Bro i'm new on tumblr and the joy that I have felt in these few days has no price, I never thought I could express so freely,especially about ufc. And yall are soo funny
[ SUM ] — college soccer coach toji has a secret admirer. but how secret is it when most of the highlights in the school paper are photos of him, instead of the players scoring goals?
[ TAGS ] — MDNI 18+ ONLY. nsfw. piv. raw. unprotected. age gap (mid 30s x early 20s). slight exhibitionism. HEAVY CREAMPIE. FAT BULGE. spanking. CUNNILINGUS. oral f!recieving. dacryphilia. reader kinda freaky. thick dark sexy HAPPY TRAIL. nudity. SHOWER SEX. SCENT KINK. pet names. spitting. wc: 19.1k
[ A/N ] — inspired by coach!toji from my fratkuna series. I was gooning too much whenever I’d mention him soooo
photo-journalism can mean many things. at its core though is documentation and being present. it’s about recording what happens so it doesn’t vanish into the noise of the world. and that’s what you’ve been doing since you started uni.
working for the school newspaper means covering everything that matters to the university. big events, games, and when you attend a school with a division 1 soccer team, that’s ranked the top of the country, it means your weekends are spent on the sidelines of the pitch. floodlights humming overhead, cleats tearing into the turf, and the air sharp with anticipation.
everyone’s eyes are on the match, on the players, the scoreline, and the inevitable victory. everyone’s, except yours.
your lens has a habit of drifting. and it always finds him on the sidelines, the head coach.
standing just outside the white chalk lines. shaggy raven hair that never looks styled, stubble he clearly forgot—or chose not—to shave that morning. his infamous scar pulling at his lips as he shouts. he wears the same black team jacket unzipped, sleeves rolled up his thick forearms. when he folds his arms or gestures sharply toward the field, you always catch his muscles shifting beneath the fabric, veins flexing making it so impossible to ignore.
it’s just a photographer’s eye for striking subjects. for sure….
he beautifully contrasts against the chaos of the game…even if he’s shouting, or breaking his clipboard…. still, you capture him mid-shout, mid-thought, jaw clenched as he’s holding the entire team together.
and then later, when the photos run, and his photos dominate the highlights more than the actual goal, well, you pretend not to notice how often your name sits beneath them in a small, neat printed font.
he doesn’t know you. you’re just another person with a camera on the sidelines. you’re just another face in a sea of professional press badges, not just one of the universities many photographers. but you know him. you know the way his brows pinch when one of his players gets injured, the way his mouth twitches when his team scores, and the way he exhales with relief when the game ends.
and you keep clicking the shutter button—
“again?!” the head editor exclaims. “you didn’t get the goal?”
“I did!” you huff, glaring at the senior grad student who basically runs the entire school newspaper.
“not the first one, the final goal! the one scored by the universities ace! sukuna—“
“god forbid i missed a shot, I basically got everything else, plus I’m not the only one taking photos on the pitch. don’t you have other photographers?” you tsk, arms crossed.
he glares at you behind his desk, clicking through the photos you’d uploaded. “you got every single expression of the damn coach,” he mutters under his breath, clicking through one of toji shouting, then another of him spitting on the grass, then another of him scratching his jaw—
you nibble on your cheek, slouching slightly in the seat.
“you hate when we use someone else’s photos,” he adds, licking his teeth as he finally gets to your photos of the actual players. and they were spectacular. the action shots were perfect, you can see the sweat dribbling down their foreheads.
“because it’s my job,” you mutter, glancing at your editor who frowns when the photos return back to the head coach.
“unbelievable,” he mumbles, exhaling slowly as he sits back in his seat. “you’re killing me.”
your heel kicks the floor. this wasn’t a first. this happens almost every time. your lens just happens to drift away from the ball and fall on the head coach.
even with fans shouting in the stands, and the other cameras flashing in the other direction. your camera can’t help but find coach toji in the chaos. he was just as important as the team. he’s acting like toji isn’t mentioned a million times in the articles! god forbid you want him getting his flowers. but your editor wasn’t very appreciative of your sympathies.
“we’re going with these three, and taking one from the other photographers for the final goal you didn’t get,” he sighs, showing you your three photos, one of the team celebrating, another of satoru gojo sprinting across the field with the ball, and of course, the final — and in your opinion the best — of head coach toji standing with his muscular arms crossed at the start of the second half.
your editor rolls his eyes turning his screen back to him. “if you bring another folder and it’s seventy percent of this damn coach, I’ll drop you and pull noah up.”
the threat has you lowering your head and muttering a hesitate okay, because at the end of the day, you were the only photographer that worked full time for the paper, and you go to every single match. the rest are focused on other stories, or working their way to become editors.
while you liked photo-journalism more. it helped, that on weekends, you got someone to admire. and your editor was not the only one that’s noticed.
“what the hell, you’ve got to be kidding me,” geto huffs, snatching the paper from gojo as he sits on the pitch. “why am I never in these damn fucking articles??” he huffs with anger
“score more goals,” gojo sticks his tongue out, just to get kicked harshly by his friend.
“I fucking scored this game,” geto snaps, grumbling even more as he flips through the paper, seeing the team celebrating.
sukuna chugs his water behind them, “my picture sucks ass,” he grumbles, spitting the water right beside their goalie making him jerk back in annoyance. “you didn’t score, but I get the shit picture?” he snaps lowly at gojo.
geto frowns, “I scored, and at least you get a picture.”
gojo chuckles, pointing at the next photo, making the entire team roll their eyes simultaneously.
“some things never change,” one teammate, yuno, mutters. his hands are on his hips as him and the rest of the team glare at the immaculate, pristine, jaw-dropping photo captured of their strict, grumpy, nicotine addicted head coach, toji.
sukuna snarls as geto looks like he’s going to fucking tear out his luscious black hair. “fucking unbelievable.”
gojo snorts even louder, snatching the paper just to wave it from his place on the ground towards toji, who’d just gotten off the phone. “coach! you’re mogging the cameras again!”
toji’s brows pinch until he notices the photo. and it’s always the same reaction from the head coach. his eyes scan over the photo, then they fall down to the same printed name underneath. “not bad,” he casually says, handing back the newspaper like it’s nothing.
but the entire team is seething, with the exception of gojo laughing his ass off.
“I finally figured out who your secret admirer is,” gojo announces, “it’s definitely the cutie with the charm on her camera and stickers on her flashlight.”
geto raises a brow “how d’ya know that?” the rest of the team immediately huddle in.
gojo clears his throat.
“for the last few games I’ve been purposely fixing my shoes or drinking water on the sidelines where they’re all huddled up. obviously I ruled out all the old farts, then I narrowed it down to the ladies. then i crossed out the outside press, but it’s hard since I can’t see all their press badges—but then i noticed,” gojo holds up the newspaper, slapping his index finger on your name beneath the photo. the entire team have basically memorized your full name by now. “she was the only one still photographing the field, BUT it was pointed at coach,” gojo points to toji.
“AND,” gojo continues, “she had this cute little charm on her camera, and this sticker. and it’s definitely your secret admirer,” gojo confidently smiles.
however, geto scratches his jaw, glancing at gojo then the newspaper. “so which one was her instagram?”
oh right, gojo rubs his neck in disappointment.
your name under a majority of the game’s photos started catching the teams attention a couple months ago. your credentials at the bottom of the article was always signed with your first and last name. however, when the team caught on to your not-so secret admiration for their coach, and neglect of the rest of team, they tried stalking you.
yet, they couldn’t find a single social media handle. not your instagram, twitter, tiktok — even your linkedIn was just the default linkedIn pfp. and the school paper website didn’t have a photo for you. either way, the team was on a mission.
“I don’t think her socials are even under her name,” gojo admits, making the team groan.
toji, silently watching the ordeal transpire, claps his hands, breaking the gossip. “enough, continue your drills unless ya wanna stay till sunset!”
once the team finally finishes practice and began packing their gear. neither one of them notices the students enjoying the nice weather on campus, or the girl that take a detours to walk past the field.
your eyes easily fall on your perfect subject. his hand cracks his neck as he stifles a yawn, kicking the soccer ball towards one of the players as they kick it up, tucking it under their arm.
it was a routine….one that you found yourself subconsciously doing on practice days. you would follow the path down from the quad, until you reach the second soccer field on campus, mainly used for practice and training.
your bag hangs off your shoulder along with your camera — the lens was downsized to your fixed 24mm and the flash wasn’t on — that’s usually how your camera is when you aren’t at events, or games.
it isn’t uncommon to watch the schools infamous soccer team practice. especially when half of them are also part of a fraternity. hell, on the other side of the field were a few girls fawning over the sweaty players.
in other words, you don’t stand out. and you’re unbothered by the hot players that glance your way as they pack their bags. well, until a certain white haired player is squinting across the field, before muttering a quiet “no way…”
geto gives his friend a look, lifting his duffle over his shoulder as sukuna wipes his face with the hem of his jersey, “what?” he grumbles.
gojo’s bag hit the grass. he locks eyes with you. then he does the worst thing imaginable. he shouts your name.
the entire team snap their necks in your direction. gojo suddenly leads the pack of six foot whatever college men across the field — their bags drop, cleats half untied, some bare foot. but all on one mission.
you.
the color immediately drains from your face. your body freezes like a deer in headlights. and when the entire team of sweaty, built, hot men crowd the waist-high fence that separate them from you. you’re ultimately stuck.
“you’re-you’re—“ slightly out of breath and pumped full of adrenaline, gojo heaves out your name. not just a first name, no—your full government name. “right!?”
you eyes lazily drag between the men, fixing the strap of your bag, your camera clinking against the side, drawing every man’s attention to the little charm gojo had just described less than an hour ago.
“yeah,” you manage to exhale, shifting your balance. “did you need something?”
“yeah,” the low voice of the hot headed team captain interrupts. he hadn’t ran with rest of the players, instead he walked up, casual and full of loud confidence. finally making his way across the field, energy drink in hand, glaring right through you as he continues. “why the fuck was my picture the only one not taken by you? it looks like shit.”
you exhale, about to answer when another one cuts in.
“why haven’t you taken one of me? the game last month was my debut and you didn’t get me going on the pitch—“
“I liked that shot you got of me when—“
“can you get my good side next time—“
“why did you—“
“can you—“
“you didn’t get my goal!” geto manages to dogpile. all the men yell complaints and compliments, overwhelming you with critiques. until you’re frowning, glaring harshly at the group of men you’d watched from a distance since your freshman year.
“I don’t work for you guys,” you finally snap. your words are cold making the men frown. “I work for the schools paper, and they choose the photos, not me.”
“and yet coach is in every single one of em?” geto bites back, and that’s when they all catch the slight surprise that crosses your face.
gojo smirks, leaning over the fence, getting close as he tilts his head. “seems like a majority of your photos have our coach. it’s like your editor can’t help but be forced to put him in.”
you feel your stomach churn, glancing between the sharp sapphire eyes. “that’s not how it works,” you mutter.
you did not expect your first interaction with the soccer team to be this. accusing you of favoritism. you can practically feel all their eyes on you, like they knew exactly who you are, even if this is your first time speaking to them.
“sure looks like it,” sukuna drawls, smirking wide when he sees you shift uncomfortably. “you like our coach or somethin?”
“of course she does,” geto’s smooth voice cuts in. “do you get all hot lookin at coach toji?”
you swallow thickly, pushing down the heat crawling up your neck to glare at the men. “you guys are disgusting,” you spit, but the men don’t falter, instead they continue gloating and poking.
“we just wanna get to know you. you’ve been takin’ our pics for months, we can’t have a chat now?” geto cuts.
they were quietly impressed with your composure. your poker face would’ve been perfect if not for the slight fidgeting you’re doing with your bag and camera strap. either way, your glare was mean, unwavering until—
“cut it out.”
the sharp voice slices through the team. then, one strong palm shoves gojo into geto, and the rest of the team topple on each other like dominos. the head coach plants himself between the fence, his team, and you.
“i forget you’re all a couple children,” toji tsks, his arms are crossed standing like a lone knight keeping a pack a wolves from a poor princess.
your heart slams against your rib cage. all your composure evaporates into thin air, struggling to catch your breath. this was the closest you’ve gotten to the head coach. you can practically smell the mixture of his cologne and natural musk. your cheeks grow hotter by the second, completely dazed and loosing all other senses, unaware that practically half the team noticed your sudden shift.
gojo elbows geto eyeing the way your pupils basically turn into bright pink hearts. even your lips look more glossy from the drool collecting in your mouth.
they’d never seen anything like it, and for their coach of all people?!
you’re caught up in gawking at the huge man, eyeing his wide shoulders, the veins straining from his compression shirt, his shirt clinging to every muscle that could break you in a blink of an eye — that you miss his short lecture towards his boys to quit scaring off a young woman, all to end with him shouting—
“ten more laps!”
the team’s eyes bulge, jaws dropping in shock, and quickly follow up with a spew of complaints.
“ya heard coach!” sukuna, the hot-headed captain, interrupts. and if the team wasn’t scared of their coach, they definitely had a reason to be with their captain. they ultimately drop their things and start their laps. however, sukuna hangs back at bit, “I didn’t even say sh—“
“you were late to practice, so you were gonna do the laps anyways,” toji cuts, earning a loud tsk from the tattooed captain. his duffle drops on the floor dramatically, eyes flicking towards yours, which — no surprise — haven’t left the coach’s profile, and with his own groan, his cleats hit the grass starting his lap.
with the entire team running laps….you’re left alone.
coach toji doesn’t move.
instead, he leans against the fence, strong arms crossing. you’re barely a foot behind him, close enough that the scent of grass and dizzy cologne reaches you when he shifts his weight. close enough that your brain short-circuits again.
then he looks over his shoulder.
it’s not rushed or sharp. it was an easy turn of his head, his dark emerald eyes flick to you with calm, assessing. and up close, he’s worse. he’s broader than he looks from the sidelines, his stubble shadowing his jaw feels unfair for a sunday morning. sunlight catches the edge of his cheekbone, and the curve of his mouth makes you stare shamelessly especially when it lifts just slightly. he’s amused by something you’re not aware of yet and you don’t even notice.
your heart stutters.
you practically forget how to stand or how to function like a grown ass adult, instead you feel like someone who’s just had their fantasy materialize directly in front of them.
heat rushes to your face, your chest tightens, and you pray, desperately, that your expression isn’t as transparent as it feels. you focus on keeping your hands still, even as your pulse flutters wildly under your skin.
and toji’s gaze lingers. he takes you in like the way someone experienced does, without staring, without shame, just a brief glance that drifts. from your fidgeting fingers, to your necklace trapped between your pretty cleavage, to the tank top that hugs your chest, to the zip up hoodie falling off your soft shoulder. to your lips, wet from the amount of times you’d lick and bit them.
and you still don’t notice it! you’re too busy trying not to melt into the grass beneath your feet. all you register is how hot the space suddenly feels, how solid he seems standing there.
from the field, a player snickers mid-lap. a majority watching the entire interaction, waiting for someone to make a move. gojo snickers as geto analyzes.
you don’t hear any of it, all you know is that the knights are real, and he’s right in front of you, and your carefully maintained composure never stood a chance. especially when his eyes meet yours and his deep, husky, voice sinks into your bones.
“been wondering who was seein’ me like that, sweetheart.”
you were gone.
s-s-s-sweetheart!?
your heart bursts, veins burning through your skin as your lips part, words falling into the void as your brain struggles to reply.
and he finds it adorable.
college girls are cute, but you, you’re a little pervert. how many photos have you taken of him? and for the past year too? he’s wondered just like his team had, who was behind all those photos. who was oogling him while the best team in the nation was playing right before their eyes?
at first, he was bothered, confused even, how big of a stalker did you have to be to take his photos for months and not introduce yourself?
but now he sees it. the way you’re struggling to find words. the way your eyes flick between his — surprised even that you’re not shying away from eye contact, but instead, struggling to just respond. like the words are right there, but your dumb brain is getting fried just by his presence. cute.
“I’ll try an’ wink next time.”
he just hammers the nail straight into your heart. your face bursts into flames as you let out a strangled hum like whine, face burning even more. unfortunately, your audience isn’t as silent. instead a few had caught your reaction and were bursting with laughter. a few whistling at their coach.
“she’s too young for ya, coach!”
“get someone y’er own age!”
“coach, the shy ones are the freakiest!”
the last one — somehow — snapped you back to reality. your glare cut through the field, immediately hitting one of the players making him burst out laughing along with the others around him. your face pulls into a scowl, heart hammering at the teasing you’re receiving from the team. who even are they? they don’t know anything about you!
shy?! you?!!! you scowl in annoyance, eyes rollin—
“ignore em, sweetheart. they’re just being dicks.”
fuck.
your face burns hot again, heart hammering against your ribs as you stutter out another nod, fingers gripping your bag as you glance at the head coach again. his green eyes were unbelievably dark, just staring at them, you felt like you were getting dizzy.
the scar on his lip twitches up, leaning an elbow on the fence, his eyes flick down to your camera. “what kinda camera is that?”
your eyes widen, looking down like you’re surprised it’s there. but it seems like he flicks a switch in your brain with that question, because now you’re fumbling to hold the delicate thing in your hands. then you hold it out for him.
a small puff of air leaves his nose in amusement. you’re cute. he turns, reaching his hand out, just for your small ones to place the expensive camera in his. the same one you’d deny your friends from even holding, afraid they’ll drop it.
b-but if coach toji holds it…if he wants to hold it…who…who are you to stop him!!!
your blush only breaks out across your body once you feel your hands brush his, eyes so bright and big even he can see the hearts explode from your irises, fuzzy pink flowers glowing around your head like a cartoon.
“looks expensive,” he finally takes his eyes away from you to momentarily examine the camera. it was nice, sony. “bought it yourself?”
you nod, smiling as you rock on your heels. “it was…” oh first words, toji’s eyes flick to you, eyeing your glossy lips as they part. “my first big purchase,” you glance at the camera then back up at toji as you point with your manicured index finger, towards the camera. “it’s nice…right?”
well fuck me.
toji chuckles internally. he really can’t read you. from rude (to the team), to shy, to snappy (to the team), to demure, to charming—all while looking up at him like he’s some shinning knight and not a coach, albeit for the best team in the nation, but still.
his lips curl up, his internal switch already flipped when he shooed the team away, and the smooth voice of his poured out like second nature. “very nice, sweetheart.”
you nod, enthusiastically.
god, you were a cutie.
“and you take such good pictures with it too, you’re a natural,” the sweet words just keep pouring from his mouth like honey, and you’re eating up every drop. your feet manage to carry you closer to the fence…closer to him.
you wet your glossy lips, leaning close to point at the camera, “it also takes video here…I initially wanted to do more videography, but I stuck with photos. but it’s a nice perk with the camera…and I can shoot in raw and jpeg, so I can edit them afterwards if I want, and uh and I have other lenses too. this one is a fixed one, so it can’t zoom, but I have two other ones that zoom, I usually use those ones for work…like during your….games.”
your rambling was one of, if not, the most attractively adorable things you could’ve done at this moment. especially when you’re oblivious to the light flush that settles in the coach’s stomach as he eyes you down.
his gaze flicks between your fingers on the camera, and your profile from his height. your hair lightly brush’s back from the wind exposing your neck, your perfume reaching his nose.
“can I try takin’ a pic?”
your face bursts hot, you feel like it’ll melt off as you gawk up at the head coach, before nodding your head frantically, a wide smile pulling at your lips. you try to clear your throat as you turn the camera on for him and take the lens cap off.
“good?” he asks.
you just nod again, biting your cheek feeling how wide you’re smiling it almost hurts, but you can’t take your eyes off the way his big hands handle your camera. your biggest crush ever is using your camera!
you contain a squeal as he stands straight. he brings the camera to his eye, before lowering it again, confused. your eyes widen momentarily before realizing he’s struggling and quickly stepping up again.
you lean over the fence. and toji purposely avoids coming down to your height. instead, he watches you hold the fence to stand on your tippy toes, the other gently holds his wrist to ask him to lower the camera just a bit from his eye so you can instruct him. fuck, the confidence to touch him when you were just a jittery mess a second ago.
“the shutter button is here. if you half press it, it’ll auto-focus for you—“ you move to the front of the camera flipping some switch, “jus’ turned it on. but just press down all the way and it’ll take the picture,” you say, mistakenly glancing up from where you are, just to realize that coach toji’s face is inches from yours. his warm breath fans against your cheek, his scar so close, his lips right there and his eyes….
you were beyond gone. the steam immediately comes off your face as your eyes turn into big giant hearts. you’re so easy to read it should be illegal.
you fall back on your heels, allowing toji to attempt again. what you weren’t expecting was for him to point the camera at you.
well considering the wider lens, I guess he wants to shoot something closer for more satisfaction. but it caught you slightly off guard, your cheeks flame once more, heart stuttering, but your face immediately lights up.
his lips curve up behind the camera, watching you give him a cute smile, angling your head to tip to the side a bit. people that automatically smile when a camera is pointed at them is definitely a cute trait.
he takes a few quick photos, before pulling the camera back. “how do I see ‘em?”
this time he lowers the camera for you, but keeps it close to his body so you’re still leaning over and up beside him, albeit with the fence between you both.
“ah the sun was behind me,” you realize now looking at the photos. toji hums like he knows what that means (he doesn’t) but he clicks the button to go to the next picture and same thing.
“let’s do it again,” he says, already pulling the camera back, but your finger quickly reaches out, easily flipping it back to view mode before moving back. toji watches you glance up at the sky, before moving yourself in front of the sun. “smile f’er me, sweetheart.”
you were smiling, but now—toji chuckles through his nose at your reaction. he knows exactly what he’s doing. he takes one photo, than another.
your smile turns more pose worthy, not so big, but just as beautiful. “you’re a natural,” he comments, with full honesty.
your cheeks flush, waving your hand in front of you, “don’t glaze me.”
toji snorts, “jus’ saying what I see, not my fault you pose like a model.”
a model?!
toji notices the way you bite your cheek and the way your hands fidget with your bag. “put the bag down, sweetheart.”
your heart skips again, the nickname electing a response from you every time. but you oblige, setting your bag on the ground. now without anything to fidget with, your hands carefully clasp behind your back, your navy hoodie completely off your shoulder, exposing the casual white tank top. his eyes glance at the swell of your tits that your bra pushes up. and the sliver of skin that peaks at the bottom.
the wind was like a perfect accessory, blowing a warm spring breeze in your direction brushing your hair again.
you do your best to pose casually, smiling at the camera, eyes low as you stare into the lens, heart beating erratically as you wait for coach toji to finish.
your breath catches momentarily. cheeks stinging and lips parting like a deer in headlights, because you notice it. just briefly, the way toji lowers the camera from his eye, gaze tracking down your figure, eyeing your thighs, then your hips, then your tits.
he’s definitely checking you out.
you glance away, flustered, unaware that toji was now clicking the library to view the photos he’d just taken.
