your voice directly, the line on the phone being too blotchy to properly hear you. he misses it when he would sit on your bed as your only audience whilst he watches you paint on your canvases, drawling on and on about highschool's latest drama. he misses it when you would always be the first to taste his dishes, face lighting up whenever the food was seasoned up; now he has to constantly remind you to eat a nutritious diet, even offering to send you money whenever you mention you were short on it.

in the good of your heart, you would always decline, even going as far to deny him of any liberty to track you down and bring you a meal himself.

alfred misses you.

does he regret allowing you your freedom? not really, no. but he knows it in himself that a greedy part of him prefers it if you were would visit the manor occasionally during your vacations, at least to bond with him. but you simply chose not to, even going as far to legally change your name once you had become eighteen so you wouldn't be associated with your father's last name.

but that wouldn't erase the past you had tried to meticulously cover.

(name) wayne may have been a name forcefully deleted off of the face of the internet, but that doesn't mean it doesn't have its conspiracies of its own. nobody knows who you are beyond the blurry, unsolicited pictures of you. it may have been a photograph of your back, or articles published in unknown websites and buried at the far end about a kid leaving a police station and entering through the fancy gates of the wayne manor.

and most importantly, you are a product of a one-night-stand.

but they don't know who the mother is, don't know your age, or where you come from, and what business bruce has with the woman to guarantee your adoption at the instance she had disappeared without warning.

your existence was a mystery most would like to solve. after all, it was your picture that was plastered all over the newspapers and articles, it was your name that journalists whisper and it was a silhouette of your face that the underground knows by heart. every known information about you was shared discretely yet efficiently like some sort of virus.

you were a target for interest, a large sum of money if they will. and alfred had taken it in his hands to make sure there would never be a repeat of what had happened before.

it was a clumsy mistake, one that cost you your memories, and one he swears on his life he'll never make again.

the first course of action he needs to arrange, which may seem difficult for most; he needs to confront bruce.

after all, your freedom is your doom.

the wayne manor, in all its glory, could only be described as this palace overflowing his its abundant history and fame.

it was a castle that houses a boy who had lost his parents and became gotham's very own vigilante who stalks through the night to lessen the very evil that devours its citizens. it was the training grounds where the robins, sidekicks dressed in colorful attire, opposite to batman, were raised to be worthy enough to stand by the dark knight's side. but most importantly, it was a home for troubled children who were in their journey of their very own personal struggles.

yet even in its exterior splendour, it would always be innately overcome with loneliness.

for someone like bruce wayne, he embraces this desolation just as he embraces his alter-ego, batman, who wears a suit of black and dons an aura that demanded fear.

even if he carries the persona of 'brucie wayne' a ditsy, playboy who enjoys galas and sleeping with women every other night, he prefers solitude over the sea of interviewers who throng around him like he was a piece of meat.

it would be the only time he could focus on his countless of stacked paperworks to sign and his plans to ransack another criminal's master plan.

before winter could cover gotham in its sheet of pure, white coldness, rain would always terrorize the skies. he finds this the perfect atmosphere; dark grey clouds prevent the sun from peaking through, droplets of rain would pelt against the vast windows that surrounds his study, and there was enough background noise to block out any sounds that would pass through the door.

bruce wayne was focused on his work, and that meant disturbance wasn't allowed inside the manor. thankfully, it was a quiet, uneventful afternoon today.

in fact, it was all too abnormally quiet.

his scarred hands work through signing papers effiently and effortlessly, practiced fingers signing papers after he would meticulously scan over the paragraphs of texts that scale from business deals to partnerships to buying a piece of land. then later, once the moon rises, he would have to patrol with damian and disrupt another drug trade that had been recently dealing with children on the alleys of gotham.

that means he has to sign or reject at least half of the papers before evening falls through, so he could have alfred send them over through the post office tomorrow morning.

he was at least a quarter way through his work, though, when his flow was disrupted by a courteous knock by the mahogany doors.

he didn't have to look up or ask who it was, knowing it was alfred, his butler.

"master bruce, i have your tea ready, along with news to bare," bruce could hear the tone of urgency and a tinge of sullenness in alfred's voice. it was rare for alfred to be emotionally distressed, as he was typically the most composed out of everyone in the family.

"come on in, alfred," bruce's vocal chords were gruff, raspy whenever he's too engrossed in whatever he was doing.

but he was piqued at the news alfred was eager to share, the butler expertly turning the knob and entering with a tray that holds a hot serving of tea.

bruce stopped signing the papers, putting down his pen as he watches alfred, composed as always, place the tray down on his desk, not a single clank that was produced from the metal sheets. he watches as alfred reflexively pours him a cup of tea.

it was only after that action that the two share eye contact, alfred stationing himself to the right of bruce's desk.

if he wasn't a detective, he wouldn't have noticed the furrow of alfred's brows, which was uncharacteristic of the composed butler.

he reckons he should address the elephant in the room.

"what is it that you want to tell me, alfred?" bruce swivels his chair to face alfred, fingers tapping the mahogany desk rhythmically.

"master bruce, i figured you should have known this for quite a long time ago, but your third child had moved out on their own and now lives at the opposite side of gotham. right now, they may have been struggling to make ends meet."

huh?

"what do you mean, alfred? you're aware that tim is currently living in the manor—"

"no, master, i am talking about your third, not fourth child; master (name)."

... (name)?

ah, his... other child.

alfred looks at his seated form, expecting the befuddled reaction from bruce.

it doesn't take long for bruce to recover from his thoughts, eyebrows furrowed the same way as alfred as he leans against his chair.