“I think I’m a pretty good shot,” he compliments his nonexistent skills, but the light hits you so well.
you smile watching him look at the photos. eyes glued to his lazy smirk, stomach hot and heart fluttering at his short comments. he’s so handsome, you glance at the curve of his nose, the stubble on his cheek. he’s so so pretty.
your mind was getting dizzy, all because coach toji is in front of you, but it made you completely forgetful that if he keeps clicking next, it’ll eventually reach—
“oh.”
you first notice the slight raise of his brows, then the scar on his lip twitching wider, then the greens of his eyes darkening.
“did ya’ submit these too, sweetheart?”
your brows furrow for half a second, then it clicks. you lunge forward.
this can’t be happening!
you immediately cover the screen and take the camera as you hear the coach chuckle. of course you’d forgotten that you had these on your sd card.
staring back at you is a photo of toji’s fat bulge from the game. you managed to catch the moment he reached down to itch himself, grabbing it. if he saw this one he definitely saw the three before this of the closeups of his lips, his big biceps, his ass when he was fixing his shoes.
your heart is beating in your ears, skin sizzling with embarrassment as your vision starts to narrow. your eyes flick up to the coach in horror, flustered beyond speech. “it’s not—“ you struggle to explain, “you weren’t supposed to see that. I was just taking one—then I someone bumped so like, the camera went down—“
the rambling was unlike the one before, this one was much more uncoordinated, fueled by your humiliation, anxiety, and desperate attempt at defending yourself to him, so that he doesn’t think you’re some creep.
“I wore that shirt from the match two weeks ago. not this one….” his head tilts, arms folded across his beefy chest. “why do you still have ‘em?”
the older man is quite unbothered. instead, his chest grew hot, and his mind wandered off imagining this hot college girl laying in her bed, staring at pictures of his crotch with her small fingers playing with her wet little pussy. his eyes flick to your chest again.
your eyes are wide, glancing at your camera.
“I just forgot to format the card,” you quickly reply, pretty chest rising and falling. “I always forget, and I realize after when I’m exporting the photos or run out of storage—I delete them, i-i swear!”
he snorts, head tilting, “you swear?”
you nod frantically.
his emerald eyes narrow, tongue poking out to wet his lips, touching his scar. his eyes flick to the camera in your hands. you’re quite the actor…
“okay, I’ll take your word then. you wouldn’t lie to me…?” his gaze was intimidating, the darkness of his pupils felt like a black hole pulling you in. but somehow you manage to shake your head.
“no, sir.”
toji holds eye contact, before tearing it away to reach for his phone, “good girl.”
your heart beats in your throat, threatening to tear out, but you step forward, eyes big and sad. “sorry, coach.” there’s a slight waver in your voice, the man’s eyes widen briefly, chuckling under his breath as he brings a hand up to the crown of your head.
“don’t worry about it, keep taking photos of me. ya’ make me feel important,” his comment is punctuated with a flirtatious wink, shooting another arrow straight into your heart.
you were lovestruck the entire trip home. and so unbelievably grateful.
you talked your way out of such incriminating evidence. because how could coach toji know that in truth, you have an entire album of photos just like the ones he saw, that you pull out almost every night to help you cum.
you really should be an actor, you think, blushing at the way he called you good girl. the way he looked at you, the way his fingers brushed yours on the camera —ahhhh, you bury your hot face in your hands.
you were in shock for days, heart slamming against your chest and face heating up every time you thought back to the moment.
you were so in your head that you hadn’t even noticed the two athletes walking up behind you on your way out of class, crossing the quad.
it’s like that thing that happens. when you’re finally introduced to someone for the first time, then you’re suddenly seeing them everywhere. that’s how geto and gojo felt. you’d been under their noses the entire time.
with a lecture of over two hundred students, of course they’d spot you when you entered today. gojo elbowed his friend, nodding in your direction. geto’s eyes nearly popped.
“what the hell?” geto leans forward, the two men closely watch you enter the lecture hall, walking a few rows down before slipping in. geto’s eyes narrow at the camera you carefully place in your lap as you take out your ipad.
it was like the cards were being dealt out for him perfectly.
“wait, I don’t get it,” gojo huffs catching up to his friend as the lecture hall empties.
geto tsks, “what’s not to get? I’m gonna bribe her into taking photos of me next game. I’m fucking tired of being some fucking blur—“
“you’ve gotten some photos man—“
“well i want more. ones where I’m actually scoring,” geto huffs, brushing his bang back in frustration.
once the two men hit the pavement outside, they spot you. gojo is tagging along for the fun, while geto is set on a mission. one he conjured up mid-lecture the second he saw you. it was perfect. genius—
“what?” your face scrunches in mild disgust. the two men baffle at your reaction, especially at the way you’re looking up at them with narrow, and irritated eyes. your expression isn’t hard to decipher, it’s basically screaming, why tf are you talking to me?
geto licks his teeth, exhaling through his nose, “you heard me fine, sweetheart—“
“don’t call me that.”
his jaw clenches, repeating his line without the pet name. “the next two games are the semifinals and then the finals, so I’ll give you access through our manager to join press during the media window two days before the matches—“
“I already have access to that through the school paper,” you give him a look, immediately ticking him off.
“let me fucking finish will you—“
“you’re taking forever and I’m being cornered,” you snap back, rolling your eyes at the pretentious athlete. geto bites his tongue, as gojo gasps.
“you’re not being cornered!” he states, just to exchange a look with geto as they both see that they’ve steered you off the pavement and against a tree. “no—we’re just talking.”
you exhale, glancing back at geto, “whatever, just finish.”
geto licks his lips, continuing, “you’ll also get access to our locker room strategy meeting or whatever, and behind the scenes access — you only do photos, no video or interviews?”
you shake your head, heart beating just a little quicker because now you’re starting to see the perks. bts access is the one thing university teams can deny since they don’t like any outsiders butting into their strategies or taking them out of “the zone.”
that also means you can see….coach toji.
gojo and geto both notice the realization crossing your face, especially when your lips part, much more glossy than before. unbelievable.
“but,” geto snaps you back, your eyes darting up to meet his, “you better take some good fucking shots of me during the game. if I’m not in the fucking paper and insta page, then no deal.”
you gasp, “dude, you’re literally acting like I’m the one in charge of that?? it’s my editor that picks the photos to put in the articles.”
geto tsks, “yet somehow coach is in every single one.” your jaw clenches, stomach heating up. “take more photos of me so it’s inevitable. got it?”
your lip curls in annoyance, eyeing geto, just for gojo to suddenly but in—
“but also take some of me, i look so hot in them and i like reposting them on my insta,” gojo flashes you a smile.
your frown deepens, “there’s other photographers. you guys know that right?”
“yours are the only ones they choose and they look better than whoever took sukuna’s,” gojo snorts, remembering their captains complaints.
nevertheless, geto and gojo wait for you to agree, both men standing with their arms crossed, blocking the spring sun from hitting you.
then a certain captain happens to pass by, noticing his two teammates, and frat brothers.
“the fuck are you guys doing?”
the men whip their heads as sukuna steps up, bag slung over his shoulder wearing a backwards baseball cap. and with a quick explanation from his friends, sukuna tsks glancing at you and adding.
“coach always showers before or after our games.”
and it was that one bit of information that automatically has you saying: “deal.”
—
you don’t rush setting up. you check your flash, bouncing it once off the ceiling to make sure it won’t wash anyone out. your fingers move with muscle memory, standing in these rooms plenty of times for the school paper, along with other journalists from the school paper especially for media days, post-game scrums, pre-season press.
so this isn’t new territory.
the room is packed, though. there’s national outlets mingling with campus press, and clusters of journalists already talking. you hear familiar phrases float past as you move, many talking about the teams unbeaten streak, their goal differentials, their historic season.
familiar names are easily getting tossed around. captain sukuna coming up first, always, and his leadership, and the way he commands the field. gojo’s speed follows after, and his natural talent and eye for goals, then geto’s consistency, his intelligence and composure. someone mentions scouts again, plural this time, and how a few clubs have been hovering around those three all season.
you barely react because you’ve heard all of this before, and it was impressive of course, you enjoy it. however, what does get you, embarrassingly, is his name.
every time coach toji is mentioned—his tactics, his discipline, the way he rebuilt the program and incorporated new strategies —you feel heat creep up your neck. it’s a soft and traitorous blush that you’re grateful no one’s looking closely enough to notice you smiling.
you keep your eyes on your camera, pretending to fiddle with a setting you don’t actually need to adjust, reminding yourself that he’s just part of the team. a very effective, very respected part of it.
then finally, the noise dips and the conversations fade into an expectant quiet as the side door opens.
the players file in first, with sukuna at the front, expression unreadable, gojo already grinning, geto calm and observant as ever. everyone’s cameras lift, and recorders click on. and then he steps in behind them.
coach toji, in a suit.
your face breaks into a hot mess, heart skipping a beat as you eye him through your lens. it fits him too well. dark, sharp, shoulders filling it out like it was tailored perfectly. no team jacket today, no morning stumble. no, he looked clean, with polished shoes, and authority. he guides the team forward eyes sweeping the room calmly.
your flash fires once, professionalism wavering again. how can it not when your knight is walking into the room and reminding you exactly how out of reach he is.
the entire team easily spots you in the front row for the first time. your charm hangs from your camera strap, along with the little sticker on your godox flash. they all know who you are now, so their wasn’t any hiding the way they’d purposely glance at your camera lens, giving you their best shots.
many of the questions are being directed towards the coach, your eyes focus on his reaction, lens zooming close as he rolls his dress shirt over his forearms. your camera flashes and your cheeks warm. you do this every time. acting like it’s your first time seeing the coach in a suit even though he wears one every semifinals press. but you can’t help it!
journalists throw questions without breath, firing rounds until the set time is up.
“photographers only, please.”
the room clears out fast. chairs scrape back, and laptops snap shut. you step forward instinctively, already lifting your camera. the players shift back into place. sukuna straightens, his expression resetting into something stoic. gojo cracks a joke under his breath that earns him a look. geto adjusts his sleeves, calm as ever.
toji moves standing just off to the side at first, arms crossed, smooth dress shirt crinkling over his taut muscles, and unforgiving across his shoulders.
the manager gestures. “let’s get the team all together first.”
cameras flash as the team pose, all in their uniform. you move easily getting their shots, unaware of the emerald eyes watching your every move.
coach toji noticed you the minute he stepped into the room. however, he remained composed, knowing how many eyes were on him. but now, his eyes sweep over your figure.
your grey dress pants hugging that right ass, and those hips. the tight dress shirt hugged your frame, with the top buttons undone allowing some of your cleavage to be revealed along with your necklace stack. business casual, but he’s sure half the team is looking at your tits. your pretty anklet catching the light as you move in your kitten heels.
“coach with sukuna,” the manager says.
toji steps forward.
you track him without thinking, framing the shot as he places a hand lightly at sukuna’s back, guiding him a half-step to the left. your shutter clicks, noticing how easily he steps into your frame, how naturally he fills it. his height just a hair taller than the hot headed captain, at least in your eyes.
“alright, another group photo,” the manager says.
toji turns, motioning the players in with two fingers. his eyes briefly catch yours making your eyes widen. the team clusters around their coach, heads bowed slightly, listening even though there’s nothing to hear. he speaks low anyway. you circle to the side, careful, capturing the curve of his shoulder, the way his jaw tightens when he focuses.
toji’s gaze lifts again, slow and deliberate, landing on you.
why does he keep doing that?!
it’s brief. just a glance that lingers a fraction longer, his eyes flick from your face to the camera in your hands and back again, like he’s remembering the photos he saw on your camera.
you feel heat blooming under your skin, pulse kicking hard enough to throw you off guard. you steady your hands, inhaling subtly, pretending you don’t feel the way the air shifts when he turns slightly…when he ends up closer than before, just at the edge of your frame.
“okay, we’re good,” the manager calls.
the team breaks, the players disperse, but toji stays put for a beat longer, adjusting his sleeve, posture relaxed again, unreadable.
you lower your camera only when it’s over, breath leaving you in a quiet rush you didn’t realize you were holding. you don’t see him glance at you when you step back to check your photos. you also don’t notice the small, satisfied curve of his mouth.
not until you’re feeling a gentle, firm, hand on your waist, and a low voice right against your ear, “say hi next time. you’re not a stranger anymore.”
your body immediately catches on fire, eyes snapping to the man like a magnet, heart slamming against your ribs as you watch him pull back, emerald eyes meeting yours.
“right, sweetheart?”
your face stings, as you nod quickly, heat pooling deep in your stomach, feeling his thumb caress your hip over your shirt. your lips part, mind dizzy as you glance as his strong forearms, he’s towering over you, slightly leaning down to speak to you in quiet whispers.
“I’ll see c’ya tomorrow, yeah,” he gives your waist a squeeze as he greets you with a kiss to your cheek like some gentleman. then he walks away. and if you weren’t a mess before, the casual glance he shoots over his shoulder has a third arrow piercing your heart.
you couldn’t contain it anymore. you were consumed by this man. every waking thought was spent daydreaming about him— his voice, his eyes, his hands, his demeanor. it was intoxicating.
all for you to show up in the lockerroom, the next day, hours before the match. the team is either dressed in their uniforms, or still shirtless, huddling around the white board as they prep for the game.
geto was the second to notice you, after gojo. both their eyes twinkling as they walk up to you. “they gave you the pass,” geto nods to the press badge around your neck.
you nod, glancing around the lockerroom. it felt tense, the aura suspenseful as the time ticks closer to when they walk onto the pitch.
“get your vip shots, but you better get my photo,” geto hushes in your ear.
“and mine!” gojo blurts, just as a certain coach is stepping out of the steam.
and you feel it. the towel wrapped low around his waist, skin still slick with water that traces unhurried paths down his sculpted torso. his hair is darker when it’s wet, heavier, droplets slide from it and disappear along the hard lines of his shoulders.
your eyes catch his muscles moving when he walks, hard mass, that shifts beneath skin without effort. you swallow thickly, body heating up, stomach fluttering as you catch the trail of dark coarse hair leading down from his navel, and disappearing beneath the towel. your eyes follow it to the bulge you know is under there. your cheeks sting at the thought of it.
you were utterly shameless. as if the two men standing beside aren’t still talking to you. but they immediately recognize the shift in your attitude and notice the steam leaving your face. gojo stifles a laugh, as geto sighs. you’re hopeless.
your eyes follow the scars you’ve never seen before. the old pale marks catch the light, etched across his side, his pecs, and back, proof of some life before this one. then he turns just enough and your heart stutters, and your panties soak.
ink blooms along his ribs where the towel dips. the tattoos are sharp and intimate, black against his skin that’s still flushed from the heat. you’ve photographed him dozens of times, from every angle, but you’ve never seen a peak of a tattoo.
“how wet are you right now?”
the comment snaps you back, glaring straight at the crystal ocean eyes narrowed in amusement.
“don’t talk to me like that,” you huff, “I’m working.” your attitude really is night and day when it comes to anyone else and toji.
gojo blushes, “I love mean girls.”
you roll your eyes.
“what’re you two doing? get the fuck over here,” sukuna snaps.
the team huddles as the fifteen minute timer starts. and that’s what you should be photographing, but instead you glance back. toji is now pulling up his pants, wet hair still dripping down the expanse of his back. his eyes catch yours for a second, gaze flicking to your camera, taunting…
his hand subtly cups his crotch, squeezing his girth just to present you with a size, one that has your lips parting with a shaky exhale, heart pounding as you glance between his emerald eyes and the way his forearms flex when he fixes the waistband of his boxers, pulling the material down just a bit that you catch more of the thick patch of hair at his base seeing a peak of it, before he’s fixing himself again.
and once he zips his pants up, glancing at the team as they huddle for some words from the captain before coach steps in, toji walks to you. just a few feet away, your eyes widen in surprise, heart stuttering as you watch him lean down to greet you with a kiss to your cheek, again!
he’s acting like you’re familiar even though this is just your third interaction with him…but maybe you are…
“thought I told you to say hi next time,” he says against your ear, pulling away.
your face heats up, “you were….changing.”
“so?”
you gulp, eyes flicking between his, heart pounding. he’s so close. your breath catches when his scent hits your nose, sandalwood, oak and something deeper under it. his stubble is darker than yesterday, rougher along his jaw, and you realize you’ve been staring for too long when the heat creeps up your neck.
he doesn’t move away though, he stands beside you, attention forward on sukuna as he speaks. focused, and so aware of you’re attention he has to hold back a smirk. and maybe he doesn’t mind messing with you, so his hand remains at your lower back, light, almost absent, but there.
your stomach flips, attention gone. you try to listen, you do. sukuna is talking about positioning, about discipline, about not getting sloppy or something and the room is locking in around you, everyone leaning in. these would be great photos—but all you can think about is how close he is.
how his hand hasn’t moved, every small shift makes your pulse jump. you keep your eyes forward. you don’t trust yourself to look at him again.
and that gives toji the opportunity to take you in. his pupils dilate just a fraction as his gaze travels down your body. his eyes zero in on the multiple open buttons of your tight dress shirt. you’re not even hiding yourself, and the sliver of skin that peaks between your pants and shirt doesn’t help.
his hand remains over your clothes, heat settling in his stomach when you take a deeper breath and your tits push up, and his eyes shamelessly look down your shirt from his towering height. fuck, he wants a look at that pretty ass too—
“coach! you’re up!” sukuna’s voice cuts through everything, snapping toji back. your gaze whips with it, catching him off guard as you wait for his next move like anything he touches is gold.
he controls himself, giving your waist that same squeeze before his hand leaves you just like that.
you push down the feeling that hits immediately, sharp and cold. but now you can finally breathe properly when he steps away. he moves past the players without rushing — a few of the boys let their eyes roam over you— toji adjusts his sleeve ignoring the feeling bubbling up when he notices them. and then he’s at the front.
he doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t need to now, but he usually gets to that point around the halfway mark. but this was the first time you’re seeing him speak in private…and when he speaks, they all listen—every single one of them.
gojo notices, gossip second nature to him. but the quick glance your way already has a grin tugging at his mouth before he nudges geto. geto follows his gaze, then sukuna does too, just briefly—and it’s obvious. painfully obvious. the way your expression softens, the way your attention doesn’t wavers. it’s written all over you.
“she’s actually really hot,” gojo comments.
though you wish you could stand there forever, the time finally comes for the team to head to the pitch, and that’s when the chaos begins.
not just on the field…but off it.
the press box is packed, bodies press against you shoulder to shoulder. the field below is relentless. everything fast, and aggressive, and loud enough that the noise bleeds through everything. you always forget how overstimulating and exhilarating semifinal matches are. but you remember the deal you made with the three stars.
your camera moves with them, tracking their plays, snapping multiple shots of them without hesitation, and then catching the moment when things go wrong...
sukuna gets taken down hard during a penalty shot—and there’s no whistle. no call.
you’re already shooting when the other team pushes, then scores, and the stadium erupts, but sukuna is on his feet, shouting. the goal should be discounted. the captain was known to be a hot head, but even you could see that the tackle he received was completely brushed off by the ref and he was right.
everyone watches as the team moves forward in defense of sukuna, but also holding him back. the other side meets them just as hard. the crowd shouts as they watch the players shove, yell, and slam into each other—and through it all you keep shooting. you catch toji too, voice cutting through the chaos as he orders his players to pull sukuna back.
the press talk amongst themselves as halftime quickly breaks up the argument. your feet quickly carry you out of the press box, towards the locker room.
“no locker room access.”
your jaw tightens immediately irritation flaring hot and sharp.
“I have a different badge,” you show the security guard your press ID. the one geto gave you.
“no press allowed, do i need to repeat myself?” the man snaps.
your irritation ticks at your side. fine. whatever. the second you step back, your mind is already running, already circling back to geto. you scoff under your breath, shaking your head as you pace along the corridor, camera swinging lightly at your side.
seriously? all that talk, all that stupid ass convincing, and for what? you were supposed to be there. that was the whole point! you roll your eyes, heat building the longer you think about it, every step feeding into this petty irritation instead of cooling it. were you overreacting —yes, but whatever—if he’s not holding up his end, then why should you?
by the time you make it back up, you’re done. done thinking about it, done entertaining it, done with their stupid deal.
the second half starts and you fall back into rhythm. camera up, focus sharp, and attention on only one thing now, the ball….
gojo and geto drift near the press box occasionally, clearly expecting something, acknowledgment, a photo, but you don’t even bat an eye. not a look, not a flicker, hell, they might as well not exist.
it’s almost satisfying. almost.
the final whistle blows and the stadium erupts, the first leg ended in a draw, preparing for next game to see who’ll continue. cameras around you go wild, capturing every second of it. the quiet annoyance of both teams, the noise in the crowd. but you don’t. you lower yours, expression flat, already turning away. it’s petty. a little unfair, but still, you walk.
“you’re not coming to the locker room?” gojo’s voice follows you, footsteps quick behind yours as you head in the opposite direction.
“why would i?” you snap, sharp, not even slowing. “am i even allowed,” there’s an obvious clip in your tone that has gojo confused.
“what’re you talking about?”
“deal’s off.”
huh?!????
gojo barely has time to react, before you’re walking away.
baffled and utterly confused, gojo makes his way back to the locker rooms. the energy is stiff, sukuna is grumbling under his breath about how embarrassing it was to end their first leg in a draw, geto is lounged beside his bag scrolling on his phone, and toji is in the corner talking to the managers. ugh, does no one care that their personal photographer isn’t taking photos of them???
they do care.
especially when the next paper comes out and the article is filled with photos taken by other people, not you!