"and what of (name)? why was i not updated about them?"

alfred had to stifle a groan as he then glares at bruce with what he could suppose was exasperation.

"i had already told you about their leave months ago, master bruce. you had simply waved me off whenever the topic is of master (name)." the butler's glare hardened, reminiscent of the times where bruce was scolded as a child. and like a child, he doesn't know what he had done wrong.

"i feel it is time for you to take it into your hands to deal with master (name)'s situation right now. i do not have access to their location and just like you, they are stubborn and refuse to accept any financial aid that comes to them in any form—"

to make matters worse, alfred had the gall to stop midway into his explanation, sighing and blinking unnervingly which catches more than bruce's attention.

"they would rather not admit it, but if they were to fail to pay for this month's rent of their apartment, they would get evicted from their very own living space."

at pretty much the last sentence, bruce's gaze hardened. not at alfred, no, but at the thought of you; his... forgotten child. if it was money that you need, why had you not ask for any allowance in the first place? bruce would admit that, well, it had been too long since he had last seen your face, nor even... remember it—

but you were still a child of his and he wouldn't deny you of an allowance if it meant persuing your... highschool or college dreams...?

shit, what grade are you in?

why didn't he know you moved out in the first place? wait—

"alfred, how long has it been since they had last moved out?"

"roughly six or seven months ago, master."

"ah, but having a place of your own as a minor would be prohibited by law."

"master bruce, they're eighteen. they're old enough to live in their own apartment."

eighteen years old...? how long had it been since he had last seen or heard of you? if what alfred had said was true, that the butler had attempted to reach out to him about you, then why had he not remember in the first place? you were a quiet kid, sure, but for someone like bruce, people would always not be overlooked.

it wasn't in him to easily forget, but he hates how he couldn't muster up a single memory of your face— not even your hair color nor your eyes. did you even... exist in his eyes? there was not a single memory of you that he could come up in his head.

his child was eighteen now, how could he not have known in the first place? how could he not recollect a single birthday of yours? or any celebration or gala that had you in it?

alfred's sigh snapped him out of his trance once more.

bruce looked up, seeing resignation upon alfred's face. he simply stood there, posture straight as always, but bruce couldn't wash away the shame that cages his heart when there was not a single image of you that pops up in his mind— alfred's disappointment merely worsened

the tea in his desk had long since gone untouched, but bruce couldn't bring it in himself to drink a single drop of it, even if his lips were dried and his throat was begging for even a single droplet of water.

he denies himself of any relief.

"i figure i should leave you in your own, master bruce, to at least compose yourself before nightfall. please do take your child into consideration, though, enough time has passed since you have last seen them." alfred states, as if it was a matter of fact. and it was, bruce should've known about your leave, as your father and as the man who took you in, he should've.

so before the butler could even take a step, bruce hastily stands up from his seat, pen long since discarded on his desk and a quarter of the papers are now messily stacked upon each other, but bruce pays them no mind.

"take me to (name)'s room right now, i need to see things for myself."

if bruce couldn't even remember a single instance of you, then maybe a trip to your room would be enough for him to remember.

but if that doesn't work then... bruce would a find a way, he always would.

and as your father, he needs to at least support you, even financial no matter your stubbornness? even if the shame he feels right now is so immensely disturbing, and the migraine is quickly finding its way into his head— he needs to know more about you, his actual third child.

bruce wayne needs to see your face just once.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: 5k+ words. no beta, we die like jason todd with a crowbar. my least favorite part of writing the chapter is literally starting it. i had at least 5 drafts all lined up and it took me an hour in the bed to think about how should i start it. i literally hope you guys enjoy the chapter hehe, and start to yk, notice the patterns and the parallels between your perspective and bruce's perspective bec ur literally his child, u guys share some habits even if u never once talked to him lmao. the most emotionally draining scene was writing the birthday scene, i had to take breaks from typing it out hehe. bruce's descent to yandere-ism isn't as quick as dick's but it would be worst in the next chapter.

also, i hope you guys are able to notice the bad habits that the reader eventually collects because it's important for the next chapters. it would be better if anyone of u could... point them out in my asks or comments, i love rambling about it yk, and a lot of you are absolutely brilliant in making theories that are absolutely right. anyways, i hope u enjoy this chapter because this was one hell of a ride for me and i appreciate all the reblogs and comments despite me not replying to a lot of yall but u guys truly are my motivation so thank u lots :(((<33!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku, @okaybutfullhomo, @trasshy-artist, @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa, @maicenitas, @ilovvmyhusband, @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony, @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts, @darling006, @starringyau, @rosecentury, @jaythes1mp, @pi1nkl0ver, @i-thirsty-boi, @sharks-r-cool-l, @silverklaus, @samanthathanes, @traumaramacenter, @maddimoon, @anxrq, @thedarknesslord, @h0rr0r-10ver-69, @lazy-idate, @googeecat44, @simpingfor-wakasa, @zvghfgn, @0patito0 (if i had forgotten to put any of u in a taglist please forgive me, it's hard to keep track !!)

[cybersunnie]

rock-a-bye baby

RAFE CAMERON helps his drunk stepsister get ready for bed.

includes 18+ MDNI / DUBCON / STEPCEST / fem!drunk!reader / unprotected sex (pull out method) / rafe being an unreliable narrator / emotional manipulation / misogynistic undertones / wc 1.9k this is a work of fiction. the behaviors depicted do not reflect my personal beliefs, nor do i endorse or condone such behavior in real life.