“WHY THE FUCK DO I LOOK LIKE THAT!??” sukuna shouts, entire body fumming as they all sit outside during practice. sukuna is not the only one pissed, geto is practically seething because there isn’t even a single photo of him or gojo.
“what is this girl’s problem?! i thought you idiots made a deal with her?!” sukuna snaps, already in a foul mood, but now it’s worse.
geto licks his teeth, jaw ticking, “we did.”
“I told you guys she was pissed that she didn’t come in during halftime,” gojo throws, as if anyone was listening to him after their shitty match.
“so she throws a tantrum because she didn’t see coach’s dick during halftime?” sukuna clips.
“she looked super hot when she was all pissed though,” gojo throws, “she’d definitely go for me after she realizes how old coach is.”
“what’s wrong with you?” geto rolls his eyes, confused how gojo can talk about your looks when you screwed them over. even if he maybe also finds you attractive, it doesn’t negate your shitty attitude.
gojo throws his hands up in defensive, “I’m just calling dibs now.”
toji, just a few feet away, strides over after noticing the group no longer doing drills. “what’s the hold up!” he grunts, also in a shit mood because of the embarrassing match and then overheating what gojo had said.
“your stalker fucked us over,” geto snaps, eyes burning into the school paper. “she didn’t even get a pic of you.”
gojo’s eyes light up, “oh shit, yeah—she’s definitely over you!”
the paper then hits toji’s chest, his brows furrowing as he holds it up. his eyes glance over the sports section, and just as geto had stated, there wasn’t a single photo of him, unless you’re counting the wide shot of the field and you see him standing in the corner, but it definitely was a starch contrast from the streak you’d created.
“so?” toji tosses the paper like it’s nothing, “you guys playing for the cameras or because you want to win?!”
the men baffled, gasp and scoff. “we want to win!”
“then get off your fucking asses! I don’t have time to be doing this shit with you all!” he snaps aggressively, uncharacteristically pissed off, whether it’s because of the teams misdirected frustrations, or something else. either way, the school paper is long forgotten beside their bags and the team is splitting into practice teams.
it doesn’t matter…
it doesn’t matter that you made a deal with suguru geto and satoru gojo. and the captain pushed you to seal that deal with the information about coach — and they broke it. none of it matters! you still should’ve taken those photos, especially when you’re receiving an earful from your editor, and then sulking through the week of classes.
“what’s your problem,” your friend, shoko, cuts in, snapping you back to the campus day festival. you were once again sulking on the picnic bench, ice cream melting in the cup as you stare off.
“you’re gonna get annoyed…” you mutter, brows pinched in agony.
for most passing by, they immediately steered clear of you, not only did you carry a lethal rbf, your words of “agony” really translates to, you’ll rip someone’s head off and if looks could kill, everyone would be dead. it was quite funny, considering how you’re pretty sweet when you want to be, shoko quietly thinks. still, most would rather avoid you, thanking the heavens that you stay behind the camera so you don’t interact directly with people.
“don’t start,” shoko groans, piecing together the not so subtle mystery.
you frown, “i didn’t even say anything!” you whine even more, glaring at your ice cream. your pretty camera sits on the table beside you, collecting dust when you should be photographing this event. “I just screwed myself over,” your tongue laps at the dripping ice cream.
“agreed.”
your glare snaps to your friend, to which she brushes off with a shrug.
“you should’ve taken those photos,” she starts.
“I know…”
“then you would’ve made your editor happy,”
“I know…”
“and then you wouldn’t have to do this event.”
“I know.”
“and you’d have more weird pictures of coach toji.”
your heart drops. eyes snapping to shoko. “what?!”
shoko goes mute. suddenly realizing what she said. “nothing.”
“pictures?” you repeat, “I have weird pictures of the coach?? I don’t—why would you even say that??“ you’re not subtle at all. and shoko feels guilty at your horrible lying skills, but still…she confesses…
“you uploaded photos to your drive, when we’d study together,” she tries to hold in her laugh as heat crawls up your neck, “like more than once.”
you glance away, eyes flicking over your camera, “that’s it?”
shoko raises a brow. “yeah…what do you mean?”
you look back, “like that’s how you know, it’s not like you heard from someone else or anything?”
shoko shakes her head, “no, who else would know?”
your cheeks are burning at this point, and it was written all over your face now. the realization hit shoko in seconds. “no…” you’re silent. “does the coach know about your photos?”
you don’t want to make eye contact.
“how?!!”
even though it happened days ago, why is it now starting to feel even more embarrassing. maybe because of your cool headed friends reaction— “it was an accident.”
“how did he find out though?” shoko pushes.
you cringe, “well…” you swallow, “when I first spoke to him, remember…” shoko nods, “I let him use my camera because he was interested.” you pause, reliving the humiliation all over again. “then he kept swiping to see the pics, and just found them…” your hands slap your face, “that’s not bad!”
shoko is getting second hand embarrassment, “dude.”
“STOP IM GONNA KILL MYSELF!!” you cry out, humiliation seeping from your pores.
shoko is trying not to laugh, but it’s quite hard not too, especially when you’re groaning like that. “what was his reaction?”
“I obviously said it was an accident, and he was like whatever and seemed fine,” you explain quickly, trying to cool the situation. “It’s not bad!”
“okay okay!!” shoko laughs, trying to calm your reaction. however, shoko knows about your huge crush, what she didn’t know is about a deal her two friends made with you. heck, she didn’t even know that you interacted with them. not until those two men are standing directly behind you, sweaty and pissed. “what the hell—“
“I guess you don’t know how to keep your word,” geto spits, bag dropping aggressively on the bench beside you.
you jump, then, your eyes flick over your shoulder, immediately rolling them when you see them. you turn back to shoko.
geto snaps. “there wasn’t a single photo of us!”
“not my problem,” you scoff, attitude returning in seconds, shoko completely used to it. but she’s shocked that you know gojo and geto. “not like you guys even played well.”
gojo’s vein bulges, “we played fucking good, we didn’t lose!”
“you didn’t win,” you shrug, cold.
that’s when gojo and geto both glance up at shoko. shock crossing their expressions. “you know her?!” they both point down at you.
shoko raises a brow, “she’s my friend.”
“she’s a bitch—“ geto spits, just to receive the worst glare of his life from you, but he just rolls his eyes. “how the fuck do you know each other?”
“I just told you she’s my friend. you’re the ones that screwed her over.” shoko takes your side.
gojo gasps, “we didn’t screw her over! she screwed us over! you saw the paper this week—not a single highlight!”
you glance at shoko, ignoring the men behind you, “how do you know them?”
“we went to high school together,” shoko throws with a bored wave.
frustrated, geto straddles the bench facing you, his hand falls on top of your camera, immediately making you snap your attention to him.
“hey—“
“listen. our deal was that you get access and then we get photos, you didn’t finish your job,” he keeps a grip on your camera. shoko frowns.
“you guys didn’t give me access—i got like ten minutes before the match, then I couldn’t even go in during halftime where everyone was pissed, so what’s the point?” you snap, getting in his face.
“the point is that has nothing to do with me!” geto shouts, your eyes pierce his in two, but neither of you back down.
“it literally does though!”
“guys,” shoko and gojo attempt at intervening, but neither of you will back down. especially when geto won’t let go of your camera.
“let go,” you seethe, hand on the camera as geto flexes, grip strengthening around it.
your heart pounds against your chest, the hot spring sun beats over the four of you, sweat building on your neck while geto scoffs. “you better take those photos of us this week—“
“or what?” you glare, “are you seriously threatening me?” you were dripping with ego and confidence, except for the fact that your eyes kept darting to your camera, your poor, expensive, beautiful camera—
“is this your first time being threatened—“
“the fuck.”
the deep, intimidating voice breaks the argument in seconds. geto’s eyes widen as he feels the gravity taken away from him and being lifted off the seat. the collar of his jersey tightens around none other than toji’s brutal grip.
your eyes break into hearts, grasping your camera before it clatters back on the table, glancing up to see geto gripping his coach’s forearm.
“since when do you fucking shout at girls. you?!” toji barks, baffled. sukuna sure, gojo maybe, but geto?!
“I wasn’t fucking shouting, we were talking,” geto tsks, neck red from embarrassment.
toji shoves him back. geto slams on the bench. you hadn’t realized it but they all looked like they just finished practice, geto and gojo both still in practice uniforms and duffle bags, and coach toji wearing his usual black cargos, and that compression shirt that left nothing to the imagination.
geto scowls, rubbing his back in pain.
“you were shouting, that’s why i came over—“
“she was shouting at me!”
“so what!?”
the table is quiet. a few passerby’s glance over before quickly walking away. it isn’t a shock to know how unbelievably hot your face is right now. especially when coach toji continues his stern lecture to geto.
“you’re defending some girl that can’t keep her word, mind you,” geto mutters, flashing you a glare—his breath catches. you’re not even looking at him!! shoko stifles another laugh along with gojo, because you really were, truly, unbelievable.
how can you look at someone like that?!? like he’s some idol?! him! a musty ass college coach?!
but none of it mattered, not when toji’s attention shifts to you!!! a warm heat floods between your legs, as your lips part. then suddenly, you glance away…
“I actually did shout too…” you confess, taking accountability. “and kinda screwed them over.”
gojo, geto, and shoko, stare at you in shock.
toji sighs, like some grown ass man (which he is), his hand settles on his hip as the other scratches his hair like he’s surrounded by immature children and figuring out what the fuck to do with you all. so he decides to confess too…
“i told security not to allow any outsiders.”
your heart drops.
“including you.”
oh shit.
the three audience members immediately glance at you, and what none of them, not a single one, expected, is to suddenly see the your eyes tear up.
toji felt a sharp twist in his gut, eyes widening for a moment, before sighing. “it wasn’t personal.”
your throat feels dry, unable to look away until now. a tear hits your camera. “how is that not personal,” you whisper, bottom lip trembling.
shoko’s brows pinch in hurt, at least out of everyone, she knows how much and how long you’ve liked this man. and then sulking and now— she knows you’re absolutely shattered.
“I needed the team to focus, and you’re press,” he states like some cold fact, and that hurt even more.
your grip tightens on the camera. “but…” your not a stranger anymore…. but you can’t get the words out…your heart pounds loudly in your ears, the heat surrounding you felt suffocating, and your head was growing dizzier by the second. and the only thing spinning in your mind was how fucking embarrassing this is.
“don’t be upset.”
you manage a small nod, though another tear falls on the camera, and your body freezes. “how can i not be upset?” your small voice catches toji off guard.
you’re standing up, eyes hot with tears, walking past the esteemed coach.
“wait,” he catches your wrist, “if you have something to say don’t just run away.”
you’re fuming, your pretty chest rises and falls, the disappointment turning into built up anger, “I don’t have anything to say right now, and it’s stupid—“ your hand twists in his grip. “let go.”
he does.
you’re practically heaving, tempted to turn away, especially when the dryness in your throat gets worse. the stinging behind your eyes burns like hell as you try to rip your gaze away from the towering man. you really are stupid…
toji wets his lip, head tilting as if disinterested, but the cooling in his chest says otherwise. why does he have a weak spot for women?
“we can talk.”
his words hang in the air. a silent, open invitation for her. it’s a clear sign of his guilt for making this cute college girl cry. he was too blunt, forgetting she isn’t one of his boys.
your hand comes up to the bridge of your nose, quietly recentering yourself as this older coach watches. your shoulders rise with a deep exhale, then inhale.
pull yourself together…
you nod. cute.
you swallow the embarrassing lump in your throat, clearing your throat. “can we talk while walking…I have to work,” your usual clipped tone used for everyone except him, comes out, but he can hear the slight shakiness.
“sure.”
gojo, geto, and shoko are left in utter shock. it’s not until you and toji completely disappear into the crowd, do they slowly exchange looks.
“what…”
“the fuck,” geto finishes shoko’s sentence.
gojo stares baffled, “did we just set them up?!”
geto’s brow jumps up, “why is he always saving her like some knight?? and he was the one that screwed us all over!!”
gojo shakes his head in agreement, “nah for real, what the hell, blaming us but it’s all him.”
geto slouches back in the picnic table, rolling his eyes. “still,” he tsks, “she didn’t have to be so bitchy and not take our pictures. isn’t it her fucking job—“
“hey!”
“ow!” geto feels a slap upside the head from brunette, her eyes harsh. “what the hell!”
“don’t call girls bitches what’s wrong with you?!” shoko huffs, baffled by geto’s attitude.
gojo snickers beside the man, “he’s been like this since he met her.”
“I haven’t,” he grits, rolling his eyes at the thought of you. “she’s just a—she just gets on my nerves.”
“really because she reminds me of you,” shoko cuts him off. geto’s eyes widen, as gojo breaks into a loud laugh.
“WHAT?!”
“oh god BAHAHA she does!” gojo’s obnoxious laugh sounds like knives stabbing his ears.
shoko hums, “she has that rbf look, intimidating, very blunt, but also so cute with her friends.”
“cute?” geto frowns.
gojo smiles, “it comes out when you’re hanging out with ussss.” gojo and shoko dramatically strike a cute pose. geto tsks.
the campus was packed with students and faculty roaming to booths and small events. it was the university’s 102nd anniversary, and as memorable as it is for the students to enjoy the activities during this nice spring day, you couldn’t bring yourself to give a shit.
not only did your editor scream at you all week, still pissed about the shit photos you took during the match, he also threatened removal if you didn’t take good photos during this event. and now, after sulking with shoko, then procrastinating some more, you decided you’d be able to take such fanatic pictures while your idol and crush trails beside you….sure.
toji lets out another sigh, hands in his pockets as he stands to your left watching you snap some shots of laughing students beside a booth.
“it’s not a big deal,” you mutter, behind the camera. toji notices the twitch in your fingers. “I overreacted, so it’s whatever.”
toji wets his lip, “sukuna and a couple others jus’ get jumpy with cameras.”
you hum, looking at the photos you just took. “I understand.”
“I didn’t know about this deal you did with geto,” toji admits, hand instinctively coming to your waist and guiding you away from some unaware boys shouting and laughing. your cheeks flush, stepping away from his hand. toji notices. “we didn’t have a good game anyways.”
“I know, so it whatever. not a big deal,” you sigh, heat crawling up your neck. this is so embarrassing, so embarrassing! ugh you really don’t know how to keep a cool head at all when it comes to this coach. you overreacted during the match, then blamed geto for screwing you over, then almost cried because the coach locked you out on purpose, and now—
“I feel bad.”
your heart stops.
toji glances at your manicured nails holding your camera, your cute necklaces dangling on your exposed chest, cleavage glistening from the heat. but then his eyes flick up, and you’re staring at him like he’s holding the entire world.
“I didn’t mean to make you upset,” his voice is softer, gentler, nothing like how you’ve heard him for months, shouting, harsh. your stomach heats up, face stinging.
his hand, unexpectedly, comes up, feeling your hair between his fingers. “you work hard, and all your pictures come out so nice…” the compliment hits your heart. “but I couldn’t risk the boys getting distracted.”
your face suddenly twists, lips pursing and jutting out just a bit, your brows pinch. your dewy makeup makes you look like a fucking doll, he thinks. “I was jus’ gonna take photos in the corner, not interview them,” you reply harshly.
“you saw how they are when they talk to you,” he cuts in. your brow quirks, noticing his sharp inhale. “sweetheart, you’re hot.”
your face bursts into flames, pupils turning to literal swirls, and brain getting fried in seconds.
what?!
your reaction was priceless. toji controls his smirk, thumb brushing your adorable cheek, glancing at your glossy lips then your eyes. “I know you’re a professional, but most of those boys aren’t, y’ understand?”
you nod, cheeks sizzling, you’re surprised his thumb isn’t burning.
“so you see why I couldn’t allow you in the locker room then, and i won’t next time,” he watches you nod again. god, you’re fucking precious.
then, your tongue wets your bottom lip before speaking… “are they the only ones that would’ve been distracted?”
shit. can a grown man really pop a boner that fast?
toji’s chest heats up, glancing between your pretty eyes filled with hope. this isn’t the first time a younger girl has crushed on him, and it also isn’t the first time he’s nice to one. but what really got him, is the way you’re maintaining eye contact, almost afraid to look away, and you’re holding your ground against him.
“no,” he admits, “they’re not the only ones.”
oh. your lips curve into a smile toji hasn’t seen before, and his hand flexes in response. you look like you’re going to eat him alive right there, and he’d let you, no questions asked—
“that’s good to hear,” you pull away. you touch your heated cheek with the back of your hand, wetting your lip as you glance over the coach’s flushed face. “your cheeks are red.”
what?! his eyes bulge, catching you off guard as you break into a loud laugh.
“tch,” he looks away, his own hand rubbing down his face. it really is burning out here. but even so, his emerald eyes look through his fingers at this pretty college girl laughing at him and he doesn’t know why his chest warms at the sight.
“I can buy you ice cream. I feel bad now that you had to explain yourself when I was just being the unprofessional one,” you start, already leading him to the nearest ice cream booth.
your camera hangs over your shoulder as you point to your favorite flavor than glance up at him, he points at the cookies n cream. “oh! I love cookies n cream,” you say, reaching for your phone to pay.
ding.
your eyes widen as toji pays instead.
“wha—it was supposed to be my treat, man,” you huff, accepting the cone he gives you, hand on your lower back as he guides you away from the booth. neither of you batting an eye to the multiple people gawking at the renowned coach of their soccer team, walking around with the hot, rude, student photographer.
“as if I’d let you pay,” he snorts.
your brows pinch as you take a lick of your ice cream, the cool sensation leveling your body temperature. your eyes narrow at him as he enjoys his ice cream, grateful to have something that cools the heat building up under his skin. “so not fair,” you mutter.
“how come?”
the two of you walk across the quad, sun still beating down.
“I wanted to use it as an apology,” you say, “I said that.”
“you don’t need to apologize,” he shrugs, casual, unbothered. you huff again. this time toji smiles, scar twitching up. “you can pay next time.”
your heart skips a beat, stomach doing a stupid flip.
“….next time.”
toji catches the smile behind your cone, his eyes trailing over the ice cream coating your tongue, your pretty hand wrapped around the waffle as your bracelets clank around your wrists.
“there’s other things you need to apologize for,” he coolly says, finding a bench and dropping his weight, eyeing you as you sit close beside him. unashamed.
your brow quirks, eyes narrowing, full body facing him, “what other things?”
toji shrugs, “we can talk about it next time.”
“but I can’t just be left in suspense, that’ll give me anxiety?!”
toji snorts, loud. his big tongue is finishing the ice cream so quick he’s already eating the cone. “don’t be anxious,” he says with his mouth full.
you tsk, rolling your eyes, and you don’t notice the twinkle in the older coach’s eyes. he can definitely see geto’s point about your attitude, but if he leans over—
your eyes go wide. stomach flipping.
he takes a bold bite of your ice cream, emerald eyes shut, and thick lashes kissing his flushed cheeks. your heart feels like it’ll break from your ribs, then, he opens his eyes. he doesn’t pull away yet, instead his tongue cleans his lips, humming in low delight. the heat around you wasn’t helping your own body temperature as it skyrockets.
“taste’s sweeter than mine,” his voice his huskier than before, catching you by surprise, and the heat pools between your legs.
“i—“ you can’t even form words! your eyes won’t tear away from his lips, and your chest is moving erratically because he’s so close.
“do you want a taste of mine. I took a bite without asking yo—“
his words cut the minute your lips press against his.
shock prevents him from reacting, eyes going wide. you gave in so quick, sure he was teasing, but still. he could feel the certainty in your kiss, along with the warmth, and anxiety. after a long ten seconds you pull away—
you pant against his lips, chest rising and falling, brain scrambled. “i jus’…” your heart is beating loudly in your ears. mind trying to keep up with what your body just did. you kissed him. you kissed the coach. the one you’ve been idolizing and photographing for months—
“we can do it again.” his free hand tilts your chin up, lips hovering over yours again. his breath is warm. “kiss me.”
you do.
this time you’re a little bolder. your lips connect with his, soft again, sucking his bottom lip, skillfully. slowly. he brushes your jaw with his thumb, humming in delight just like he did with the ice cream. but the sound goes straight to your core. completely unbothered by the rowdiness of the uni day activities around you. your free hand rests on his thigh, leaning more into the kiss.
“open,” you murmur against his lips. you can feel the the shit-eating smirk that breaks his face, groaning just low enough to make the heat furiously spread under your skin.
then, his lips part.
his tongue immediately connects with yours. caressing the wet muscle. he tastes the ice cream, delving a little more. it was just so easy taking control, and your little whines are too sweet for him to stop. his jaw opens wider, taking the lead as you follow. his hand cups the side of your face, unexpectedly possessive, ignoring the alarms sounding off in his head.
you had a crush, you’re fucking adorable, and you kissed him. plus, you make these cute sounds when he shoves his tongue against yours, thumb pressing into your cheek. how could he resist?
your grip against his thigh tightens, his back is pressed fully against the bench, while you were practically leaning over him, trying to swallow him whole.
“breathe,” he mutters, lips hovering close, waiting for you to inhale. his scar quirks up, you’re so cute. his thumb brushes your cheekbone again, eyes glancing between your fluttering lashes. “if we keep kissing, I’ll have a problem.”
your face burns, eyes darting down to the tent pressing up near your hand. and unlike toji, you let your second ice cream of the day melt and fall to the ground. you were a mess. you carefully lean back in your seat, the sudden space between you allowing you to take another deep breath. being near coach toji is intoxicating. it’s not that you didn’t feel like yourself, but you definitely throw all common sense out the door when he’s in front of you.
“are you staying to see the booths and stuff?” you clear your throat, trying to ease your erratic heartbeat.
toji finds it cute. his hand once cupping your face, slides down to brush the hair off your shoulder, fingers brushing the multiple earrings that dangle from your piercings. you’re much more stylish than he is…your accessories, the cute tank top that hugs your breasts, and embroidered low rise flared jeans.
“nah, gotta drive back home so i can take my son to practice.”
toji eases, not a single thing can bother him. it was a routine, the subtle throw away line about having a son that scared off many young women, or had them wanting a one night stand with the older dilf. so his eyes flick over you, the second he finishes his sentence.
your freeze.
your blood runs cold, eyes flicking down to his ring finger.
even if you’re looking, you know he isn’t married. you know. you’ve been photographing him for months, and not a single time have you ever seen him daunt a ring on his finger.
“there’s no one waiting for him at home?” you question, wetting your lip.
toji’s fingers slide from your earrings to the dried ice cream on your chin. “nah, if I’m late he’ll go to his friends house.”
you nod, anxiety slowly dissipating. “how old is he?”
“ten.”
your eyes light up, “my nephew is just a year older, that’s when they get really fun to hang out with,” your voice is so light and sweet, toji has to shove down the weird somersault his stomach does.
“really?” toji is not convinced. “all my son does is give me attitude and bully everything i do.”
you laugh, waving your hand, “yeah they get super opinionated, but it’s funny—trust trust he’s just doing it because you’re an easy target.”
“I’m an easy target.”
you nod, waving a hand again, “your his dad, my brothers and i were the same to our parents.”
brothers? toji doesn’t comment how that peaks his interest, but he naturally asks, “how many siblings do you have?”
“three older brothers,” you nod.
damn….toji hums, that explains your attitude and how you can handle geto’s bitchy moods. what also quietly settles in his mind is how your oldest brother would probably be around his age, considering your nephew is a year older than megumi. is that why you’re easily holding a conversation this long…maybe the age gap isn’t that big then…
“they were so freakin bossy, definitely why i pushed to dorm away from them,” you huff, toji zoning back into your rambling. it was cute watching you talk mindlessly, hands waving making your bracelets clank against each other. the sweat glistened across your skin, making you look eternal, which is amusing since you’re just talking.
but still, toji is the one to lean up this time. his hand settling on your waist as a anchor and he presses a firm kiss to your warm cheek.
your glossy lips part in shock, heart stuttering again. unbothered, toji casually stands up, towering over you as his hand gently settles atop your head. “i have’ta get going, but I’ll see you next week for the match. I’ll also let em know you can come in before and after the game, but not during halftime. okay?”
you nod.
“I’ll see ya’ sweetheart.”
and with a wink, he solidifies the fourth arrow straight through your heart.
—
it was very likely that your entire week looked like sunshine and rainbows, all because you had a full on make out session with your idol on a park bench. you couldn’t bring yourself to care much about anything else—well except for your job. you had to scramble to get photos after toji left, afraid of staying on your editor’s bad side.
luckily you pulled through, and convinced him to keep you on for the semi final match this coming weekend.
which leads you to your current blissful state. watching toji speak to the team in the locker rooms. unlike last time, you grabbed different shots, smiling every time toji glanced at the camera, but frowning any time any of the other boys looked.
“surprise surprise, couldn’t stay away too long,” gojo coo’s after the team breaks to finish changing.
“don’t bother me or I won’t take photos of you,” you throw, eyes flicking up at the tall man.
gojo pouts, “but I’m just talking to you,” his words drag.
geto is scowling a few feet away, jaw tightening and relaxing, until he finally comes up to you. your attitude shifts, eyes narrowing up. geto holds eye contact, chest rising with a subtle inhale. but once he exhales, his shoulders ease, and his eyes close, the fakest smile you’ve ever seen graces his naturally attractive features.
“I’m looking forward to seeing your photos after the game.”
your lips purse, brow quirking. “yeah…”
geto leaves. shortly after, the team gets called out. gojo utters the same line geto had just said, but much more cheerfully, all while toji walks up to you. brow furrowing at the two athletes as they walk towards the exit.
“they still bothering you?”
your eyes light up the moment you see him. “s’ fine,” your pretty lips pull into an easy smile, unexpectedly warming the coach’s heart. is it that easy to smile because of him?
“I’ll tell them to fuck off again,” his voice is naturally deep, hand subconsciously roaming up to the strap of your camera.
you smile, “okay.”
god, you’re really cute. his hand cups your cheek, leaning down and easily locking lips with you.
you’re immediately caught off guard, but his hand is so firm on your cheek, you just melt. your lashes flutter shut, leaning in more. he’s so big and tall. your cheeks sting, humming against his lips, trying to fight off the butterflies in your stomach. but it’s worse when he pulls away, and your heart leaps into your throat as he brushes his rough thumb against your lip, dragging the spit across the plumpness.
“I’ll c’ya after.” he winks.
you barely feel your feet when you step back out onto the field. your camera in hand, strap tight around your neck, everything exactly where it should be, and still, your entire body is giddy.
toji….toji toji toji—
you press your lips together, trying to fight it down, but it’s useless. your mouth keeps twitching, threatening to break into a smile and you can’t help it! he kissed you. twice now! like it was nothing—
you snap a shot.
sukuna’s first goal. the team and stadium erupts, and you’re already capturing it, body moving before your thoughts can catch up. you don’t need your editor screaming at you this time, so you shift angles, crouch lower, shoot through. geto lines up for a penalty shot, and you catch that too. the strike, the follow-through, and the way the net snaps back as the ball hits. you don’t miss a second of it.
but…inevitably…your lens drifts…to him. you can’t help it!
toji’s on the sidelines, where he always is. his sleeves are pushed up again, pacing, shouting, running a hand through his hair. you catch the flex of his arm, his biceps bulge and you feel heat pooling between your legs. you catch the drag of his palm across his broad huge chest, the set of his jaw when gojo almost tackles into another player.
you shouldn’t be taking this many photos of him. you know that, but you take them anyway. your chest feels tight with every picture, cheeks still burning, and your smile impossible to get rid of.
halftime comes and goes, and you don’t even try to get into the locker room this time. instead, you linger with the rest of the press, nodding along to conversations, camera hanging loose in your hands. you don’t care. not really. not when your mind keeps replaying it—his hand on your face, the way he looked at you after, the wink.
the second half starts and you’re back in position immediately. getting more action shots of the players—ugh but you keep stealing other moments too…small unnecessary ones. his biceps when he folds his arms. the scratch of his chest. the tilt of his head as he watches the field.
your thoughts don’t stop. why did he kiss you? why did he kiss you again? what is that supposed to mean? is he going to kiss you again??
the spiral doesn’t fully come to an end until the pitch breaks out into celebration. the team is off to the finals!
managers and the rest of the team flood the pitch as the stadium breaks out. you do your best to get the best shots of the team together, and you stay after to capture them talking to journalists, and press. unaware of the coach that slips away.
you follow the team and a couple managers back to the locker room as they continue celebrating. you can’t help the smile about how happy they are, they played well.
“how was the match?” geto corners you quickly.
“good,” you nod casually, fixing your flash. “you guys played really well.”
geto’s brow quirks. that’s nice….his lips purse. “I scored.” he mutters, glancing at the multiple piercings on your ear as you tuck a hair behind it.
“yeah, it was a nice shot,” your eyes flick over your camera before glancing up to meet his eyes, testing, “you wanna see?”
his eyes narrow again, “no.”
he’s quick to ignore your eye roll, as he points over his shoulder. “coach is calling for you.”
you can’t control the way your head whips to geto, then following the direction he’s pointing at. you don’t hesitate, your legs carry you across the locker room, and into the steamed shower room.
your heart hammers against your chest, putting the lens cap back on your camera and carefully sliding it off your shoulder, afraid to step further in until you put it back in your bag.
a single curtain is closed. shower running.
“coach toji?” your voice echos.
there a beat of silence, then…
“that you, sweetheart?”
you flush. controlling the smile that breaks your face as you hum, “yeah.”
the shower is still running, steam collecting in the room. your heart is beating erratically, you barely register anything aside from the fact that coach toji is definitely one hundred percent fully nude just a few feet away. his clothes are laid on his duffle on the bench beside the door.
“sweetheart?”
you jump. “yeah?”
“you gonna come in?”
you blink. again, then once more. then— “WHAT?”
your screech bounces off the tile floors, making you shrink at how loud you are. but it was a normal reaction. he just asked you if you wanted to come in? how else would you react—
“leave your things by my bag,” he doesn’t even react, like what he’s saying is the most casual kind of flirting. the kissing was one thing, but this…
your camera is zipped back in your bag, and in seconds, you’re peeling your panties off standing completely naked in the middle of a shower room. goosebumps break out, necklace and bracelets still on as your nipples harden.
what’re you doing, seriously?
one, this is highly unprofessional (whatever). two, you haven’t even gone a date with this man. and three, w-why would he even ask you to come in?!?! does he like you?! he does—he has too—
your bare feet pad against the steamed tiles until you reach the curtains. your hands won’t stop shaking, face burning hot, and lips parting as you let out a shaky exhale. then, you slowly pull back the curtains—
“come in before someone sees you,” is what you hear just as you’re being dragged into the steaming water, curtain pulled closed behind you.
the steam wraps around your skin instantly, thick and suffocating. your pretty nipples perk up in seconds. and standing right in front of you is the 6’5 two hundred pound man. water cascading down his body in slow, steady streams. you don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until your chest tightens, and your hands hover close to his forearm.
you’re so close.
your gaze is eye level with his broad solid chest, rising and falling slow and controlled like none of this affects him. like you standing in front of him naked is something he expected. but your too dazed to care. especially when you follow the droplets sliding over his muscles, catching the shallow lines as you continue going lower, and lower. the heat pools more obviously between your legs as you see the thick patch of dark coarse hair…then you see it.
your face burns hotter, stomach flipping hard making you even dizzier.
his cock twitches under your gaze. your knees almost buckle just at the sight. it’s huge. you have to suppress a whine, lashes fluttering as you feel a strong hand cup your chin.
“say hi first,” his voice is unbelievably deep, tearing your gaze away from the monster between his legs. his dark forest green eyes sink into you.
“hi.”
shit. he bites back a groan, eyes trailing down your naked body. nipples already perky and standing all pretty for him. his hand comes up, cupping the side of your face as he leans down, lips colliding with yours.
you whine immediately. your lips move together, tongues colliding as your hands slide up his muscular chest, feeling the deep ridges of his abs as he holds the side of your face, dominating the kiss.
it was overwhelming, the shower box, his body heat, his cock touching your thigh, it was all making you dizzy in the best ways possible. he pulls away, letting you catch your breath, but he stays close, brushing his lips over yours like it’s not enough. because it isn’t.
“did anyone see you come in?” he husks, hand still cradling your face as the other brushes your naked waist, pulling you closer. your skin is so soft under his palm.
“no,” you shake your head adorably, tongue poking out to wet your lip, “I don’t think so.”
the older coach hums, his hands freely roaming your side as he nudges your nose with his. “good,” is all he adds before he resumes the heated make out.
your tongues collide and caress, jaw falling slack as you moan a little louder when he grips your ass. groaning into your lip when your arms lock around his shoulders, wet chest pressing against his. you were such a sweet tasting girl.
his hand nudges your thigh. “jump.”
you gasp when he easily picks you up, back already pressed against the tiled wall. the hot water cascades down his back as he continues kissing you. “were you mad at me?”
you pull away, breath hot as you glance at his features. he’s so handsome, your hand cups his face, pushing his drenched raven hair back. “why would I mad?”
“because I kept ya out during halftime.”
you shake your head, lips curving as you trace his wet eyebrows, chest rising and falling. “no,” you drawl, wetting your glossy lips again. “I was jus’ confused about how much you kiss me.”
his scar tugs up, biting back a smirk threatening to break free. “you kissed me first.”
“that one time.”
“you started it,” he leans close, lips brushing yours, “so you can’t blame me for getting hooked.” his eyes are lidded. “it’s really hard for me to break bad habits.”
this time you kiss me.
you’re so unbelievably hungry for this man’s affection, you can ignore all the blaring red light going off in your head. he’s so hot, he’s so big, and he’s so fucking sexy! your mind has been completely and utterly fried and you don’t care.
“fuck, you’re dripping,” toji husks, his finger collecting your juices from your pussy, groaning at how turned you are. “kissing me makes ya feel that good? your cunt always dripping like a fountain?”
“yeah-aah—“ your lips part as he shoves a finger inside. he groans against you, chuckling at the choked whines leaving your pretty lips, your nails dig crescents along his shoulder.
his lips trail down your neck, tongue flattening against the wet skin and licking until you squirm a cute whimper. his smirk is impossible to hold back. he sucks a dark bruise as another finger pushes in your fluttering hole.
“c-coach—“ you gasp, lips so wet from spit. you try to look down at his fingers pistoning inside you. every muscle on his body flexing, keeping you up like you weigh nothing, while fingering you against the little shower wall. “fu-fuck, I’m gonna—cu-uhm—“
it really is too much for your obsessed brain.
coach toji’s fingers are inside you. he’s kissing you like he’s hasn’t pleasured a woman in years. and his groans are going straight to your pussy—
“I wan’…coach—“ your whine drawls a little longer, thighs shaking, and arms locking around him, head falling to neck.
the older man chuckles close to your ear, voice deep and husky as you fall apart, in his arms. hugging him like he’s your savior. his fingers curl, slowly pumping you through your orgasm. “that was quick. my baby hasn’t cum in awhile?” he says as a matter of a fact, but you just hug him closer, lips pulling away to trail kisses up his neck. your fingers coarse through the back of his head, grasping them as you kiss the corner of his mouth.
“it’s b’cause of you, toji.” you kiss his scar, panting as he pulls his fingers out and lifts you up suddenly, hooking his arm under your knee.
“you want a good fucking princess?”
you nod frantically, cheeks dewy and stinging, as you glance over his face then his chest, then you feel his cock between your slick folds.
“it’s a big stretch,” he mutters against your lips. “you saw.”
you nod, nervous stirring at the way he’s preparing you. but you don’t break away. you doubt you physically can, when your mind is only screaming his name over and over.
“I can take it, coach,” you nod, determined.
“you’re so fucking cute,” he snorts, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he kisses your lips in quiet reassurance. “ever take a cock this big?”
you shake your head, water droplets falling from the tips of your hair. your pretty necklaces still wrapped around your neck, all wet and glistening between your perky breasts.
“it’ll hurt,” he strokes himself underneath you, thumb running over his tip multiple times before lining it with your pretty clit and teasing you. “then you’re gonna cry.” you gulp, nodding along. “then you’re gonna tell me to stop—“
“I won’t!”
he snorts. “it’s okay if you do.”
you shake your head, “I won’t I’ll be okay. okay coach? I can take it, I wan’ you inside me. please.”
the tug to his heart is immediate. how can it not be when this cute hot girl is begging him to fuck her? but he can’t even formulate this emotional string that’s tying him to you. the only physical response coming out is this fucking erection that feels like the most painful shit he’s experienced, twitching after he first spoke to you and then again when you kissed him. surely it’s disgusting….an older man like him getting that quickly turned on…
but maybe it was the way he’s only felt this tug in his chest one other time in his life, and even if it didn’t end the way he wanted, he never regretted pursuing his baby mama.
so he’s all in right now.
“deep breath, sweetheart.”
you inhale sharply, just as toji pushes his engorged tip past the tight rim of your pussy, and you suddenly clench—
“shit!—“
your eyes widen, “I don’t feel anything,” you mutter, glancing down to see his ears burning a deep shade of red.
“your cunt squeezed me too early and shoved me out,” he wets his lips, as he crashes his lips against you. “relax, baby,” he husks.
you whine against his dominating mouth, lower body relaxing as he lines up again and the moment you ease up, he snaps his hips in.
“angh!—“
your jaw slacks, and he continues kissing, groaning at the unbelievable tightness that’s squeezing every corner of his tip.
“Mmm so warm, took me in good,” he groans, rocking his hips and grabbing a handle of your ass. “you’re gonna make me feel good?”
you nod, lips connecting with his, it’s messy, teeth clashing, spit mixing.
toji’s guttural groan echos through the shower, bouncing off the tiles as he rocks his hips, going in inch by inch, until he’s finally shoving his entire length deep inside your cunt with one mean thrust.
“fhuck—“ he chokes, jaw slacking as you clamp around him again. “full?”
you nod, brain scrambled as you glance at your tummy, cheeks stinging at the obvious bulge. “keep going,” you pant, securing yourself better as he grunts, pulling out and snapping his hips back.
it was mind numbing, toji holding you up with his strong arms hooked under your knees, hands gripping each ass cheek as he ruts into you like a beast in heat. the squelch and clapping was deafening as it bounced off the walls, the steam enveloping you closer as your whines flow right into his ear.
“nghhh—gettin’ me worked up,” thrust. “when you squeeze me,” thrust. “with this tight.” thrust. “fucking.” thrust. “cunt!”
his massive cock is stretching you in ways you never could’ve imagined. his blunt tip slams into your cervix with every thrust. your thighs shake, eyes filling with unshed tears as your nails dig into his tough skin.
“m’ s-sorry—haah ah coa—ahh! it feels s’ fuhh—fuh’me ple-easee—ahh!” your pretty lips were so glossy, drool coming down as water droplets fall from your pretty breasts with each vicious slam of his hips.
he was unforgiving. and his laugh like groan didn’t help your pussy from fluttering and tightening around his chubby cock. you can feel every thick pulsing vein and ridge. it was numbing your brain to mush. your fingers curled into his hair, tugging as he gives your ass a mean, violent, spank!
“angh!” your eyes bulge, a wave of heat crashing into you.
toji laughs, gripping your ass as he quickens his pace. “admit it,” he husks, voice condensing, and eyes dark with lust. “this is what ya’ wanted.” you’re falling apart around his cock, and he’s not slowing down, even as the tears finally break, making you look even more irresistible. you’re gasping like you can’t breathe. “you always wanted the coach to fuck you. taking those dirty photos of my bulge—nghh!” thrust. “imagining how big my dick is.” thrust. “how big is it baby, tell me.” thrust!
you were fucked dumb.
your face is flushed, eyes glossed over, as you whine like a full blown slut. and even with your two orgasms in a matter of minutes. your mind was still screaming one thing: toji.
“c’mon baby, I know you’re still with me,” he snorts, ears red, and body flushed with sweat as he feels his climax edge closer. “tell me—fuck—how big is it?”
your stupid brain catches his words, and your fingers dig into his neck as you gasp and moan, the stimulation of his massive cock slamming into you was ruining you. mentally and physically. it was humiliating. but still…
“haah—fuh its’ it’s so big— i wan’ you to cum in me! please —wan’ your cum so bad, wanna feel your big fat cock cum inside my pussy toji—ahh!”
anothet sharp spank takes your breath away.
toji is at a loss.
his grunts grew louder and thrusts sloppier, until finally, he gave you one final thrust, and stilled. his ass tightens, body pressing you into the tiled walls, face buried in your neck, and teeth sinking into your shoulder. toji completely unravels in the shower, holding up a pretty college girl that whines so beautifully in his ear he thinks he’d never cum this hard again, but sure enough—
your adorable whine has him rutting shallow thrusts into your pussy, like a fucking dog. his cum pumping out as he continued stuffing you full, purposely milking out ever drop as his dark wet pubes rubbed against your puffy clit.
you both catch your breath. your lashes wet from tears, as the water from the shower head fills the silence. after a moment, toji pulls away from your neck, his lidded eyes, hypnotizing as he stares up at yours.
you don’t know why you suddenly feel shy. your cheeks burn as the emerald irises bore into your own. lips parting, and a gentle hand coming up to his cheek. you brush back the raven hair flattening against his features, smiling softly when his full face comes into view.
and he could’ve sworn you looked like an actual angel at this moment.
your eyes twinkled above, face illuminating in the dark shower, and body glistening like you’re an eternal being.
“toji…” the soft call has his heart doing something it hasn’t done in years. and that has his soft cock twitching inside you. “I’m,” you lean closer, arms wrapping around his shoulder, lips hovering near his, breasts smushed against his chest. your confidence comes back the moment you feel the man lean closer..but you continue. “I hope you don’t think…i wanted to have sex…just because i thought your dick was really big.”
toji blinks.
then he does the worst thing ever.
he laughs.
your cheeks sting, watching his head fall back in loud laughter. your hand flys to your face, embarrassed. “I’m being serious!” you yell.
toji laughs louder, body shaking as he lifts you up, his cock slipping out. he carefully sets your shaky feet down on the wet tile. the height difference returns, making you even more ticked off, your little attitude was oozing out, and his slick cock couldn’t help but twitch against his thigh at your pouting.
god, you’re fucking hot.
he brings your attention back to him. hands cupping your face, tilting your head to look up at him. your brows are pinched together, and lips pulled in a subtle scowl.
toji smirks. “don’t worry, I know you also took pictures of my face.”
you flush, rolling your eyes. “those were accidents.”
“so you just wanted pictures of my dick?”
your eyes widen, “no! i told you they were all accidents.”
toji clicks his tongue, leaning down to your level, making your tummy flip “you’re fucking cute, but let’s not lie to adults.”
“I’m an adult though,” you raise a brow, pushing back, and god if that wasn’t the hottest thing ever.
but still, toji’s easygoing smile remains on his playful lips, “it’s embarrassing. i understand,” he softens the blow as your face heats. it was humiliating when he found those pictures, “taking photos of the coach like that. but now’s the time to take some accountability.”
you lick your teeth, eyes boring into him, narrowing. but it’s toji. toji is asking. and you can’t hold back any longer…
you exhale, glancing away, even though he’s still cupping your face. “yeah, obviously I took those photos on purpose,” your eyes meet. “happy?”
water is still running down his shoulders as he keeps your face tucked carefully in his hands like you’re something precious despite the grin threatening to split across his face again.
but then toji smirks. “ecstatic.”
your eyes narrow immediately, “you’re so annoying.”
he huffs another laugh under his breath, quieter this time, thumbs brushing over your heated cheeks. standing this close to him is ridiculous now that the adrenaline’s settling. he’s huge. his broad chest still damp against yours, muscles flexing every time he shifts, towering over you while you stand there completely naked except for the necklaces you’re wearing. the little gold chains glisten under the shower head, delicate against flushed skin, and toji’s eyes flick down to them for a second before returning to your face.
that look in his eyes makes your stomach tighten all over again. he knows he’s not trying to be mocking, or casual like before. it’s fondness.