Rafe hated that you were his stepsister. 

A little over two years ago, you and your mom moved into his home, and because you all lived under the same roof, that made you family. Bullshit. What you were was an extra mouth to feed. A new problem he didn’t want.

And now, with your arm thrown over his shoulders, Rafe was forced to help you up the stairs. 

A party was thrown at the Boneyard, and you clearly had too much to drink. He wasn’t exactly sober either, but you were slurring your words and couldn’t walk straight to save your life. A part of him wondered if you were playing it up. While he was tempted to leave you behind as not to deal with you, he knew his dad would be pissed if he had, and his dad already disliked him enough.

Eventually, the two of you made it to your room, and you fell face-first to your bed, nuzzling into your warm sheets. Rafe scoffed, a hand running down his face as he turned to leave, but you stopped him.

“Rafe,” your muffled voice called out.

He looked at you and saw you hadn’t moved a muscle. “What?”

You raised an arm. “Clothes.”

“What fucking clothes?”

When he failed to read your mind, a groan left your lips, and you rolled onto your back, a frown tugging your features. 

Oh, he would do anything to wipe that off your face. 

You squinted and then pointed at the clothes dresser behind him. “Nightgown. Top left drawer,” you ordered, the words strung together. Rafe couldn’t believe you were bossing him around. When he didn’t move, you pouted, “Please?”

Spoiled brat. 

But because he was a good stepbrother, he bit back his snippy comments and went to retrieve your nightgown. As he opened the designated drawer, his eyes were immediately drawn to your lace panties. You must have forgotten that those were with your collection of nightgowns. He cocked a brow and picked one up, the fabric soft between his fingers. Who the fuck were you wearing these for? A little boyfriend he didn’t know about? 

Rafe looked over his shoulder, and while you were preoccupied counting how many fingers you had on each hand, he slid it into his pocket. He didn’t know why he did it. An act on pure impulse, he supposed. You wouldn’t notice if one went missing, right? 

He cleared his throat and grabbed a nightgown, tossing it to you. 

“Nice panties,” he commented, maybe a little too casually.

Once you processed his words, a smirk tugged on his lips. You wore a scowl, but he knew you were embarrassed. 

You huffed. “Shut up. You’re so weird.”

Before he could say anything more, you started taking off your shirt. 

Everything within Rafe told him that that was his cue to leave, but his feet were glued to the ground. You didn’t ask him to go. Maybe you still needed him there. Maybe you wanted him to watch. That must be it. You wanted him to see what you were hiding under those clothes. 

After some struggle, you pulled your shirt over your head, movements sluggish. His eyes traced the length of your shoulders, then lingered on your tits for a second too long. Even if he was your stepbrother, he was still a man. And a man had the right to admire the female body. Surely, you would understand.

“You can go now, y’know?” 

His gaze snapped to your face. You looked confused, wary. Fuck, what was he doing? He should leave like you said. No, he couldn’t. Not yet. 

Rafe found himself closing your bedroom door. He turned the lock. Click. “Nah, I’m gonna help you get ready for bed.” 

There was a long pause. “I don’t need help.”

“Cut the shit. You can’t even walk without tripping over yourself.” Rafe walked towards your bed, crouching once he was in front of you. He placed a hand on your knee. “C’mon, just let your big brother help, hm?”

He could see the gears in your mind starting to turn, but you must have ignored it because you said, “You’re barely a year older than me.”

Rafe hummed, unfazed. 

The hand on your knee lifted to the button of your shorts. “Let’s take this shit off,” he murmured, his eyes flicking to your face. You were just watching. 

When he unbuttoned and unzipped it, you moved, putting on your nightgown. Poor thing. Were you getting shy? Did you not want him to see you in just your lingerie? His fingers curled into the waistband of your shorts and gave a light tug. Not needing further instruction, you stood up, and he pulled it down your legs, fighting back a grin.

Too fucking easy.

As you stepped out of your shorts, a hand on his shoulder to keep yourself steady, Rafe stared up at you. The nightgown you wore was white and silky and stopped above your knees. He itched to push them up. Luckily, he didn’t have to do a thing. You raised the silk fabric just enough to allow you to remove your bra, and his gaze dropped to where your breasts were, your nipples hardening underneath. His lips parted, and he sank to his knees.

“Rafe, what’re you doing?” you asked, your eyes still hazy from the alcohol you drank.

Only then did he realize that his hands snuck up your nightgown, fingers gripping your thighs. He was mortified. Not because of what he was doing but rather at the thought you would reject him completely.

He loosened his hold on you. “I’m just, uh, testing the waters.” 

A crease formed between your brows. “What?”

“I’m testing—” his hands slid further up, “—the waters.”

And then Rafe paused. He waited for a reaction from you. For you to slap him. Curse him out. Anything. But it never came. 

Instead, you reached down to pry his hands off you. “Stop, what—? I don’t understand.”

“I do.” He held you tighter, closer, his chin hitting your abdomen as he stared at you, eyes wide and frantic. You pushed his head, though your attempt was weak. “You want this. You want me.”

You stilled. There was a look that loomed over your eyes. Fear. Fear because he was right. No matter how forbidden it was. How fucked it was. You wanted him. You wouldn’t admit that to yourself, but he knew that to be true. He just needed to find proof to help you realize. So, Rafe pushed up your nightgown and worked to spread your legs apart. And there it was, your cotton panties clinging to your already weeping cunt. 

“I fucking knew it,” he whispered, and his thumb hovered over your clothed pussy. “Shit, you’re so wet.” 

You shoved his hand away and squeezed your thighs shut. He watched your gaze dart around your room as if the walls were closing in. You looked overwhelmed—ashamed that you had been caught wanting him the same way he wanted you. No, he couldn’t have that. 

He stood up, hands reaching for your face. “Hey, hey, you’re good,” he soothed, searching for your eyes, your cheeks hot under his palms. 

Finally, you looked at him. “Rafe, I—”

“You trust me, right?” He gestured to himself, fingers tapping his chest. “Right?”

You shook your head. “Yes, but we can’t—”

He shushed you, your name a whisper. “We can. We just gotta be lowkey ‘bout it, yeah?”

You looked torn, your morals pulling you one way and your desires another. But Rafe had you stretched thin, and you caved in like he knew you would. “Right, yeah.”

A pleased smile flashed across his face. “I’m gonna take care of you,” he promised, your cheeks smushed between his hands, “gonna make you feel so good.”

Then he leaned in, his nose nudging yours. You didn’t pull away. He took that as an invitation and kissed you. The first was fleeting, lips brushing, barely there. You still didn’t pull away. After that, he didn’t hold back. He licked into your mouth, hungry. You tasted like the beer you got drunk on, and now he was getting drunk on you. For something considered so vile, he never felt more alive. If this sin were his doom, he would die a happy man.

Rafe was the first to part. “Turn ‘round.” You did as you were told. He placed a hand on your shoulder and another on the small of your back. “Bend over for me. That’s it, fuck, look at you.”

He had envisioned you like this before, but seeing it with his own eyes made his cock stir. With a suppressed groan, he folded over you, his chest pressed against your back, trapping you between him and your mattress. “Gonna make this quick, don’t worry.” His hand slid between the two bodies, working to get his shorts off. “Wouldn’t want us getting caught.”

He felt you nod. You didn’t resist. 

Everything after that blurred together. Movements rushed and jittery and fueled by unadulterated lust.

Rafe had your nightgown flipped over your ass and your panties down at your ankles, his hips rutting into you. He had to clamp his hand over your mouth to mute your whines, one of the sweetest sounds he had ever heard. He knew he should feel disgusted with himself, but he wasn’t. Not one bit. He was right where he wanted to be, buried deep in your warm, wet pussy. And you wanted this, too. He knew you did, despite the glazed look in your eyes. You were just lost in the pleasure of it all. 

“Takin’ this dick so well,” he breathed into your ear, his thrusts growing desperate. “Shit, gonna make sure you don’t need anyone else. Just me. That sounds nice, huh?” 

His mindless murmurs went unanswered. 

You blinked once. Twice. You whimpered into his palm. 

That was enough for him.

It was better you stayed quiet, anyway. You wouldn’t want everyone in Tannyhill to know how much of a slut you were, letting your stepbrother fuck you like this. Rafe would hate for that to happen to you. 

When your cunt fluttered around his cock, he stifled a moan and sunk his teeth into your shoulder. He wasn’t going to last much longer. But he was keeping his word—he would make this quick. His hips stuttered against your ass, chasing his release, wishing he could just cum in your tight pussy with no risk of you getting pregnant. 

With one last thrust, he pulled out, stroking his cock until he came, painting your ass with his cum. 

He panted, his chest rising and falling. Satisfied, he stuffed his softening dick back into his boxers and put on his shorts, making sure the lace panty he took was still in his pocket. Slowly, you lifted your head off your bed and tried to push yourself up, your arms trembling. 

“Don’t, alright?” Rafe leaned over you, his hand brushing back the strands of hair stuck to your face. “I told you, I’m gonna take care of you.”

There wasn’t much fight left in you. Not when you were drunk and all fucked out. So when your eyes found him, you dropped back to the mattress, nodding. He smoothed his thumb across your cheek then kissed your temple. And Rafe did as promised. He cleaned you up, helped you brush your teeth, and tucked you into bed. 

Like a good stepbrother would.

sunnie speaks! stepbro!rafe lacks sooo much self-awareness its crazy. also literally the filthiest thing i ever wrote. but i hope you freaks found how fucked up he is interesting to read?? i guess??? — remember, this is a work of fiction! let's chat about stepbro!rafe

if you like my work, consider following @sunniefics to stay up to date on all my future fics!

[heestoleurgirl]

sim jaeyun 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ in which riki broke up with you, leaving you devastated and depressed. that is, until you get drunk on a night out, and somehow find yourself in his best friend's bed.

genre: angst, smut (pwp) pairing: ex's best friend!jake x fem!reader warnings: smut, MDNI!! wc: 5k

A/N: why am i writing jake smut, im not even jake biased

masterlist 𖤐.ᐟ

21 days. 21 days since your boyfriend, riki, broke up with you. everyone said it would get easier to deal with over time, and you knew they were right, but you still felt like shit every hour of every single day.

anywhere you looked, you'd just get reminded of him and have flashes of unwanted memories in your mind. it felt like absolute torture. yes, this had been your first serious relationship and you loved him so much, of course you were upset (to say the least).

the worst part was that you still saw him every now and then on campus, which only made your heart ache more. especially when he happened to be around his girl friends. you knew it was just irrational jealousy but that didn't stop you from getting nauseous at the sight.