“those shots were real creative, sweetheart,” he says, voice rougher now. “nice and close too.”
you groan, immediately trying to shove his chest, but he barely moves. “oh my god, can you let it go already?”
“can’t,” he answers easily. “been thinkin’ about it for weeks.”
your face burns hotter. weeks?!
toji watches it happen in real time, watches the attitude crack just enough for embarrassment to slip through, again. and it does something terrible to him. you’re sharp with everyone else—cool, hard to impress. he’s seen it. seen the way you brush off gojo and geto without a second thought. but with him? you melt.
even now, glaring up at him with your brows pulled tight, lips still swollen from kissing, legs trembling from the multiple orgasms, trying so hard to stay irritated while your body keeps betraying you. it’s fucking adorable.
“don’t look at me like that,” you mutter weakly.
“like what?”
“like you know things.”
his grin widens instantly. “but i do know things now.”
what proceeded after was the thirty something year old coach, dropping to his knee and lifting your leg up, burying his face between your legs like a starving man. your lips part in shock.
but still, as toji works your pretty body to another orgasm, tongue shoved inside, cleaning this little pussy up, jaw slack as he gulps down his own cum. your fingers thread through his hair, tugging whenever he’d give your clit a mean rough suck, cheeks hollowing. his hand, grips your ass from behind, squeezing and slapping as he pleased, until you were falling apart.
afterwards, he cleaned you up. this time with some soap. his big hands roamed your body, every crevice and curve, hands massaging your breasts as he had your back pressed to his chest, chuckling when you’d whine. thumbs tugging playfully. hand rubbing between your legs, head tucked in your shoulder as he watches your smaller hands hold his forehead, face hot.
“toji,” you whine, embarrassed, as he teasing a finger against your hole again.
“what,” he smirks, watching your reactions, “I’m jus’ cleaning you up.”
he’s a fucking perv. but still, he teases you through the whole shower, keeping you close to his body and even letting you wash his back, admiring the muscles and ink that decorate his skin.
eventually, he steps out first, keeping you inside so he can grab an extra towel. his own wrapped around his waist.
that was the start of all of it.
three months later….
you and shoko are sitting out in the quad. table covered in assignments and forgotten laptops. all while you explained to shoko how your weekend went.
“no, we definitely got along. megumi is so cute!” you gush about the ten year old, describing how your first meeting went. toji had spoken about you enough to prepare megumi, waiting until the right time to introduce you both.
and now, you’re going to every single one of their soccer games, toji and megumi’s.
and eventually, after another hour passes by. a group of athletes comes walking down the path. covered in sweat, holding their duffles, and behind them is a very hot coach, already breaking into a smile when you jump up.
“toji!”
it was a routine. your arms thrown around his shoulders, as he lifts you up with one hand. zero regard for any pda, as he kisses you deeply. smiling as you hum, pecking him over and over.
“why do you guys look like that?” shoko grimaces, looking at gojo and geto who look far worse than the rest of the team that leave.
geto scowls, glaring at his best friend, “fucking coach overhead him again.”
shoko shakes her head, rolling her eyes, at the white haired idiot. “you need to stop—“
“it’s been three months and she’s not over that old man?!”
“he’s not even that old!” shoko defends.
but gojo scowls harder, glancing over his shoulder at you laughing and talking, hands animated, like the man in front of you was holding the world. “it’s always the mean girls.”
shoko frowns, “you’re messed up in the head.”
but even geto narrows his eyes when toji wraps a possessive arm around you, glaring up at the two players.
it was clear as day.
you’re his.
a/n: this was LOONG overdue, mb guys!!! but i hope you all enjoyed it!!! ahhhh i love coach toji sososososo much—like its a serious problem, i cant make reader behave normally when its toji, like she has to be obsessed with himmm
anyways, the next oneshot will def be the frat gojo fic! possibly thinking of frat geto after this oneshot too bc i put in some little easter eggs about how they both kinda lean into mean girls so stay tuned! — (divider by @/strangergraphics)
Lee Donghyuck has everything. The perfect career, perfect reputation and perfect fiancée.
You have nothing except a dead-end job at his law firm and a hopeless crush that borders on obsession.
When Donghyuck starts paying attention to you, it feels like a miracle. Like being chosen. Like finally becoming someone worth looking at.
The problem is that everyone knows what happens to the girls he notices: they cry, they quit, they disappear.
But you're different.
At least, that's what you keep telling yourself.
haechan (donghyuck) x reader, smut + angst!!!, office affair
words-> 10.6k words (what the helly, my longest fic so far!!)
content-> lots of smut!!!, dry humping, oral (m.receiving), vaginal penetration, breeding, choking, spit + cum eating, slapping, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional manipulation, cheating, degradation (if u squint), power imbalance, obsession, hyuck is an asshole , unreliable narrator!!!
cami's notes at the end :3
The first time you see him, you’re holding a stack of files so high it obscures your vision, and you nearly walk into the glass door of the conference room. A hand shoots out, stopping the door before it hits your face. You peer around the teetering tower of paper.
“New girl,” a voice says, smooth and laced with amusement. Not a question.
You lower the files, and there he is.
Lee Donghyuck. With a familiarity that borders on reverence, he imposes respect with his very eyes.
You’d heard the name whispered in the breakroom, seen his photo on the firm’s “Notable Cases” wall. He’s the golden boy, the prodigy, the son who could do no wrong.
In person, he is more. The sharp, elegant cut of his suit, the dark, knowing eyes that sweep over you in a single, assessing glance, the slight but perpetual curl at the corner of his mouth that suggests he’s privy to a joke you don’t understand.
He is beautiful in a way that feels unfair.
“Thank you,” you manage, your voice barely a squeak.
He doesn’t move his hand, holding the door open, forcing you to pass under his arm. You feel the heat of him, catch the faint, expensive scent of his cologne: sandalwood and something citrus, sharp and clean.
“Careful,” he murmurs, his voice dropping. “The old geezers in there prefer their coffee scalding and their copies without smudges. You wouldn’t want to fail on your first month here, right pretty girl?”
Taken aback by the sudden nickname, the copies go back and forth on your hands as your eyes look for him, but he’s gone, striding down the hallway as if he owns the very air, leaving you standing there, your face burning.
You don’t know if you’ve been helped or warned. You feel, intensely, the truth of his words.
You are the newest, lowest employee at Jung & Lee, a firm so prestigious its name alone opens doors.
Your job is a symphony of mundane tasks: making copies and fetching lattes with precise sugar levels, and, as Mr. Jung had bluntly put it in your interview, “providing a pleasant atmosphere.”
You are meant to be a visual relief to the silver-haired partners, a pretty, quiet fixture.
But you are clumsy.
You spilled coffee on a contract the first week. You misfiled a crucial deposition just yesterday.
The partners’ eyes slide over you with vague disappointment. You are supposed to be pretty and enjoyable to look at, even if you are a little inept, but you are failing at even this.
Haechan, however, does not fail. He is a force of nature. At twenty-six, he has been at the firm since he was nineteen, his path greased by the legacy of his parents, both titans in the legal world. He wins cases with a dazzling, ruthless charm. He is the favorite, the heir apparent.
Therefore, the office rules are clear: Haechan wants, Haechan gets.
No one ever says no to him.
The engagement to Kim Jiwon, daughter of a rival firm’s senior partner, has been the talk of the industry for a while now: a merger more than a marriage, set for a lavish winter January wedding. Everyone knows.
Everyone also knows about the other, quieter stories.
The whispers about interns who cried in the bathroom, about girls who begged the HR staff to fire them, about assistants who transferred departments abruptly.
It’s an open secret, discussed in hushed, almost admiring tones.
He gets bored, they say. He likes the chase. Who can blame him? The power he holds is absolute, a silent currency everyone accepts. Everything is too easy not to try it.
And you, you like him.
It’s a pathetic, immediate thing, blooming in the pit of your stomach that first day you saw him, watered by every subsequent glance.
Convincing yourself that he decided to look at you, to help you, to call you a name. That must mean something.
It gets easily to your head because you’ve never been approached by men, not really.
Your relationships are a short, sad list of hesitant texts that faded into silence. Like the Wonbin boy you met at college, who ghosted you after hooking up at a party. Or that tinder date who left the restaurant after meeting you.
You’ve come to believe there is something inherently unlovable about you, something missing or broken that needs to be fixed, to be seen by someone, to be validated into existence.
Haechan sees you, and now you´re afraid no one else would look at you as him, ever.
He sees you, not in the way you crave, but he does see you.
His eyes linger on your figure in the communal kitchen as you fumble with the espresso machine. He watches you from behind the crystal door of his office as you rush past with paper cups filled with watered down black coffee.
They are not warm glances; they are cold, analytical, like a collector examining a potential acquisition. Debating himself if you are worth his time.
They make your skin prickle and your heart pound a frantic, hopeful rhythm against your ribs. Your face flushed every time you pass next to his office.
The gossip intimidates you, non stop stories of his cruelty wrapped in the velvet of his charm. But a desperate, hungry and pathetic part of you reasons that all those other girls simply weren’t enough.
Probably they deserved being treated like that, probably they didn’t realize how lucky they were that a man like Donghyuck was sticking around with them. But you…you are sure, you must be enough for him.
Maybe you could be.
Maybe your pleasantness, your submission, your sheer willingness to please could be what he needs. Someone who never says no, who never makes him angry, who is what he wants her to be.
So you decide to begin your own, pitiful campaign.
You wake up earlier to iron your tube skirt with special care, do your makeup like Minjeong’s, the receptionist who Donghyuck always smiles at.
You smile at him in the hallway, a little too brightly, batting your lashes and scrunching your nose a little.
You volunteer to bring files to his office, lingering to ask a pointless question about the case numbering system.
You go back and forth from his office to your pathetic cubicle to ask him if he needs a coffee refill.
You laugh a little too loudly at a joke he makes in the breakroom.
You are throwing yourself at him, a silent, obvious offering. A cheap doormat inviting him to step in.
After weeks of insufferable uncertainty, he accepts the invitation, but on his own terms.
There is no romantic confession, no real declaration.
It starts in the stark, concrete silence of the gray underground parking lot, weeks before Christmas.
Your car wouldn't start. The cold air from December gets to your bones and you’re near tears, fumbling with your keys on your trembling hands, when his sleek black sedan glides to a stop beside you. The window rolls down.
“Need a ride?” he asks. Not a greeting, not an acknowledgement of who you are.
Anyway, you nod, wordless.
He doesn't get out of his car, doesn’t open the door for you, neither helps you with your bag, but waits, watching you as you hurry around to the passenger side and slide in, still trembling.
The interior of the car smells like him: expensive leather and his clean, cologne.
He never asks you where you live, doesn’t give a damn about where were you going to.
The ride is silent. He drives with a lazy, confident grace, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console between you, so close you can feel the warmth radiating from it.
You take a good look at him, not trying to be discreet; you’d never realize the small scattered moles on his cheeks, nor the prominent veins on his hands, rings wrapped in most of his fingers except the ring one, jet black hair framing his face beautifully.
You sit rigidly, hands clasped in your lap, now hyper-aware of the hem of your skirt, the way your blouse stretches across your chest, worried of how chapped your lips must be due to the freezing cold night. Mortified that he can look at you so up close.
He doesn’t drive you home. He drives to a part of the city you don’t know, to a bar with a flickering neon sign that looks like it’d have sticky floors and disgusting restrooms. It’s ugly and old, a place where no one from the firm would ever go.
“D-Donghyuck?” you ask, your voice small.
“I need a drink,” he says, not looking at you. “And I don't want to drink alone.” It’s not a request, not even an invitation. He’s carelessly informing you what is going to happen.
He walks into the run-down place as if he owned it with you behind him. Not giving you a glare.
He sits in a booth, far away from the other. He buys you a drink you don’t want. In the dim, smoky light, he tells you he’s tired. Tired of his fiancé, tired of the expectations.
“She’s so demanding…a spoiled rotten child who can never shut her damn mouth. Always talking back to me, always complaining. ” he sighs, swirling his whiskey on his ringed fingers and you may want to laugh at the description, because by what you’d heard, he’s not any better.
“So goddam empty. She doesn’t care about me. We don’t love each other. Not anymore, if we ever did. I’m so tired of giving my life to the firm and my parents' wishes…” His voice is a low, intimate hum that vibrates in your bones. Sadness comes innate from every complaint he lets out.
In any other context you would think it’s idiotic to feel sympathy for a rich kid having an episode of chronic affluenza. But not now.
He chose to give you a ride, doesn’t matter if he’s making you drink with him. He chose to open his heart with you from all people. It must mean something.
Your eyes linger nervously from your watered down drink on the table to him, on the unbuttoned neck of his shirt, on the hair falling and framing his face beautifully, on his moles. Allowing yourself to memorize every detail because you never know if this fallen-from-heaven opportunity will ever happen again.
He looks at you then, and his gaze is different: softer, focused and intense. It feels like being chosen.
“I’m sorry about that…sounds so, so sad…but then why…?” you dare to whisper.
He reaches across the table, his fingers tracing the back of your hand. A shiver runs through you. And you wonder if he feels the same tingles as you, that same electricity that makes you feel like you’re in love.
“It’s complicated, she is. But you are real…you’re not judging me, or saying that my problems are rich kid bullshit. What a nice, comprehensive girl you are…such a good listener…”
You flush at the compliment, the pathetic, desperate hope inside you swelling to painful proportions. He called you nice! And you feel like that’s all you’ve ever wanted to hear.
He drops a few bills on the table and stands, offering you a hand. You take it, your small, cold hand disappearing into his large, warm one.
Back in the car, the silence is different. It’s charged with a new, heavy intimacy.
This time, he opened the door for you, he waited until you were inside to follow you into the backseat of his luxurious car. Face to face, your bare knees touching his and you still can feel the electricity running through your body. Could he feel it too?
You don't get to ask him, his warm hand coming to caress your cheek, fingers toying with the fat there. The way you lean into his touch like a stray cat begging to be adopted tells him everything he needs to know.
He doesn’t kiss you right away.
His hand is already there: warm, steady against your cheek, his thumb dragging slowly across your lower lip like he’s testing something. Waiting. Watching.
“Say it,” he murmurs, voice low, controlled.
But you don’t even know what he wants you to say. And maybe that’s the point.
His fingers tighten just slightly as he tilts your chin up, just enough to take the decision out of your hands.
The kiss hits hard.
Not soft, not hesitant, rather decisive.
His mouth presses into yours like he’s already made up his mind for both of you, like this was always going to happen. Your breath catches instantly, your hands hovering for half a second before they settle against him, unsure but unwilling to pull away.
He doesn’t rush. That’s what makes it worse.
Everything about it is slow and deliberate, like he knows you’re not going anywhere. Like he’s certain you’ll let him do whatever he wants.
His grip shifts, at your jaw, then firmly at your neck, keeping you exactly where he wants you as the kiss deepens.
And you let him.
Even when your head starts to spin, even when something quiet and distant in you whispers that you shouldn’t, shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be this close, you lean in instead.
Because he kisses like you mean something. And you don’t stop him.
When he pulls away, it’s barely an inch. Close enough that your lips still brush when you breathe.
He’s watching you. Really watching you. That same assessing look from the hallway, but now it’s hotter and way heavier. It’s not looking at your outfit or your posture anymore, it’s looking right through you, like he’s peeled you open and found the one part of you that was hoping for this all along.
“I knew it,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking slowly over your pulse point, wanting to squeeze. “I knew you’d be like this.”
Your stomach flips. “L-like… what?” you breathe.
Is he going to say pretty? cute? nice?
He leans in, lips brushing your ear this time, warm and teasing and possessive. “So easy.”
You don't get to feel sad when he’s kissing you again, deeper now, hungrier, one of his hands sliding down your back to press you flush against him. He can feel your breasts pushing into his chest as well as the way your thighs are rubbing together.
Your fingers twist into the fabric of his coat, trying to anchor yourself as he takes and takes and takes, and you give in.
And it feels like a victory. It feels like finally being seen.
When he finally pulls back, your lips are swollen, your chest heaving. His hands roam all over your clothed body until they reach your hips, bringing you to his lap with ease.
Crotch pressed right against your center, skirt bunched up all the way to your hipbone. He hisses at the contact, aroused by how easily you gave up your morals just to please him. A smirk on his face that says you were made for him.
Thrusts to your covered pussy invite you to move, your hips grind on his back and forth and you can feel yourself growing wetter against his expensive formal pants. The friction of his size against your flushed parts combined to the accumulated heat on his car make your face go red and Hyuck's nose slowly gets covered in sweat that you wish you could lick off him.
“Fucking hell…” he says, low and breathless against your neck as he sucks the skin there, marking with a mix of purple and red, making you moan. “You wanted this so bad, didn’t you?”
Your mind feels like static, but you manage a weak nod. “Y-yes…”
He chuckles, a dark, delicious sound that makes your toes curl. “Good girl.” His hands slide under your blouse lifting it lazily, just enough to have a nice view. He is warm against the skin of your back. “You’re not going to make this difficult, are you? Not like her.”
You shake your head, because no, you would never be difficult. You would never say no.
His fingers find your bra, and it’s like your whole life has been leading up to this moment. To be in the backseat of a car, letting a man who’s barely spoken to you undress you in a dark, empty parking lot.
He lowers the cups until your breasts are peaking out, palms slide around to cup them, and you gasp, arching into him. He rolls your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, watching your face, gauging your reaction, a smug satisfaction in his eyes.
“You like that, huh?”
"Yes! Yes, please!" Your movements intensify and the friction combined to the tortuous touch on your hard nipples becomes almost too much.
“God, look at you,” he mutters, almost to himself. “So fucking responsive. You were just waiting for someone to touch you, weren’t you?”
You were.
The shame should be overwhelming, but it’s drowned out by the roaring in your ears, the frantic beat of your own heart.
He’s touching you. Hyuck's touching you. It doesn’t matter that it’s in the back of a car, that he’s engaged, that you’re nothing more than a convenient distraction. All that matters is that he chose you out of all people.
His hands are everywhere now, sliding your skirt up higher, tracing the line of your panties, the damp fabric clinging to you. “Soaked,” he whispers, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “All this for me?”
You just nod, unable to form words, lost in a haze of sensation. His fingers press against your clit through the thin cotton, and you cry out, a sharp, desperate sound that seems to spur him on.
His hands land on your hips one last time for the night, guiding your movements to accommodate his own pleasure. Faster, harder, even making you bounce on him as if you were riding him. Mesmerized by the way your tits follow the movement.
Your eyes fill up with tears, out of shame, stress or simply pleasure that has become too much. He feels it too, you know it by the way his nose scrunches and lets out a few gasps that sound like a dream you could only pray to have. Your panties are soaking wet, high pitched cries come out of your mouth...you feel like you are about to explode until...
"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit! Move!"
You are pushed away, back hitting the drivers seat as he undones his belt and hurries to free his length out of his black Calvin Klein briefs. Cock wet with precum that glistens against the dim light that leaks through the windows, is pumped by his fist one, two and three times until he is cumming on your wet panties. Rope after rope of his warm thick load lands on your covered pussy, pulsating around nothing.
The sight is obscene, so much you might as well have come from just watching. Your mind is racing with thoughts, he is so big, so pretty, you wonder how he would have tasted inside your mouth, or how much it would hurt being filled up by him.
"Pathetic," he says once he's done, panting and watching the mess he made on you. Fingers clean up his cum from your panties, only to smear it against your tits and clean the remnants on your blouse. "So fucking pathetic. Look at you."
He’s looking at you like you’re something he scraped off the bottom of his shoe.
You don't say anything as he pushes you to the side, fixing himself up, hand brushing his black hair back. He still looks like the most handsome man in the world.
He laughs, a harsh, ugly sound that has nothing to do with the warm chuckles from earlier. He zips himself up with a sharp, decisive movement, the metallic click echoing in the sudden, cold silence of the car.
Doesn't ask you where you live, he just lets you type your address into the gps app. Takes you home in silence, his eyes darting to you across the rear-view mirror from time to time.
He won't admit it, but the sadness painted on your face...that is going to be his favorite sight for a long time.
❤︎₊ ⊹
It becomes a pattern. Ugly bars, his car, once a cheap hourly motel that smells of bleach and despair. Every time, he goes about the same narrative of his misery with Jiwon.
“She’s mean,” he’ll mutter against your neck. “She doesn’t understand me like you do.”
He paints her as a gilded cage, and you, you are the wild, sweet, secret freedom.
But when you tentatively ask, “Will you tell her? Will it ever end?” he doesn’t answer with action. He answers with his mouth on yours, his teeth on your shoulder, his promises breathed into your skin.
“Soon,” he whispers, his hand fisted in your hair. “It’s not easy, you know? How could you know, though? No one’s ever taken you seriously.”
The words sting, but they are wrapped in the heat of his touch, and you accept them.
You accept everything.
He is mean from the beginning, in ways that feel like truths. In the motel room, watching you dress, he’d say, “You know you’re nothing at the firm, right? If you quit tomorrow, no one would notice. Or maybe…” He’ll chuckle and point at you just like a highschooler would do when bullying the slowest person in the class. “Maybe they’d be relieved that no one’s gonna burn their fucking coffee” He says it casually, as if commenting on the weather.
And you nod, because it feels true. Your existence is irrelevant.
But in his arms, under his weight, you are something.
You are his secret.
That has to mean more than being nothing.
❤︎₊ ⊹
And that’s how you find yourself here: New Year’s Eve.
The office party is on the top floor of a sleek skyscraper, a panoramic view of the city glittering like spilled jewels. You’re wearing a simple, dark red dress you bought on sale, spent half of your savings of the month to go get your makeup and hair done. That makes you feel almost, but not quite, like you belong.
He’s here, of course.
He’s the star, a handsome prince in an immaculate suit. Clear glasses and perfectly combed black hair framed his handsome face and she was with him. Kim Jiwon.
She is as beautiful as the rumors promised: all sharp angles just like him, icy elegance backed up by her white-ish blonde hair, body perfectly suited by a couture that you are sure was way more expensive than yours, followed by a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
She hangs on his arm, a glittering amethyst on her ring finger that could probably pay your rent for a decade.