જ⁀➴ more under the cut!

one thing was for certain: you couldn't keep going like this, you were extremely exhausted from feeling so miserable 24/7. crying all the time was getting old, and rotting in bed forever didn't seem like a good long term solution. so, you had a totally mature and genius idea that would definitely not make things worse in any way. there was a house party being hosted by someone you knew, it would be the perfect place to get drunk and forget about your ex. even if it's just for one night.

your friends had already been nagging you to go, knowing your current state and how you barely left your house unless it was absolutely necessary. they were worried for you and missed your radiant aura. minhee was convinced she'd find you a hot guy that would help you move on. yeah, you knew that wouldn't work as simple as that, it wasn't easy to simply forget someone you loved with your whole heart and dated for quite a while. but at least you could give it a try, right?

♡

fast forward to friday, you sat on the carpet in front of the body length mirror in your room, attempting to do your makeup. truth be told, it's been a while since you made yourself look so glamorous, which made it all the more difficult to get ready. every fibre of your being was screaming at you to just stay home and cry yourself to sleep while watching rom coms. but you pushed through, forcing yourself to stay on track with your plans and also not let down your friends who were there for you.

the faint sound of a honk broke you out of your thoughts, causing you to grab your belongings and waddle down the stairs in a dress that was shorter than you were comfortable with. your friend karina had gotten it for you a while ago, and you felt bad for never wearing it since then.

"looking good y/nnie!" minhee smirked and jokingly whistled as you managed to navigate yourself in to the passenger seat of her car.

all you could do was roll your eyes and playfully nudge her shoulder. "shut up"

she wiggled her brows in response before shifting gears and taking off to pick the other girls up too. you'd be lying if you said you weren't nervous about tonight, and feeling some form of regret. you could only pray and hope that riki wouldn't be there, or you'd definitely drown yourself in the pool without a second thought.

following your excited and chatty friends up the stairs felt strangely like walking towards your impending doom. you stuck close to minhee, who unsurprisingly immediately made her way to the drinks. not like you minded, because there was no way you were surviving this night without any alcohol.

the unknown mix of drinks burned your throat as you swallowed it, not really bothering to be sensible. before you knew it, you were on the dance floor with your friends, laughing and singing along to the songs blasting from the speakers. even if it was due to the alcohol, finally having a smile on your face was really refreshing. karina seemed to notice, who flashed you a grin and tugged you closer as the two of you were dancing like there was no tomorrow.

as the night went on, you gradually lost yourself to the alcohol that was now buzzing in your veins. you didn't feel like yourself at all, but in the best way possible. anyone would be able to tell that you were completely out of it by now.

you had no idea where your friends had disappeared off to, and somehow you found yourself not caring. while you were busy pushing past people with no particular destination in mind, you accidentally bumped into someone.

"woopsies, silly me!" you giggled drunkenly, looking up to see who it was. your heart did a backflip when you managed to recognize the face staring back at you.

"no worries darling." you knew that aussie accent way too well. standing right in front of you was jake, riki's best friend. honestly you were just relieved that it wasn't riki himself.

"oh, hi jake." you stumbled a bit and grabbed onto his arm for support. he merely looked down at you in amusement, finding the blush on your cheek quite cute. his eyebrow shot up subtly, eyeing the revealing dress that was definitely out of chatacter for you. despite that, you looked undeniably gorgeous like always.

jake's hand moved to your waist casually, acting as a stabilizer so you wouldn't fall over. normally, you would've felt awkward in a situation like this, but now you weren't even phased.

"you look like you've had one too many drinks, hm?" he leaned closer to speak, so you'd hear him over the loud music. your hands instinctively tightened around his arm.

"i-i'm fine..." you mumbled stubbornly, even though it was obvious you were close to collapsing right there on the spot.

"are you here alone? where are your friends?" if you were sober, you definitely wouldn't have missed the slight concern laced with his voice.

"uhmm... i dunno!" you grinned sheepishly at him, still pressed against his arm. "i think they ditched me"

you had no idea when or how you lost them, so his guess was as good as yours. "i was just about to leave anyway. can't leave a pretty thing like you drunk and alone"

before you knew it, jake was dragging you out of the party along with him. you weren't exactly sure what was going on, but even in your state you knew that you trusted him. after all, he was your ex's best friend, you'd known him for a while.

♡

jake guided you into his bedroom, sitting you down on his bed and looking down at you, as if contemplating something. now that you were actually here, in his apartment, he wasn't sure if this was the right decision. but what else could he do, leave you at the party when you were completely shitfaced? absolutely not.

he kneeled down in front of you and carefully took one of your legs in his hand, removing your heel with the upmost precision. the other one was discarded too, letting your feet feel relieved from being squished together all night.

you were quiet now, past your drunken giggling and just zoning out, having no clue where you were. he almost laughed at the sight. he'd never seen you so vulnerable and adorable.

"stay here, i'll bring you some water" he stood up and disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes. true to his words, he returned with the water in one hand, and a pill in the other.

you watched with glossy eyes as he sat down next to you and gently guided the glass to your lips. you obeyed, feeling refreshed by the cold liquid. he gave you the pill next, urging you to swallow it. "this will make your headache more bearable tomorrow"

a quiet hum left your lips as you followed his instructions, then set the glass aside on his nightstand. your movements were still uncoordinated and messy, making him chuckle.