She’s perfect, and you hate her for that. You hate that every glance you give at her reminds you of everything that you are not. Especially Hyuck's.
You hate that his arm envelops her and she looks untroubled. That she looks like she doesn't even want to be there, spending time with the man you would give anything to have by your side.
You mingle around the noisy room, filled with laughter and hypocrisy, all by yourself, choosing to stand by the window, nursing a glass of cheap champagne, watching them.
He leans down and whispers something in her ear. She laughs, a brittle, lovely sound. She looks so complete, so sure of her place beside him. The sight is a physical pain that sickens you.
For the first time, a sick, ugly thought slithers into your mind: maybe he wasn’t lying about her being demanding.
Maybe you truly are the one who understands him.
Eyes going back to the window as the sight of his precious hand keeps lowering on her back until he reaches the curve of her ass and you feel like you want to die.
The night becomes even worse with every second that passes through, champagne combined with wine making you feel like you are just a little freer, braver...
"Miss y/n?" A guy dressed in black and white, just another peasant serving for the night, touching your shoulder and leaning in to whisper something. "Mr. Lee asked me to inform you that he'd be waiting for you at the men's bathroom. A confidential matter." He bows, before walking away, your whole world shaking at the realization that he is thinking about you even when he is right next to her.
That has to mean something.
You wait a couple of minutes to make it not so suspicious, trying so hard not to laugh at the self-proclaimed win. The cheap alcohol stills running through your veins making you feel like you might want to tell everyone that Lee Donghyuck is waiting for you, and only you in the bathroom.
But you don’t. You can’t.
You walk away trying so hard not to look suspicious, a smirk on your face to hold the excitement, isolating yourself to the very back of the floor. Music blends far away, your heartbeat can be listened to in your ears as you push the heavy door open.
You find him alone, leaning against the marble counter, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He doesn't look at you when you enter, locking the door behind you.
“Look at you,” he says, his voice flat, bored. “Thought you could dress up all nice and pretend you’re one of them.”
Your confidence shatters. “I just… I wanted to look nice.”
“Trying to compete with her? Comparing yourself to a respectable woman?” He finally turns, and his eyes are colder than you’ve ever seen them. “Don’t. You’ll embarrass yourself.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Shut up,” he cuts you off, closing the distance between you in three long strides. He backs you against the heavy door, the wood hard and unforgiving against your spine. “Did you have fun watching us? Is that what gets you off? Being a little voyeur, watching me with my fiancée?”
"I-I'm sorry...it's not that way, I—"
He scoffs, an ugly sound filled with mockery. "Then what way is it? Are you fucking stupid? Staring like you hate her...I just started with you and you're already getting on my nerves." His hand, engagement ring and all, on your cheeks, squeezing so hard until you pout for him.
"I'm really sorry, Donghyuck..." Words stuck between his index and thumb, not like he really wants to listen to anything you have to say. Your eyes are now shiny and glazed under the soft yellow light.
"You know what you need? To learn your damn place." He says, his anger turning into a dark amusement that thrills you more than it should. His fingers dig into your jaw, forcing your head back. "So pathetic, you're about to cry, aren't you? I like that about you. That you're fucking pathetic. I could tell you to kill yourself and you'd do it. Wouldn't you?"
You nod repeatedly, head knocking on the door as he has you by the jaw still. Any ounce of self respect is thrown out the window the moment he puts his hands on you.
His knee presses between your legs, a hard, undeniable pressure against your core. You can’t help but grind against it, a desperate, shameless movement. He laughs, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through your entire body, staying at your core.
“See? Desperate little thing. All dressed up with nowhere to go, but right here. On your knees for me.” His words are venom, but you lap them up like honey.
He yanks down the top of your dress, exposing the flimsy black lace bra you wore just for him. The one you bought thinking maybe he would take you to a nice dinner, maybe he would take you to a hotel for the night, where you would have a bed for two and maybe even breakfast the morning after.
His thumb hooks into the cup and pulls it down, the cold air hitting you, making you shiver instantly. However, this time is different, he lowers, under you so as to have a good taste of your sensible buds. Tongue lapping the nipple while staring at your face. Toying with the other between his fingers.
Still too embarrassed about your simple existence, eyes shut close as you moan relentlessly. Not giving a shit about who may hear you.
"Getting hard? Look at you...what a fucking slut." He whispers against your tit, making sure to be heard.
He bites down, not gently. A sharp, stinging pain makes you cry out, but he doesn't let go, sucking hard, leaving a dark, possessive mark.
A brand. Proof. He moves to the other breast, to your chest, your collarbones. Giving it the same treatment, until your upper body is a constellation of purple and red blotches. Hurting, saliva drying on your skin and making you tremble due to the cold or because you just want him so much.
He pulls back, admiring his work. “There,” he says, a dark satisfaction in his voice. “Now everyone will know you’re used goods. That you belong to someone.”
Your heart soars.
Belong.
He spins you around, your hands flattening against the cold marble of the counter. You see yourself in the mirror: the hairstyle you paid for now all messy, lipstick smudged, breasts exposed and bruised.
You look wrecked. You look wanted.
And you think you feel better than ever.
His eyes find yours for a moment and the only thing you come across is hunger. Desire, desperation, all of it in a single glance.
He hikes your long dress up over your hips, the fabric bunching around your waist. “Look at you,” he says, his eyes meeting yours in the reflection. “Look at how much you want this.” His fingers hook into your panties, pulling them down to your knees. The cool air brushes against your dripping heat. "You want this, don't you?" He smirks as his hands undo his expensive belt with a clink that makes your hair stand on end.
Hard length on his fist, pumping a few times, smearing the precum all over. He doesn't even bother to pretend to find a condom.
You try to have a look at him, pulsating just at the thought of him raw inside you, neck turning to try to have a peek of him, only to be taken by the hair and forced to look front. He aligned himself, wet and flushed head against your dripping folds, not pushing, just letting you feel him there.
His hand grips harder on your hair, hissing at the feeling of your warm pussy lips kissing his cock as he slowly pushes himself in.
You cry out as if being hurt. The primal feeling of being filled without any barrier between the two along with the way his cock throbs inside you once he's settled to the hilt is too overwhelming.
"You take it so well, pretty girl. Like you were made for this...for me."
Your heart throbs on your bruised chest.
Made for him!!
It needs to be true.
Hot breath against your cheek, his lips on the side of your face. Panting, licking and biting on the side of your cheek as his thrust starts slow and calculated. Perfectly angulated, up and down in a way that you feel so full and wanting to pee. He's hitting your sweet spot with no effort. Making your legs shake and your mind blank as your eyes go from the white ceiling, to his frame on the mirror, to yourself, not able to keep yourself in orbit.
His other hand goes from your hair to your neck, griping just enough to keep your head up. "Eyes on yourself, don't you dare look away. I want you to see what you are." His pace picks up, the slap of skin against skin and the obscene squelch of your wetness wrapping his throbbing cock the only sounds aside from your whimpers and his pretty moans, sometimes grunts.
"Is this how you wanted it? Getting fucked in the bathroom during the stupid company dinner?" He mocks, thrusts becoming sloppier and faster each second. "She's probably looking for me right now...wondering where I am. She doesn't have a fucking clue that I'm stuffing this tight pussy."
His words are poison, but they go straight to your core, making you clench even more around him. He groans in response, the grip on your neck tightening. "You like that, huh? Being my little secret. My dirty little whore."
He lets go of your neck, only to grab both of your arms and pin them behind your back, using them as leverage to thrust deeper. The angle shifts, and you see stars. The pleasure is so intense it borders on pain, and you love it. Moans become cries of help, telling him to please stop, that it's too much and he doesn't care, of course.
He stares at the printed reflection on the mirror, bruised tits bouncing deliciously with every thrust, and your pathetic face that's barely holding the tears...he loves every part of it. Loves that he can take whatever he wants and that you won't complain.
Not letting go of your arms, he fucks into you, hard, fast, making you scream out until you cum all over him, legs trembling as you fight to stay upright. Your walls clenching and contracting violently around his cock as your slick drips down your thighs, you see him squeezing his eyes shut and cursing under his breath as he buries himself deep inside you with one last thrust. His desperate gasps fill the empty room and you feel the warmth of him coating your inner walls, thick ropes of cum marking you from the inside out, makes you feel complete.
He collapses onto your back, his weight pressing you into the counter, both of you panting heavily. For a moment, you stay like that, a tangled mess of limbs and spent passion. You can feel his heart beating against your back, a steady, reassuring rhythm that makes you feel safe.
But the feeling doesn't last.
He pulls out, and you feel empty, both physically and emotionally. The sudden loss of him is a cold, sharp ache.
He's already fixing himself up, tucking his shirt back into his pants, adjusting the knot on his tie, washing his hands like nothing happened.
He catches your eye in the mirror, and for a second, you see something other than coldness in them. But it's gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the familiar, detached amusement.
He turns to you, a small, cruel smile playing on his lips. He gestures towards the small bin on the corner, the one used to throw paper towels.
"Clean yourself up," he says, his tone dismissive. " I don't want you dripping my cum all over the floor like a bitch in heat." A disgusted look on his face.
You hurry to comply, your hands shaking as you pull the strips of your dress and bra over your shoulders again and you clean yourself up with the rough paper towels. You can feel his cum leaking out of you, a warm, sticky reminder of what just happened. You ball up the soiled paper towels and your panties, and throw them into the bin as instructed.
He watches you, his arms crossed over his chest. When you're done, he walks over to you, his eyes raking over your disheveled form.
"You look a mess," he says, his voice flat.
He reaches out and smooths down your dress, his fingers lingering for a second on your hip. Then he turns you around, his hands gently adjusting the top of your dress, it doesn't hide the bruises he just made at all. And he doesn't care.
"There," he says, stepping back to admire his work. "Now you look like you've been properly fucked." He smirks, a dark satisfaction in his eyes.
"Go back to the party," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Act like nothing happened. And don't you dare to look at me."
He unlocks the door and opens it, gesturing for you to leave. At least he's still a gentleman, you think.
You hesitate for a second, your heart aching with a desperate need for something more. A kiss, a kind word, a gentle touch, anything to hold on to.
But you get nothing.
You walk out of the bathroom, your head held high, your heart a shattered mess in your chest. Your body's still warm and your pussy drying along with the ambient.
The party is in full swing, the music louder, the laughter more forced. You grab a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and take a long sip, the bubbles doing little to soothe the raw ache in your throat. Trying so hard not to notice the way in which he stares at your bruised chest.
You stay in a faraway corner just to scan the room, and your eyes immediately land on him.
He's back with her, his arm around her waist, a charming smile on his face as he laughs at something she says. He looks perfect, like he hasn't just been fucking a nobody in the bathroom.
And you, you're just a nobody.
You watch them for a while, a silent, invisible and full of resentment observer.
❤︎₊ ⊹
The following Monday morning at the office, the gossip, once a distant hum, becomes a sharp, clear voice. All directed to you. Partners, waiters, staff, everyone saw the state in which you came back from an unknown place. And everyone could easily assume who did that to you.
Just when you were up to take Hyuck’s coffee to his office, two of the junior associates, Minju and Yunah, corner you by the printer.
“Hiii! Y/n, right? Sorry to bother you sweetheart, we can see that you’re on the run…it’s just that…” You nod, willing to do anything they’d asked you to do.
Go buy snacks, bring them lunch tomorrow, anything, you’d do it, but the pity on the tallest made your mouth go dry.
“You know he’s engaged, right?” Minju says, straight to the point abruptly but not unkindly. “To Kim Jiwon. The wedding’s set for this January and you know…they’ve been together for years. She even was at the Christmas dinner…"
As if you didn't fucking knew, or saw her at the dinner. You’re sick because your blood ran hot on your body, wanting to curse at both of them for being so nosy. As if you weren’t going to change that for good.
Nonetheless, the unspoken part hangs in the air: He’s using you.
“I know,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “It’s…complicated.”
Yunah scoffs, a bitter, knowing sound. “No, it’s not. It’s the oldest story in this building. He gets bored, he finds a distraction. He breaks them. Then he goes back to her. You are not the first, and you won't be the last.”
"You should stop this, for your own good..." Minju says, as her perfectly manicured hands placed a streak of hair behind your ear with softness in her eyes.
Both girls leave you there, the printer whirring softly, a hollow ache in your chest. You knew they were right. Every word was a shard of glass lodging itself in your heart.
But the desperate, pathetic part of you clings to the memory of his hands on your skin, his whispered words. “You were made for me” “You belong to someone”
You want it to be true more than you want to breathe.
But the truth is undeniable. Everyone can see it, that you were a momentary diversion, a snack to tide him over.
For a moment, in the darkness with him, you had believed it was only him and you.
The fact that he had chosen you, all the "beautiful" moments spent with him…now you see the vast, crowded reality: him, Jiwon, their families, the firm, the entire world. And you...you mean nothing.
❤︎₊ ⊹
The realization comes after not being called by him all day.
After some weeks, you left work at five, you went to the market to buy groceries and once at home you took a shower.
He hasn't called you yet and you start to think that you'd done something wrong.
No hookups in his car, no groping in his office, not even a glance when you entered his office.
Anguish filling your chest with every passing minute, eyes holding tears because nothing had happened yet and it'd be pathetic to cry over nothing.
What if Yunah and Minju said something to him? Had the rumours reached his office?
Every imaginable thought coming to your head, emptied by three dry knocks on the door.
His text.
Open the door. Now.
You almost trip on your own feet as you rush, your heart pounding against your ribcage. Opening the door you find him, disheveled, angry, and more handsome than ever in his simple white t-shirt and black jeans. Hyuck doesn’t even look at you, he just pushes past you and walks inside, leaving the door ajar as he sits on your tiny couch.
He looks so out of place there, the small, worn couch swallowing him up, the cheap lamp casting a sickly yellow glow on his face.
“Donghyuck… what… what’s wrong?” you stammer, your hands trembling. Getting closer, you sit next to him, only to be pushed out of your own couch, to sit on your knees. His ringed fingers tangled across your neck, harder with every word he spat.
"Everyone is fucking bothering me with questions about you. It's driving me insane. What the fuck did you do, huh? Do you know what can happen if this goes further? Can your stupid brain understand that you're fucking with my future?"
"B-but you lied to me! You are going to marry her! Everyone knows, as they know you fucked me at the party, because you wanted!" The boldness of your words is new. Maybe the weeks of being close to him gave you some kind of confidence.
He laughs, but there's no humor in it. It's a cold, sharp sound that makes you flinch.
"What did I lie about? Did I ever say I loved you? Did I ever promise you anything?" He leans forward, his face close to yours, his breath hot and angry. “I said I was tired of her and believe me, I am. I never said I was leaving her. You heard what you wanted to hear.” His grip on your neck thightens, your mouth open gasping for air, eyes itching with hot tears threatening to fall violently. “Did you really think,” he continues, his voice a soft, venomous caress, “that I would cancel a wedding, a merger that’s been planned for years, for a desperate, easy girl like you?
His words are like physical blows, each one knocking the air out of your lungs. You want to argue, to scream at him, but you can't.
Because deep down, you know he's right.
You were convenient. Easy.
He stands up, pacing the small space of your living room like a caged animal, your eyes following every movement of his.
"You think you're special? You think you're different? You're not. You're just the latest in a long line of girls who were stupid enough to fall for my bullshit."
He stops in front of you, looking down at you with a mixture of disgust and pity. "You're pathetic. You know that? You're a pathetic little girl who's so desperate for a little bit of attention that you'll let anyone treat you like dirt."
He's right. You know it by the way you can feel yourself getting wet just by the way he's looking at you from above. As he always had.
You look up at him, your vision blurred by tears, and for the first time, you see not a lover, not a savior, but a predator.
Take off your clothes," he says, his voice devoid of any emotion. "All of them."
Your hands are shaking so badly that you can barely manage the buttons on your shirt. He watches, sitting on the couch, tighs spread and a cruel smirk playing on his lips, as you strip for him, your clothes falling into a heap on the floor.
When you're completely naked, shivering from a combination of cold and fear, he finally moves.
He leans to you, elbows to his knees, eying your figure, your head that rests low avoiding the wicked way his eyes devour you. Irises going from your hardening nipples to your clenching tights.
He doesn't kiss you, doesn't say a word. He just looks at you, at the glistening wetness between your legs, the way your body twitches with anticipation that betrays your fear with a sickening arousal.
He lets out a harsh laugh, a sound that makes you want to curl up and disappear. "Look at you," he says, his fingers tracing the slick folds of your pussy, toying with the results of your arousal, smearing it everywhere. "You're so fucking wet... You love this, don't you? You love it when I remind you that you're nothing."
You can only moan in response, your hips bucking involuntarily against his hand, left hand traveling to your neck, squeezing just enough.
He's right. You do love it. You hate yourself for it, but you do.
"You're a sick little slut, aren't you?" he says, a low growl rumbling in your ears. "Getting off on being treated like trash."
He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "Don't worry, pretty. I'll give you what you need."
And with that, the hand that kept cupping your heat snapped shut against your plump cheek.
Neck incorporating again as he held your head and fixed your hair, wiping your hot tears away. Getting you prepared for another one. Again and again and again.
He loved the way you wouldn't even scream, willing to take anything he gave you. The grip on around your air flow getting stronger with each slap and the delicious sting on your cheek had your blood sizzling; thighs clenching together giving away how much you needed him. "What are you? Answer me." He's slapping your face again. "You're a fucking bitch, right?"
"I'm a- I'm a fucking bitch! Please, Hyuck..." you beg, your mind clouded with need and your body aching for more of him. He could ask you to bark and you would do it if that meant he'll finally fuck you.
The need to be filled, to be used, to be needed.
You'd let him do anything.
He laughs, a cruel, mocking sound that sends a fresh wave of shame coursing through you. But it's a shame that feels like pleasure, a twisted delight in your own degradation.
"Please, what?" he coos, his voice laced with false sweetness. "Please hit you again? Please call you a whore? Please remind you that you're nothing but a hole for me to fuck?" His thumb brushes against your already puffy cheek, a gesture that would almost be tender if it wasn't for the mocking look in his eyes.
His gaze is heavy, weighing you down, pinning you to the spot. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the shame burning in your gut, but you can't look away.
His eyes are dark, filled with a hunger that's both terrifying and intoxicating. He's looking at you like you're a piece of meat, a thing to be consumed, and a part of you, a sick, twisted part of you, revels in it.
Both hands gripping strands of your hair, forcing you to look up at him with watery eyes and flushed red cheeks. "Answer me," he demands, his tone sharp, impatient.
"Please..." you beg, your voice a pathetic whimper. "Please fuck me, please Hyuck.."
A slow, cruel smile spreads across his face. "That's what I thought. Get this shit off," The grip on your hair pushing your face to his clothed crotch. You can feel the heat of him, the hard line of his erection through the rough denim, and a desperate moan escapes your lips, not fighting the urge to lick a wet strand across the material, earning a soft moan that you'll keep on your mind forever.
Your hands fumble with the button of his jeans, your fingers clumsy and trembling. He watches you, a dark amusement in his eyes, as you struggle to free him. When you finally manage to pull down the zipper and push his black briefs down, his cock springs free, hard and flushed and angry-looking.
The sight of him makes your mouth water. He's so big, so perfect, and you want him so badly it hurts.
You lean forward, your tongue darting out to taste the bead of precum glistening at the tip. He tastes salty, a little bit bitter, and it's the most delicious thing you've ever tasted.
You wrap your lips around him, taking him as deep as you can until your nose tickles with the grown hair of his pelvis, tongue swirling around the sensitive head. He groans, his fingers tightening in your hair, a low, guttural sound of pleasure that makes your pussy clench.
You start to move, your head bobbing up and down, your lips stretched tight around him. You can feel him hitting the back of your throat, the slight gag reflex a dull ache that only adds to the pleasure.
"Shit... look at you," he breathes, his voice a low, husky whisper, locking your hair against his pelvis, the way your throat grips him makes him hiss. The small build-up confidence that you're making him feel good is enough to look him in the eye, spit and precum spilling from the corner of your mouth warning because of how full is your mouth as he thrusts up, shamelessly using your mouth.
Right before your gag reflex betrays you, he pulls back, a thick strand of saliva connecting both. The urge of satisfying him urges you to lick at his balls, full of cum that you wished was just for you. His bony fingers grip along his wet shaft, up and down, enjoying a little too much the squelch of it all.
"You're such a dirty slut aren't you? You were crying just now, where did that shit go, uh?" A smirk playing on his lips as he continues to pump himself. "Now you're acting like you want to be treated like a dog."
You nod, your eyes glazed with lust and tears, too ashamed to speak.
"Open wide," he commands, and you obey, your mouth falling open as he guides himself back to your lips. He doesn't enter you, though, instead, he strokes himself, his movements fast and furious, until with a harsh groan, he cums, thick, white ropes of his release painting your face, your lips, your tongue. Right before you could swallow, he keeps your mouth open and kneels down, letting out a globe of spit to rest on your tongue along with his cum. Admiring his piece of art.
You close your eyes, savoring the feeling of him marking you, claiming you. It’s degrading, humiliating, and you love it.
Once his fingers leave your mouth, you willingly swallow and finally feel complete. He's in you, he has possessed your mind and your body.
You don't get time to say anything stupid before he's lifting you by the neck, sitting on the couch with you on top of him. The head of his cock's sinfully pinching you above your pelvis. Still half hard, he slides you back and forth, your wet folds coating his cock, your slickness making the friction delicious, a promise of what's to come.
"You're so fucking wet," he growls, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements. "Is this what you wanted? To be used like a cheap whore?"
You can only moan in response, your head thrown back, your hands braced on his shoulders as you grind against him. Your clit is throbbing, a desperate, aching need for more, for him to be inside you, to fill you up and claim you completely.
"Please," you beg, your voice a broken, breathless whimper. "Please, Hyuck...please, need you...please"
He smirks, a dark satisfaction in his eyes. Doesn't even try to ask what you want, he knows it for sure.
He finally pushes inside you, a slow, deliberate stretch that steals your breath. He fills you completely, the feeling of him so intense it borders on pain. But it's a pain you crave, a pain that feels like pleasure.