"you tired, pretty?" jake examined your droopy eyes, you looked so cute he had to hold himself back from smothering you in affection.

the first time jake saw you, he had felt starstruck. if he could go back in time, he definitely wouldn't have fumbled you so bad. he was a coward, he waited too long and suddenly you were dating his best friend. despite all his attempts to get rid of his attraction towards you, nothing seemed to work in his favour. you were quite literally the only girl he couldn't have, and ironically enough also the only one he wanted. but of course, he was respectful of your relationship with riki and was good at hiding his feelings towards you, he'd never let his jealousy be the reason he fell out with his best friend.

so here you were, sitting in his bed, drunk off your ass and it wouldn't take a genius to figure out why you'd drink so much. he wasn't sure how riki would react if he knew the situation he was in right now. he chose to push that thought aside and focus on you.

when you didn't answer his question, he spoke again, "you can sleep in my clothes, yeah?"

you nodded and stood up, letting him help you make your way to the bathroom. As he was closing the door, he added one more thing. "if you need any help, just shout for me."

it was quite difficult to get your dress off, but you managed somehow. all your limbs felt weak and heavy, and you were still disoriented, though you were able to change without falling over or breaking anything. jake's shirt swallowed your small frame comfortably, and you smiled faintly at the smell of his cologne lingering on the fabric. your mind was a jumbled mess of feelings as you returned, seeing him scrolling his phone, also in a more comfortable set of clothes.

he looked up and smirked at you, his eyes shamelessly travelling down your body as he took in the sight of you. to him, you'd never looked hotter. the combination of your messy hair and his shirt stopping by your mid-thighs was enough to make his head spin. he had to remind himself that you were drunk, and no matter how badly he wanted you he couldn't take advantage of you in this state.

seeing him pat a spot on the bed, you didn't need much convincing to climb under the covers and rest your head on a pillow. once again, you were welcomed with his scent, causing you to feel strangely comforted.

jake stood up and gave you one last look, making sure you were laid on your side so you wouldn't accidentally hurt yourself by choking on your tongue.

"where are you going?" you asked tiredly, opening your eyes to see him by the door of his bedroom.

"i'm sleeping on the couch." he raised a brow, surprised to see you sit up in the bed after just getting comfortable. your next words made him wonder if he was hallucinating.

"come back, i don't want to be alone"

your quiet, pleading voice was simply impossible to resist. how could he say no, when you were looking at him with literal puppy eyes? he sighed, and following a moment of hesitation he climbed into bed next to you. it's not like he didn't want to sleep next to you, god he would give anything to experience this. but he wasn't sure how long he could control himself when you were in his bed, looking like an angel.

for a few minutes, the room was filled with heavy silence as the two of you simply stared at each other. you admired his face, the dim lighting only adding to the tension slowly filling the air. you'd never really noticed just how pretty he was before. his round, brown eyes seemed so welcoming.

"jake..." you almost whispered his name, with nothing specific in mind. you just wanted to end the silence between you, it felt too tense.

"hm?" his eyes never left yours, studying your face as if you were the most interesting thing in the world. the longer you looked at him, the more your heart seemed to race.

"i... i don't know"

"what's wrong?" jake studied your glossy eyes, wondering why you were suddenly acting so emotional. his heart clenched at the sight of you nearly crying. he longed to pull you close and kiss you until you were smiling again.

"i don't know, i just..." you struggled to find words to express how you felt, especially with the alcohol still lingering in your system. there was so much you wanted to say, but you knew better than to break down in his bed when he'd been kind enough to bring you home with him safely. "...i don't wanna be alone. i hate the silence, i hate feeling everything and nothing at the same time i-"

suddenly you felt his finger wiping a stray tear from your cheek, one you haven't even noticed falling. there it was, that familiar heavy feeling in your heart. the one you were so sick of feeling, all you wanted was for it to go away.

you didn't really think before scooting over and hugging jake's larger frame. your face was buried in his neck, a good way to hide your tears as well as your embarrassment. his warmth felt intoxicating and you clutched his shirt like you were afraid he'd disappear.

jake didn't hesitate to welcome your hug and return it, he was more than happy to be your shoulder to cry on. seeing you in such a state made him realize just how emotionally drained you'd been since the breakup happened, he silently cursed riki for not taking care of you properly.

you felt like this was the first time someone had properly hugged you in weeks, which didn't help the overflowing emotions you were already experiencing. you clinged to him as if he was your lifeline, your only hope. there was no way you could explain the way his entire presence and embrace was more comforting than anything you'd felt in a while.

maybe you were delusional, but being in his arms like this made you feel all the more attracted to him. letting your guard down was something you rarely ever did, even with your most trusted friends. yet here you were, silently crying in jake's bed and confessing how lonely you felt as of late. it felt so intimate to be vulnerable around him.

"it's okay, you're not alone. i'm here, yeah?" he murmured against your hair, rubbing your back gently in an attempt to calm you down. if he wasn't paying attention, he would've missed the subtle nod of your head.

"i'm sorry. please don't leave." you whispered, sliding your hands under his shirt to feel the bare skin of his back that was practically radiating heat.

your touch caught him off guard and he almost hissed at the contact, his arms tightened around your waist. "i'm not going anywhere darling, and you have nothing to be sorry for. you've been through a lot and you just need some love"

yeah, you did need love. you felt guilty, a part of you still yearned for it to be riki who gave you the love you wanted so badly. but he was gone now, no matter how much you cried over it the past won't change. the more rational part of your brain was constantly urging you to move on and accept the fact that riki doesn't love you anymore. you swore the mixed emotions were going to drive you insane, if they haven't already.

but right now, even if it wasn't what you wanted, jake was what you needed. if only you knew the true extent of how much he cared for you.

jake's hands paused against your back when he felt the soft press of your lips against his neck. it surprised him so much that he couldn't help but wonder if he was imagining things. but no, he felt it yet again. "fuck, angel... don't do that" he struggled to speak properly.

"why not?" you pulled away a bit to examine his face, searching for signs of any discomfort, or maybe disgust. you just wanted to shower him in affection to show him how grateful you felt to be here with him right now. to be able to sleep in his bed and cry in his arms to your heart's extent.

he wasn't sure how to explain the reason he didn't want you to kiss him right now, and you were completely oblivious to his internal struggle.

"you're still tipsy, and emotional..." jake brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek, "i'm not going to take advantage of your state." he was being so sweet to you, it was almost annoying. yes, you were still not entirely sober but you couldn't deny the overwhelming urge to be... close to him.

so instead of replying, you leaned closer and pecked his cheek, causing jake to groan aloud. how could he possibly restrain himself when the girl he was whipped for was acting like this? he cupped your jaw with one hand and pulled your face closer, placing his lips onto yours with one swift motion.

your eyes fluttered shut and you kissed back as if you had done this a million times before. it felt so natural, and you were becoming lightheaded from how perfectly your lips felt against each other. previously you'd been worried that kissing someone would feel wrong, and you thought you'd imagine you were kissing riki instead, but right now there wasn't a single thought about him in your mind. all you could focus on was how good it was.

jake felt like he was losing his mind more every second he continued to kiss you. he didn't care how needy he might be coming off, cause fuck he'd wanted to this for months. never in a million years did he anticipate it would actually happen, in this context no less.

the kiss grew more heated as you moved your hands from his back to feel up his defined abs, relishing how supple and warm his skin was. at the same time, jake had a hand cupping your cheek, while the other one slid down to your waist, dipping under the shirt you were wearing. the feeling of your bare skin under his fingertips was absolutely euphoric. safe to say, neither of you were thinking about how right or wrong this might be at the moment. all your thoughts were out the window and you were entirely immersed in his company.

he didn't hesitate for a second when he realized you were tugging at the hem of his shirt, silently demanding its removal. the t-shirt was tossed aside, landing somewhere on the floor of his bedroom. your eyes widened as you were met with the sight of his bare upper body, you had to hold yourself back from practically drooling at the view. jake noticed your lustful gaze and couldn't help but smirk to himself. he pulled you closer and kissed you briefly before whispering in your ear lowly, "your turn."

he didn't leave you time to respond, tugging your shirt over your head. the action made you blush a bit, but you lifted your arms to help him remove the item of clothing. faint goosebumps littered your skin due to the sudden loss of heat, mixed with the tension in the air.

your hands landed on his chest, you took a moment to look into his eyes before inching closer and placing your lips on his for the nth time. the passion was halted for a moment, leaving room for the kiss to be more timid and soft. it didn't last for long though, soon enough it turned needy once again.

jake sat up without warning and pulled you into his lap snugly by your waist. your legs landed on either side of his thighs as you made yourself comfortable and wrapped your arms around his neck. his half lidded eyes and lazy grin made your heart skip a beat. for a second you felt stunned, an overwhelming sense of need filled you. he didn't miss the way your gaze travelled down his bare body once again, it sent a strange kind of satisfaction through him.

his lips found their way down from your jaw to your neck, peppering it with soft kisses. a quiet groan left his throat as you thread your fingers through his dark brown hair. the playful kisses turned into gentle nips and bites, jake couldn't resist leaving a few pretty marks along your porcelain skin.

your hushed gasp was a contrast to the mostly quiet atmosphere as his hands had somehow ended up squeezing your backside. the action caused you to arch your back instinctively, making you grind against him.

"fuck." he whispered, gently guiding your hips in his lap. the slight friction was intoxicating.

"jake..." his name left your mouth in a quiet whisper as you leaned your forehead on his shoulder, letting your urges get the best of you.

"i know, baby" his hands slid lower to caress your inner thighs tenderly. he tried not to moan as his hips pushed upward involuntary, amplifying the friction between you, while his boxers were becoming increasingly tight as his arousal strained against the fabric.

your lips found his once more, you were getting more desperate by the second and your mind was consumed purely with need for him. the material of his sweatpants felt soft under your fingers as you tugged subtly.

jake's breath hitched and his resolve crumbled almost immediately. he was a gone man, there was no going back now. breaking the kiss and muttering a quiet curse, he shoved his sweats and boxers down his hips in one swift motion. the rest was kicked off carelessly, leaving him completely bare under you. his hard length stood heavy against his stomach, flushed and leaking.

the sight made you want to faint on the spot, you had been so caught up chasing your lust and now it all felt real. you were still hovering on your knees, having lifted your hips to let him remove his remaining clothes.

but jake didn't plan on waiting around while you admired his erection, in a quick motion he flipped you over, pushing you against the pillows as he hovered above you. the view he had right now was almost enough to make him cum on the spot: you laid beneath him, sprawled out with messy hair and slightly swollen lips. not to mention some red marks he's left on your neck earlier (they definitely weren't the last either).

"you're so gorgeous, it's unfair."

before you knew it, he was kissing your shoulder, distracting you from the way his hand slid under your lacy panties. the gasp that left your lips was enough to let him know that you were surprised to feel his finger trail along your folds. god you were so wet he groaned out loud, opting to suck on your neck to keep himself quiet.

your arms darted to wrap around his neck once more as you felt him slide a finger into you. a broken moan left your lips, you bucked your hips into his hand, wanting to feel more of him.

"fuck, pretty, you're soaked" he murmured, his voice somewhat strained as he held himself back from shoving himself in fully and fucking you until you passed out.