He lets you adjust for a moment, his hands holding you still, his eyes locked on yours. Filled to the brim, your lungs run out of air because of the way you feel him twitching raw inside you. Desperate, primal.
Then he starts to move, a slow, deep rhythm that has you seeing stars. Your bodies move together, a perfect, messy harmony of flesh and sweat and desperate need. You lean down, your lips finding his, a hungry, desperate kiss that's all teeth and tongue, and the best of it all is that he doesn't deny it to you. He can taste himself on you, the faint, lingering taste of his cum, and it's the most intoxicating thing you've ever experienced.
His hands are everywhere, roaming your body, mapping every curve, every dip, every inch of you.
Left hand finding your hair, gripping so hard that your head is pulled back by force, his right hand groping your ass before meanly spanking you a few times that go straight to your core, tightening and clenching against him.
"Shitt, fuck!" He merely screams, thrusts fastening, your clit being tickled by his pubic hair with each movement. "You're milking the fuck out of me, huh? You want me to fill your cheap hole?"
You babble nonsense, something that sounds like a desperate plea, not like he would expect something different from you.
Your mind lost in a haze of pleasure and pain, your body writhing against him, your hips meeting his thrust for thrust. He doesn't care, he's not seeking for your orgasm but for his. This is about him and you know it, and you still don't care.
"Such a pathetic, disgusting piece of shit," he whispers against your skin, his teeth nipping at your earlobe.
Hands aggressively spreading your ass to find the hole he hasn't touched ever since he met you.
Index slightly massaging around the rim of your tight hole. The unexpected sensation makes you shudder, a loud, guttural moan escaping your lips.
"W-what...?" you manage to gasp, your body tensing at the new intrusion. No one has ever touched you there. The thought is both terrifying, but mostly electrifying.
He chuckles, a dark, wicked sound that vibrates through you. "Don't act so surprised, pretty. You'll take whatever I give you, won't you? This hole is fucking mine too, isn't it?"
He doesn't wait for an answer, just pushes harder, the tip of his index breaching the tight ring of muscle. The burn is sharp, intense, a shocking counterpoint to the pleasure building in your core. You cry out, your hands digging into his shoulders, your body torn between pulling away and pushing for more.
"Look at you, taking it so well," he murmurs, his voice a low, seductive purr. "You're so full of surprises."
Index is fully inside you now, moving in tandem with his cock, a dual invasion that has your head spinning and babbling things between yesses and pleads to stop. The pleasure is almost too much, a white-hot inferno that threatens to consume you whole. Your moans are constant now, a string of desperate, incoherent pleas for more.
"Yes, that's it..." You can tell he's getting close to the edge by the way he hisses, eyes lost on the way your tits bounce and your body convulses, loving the way you're on top of him and you're still defenseless. All consumed on his clenching teeth and the aired moans he lets slip of his pretty lips. "Milk this cock, milk my finger, take everything I'm giving you, be a good girl...come over my cock, dirty slut—"
The final command sends you over the edge.
Your orgasm crashes over you with the force of a tidal wave, a violent, shuddering release that leaves you boneless and breathless. Your vision whites out, your body arching against him, a scream that hurts tearing from your throat and warm tears that make your eyes burn spill down your flushed face. You cry out, your body convulsing, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you shaking and breathless. Your walls clenching and contracting violently around him and your warm slick dripping down both of you, all the way to your old furniture.
He follows you moments later, with a harsh, guttural groan tearing from his lips as he spills inside, burying himself deep inside you, your warm walls milking him as he spills his hot, thick release inside you, coating your inner walls, a warm, sticky flood that makes you feel complete. His hips jerk erratically, his body shuddering against yours as he rides out the waves of his pleasure.
For a moment, you stay like that, a tangled, panting mess of sweat and satisfaction and limbs that shudder with the overstimulation, his cock twitching inside you as your pussy convulses around him.
He's still inside you, a comforting, possessive weight that makes you feel safe, cherished. Loved...
But the feeling is fleeting, a fragile bubble that bursts with the sudden coldness in his eyes.
He pulls out of you, the loss of him a sudden, sharp ache. He pushes you off him, not gently, but with a rough, impatient shove that sends you sprawling onto the floor.
You land in a heap, your legs on one side, your body aching in a dozen different places.
Afterward, as he pulls his briefs and jeans up, finding his belt with detached efficiency, you find yourself on your knees. Literally on your knees, clutching the fabric of his pants.
“Please,” you beg, the word a raw scrape in your throat. “Please, don’t go. Please...please don’t leave me.”
He looks down at you, still bare, on your knees, with tears from the fear that he might abandon you mixed with the tears from pleasure; his expression is one of faint disgust, as if looking at a persistent stain.
He pries your fingers loose, one by one. “Grow up.”
He stands over you, a magnificent, cruel god, and you are nothing but a discarded offering.
“Don’t call me,” he says, the words a final, deathly blow as he grips your cheeks with extra strength, forcing a pout that he'd never admit to love. “Don’t text me. Don’t even fucking look at me when we pass in the hallway. I'll call you when I want to, and you'll be there, every-fucking-time. You got it?” He says, pointing a threatening finger at you. “We’re done. For now.”
And then he’s gone, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving you in the suffocating silence of your apartment.
The silence is a living thing, heavy and suffocating. It presses in on you, amplifying the frantic, panicked beating of your own heart. You’re alone.
Utterly, completely alone.
You lie there for a long time, a tangled, weeping mess on the floor, the slickness of him drying on your thighs, the phantom sting of his slaps still on your cheeks. The apartment feels cold, empty, haunted by the echo of his cruel words.
You try to piece together the shattered fragments of your dignity, but there’s nothing left to hold on to. Just the burning shame and the aching, desperate need for a man who sees you as less than nothing.
You drag yourself to the bathroom, your body aching with every movement. The tap of the water being open, on a desperate try to get his scent, his touches that still tingle off your body. The water in the shower is scalding, but you barely feel it.
You scrub your skin raw, trying to wash away the memory of his hands, the taste of him in your mouth, the feeling of him inside you. But it’s no use.
He’s etched into you, a permanent, indelible stain on your soul.
You look at your reflection in the mirror, and you barely recognize the person staring back at you. A stranger with puffy red cheeks. A broken, pathetic girl with a haunted look in her eyes.
You hate her. You hate her more than you’ve ever hated anyone.
You sink to the floor, the water still streaming down around you, and you finally let go. You scream, a raw, gut-wrenching sound of pure, unadulterated agony, until your throat is raw and your body is wracked with sobs.
This is your rock bottom. A cheap, lonely apartment, the ghost of a man who despises you, and the crushing weight of your own pathetic desperation.
❤︎₊ ⊹
He gets married the following week. The office's chat room is abuzz with pictures: Jiwon in a stunning custom gown, Haechan handsome and smiling in his tuxedo, a picture-perfect union of power and prestige.
And then, life returns to a terrible, hollow normal. You see him at the office. He doesn’t glance at you. Not in meetings, not in the hallways. You are air again. The ghost he said you were.
But the texts still come. Late at night.
The usual bar. 11 PM.
Or, more brazenly,
Parking level B2. Now.
You go. Every single time. Because when he summons you, the world narrows to a single, blinding point of possibility: this time, maybe, he will see you. This time, he will stay.
The encounters become rougher, more impersonal. He’s often angry, taking out frustrations about a case, about Jiwon, about his life on your body. He calls you the most degrading names, pushes you to your knees in dirty alleyways behind bars, fucks you in the back of his car without a kiss, a touch or word of affection afterwards.
And you let him. You welcome it. The pain is a perverse form of attention. The bruises he leaves on your skin are proof that you existed to him, if only for a few minutes.
You become an expert at hiding the marks. Makeup on your neck, long sleeves in the summer, a carefully practiced smile to mask the hollowness in your eyes that no one believes, but they don't care enough to ask for.
In the end, the reflection doesn’t come in a dramatic moment. It comes on a Tuesday evening, as you’re waiting for the kettle to boil in your silent apartment. You are waiting for a text that hasn’t come, and you realize with a dull thud of finality that you are hoping for it. You are hoping to be used.
And somewhere deep down, beneath the humiliation, beneath the loneliness, beneath everything he has taken from you, there is still that same pathetic hope.
Maybe tonight... Maybe this time...
Maybe he will finally love you.
The screen lights up.
And before you've even read the message, you're already reaching for your keys.
❤︎₊ ⊹
haaaaiiii, i finally finished thisss, i've been writing it for like 3 months and i just couldn't finish it because of uni and bc i was so blocked tfff :,c but i made it!!1 just in time for my pookie's bday!! i luv u haechi dongyuki, kisses from mx to wherever u are (as if he was reading this plek)
ANYWAYS, i really want to highlight that i do NAWT condone any of these actions (from cheating to disrespect ourselves like this) but!!! i'm so sick on my head that i find soooo hot this type of attitude specially on haechan idk why he's so mhmgmmgpdmhg. anyways, i wanted to write some naaasty smut with lots of angst, everytime i write sth i'm like "hell yea, i outdid myself" but this time i think i actually did, hopefully heheh
hope you enjoyed it!! let me know if you did!! thxs for readiiiing :3
ᛝ synopsis : long story short — reader : 🥧 ohyul : ❌ reader : 🙄 ohyul : 😤.
warnings & stuff : smut , unprotected sex, ohyul x reader, ohyul lowkey a lil mean asl, reader bratty cute lil puppy asl lowkey, readers stomach and like body system (?) are sensitive, birth control = morning after pill ( used the wrong word didnt feel like fixing ), ohyul took care of reader after anyway, author dont know shit about punctuation, penetration, 0 prep, dry orgasm, established relationship, not proof read, um third times the cum or something !! ❤︎.
wc : 1566
a / n : mb yall if this booty butt butt i tried ⁽⁽ଘ( ˊᵕˋ )ଓ⁾⁾
day 1
you wake up snug under your fluffy pink and white sheets which is weird because you remember falling asleep on the couch waiting for ohyul because you had something to ask him which youve forgotten by now. you sit up staring down at your bed for a few seconds trying your hardest to remember what it was you had to ask him but to no avail so you push yourself out of bed destined for a snack.
you slide into your soft slippers exiting your room quietly walking up the hallway to find your doll faced boyfriend sprawled out on the couch watching tv but you quickly catch his attention and he waves at you with a gentle smile, you wave back a sinister grin making its way onto your face remembering that sacred question that you waited all day to ask him as you make your way to the fridge.
you quickly scan through the selection of snacks picking one as your boyfriend watches you sitting up with a slightly raised eyebrow sensing something off with you. turning around, you slowly walk over to him batting your eyelashes with your best “pretty pleeaaassseeee” face on as you reach the couch purposely sitting directly on his hand.
“what.” ohyul says eyes slightly squinted a suspicious expression on his face as he looks you up and down “mmmmm sooo ive been thinkinggg-“ “you dont think just tell me what you want.” your boyfriend says cutting you off with a straight face already knowing you have a bad idea.
“lets stop using protection… just for a few days, pleaseeee” you respond quickly with a sweet little smile hoping for a “i thought youd never ask” or something, “subtly” grinding back and forth on the back of his hand your pussy starting to drool.
“no.”
“whatt.. whyyyyy” you whine
“N. O. no.”
“but-“
“only butt is yours going back to that bed, youre getting delusion because youre sleepy cmon.” your boyfriend stated throwing you over his shoulder giving you a firm pat on the ass not giving you a chance to argue.
you pout the cutest angry expression on your face arms crossed as he carries you to bed gently laying you down walking back out to cut off the tv, retrieve your snack and some water, then tucking you in and sitting comfily beside you cutting on your rooms tv already no longer concerned about what you just said.
MISSION FAILED.
( ;´ - `;)
day 2
your sat on your balcony with your boyfriend your legs tucked to one side on the wood both your arms wrapped around your boyfriends leg while he sits in his chair phone in one hand scrolling reels the other hand gently scratching your scalp yesterdays question seemingly forgotten.. only by him though.
you spontaneously start to shake his knee beginning to sigh dramatically, he keeps scrolling ignoring theatrics knowing its something stupid again but you keep at it shaking his knee as hard as you can until hes finally forced to acknowledge you, internally marveling at your tiny frame so adorable on the floor in front of him with a straight face.
“ohyulllllll…” you whine to him “whattttt…” he whines back his tone high pitched mocking you “when you use…. a condom…. what exactly is it protecting you from…?” you ask him slowly as if proposing a theory.
“children.” he replies straight forward clearly asserting theres no room for argument yet you do so anyway “what about birth controlll..?” you start to whine again eyebrows furrowed a sad look on your face.
“to many side effects baby you already know this.. and why do you want kids all of a sudden?”
“well… i dont honestly…” you say tone deflated.
“then why are you suggesting we do something that will result in a baby huh?” he asks raising an eyebrow.
“because it doesnt have toooo….” you reply whining starting right back up again.
“if you dont want me to wear a condom and you know i dont want you taking birth control then whats gonna happen?”
“well-… can i take it?.. just once?”
“why.”
“umm.. i wanna feel how much you love me.. ya know?” you say as a stupid grin starts to form on your face.
“there.” he says leaning down giving you a kiss on the forehead then getting up and walking back inside.
MISSION FAILED.
( ;´ - `;)
day 3
you wake up early in the morning already irritated because you havent gotten what you wanted for two days you usually dont even have to ask at all you just show him something and he gets it for you or youll reach for something whether its water he was about to drink or his literal cock in his pants, you always got it so you decided to try a different tactic since your usual cuteness wasnt working.
so your stood in front of the bathroom mirror brushing your teeth trying to think up a way to get him to fill you when you finally come up with an idea, you finish brushing rinse your mouth then speedily making your way to your room in your pajama pants + baggy t shirt taken from ohyuls closet finding and putting on the tiniest shorts you own rolling down the waist band for extra effect along with a basic cropped shirt over your pretty pink lacy bra then laying in your bed awaiting the sound of your front door opening in a couple minutes because your boyfriend was coming over.
finally he arrives and makes his way to your room immediately peeping the shorts, “sit.” you say with a not so angry angry expression on your face eyes too large for you to look serious but he listens anyway finding it amusing.
you straddle his lap still as serious as can be, “cum in me. are you scared? pussy.” you attempt to demand “uh uh” he replies scoffing using every bit of self control he had to ignore your insult as he reaches for a condom “i can handle birth control !!” you argue pushing his shoulders dominant act immediately dropping, thats when he grabs your chin pulling your face so close to his that the tips of your noses were touching and said “k. but do not complain about any of the symptoms to me.” a smile now tugging at the corners of his pretty pink lips “and your gonna take everything i give sense you wanted it so bad. alright?”.
“ok..” you say the fear from what you just did starting to creep in.
and thats how you ended up layed on your bulging stomach paralyzed beneath ohyuls grip as he relentlessly pounds your cervix while your able to do nothing but kick and scream.
drool puddle already formed in multiple spots on the pillows which have been over your head, under your head, under your hips and shoved in your mouth as a makeshift gag when his ears started to hurt.
you cant even count how many times youve whimpered “to much” just for all of them to be drowned out by the bed creaking, the headboard hitting wall, and his body colliding with yours.
you dont even know how long its been since he first picked you up and shoved it in but the skies getting dark and hes still no where near done with you, the only breaks youve gotten are right after he cums because he wants to watch it drip out then he gets rock hard again looking at your ruined pussy and your fragile little body breathing all heavy from all the “unnecessary” screaming you were doing.
and he keeps leaning down and caressing your cheek while shushing you like he hasnt been abusing your cunt for hours on end with a smile on his face while you curl up tears running down yours.
“youre okay doll stop with all the tears.. remember you asked for this” ohyul reminds you as if thats gonna put your guts back into place and ironically enough as hes sliding back into you.
he hasnt been soft since he started exerting every bit of energy in his body into pounding your already stretched and sloppy hole. its like hes addicted to watching you cream and gush all over him, he seems weirdly fascinated with the fact that you cant control it like your his little experiment or something.
you cry out gripping the bed as he basically tries to phase you through it with how rough hes being, previous rounds still leaking from your hole but hes giving you more anyway, your screams are shaky in the same rhythm of his thrust streams of pleas pouring out of your mouth but you dont even know what your asking for at this point hes just melted your brain so good.
hours pass and hes just digging in you like his cock is genuinely looking for something, body all over yours, bullying your insides, pulling your hair, strangling you until your face is every shade of red.
every single twitch, every single clench, every single whine, every single tear, every single scream, every single mark he saw forming, every time he saw you start to drool was like fuel for him to keep up with this cruel lab.
until finally.. at 4am it seems he miraculously gained empathy decided you had enough ( he physically couldnt cum anymore but how would you know? ┐(´～｀ˇ)┌ ).
summary: you and ian have been friends for a while already. ian specifically hires you as his personal photographer and soon enough he starts seeking you out for everything. rumors began to circulate online after fans realize you two are always together.
you turn off your phone and walk to the bathroom to take a shower. after around 40 minutes you step out the shower squeaky clean because you took an everything shower. who knows what will happen. you check the time and see it’s already 4:00. you start applying all your lotions and oils while you brainstorm what to wear. by the time you finally picked an outfit half your closet is on the floor. you walk to your vanity to start on your hair and makeup. once your done you check the time and it’s 5:13 and you decide it’s time to call the uber. it arrives and you grab your keys and text ian that you’re going to come a bit earlier.
fit check
the uber pulls up to ian’s airbnb and you put the code to get in. as soon as you walk in you see ian on the couch with a blanket wrapped around him and a blunt in his hand. “hey ian, you sure look comfortable” he gets up and gives you a hug. “i’ve missed you” he mumbles into your neck. he finally lets go off the blanket and you can fully see his outfit. “BRO we are wearing the same thing.” “oh wait we are”
y/nsspamacc has posted on their story
timeskip
you guys finally arrive to the party and you start to get to work on taking photos. ian managed to convince you to drink even though you were technically working. after two hours you were both pretty drunk and burnt out so decided you should probably call an uber. “ian can i stay the night at yours?” “yea of course y/n.” “thanks you’re a life saver.” while you guys are in the uber you guys upload the photos you took on your camera to your phone and post them on instagram.
y/nusername
liked by antihumanform, iaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnn, camilleroth, and 217k others
y/nusername fun party
user: RYAN DEMMA?
user: no no no not ryan rn y/n ily but
user: she is genuinely gorgeous who ever her partner is is so lucky
ㅤ♡ You were hired to look after his son, not fall for the man who came with him.
( ilia x reader )
ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ SMUT 18+ MDNI
huge thank you to everyone leaving requests in my inbox! I love reading all your ideas and filthy little thoughts. most of them seem to involve Khamzat, but we are branching out! this is my first time writing for Ilia, so hopefully I did him justice ㅤ♡ as always, feedback, thoughts and requests are welcome! keep enabling me, enjoy! >ᴗ<
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
You’d been a professional nanny for nearly seven years.
Long enough to know that wealthy clients came in all varieties. Busy executives, actors, athletes, people whose schedules were too chaotic to manage childcare alone.
Two days ago you received a name, an address, and a brief overview of the position before being sent on your way. A temporary placement. One child. A father whose work commitments were about to become significantly more demanding over the coming months.
That was it.
Normally, you liked knowing a little more before accepting a job. Not because you were nosy, but because every family was different. Some wanted structure down to the minute. Others preferred a more relaxed approach. Some parents were deeply involved in every aspect of their child’s day, while others barely seemed to know what was happening in their own homes.
You’d worked with enough high-profile families to know discretion was often part of the job. Most of the time you didn’t learn much about your clients until you were standing on their doorstep.
As you pulled up outside the address, you found yourself hoping this father belonged to the first category.
Gathering your things, you found yourself doing what you always did before meeting a new family - mentally reviewing first impressions. Be friendly. Be professional. Listen more than you talk.
The house itself was beautiful, though not in the cold, untouchable way you’d expected. It looked lived in. Large enough to be impressive, but not the kind of place that looked designed solely for showing off wealth.
There was a football abandoned near the front steps, and through one of the downstairs windows you could see what appeared to be drawings scattered across a dining table.
You barely had time to knock before the front door opened, and for a moment, you forgot why you were there.
The man standing in front of you wasn’t what you’d been expecting.
Most of your clients were businesspeople, doctors, lawyers, executives. Men who spent their days in offices and conference rooms. This man looked like he belonged somewhere entirely different.
He was tanned, broad-shouldered, and built in a way that immediately suggested years of intense physical training.
Dark eyes met yours, assessing but not unfriendly, and when he smiled, the seriousness in his expression softened considerably.
“You must be from the agency?”
His voice carried a slight accent you couldn’t immediately place.
“That’s me.”
You returned the smile automatically before extending your hand.
“Nice to meet you.”
His grin widened.
“Come in.”
The warmth in his tone made it easier to relax as you followed him inside. The house itself was far more comfortable than you’d expected. Photographs lined shelves and side tables. Sporting achievements had been proudly displayed on shelves, and there were enough signs of daily life to make it obvious that this wasn’t one of those houses that existed purely for appearances.
As if summoned by the sound of unfamiliar voices, a boy appeared at the end of the hallway. He couldn’t have been more than seven, all dark hair, curious eyes, and barely concealed suspicion. He looked at you, looked at his father, then looked back at you again.
“You’re the new nanny?”
You smiled.
“I am.”
His gaze narrowed thoughtfully.
“Can you play football?”
The question caught you off guard enough that you laughed.
“A little.”
“Good.”
He nodded once, apparently satisfied with your answer and then disappeared back down the hallway.
You blinked.
“Was that my interview?”
“It went well,” Ilia informed you. “Trust me, if he didn’t like you, you’d know.”
The rest of the afternoon was spent learning the household routine. You expected the conversation to be brief, but nearly an hour passed as Ilia walked you through school schedules, sportingl activities, meal preferences, allergies, emergency contacts, and every detail he thought you might need.
What struck you wasn’t simply how organised he was. It was how involved he clearly remained despite his demanding schedule. He knew the names of teachers, friends, favourite subjects, which meals his son would happily eat and which vegetables required negotiation.
There was never a moment where he needed to check notes or think about an answer.