"jake-" you couldn't speak properly even if you tried, especially not when another finger was pushed into you with ease. it was completely out of your control how your walls clenched around his diligently working fingers. "please..."

he could tell you were growing impatient and he knew exactly what you were asking for. as much as he longed to tease you and make you squirm under him as much as possible, his own arousal was consuming him whole.

after a few more pumps of his fingers, he pulled them out, earning a quiet whimper from you. he couldn't hold back a smirk, there was nothing that turned him on more than seeing you all desperate and needy for him, like you'd die if he didn't fill you up immediately. jake was pretty sure he'd never been as hard as he was right now in his entire life.

your panties were practically ripped off, not that you minded because that was the least of your concerns at the moment. you were completely focused on how jake grabbed your thighs and nudged them apart to position himself at your entrance.

he rubbed his tip against your aching clit, coating himself in your wetness and teasing you at the same time. "is this what you need doll? want me to fill you up?" he asked, his voice was low and laced with desire even with the obvious rhetorical question. he nudged inside, not giving you the full length yet as he moved his hands all over your body.

"yes! please jake, i need you" you whined shamelessly in response, tugging him closer with your hands on his back. there was no room for embarrassment, especially when you knew how much he was getting off from your begging.

he grunted in satisfaction at your response, pushing inside slowly until his hips pressed against yours. your gummy walls were tight and inviting, sucking him in with no effort. if jake thought he was close to losing it completely earlier, he was not ready for this moment. his entire body was tingling, senses heightened yet his brain completely gone, unable to form coherent thoughts.

"so good for me, i knew you could take it" he soothed your faint whimpers with a kiss on your forehead.

your eyes were glossy from the immense pleasure you felt with him just being buried to the hilt. the stretch was perfect, he filled you up perfectly without causing any pain.

after a moment of panting and moans, jake started to rock his hips, thrusting into you slowly. he wasn't sure how long he'd last with you being so perfect for him in every way.

"holy fuck..." he closed his eyes for a moment, desperate to keep himself together in favour of your pleasure and comfort. your soft moans and gasps didn't help his case one bit.

you couldn't stay quiet even if you tried, he was bringing you so much euphoria you swore you would explode. your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist as he sped up his movements, pushing as deep as possible. "fuck, jake..."

"so vocal for me" he hummed against your ear, his breath tickling your skin and giving you goosebumps yet again, only heightening the growing pleasure. as he continued to thrust into you, his hand left your waist to grap one or your hands and hold it down against the mattress, fingers intertwining naturally.

a sudden pain shot through his body in result of your nails digging into the skin of his back, altering between scratching and holding on. but the feeling only turned him on more, urging him to pound into you even faster.

"you're doing so well angel, shit" jake knew he wouldn't last much longer, so he was very relieved to feel you squirm and clench around his dick.

"it's so much..." you muttered between moans, your senses were flooded and overwhelmed by now. you swore you could see stars every time you felt his tip push against your cervix, his movements were painfully precise. "i'm close, jake"

you calling his name out so sweetly was music to his ears. he kissed your cheek and spoke in a strained voice yet again, "me too, you gonna come for me princess? hm?"

it was a miracle that you even lasted this long, your adamant nods were only seconds prior to you clamping down on him hard. a mix of a moan and grunt was heard from jake as he let go of your hand to wrap his arms around your waist instead.

with a few more sloppy thrusts, his climax was just behind yours. his hair was tugged and you squeezed your legs tightly as his hips jerked. you were filled up by ropes of his thick seed, making your eyes roll back from the pleasure completely and moan his name like a prayer.

both your bodies were moulded against each other, only disrupted occasionally with your light squirms. jake stroked your hair gently, holding onto you like he was afraid you would disappear. after a few peaceful moments, he carefully pulled out and grabbed a clean tissue to help you clean up.

once you were both under the cover again, he didn't waste any time to pull you against his chest. "i'm here, i won't leave." he whispered sweet reassurances to you, caressing any part of you he could reach. you practically melted into his arms completely, his presence was beyond comforting for your exhausted self.

you muttered against his warm skin quietly, "thank you"

"for what?" he smiled sweetly, even though you couldn't see his face. here you were, thanking him when you had been the one to give him the best experience he could ever ask for.

"taking care of me."

"i would never neglect my baby."

his words were enough to paint a soft smile onto your tired face. it didn't take long for you to drift into a peaceful sleep, especially when you were cuddled up to him so snugly. jake's heart swelled at how cute you looked in his arms. he couldn't ask for more, all he'd wanted was to take care of you and he finally got the chance, he wasn't going to hesitate or be a coward with you ever again.

a/n: so. i just wanted to try out writing smut but this is gonna be my first and last time because WTFF IS THIS LMAO

i'm sticking to smaus i can't write for the life of me

songs for this fic:

tags:@vivimura@s1rawb3rry@who-tf-soddhi@laurradoesloveu@p1hbrook@hoonielvv@nodoubtily@enhamonsterghoul@heebambilee@en-chantedtomeetyou@hsbae@jellyluv4eva@vivissection@beigerin@jwywife@elairah@heekilrvs@jayjw16enxp@lakoya@ijustreallylike2read@annovaz@strawberrynull@abbyeey@celestiai0@enhalxvr@llearlert@raizennloll@rizzmura@sabriochee@sol3chu@fluveriiez@kitty-won07@sucrosxi@kukkurookkoo@mimisxs@darquette@hhyvsstuff@lovelydeliciousfestival@luciathcv@bigwforjay@pshfan0812@lov4hoon@jaerisdiction@kireiinahana@abzyissupersleepy@madslove-enhypen@b3tt7boop@dodot04lover@ki2rins@sugarikiz ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