You found yourself liking him more than you’d intended.
Not because he was attractive, that would have been inconvenient enough. But because he was obviously a good father.
And that was somehow worse.
Over the next few weeks, you settled into a comfortable routine. Mornings were spent getting his son ready for school, afternoons were filled with homework, football practice, trips to the park, and endless conversations about whatever seven-year-old boys happened to find fascinating that particular day.
The adjustment was surprisingly smooth, and before long you found yourself genuinely looking forward to work.
You didn’t see Ilia constantly. His training schedule was demanding enough that there were days he left before you arrived and returned after you’d gone home. Still, your paths crossed often enough that a comfortable familiarity began to develop.
Sometimes he would ask how school had gone while making coffee before training. Other times you’d find yourself discussing weekend plans while his son finished breakfast at the kitchen island. They were small conversations, ordinary conversations, but they accumulated over time until he no longer felt like a client.
Several weeks into the placement, you arrived to find another man already sitting at the kitchen table.
The family resemblance was impossible to miss, the same features, the same confident posture, the same accent and the same smile.
Though where Ilia often seemed calm and measured, his brother looked like trouble.
The harmless sort.
Hopefully.
“So, your the new nanny”
You looked up from setting your bag down.
“I am.”
His grin widened immediately.
“I’ve heard a lot about you.”
That earned him a look from Ilia.
You noticed.
So did he.
His smile only grew.
From that point onward, his appearances became increasingly frequent. At first you assumed it was coincidence. Then you noticed he somehow always seemed to visit during your shifts. He lingered in the kitchen when you were preparing lunch, volunteered to help carry things that didn’t require carrying, and possessed an almost supernatural ability to appear whenever you happened to be alone for more than five minutes.
The flirting wasn’t aggressive. If anything, it was annoyingly charming. He complimented your sense of humour. Teased you during family dinners. Remembered things you’d mentioned weeks earlier. It was obvious enough that you recognised it immediately, but harmless enough that ignoring it remained easy.
What proved more difficult to ignore was Ilia.
The first few times, you dismissed it as coincidence. A conversation interrupted at an odd moment. A sudden appearance whenever his brother had managed to monopolise your attention for too long. The occasional look that seemed far too intense for the situation. But as the weeks passed, the pattern became impossible to miss.
His brother would make you laugh.
Ilia would suddenly need your attention.
His brother would compliment you.
Ilia’s mood would shift.
His brother would stand a little too close.
And Ilia would need you elsewhere.
Once you noticed the jealousy, it became impossible to ignore.
Not because Ilia was obvious about it. If anything, he seemed determined to pretend nothing was happening.
But the problem was that you were around him almost every day, and over time you had become surprisingly good at reading him.
You noticed the small things.
The way he suddenly started being home more often.
The way training sessions that had previously occupied entire days somehow became shorter whenever you were scheduled to be there.
The way he always seemed to appear in the kitchen when you were making lunch, despite having no apparent reason to be there.
At first you convinced yourself you were imagining it.
Then one Tuesday morning he casually asked if you and his son wanted to visit the gym.
“Why?” you asked suspiciously.
His son looked up from his cereal.
“Can we?”
A smile tugged at the corner of Ilia’s mouth.
“I thought he might enjoy seeing me train.”
The seven-year-old was already nodding enthusiastically.
You glanced between them.
Something felt suspicious.
Still, it wasn’t exactly an unreasonable suggestion.
So two days later you found yourself standing inside the training facility while his son excitedly pointed at various fighters and asked approximately six hundred questions that he already knew the answer to, just because he wanted to tell you about it.
The problem was that you were having difficulty concentrating.
Mostly because Ilia had apparently decided shirts were optional.
You watched him moving around the gym floor as he trained, sweat glistening across his shoulders while coaches called instructions from the side. Every time you managed to drag your attention elsewhere, it inevitably wandered back.
Once was an accident.
Twice was unfortunate.
By the fifth time, you were beginning to suspect he knew exactly what he was doing.
The smug look you caught when your eyes met briefly did absolutely nothing to disprove that theory.
His son, thankfully oblivious, spent the entire journey home talking excitedly about how cool everything had been.
You however, spent the entire journey pretending not to think about the way Ilia’s shirt had remained absent for most of the afternoon.
The night everything changed began like every other evening.
Dinner.
Conversation.
His son’s endless stories.
Nothing unusual.
By nine o’clock, his son was asleep upstairs and you were gathering your things to leave when Ilia stopped you.
“Stay.”
The word caught you off guard.
You looked up.
“What?”
“I made too much dessert.”
The excuse was terrible, you both knew it.
His smile widened slightly.
“Movie?”
You should have said no.
Instead, twenty minutes later you found yourself sitting beside him on the sofa with a blanket draped across your lap and a film playing that neither of you seemed particularly interested in watching.
The room was quiet.
Comfortable.
Dangerously comfortable.
You became increasingly aware of how close he was sitting.
How easily your arm could brush his.
How warm the space beside you felt.
Eventually you became aware that he was looking at you.
Not the television.
You.
When you turned your head, his gaze didn’t move away.
For a long moment neither of you spoke.
Then he sighed softly and leaned back against the sofa.
“I’ve been trying very hard not to do this.”
Your heart skipped.
“Do what?”
“Tell you.”
His laugh held a trace of frustration.
“Because I know how complicated it is.”
You couldn’t seem to find any words.
Ilia looked down at his hands before shaking his head.
“The truth is, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
The confession settled between you.
Heavy.
Honest.
Terrifying.
His eyes lifted to yours.
“I’ve tried focusing on training. I’ve tried convincing myself it’ll pass. I’ve tried giving myself every reason not to feel this way.”
A small smile touched his mouth.
“None of it worked.”
Your pulse hammered in your ears.
“Ilia…”
“No. Let me finish.”
His voice was gentle..
“I think about you all the time. I think about seeing you here every morning. I think about how excited my son gets when he knows you’re coming over. I think about how happy you’ve made this house.”
Emotion flickered briefly across his expression.
“And I think about you.”
The intensity in his gaze made your breath catch.
“I think about your smile. The way you laugh when you’re trying not to. The way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention.”
His voice dropped lower.
“I think about you more often than I should.”
The room suddenly felt very small.
“I think you’re beautiful.”
The words were simple but somehow they hit harder than anything else.
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt inevitable. As though the two of you had been moving towards this exact moment for far longer than either of you wanted to admit.
When Ilia reached for your hand, the gesture was surprisingly gentle. His fingers slid between yours naturally, as though they’d belonged there all along. The simple touch sent warmth rushing through your entire body.
He looked down briefly before lifting his gaze back to yours.
And then his eyes dropped briefly to your mouth.
The world had narrowed to the sofa, the quiet hum of the television, and the man sitting beside you. Nothing else existed.
Slowly, carefully, Ilia lifted a hand to your face.
His fingertips brushed against your cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
Your eyes dropped briefly to his mouth before returning to his gaze. The look that passed between you was enough.
No more words were needed. Ilia closed the distance first.
The kiss was slow.
Tentative.
As though he was giving you every opportunity to pull away.
You didn’t.
The second kiss came easier.
More certain.
His hand slid from your cheek to the side of your neck while yours found his shoulder, instinctively drawing him closer. Months of tension seemed to unravel all at once, every stolen glance and unfinished conversation culminating in the way his forehead rested briefly against yours between kisses.
His hands grip your waist and pull you onto his lap, mouths meeting in a deep, hungry kiss that steals your breath.
Tongues slide together as he sucks on your lower lip, then trails hot kisses down your neck, sucking marks into your skin that make you gasp softly.
You grind against him, feeling his cock harden beneath you through his pants. The friction builds heat between your thighs as you rock your hips, his hands roaming under your shirt to cup your breasts and pinch your nipples.
Ilia kisses you harder, biting gently at your collarbone before sucking another mark there, his tongue soothing the spot. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer while the grinding grows more urgent, your pussy growing slick against the bulge of his cock.
With a low groan, he flips you onto your back on the sofa, settling between your legs as he takes control. His mouth claims yours again, kissing passionately, then moves to suck and nip at your throat, leaving a trail of marks.
He tugs your shirt up to suck on your nipples, tongue circling and teeth grazing until you arch beneath him.
More kisses follow, wet and desperate, as his hands explore every curve, marking your skin with his mouth.
Ilia pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, voice rough with need. "Do you want to go further?"
You nod.
For months, you’d worked so hard to maintain boundaries.
You’d reminded yourself constantly that he was your employer. That you were there to do a job. That becoming emotionally involved would only complicate things.
But all those thoughts had disappeared as he stripped off your clothes, quickly but carefully.
The sound of his zipper was obscenely loud in the quiet room. He freed his cock, thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip and stroked himself once, twice, his gaze never leaving your face. Then he shifted his weight, notched himself at your entrance, and pushed inside in one long, slow thrust that stole every thought from your head.
The sofa barely creaks as he starts moving, hips rolling deep and steady to keep the sounds soft. Your walls clench around him with every thrust, coating his shaft as he fucks you in controlled, passionate strokes.
"Ilia-" His name came out breathier than you intended.
"Shh." His lips brushed the shell of your ear, and a shiver cascaded down your spine.
You bit your lower lip as his mouth found the curve of your neck. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin just below your ear, and a soft moan escaped before you could swallow it down. His palm covered your lips instantly, pressing just hard enough to feel the deliberate restraint.
"I said quiet." The command vibrated against your throat. His hips rolled again, harder this time.
You nodded against his palm, your eyes wide, your body stretching to accommodate him. He felt impossibly big like this - no buildup, no preparation, just the raw, aching fullness of his cock while the movie played on, forgotten.
His forehead pressed against yours. His eyes were closed, his expression tight with concentration, as if he were holding himself back from something far more violent.
Each thrust was controlled - measured pressure, deliberate withdrawal - fucking you with the same careful intensity he brought to everything. As if you might break.
As if he might.
Your hands find his back, your nails biting his skin. You wanted more - harder, faster, something to match the desperation coiling in your belly, but his pace remained agonizingly soft. Each stroke dragged against your front wall, his pelvis grinding against your clit with every deep push. The pleasure built in waves, each one cresting higher than the last.
"Good," he murmured against your temple. "Good girl. Take it."
The words sent a fresh gush of wetness around his cock.
Your walls clenched, and his breath hitched, a crack in his composure. His hips stuttered, just once, before he regained control. His hand pressed harder over your mouth, and you understood: you weren't the only one struggling to stay quiet.
He shifted his angle slightly, and the change hit something inside you that made your vision blur. Your thighs trembled against his. The orgasm built like a slow tide, inevitable, relentless - stealing the strength from your limbs.
"That's it," he breathed. "Cum for me. Quietly."
His thumb found your clit and he circled it once, twice - firm, precise pressure that sent you over the edge. You came with his name trapped behind his palm, your pussy clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that pulled him deeper. His jaw clenched, and he buried his face in your neck, his own release following yours in hot, shuddering waves that filled you completely.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. His weight pressed you into the cushions, his breath hot and uneven against your throat. The movie played on, the protagonist still running through rain-slicked streets, oblivious to everything that had just happened on this couch.
When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were soft again - warm, almost tender. His thumb brushed your cheekbone, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead that felt different from everything that came before.
"Stay tonight," he murmured against your skin. Not a question.
You weren’t thinking about work.
You weren’t thinking about boundaries.
You weren’t thinking at all, really.
Your fingers curled lightly against skin as you searched his face, the reality of everything slowly catching up with you again - the job, the house, his son sleeping upstairs, the life that existed outside this room waiting patiently for you both to acknowledge it again.
“Okay,” you said softly.
Something in his expression shifted at that, subtle but immediate, like a tension he hadn’t realised he was holding had finally loosened.
The world outside the house continued on as if nothing had changed, but inside, everything had. Eventually, his hand found yours again, fingers lacing together with an ease that already felt familiar, like it had always been meant to happen this way.
And when he finally leaned back against the sofa, pulling you with him without any hesitation, there was no distance left to question. Only the quiet certainty that neither of you was going anywhere tonight.
18+, somnophilia, bimbo!reader, and kazu being a cute himbo, NON-CON / DUB-CON, fingering, vaginal sex, oral, titty fucking, all characters are over 18, readers skin color is not mentioned
彡 SANZU HARUCHIYO $ !
Sanzu always came home late, mainly because of his Job. And because of that, he would always come home to you already fast asleep. Sanzu came into your shared bedroom to find you on the bed, Covers kicked off of your body exposing you just wearing a panty thong. Sanzu knew you mostly slept with just underwear on, or even just naked. And he sure as hell didn't complain, he loved your body. But it became an issue when he would come home horny. He spent 5 minutes just staring at your slow heaving chest and your spread legs until he decided he wants— needs to Touch you. He got on the bed and slid in between your Beautiful legs, that he adored to the moon and back "my pretty baby.." he leaned down to gently kiss your thigh "I'm sorry I can't do this while you're awake.." his kisses went to your inner thigh "I'm sorry I'm always away.." as he went closer to your crotch he immediately smelled the intoxicating scent of your slick through your panties. Making his cock harden immediately "oh fuck.." he breathed out "my baby needs me, huh?" And slid your thong off of you and unbuckled his belt to take his hard leaking cock out and let it rest on your pussy lips. "Mhh.." you mumbled in your sleep "you're driving me crazy, baby..how did I deserve an angel like you" sanzu watched as your eyes twitched and turned your head continuing to whine quietly. Sanzu chuckled and took his cock to position it against your leaking slit "yeah, yeah.. I get it..even needy when you're sleeping" he was so eager to fuck you that he just let a glob of spit drip on his red tip, spread it over his shaft and slowly slipped the head inside "uhh..tight little pussy.." he spoke through gritted teeth and slit his lengthy and veiny cock deeper till his tip lightly kissed your cervix, feeling the grip of your tight walls. He missed this feeling so much, the last time he got the chance to fuck you were in public and just a quickie. Most of the time he just fucked his fist to the thought of being able to feel the heavenly grip of your pussy, and now he finally gets to feel it again, and you bet your pretty ass he will fuck you till the sun rises and he has to leave for work again.
彡 HAKKAI SHIBA $ !
You were yuzuha's best friend and were sleeping over, yuzu was out right now and as Hakkai came down the stairs he saw you sleeping on the couch. Hakkai had a huge crush on you, but he cant Talk to you. Every time he tries he stops talking entirely, and even when you talk to him he just turns his head and stays quiet. He hates himself for being so damn shy, and he knows for a fact that you believe he doesn't like you because yuzuha asked him about why he 'doesn't like you. When in reality, he's absolutely crazy about you. And you're the only thought Clouding his mind, you're so pretty and sweet. And now he finally has the chance to Touch you without shying away. He walked up to the couch and swiped some of your hair out of your beautiful face "pretty.." he mumbled, as his eyes went down your body he saw that your skirt was hiked up your thighs, showing him your cute panties. Hakkai hesitated for a second before he pressed his finger on your clothed little bundle of nerves "hmm.." you hummed, that was the most beautiful sound he has ever heard. And he wanted to hear more. So he slid his slim and pretty hands down your underwear to play with your slit, making sure you're nice and wet for him to slide his fingers into you. Once they were in, you let out a louder and high-pitched whine "louder, pretty babe.." his Fingers sped up as he leaned down to kiss your beautiful and plump lips, waiting for you to moan to slip his tongue in. And his eyes widened in shock as your tongue started moving with his, making him groan into your mouth. His Fingers sped up even more and apparently he hit your sweet Spot since you started moaning louder before you slowly woke up, and immediately a stinging but sensual pain in your crotch area hit you and you saw Hakkai above you "h-Hakkai?" He just stared down at you as he felt his ears and cheeks heat up "..I'm sorry.." he whispered and kept fucking you with his fingers, making you throw your head onto the couch pillow and close your eyes as you lifted your leg to give him more access, you were shocked but it felt really good. And when you suddenly clenched his fingers really hard till he could barely pull them out, he came in his pants. "Shh..haa..fuckk" he moaned and kept his gaze on your beautiful face. "H-Hakkai..i-" "I-i'm SORRY-" it's like he just noticed what he did when he cut you off and pulled his Fingers out of your messy hole. But you grabbed his hand just in time "p-please do it again.."
彡 TAKEMICHI HANAGAKI $ !
Takemichi was so happy when you came into the store and asked him to go to your place and watch a movie together. And while you two were watching the movie, you started cuddling. Michi actually wanted to make a move on you like kiss you or touch your thigh but he was too shy to do any of that. And halfway through the second movie, you fell asleep in his arms. At first, he thought it was cute hearing your soft and relaxed breathing but when you started to shift against his clothed cock with your ass it started to become a problem. The problem being: his horny virgin self. He never even kissed someone! And now he's Rock hard against such a hot girl. So he just shut his brain off and started to rut his cock in between your plush ass cheeks "f-fuckk" he quietly cursed to not wake you while he was humping your ass like a dog in heat. You suddenly started humming softly and your hand went to the back of takemichis head "you finally made a move when I was sleeping?" You smiled and turned your head to look at his red face. "Y-you're awake?" He stuttered but didn't stop rutting against you "I am now" you giggled and sat up to place yourself on top of his hard cock "if it's okay..can I hump you now?"
彡 INUI SEISHU $ !
Inui was in the motorcycle Shop, working. You were upstairs in your bedroom fast asleep waiting for your husband. Inui got washed before coming into the bedroom, not expecting you to be sleeping. You looked so peaceful. You were still wearing that Beautiful sundress you wore when you watched him fix a bike with Draken, already hard because the dress complimented your beautiful figure. As he kept looking at you he sat down next to you on the bed to take your hand and kiss it. "My pretty girl.." he whispered against your wrist. His gaze suddenly went to your beautiful and soft tits, And then he was hard again. He didn't want to wake you up just because of that though. So he just seated himself on top of your stomach and exposed your tits with a jiggle. "Oh my god.." he groaned softly as his cock twitched watching your tits bounce. "M' so lucky.." Inui mumbled before taking his towel off of his hips and taking ahold of his cock already leaking onto your tits. Inui positioned his cock between your tits and pressed them tightly together "mhh!..god..so soft" he moaned and immediately thrust his cock between your pillowy tits watching your face looking so peacefully in the process "god..m' gonna cum-" he was surprised himself that he was cumming so fast just after 2 Minutes of fucking his cock between your Beautiful and soft tits. His cock twitched and throbbed before his salty and sticky cum spurted onto your face. Your eyes began to twitch once the cum landed on your cheeks and lips "h-hm?..." you questioned, still super groggy. Inui's face heated up as you woke up and your sleepy eyes looked up at him, he couldn't even talk he was just quiet, breathing heavily with his cock still hard and between your tits "Inui.." you smiled softly "i.." he began but you cut him off by putting a Finger softly on his lips "don't worry about it, baby..keep going.. I'll help you this time."
彡 KAZUTORA HANEMIYA $ !
Kazutora was so excited to see you today, the moment he got home he just threw his jacket and shoes on the floor, running around the house to look for you and yelling your name. Kazu was like a puppy, looking for his owner. He got to the bedroom and saw you sleeping. He immediately jumped onto the bed and got in between your legs, he wanted to wake you up how he always wakes you up. By eating you out! You weren't wearing any panties today, your pussy was the prettiest he's ever seen. he then just flipped your skirt up and went in without hesitation. "Always Taste so good, baby" he praises and runs his tongue up and down your folds and then up to suck on your clit. "Mhh..love your pussy so much" he slurs and then keeps sucking on your puffy clit before Tora brings two fingers up your hole and slowly eased them into your addicting pussy. "C'mooon, baby! Wake up!" Kazutora whined as he kept finger fucking you and kissing your inner thighs. He was getting fed up with you not immediately waking up, so kazutora laid both hands next to your head and pushed his clothed erection against you "baby.." he whined more before he gave you a quick kiss. And that's when you opened your sleepy eyes slowly "baby!" Kazutora giggled, hugged you, and peppered your sleepy face with kisses.
彡 SOUYA KAWATA $ !
Your poor baby boy. He was so needy when he woke up and when found you next to him, fast asleep, he got frustrated. He didn't know what to do. He needed you so bad right now, but he really didn't want to wake you. After trying to jerk off in the bathroom and realizing that was just not enough, he just went back to bed and kept looking at your thick thighs and ass, he was going crazy right now. He thought jerking off to you would help but no. He needed you. And so souya just spread the flesh of your thighs to Stick his needy and twitching cock between them. "F-fuck, fuck!" They felt so much better than his hand, souya adored your whole body, like you don't understand. He would die for your whole being, and he is a slave for your pussy. Any part of your body touching him could make him cum, but he always tries to last for you, he wants to please you so bad. But you're asleep right now and he won't dare to wake his beautiful goddess. As he got lost in his thoughts he thrust his cock harder and faster between your thighs and against your pussy, if he could see himself right now he would probably cry at how pathetic he is but, luckily he can't, so he will continue to fuck his beloveds beautiful and thick thighs.
彡 SHINICHIRO SANO $ !
You are shin's first girlfriend so you should be expecting him to be horny 24/7, Even when he's sleeping. You woke up in the middle of the night to shin humping you from behind "sh-shin?" You asked still groggy and confused. But you got even more confused when you looked back to see your boyfriend sleeping. How could he be that horny? You two literally fucked 3 hours ago before sleeping, and now he's horny again? In his sleep no less. You didn't really know what to do, but when shin began to moan out your name and came onto your back, you became horny and hoped to god he woke up now. Thankfully you heard him mumble a quiet "shit.." as he looked at the mess he made on your bare back and ass, the bed moved and his chain necklace clink with shin as he sat up. You immediately turned around and grabbed his hand "shin!" The sudden sound of your sweet voice Made him jump "baby? Y-you were awake? Let me clean you!" He was about to stand up again but you hung yourself on his arm and whined "noo! Stay please shin, I'm horny now..fuck me please!" Your beautiful and erotic begging hardened his cock back to life. He chuckled and patted your head "just as needy as me, my baby.." and proceeded to slam you down onto the bed and get in between your legs. When you think about it..you two are the perfect match! The horny bimbo gf and the virgin biker bf!
romaincrisis
turnnoffyourmind
areudirty
